Disclaimer: Potterverse belongs to JK Rowling, of course. I only own the plot.
before the fire
Draco could hardly remember what happened next. All he knew was Dumbledore was still talking yet no sound seemed to enter his ears. His head felt drowned, helplessly struggling against the strong current of news he had just been presented with. He finally came to his senses when the portrait of Rudolphus the Rotund loomed up in front of him. Somehow, he had been excused by the Headmaster and had walked back to the portrait guarding the Heads common room and dormitories in such a complete daze he barely knew he was doing it.
Upon murmuring the password, the portrait swung open and he climbed through. The normally cold common room was surprisingly warm and a quick glance at the fireplace told him why; a warm, cosy fire was blazing merrily, illuminating the room with its dancing orange flames. Not stopping to wonder why exactly the firewood was alight in the first place, he walked over to the couch and sat down, his light bluey-grey eyes staring into the blaze.
The moment his body rested against the soft cushioning material, his thoughts came back to him full force. His parents were dead. His father had tried to break out of Azkaban and died. And because of some demented family curse, his mother had passed away exactly 24 hours later. 'It's all so unfair!' he thought angrily. Had there not been a curse, his family would still be intact. In fact ... no, did he dare think it? Yes. If it hadn't been for the curse, the Malfoys might not have been such muggleborn-hating pureblood purists.
Draco paused. Had he just wished his family had adopted a friendlier attitude towards non-purebloods? Or would the power of Voldemort be unavoidable anyway? And why should love be involved in the curse as well? Wasn't death a curse enough to break apart any man? He was living proof of a broken man.
Yes, he was never that close to his parents ... lovers of the dark side that they were. Yes, there was once upon a time the power of evilness had tempted, enticed and seduced him to weakness, to succumb to the false glorification of being a dark wizard just like his parentage. But, he fought to impress the truth into his brain, he was not like them. He soon realised how wrong it was. He soon saw how much the innocent had suffered at the hands of his father who so enjoyed torturing muggles he would often recount his countless twisted stories with such a look of mirth and satisfaction in his eyes that it quite revolted the younger Malfoy to the core.
No. He was not like Lucius Malfoy. He had been, in fact, the one to bring his own father's downfall, leading to his capture and life term in Azkaban. From then onwards he made a silent promise to himself that no matter what happened he would never turn out to be anything quite like Lucius Malfoy.
And yet .. he was forced to live his life out just as his father had. A loveless life or he would lose everything he ever owned. He knew the curse had not only included earthly possessions and he could not afford to lose his dignity. A man's pride of course, was the one true possession he could ever own from the start to the end of his life. And he was forced to enter a loveless marriage. How he hated the very idea of it. He now knew why it would be so easy just to stay cold, heartless and cruel if this was the empty life planned out for him. All because of a failed romance 11 generations ago.
"When did you get back?"
Draco jumped slightly, his head snapping up to see that Granger was standing at the foot of the winding steps leading to her dorm room, a huge heavy-looking book clutched in her arms. His eyes narrowed. He was in no mood for small talk, especially with his sworn enemy.
"What's it to you?"
Granger rolled her eyes, shook her head and stepped down, walking over to the couch. "You don't have to be so snipey, I merely asked you a simple question."
"And you think I should give you the satisfaction of answering you?"
"No but what I would like is the satisfaction of you leaving so I can finish my homework in peace." She sat pointedly on the other side of the couch and he now noticed the several large books, quills, parchments and inkwell scattered all over the coffeetable, evidence that she had been doing her homework before he came in.
"Of course. Homework." He snorted but refused to leave. Somehow knowing the fact that he was merely sitting there greatly annoyed her gave him some sort of amusement and God knows how much he needed a distraction.
The Granger girl looked up at him, frowning. "And I suppose someone like you don't have any homework at all? But oh, I keep forgetting," she lightly placed her palm over her mouth in mockery. "You're a Malfoy, you are just too important for trivial things like homework. In fact, how come you're not already owling your dearest mummy begging for all your homework to be done by slave labored house elves?"
Her spat was too much, hitting a raw nerve that had barely stopped bleeding a few moments ago. His expression which had bordered on entertainment now melted into that of hurt and fury. 'How dare she?'
In one swift moment he was on top of her, his hand slightly gripping her neck, his weight forcing her to remain helpless under him as he stared menacingly at her.
"Don't you dare," he began, his voice a low, angry whisper, "assume things about me, Granger. Don't you bloody dare think that you know me because you don't. And as for my mother ..." His grip tightened a little, eliciting a small whimper from her. "She is dead. So is my father. Are you happy now? You filthy muggleborns can bloody well sleep at night because there sure as hell won't be another Lucius Malfoy."
He quickly released his hold on her and stormed up the stairs and into his room, leaving a confused and rather hurt Hermione Granger half-lying, half-sitting on the couch in front of the fire.