The next day dawned far too bright and early for Harry's liking, sunlight streaming in through the open window in between he and Ron's beds. The room seemed to look different, now, and he gave himself the chance to properly look around after he shoved his glasses on – the walls were smooth white, and a spider was spinning a web in the corner behind the door. His duvet was thick, probably eiderdown, and had been covered with a patchwork blanket he'd kicked off in the night. The floor was covered in a dusky red carpet - appropriate enough for Gryffindors - and there was a deep-drawered chest in the corner, just by the foot of Seamus' bed. Above it hung a mirror, which Harry was distinctly sure he heard yawn.

Smiling, he sat up and rubbed ineffectually at his hair, which probably only made it worse. The mirror seemed to agree, if the sleepy sigh of 'ghastly' that reached his ears was any indication. Still, it was comforting to have something so very clearly magical in an unfamiliar and downright strange location, and Harry found he couldn't take the insult to heart. Grabbing the wash bag and towel hanging on the end of his bed, he figured he had best beat the crowd and get to the bathroom, seeing as nobody else seemed to be up. Cracking the door, he found that to be true. Somebody who had to be Pansy Parkinson was snoring loud enough to wake the dead next door, but the rest of the house was still and silent. The floorboards creaked underfoot as Harry moved and looked out of the window of the hallway into the yard – again, all he could see for miles and miles was heath and moor, trees and the occasional sheep, but even that had a certain charm lit up by bright sunshine as it was. The bathroom, however, thoroughly ruined his optimistic mood. It was freezing, the cracked black-and-white tiles almost like ice beneath his feet, and there was a slight mist of condensation on the glass. As well as that, when he tried to relieve his bladder, Crookshanks jumped down from the window ledge over the toilet and scared him senseless, which ended up having very unsatisfactory results. Looking around, Harry rubbed his arms and tried to get back some of his earlier cheer back. Everybody else but him had unpacked their things, it seemed – one side of the counter was littered with Ron and Seamus' bog-standard bathroom gear, the other with what looked to be expensive and high-quality, probably belonging to either Malfoy or Zabini or both. A similar pattern went on on the other side of the counter with the girls' belongings, the wash bag he recognized from spending a year with Hermione looking out of place next to Pansy's neat, elegant storage case. Lisa and Susan had claimed a shelf above the counter, obviously leaving the small space on the edge for him. Thoughtful of them, Harry thought with a bleak smile, struggling to fit his things on before giving up and tossing them down on top of one of the two laundry baskets.

Now for the real challenge – the shower. It was a rickety old thing, fixed roughly to the wall above the bath, looking as if it might be a struggle for it to produce water at all. A far cry from the perfection of the Gryffindor bathrooms, Harry thought mournfully, but he'd give it a go. The water that poured out was surprisingly warm, and it was almost enjoyable to stand in the bathtub (the huge bathtub, he could easily have lain in it and fit top-to-toe) and look out of the window across the moor, Danby just visible over the crest of the hill. When the faucet began to rattle and the water to drip cold, Harry leapt from the shower, startled. This proved not to be the best idea, as he went to the floor, skidded and then crashed into the toilet, smashing his knee. This in turn caused him to swear at the top of his lungs and flail wildly, knocking most of Pansy's precious things down on top of him.

"Who's that? Are you alright?" A feminine voice called, and Harry had barely any time to move before Lisa Turpin threw the door open. She was fully dressed, of course, which made the situation worse – in perhaps the most demure night-dress Harry had ever seen, a cotton thing that had full-length sleeves, went to the ankles and had a high neck, which covered most, but not certainly not all, of her blush.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry Harry – I'll just, um, sorry, I'll leave you to it, are you – you're alright though?"

"Yep, Lisa, fine," Harry said grimly. The last of Lisa's sentence had been said with her hands firmly planted over her eyes. This situation couldn't get any worse. "I'll be out in a minute, if you'll just, er..."

"Right! Sorry," Lisa said, relieved, turning and slamming the door behind her. Harry groaned and rolled weakly onto his front, his knee still screaming in protest.

Well, at least it hadn't been a Slytherin.

Said Slytherins, however, had much more on their minds than catching an awkward Harry Potter coming out of the shower. Pansy was currently leaning almost fully out of the window in Draco and Blaise's shared bedroom, one leg cocked up and the foot curled around her other calf, a steady stream of words tumbling from her mouth.

