x-x-x-x-x-x

x-x-x

Hermione's body wracks with sobs, her cries growing in desperation as Bellatrix dips her finger under Hermione's chin and lifts her head.

"Not so pretty anymore, hm?" Bellatrix sneers, raking her nails across Hermione's puffy red face. Like untrimmed thorns, her nails leave thin scratches in their wake.

Suddenly, Bellatrix straightens up, dumping Hermione to the floor like a sack of dead fish. "Cissy, we don't really have a need for this filthy mudblood, do we? It's only Potter that our Lord has an interest in."

Oh no. Draco pales as white as a corpse, his heart hammering against his chest and his blood bubbling like boiling water. He fortifies his shields with an additional layer of protection. Bellatrix couldn't know, or Hermione would be dead simply to teach him a lesson.

His mother recoils ever so slightly— his mother is exactly that, a mother, and Hermione is someone else's daughter and the same age as her son— but the reaction is gone in an instant. Narcissa speaks her next words with measured nonchalance, "Now Bella, there's no need to be rash. The girl's mind may hold information that is of interest to our Dark Lord. Why don't we put her in the cellar for today? Now that the girl knows what fate awaits her if she continues to withhold information, she may reconsider her silence."

His mother's cool blue gaze roams over Draco, but he can't tell what she wants from him.

Bellatrix pouts. "But we have Potter and the Weasley boy for that, don't we? A few Cruciatus curses and they'll both be on their knees, spilling the beans or spilling their blood."

"No…"

The plea is as soft as a whisper, but she might as well have yelled them all the same.

"No…don't hurt Harry and Ron, please," Hermione's voice is a rasp.

Bellatrix whirls around, her eyes like ice. "How dare you speak out of turn? Disgusting bitch."

Hermione stares at the glittering chandelier with red-rimmed eyes. Her tears fall slowly, like glistening diamonds dropping against the black floors. "You can do what you want with me. Torture me, kill me. But please, I beg of you. Please spare Harry and Ron."

Silence settles heavy like a fog, but Draco's mind is churning at a hundred kilometers a minute. Does she understand what she just did? Hermione Granger had just signed her fucking death wish. What is he supposed to do? Can he talk his crazy aunt out of this? Should he grab Hermione and make a break for it? Where can they even go? They will both be hunted the moment he steps foot out of Malfoy Manor, but there are a few safe houses that can buy them time while they formulate a plan. Yes okay, this can work. Hermione is good at plans, granted she doesn't try to murder him at the first opportunity.

However, as it turns out, Draco doesn't need to make a choice.

An unnerving smile spreads across Bellatrix's ruby-red lips. Her eyes are manic like a rabid animal, and she barks out a laugh that sends chills up each individual vertebrae of Draco's spine.

"Alright then," Bellatrix's shrill voice is jarringly chipper. "As you wish. Filthy mudblood."

Jets of green light burst from Bellatrix's wand and Hermione is dead before Draco can do a thing.

"Draco— bloody hell mate, wake up! Draco!"

Sweat was everywhere. Slicked across his forehead. Clammy in his hands. Coating the bed sheets. Draco bolted up, gulping for breath as if he had been submerged underwater. Blankets tangled around his legs like a twine of rope.

Blaise sighed, moving to stand up from Draco's bed. "…Are you alright?"

Draco nodded mutely, but kept his eyes trained in front of him.

"You were screaming again…" Blaise carefully commented.

From across the room, Theo rubbed at his eyes. Grunting, he propped his upper body up with his elbows and blinked at Draco. "Bloody hell, Draco. I don't envy these nightmares you've been having. Was someone trying to kill you?"

"Something like that," Draco muttered. Unable to look at any of his housemates in the eye, Draco kicked off the covers and swung his legs over the side of his bed. He leaned over and rummaged for a white shirt, black trousers, and his boots. "I'm going for a run."

"Right now?" Theo twisted his body and checked the clock sitting on his night stand. "It's 5:30 in the morning."

"Yes. No use trying to sleep tonight," Draco replied.

Draco felt a hand grip his shoulder, and he jolted in surprise at the gentle touch. He peered at Blaise quizzically, Slytherins rarely touched each other if they could avoid it.

"Malfoy, you are literally running away from your problems. Don't you want to talk about it and get that shite out of your head? It's obviously not all sunshine in there. Even if you don't want to talk to us about it, at least talk to someone."

