Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and
owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is
intended.

A/N: Ummm. Don't judge!! ( but please review me!!) Anyway, enjoy!

Bored Again

Draco

I hate my life. More specifically, I should say, I hate my *father*, because he dictates my life. He tells me who to be friends with, who to go out with, what classes to take, he controls my life. I hate him.

Sometimes I just wish I wasn't a Malfoy, because then at least I

Oh shit, class.

~*~*~

Draco hurriedly stuffed his diary into his inner pockets of his school robe, and straightened his tie.

He was already late for class, and of course he had to set a *good* example. Of course he was a prefect, with great thanks to his father. ]

Actually with all thanks to his father

*Cant I even do anything without my father taking part? * He thought, swearing as he bumped into a girl while hurrying down the corridor.

"Oh, I'm-"

"Yeah yeah," Draco muttered running down the corridor. Of course if it wasn't for his father he would have never been prefect, Dumbledore favored the Gryffindors too much, and he was a rather notorious enemy of Gryffindor.

He leant down to check his watch.

8:45

Oh no he was 15 minutes late! Mcgonogal would murder him.

He rammed into the large wooden door, shoving it open. Aware that every eye in the room was on him he hurried forward with his usual strut, to his seat at the back with Crabbe and Goyle, while Mcgonagol instantly fixed him with her iceberg-that-sunk-the-titanic look.

Like he cared.

He had been receiving *that* look for years after years, by now he was totally immune to that glare that made most students tremble.

"Sorry I'm late Professor Mcgonogal" he said, putting on his innocent look. It didn't work.

"You're a prefect Mr. Malfoy, you should be setting an example," she said, putting more disgust into her voice than even Draco could muster.

He just sat there and rolled his eyes as always, tipping back his chair. Keeping up the act.

"As I was saying before Mr. Malfoy interrupted," she said, glaring at him, "today we shall be transforming screech owls to tabby cats. I assume you have all got your notes?"

*On and on and on and on and on* Draco thought. *Does she ever shut up? * It seemed not, because she was *still* talking. Hearing his name he looked up but of course it was just Mcgonagol droning on about how "if Draco had been here, he would of course know blah blah blah". Even if he had been there he wouldn't have listened.

I hate my life * Draco thought gloomily, wondering how much longer Professor Mcgonogal could drone on.

Through the Looking Glass

Abby

I hate my life. More specifically, I should say, I hate my *mother*, or the sneering cow I am forced to call mother. She tries to control me, to dictate my life. She could never control *me*. I hate her.

Sometimes I just wish I could get out of this house, see the world. Live. I instead I am locked in this house. I'm suffocating here.

Oh shit, breakfast

~*~*~

Abby hurriedly stuffed her diary under her pillow, and hurriedly tried to make the clump of knots in her hair neat.

Praying she wasn't late, Abby shoved her feet into shoes, forgetting to lace them.

Breakfast was at 9:00 o'clock promptly, every single day, no exceptions, and now the sneering cow of a woman she was forced to call *mother* would *murder* her. *Oh well*, she thought to herself, maybe dying will be more interesting than living, it couldn't possibly be anything worse than the dreary timetable she lived by.

Lost in thought as she ran down the stairs and suddenly swore as she bumped into their old butler.

"Miss your-" he started to say, but she was already down the corridor, out of sight.

"Yeah yeah," Abby muttered, running down the corridor.

She leant down to check her watch.

8:45

Oh no she was 15 minutes late! She was going to die.

She rammed into the large wooden door, shoving it open. Aware that her stepmother's eyes were spitting poison at her (if eyes could spit) she hurried forward with her usual strut, to her seat at the table facing the window, while her stepmother instantly fixed her with that iceberg-that- sunk-the-titanic look.

Like she cared.

She had been receiving *that* look for years after years, by now she was totally immune to anything her stepmother could throw at her

"Sorry I'm late Miss" she said, putting on her innocent look. It didn't work.

"What have I told you to call me," her stepmother said, putting more disgust into her voice than even Abby could have mustered.

She just stood there and rolled her eyes as always, calmly sliding into her chair.

"I asked you a question Serina"

"My name is not Serina" Abby replied icily.

" Your name is what I choose it to be. 12 years ago I married your father, and when I married your father I gained control of you, and when I gained control of you I changed your name to Serina. If you have any problems with that, you can leave."

As tempted, as Abby was to take that advice, to simply walk out the door and leave, she, as always, gave in, submitting to the stepmother's power like a wolf offering its neck to the dominant male.

"Yes," she shuddered, "mother"

"That's better," the stepmother purred, instantly in control.

Across the table, oblivious as always, Abby's elderly teacher Annie sat, stonily smoking a cigarette, staring at the stone wall directly above Abby's head.

Her stepmother sat, sipping coffee from a mug, her tutor sat, smoking a cancer stick, and her father sat, staring out the window, dead eyes glazed over.

He *was* dead. Inside. He had been dead for 13 years.

Ever since. Abby's mind hurled the thoughts away. They wouldn't help.

The *good old* morning ritual.

See just sat there and rolled her eyes as always, tipping back her chair. Keeping up the act.

"As I was saying before *you* interrupted," she said, glaring at Abby, "you will need to keep *her* out of the house." Her stepmother continued, as if Abby wasn't there.

If only. She wished to be anywhere *but* there.

*On and on and on and on and on* Abby thought, settling into her daily stupor. *Does she ever shut up? * it seemed not, because she was *still* talking. Hearing her name she looked up but of course it was just *her* droning on about how "I have business and Abby shan't be here to ruin it ". Like Abby would ever even want to be in that house.

But she was imprisoned there

*I hate my life * Abby thought gloomily, wondering how much longer her stepmother could drone on.