Author's Note: THIS WAS A BITCH TO WRITE. But I love the direction the plot's going to go. Bare with me, gentle reader!

The existence of Hell has been a heavily-contested debate for the ages. Some would have it that Hell is a ceaseless fire populated with demons to punish you for sins after life. Some say you reap what you sow and that every one of your merits and demerits is accounted for and comes back to you intensified. Yet more still say there's no personal Hell.

Draco Malfoy was personally in Hell.

The family Malfoy put on an impressive performance at the feast commemorating Lord Voldemort's defeat, but it was well known to all they had been crippled. With nearly of the Death Eaters dead or in prison, the masses of the wizarding world oozed with extreme admiration of Dumbledore's army. The fearful respect of the families that supported them was replaced with jeering, childish taunts by the general populace. A growing sector was religiously devoted to DA, and held a solid convection that all of Voldemort's supporters deserved to die.

These fanatics worried Narcissa Malfoy. She had experienced such fear that she would lose those she held dear already. She didn't need anyone to take any senseless risks going out in this turbulent social climate, not especially her little boy.

"Mother. I'm fine. I'll be fine. I'm an adult." Draco insisted. He may have been Narcissa's little boy, but he certainly didn't have any features to suggest that. He had a lithe, pale body, tall and slender. The heavy stress from the war emaciated his already waif-like form further. His prominent, sharp face was highlighted further. Much like his aunt Bellatrix, his appearance was ravaged by the Great War. He had bags under his eyes, prematurely aging him. He most certainly was still highly attractive, but he had the look of unhealthy.

"It doesn't matter how 'adult' you think you are, Draco. Do you know what'll happen if those maniacs see Lucius' Malfoy's boy out? They'll…" Narcissa's motherly consternation was cut off by her trailing thoughts of what horror may befall him.

"I'm only going to Borgin & Burkes. I'm going to see what's happened to our allies. It's for the sake of this family." Draco wearily replied. In all truth, he just wanted to get out of Malfoy Manner. He wanted to see a familiar face. He wanted to at least feel some reaffirmation that there was an iota of normalcy left.

"Draco, it's not safe out there! Are you even paying attention to the news? Why just two days ago, Vincent Crabbe went to Borgin & Burkes, and someone was there, saying the most horrible things about his son. It wa-"Draco brashly began to walk out of the room, enraged he didn't enjoy being reminded of his deceased friends, especially not Crabbe. These insensitivities further strengthened his resolve to get out of the house.

"Draco. Draco! DRACO!" Narcissa called out to him, to no avail. He was already gone. It wasn't so much he didn't know how dangerous it was. It was more so he didn't care. Life had taken a drastic downward spiral. So little of his former life remained. He wanted to feel just a little reminder that things would pan out, and this chaos would subside.

He stood in the fireplace, floo powder tightly in fist. He haughtily threw it down with the command of "Nocturn Alley". He stood, expecting the familiar green flames to carry him away. Instead, the flames merely crackled put as soon as they were formed. Maybe he just wasn't clear enough.

"NOCTURN ALLEY." Draco didn't have time for these menial idiosyncrasies. He threw the powder down harshly. The flames leapt, and then died, just as previous.

Draco, not wanting to tarry more than he had to, set on his foot. He'd just walk. It wasn't that far. He wasn't one to hoof it, being a teensy bit spoiled, but he had no alternatives.

Unfortunately, he had to step on the enemy territory of Diagon Alley to get to Nocturn. As soon as he did, the crowds ceased all activity, and locked a cruel gaze on him. A flapping of a bird's wings could be heard at that moment.

He returned all the stares, taking in the mutual hatred. Murmurs abounded. One bold wizard spoke up and said "I hope you drop dead. You and all your lot!" This was followed with utterances of agreement from the crowd. Draco said nothing, He was too consumed with repressing the urges of violence. He eventually made it to Nocturn, eyes tracking him all the way there.

Here the attitude was a little different. People were happy to see him as they could be; given the circumstances they were in. Some offered him small smiles, although he was in no mood to return them. A general air of sadness and worry lingered about.

He got to the dark, aged facade of Borgin & Burkes, and noticed the windows were completely covered. Not once in his life did he ever remember Borgin not greeting him or his father with the fearful adulation their reputations demanded. He walked up to the door and noticed a decree posted:

NOTICE:

The Ministry of Magic is posting a reward for any who can supply information on the whereabouts of one Aeneas Borgin, and all employees of this shop. Additionally, if anyone is found in possession of a Dark object, purchased here or otherwise, the offender will be brought to trial and fined.

Kingsly Shacklebolt

Draco's heart dropped to his stomach. He had no real personal connection to Borgin aside from business, but it was difficult to read this. Another part of life gone. He'd probably never see Borgin again. The little hope Draco had subsided. He was feeling more and more helpless every passing day.

He started back on the trip home, walking as fast as he could to avoid more harassment. He noticed that most shops on Nocturn had received cease & desists, and that several Ministry employees were in others, examining items and interrogating shopkeepers.

He dreaded passing through Diagon again. As he approached, he readied himself for the barrage that was to come. Curiously, not a soul noticed him. They were all giddy about spotting Harry Potter's girlfriend.

"It's so exciting! I will have a sock autographed by Harry himself!" A rather chipper wizard was telling his companion.

Draco had turned his head toward the source of the crowd. He saw them following a short, freckled girl with blazingly intense red hair. Potter's whore, Draco thought. Spending his money, enjoying her war spoils. He had to muster a lot of inner strength not to slap her in the face. Stupid cunt didn't do ANYTHING but cheerlead for Harry.

She noticed his glare. Draco held it, wishing he could express how much he'd love to see her and her boyfriend dead, her father at the hands of a dementor, her mother giving blowjobs for a handful of Knuts to feed her little bastards. She apparently sensed these thoughts because she put her head down, breaking eye contact.

Draco desperately wanted to antagonize her, ruin her gleeful parade. He thought against it, realizing he'd end up in Azkaban. And that wasn't worth it, not for Potter's whore.

Draco went home, feeling that flameless Hell more than ever.