"I mean, come on, boys, do you not think it's ridiculous us being shoved here in the middle of nowhere?" She said, turning her head. The reason for her leaning dangled from the corner of her mouth - a slim cherry menthol cigarette, curling smoke around her cheek.

"What's ridiculous, Pansy, is the way you won't shut up," Blaise said distractedly, rifling through his trunk. "Alright, it's not what you expected, waa-waa. No shops for miles, boo-hoo, poor little Pansy. Stop being a brat, you wanted to sign up for this -"

"No I didn't, Blaise, my mum and dad wanted me to – last thing they said to me before getting locked away, and in case you hadn't noticed I didn't much fancy spending two years in the house on my own with the rest of us in prison or worse -"

"Change the record, baby." Blaise snorted, finally drawing out a crumpled white shirt. "Well, this simply won't do, will it?" Drawing his wand, he cast a quick charm and it straightened out, collar pointed perfectly.

"Don't call me baby, Blaise, you prat. What about you? We all know you're only here because your mother didn't want you around fucking up wedding number nine."

"Neither here nor there -"

"You know what, Blaise -"

"Can you please shut up?" Draco tried to interrupt, but his voice was quiet and they simply continued to bicker. He really didn't have the energy to deal with this, he thought angrily – but then again, he didn't have the energy to shout, either. He settled for throwing out an arm and swatting Pansy hard across the back of the thigh with the back of his hand, revelling in the sharp thwack the action made. When Pansy rounded on him, he simply tried his best to look innocent – hard enough in a short sleeved t-shirt that showed his marked left arm, but hopefully the big grey eyes and ruffled blonde hair would help.

"Just be thankful it wasn't your arse," he advised her, trying for a smile. "It's not as if you left me another option to get your attention, Pansy darling, and really, what's a bit of light violence between best friends?"

"You won't be my best friend for much longer if you do it again," She grumbled. "Anyway, as my friend, you're meant to stick up for me!"

"Oh? Well, I suppose I'm not predisposed to help those that impose on my privacy and morning routine. I'd like to get dressed, Pansy, so if you would please be so kind as to clear the fuck out, I would be forever grateful." He smiled again, a real cheek-to-cheek grin this time, and that did the trick. Glaring, Pansy gave him a smart nod, jaw tensed, before grabbing Blaise by the collar and hauling him out of the door – even angry at him, Pansy still knew to do him a favour. As soon as they were gone and the door pulled tight, Draco moved shakily back to lying down, hands pressed tight to his eyes as he took a rattling breath. He knew how his friends felt, of course; he didn't want to be here full-stop, but he'd been backed into a corner about it by his mother and his Aunt Andromeda, who had been indispensable following the war. His father, funnily enough, hadn't had much to say about it from his cell in Azkaban. There wasn't point in anything much these days, Draco found, but especially not in taking on more study. Because what good was it going to do him? Nobody was going to hire him for work anyway, not with the Malfoy name, not a marked man. Boy, really, which was what made it worse; he had that much longer to live out his misery and regret. The space on the bed next to him suddenly dipped, and before he had time to open his eyes a set of cool, bitten lips were pressed to his cheek.

"Sorry, Draco," Pansy whispered. "I know you don't – well, we're not making it any easier. I'm sorry."

By the time he looked up, however, she was gone.

Harry, meanwhile, had made it downstairs – thankfully fully dressed – to find Lavender, Susan and Hermione, endeavoring to concoct some sort of breakfast for everyone. It could only go better than the night before, which had included – but was not limited to – badly veiled insults to Hermione's cooking, several raised voices, mashed potato being flung across the room and straight into Pansy Parkinson's hair after she inquired why nobody had thought of dauphinoise instead, and at least three people taking off in high dudgeon. There was a slightly calmer feeling this morning, though, but Harry thought that might just be because not all ten of them were shoved into a space that was frankly too small to house their rivalry and annoyance.

"Morning," he greeted the girls cheerfully, taking a seat near the aga and reaching out to warm his fingers.

"Good morning to you, too, Harry," Lavender said, a twinkle evident in her eye. Oh. "And I trust Lisa had a good morning as well?"

"It was an accident, I'll have you know, I don't just go around willy nilly flashing my business to every girl I meet!" Harry said hotly, cheeks flushing.

"Willy being the operative word." Susan remarked airily, and all of a sudden the girls were dissolving in giggles – even Hermione, and Harry's feeling of betrayal was only cut short by the addition of another to their party.

