Mudbloods and Dragons

Hermione descended the stairs leading from the Gryffindor Tower. It was December now, crisp and cold as ever. She peered out a rather huge, octagonal window which showed the bold night sky. It appeared to be snowing ever so lightly; little flakes blowing back and forth as the wind howled noticeably.

Life at Hogwarts was different now that the war had started. The war...how could something she never imagined arrive so quickly. Harry had left almost as soon as it commenced, leaving a broken Ron behind. Hermione tried to comfort him, she really had. But it simply seemed as if Ron was missing a part of his soul. A lot of the Gryffindors, including herself, Ron, and Ginny, were constantly worrying about Harry. It just wasn't something they could get used to. They really missed him; it was a burden most of them carried.

One person, however, had been simply delighted Potter had run off to save the world and such propaganda. In regard to certain cases like these (Scarhead's departure), Draco Malfoy permitted himself to be immature. He had always unabashedly hated Potter since first year, when he had rejected Draco's proposal of friendship. Like he needed stinking Wonder Boy as a friend, anyway. Although he allowed himself to chuckle about such things, the war had affected Draco in many ways. His father was in Azkaban, and everyone in Slytherin knew who's fault that was. People had a lot of misconceptions about his father, and sometimes they weren't all that false. Draco missed him. He truly missed his father. He would never admit such a thing to anyone, not even his mother. Lucius Malfoy had been there to keep the family in order, and Draco was aware of what was expected of him. His father was that thread in the braid that locked the family together, the center and most important string. Now that Lucius was locked far away in a cell, on some remote island, that thread had broken; hence causing the rest to fall around him. But they struggled, Draco and his mother. It just wasn't the same.

The week before, Lucius himself was to be given a trial, to see what his sentence would be and whatnot. He made sure his mother would send the results by owl the minute she found out. Draco firmly believed his father would be freed, no doubt about it. Lucius had connections. Enough said. And if his father was not freed, he would most likely be given another week stay or so, but nothing longer than the time he had already spent there, which had been much too long for Draco's liking.

Draco sat on the floor of his room residing in the Head's dormitory, gazing sternly out into the cold and starry night. He hadn't exactly expected the owl to come that late at night or this early in the week, but he was most pleasantly surprised when the owl startled him by pecking madly at the window.

"Hold on, you bugger!" He quickly stood up and opened the window hurriedly. He had untied the letter in less than five seconds, not bothering to close the window. He was too intent on finding out his father's fate.

After reading, he stared numbly at the letter, as if disbelieving. He crumpled it up and threw it out the window angrily, letting out a wild yell. Draco took the object closest to him, that being a relatively small vase, and gave it a huge hurl across the wall. With a resounding crash, it fell to the floor in pieces.

As he stomped pompously out of his room, the words "10 years..." drifted from his lips as if he didn't realize he was speaking them.