Once a snobbish prince, spoiled by his family and blinded by his once hatred toward Harry Potter, having raised to do so, he had begun to have a change of heart. Though there was problems to fix. He was still a Death Eater. He still had the Dark Mark, after all. He needed to make things right between him and Potter, he just.. he didn't know how to, exactly. What was he supposed to say? 'Hey there, Potter. Looking good. Anyways, I'm a Deather eater who's been assigned to kill Dumbledore, but no biggie. Oh, I also have been marked by Voldemort. But we can be friends, right?'. That was horrendous.
But now was not the time to be like this. He still had an underlying sense of bitterness to Potter, but it was not as intense. He wanted to try again... to make it up to him. To be... friends. Jesus, Malfoy. You've got soft. He scolded internally, scowling. He sat in the guest bedroom that Molly had so kindly offered up to him, sitting in the bed and staring out the window quietly. Draco sighed softly, he hadn't said a word since he came through the door. His mind was still reeling from the chase of the Death Eaters. Luckily everyone made it out alive, at least Lupin thinks so. He says a few people are still needing to return, though. Draco bit his nails, his leg bouncing. "Ugh," he mumbled, fiddling with a blonde lock. He felt so.. so worked up. Each time he attempted to conversate with Harry, he just snapped. The old bitterness inside of him rising up despite himself. He either snapped or froze up, like a deer. Every. Single. Time. But Potter was patient. Understanding. It was kind of.. comforting?
The door opened slightly. Draco's head snaps up, silver eyes widening slightly as he registers the voice. His entire body stiffens—half in surprise, half in instinctive defensiveness. "Harry James Potter." He says flatly, fingers pausing mid-fidget with his hair. A beat of silence passes before he adds, "What do you want?" His tone is guarded but not outright hostile.