Draco jerked out of Blaise's grasp and scooted out of arm's length. He roughly shucked off his soaked pajama shirt and pulled on the white button down. "Oh? Is that all it takes? A warm and cozy chat around the fire and all these silly little murders and tortures will be out of my head? Dumbledore will magically come back to life, and with a wave of his wand, erase all the trauma and give us our happily ever afters?"

Draco haphazardly buttoned the first 3 buttons of his shirt, shoved his legs through his trousers, and stuffed his feet into his shoes, forgoing hunting around for socks. He heard Blaise scoff behind him, but the other boy made no move to hold him back.

"Fine, suit yourself Draco. Keep being an insufferable git. But once you push everyone away, you're going to find yourself all alone in a truly dark place."

Pausing at the doorway, Draco inclined his head back and simpered. "Blaise, don't you get it? I'm already there, and I have never left."

As he stepped onto the castle grounds, the cool morning air was like a balm against his overheated skin. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, a bright orange ball that lit up the night sky and brushed the bottom of clouds with pink dust. Draco paused, drinking in this tiny fragment of peace before he had to delve back into the dark labyrinth of his mind. Breathe in through the nose, breathe out through the mouth.

Draco ran— no destination or time limit in mind. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. Focus on the rhythm.

Two nights in a row of Hermione Granger. Once again, he had been nothing but a coward. Even his mother had tried to do the right thing, tried to spare Hermione in the only way she could. What was that look his mother gave him supposed to mean? What did she want him to do?

His dream-self had been prepared to throw it all away to save Granger…but why? It would have been utterly pointless, completely against his Slytherin senses of self-preservation.

Would it have been? After all, this is Hermione Granger we're talking about here. Her side won the war.

The unbidden thought raced through his mind so abruptly that Draco nearly tripped over his feet. Where did that come from? But like an unlocked door that wasn't completely shut, Draco's thoughts began meandering down an unmapped path.

He would Stupefy his aunt, followed by an Expelliarmus for good measure. He would scoop up Granger's battered body into his arms and rush out of the manor and out of the ward's perimeters. He would disparate both of them to…to the safe house in France. He would heal her wounds and rouse her awake.

And then she would scramble away from him and maybe even punch him, like the wallop he took back in third year. She would ramble on about how she can't leave Potter and Weaselbee and stay with a Death Eater like him.

And then she would be gone.

And Draco would be dead. Maybe his whole family would be too, and saving her would have indeed been utterly pointless.

Or…or maybe…

She would punch him, and it'd still pack a wallop, but she wouldn't scramble away. Maybe he would decorate the safe house with red and gold and tea and books and she would feel comfortable enough. Maybe she would ask him to come with her, and together they would save Potter and Weaselbee. Maybe they would free the prisoners from his dreaded cellar with his inside knowledge. Maybe they would live in some sort of furnished tent, he was sure Granger had something clever like that, and they would plot and plan and save the world.

Draco slowed to a stop, a wry smile playing at his lips. Maybe every single thought of her wouldn't have to be carefully sorted with a fine-tooth comb and shoved into a compartment, which he was about to do yet again. Because if this kept this up— and he kept seeing her, talking to her, and thinking about her— he was going to be haunted by her for the rest of his life.

He closed his eyes and arranged all these thoughts of Granger into a single file line, ready to march back to their locked door. When he passed the doors to the Great Hall, Draco resolutely walked past them. Skipping breakfast.

He descended the steps back to the Slytherin dungeons without meeting a single soul, and when he returned to his dorm, both his roommates were fast asleep. A glint of purple liquid caught his eye, and when he walked closer to his bed, saw that it was a calming draught nestled snugly on his re-made bed sheets.

The note attached to it stated: "Don't be a stubborn wanker and take this potion."

Avoiding Granger was going swimmingly well.

Draco slipped into classrooms seconds before their lessons started and was also the first one out the door. Sometimes, he dashed in and out of the Great Hall at off-peak hours, but he mostly hoarded simple meals and snacks in his trunk.

Frankly, he didn't go much of anywhere, becoming something of a homebody in the Slytherin common room and his dorm. But he wasn't bored or lonely or anything— he had found a hobby! Who knew reading up on ancient runes could be so fascinating?

(Oh, if his first-year self saw him now, he would have balked at this life.)