"Glad to hear that our revered saviour isn't a sexual deviant." Parkinson had appeared in the doorway, dressed in a silky green sun-dress, hair smoothed sharply into her regulation bob. It still didn't do anything to draw attention from her pug nose, however, and Harry allowed himself a smirk.

"Sorry to disappoint, I know how you like that kind of thing in Slytherin," he replied. He got no answer to that, only a dark look as she pulled her tailored jacket from the coat hook and marched outside.

"Oi, where are you going?" Lavender demanded.

"To see a witch about a kneazle," the other girl said languourously, not bothering to turn back. "Don't worry your little head about it, Lav-Lav."

The door slammed shut behind her, the heavy metal latch rattling as the others flinched.

"Well firstly, I can't believe she dared call me Lav-Lav," Lavender said indignantly, setting aside the bowl of eggs she'd been busy scrambling and folding her arms.

"Yeah, we all know only I get to call you that. What a cow," Seamus joked as he entered, but he didn't seem to find it so funny when Lavender launched an egg across the room at his head. Susan and Harry, however, were a completely different matter.

"Please, children, behave!" Hermione cried plaintively. "Or if you can't, at least get out until breakfast is ready – for heaven's sake, it's at least another hour before class starts!"

"Wait, how do you know that?" Harry said, catching his breath from laughing. Hermione rolled her eyes and pointed one hand at the note pinned to the fridge, which on closer inspection was revealed to be their timetable. And as if they couldn't get any further from Hogwarts, Harry thought as he read.

9 AM – 11 AM: CHARMS with PROFESSOR RUSH

11 AM – 11:30 AM: BREAK

11:30 AM – 1:30 PM: POTIONS WITH PROFESSOR WORTHINGTON

1:30 PM – 3:00PM: LUNCH/BREAK

3:00PM – 5:00PM: TRANSFIGURATION WITH PROFESSOR BLAKE

"So we only have three classes?" Seamus asked as he read over Harry's shoulder, a bit of egg-white trailing down his jumper. "Bloody weird, that. Do you reckon we get different ones each day?"

"Yes, it refreshes itself at seven-thirty in the morning from Monday to Friday," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "Honestly, did none of you bother to read anything in the rules and notes that Nancy left us?"

At the innocent, blank expressions that she received in return, Hermione couldn't help but sigh, pressing one hand to her forehead.

"Well, I suggest you do. That means you won't know we aren't taking Care of Magical Creatures-"

"No great loss," Lavender said, picking up her eggs again now that she was satisfied Seamus had received just punishment. "Although it won't be the same without Hagrid."

"You didn't even like him!" Seamus said, siphoning off the last of the egg with his wand.

"No, but... well, you don't appreciate what you had until it's gone, do you?"

Harry thought of Ginny again, and how she hadn't returned his note, and his heart dropped as he turned to agree.

"No, you really don't."

Nine o'clock found them all – even Parkinson, who had reappeared just in the nick of time looking windswept and smelling suspiciously of cherry – sitting at their desks, three at each and Seamus on his own. Lavender, Lisa and Susan had taken it upon themselves to claim the front desk, with the Slytherins behind them and Harry, Ron and Hermione on the far left, close enough to the living room door that they could see the fireplace that their new Professor was about to Floo through.

"Boy or girl?" Seamus asked, sitting at the desk in front of them and picking at his nails with his quill. "Got to be a girl, Rush sounds like a girl's second name."

"You can't judge gender based on second name!" Susan said from her desk, looking affronted. "Honestly, Seamus, are you only here for teachers to fixate on?"

"Part o' it, not gonna lie to you, Suze," Seamus winked. Lavender rolled her eyes, yanking again on the thick veil of hair that fell over her right shoulder. It was a nervous reflex, Harry knew; he had seen it at least twice an hour over the course of the last few days, no matter how hard Lavender tried to project a confident attitude. He felt sorry for her – she was a far cry from the ditzy girl he remembered, and half of him missed that airheaded-ness. It would have been a light relief from the current atmosphere, in any case, with Parkinson fidgetting and sighing and Malfoy staring at the wall straight ahead, looking half-dead with black shadows under his eyes.

A bang from next door alerted them all to the arrival of their new Professor, and everybody's head snapped round.

