Draco found a sneer playing about his lips unintentionally, and he found words he hadn’t meant to say spilling out of him, "It is to do with what you have  already done," he said coldly; Dumbledore sat back in his chair, his hands folded in his lap, his intense gaze fixed on Draco, "Does it matter  nothing to you, the harm that you have inflicted upon Harry?" he said harshly, "The damage you have done him, even now? Twenty years later?" Draco found himself leaning closer, the sneer becoming a snarl, "It is not  normal for someone to be as willing to sacrifice themselves as Harry is - to be so comfortable with the idea of dying that you walk towards it eyes and arms open. To believe that, when measured against others, you are worth nothing. Did you  know?" he asked accusingly, "Did you know he would grow up in a household where no one loved him? Where he would be treated with as much disdain and disregard as a rat? Or was it a deliberate choice to mould him into a boy willing to die at the proper moment?"