The nightmares didn't go away and the content was still just as unpleasant.

But at least Granger was no longer the star of all of them, and that was what he called progress.

"Dean? No…he's just a boy, he doesn't even know that I'm his father. Don't go after him, please."

"Well, Mr. Thomas," the voice says with the kind of silk that makes hair rise on the skin, "Maybe you should have thought of that before you so rudely refused to join our ranks."

Draco turns away as Dean Thomas's father writhes on the floor, blood gurgling out of his purple lips and dribbling down his dark skin.

He was ripped awake like a dead man being pulled out of the earth, and clumsily stumbled to vomit. After rinsing his mouth of the acid coating his teeth, Draco set out for his nightly run. He stuck to the path that clung to the walls of the castle.

x-x-x

The hearth doesn't have a speck of ash, so he speculates that it's probably only used for decorative purposes. Muggles don't use the Floo network, right? Draco peers at the picture frame perched on the marble mantelpiece of a sleek looking fireplace. It contains an unmoving image of Justin Finch-Fletchley sandwiched between two austere but elegant looking adults, presumably the Hufflepuff's parents.

Judging by the matching white-leather couches, glossy hardwood floors, and tasteful collection of muggle-art of the room he was standing in, Finch-Fletchley's family lives on the upper-crust of muggle society. If in some strange alternate universe where the Malfoys were muggles, would their home have also looked something like this…?

Screams and sobs reverberate in the next room over, shaking the array of glass pictures and knick-knacks delicately arranged in their living room. A porcelain vase shatters somewhere in the corner, delicate shards scattering like little knives.

Draco's hands clench at his sides, and his blood curdles at the knowledge that his classmate's parents are being tortured, and likely soon murdered, a scant 5 meters away. He hates being part of these…"events," in addition to finding nothing entertaining about the torture of innocents, another drop of black sin stains his grey soul another shade darker.

He groggily pulled himself to a sitting position and gripped at his heart, feeling like an icicle dripped cold water down from his chest and diffused to the numbness in his toes. After a trip to the loo to splash real water on his face, Draco set out for his nightly run. He decided to stray a little today, and circled the black lake more times than he could count.

x-x-x

Through the sliver of space in the open door, he sees his mother curled up on the chaise lounge. She's facing away from him, but she can't conceal her shaking shoulders; he watches as she wipes a tear from her eyes and pats at the corners with a handkerchief.

Never in his life had he seen his mother cry. It seemed like an impossible thing— like rain that wasn't wet, or a fire that wasn't hot.

Draco slips in through the door and cautiously approaches. "Mother…"

His mother clears her throat and straightens up, pulling on a polite smile that doesn't clear the misery in her eyes. The handkerchief disappears, and she folds her hands demurely over her lap. "Draco my darling, I didn't hear you come in. Is there something you need?"

"No…there isn't. Mother, are you alright?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?"

"Well…you're crying aren't you?"

There's a beat of silence. His mother sighs and her smile drops. With a flick of her wand, the door shuts. She mutters a Muffliato before gesturing Draco to come closer.

"Draco, I'm sorry that you had to see that…unbecoming display."

"There's no need to apologize mother. This…situation hasn't been entirely pleasant for all of us."

His mother twists her lips into a hard frown and shakes her head. "Draco, listen to me. You mustn't ever do what I just did—show weakness. You must always keep your shields up. Fortify them constantly. Never let them waver, even for a moment. If the Dark Lord detects even a shred of empathy for those whom he considers lesser, you will be punished without mercy."

Draco's silver eyes harden to steel. "I know, mother."

His mother heaves another long exhale, and he can see the rings of exhaustion shadowing her eyes. "At the core, you are not a bad person Draco. The circumstances and choices of your parents has led you to this current predicament, and for that I am truly sorry." Her eyes are a glassy blue, like the ocean on a cloudy day, and he sees the tears prickling in the corners again.

He wipes the tears with his index finger, but knows that he can't do a thing for her. A powerless human crawling on his knees against a monster. A useless son who can't protect his parents. A vulnerable teenager who is scared of all his choices.

For the first time, the act of waking up was a quiet one. A trail of tears tracked down his cheeks, sticky against his dry skin. He silently rubbed it off with his sleeve. Eyes open but unseeing, Draco lay motionless as he stared blankly at the inky black canopy of his four-poster bed.