"Oh, Merlin." Seamus said, voice low. Professor Rush was a girl – in the loosest terms, anyway; she had to be at least sixty, with a grey bun pulled severely on top of her head. She was rake-thin, and Harry could tell she would have been pretty as a young woman, but here today she was hardly the stuff of fantasy. Still, she smiled, blue eyes crinkling at the edges, and Harry relaxed from a tension he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"Good morning, you lot," she said, and it lightened his spirits even further. He had never heard a thicker Birmingham accent, and it was so out of place that he almost laughed. "I'm Professor Rush, but you can call me whatever you like, my first name's Goldie."

"Is it really?" Parkinson asked sarcastically, but Rush didn't catch the attitude.

"No, course not, daft lass. It's Gwendolyn, but I used to be a blonde before I got all old and boring, hence Goldie." She rolled her eyes and smiled at the Slytherin girl, who looked horrified to be treated in such a friendly manner by somebody so clearly beneath her standards. "Oh, I almost forgot! Which of you strapping lads is going to help me bring in what the Headmistress sent you?"

"I'll do it, Goldie." Zabini instantly offered. Harry and Ron turned to each other, sickened by the blatant ass-kissery. Ron even managed to stick his tongue out and do a mime-retch, but Hermione stamped on his foot, clearly infuriated with all of the childishness she'd put up with this morning.

"Disgusting flirt," Parkinson muttered from the back, and Harry – for the first time in his life – agreed.

"So, how do you find it?" Goldie asked when Zabini had left the room, gesturing wildly at their surroundings. "I think it's lovely, great idea good old Mins had."

"Mins?" Hermione asked weakly, looking appalled.

"Yeah, Minerva. Oh, we go way back, her and me, met at some Hogwarts do and all that, when I was just a sprightly young thing," Rush had conjured a chair from nowhere and sat herself down in it by the blackboard, just as Blaise lugged a large bag into the room. "Right! Here we go, these are for you."

"What are they?" Ron asked confusedly, craning his neck to see as Rush began to pull out – were those jumpers?

"House jumpers, since you don't have a uniform. Gryffindor girls, here you are," She said, holding them out until Hermione and Lavender moved to take them. They were red, of course, slouchy and soft-looking, the house crest on the left breast. "Boys? Oh, here, do it yourself, I suppose I'd better get started."

"That was singularly the most insane thing I have ever experienced." Lavender said later, lying on the Gryffindor boys' bedroom floor, still wearing her jumper. She had pulled it up over her chin, her hair fanning out around her as she rested her feet on the wall. Seamus sat next to her, looking over his notes from the day's classes, expression gloomy.

"I know. And I still ain't got no clue about what the hell Rush was on about. Or any of the others, come to that – reckon it's still early days enough to drop out?"

"Course not." Ron said from his bed where he was absently leafing through a copy of Which Broomstick. Hermione sat at his feet, already working on their first Potions essay. "McGonagall would have your balls."

"I rather like my balls," Seamus said mournfully, smiling at Lavender's disgusted expression. "Hey, at least Professor Worthington was a fittie."

"Eugh, Seamus, for fuck's sake!" Lavender said, punching him in the thigh, hard enough that he flinched. "We don't need to hear about your stupid teacher kink, thanks."

Harry rolled his eyes as he watched them all from the safety of his own bed, although he was comforted by their easy rapport. He supposed Professor Worthington had a certain charm, with her curly brown hair and bright smile, encased in a fruit-print dress. But she had also been giggly and simpering, and if she hadn't had such a way with Potions he would have been surprised at her profession. Out of them all, though, he had liked Professor Blake best. He had been young, wearing a neat fitting Muggle shirt and trousers, with scruffy auburn hair and a no-nonsense manner, but he had had them all laughing – even Parkinson, who for most of the day had looked like somebody had rammed something rather sharp up her behind.

"Jesus fuck, what was that?" Seamus suddenly exclaimed, rousing Harry from his contemplations of the day, and he spun to see a dark shadow flit past the window again.

"Don't be stupid, Seamus, it's only an owl." He said, getting up to open the window. A Hogwarts owl swooped in and dropped a letter at the foot of Harry's bed, but before he could do anything else, it was off out of the window again. It was a beautifully clear evening, the Yorkshire sky streaked pink and gold, and Harry was momentarily distracted by the beauty of it, staring with his hands planted on the windowsill.

"Gonna read your mail, or will I have to?" Ron eventually asked, exasperated. Harry shook his head and snatched up the letter, because he knew who it was from and for Ron to read it would be more than excruciating, even if it included nothing out of the ordinary.

"God, the blush on him, you can tell it's from Ginny." Lavender said with a wicked grin, sitting up on her elbows.

