Take It in Stride

What Am I Doing Here?

It was early, five o'clock in the morning, but Draco Malfoy was wide awake. He didn't mind when he was hastily ushered out of bed by a grumpy wizard. In fact, he was somewhat relieved. All night long the same cold, antagonizing thoughts ran through his head. What he had done. When at last he had cried himself to sleep, he was restless. Turning over and over, he suffered horrible nightmares, watching his murders from a witness's perspective. He had forced himself awake at three o'clock, sick of the nightmares, sick of his conscience. He lay on his back, tracing splotches on the ceiling with his misty, pale gray eyes.

Now he was being led to a small room with cathedral ceilings. Inside was a thick, oaken table and benches of the same. Places were set for breakfast, each including plastic utensils, a tin plate, and a silver mug.

He sat down at the place farthest from the door. Staring at his plate, not wanting to attract attention, he listened to the sounds around him. People were shuffling in, all quite groggy. There was a scraping of wood, a banging of the tin plates, and half-conscious mumbles. A girl sat down next to him, not looking directly at him, but glancing out of the corner of her eye. A worried expression crossed her face, but faded away again. Draco could tell, this was who the voice had belonged to last night.

He at last looked in her direction and was taken aback. What he saw and what he expected were two very different things. He had expected a girl, rather large with broad shoulders and an unpleasant disposition. Fairly unattractive and slightly heavy. Draco had met enough "bad girls" during his life of crime to know the type. But this girl was different. Much different.

She was quite compact, not very tall and fairly skinny. She wore her long, chestnut brown hair in a pony tail high on her head. She was talking to someone across the table, and as she shook her head to disagree with something, her natural gold highlights caught the morning sun and illuminated her head. Her chocolate brown eyes, which kept shooting him sideways looks, were sparkling with life and enthusiasm. Her skinned was tanned, her cheeks pink, and even Draco who cared for no one, had to admit she was lovely.

Draco finally raised his head and inspected the table. All the detainees of Alpinloch were clustered around the table eating a measly breakfast of pulpy orange juice and soggy waffles. There were only ten of them including himself, seven boys and three girls. Aside from the girl sitting next to him, the other two girls fit his cliché impression. The boys were all tall and lean, their muscles bulging through the eggplant-colored detainee robes they now all wore.

He couldn't imagine he looked much like them. He was tall, yes, but apart from the trademark sneer he bore no resemblance. He was fairly scrawny from slight malnutrition, and killing muggles didn't require much in the way of muscle. He had no scars, his face was pale, not tanned, and his white blond hair was the only blond mane in the place.

"What do you know?" one of the boys said. "Blondie over there has decided to condescend to look up." A few boys laughed.

"What's your name anyway?" One of the others asked.

"Malfoy," Draco sneered, trying to match the other boy's tone. "Draco Malfoy." That set the place ablaze with laughter. The only ones to remain straight-faced were the girl sitting next to him and the guy sitting next to her.

"Back off, Toby," the girl snapped. "It's a name. Get over it."

"Well, it's just funny, you know?" he protested.

"Not really," she said, her voice nonchalant. "It's probably a family name. Did you ever think of that? He can probably trace his ancestors back to royalty living in a huge castle, while the farthest you can get is your muggle-born father livin' in the city dump." The table roared with laughter at her last, cutting remark. She glared at him for another couple of seconds, then returned to her half eaten waffle.

"Anyway," Toby went on, "What'd they git you for?" He spoke with a distinguishable New York accent and very expressive face.

"Unspeakable crimes against muggles," Draco rolled his.

"Yeah, me too. What'd you do to 'em? Me, I sold 'em explodin' toasters. They take it 'ome, push the button, and BAM! Funniest thing if they survive it. They come runnin' outta their apartment screamin' and yellin' like their head is on fire and their ass is catchin'."

"You're not half as bad as me, let me tell you that," Draco sighed. He wasn't sure whether he liked Toby, but he felt he ought to at least divulge the information. "I got filthy rich from killing them off."

"What?" Toby asked disbelievingly.

"I'm a hired killer. It's so much easier when you can use magic." Draco tried to assume the same manner as Toby had when he talked about the murders, but he couldn't feel the humor in tormenting muggles anymore. It was all gone.

"Shoot and I thought I was a bad boy," Toby countered. They finished breakfast in silence, then returned to their quarters.

Draco stared at the ceiling. He had had to divulge what he'd hoped to forget. He didn't really fit in here. He was from a rich family, he had a top flight education, he wasn't proud of the crimes he had committed. They had laughed at his name, at his demeanor, even made a joke about his hair. He wasn't the type for prison, but he was here nonetheless. As he flopped down on his bed, he wearily wondered, "What the hell am I doing here?"