After what felt like an eternity, but may have only been a few minutes, Draco reached into the drawer of his night stand and closed his hand around the cold glass of the calming draught.

Theo groaned, low and whiny like a petulant child, before flopping back onto his stool.

Draco rolled his eyes. "What now?" He peered into their cauldron, which now housed a bubbling orange liquid and smelled of a rotting bog. "Oh," he understood immediately, scrunching his nose.

"Malfoy, just how much leech juice did you put in? We just needed a dash! Bollocks, now we have to redo the whole thing."

"No need to make a fuss, Nott. It'll barely take anytime to redo," Draco muttered.

"Such a rookie mistake, Malfoy. You're usually better at potions than this. But I guess it can't be helped with those nightmares messing with your head. You look like shite."

Draco growled, but didn't take the bait. He had been swerving away from mirrors these days, though he imagined that he looked like a walking corpse.

"You look like a walking corpse," Theo affirmed rather conveniently. "Pale as a vampire. Eyes bloodshot to hell. Rail-thin, like a strong wind would blow you over. Hair looks a little greasy too."

"I didn't ask for your commentary, Nott," Draco gritted out, crushing the second batch of leeches with more force than necessary for the little creatures.

"Why don't you just take a Dreamless Sleep potion? Surely someone like you is quite experienced with making it."

Sighing as he weighed out the leeches on the scale, Draco replied, "How do you think I survived the war with the Dark Lord under my roof? I couldn't guarantee that I was occluding sufficiently in my sleep, so I had to take Dreamless Sleep nearly every night. Needless to say, that particular potion isn't effective anymore."

A bright laugh came from a table in front of them, and both boys looked up to see Granger smiling and waving her hand for a high five. After a brief pause, Blaise reluctantly raised his arm and high-fived her back. Lifting up onto his tiptoes, Theo leaned forward and peeked into their cauldron. He whistled lowly.

"Brilliant acid green. The textbook definition of the Shrinking Solution," Theo shook his head. "Should have partnered with Blaise, or better yet, Granger herself. Lucky Blaise, he's so bloody handsome that he can even get Granger on his side."

"Not you too. Why is everyone in this school so obsessed with her?" Scowling, Draco brusquely dumped the leech juice into their cauldron.

"Oi oi!" Theo jumped to his feet. "Don't go ruining our cauldron a second time."

"I'm not an idiot, Nott. It was a dash of leech juice. I bloody measured it," Draco calmly confirmed, though on the inside he was starting to feel anything but calm. All these sleepless nights had left his reservoir of patience as a shallow, dried-up pool.

"Maybe you should sit this one out," Theo suggested while mincing a daisy root. "You're no use when you're brooding."

"I'm not brooding," Draco snapped. Again, he wasn't brooding. Granger could befriend all the Slytherins she wanted. His all of 2 somewhat-acquaintance-friends could go join her bloody fan club too.

"She's looking at you, you know."

"What?"

Draco whipped his head towards Theo, though instantly regretted it when he saw Theo's smug expression. Bollocks.

But he couldn't help himself, and slid his gaze over to Granger, who was indeed looking at him. Once grey met brown however, Granger averted her eyes, instead taking keen interest in cleaning up her potions station.

Beside him, Theo chuckled. "Granger's always looking at you. It's hard to believe that you haven't noticed," he turned towards Draco with a lifted brow. "Something interesting going on there?"

Something warm and light fluttered through him, but Draco shuttered it away and crushed the feeling like a butterfly in his palm. He shook his head. "It's nothing like what you're insinuating. I'm Draco Malfoy, remember? Always to be suspected of anything with a whiff of evil. She's likely just keeping tabs to report back to the Golden wonder-duo."

The amusement slipped off of Theo's face, and he returned to his daisy roots with a sigh. "Malfoy, if you only see yourself as a bad person, then that's all you're ever going to be."

The books on the shelf were immaculate— not a single drop of blood. Not a single book cover creased. Not a single scratch on the polished wood floor.

There was not a single lick of evidence that he had been bloody and broken in this very spot just a few weeks ago.

Draco allowed a dry grin to twitch onto his lips as he walked away. Granger must have come running back to spruce it up after dumping him at the Hospital Wing— so it was about the books.