"Alright, everyone shut up!" Harry grumbled, getting off his bed and moving to the door. "Now I'm going to read my mail in peace, if that's alright, away from all you nosy idiots."

"Be sure to give us the gossip!" Seamus called after him, to raucous laughter. Harry snorted as he descended the stairs, amused despite himself. He was feeling alright today, in all honesty. He had managed to stay somewhat in the company of friends, although dinner was going to be a different matter – that was if they all decided to eat at the same time, which might not happen thanks to yesterday's occurences. Stepping out into the yard, Harry took a deep breath of fresh air, then settled down next to the kitchen door and began to read.

Alright Harry,

Was so lovely to hear from you. Classes today were alright, sorry I didn't get back to you sooner but you know how the first day back is. And no, I won't bother telling you it's not that bad, I'd rather drink Slughorn's piss than share a house with that lot. Lisa and Susan are lovely, though, and look at it as having an advantage over them in numbers, slimy gits. Glad to hear you're all safe and well, though, but God, aren't you bored? I know I would be, it's bad enough at the Burrow when there's nothing to do.

Anyway, I spoke to McGonagall. She says it'd be alright if I visited, but only on Hogsmeade weekends, which means I won't be able to see you until October. Sorry, really. I know we still need to talk but it might just have to wait.

Miss you,

Gin

Sighing, Harry rolled his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Great. So he was stuck here with the others – and only the others – for company when he wasn't in class for at least another month. Was it just him, or was the whole universe conspiring against him?

"Someone looks miserable," Blaise said conversationally, leaning back in his armchair and looking out of the window at Potter, who was slumped on the ground.

"Can't blame him, it's been a long day." Draco said absently, reclined on the sofa with his head in Pansy's lap as she played with his hair, reading Witch Weekly and tutting occasionally.

"Oh, look at you being all sympathetic," Blaise laughed. "Surely you should be jumping at the chance to find out what's made him look like somebody's just ripped his heart out through his arse so you can use it against him?"

"Firstly, that was unnecessarily descriptive, and secondly... No." Draco said quietly, staring up at the ceiling. "I don't want... that. I want to be left in peace"

"This again," Pansy said distantly, before setting her magazine aside and looking down at him with some concern. "Are you feeling alright? Potter-baiting was such a hobby of yours. Where's my Draco gone?"

"Still here," Draco said with a weak smile, reaching around to pat her knee. "I'm not saying I won't indulge in the occasional spot of mild aggravation – it's instinct, you know. I'm just saying I'm not actively seeking it out, because God, that means I'd actually have to spend time with the prat."

"Valid point, well made," Blaise conceded, looking out of the window. "Still, though. We need to amuse ourselves somehow, and if Potter's off the menu..." He looked over at Pansy and waggled one eyebrow, which got him nowhere.

"Mordred, Blaise, if you think I'm letting you anywhere near me after fifth year and the incident with the Gillywater, you're very much mistaken. You might want to shag anything with a pulse, but I'd willingly Stun myself to keep you off."

Draco laughed as Blaise sputtered, feeling oddly content for the first time in at least a week, since before he'd heard he was definitely to be undertaking his eighth-year. When he'd seen Potter, standing with his sidekicks by the side of the van, his heart had plummeted further than he'd thought possible. He'd already thanked the git after the trials in the summer, and again when he'd been handed back the wand – how many times was he going to be shoved under his nose? Was this Draco's punishment for his crimes – to constantly be forced into the company of his nemesis, always reminded of his failures and mediocrity?

"Draco, you've got a letter, dear," Pansy suddenly observed, nodding her head at – oh, bugger it all. It was his Mother's owl perched outside, flapping nervously. His name was Grimm, and he was a doddery old thing she'd had since before Draco was born, neurotic and weak-winged – it took him forever to get anywhere. He wondered if he could get away with ignoring it, but then Pansy was crossing the room and letting it in.

"Hello, Grimmsy," she cooed, stroking the feathers on his skull as she tossed the letter across the room to Draco. "Who's a good boy, then? Who's a beautiful boy?"

"Pans, he's ancient, that's like calling Snape a catch." Draco said weakly, instantly regretting his joke when the mention of the man brought a sharp pang to his chest. Turning the letter he held in his hands, he thought for a minute before tossing it high and muttering 'diffindo' under his breath. The letter ripped to shreds and the pieces fluttered down over him, pale as snow. As much as he loved his mother, he wasn't in the mood for her trite observations on how this could turn his whole life around. In his eyes, he was being put through hell, with very little reward at the end, and that wasn't something he could easily forgive. He would write to her at the end of the week, of course, claim that the letter was damaged by the time Grimm had brought it – a terrible excuse, but he was a good liar.

