And they were partially right. He had been raised by a mother that was far too soft, and a father that had been a bigot. So he had also been a tiny little hateful bigot, and by the time he had realized the error in his ways, he was already in far too deep with the potential for a murder charge on his hands. Pansy had spent hours in Draco’s dormitory pleading with him not to go through with it, tears streamed down her face as she tried to save his soul. Theo and Blaise tried to physically stop him from going. He’d left his friends stunned on the floor, regrets flowing through his veins thick as mud. They’d fought for him, even when he had been unwilling to fight for himself. And when he started to lower his wand that night, so many years ago, he’d seen each of their faces flash through his mind. 