It's not like he was in the library because he was hoping to catch a glance of a certain someone from afar, no of course not. There was just a book he had to find pertaining to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration that would really solidify his essay. That, and Blaise and Theo were starting to get naggy about his newfound hermit lifestyle, as if they were much better themselves, and it wasn't his fault that other people couldn't understand the intrigue of ancient runes.

Unfortunately, even the world, or fate itself didn't seem to believe him.

As he rounded the corner, he was greeted with Granger sitting alone at a table, papers and books chaotically strewn about like she was investigating a crime scene. She glanced up at the sound of his footsteps.

Both of them froze as they awkwardly absorbed the unobstructed view of each other. Draco already knew he looked like shite— pale-vampire-bloodshot-eyes-rail-thin-corpse— and all that, but Granger wasn't faring much better either. Her brown mop of hair was a tousled mess, dark circles ringed her eyes, and her cheeks looked sunken, accentuating her ashen and sallow skin tone.

Still pretty, his clearly addled mind still thought, and a part of him wanted to fix this strange version of sad-Granger and get her back to her usual lively and swotty self.

And that was his cue to leave. Draco swiveled on his heel and marched towards the exit; he didn't need that book on Gamp's law that badly. After all, he could buy it from Flourish and Botts and have it shipped over.

A hand closed around his wrist and jerked him backwards, and he soon found himself face to face with Granger. Oh, he should have predicted this.

She narrowed her eyes and pouted. "I knew it, so you are avoiding me."

Draco snorted and put on his best sneer. "Why the hell would you think that? As if you're significant enough for me to actively avoid."

Granger didn't flinch. "I haven't seen you in 2 weeks."

"Yeah? What of it? In case you haven't noticed, we're not exactly chummy, Granger. Have you forgotten the last 7 years of our history? It's not out of the ordinary if we don't see each other."

Her nostrils flared and she made a muffled noise. Draco could practically hear the calming mantra she was repeating in her head to not lash out at him. Not that he didn't deserve it.

Finally, after a meditative sigh, Granger commented, "You don't look good, Malfoy."

"Ouch Granger, who knew that you'd be one to attack a man's vanity." Draco pressed a hand to his chest.

Granger rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. You don't look healthy."

"Neither do you."

Her eyebrows knit together, and she crossed her arms over her stomach. "We're not talking about me right now," her voice dropped an octave and something like concern softened her face, "…you look like how you did in sixth year. Like you were physically here but…not really."

Heat crawled up the back of his neck and he pressed his lips into a thin line. But he said nothing and waited for her to continue.

"I've read reports that there are still some Death Eater factions that have been active. They've been trying to gain more manpower and monetary funds. Rumor is that they're targeting wealthy, pureblood families," Granger gulped, and he followed the motion of her bobbing throat. She nervously tucked a lock of hair behind her ears. "Malfoy…is this a repeat of sixth year? What sort of things have you gotten yourself wrapped up in?"

His heart curled into itself and dropped to the pit of his stomach, churning and dying in the acid.

Draco should have known. Hell, he did know. He told Theo as such just a few hours ago. He was Draco Malfoy and he could never forget it. Draco Malfoy who was always going to be suspected of anything with a rice granule of Death Eater or dark arts or evil deeds.

How morbidly ironic. Even when he was already drowning, she found a way to make him sink deeper. A tiny logical part of his brain reminded him that Granger didn't know, and would never know about his dreams. It was reasonable for her to believe he was an empty black soul. After all, he hadn't done much to prove her wrong.

Granger had still been speaking, and he managed to hear the last of her words, "Don't get involved in things that will jeopardize your probation, or it really will be Azkaban for you. No amount of money or Harry's testimony can get you out this time. We can go to Professor McGonagall. Or...I don't know, there are always more ways around bad situations then what it may initially seem like. I can…I can help you," she tried to say bravely, but she had lost some of her steam as he stewed in silence, his glower never slipping off.

"You…can help me?" A wall in Draco's mind cracked, a fissure starting from the top and spiderwebbing with a sickening crackle. He advanced towards her— she gasped and stumbled backwards, colliding against the table she had vacated— and he placed both of his arms beside her, caging her in. Fear flashed across her eyes, which had grown wide like a doe's, and he could see his own shadowy silhouette reflected in them.

Draco lowered his head and whispered into the shell of her ear. "Why would you give two shites about me? Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater, isn't that right?"

