"FUCK!" he roared as he slammed his fist into the wall.

Draco Malfoy was angry; angry, confused, and beyond common sense. He had not been prepared for this situation and he was unsure of how to handle it. A Slytherin was dead; he was Head Boy and a boy had been murdered under his watch. Not only did Draco look bad, but they had killed one of his own.

The boy's death came as a surprise to everyone, including himself. The murder reeked of Voldemort. He wondered if his father knew about this.

Of course he knows, he always knows.

Draco loved his father; he had always aspired to be just like him. Lucius Malfoy inspired fear and commanded respect; Draco idolized him, but as of late he was losing faith.

Since the Dark Lord's "Resurrection" his father had changed. He still inspired fear and respect, but he was also bowing and kissing the Dark Lord's feet. He answered to old Voldie's every beck and call, slowly turning into a shadow of his former self.

Draco did not like this turn of events, not one bit. Malfoys were not submissive; they were no one's slave.

The pain lacing through his hand reminded Draco of his present state. Blood oozed from his knuckles, the skin torn to pieces. He could easily take a potion or cast a healing charm, but a part of him wanted to bleed. A part of him felt it his fault that first year Conner Clowes lay dead in the hospital wing.

I can't very well bleed to death though.

Draco contemplated the complications the recent development afforded him as he walked to the hospital wing. No longer were Slytherin's garunteed immunity from Voldemort's wrath; being a pure blooded Slytherin did not hold the weight they had all thought but yesterday.

In the past few years Draco had discovered that he did not want to become a Death Eater. Since the age of five he had been told stories of the Dark Lord.

"The Dark Lord was sent to purify the Wizarding World, Draco. He will cast out the Mudbloods and the pure blooded will rule." Lucius had told him. Father had regalled him with epic war stories, glorifying the many battles he fought in. All the stories ended the same. "and the Dark Lord was forced to retreat, but he vowed to rise again and rid our world of the scourge of muggle borns."

Draco had dreamed of the day the Dark Lord would rise again and he, Draco Malfoy, would stand beside him, fighting the good fight. In time his childhood illusions had been shattered and his dreams were more likely to involve living on a tropical isle with a harem of gorgeous women.

"I am not going to wear black!"

Lifting his head in surprise, Draco was startled from his reverie. A pipsqueak of a second year was dressed in full Gryffindor regalia; school jumper, tie, trousers, even the bloody crimson and gold scarf.

"Those Slytherin's are Death Eaters and they deserve to die. No way am I going into mourning over a stupid Slytherin," he announce to the other students surrounding him.

How dare he!

In respect for the recently departed, Dumbledore had requested all students to wear there black robes. Draco had thought everyone complied, but apparently a few little Gryffs had opted otherwise.

Draco's determination to scare the boy to piss his trousers was interrupted by the arrival of sixth year Prefect, one, Ginevra Weasley. She came out of no-where, a blur of black and auburn.

Standing about 5'9", Ginny Weasley could present a fairly intimidating image. She was toned from years of Quidditch and had a razor sharp tongue. Draco had received many a verbal lashings from the sharp-featured red head and could not wait to see how she would handle the little prick before her.

" I would suggest that you go back to your dormitory and dress in more appropriate attire," her voice was calm and collected, a sure sign she was about to inflict severe damage. "The school had suffered a loss and we shall all act accordingly."

" He was a Slytherin! The less the better, right?" the boy whined.

The resounding slap of skin on skin echoed through the corridor. Ginny still looked calm and collected, but her eyes were clouded with malice. A scowl graced her full lips as she said, "Move your scrawny arse upstairs and change!" Her voice was laced with rage, and the boy, not so foolish as to disobey her now, skittered off in the direction of Gryffindor tower.

"I know you're there, Malfoy."

Draco moved towards her, fixing a scowl onto his formerly neutral expression.

"I wasn't exactly trying to hide."

"I suppose the little prick's lucky I came along. No doubt if it was left to you he would have been dangling out of the astronomy tower by now." Ginny said. She was not looking at Draco, but out the window nearby.

"Something like that." Draco replied. The dangling idea wasn't bad, he would have to use that some time.

"I don't like you, Malfoy. I think you are a right git and I hate everything about you."

"Feelings mutual, Weaselette." Where she was going with this he had no clue. There families hated each other, and though he did not feel the same animosity for the youngest Weasley as he did for her brother, he knew they weren't friends.

"We lost a student and for this week. We are not friends, but I'll make sure the my house stays in line; we'll all be wearing black this week." She uttered.

Ah, so that is what this heart to heart is about.

"I appreciate it. That mean we can go back to being mortal enemies next week?"

"Sounds about right," she muttered. "You might want to have that taken care of." She said, motioning to his still bleeding hand before she walked off in the direction of the Great Hall.

Draco watched her as she left, her hips swaying unconsciously. Though he loath to admit anything good could ever come from the Weasley brood, Ginny was a very beautiful witch. She had never been ugly, per say, but prior to sixth year he had paid he no attention. When they had first met in Flourish & Blotts back during his second year she was a little girl with a crush on Potter. He had solidified her in the little girl image until they met again in Umbridge's office. The impressive Bat Bogey Hex she'd cast had sparked his temper and afterward he had determined to make her life hell. Targeting someone really taught you a lot about a person, and Draco had learned that Ginny was, in fact, not a little girl anymore.

Shaking his head, Draco cleared his thoughts of Ginny Weasley.

Right, bleeding hand should be my priority here.

As thought his own hand could hear his thoughts, Draco felt a stab of pain shoot through his arm. He reached the infirmary without incident and found it empty when he arrived.

Bullox. I need some fucking bandages and a pain reliever.

Peturbed and impatient, Draco began pacing the length of the room. He was on his second circuit when he noticed it.

A sheet was laid over the body, but he could still make out the silhouette through the linen. Draco's mouth went dry as he ventured closer. He slowly brought his shaking hand to the edge of the sheet and slowly lowered it.

The boy's eyes were blank and the sight made Draco want to vomit. He couldn't be more than twelve and his eyes were dead. Draco had led him to the Slytherin common rooms just a few weeks ago for the first time. Conner Clowes had been hero-worshipping Draco just last week and now…now he was dead.