Draco Malfoy was working his way through a stolen bottle of Ogdin's finest in the early evening. His father had been smirking all day and while Lucius Malfoy wasn't one you'd want to cross, a happy Lucius Malfoy was nearly unbearable. Draco's aunt had just escaped Azkaban but Lucius didn't really care for her so that couldn't explain his disturbingly good mood.
Draco's thoughts were interrupted by the tap tap tapping of an owl on his window delivering the evening news. Bile rose in his throat as the image of two corpses smoldering in the middle of an arson scene was splattered on the front page. According to the article there was no information on who the couple was, only that they were muggles and that they'd definitely been killed using dark magic. It looked like a random attack but Draco knew there was more to it. He could feel in the churning pit of his stomach that this was to blame for his father's behavior and no way was it random. He was on his way to toss the offending paper into the fire when movement in the photo caught his eye. A figure turning quickly and running from the scene in the bottom left corner. It was blurry because the figure wasn't the focus of the photo but he'd seen the way that mass of curls flew out in every direction before.
This had gone too far. It was absolute insanity. It was hard enough to ignore his father's psychotic extra-curricular activities when they were random, but this was someone he personally knew! Sure he was supposed to hate her, but Draco rarely did things the way he was supposed to. That's what earned him so many beatings. He needed a way out, and fast. The Dark Lord was alive and biding his time and building his strength but he wouldn't be safe for long.
On this day of all days, not only was the rum gone; Pansy was unavailable. Permanently, apparently. The last thing she said to him was some crap about being 'reborn' and refusing to disgrace her new found 'purity'.
And since when did Pansy bloody Parkinson worry so much about her fucking bloody virtue anyway?
And it certainly didn't help that every room he entered had a copy of the Daily Prophet featuring stories about the twisted acts of his own twisted father. Draco Malfoy was a despicable person but that only went as far as bedding any girl he could flash a smile at and being at least partly drunk always. He didn't hold a candle to the insanity that was his father or his father's psychos in arms. And to be perfectly honest, he hated the legacy he'd been born into, thank you very much!
Draco held the empty bottle tightly in his hand and glared at the empty fireplace, which had been disconnected from Pansy's floo. He snorted and rolled his eyes at his own outlook on his life and threw the rum bottle at the brick of the fireplace wall. He tripped on the edge of his floor rug on his way to the large oak desk, smacking his nose on the edge of it, and was promptly knocked out for his efforts.
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Hermione Granger was girl who had everything, then nothing. She knew when she did it that there would be no turning back. Yet here she was; a rather large pile of ash at what should have been her door step, cinders still flying through the air, and half burnt beams still crashing through charred drywall. She wasn't interested in any of this though. She stared at the slumped, blackened figures on the smoking, unrecognizable couch. She couldn't see properly. Tears of guilt over leaving clouded her sight. She didn't need to see it though. She knew it was them. And she knew that no matter the outcome of this war, she would live to suffer her guilt. She turned from the little home for a second time, wiping away tears, and in need of something to destroy. Merlin help her, she wanted to be evil for once; see how they like it.
