been in the papers, after all. The news was probably everywhere by now. Draco knew Harry was not the sort to gloat over such a thing. That would have been preferable, actually. An excuse to punch Potter in the face might even make him feel a little better. But Draco knew the only reaction he would receive from Harry would be pity.
And that, he could not handle.
Draco felt like there wasn' t much hide left on him to insulate himself against the world. Self-pity was something he had never indulged in, though, and he wasn't about to give in to the temptation.
Damn it, he wanted Hermione. Where the hell was she? Why hadn't she stayed with him? Wasn't that exactly the kind of thing she was liable to do? Caring and coddling and whatever other soft and fluffy things girls like her did to take away hurts from the people they cared about?
He knew the answer even as he thought this. If they weren't at Hogwarts, he would be free to take her to bed and keep her there for a week, as penance for adding to his life's troubles. She could have been there with him now, watching him as he awakened. She would touch him, kiss him, distract him. He wanted to see his pain mirrored in her clear, brown eyes because he sure as hell knew he wouldn't be able to bear seeing it in his own eyes.
Draco avoided the small mirror over his dresser for this very reason. It was the last, official day of his schooling career and yet he felt nothing apart from irritation at the state of his wrinkled school pants, as he pulled them on.
His tie went on next, and still he did not feel the poignancy he thought he should be feeling. There was only so much intense emotion he could spare, he decided.
He had a made a decision before leaving Snape's office the previous evening.
It wasn't a difficult choice, but it was going to be a difficult task. Draco had little faith in the Ministry's brand of justice. He wanted real justice, not the kind the bureaucrats and the Wizengamot weighed and measured out.
He wanted revenge. It was the only thing that made sense to him. He would do this final thing for his mother.
Gods, it was going to be hard. He had no combat training other than duelling club, which was a joke. He had his brains, his reflexes and an encyclopaedic knowledge of minor curses and hexes. He was also a Malfoy. Surely that meant a natural talent for evil-doing. Would that be enough?
It didn't matter. He would find the people responsible for killing his mother. He would do it personally, even if it took him years.
They dared to touch his mother, he thought, with fresh anguish. Disbelief mingled with rage. Imprisonment was one thing. Assassination was quite another.
This was his father's fault. The pathetic bastard couldn't stop his wife from leaving him and then he couldn't offer her any protection after she did.
It was his fault as well. He hadn't bothered to see her after she had left the Manor. He had been too caught up in being hurt over her apparent rejection of him. Perhaps it hadn't been rejection after all. Perhaps she had feared for his safety and thought to put as much distance between them. No matter about the flaws in their relationship, though. Draco had never doubted that she cared for him.
Best not to dwell on her motives. It did not even enter into his head that Narcissa would not have wanted her son to pursue the matter of her death. These types of considerations didn't apply to them, to the Malfoys. And she had been a Black, to boot. Blood-vengeance would be expected. He owed that much to the woman who had brought him into the world.
His father had killed. His mother had stood by her husband, accepting, if not always understanding or approving. Yes. Narcissa would not fault her son for avenging her.
"Mother, wherever you are, I hope you're a hell of a lot happier than you were with us."
Draco did not worry that God would frown down at him for slipping a blasphemy into the makeshift prayer.
God had a sick sense of humour. After all, he had given Draco Hermione Granger.
**
"So," Hermione asked. "Are you going to say anything?"
It was after breakfast and Hermione, Harry and Ron were seated in her favourite corner in a deserted Hogwarts Library. Hermione felt