"Finally." I scooped up my Transfiguration things and began to head for the door when I heard McGonagall's icy voice behind me.
"Mr. Malfoy, I'd like a word with you." Rolling my eyes, I shook off Crabbe and Goyle's confused looks with a wave of my hand and turned back around.
"Yes, Professor?"
"Would you care to explain why you have blown off my homework assignments for the second time this week?" A knot tightened in my chest, but I ignored it. It was a familiar feeling, one that I should be used to by now.
"I'm sorry Professor, I—" I was gripped by a sudden urge to say 'I have better things to do than Transfiguration homework!' but I suppressed that too. "I wasn't feeling well, and—"
"You seem perfectly healthy to me, Mr. Malfoy. If you are ill I would suggest that you see Madam Pomfrey." When I made no reply, she continued, "or perhaps detention would serve you better? How about this Saturday?" I began to form a retort about what my father would say, but then I remembered…my eyes pricked with unwelcome tears. McGonagall must have realized what I was thinking, because she went on in a softer voice, "I'm sorry, Draco. With your father in Azkaban…this must be a very difficult time for you emotionally…."
I looked up. "No."
"Pardon?" McGonagall looked surprised.
"No. You don't understand." My chin quivered; I clenched my jaw to stop it. "There's no way you could possibly understand."
"Draco…Draco, I'm—"
"You don't know anything!" I shouted, rage gripping me. A tear spilled down my cheek. I swiped it angrily away. "You—you filthy— " I could barley hold in my tears. What was wrong with me? I hadn't cried since I was four. McGonagall reached out to pat me on the shoulder, but I jerked away. "DON'T TOUCH ME!" I fled from the room, running blindly for the nearest empty space: the boy's lavatory….
