"What do you mean by that?" Harry growled, feeling as though everything was falling apart since the collapse of DA.

"We mean we're fucking off, mate," George shrugged, smirking from ear to ear.

"What's the point in staying?" Fred added, his smirk equalling his twin's as he landed a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder. "And thanks to you, we've got enough gold to start up our business."

Harry closed his eyes and groaned. Molly was going to throttle him with her bare hands and then shove his broomstick right up his arse.

"Look," he desperately tried to reason, "we only have a couple of months of the school year left. Surely we can work this out-"

"No can do," George shook his head. "We've already signed on the shop. We move in tomorrow."

Harry experienced a flash of anger. Why did everyone leave him? First his parents went and died on him, then Dumbledore let Umbridge drive him away, and now this. And not to mention Cho who dumped him simply because he had arranged to meet up with another girl for a drink on Valentine's Day.

Pah - he could do without such a needy bitch in his life, anyway.

His thoughts briefly flashed to Draya and his stomach gave an unexpected twist. It was her fault his army had fallen apart. If only she would just stick her nose out of his things. She may be stunning and beautiful, but that's all she had going for her.

Oh, and her hair. She had lovely hair which he longed to tangle his hands in... so shiny, soft and bright. And she smelt heavenly, like peppermint and freshly mown grass... and she had a voice that would make angels weep.

Yes, but apart from all that, he despised her. That vile, rotten, sexy bitch.

"You alright, mate?" Fred asked, giving him a strange look. "You're grinding your teeth again."

"It's just my scar," Harry gritted, thinking only of a certain white-blond haired Slytherin, "it's been giving me nothing but grief and mixed messages from day one in this fucking school."

"Your scar?" George looked worried, frightened even. "Mate, you don't think it's got anything to do with that mass breakout from Azkaban?"

Harry blinked. Breakout? What?! When?!

"Yeah," Fred said darkly, "ten of 'em broke out last night. It's what's prompted George and I to decide to leave - reckon the world needs a laugh right now."

"Well that's hardly a sensible approach!" Hermione bristled, clearly having been eavesdropping from behind her copy of 'Kounting with Krum: numbers have never been sexier!', "dangerous killers on the loose ready to attack from the shadows, but rather than educate yourself on learning about spells and magic, and other useful things that Hogwarts can teach you to help defend yourself, you're busy out selling fart powder!"

"Hmm, fart powder..." George said thoughtfully, stroking his chin, "not a bad idea, Hermy..."

"I'd buy some!" Ron said eagerly, hurrying over to join the conversation by the common room fire. "Sprinkle it in Snape's pumpkin juice at breakfast. Would make double Potions first thing on a Monday morning a laugh."

The twins high-fived him. Hermione tutted.

Harry zoned out as fart powder discussions continued, his attention caught by an abandoned copy of the Daily Prophet on the coffee table. On the front page were ten individual pictures of the escapees, with the biggest one of the lot showing a crazed looking, bloodthirsty, witch.

Harry's blood boiled in rage as he immediately recognised her...

Draya Malfoy's auntie.

*****

"Like I said, I was just a baby when she got locked away so I really don't know her."

It was all anyone would talk about: my crazy convicted aunt on the run. I mean, it made me suddenly quite popular, with people wanting the dirt on what it was like being the niece of a complete psychopath.

"Do you think she's hiding at your house?" Daphne asked, her eyes wide and fearful. "Oh Dray, how will you ever sleep? Or is she the kind of aunt who leaves a lipstick mark on your cheek and tells you how much you've grown since she last you?"

"As I said - I don't remember."

I was getting really fucking sick of repeating myself.

"Oooo," Tracy joined in, pointing to Bellatrix on the Daily Prophet's front page. "She has the most gorgeous dress... so gothic! Where does she shop?"

"And I like her hair," Millicent agreed, nodding energetically. "Do you think they have a hairdresser in Azkaban? It looks so lush. I wish my hair would curl like that - it just goes frizzy. Sigh."

