It was another week before Draco started walking around his room with the help of the elves and his mother. The diary had still not gotten warm. He knew even if she had healed, there was nothing that was going to take away the cold look he had given her, or the fact that she had nearly bled to death in his house. In the ballroom of the damn west wing. The same wing in whose replica he had danced with her for the first time, he’d kissed her for the first time. Life was cruel, he knew that, but it felt like it was especially cruel to him. It was not like he’d known that a madman would come take residence in the wing that was to be his when he became lord of the manor.—————