It was cold when Draco Malfoy got out of bed. He touched the soft carpet with his feet, and looked out through his window. He looked at the tree in front of his house. He saw a nest of newborn birds. Draco watched until a larger bird came flying. The bird had worms in her beak, he saw her feeding her young. That was their mother, she took such good care of her little ones. Minutes passed, but Draco watched for a moment. He saw no other bird coming. "They will grow up without a father", Draco thought, "recognizable."
It had been a long time since Draco had seen his father. He left after the battle. No trace of where he was. Just disappeared. "Oh well, I don't know him otherwise", draco thought. When he thinks about his father, he feels no grief. He feels anger, his father hurted him. "I don't think he ever loved me", draco says softly to himself. "He made me the person I am today. A double of Lucius Malfoy. Do I want to be like him?" Draco wonders. "I don't know."
I never wanted to be like my dad, but still. For six years I knew about my father's plan. How he wanted to finish Harry Potter. A boy my age, my year. He thinks about the moment when Voldemort came back from the forest six months ago. When he saw the half-giant Hagrid walking out of the forest with Harry Potter in his arms. He lay still there, his eyes closed, his face white, lifeless. Something he had been waiting for over 5 years now hurts him. The fact that it was all his fault weighed heavily on him.
Walking to the mirror in his room he keeps thinking about it. This thought has been in his head for half a year now. It was all his fault. It was going to happen anyway, but if he hadn't made that damn closet in his 6th year, if he hadn't been influenced by Voldemort it might have happened later. Then Potter might still have been alive, just like his own friends who were horribly murdered by his own father! The same father who taught him not to pity, and certainly not for half-bloods like potter, mudbloods like granger, or blood traitors like the Weasleys.
Draco got up, walked to his closet. Thinking about these events, he took a pair of black socks from his closet. He put on black pants and a sweater. When he wanted to walk down the grand staircase in the hall, he could see it all over again. He saw Harry Potter and Ron Weasley again, being dragged to the dungeons. He saw himself standing in the center of the room. Bellatrix yelling at him to get out of the way. He saw Bellatrix hurl Hermoione Granger towards the center of the room. "I never liked her", Draco thought to himself, but he couldn't look at this. He relived it with every step he descended. He still remembers very well how he turned around to simply not have to watch it. He can still very well remember the screams. He heard in Granger's soulless cries how Bellatrix tortured her. He had never felt like this before. He had never felt so much regret. He felt all the emotions reenter. Draco kept thinking about this event until he felt a tear in the corner of his eye. "A tear for a mudblood? How is it possible", Draco thought.
When Draco finally reached the bottom of the stairs, he realized how scared he used to be of Bellatrix. You wouldn't think so, because why would you be afraid of your own aunt. But Bellatrix was no ordinary aunt, however, she used to enjoy practicing the cruciatus curse on him when he didn't listen. But Draco no longer has to be afraid. Bellatrix was dead. Draco realized that he was not at all sad about the death of his aunt, he was relieved. Lost in his memories and childhood Draco walked into the kitchen. Narcissa was sitting at the table but immediately got up and left the room when she saw her son enter. "She's probably going to the Ministry", Draco thought. His mother has been trying to convince the ministry for months that her entire family converted under the imperius curse, but Draco knows none of that is true.