7:59 AM Friday

The bright white light shone through the glass of Draco Malfoy's window. A tree branch outside cast a moving shadow over his face as it swayed lightly in the wind. His eyelids fluttered lightly, and his eyeballs beneath moved to focus on things unseen. Then suddenly he was awake. Not alert, as his mind was still dragging itself out of sleep's firm grasp, but undeniably awake. It was the pain he decided. The pain of conciousness.

His eyes flicked open, and took in the sight of his blandly coloured ceiling. Slightly lifting the sheets he was covered in, he removed a small, thin object. He stared at it with a mixture of anger and guilt, before sliding it under his pillow. It wasn't time to face that just yet. His fists collected sheets as he pushed himself to a sitting position, and he winced in tiredness.

He glanced at his clock, and the glowing red digital readout changed from '7:59' to '8:00'. An irritating alarm errupted from the small plastic device, only to be harshly silenced by Draco's clenched fist slamming down on it. He snorted in disgust and fell back into bed.

A form stirred next to him with a rustle and a moan. The woman stretched in what she, no doubt, considered a sultry fashion. He ignored her. Her soft brown hair tumbled over her shoulder as she leant over him and became more aquainted with his chest. Still he ignored her. In a final effort she began to plant little kisses all over him. An expression of irritance washed over his face like a wave, and he threw the sheets off himself, standing up.

'What's wrong?' the woman asked, slightly put off. He turned to face her, unconcerned with his nakedness.

'You can go now,' he said softly, but with an icy chill to his words. She blinked.

'I can what?' she snapped, losing all trace of playfulness.

'You heard,' again he spoke in the empty, deadened tone.

'Just who the hell do you think you...' she began, rising from the bed, but he cut her off with a look.

'Last warning. Get the fuck out of my house you trash,' he hissed, his face communicating far more to her than either the vhemence of his command, or the whiteness of his clenched fist could ever manage. Her face broke. The tears ran, as they always did. She fled.

Draco sighed, and relaxed a little. A distraction had been dispatched without doing something he would regret later, and he had almost forgotten the smiling face on the person in the photo underneath his pillow. Almost.

Even as he stared at the pillow, he knew the eyes were staring at him underneath. Those beautiful, innocent, joy-filled eyes, condemning him with every facit of their existance. He had longed for those eyes to look at him. He had betrayed people for those eyes. He had sold his soul for those eyes. He had died for those eyes.

His fists clenched again, and his breathing became shallow and irregular as he continued to stare at the pillow. He loved those eyes, but hated them too. So much hatred he held for them. When he saw them he felt like trash. He felt dirty. They had dominated him, torn at his mind and heart, and now they owned him for all eternity.

His stomach revolted, as it always did. He fled. He listened in a rather detached way as he heard the scant contents of his stomach hitting the water in his toilet. After a while the sound was punctuated by the brief, irregular dripping sounds of his tears. He frantically snatched at the tatters of his dignity, but failed miserably to stop himself from breaking into a full sob. He fell back onto the cold tiles of the bathroom floor and wept in hopelessness. He disgusted himself.

His eyes blankly tracked the tiny bubbles as they spun around the black surface of his coffee. He took a sip, and registered the hot, bitter sensation on his tongue, and felt it warm him. He was feeling a little better. Draco found it always helped to get a bit of perspective on his own troubles, and a cup of coffee was as good a starting place as any. It was better than getting on his knees and praying about them, and is sure as hell beat facing them. He caught himself beginning to stare off into space again, and glanced down at his cup. The bubbles had stopped moving, and now clung to the side of the cup. It was time to get moving.

Draco tossed the remainder of the coffee into the sink, and cursed as the liquid splashed up, staining the walls. The white porcelain cup was placed on the table and exchanged for a tie that was lying across the back of a chair. Draco buttoned the collar of his white shirt as he strode away from his house and walked down the uneven footpath. That was something he could never get over about this city: the footpaths were always uneven and dangerous. If he thought about it enough, the concrete surface reminded him of life, in that it seemed to be a smooth, flowing path that was going somewhere, but in reality was only a collection of uneven segments that were rather irritating to experience. His foot caught on one of the stones and he stumbled momentarily. A laugh of genuine mirth escaped him, and he thought serves me right.

