Disclaimer: Jo Rowling's.
Physically, he has changed extraordinarily. His cheeks are pinched and sun-bitten, uncharacteristically red with the heat of summer days. He does not walk, he rolls with the heel of his foot sliding backward and forward over pavement and grass. You never can appreciate a graceful man's stride in his prison, the cold stone floors in the dungeons that wreak of failure and burned plastic. Surfaces like them encourage the brisk, robotic walks of stiff political figures and professors. If you want to see how a man really moves, watch him while he is too tense to impose his height and education, when he is too disillusioned to realize fully the impact pressed into young eyes when given a sight like black robes and a hooked nose.
The word 'school' exudes allure now that I am forbidden it. It is a necessity which I am denied. It's funny that I hated it so much as a child, Hogwarts, I mean, and being the brat of an ancient, proud family, was it really a surprise that I did? My home had always been vast and cold, and, as a child with an unblemished mind, raised only to believe the stern gaze of my father and my mother's compassionate hand, I had grown to love its barren halls and portraits with their standoffish blonde men and silver-eyed women. Hogwarts was radiant with warmth and tolerance and wholesome meals and gossiping students with Scottish accents and a partiality to vernacular slang and even more despicably attractive attributes. I loathed them with all my homesickness, but such trivialities now radiate grandeur.
My mother wrote me yesterday and remarked with some condescension that I had changed. Two months-I believe it is two months and three days now that I have endured my cabbage-scented Potions Master-with Severus Snape would change the most rigid of souls. I don't wonder why my father loathes this greasy-haired catastrophe anymore. He is forward, though not as presumptuous as he claims I am, and incessantly streams a torrent of indicative complaints. He makes snide comments about my "radical" and "extremist" opinions and personality traits. I tease him for having analyzed me so thoroughly, but he maintains that I read like a book typed in large, bold print and that make inquiries and mannerism-watching redundant. I was insulted.
That is what I told my mother. I have found myself self-aware and vigilant, and of better humor. I never renounced my family, and don't plan to; all I possess now is a less biased view of my ancestry's principles and religiously Pureblood marriages. The beliefs that run my mind have not vanished, Mother! They are just handling themselves differently. I am still her son, I am still Draco Malfoy, family has always been my topmost priority. Tradition. Honor. Malfoy; bad faith.