Warnings: err, some angst? Oh and implied drug use, and theres a note on that at the end.
Disclaimer: I own only my thoughts.
Draco sat in transfiguration, bored-ly coloring all the o's on his text book. Transfiguration was fairly easy, well ok. No it was impossible, but it was all about imagination, and quiet focus, and restriction. And so of course, school children took ages to figure it out, but once one was threatened and the lives of his parents were waved around, being focused was something Draco could focus his fury into. And once you could master one transfiguration you could more or less master them all, and anyways he was trying to lay low. He could feel a weird camaraderie with Professor McGonogall, like his hyena wanted to sniff her cat (or something like that, but not like that), and he didn't want her noticing him.
Someone shoved past Draco's seat, knocking his chair, but he didn't bother looking up. He had too much to deal with right now and self righteous Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, and even the occasional Ravenclaw playing the age old classic of knock around the evil Slytherin demon spawn, well, they were below his notice at the moment.
He felt the overwhelming weight of the world eating at him again, and sulkily shoved his text book into Blaise' next to him.
"What? Some of us are trying to learn," Hissed Blaise, haughtily. But he was full of it, Blaise had always been gifted at transfiguration, and this simple spell was no problem for him.
"Blaise, lets do drugs. We've slept around, we've been drunk, and naked in front of everyone, we even tried gambling. Lets do drugs."
"Draco, you are aware that there isn't a methodical checklist of rebellion that you have to have filled out and signed by a professor to get into the seventh year."
"Afraid, Zabini?"
"No, I don't ever get scared. But where would we even get drugs? Come off it Draco, don't we have enough to worry about this year without adding to your list of shameful addictions?"
Draco gave him a dark look. "I am not-"
"Your blood is nearly one hundred percent coffee. Sometimes I fear that you aren't even human anymore, but some mutated, moving, talking coffee bean," whispered Blaise morosely, sadly surveying his friend, but he gave himself away with a little grin, moments later.
"Come on," wheedled Draco, prodding Blaise with the ink stained, sharp point of his quill.
"Draco. Honestly, can't we at least wait until the weekend or a party, I can't imagine getting to take Care of Magical Creatures is something we're considering celebrating."
Draco sighed, and went back to his reading. In all the sagas, all the tortured villains got to do drugs, or drink angrily. But when Draco drank he became some kind of friendly flirtatious monster, and that wasn't very villain in disguise. Then again, he though darkly, he would probably end up being some kind of loving fool when under the influence. And he didn't want to actually depend on drugs. Couldn't a boy get some romance? For heavens sake he was a werewolf killer villain couldn't he darkly do drugs and drink, and lead a sexually salacious life, and then die in a handsome and artful way preferably that wouldn't hurt too much. Apparently not, apparently he was doomed to be the too pale, non-romantic villain who probably gets mauled or something.
And the apparition was not going well at all. First off, he could only practice when he shook everyone off, and secondly, he had to go off the grounds to do it, which was dangerous, as he might get noticed. And then of course, there was his building reluctance to please the Dark Lord.
And being in control, and embracing his inner wolf, and so on, and all the rubbish that Gibbs, one of Greyback's werewolves had told him to do, well that wasn't working supremely either. Draco found himself resenting power figures, found himself oddly territorial of his friends, and couldn't help but want to protect first years. For the love of god, this wolf nonsense was turning him into an indecisive, moody sop who was tolerant of children's shenanigans.
And all this shape shifting made him feel about 600 years old, leading him to the conclusion that he was feeling Grandfatherly feelings towards the squirts of Slytherin. And that made him nauseated.
"What's he sulking about this time?" Pansy asked, leaning back casually so she was in earshot of them. She was sitting directly in front of them with Morag, but neither of them was paying any attention.
"My glamorous lifestyle takes its toll, Parkinson," said Draco, sniffing indignantly. Sulking in deed. He didn't sulk. He brooded. Handsomely.
"Glamorous? Draco, yesterday you were excited about astrological charts."
Draco ignored Pansy, and her subtle playful way of joking about his whole moon, time of the month dilemma and pointedly looked up at McGonogall, pretending to be enraptured by her complex diagram on the board.
Later, as they were leaving the classroom, Draco was nearly knocked over by an overenthusiastic hand gesture by one of the Weasley's, he couldn't be bothered to identify which one. Once, he would have gladly taken that as an excuse to fire off some hexes, but this year, when if he got overly angry about anything, he had a tendency to turn into a magical beast, he just shoved past, ignoring the cries of Gryffindor outrage and dismay.
He was shoving past the hoard of outrage, and he was actually sort of sure he could vaguely hear someone calling him, but the voice wasn't someone that was his, wasn't a Slytherin, or the one or two Ravenclaws he could tolerate, so he just kept rudely knocking people out of his way until he could reach the dungeons. It was lunch hour, and nearly everyone would be eating, and Draco needed to open the package he had gotten this morning. He locked the door to the sixth year boys room, and opened it carefully.
Before he could fully realize what he was seeing, he blacked out, swallowed into a scream of pain.
Authors note: A note on the drug use and rebellion: I imagine that Draco and his gang would be likely to try and rebel against their highly conservative and restrictive parents, and since they were brought up in a world, where there aren't that many consequences until of course this whole Voldemort nonsense.