a'n: Well heres another one shot by moi for The Hideaway... (there used to be lyrics to "Boulevard of Broken Dreams in here, but due to the sudden not being allowed, I have to change it. Fit the lyrics accordingly :()

Draco kicked a stone in front of him and looked up the street. It seemed so empty. No lights were on, no life was present. Everywhere he looked, things just got darker. He couldn't help but feel responsible. All this darkness, death, it was his fault. His.

His hands were in his pockets, feet shuffling across the ground. He was in his usual pressed Wizard's robes. Everything about him was the same, except for one thing. One little thing. And that one thing made all the difference.

Draco rubbed his forearm gently. It was still fresh, tender. He'd finally done it, given into his father's wishes. He couldn't pretend he didn't want it, but maybe if he had known what chaos it would bring. The lives that would be lost. Maybe he would have thought twice.

The robes he was wearing, although perfect and pressed like always, hung limply off of him. He let them slip past his shoulders until they were around his elbows, revealing the plain, black muscle shirt he had on underneath them. There, glistening in the moonlight. Visible for everyone to see. His mark. The one thing that he knew he couldn't take back. The one thing in his life he wished he could.

His body was tense and his senses were getting keener. He could sense the lingering pain of this town. The pain brought on by him. His initiation. He himself felt nothing anymore. No pain, no guilt, no remorse. He couldn't feel anything. Feelings were for the weak. He couldn't be weak.

The street was coming to and end and on the other side of town, voices could still be heard screaming. They were mourning the loss of this sleepy little town. The town where no one was left out and everyone had a smile. How could someone do something so horrible? He heard a great many cries that night, but none of them had phased him. The way he was raised, he couldn't let it get to him or he was showing resistance. Resistance to a fate having long been determined for him.

He felt something solid in front of him. It had been near impossible to see from the lack of light. It felt like the form of a person. Someone smaller than he, but her presence told him she was not much younger. She held herself with pride and dignity, and although he couldn't tell who she was, he had a feeling she was here for him. For a reason. She said nothing, but she enclosed her arms around his waist and brought him closer, completely enveloping him in the shadows cast by the moon.

She was familiar. Draco could feel an old sense of security in her. Who was this? She didn't speak still, and he was guessing she wouldn't be saying anything to him. He didn't know what he was doing, but he felt himself caressing her face. Caressing this oh too familiar face. Why couldn't he remember? She was still clinging to his waist and Draco let his hands rest on her hips. For what felt like hours they stood there, although it was really only a minute, two at the most. Neither saying anything and neither one doing anything to further their intentions. They just stood there, comfortably in silence.

He felt her hands slide up his chest and around his neck. She brought his head down to her level, but she didn't kiss him. Her lips, instead, went to the side of his face, right by his ear. "I will get my revenge, Draco Malfoy," she whispered. "You've just ruined the only thing I loved and when you least expect it, I'll return and avenge my family." She let her hands fall back down and he let go of her. She walked away from him and he was stunned. He knew her, that voice. That familiar tingle she left in his back that made the hairs on his neck stand up. For the life of him, he could not remember.

Draco stood still. He needed to get home. His father was expecting him and if he was late, he knew all too well what could happen. So he watched the retreating back of a old, tattered, black cloak until he could no longer see her walking away. He didn't understand why he couldn't place her. The voice, the smell, the feel of her. He knew her, but dammit, why couldn't he remember her. He turned, and began the long walk back to his manor. The manor he knew was going to be his someday as long as he kept to the plan. Kept to his future. So he walked. Alone once more and starting to feel cold, he pulled his robes back onto his arms and fastened them around his neck. He resorted back to kicking the very same rock as before, wondering what time it was.

The manor stood in front of him, looming over him and settling him into a world of darkness. He was done for tonight and he'd handled it well, but how was he going to continue this life? He had no one. His father used him for Voldemort. His mother was no better. She was harder on him than even his father at times. His old school mates had long forgotten him. Any relatives he had wouldn't wish to be a part of his life. It seemed the only person who remembered him hated him. He knew he couldn't change her mind, but he still wanted to know who she was. How was it someone he didn't know could be on his mind so much. Was it the fact that he felt so comfortable with her during those first moments? Or was it because she was broken like he was. Even if she was broken, it was his fault. She could never forgive him. He couldn't remember her. He was alone.

Then it hit him. Standing there, getting ready to go inside. He knew who it was. Those eyes that glittered so brightly even in the dark. The smell of citrus in her hair. That was Ginevra Weasley. The only person who he had ever trusted back at Hogwarts and now he didn't even have her. What he'd done couldn't be erased. He was doomed to be alone forever. Alone.

a.n: Well, here ya go.. the story without lyrics. IT SOUNDS STUPID NOW! grrr... i hate that stupid rule