I should've known better.
But stupid me had to sit at the same stupid table in the same stupid house and eat with the same stupid fork and not realize that my not so stupid mother would notice I'm not the same.
Her hand is on top of mine. She has no right to pretend this fixes anything. Have you ever loved someone so much that you've grown to hate them? This life, this family, cannot be fixed.
I stare at my plate. Plates don't have faces. Plates are safe. We never will be.
Dumbledore's dead.
A/N: Draco has always intrigued me, like he's a layered person. This story has a double meaning. I hope you understand. Reviews are always welcomed.