Granger shivered under him and her hot breath exhaled onto his neck, he could feel her every tremble as he pressed against her. Despite his anger and the circumstances, he couldn't help but lean into her—she was warm and smelled quite nice, like ink and parchment with a hint of vanilla— and even if his mind was incensed, his body craved the reassurance that Granger was real and alive and not cold on his manor floor.

A harsh shove at his chest had him lurching backwards, and on instinct he reached for the table to steady himself. He managed to latch onto a piece of paper and tore it out of Granger's pile.

Draco looked down at what was in his hand. He blinked. This was…

He stepped past Granger and pulled another piece of paper. His eyes slanted, grey eyes clouding like a storm.

"Don't—" Granger started to say, but it was to deaf ears.

Paper after paper was yanked into his hands, until he upended her bulging portfolio and a waterfall of papers tumbled and splattered across the table like dead leaves.

Confusion Amidst Harry Potter's Defense of Draco Malfoy – Bribery? Blackmail?

Wizarding World Upset: Youngest Death Eater Draco Malfoy Walks Free

Forgiveness Gone Too Far? Hogwarts to Allow Return of Death Eater Children

Lucius Malfoy Sentenced to Twenty Years in Azkaban, Narcissa Malfoy from Socialite to Shut-in

Inside the Malfoy Manor: Headquarters of the Greatest Evil, House of Tortured Souls

Images of himself shuffled amongst the pages; he was washed out in pale grey, and his tall, gaunt frame didn't help him look less like a villain. His parents and the Manor occasionally flickered into view as well, doused in the same stoic depression as himself.

His breathing came out in shallow breaths, and for some terrible pathetic reason, he could feel the pressure of tears pounding behind his eyes.

"What the fuck is this Granger?" He spat, his throat constricting as he struggled to swallow down a sob.

"Malfoy, it's not what you think," she protested, but shrunk under the sharpness of his glare and worried at her lip. At least she had the sense to look at least a little remorseful.

"Not enough that you won Granger? You wanted to collect all the evidence of it too? Frame up the evidence of me and my family's suffering and hang it up in your room?"

"No! That's not what I was doing." Granger stamped her foot.

Draco laughed darkly, running his hands through his hair. "I don't know why you're bloody dancing around it. Don't tell me snooping on my misery is just a simple hobby of yours. Go ahead, tell it all to my face. Tell me that I was a bully that made your life a living hell for no damn reason and that I've barely begun to pay for it. Tell me that you hate me for being a slimy Death Eater and that you want me to be haunted by my choices. Tell me that I deserve every torture that comes my way for doing absolutely nothing during your torture," Draco's voice cracked to a sob. Sweat drenched his entire upper body and his face shined with perspiration. He shook so hard that he released all the papers in his hands. They fell from his fingertips with a quiet flutter.

Hot tears slipped down his face, and if he was in a different state of mind, he might have been more mortified that he was crying in front of Granger of all people.

"It's not like you could ever believe that I could be haunted by the war just as much as you," he said softer than he knew he could, his voice as fragile as glass.

Granger didn't say a word, but her deep brown eyes shined with sadness and he absolutely hated it. Hated her. She took a tentative step and reached out for him. But as the tips of her fingers grazed his wrist, she pulled back. Her hand fell loosely to her side.

"You're not involved with the Death Eaters," she stated as a fact.

"Oh, looks like the brightest witch of her age earned her title," Draco replied. With a hasty swipe of his sleeve over his eyes, he stalked out of that damn library.

x-x-x-x-x-x

x-x-x

Author's Note: I like to do these things where I provide a little character analysis insight at the end of certain chapters, mostly because I have a lot of thoughts and no one to ramble to. But if you don't want any of that and want to interpret the story at your own pace feel free to ignore.

x-x-x

Draco is the type of character that "learns their lessons" from first-hand experience and it won't sink in until he makes the mistakes himself. He's an interesting antagonist character that he feels a range of emotions quite strongly— in canon, his actions have been instigated out of jealousy, spite, fear, pride, and plain pettiness, but he also genuinely loves his parents, making him an unusual villain to feel things on both ends. With this combination of traits, Draco will be hit hard by the war as this is the first real time the "talk" has become the "walk." Especially concerning Hermione, whom he can't pretend was a faceless nobody nor deny that he played a heavy hand in bullying her himself. I thought it was important for these initial chapters to "show not tell" the mess in his head, along with having Hermione not quite realize that Draco himself, is also a young teenager from the same war.