Revenge is Merely Bittersweet

    Through a dusty and grimy windowframe streamed small beams of light, dancing upon a pale blonde Seventh-Year's eyes. He twitched and grumbled, but simply rolled over on the cold stone floor of the tower and stayed asleep. So, instead, the beams filled the depressingly dull tower.

    This time they did succeed. The Prince of Slytherin awoke, muttering swears underneath his breath. He had suffered through a long night, and he quite desparately needed rest.

    As the memories of Malfoy Manor, of his father, of the Dark Lord, filled his mind, the newly-cut Mark on his arm burned. Swearing a bit more, his right arm pulled up the silver material of his cloak to rub the scar. There it sat, gleaming at him, hurting him, mocking him.

    Pulling down his sleeve, he stood up sleepily and creeped toward the door, not wanting anyone to know he was up there.

    As he slowly walked down the winding stairs, the memories crept back once more. This time, there were new ones. His mother wimpering in the corner, his father smiling cruely as he saw the mark embranded, intimidating figures in black cloaks surrounding him, and the Dark Lord's slitty red eyes glaring at him as he slithered his wand down Draco's arm. The last one caused a shiver to go down his back, making him shudder heavily before continuing at a normal pace.

    A young girl in a portrait behind him giggled cruely as she saw him shiver; perhaps out of meanness, perhaps out of entertainment. Draco swung around to give her a menacing glare, his cold grey eyes glowing in fury. She giggled again.

    "What the fuck's wrong with you woman?!" He yelled, echoing down the tower's single staircase.

    "Oh, er, sorry," she said timidly. "I couldn't help myself; it's just funny seeing The Prince of Slytherin being frightened."

    "What's so funny about that, bitch?"

    "Um, nothing I guess. It's just, oh, I don't know..." She whispered as she behind a bush in the background of an adjacent picture, tears streaming down her face.

    "Good girl. Now fuck off, why don't you?" He growled as he continued his descent down the steps, even though he knew she already had.

    Back in the Common Room, Draco relaxed frivolously in a large green chintz armchair. He couldn't take his usual place on the couch; that was preoccupied by Parkinson already.

    Soon after he closed his eyes once more, he was awoken by fingers running through his hair. A small giggle sounded from behind him as he turned his head and shook off the jewelry-covered hands.

    "What the hell do you think you're doing, Pansy?! I've told you a million times, DON'T TOUCH THE HAIR!"

    "Sorry, Draco. I was bored, and I wanted to see if you were awake," Pansy continued giggling.

    "Yeah, well," he paused as he saw the look in her eyes, then continued a bit more gently, "next time just tap my hand or my leg or something."

    "Oh, um, okay," she said timidly as she sat on one of the arms of his oversized chair.

    "Potter would be pissed if he saw this, wouldn't he now? This is a little bit close if you already have a boyfriend."

    "Well, he can't see this, now can he? So I can do whatever I want."

    "This is a bit close for someone who's got a boyfriend and someone who's got an arranged marriage, dammit."

    "Wasn't your arranged marriage supposed to be to me?"

    "That was before my dad took a fancy to you. Now I'm supposed to marry Bulstrode."

    "That pig?"

    "Yes, 'that pig'. I would like to make it known that I wouldn't prefer you any more, though." Draco snapped, although he knew this wasn't completely true.

    "I've got to go change into my school robes, in case you don't mind," Pansy sniffed as she hopped off the chair and strutted back to the Girls' Dormitory.