In the corridors of Hogwarts, with the dim candlelight reflecting off the stones of the old school, Draco walked silently, his wand resting in his hand. He had finished his potions class, and though the crowd of students passed around him, he did not see them. The weight of his family's expectations rested on his shoulders like a shadow.

As he moved down the empty corridor, her mind churned. The image of his father, ever firm and controlled, and the constant pressure of being the Malfoy heir, kept him tethered to his own thoughts. The murmurs of the Gryffindor students followed him, but he ignored them, with his usual disdainful expression.

He paused in front of one of the large windows, gazing out at the deserted courtyard beyond. The moon was shining brightly that night, illuminating the castle with a silvery light. In his eyes shone a mixture of uncertainty and determination.

“What am I supposed to do?” he muttered to himself, in a barely audible whisper, though no one was around to hear him. The words floated in the empty air, as the wind outside moved the curtains slightly.

He knew what was expected of him. Yet, for an instant, he hesitated, a feeling he rarely allowed himself to experience. The image of his mother appeared in his mind, her expression worried, as if she feared for her son's future.