A/N: This story is called The Slytherin Prince, as u read if you have a better title, please suggest one to me! Thank you so much! Enjoy this, there is much more to come.
Disclaimer: J.K.Rowling owns all of the characters and all that jazz.
Draco Malfoy walked a corridor, late at night. A prefect badge gleaming on the front of his robes. He had the trade-mark grin plastered on his face, and ice lingered in his eyes. His ear shifted as he heard something from behind, but it wasn't a person, he could tell. He was on edge, with a swirl of silver, green and black he turned to face…Mrs.Norris. What was keeping him so tense? Maybe it was the fact that he was in love with the person everyone would least expect, an it made everything worse that she didn't know. Why didn't she? Because he had been stupid that night he had the chance. It was just her and him in the courtyard, he remembered the exact date. 2 wks ago, December 8th at about 8:34 p.m. She said she loved him, and he froze in place, not unable to hit her back with a smooth line or a funny joke, he had two choices: Do not speak or tell her you love her. So it was either: Stay quite or lie. He wasn't going to lie, at the time it would have been a lie. But now it was pure truth, and he was the laughing stock of the school, because she dumped him. It was horrible, although his fellow Slytherins, thank god, refused to believe it was true, they stayed firmly at his side. They may be cruel and ruthless, Slytherins, but they stick together. He should know, being one of them and all. He sat on his usual chair in an empty classroom he did every night, withdrew a pink envelope from his robes, and out came a cream piece of parchment. In black ink was the first, last and only love letter he had ever received. He was frustrated with himself, how foolish he had been. He ran his fingers lightly through his hair and rubbed his eyes lightly, growing more tired as the night grew older. Why he was so tired so early, because of his quidditch game….which he lost. He had a bruise on the side of his face the size of a baseball, and his head had just stop hurting from his nasty fall that stupid Potter had caused. He would pay him back, very finely too. Draco grinned at the thought of Potter in total humiliation. He tried to keep in his laughter, but it soon was swallowed back down his throat as he looked at the letter again. He read it over and over again, he had practically memorized it, could play it over in his head at any time of the day. He could play over the night he had with her, the hard smack she gave him. The red mark that began to fade after an hour or so. It was all so vivid in his mind, so real. Like he could live it over and over again, making the same mistake over and over again. He wished with all his heart that he could fix that mistake, he would do anything. Many people, he had heard, were surprised he could even show his face in school, still keep up his prefect duties. But he did, Draco wouldn't falter on the outside, he would flinch at anything, on the outside he had the perfect composure, he could keep up his act as long as he wanted, but on the inside everything stung from previous crash and burns. He stood up, ran his fingers through his hair again, deposited the envelope in left pocket, and left the room, heading to the Slytherin Common Room. He reached the fireplace and lay in front of it on a black couch, trying to relax. Something wasn't right, whatever it was, he could hear it, he could feel it. He didn't like it. He stood, wand withdrawn, and in the shadows lay a tall, slim figure, with a vacant expression on its face, hair hanging loosely over it's eyes, and a wand withdrawn, pointed at Draco, his heart to be exact. The hand attached to the wand did not tremble, flinch or move. But the figure's lips did.
"Avada Kedavra!"