As if it weren't hard enough for Draco to pretend he loathes them all - that all too eager Potter and his lesser pair of followers, they continue to pound their kindness at him. They get inside his head, and jab constantly at his mind until he starts to really hate them - for all the wrong reasons.
His father's intimidating owl seems to glare at him, prompting him to retrieve the angry letter that hangs from its scarred talons.
He tries to avoid the group of them as much as he can without affecting the life he is expected to live, which proves damn near impossible. The mudblood keeps looking him over with dodgy eyes - like she can see what lies beyond the raised chin and tightened brows.
Draco tries and fails not to cry at the next letter.
His father's already adamant demands keep rising. One more exclamation putting an abrupt end to an angry clump of words, and Draco thinks he'll brake. But Father only wants what's best. The very best.
He does what he can, gets his wrist marked ugly and dark, but all he wants is to stand among the insufferable friends, without a damn care in the world. He wants to be able to laugh with them and smile and not have to bother with what's expected and what's proper and what's not and whether it's what he wants or not. He thinks his face aches from all the crying and glaring and cursing he's been doing lately.
He's starting to think his father can read his mind, and shivers, realising he likely wouldn't be the only being with that particular ability.
Severus, quite inevitabl, finds him the night of that dreadful letter. He's known Draco from the beginning, and sees a scared little boy who has found himself far in over his head. He holds Draco nearly as tight as his mother should, but it's nowhere near tight enough.
Draco doesn't remember much after that, just being afraid and eyes - cold eyes that make him wish his were frozen like that.
He doesn't cry for a long time. That is, until he apologises to them - everyone he thinks deserves an apology - and saves Granger, Weasley, and Potter for last. Everyone just hugs him, and tells him they understand - it's almost like they pity him, a Malfoy. Maybe it would be easier if only they'd hand him the same treatment he did when he was hopeless, lost.
They don't, and he only has to cry of happiness. He no longer has to worry of what's expected of him. He uses herbs to heal others, but really only make up for the void he finds within himself.