Draco Malfoy quietly sat down in the Common Room. The fire was burning brightly in the fireplace as he stared at it savagely. He was tired. His childhood had been spent idolizing his father and Voldemort. His sixth year was spent trying to kill Dumbledore and prove himself worthy to Voldemort…and his father. He could still imagine that day if he closed his eyes. His hand had nearly been shaking as he aimed his wand at Dumbledore. As he saw his Headmaster's feeble body, he couldn't think of a single reason why he should kill him. This man had provided him with a safe haven each year, so that he wouldn't have to face Voldemort. Of course, Draco doubted that the wizard even knew of how much he had helped him. All of Voldemort's words of…well, not quite encouragement, but words against Dumbledore flew away from his mind as he stared at the man who had provided him a home for so long. When Snape killed Dumbledore, he had felt a mix of sadness, anger, guilt, and shame. He realized that Dumbledore would never be back, he was angry that Snape had done the job for him, he was feeling guilty about trying to kill his professor, and he was ashamed at the fact that he couldn't. From that moment on, both Snape and him had lost the trust of Voldemort. That only meant pain and hiding. Snape had been far more fatherly towards him than Lucius ever had. Lucius had actually refused to acknowledge his son and wife after that night. Bellatrix Lestrange, his aunt, had slipped a notch in Voldemort's eyes, but was not completely outcast the way Draco was. Snape was trying to work his way back in the eyes of the Dark Lord, but Draco didn't care. At this point, he was within Hogwarts, and away from it all. After graduation, he would worry about what to do with the rest of his life. He was only glad that he wouldn't have to stay in the Slytherin Common Room. Last year, he ruled the Slytherin House. He was on a special mission for the Dark Lord, and most of the students knew of it through their parents. Each parent wished that he were their son. Now, as most of the house knew of how he had almost botched up the entire cause, he had lost their favor. He had very few allies left. He also was lacking the added protection of Professor Snape. Slughorn wasn't quite as…influential.
Running a hand through his artfully messy blond hair, Draco leaned back onto the couch. He didn't know what to do about the Head Girl situation. She was picking every opportunity possible to start a fight. He was itching to hex her, but without a single teacher left in his favor, he knew it was stupid. He was a bit surprised that she had such a tongue on her. The past years, only Potter and Weasley picked fights, she tried to stop them. It seemed that he wasn't the only one who had changed over the years. He couldn't help but notice that she hadn't grown that much over the summer. She was still petite, and slim. However, her bushy hair finally fit her. It was slightly longer, and now hung in large curls, rather than large heaps. He could almost call her pretty, except that she was increasingly rude. He hoped that they didn't have many classes together. However, one of his cousins who had been Head Boy in his year had already informed him that the Head Students tended to have an unnecessarily large number of classes together. He couldn't wait.
Stretching, he loosened his tie a bit more, and undid the top button of his collared shirt as he slowly made his way to his dormitory. He knew that he wouldn't be able to control his temper much more if the Head Girl decided to start another fight. He had learned some control over the years, but she really had a way of pushing his buttons. Yawning he closed his door and started to get ready for bed.
In the next room, Hermione was lying on her bed, trying to fight off her tears. Dumbledore was dead; she had to work all year with the boy who had nearly pulled off his murder. She felt incredibly stupid about starting those fights and acting childish when he wasn't. But most of all, she respected him for not finding it in him to kill Dumbledore, and not stooping to her level and starting arguments with her. He had finally matured, and here she was acting like a child. Hoping that the next day would prove calmer, she turned off the light, and tried to fall asleep.