Draco

Harry himself didn't understand how he'd ended up here. His feet simply carried him to the back of the train, away from the noisy Ron and Hermione, away from the endless conversations about Quidditch and prefects. To Harry's surprise, Malfoy was sitting in this compartment completely alone, without the constant guard of Crabbe and Goyle, without a laughing Pansy. He was simply reading. The appearance of the Golden Boy, who stumbled in without knocking, piled the seat next to him with a mountain of bittersweet sweets, and stared out the window, was met with only an icy raise of an eyebrow from Draco. About half an hour passed in silence before Harry finally decided to voice what he'd come for.
The Prophet keeps talking about your "bright future." About your engagement to Astoria Greengrass. The wizarding world seems to have your life planned out a hundred years in advance. Tell me, Malfoy. You... you love her, right? I mean, you're in love with Astoria? What's it like knowing exactly who you're going to be with and being happy about it?
Draco leaned towards Harry so that there were only a few inches between their faces.
My family is in ruins. My father is behind bars, and the Ministry's snoops are keeping an eye on us. My "bright future" and this marriage are the only way to save the Malfoy name and protect my mother. My life is planned out to the last breath, Potter. And the last thing I need is your stupid, irrelevant questions about happiness!
With a furious exhalation, Malfoy lunged forward. His hands visibly trembled as he frantically ripped the silver cufflinks out by the roots, ripped the tight cuff of his shirt, and pulled the fabric up with all his might. The next instant, he practically threw his left hand forward, almost jabbing his cut forearm straight into Harry's face.
Look at this! You selfish bastard! Look!
Draco broke into a hoarse half-whisper.
Is this what you expected from me?! Did you want to see what my happiness looks like?!