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While Harry, Hermione, Ron, and everyone else celebrated their existence in childish ways, Draco remained close to his parents' heels, absorbed in their shadows and ways of the world. He was well and truly molded to be the perfect, evil heir to the Malfoy heritage. Voldemort's right-hand. Dark magic sympathizer. A wizard of terrible potions and malicious hexes.
At least, that's what everyone in the Wizarding World thought.
It didn't matter that Draco wanted something different. He hadn't meant to inherit his father's outlook on the Potter family, nor his evil intent. Draco aspired to be something better. Someone who would shape the Wizarding World from its very foundation. For the better, of course. Draco was not inherently evil, only evil by design thanks to his parents. That evil, though, only went as deep as the looks he inherited from his mother.
Deep deep down, hidden in his heart, he didn't want to hate Harry. He didn't want to hate anyone, really. He longed to be a normal boy, free of his father's teachings, desires, and beliefs. Free of his mother's doting and warnings of what would happen should he fail them. Free of the shackles that dragged his shoulders to the dirt and kept him from running.
Doing menial chores was a way of escape for Draco. Scrubbing the floors, vacuuming the curtains, washing dishes - these were all things his parents loathed to do. They were high-born wizards, after all. Anyone beneath them could do it. They loathed him doing it, as well, so he usually did it in private when they were out.
As these thoughts ran through his mind he carried a basket of his school clothes to the laundry room, ready to scrub them by hand after a scolding from his mother. The defiance he showed by doing the chores would get him into more trouble than he'd been in, but he didn't see fit to care.
He turned the corner, bumping into the imposing figure of his father dressed in all black. He couldn't stutter and apology before his father spoke evenly to him.
"Laundry? Take this, too," his father droned and dropped and item on top of Draco's dirty robes.
Draco stared at it, even as his father walked past in a most uninterested manner.
"Father," he could hear his father stop behind him. Heard the rustle of his clothes as he turned to regard his boy. "Is this real?"
"What? What are you talking about?"
Draco turned to face his father, basket and all.
"Father ... has given me a sock."
"I can't find the other one. I'm hoping it's in the laundry-"
Draco cut his father off, excitement creeping into his voice.
"Father has given Draco a sock."
His father's -no- Lucius's face turned to confusion.
"Draco ... is free!"
Lucius stared at Draco, concern and alarm creeping into his eyes, "Draco-"
The laundry dropped in the hallway and Draco ran to the front door. He flung it open and ran outside, Lucius screaming out behind him.
"I'm free! I'm free!"