"Snape," answered Draco, softly. When Potter had used Snape's own spell against Draco, that had been the tipping point. Of course, Potter hadn't known what the spell would do at the time; even Draco had realized that, but he'd been furious. Still, in effort of self preservation, he adapted to the situation, did what he could to better protect himself. All while trying to fulfill an impossible mission.
"My aunt had very little to do with me and that was my mother's doing. Father wanted me to learn more, but you'd be surprised that Mother was a bit more protective. If it hadn't been for her, I would have gone through much worse in the war." He lowered his gaze. "Don't believe everything the rumors may have said about us." He glanced over at the young man beside him. Kid. Because Jamie didn't live through everything he may have.
"Something I like? Very well." It had to be purposeful. Most Slytherins stuck together and few stepped outside their boundaries, accepting truth for what it was and working together. Few made connections outside of Slytherin or shared their interests with others.
Still wandless, Draco motioned to the Christmas tree and watched as it transfigured into a racing broom. A pristine Firebolt, black and sleek and flawless. Next, Draco changed the blanket he was sitting on into a goal post, rather, a miniature version of one. "I always did fancy Quidditch, though Father only permitted me to join in effort to beat your father at the time. I was good at it, too."