Draco continued his walk. He was fortunate in that he lived only a short distance from the place he worked and didn't need to worry about transportation. It seemed a bit too oppurtune that a house near the dismal supermarket job he held would become available for rent just when he was in the market, for a ridiculously cheap price. Still, he didn't really want to visit those suspicions. The only person he knew who had that sort of power, and an interest in him was his... was Lucius. He suprised himself by almost calling him father. He had sworn never to call him that again. Not after what had happened. At any rate, Lucius was not someone that he wanted to be indebted to. Growing up, Draco had rather unique advantage to see just how ugly that could get, and it still made him nervous even now, at eighteen.

He left the path and hopped a low, metal fence. He followed a foot-worn path through the grounds of an old building. This was a shortcut he took every morning, but it suddenly occured to him that he didn't even know what the building was. He paused momentarily and gazed up at the depressing visage of the grey brick structure. His eyes skipped over the bright neon grafitti and passed the silvery tracks of snail residue. A large ammount of the building was covered in a deep green mass of ivy, and it drew his eye, for a reason he couldn't determine.

Draco glanced down at his watch, which read '8:35'. He didn't start for a few minutes and was almost there anyway, so he decided to return his attention to the wall. He stepped closer, his shoes crunching on grass still frozen from the cold night, and looked at an odd shape protruding from the ivy. He couldn't seem to discern what it was, until a soft breeze lifted the ivy leaves slightly. It was a face.

It seemed oddly familiar. Although carved from stone, the man's features were soft, and his eyes upturned. Draco craned his head slightly, and then straightened up. He knew what this place was. Just then a voice called from inside the building, making him realise for the first time that it's doors were open and he was standing in front of them.

'It's bloody cold, innit? Come on in,' the gritty male voice called out. Draco blinked in suprise, then entered.

It was indeed warmer inside, and he walked past row after row of wooden benches. He found the owner of the voice, a man in his late thirties with ruffled black hair and three day old stubble who was sitting in the first seat, facing away from Draco and towards the large crucifix in the centre of the back wall. He was wearing a black shirt and tan pants, and was reclining on the bench in a relaxed fashion with his legs wide apart, and his arms resting on the back rest. One of his shoes tapped to an unheard beat, making a barely audible thumping sound on the worn carpet. His body language was rather incongrous with a church decided Draco.

'I see you cut through here everyday. Why stop now?' he asked without turning around. Draco frowned.

'Why sit here every day and watch me?' he avoided the question, half out of irritation and half because he didn't know how to answer. The man turned around and leaned on one arm, exposing his face to Draco. It wore an infuriating smirk.

He put his hand to his collar, and caught the white band around his neck with his thumb, pulling at it a few times to emphasise it's prescence. Draco's eyebrows raised in disbelief, serving only to extenuate the man's grin. They stood staring at each other for a few minutes, before Draco broke eye contact.

'Well this has been great, but...' he began to leave, glancing once more at his watch, but was interrupted by the priest.

'The name is Vincent. I'm here if you need any help,' his grin widened, if that were possible. Draco flinched with palpable annoyance.

'Well, Vincent,' He paused for sarcastic emphasys on the name, 'the only help I need is in getting to work on time.'

Vincent noded and made a gesture with his hand to the door. Draco snorted at him and retraced his path to the outside. It was when he stood framed in the door that Vincent called out to him again.

'How's Hogwarts nowadays? Is that bint Trelawny still predicting tradgeties?' he asked, his voice maddeningly short of laughter, yet still conversational and untrembling. Draco paused for a fraction of a heart beat before replying.

'Who? What's Hogwarts? I think you've been sipping that wine,' Draco responded, turning his head to view the man. Vincent was still smiling, and he shruged.

'Mabye I have. Run along then,' he said dismissivley with a flick of his head, as if talking to a child. This earned him a scowl from Draco, who gave out a terse breath which froze in mid-air infront of him, wafting away on the cold breeze. Draco stared at the still seated man for a moment longer, then turned and exited the church.

His feet found their own way to the store, as his mind was far too busy with complicated matters. He knew he had never met Vincent before, but at the same time the man was so impossibly familliar. Still, familliar or no, Vincent had stirred up some memories that Draco would rather leave undisturbed. He had left Hogwarts and all that went with it behind.

He would not turn back to it. Not now.

His watch changed to read '9:00' as he entered the store.