Draco sat at his desk, and looked out of the window of his bed-sit bedroom. Not a bedroom, even- a box! He was living in a box with solid walls in Muggle London with no friends or family. Or food.
"I'm hungry," Draco mumbled, remembering that he hadn't eaten properly in three days. The dreary Squib that owned the bed-sit hadn't been around for almost a month, and he'd put a padlock on the fridge. "Asshole." Draco opened up a large scroll of parchment, and started copying out Harry Potter's accounts. "Why did I ever accept that job?" He asked himself, noting down that Harry had spent far too much on underwear for his female visitors. "There's no honour in any of this!" Draco grumbled as he wrote down the grand total of 200 galleons spent on whipped cream and leather. "A Malfoy working for...for him! I should be rotting in the streets, not working for that cocky, arrogant, self-serving sex god!" If only to make the situation more awkward, a small, white owl flew through Draco's open window. "Shit."
Draco took the letter from the owl, and read aloud. "Draco, how have you been? Listen, we heard Mr Watson was out of town, and we wondered if you fancied sneaking out? You know, now your Da's gone, you don't have a curfew. Hugs and Butterfly Kisses, Blaise and Pansy."