A/N: i'm sorry for all those who thought i had given up writing. i had a really colossal writer's block. hope you enjoy this...
Trapped
The cold wind blew through the large windows. Pale moonlight filtered through them. A pale blond boy sat in front of it. His hands were balled up into fists and he seemed to be trembling. One look at him would tell that it wasn't the winds.
The door to the dark room opened slightly, and a voice said, "I'm off to meet Bella, Draco dear. Take care. I'll be back soon." It sounded falsely cheerful, and very shrill. The boy scoffed. I'll be back soon. Even lies had a limit. His nails cut into his flesh, and he either didn't notice, or didn't care. He hated this place, his "Parents". In fact, he hated everything about "Malfoy". He hated everything about Slytherin. He hated the cold colours, the cold talk, the cold relationships, the cold house… everything seemed so cold. And yes, this was just a "house" – not a "home". His father returned only late at night, and hardly spoke to him. He had to serve the Dark Lord of course.
He hated those mudbloods, half-bloods and Muggle - loving fools. He hated them, because he so desperately longed to be like them, though he never said so. Everything wasn't so cold about them. They had warm relationships, and, bloody, warm common rooms. Slytherin common room was as good as the dungeons! So he hated them… hated them for what they were. A sarcastic smile came upon his face, as he realized he had been on a hating campaign. It wasn't new to him. Another sarcastic smile came upon his face, as it dawned to him that Azkaban was probably better than this bloody hell of a "home".
And his mother, or supposed-to-be, with all her dainty, fashionable and sophisticated airs. He knew what she really was like, and nothing described her better than "cold". A third smile of the same sort took the old one's place, upon the almost white face. Everything seemed so bloody damn cold.
The glass table in front of the boy shattered into a thousand pieces in the next moment, when the fists came crashing down upon it. The boy's hands were covered with blood, and shards of glass cut into his knees. He didn't seem to notice. The fists were still balled up. His head was bent, his blond hair falling upon his forehead. The nerve of his clenched jaw, which had begun to show when the door closed, was now pulsing.
The first drop fell on the hard, cold marble floor. Draco Malfoy watched, as one after another slowly fell, glistening like diamonds in the pale moonlight. The drops came faster as he realized it was too late to get out.
And he realized… that he was trapped.
A/N: review if you like/want to. but i hope you do. and hope you enjoyed this too.