"Draco..." Blaise said softly, watching him. "Your mother means well, you know that."

"Yeah, and I also know I hate it here already, and I don't want to be putting up with any of this shit at all, Blaise. None of it – none of it helps, none of it's worth anything. This is soutterly pointless, so can you blame me for harbouring a little resentment to the ones putting me through it?"

When he got no answer, Draco got up and left the room, fingers twisting at his sides. He didn't want any of this, why hadn't any of them listened? He didn't want his NEWTs, didn't want to be here, didn't want to have to go through this stupid rigmarole as if he was any part of this new better generation – he was broken, finished. He should have just been left to his fate. He hurried through the classroom, which was dark and neat once more, past Potter still in the yard, and up the stairs, planning on heading to bed. Then, of course, hehad to run straight into a sniffling Susan Bones, coming out of the bathroom.

"Oh – Malfoy! What a fright you gave me," she said, one hand plastered on her chest, the other hastily rubbing under her eyes. He said nothing, simply observing her – her red hair was knotted, pulled up in a messy bun, and her blue eyes were watery and puffy, red-rimmed from crying.

"Are you..." he said, then stopped. Why should she answer him? And what place had he to ask? It wasn't as if he particularly cared, in all honestly, but Andromeda had given him a fair few lectures on common courtesy over the summer. Thanks to those and his childhood comportment lessons, he had often found himself jumping into little things like this, asking how people were, when really he didn't actually want to know.

"I'm fine. Are... are you alright?" She asked, then shook her head. "Silly me, you've been looking miserable all day. Not to worry, it's only the first little while – I'm sure we'll get used to it."

"You're being nice to me." Draco said plainly, confused.

"Well, yes, that is what we Hufflepuffs do," she said, indicating her sickly yellow jumper. "I might not like you much, Malfoy, but Merlin, I'm not going to go around spitting curses at you. We've been through a war, after all, nobody needs it. I'm not going to treat you like you're sub-human."

"You hexed Pansy yesterday."

"Pansy was being a cow," Bones said, frowning. "I'd have done the same if it had been Lavender or Lisa, or even Harry, for that matter. For this to work, we're going to need to get along. We need to try."

"You really are the poster-child for Hufflepuff." Draco observed, but his chest wasn't so tight anymore. He could almost have smiled as Bones laughed, shaking her head.

"Yeah, maybe I am. Well, I'm a firm believer in the old 'what goes around comes around', and all that – treat people like you want to be treated."

"In that case you're fucked, because Pansy's handy with her hexes. And I'm fucked too, come to think of it..." Draco said, watching as Potter finally moved and entered the kitchen. Bones followed his line of sight, a smile pulling at her full mouth.

"Oh, I don't know. It's never too late. Now, I'm going downstairs for a cup of tea – would you like to join me, or are you going to brood and plot, in true Slytherin style?"

"Brooding I can do, but my plots... Well, they leave a lot to be desired." Draco said, half-smiling himself. Bones smiled again, tugging her sleeves up and heading for the stairs. At the last minute, Draco turned to her.

"Bones? Thank – well, thank you." He muttered. He almost felt it being dragged from somewhere in his stomach, the sentiment he wasn't used to giving, and he felt ill, but the girl didn't notice at all.

"Anytime, Malfoy."

As she descended, however, Draco couldn't help but think how wrong she was. 'It's never too late'?

He might have believed that, before. When he was still young and full of lust for things that proved shadows of what he'd imagined, twisted and wrong. But he couldn't believe it now, not after everything had collapsed inwards. All he could hope for was that he might eventually get through this and begin living out the rest of what was sure to be a miserablelife in peace.

A/N: Hello again! Here's chapter two. And yeah, apologies if it's a bit shit, I'm not sure what's going on here, and I'm pretty sure it's not ok to be having filler chapters this early on but whatever, I swear the whole thing won't just be set-up. Thanks to everybody who reviewed, favourited and story alerted - for a first foray into the H/D fandom it actually gave me such a confidence boost that this is actually even just mildly enjoyable. So yeah, thank you all so much, and here's hoping you enjoy this chapter. I'm on holiday, so don't expect a huge wait for the next update, but I can't always promise I'll be so speedy. ANYWAY. Sorry. Enjoy!