Text
"Master Draco has been summoned."
Draco looked to Alpsi, wishing the sting of Dobby's absence didn't hurt.
"My father?"
Alpsi nodded once before leaving immediately. Draco looked to the ceiling as he tried not to wonder what his friend was up to. Had Dobby found a new job? Did his new family care for him as much as Draco did? Were they taking care of him?
Draco forced himself to get up and leave his pain behind as he allowed an emptiness to settle inside of him. It would be necessary to talk to his father.
As Draco entered his father's study, he tried not to fidget when cold eyes regarded him intently. He looked around and wasn't surprised to see his mother standing near the only window; she was a silent observer and never spoke up when it got rough.
"I've received your grades."
The tone had Draco confused, his grades were fine, great even.
"It's not good enough."
Of course not. Draco closed his eyes. Nothing was ever good enough.
"Some of your scores have you as the highest in the class, as it should be, but others have you coming in second to the mudblood."
Draco clenched his fingers as he bit his tongue to stop the reprimand he wanted to give.
"That is not acceptable. No son of mine is going to be second-rate in comparison to someone like that."
"My scores are really good," Draco whispered, eyes trained on the ground. "I think that—"
"I didn't ask what you thought. I could care less about what you think."
The sound of a hand slamming against a desk had Draco flinching.
"I'm sorry—" Draco was cut off by another slam.
"I didn't ask you to speak, Draco. Just listen. Why is that such a hard concept? Just do as you are told."
Draco nodded, hating that he couldn't look to his father, didn't want to see the hatred that was there.
"You will do better. I will be getting reports during your upcoming year and if there isn't an improvement, then we will have another discussion—only one not as pleasant as this."
Pleasant. What a joke. Draco nodded, knowing that if he said anything, his father wouldn't react well.
"Well, what do you have to say? You speak when I talk to you."
Draco glared at the ground before he schooled his features into a blank mask as he looked up at his father.
It was a trap, and he knew it. There was no right answer when it came to his father. If he spoke up, he would be going against the earlier order; but if he didn't reply, then he would be in trouble either way.
"Yes, father. I'll be better."
When his father stood up, Draco closed his eyes not wanting to see the satisfaction in his eyes as he advanced.
Draco walked the streets of Diagon Alley, not really paying any mind to anything in particular—just grateful for the opportunity to shop alone.
He had half a mind to retire early and return to the Manor, but his father was home for the day, and that wasn't something Draco wanted to subject himself to.
It wasn't until Draco caught sight of a familiar mop of messy hair that he knew his day would get interesting.
"Fancy seeing you actually doing homework," Draco remarked as Potter jumped in his seat and shot him a weak glare. He looked around, curious as to why Potter was doing work outside of an ice cream parlour, but to each their own.
