a buck tooth and a ferret

chapter 1.

I did not know why the urge to go and sit in a bloody Muggle park had suddenly descended on me. It wasn't as if I was deep in the arms of sleep; I had nightmares every night about the Wizarding War, and I woke up from each of them, screaming and covered in fine lines of cold sweat. It was just that the desire had come upon me inexplicably and now just refused to go away.

I grumbled to myself as I got dressed in simple clothes: a denim shirt, dark black jeans and Converse sneakers. I took a glance in the mirror and what I saw did not exactly surprise me. A well-groomed man of twenty with hair as white as sunlight itself greeted me. I ruffled through my ever well-set hair and grinned at my reflection; I rather fancied myself in Muggle clothing, as much as I hated to admit it.

Immediately, I reprimanded myself. Even though I was Draco Malfoy, a pure-blood, of one of the noblest and oldest wizarding families in Europe, after the war, a lot of my perceptions had changed, and most of the credit went to the bloody mud-. I stopped myself mid-sentence, to prevent breaking my vow to never use that word again.

Yes, I, former prince of Slytherin was thinking about Granger, best friend of Potty and Weaselbee. If I'm honest, even after so many years, I still failed to understand why the buck-toothed witch was still friends with Scarface and Gingerhead. She was way too smart for them, and had more courage and determination that I had ever seen. She was easily the glue that tied up those buffoons together.

And she was beautiful; I still remember how glorious she looked on the night of the Yule Ball, with her chocolate brown eyes twinkling, and a huge smile set on her face. For unbeknownst reasons, that image of her was burned into my mind permanently. Hey, it wasn't just me; every single man present there was gaping at her, and who wouldn't? She looked like a bloody goddess that night.

Shaking my head and sighing loudly, I apparated to the nearest park, and was extremely relieved to see that there was nobody present. I have always been a rather secluded person and I prefer cronies to friends, if I'm honest. They question little and after enough threats, they will bow to all your commands.
I don't understand why people bother with love; fear is so much better a motivator. Fear makes people respect you, and in my life, it was the only thing that enabled me to walk without getting mobbed or lynched; the only reason why I was still able to maintain some kind of respect and reputation for the Malfoy household; people hated me but also were death-scared of me, lest I hex them. Some even went to the lengths of saying that I would resurrect Vol-the Dark Lord.

Three years have passed, yet I dare not say his name. But one thing's for sure, he is not coming back. The day he died, I was hit was an excruciating pain on my forearm, from the removal of the Dark Mark. I shuddered after pictured it; that mark had cost me my beloved mother, and was the sole reason my father was rotting away in a prison in Azkaban. There were no Dementors there, but it was common knowledge that every prisoner was subject to inhuman tortures there. The last time I went to visit my father, he had gashes all over his face and he was in such a pitiable condition with his eyes having lost all of hope. I hated to admit it, but he was on the verge of losing his sanity.

I had never really loved Father. He was always cruel towards me, and in my childhood, I often wondered how my mother, the kindest and most beautiful woman I had ever met had fallen in love with this tyrant. Just thinking of her made a gash across my heart. I longed for her terribly. The only reason I hadn't ended my life during sixth year were because of the loving letters she sent me. She would write to me every day, and reading her words was my only source of comfort in the darkness that had enveloped me. She was the only beacon of light in my life.

The only reason I went home to Malfoy Manor every Christmas was to see her. I still remember her, standing in the vast grounds of the Manor, her arms stretched out for me. She always had a dazzling smile that lit up her face, and her eyes were so full of love for me. She treated me in a way I did not deserve, not in a thousand years. She was the only person in my life who had ever treated me with compassion, and truly cared for me. She was my rock; the only one that knew my fears and apprehensions, my deepest desires; she was my confidant. She still remains, the only person to ever see me cry.

A cold wind blew past me, and I felt something cold against my cheek. I had not realized it, but I had been crying. I was about to wipe off the tears from my eyes when I heard someone say, "Malfoy, is that you? And are y-you crying?"

I knew the voice all too well. It was one I had tolerated for years; the one voice that refused to shut up in class, and had all the answers, and her voice was usually followed with "Ten points to Gryffindor" or something ridiculous of that sort. She was an epitome, and someone everyone in the wizarding world looked up to.

The insufferable know-it-all. The bookworm, with wild bushy hair and front rabbit teeth. The smartest witch of our grade. A member of the Golden Trio.
Granger.