"Master Malfoy, sir?," called a servant from the ground below.

"What do you want?," yelled Draco, sounding agitated as he tried to avoid getting decapitated by a bludger.

"Your mother wishes to see you. She has something important she needs to tell you."

Draco 'accidentaly' whacked a bludger in the servant's direction, laughing.

"Fifteen more minutes!"

It was the summer before his fourth year, and Draco was high in the air on his Nimbus 2001, playing quid ditch by himself. He had a full set of balls, including two beaters clubs, which he was now practicing with. Later that night, he'd arranged for the Slytherin team to come over for a game. He flew into his window without bothering to change his sweaty quid ditch robes and ran downstairs.

His beautiful mother was waiting for him, tears streaking her pale face.

Draco heard her sniffling and ran into the room, sliding on the rug and almost knocked over a glass vase on its pedastal. He sat down on the black leather couch and tenderly gave her a hug, silently kicking himself for not coming sooner. Usually he hated his mother, vain Narcissa, but the sight before him melted his heart.

"What's wrong, mum?," he asked gently, taking her lacey handkerchief and wiping away her tears.

"The- the Lamparelli's , were killed a few days ago."

Draco felt his stomach lurch and his heart stop beating. The Vechiarelli's had been his parents' best friends during all of their seven years at Hogwarts.

"How?"

He knew without even having to ask. This was why he hated muggles.

"They w-where murdered by wizard haters--on their way back from Knockturn Alley…they were stabbed and--"

She started sobbing again, her frail body shuddering.

He felt rage and hate surge through his body--he wanted to hurt some one, break something, kill whoever had done it. But he forced himself to calm down.

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me." He was still hugging her.

"I-I just wanted you to know that your father and I are going to take care of their little girl for a few months, until her relatives can."

Draco was shocked. This was all happening so fast. He didn't want to have some little brat living here! This was his house! Now he'd have to share it with some perfect stranger, and probably end up baby sitting while his parent's were away at 'meetings.'

Suddenly there was a loud knock on the door that couldn't be mistaken for anyone, except for Lucius, his cruel father. Draco's eyes narrowed as he watched the door creak open.

He saw his father emerge, cloaked in all black as usual, carrying his trademark cane. But in his left arm he was carrying a little figure with a drooping head; obviously asleep. When he saw her small arms around his father's neck, a pang of jealousy shot through him. His father had never carried him like that. Or looked at him like that. It was sickening. Narcissa wiped off her remaining tears and hopped up off the sofa, leaving Draco scowling with his arms crossed, watching them with slitted eyes.

They were whispering softly and Narcissa was looking at one of the little girls hands, looking happier than she had in awhile.

They both came and sat down opposite him, completely ignoring him and talking in serious voices. Draco decided there was no point in staying down here with them. It probably wasn't good for his health.

~*~

He came down a few hours later, only to find his parents getting ready to leave. Standing next to them was the little girl, now awake, her round eyes looking right at him and smiling a little. He felt a pang of guilt as he noticed the slash on her cheek. He gave a small wave. She blushed and hid behind Lucius, who just chuckled. Draco rolled his eyes, and when his father looked at him, he gave a snort of disgust, taking in his sweaty quid ditch robes. Draco could care less, and stood defiantly staring at him.

"You're mother and I are late for our 'meeting.' We're going to leave Emily home with you tonight, and you had better behave."

With that, he turned on his heel, cloak swishing behind him and left, slamming the door. Emily looked up at him with worried eyes. He sighed and ran back upstairs. How did he know this would happen? Well to bad for her, there was no way he'd cancel his quidditch game.

~*~

He'd been in his room listening to the Weird Sisters for a few hours when he heard a small noise at the door. Looking over he saw two greenish eyes looking at him.

"What do you want?," he asked sounding annoyed, hopping she'd go away.

Instead of what he figured she'd do (run away and cry), she asked him another question "Why don't you like me?"

He was taken aback for a few seconds. "It's not that I don't like you, I just don't, er,…" She looked scared and he decided to ask, "Why are you afraid of me?"

She shrugged and looked at her feet, "You look scary."

He snorted and she smiled a little. "Do you play quid ditch?"

If it had been anyone else, he would've made some rude remark, but he couldn't bring himself to do it at the moment. "Yeah, how did you guess?," he asked, smiling a little too.

"I drew a picture of you." On a piece paper was a stick figure with spiky yellow hair wearing green robes and a broom that looked more like a large brown fork. She looked at him hopefully and he said, "uh, thanks." She beamed but he looked away. He didn't want her to like him, or for him to like her. So instead of saying thanks he was about to say 'Go away…' when she took him by surprise asking "Can I stay here with you and draw pictures?"

"Whatever, if you want to."

She smiled at him again and he reached over and turned up the wizarding radio so that they wouldn't have to talk anymore.

Half and hour later Marcus Flint came in without knocking and yelled, "Malfoy, get your rich butt down here!" Malfoy just snorted and was about to run down the stairs when Emily ran in front of him eyes wide and excited. "Can I come? I like quid ditch too!" He just looked at her in disgust. "Pleaseeee?"

"No."

"Why not?" she asked, looking hurt.

"What's taking so long up there rich boy?" shouted Flint, "the whole team's here!"

Malfoy turned to look at Emily. "No you can't come. You're not my sister, we're not friends, I don't even like you! Just stay here and leave us alone."

With that, he ran out of the room and slammed the door. The drawing of the green stick figure fell to the ground.

"Finally!," said Flint. A wet drop fell onto the paper.