I pushed my unfinished bowl of broccoli and Stilton soup to the side, no longer hungry.

"Why do you think they broke out?" Pansy asked, for some reason looking at me. "Reckon they're after Potter? I mean, they are all Death Eaters, aren't they? Reckon they must be pretty pissed at him for killing their boss, huh?"

I said nothing, but instead exchanged dark, uneasy looks with Theo, Crabbe and Goyle.

"You know what," I said, swinging my legs over the bench. "I think I'm going to catch an early night. It's been a long day and I'm kinda beat-"

There was a loud clutter as Crabbe and Goyle obediently abandoned their dinners and jumped to their feet. I waited for them to take their positions either side of me before I began to sweep across the Great Hall, my head held high as I passed the gawping tables.

All eyes were on me, and I rather liked the attention.

But my good feeling quickly evaporated as we happened upon Harry Potter leaning against a gargoyle in the Entrance Hall. He did not notice us because he was too busy chatting to the Weasley girl, who was giggling loudly at something he had said and flicking back her red hair. I glared.

Why did girls fancy him? And boys, I thought wryly as those creepy Creevey brothers came skidding around the corner with their cameras flashing in his direction ("Say cheese, Harry! This one's for our Grandma!").

Harry Potter was a complete narcissist, arrogant twatface who thought everyone should give him special treatment just because he had an ugly scar on his forehead. No wonder Voldemort wanted to kill him.

The boy who was fighting for love. Pathetic.

"Do you think I'm unlovable?" I asked out loud the second we stepped inside the empty Slytherin common room.

I whirled around to face my companions, and could sense their immediate panic.

"Uh- why do you ask?" Goyle grunted, exchanging alarmed glances with Crabbe who was nervously scratching the back of his bright red neck.

"I- said-," I said slowly and deliberately, "do- you- think- I'm- unlovable-?"

"I dunno," Crabbe shrugged, "never thought about it, I guess."

"I mean it's not to say you're not hot," Goyle instantly jumped in, going as equally red as Crabbe. "You know... you've got, uh- um, nice curves and um- the like."

"And pretty eyes," Crabbe nodded, punching his friend in the arm, "yer eyes, they're like... uh- diamonds. All sparkly and stuff..."

I folded my arms across my chest, narrowing my 'diamond' eyes. "I'm not talking about attraction, I'm talking love. Merlin, I swear sex is all boys think about."

Crabbe and Goyle quickly shook their heads, faces full of fear.

"No- no," Goyle rushed out, "you're getting us all wrong. We don't think about sex. Not with you, anyway."

"What?!" I spluttered angrily, unfolding my arms and placing my hands on my hips as I stomped my foot. "That's even more insulting!"

At this point, both Crabbe and Goyle looked ready to runaway and take their chances in the Forbidden Forest for all of eternity.

"Can we- uh- can we go to bed now?" Crabbe asked, cowering under my glare. "We- uh- we need an early night."

"Yeah," Goyle readily agreed, already trying to side step around me. "Got an early start-"

"Tomorrow is a Sunday!"

In the end, I let them go. What was the point in trying to get an answer out of those buffoons anyway?

Sighing heavily, I sank down on the sofa and pulled a discarded newspaper towards me. My mad aunt cackled up at me from the front page, her face manic and mocking as she stared directly into my eyes, which terrifyingly resembled hers - diamond eyes. Ha ha, little niece, her eyes were saying, you think people like us are capable of being loved? Think again. It's not, and never will be, in our blood.

That night, my sleep was haunted by dreams of my aunt chasing me through Malfoy Manor's maze, her laughter cruel and taunting, singing 'No one's gonna love you! No one's gonna love you!' over and over again.

By the time she catches up with me, she has entirely morphed into another. With round-rimmed glasses and an angry lightning scar visible from behind his messy raven fringe: Harry Potter, clad in his Triwizard robes, would viciously grab me by the wrists and pull me up against him, face hard and green eyes fierce, taking all my breath away.

'You're unlovable, just like Voldemort...'

And that was when he would kiss me.

******