Draco Malfoy and his Unknown Fate:
Author's Notes: This is a relatively short chapter.
Warnings for this chapter: Angst. Draco feels sorry for himself. Some swearing.
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm merely borrowing them for the time being. This will be slash (eventually). Don't like it? Don't read it. Otherwise, enjoy.
"Have a nice vacation." You bastards. I hate you, hate you, hate you. Hope you choke on your Christmas cheer. The former Malfoy heir thought to himself spitefully, before speaking up again. "And remember Blaise; CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Draco bellowed at the other boy in imitation of Moody who had taught them last year. He'd taken to teasing Zabini about how to escape the wrath of the Davis family if they ever learned he'd deflowered their precious daughter.
It was an ongoing joke, but it never failed to please the crowd and besides, Draco had never let overuse stop him from doing something that would get a laugh. The Slytherins in Blaise's carriage burst into raucous merriment, nudging the blushing boy until Blaise ducked his head to hide behind the curtain of his dark curls. His girlfriend Tracy, who hadn't been let in on the joke, leaned towards Blaise and whispered in his ear, but the Slytherin just shook his head unhelpfully.
The carriages set off, leaving him to watch Pansy to lean out the window to blow him a parting kiss. "Have fun at Hogwarts, Draky-poo!" She simpered at him and he snarled back in outrage, secretly amused to note she only dared to call him that when safely out of wand range and going steadily in a direction far away from him. Everyone waved goodbye, still snickering, and Goyle accidentally knocked Millicent Bulstrode in the head with his elbow in the process which made Draco chuckle.
Then they were out of sight and Draco sighed, watching the other carriages lumber off with their laughing load of students. He watched them all say their goodbyes and climb aboard before setting off into the distance, leaving Draco among a steadily dwindling crowd of strangers. He turned around and began his trek to the Main Entrance, his footsteps crunching in the thin layer of fresh snow. The Slytherin wrapped his old winter cloak around him tightly, ignoring the cold wind that whipped his cheeks and turned them a light pink color and tousled the fine, pale stands of his hair. He walked into the castle, heedless of the small puddles the melting snow from his clothes made on the dark stone floor polished by so many feet over the years.
He was too busy wishing he didn't feel quite so alone.
To be Continued
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