"You will kill Albus Dumbledore, without mercy." Voldemort's cold voice echoed in Draco's ears. "You will kill him, you will enjoy it, and you will forever remain loyal to me." He remembers Voldemort grabbing his chin, forcing Draco to look into his angry cat-like eyes.

Draco braced his hands against the cold ceramic of the sink and sighed heavily. He couldn't do it. He didn't hate Professor Dumbledore enough to kill him. He couldn't think about killing someone, let alone actually going through with it. Why him? Why couldn't it be Snape or his father? Why not Bellatrix? She hated him enough anyway. He ran a hand through his messy white-blonde hair and looked into the mirror. The boy looking back at him looked nothing like Draco Malfoy. He looked haggard and disheveled, so unlike the usual tidy young man who held his chin up with a profound sense of pride, pride that he should not bear. He didn't deserve to feel that way. If anything, he should feel sick of himself. Especially with what he was planning to do. His mind was frantic, thoughts of death and despair making his heart clench. He couldn't think straight anymore, he couldn't see clearly. Soon, the tears he so desperately held back fell, trailing down his cheeks and over his neck. He tried to keep his sobs muffled but with no luck, soon he was gasping trying to get air in between sobs. He felt pathetic. Completely and utterly pathetic. Had someone seen him in this way, his reputation would be ruined.

He'd grown up to hate muggle borns and half-bloods, he'd been taught that they were unworthy to his pure-blood parents standards. He always looked down on those who were considered unworthy and made snide comments. But when it came down to it, he wasn't a heartless killer. He looked at them in contempt, but never once could he say he truly, and honestly wanted them to die. Sure, he hated them; but he didn't think they deserved to die. No, they deserved to grow up and live a full life, a life that would be more glorious than his own. From what he could see, he knew his future held a lot of misfortune, death, despair, and heart-break. He knew he couldn't avoid it, for he was afraid to ever go against his lord's or his father's wishes.

He wanted to stand up for himself, but how could he with the risk of death or worse? He wanted to march up to his father and tell him he refused to kill Dumbledore and that he refused to be dubbed a heartless killer. But he couldn't, because he was a coward. Nothing but a pathetic follower, unwilling to make a name for himself.

He wanted to be more than a Malfoy or a Death Eater. He wanted to be someone people looked up to and admired for the good things he wanted to do, not the bad things he was coerced to go through with. He wished he could be more and he wished he could just live a normal life. He wanted to be more than what people expected of a Slytherin.

He couldn't go through with it. He didn't care what his parents thought anymore, he wanted to get away from it and go to school like every other normal wizard. He didn't want anyone to force him to do anything, he wanted to live by his own free will, not by someone else's choices. He wiped the tears away from his eyes and sniffled. His eyes were red and puffy from crying and his body felt weak. He felt like he could fall asleep and not wake up for weeks. He slowly walked out of the bathroom and down the corridor, hoping Mr. Filch wasn't anywhere near. The corridor was quiet, aside from Draco's dragging footsteps.

"Malfoy. What are you doing out so late?" an annoyed female voice broke him out of his daze. He turned around and scowled at the bushy haired Gryffindor.

"Not now, mu-Granger." he stopped himself from calling her that cursed name. She huffed and crossed her arms.

"No. You're supposed to be in your common room, not wandering the halls."

"And why are you out here, then?" he sneered.

"... Well... That's-"

"Exactly." he began walking away again, using the wall for support. He heard footsteps behind him as Hermione followed him.

"Draco... Are you ok?" she asked her voice filled with genuine concern.

"What's it to you, Granger?" he asked curtly.

"I-I just... You look really tired..." she said looking down. He looked at her and sighed.

"I'm just stressed..." he replied hesitantly, hoping she wouldn't ask any further.

"About...?" she asked curiously.

"Nothing. Look, I'm going sleep, goodnight." He walked off before she could reply.

"Wait!" she called after him and ran up to him. She stood there, awkwardly close to him. He looked at her feeling confused. His heart nearly jumped when she touched his hand ever so lightly, the sensation sending oddly pleasant little shocks throughout him.

"What?" he whispered nervously.

"I know you don't like me... Actually, I know you hate me. But if you ever need anyone to talk to, I'm here." she spoke quietly her voice quavering.

"Yeah..." he replied. Over the course of a few weeks they had been getting closer and closer, something that he tried hard to stop. And in those few weeks he had learned more and more about the girl who he had, until recently, thought he hated. Looking at her now, many emotions started to bloom rapidly, making his stomach fill with butterflies. She nodded slightly and walked away glancing back at him to smile. "Yeah..." he whispered again, he found himself smiling as he walked back to his room. Somehow, knowing that the muggle-born was willing to help even after all he did, made him genuinely happy, even if it was only somewhat.

A/N: This isn't my best work I know. But I figured I would upload anyway.

Reviews are welcome. :)

& Merry Christmas!