That made sense to Draco. Horcruxes were horrible magic, and he imagined that this was a mild punishment for being close to one for too long. His hand slid downwards again, but never moving in a suggestive manner. It's more of a curious touch, it's the discovery of another person's body in the softest way possible. He nodded softly at Harry's words, but he didn't look at his face. Instead he looked at the patterns his finger trailed, softly following the ink in Harry's skin.<br/>"Nasty things. Horcruxes," he stated in a soft voice. After the war, all information on horcruxes had been destroyed, and those who knew anything prior to the destruction had been sworn to secrecy. The war had ruined so many lives, and Draco couldn't help but consider who they would've been without it. Maybe they could have just been normal teenagers, who hadn't had to fear for their life every single day, who hadn't had to become tied up with politics to stay alive.<br/>It was a strange thought.