The next morning was even worse than last night. Mum sent me the one thing everyone hopes to never receive: a howler. That's right, a howler. "Better open it, or it'll explode on its own," Hector whispered to me.

"Just get it over with," Blaise said.

My stomach tightened, and I opened the howler. "DRACO ALEXANDER DAKOTA MALFOY!" my mother's voice barked.

The entire Great Hall fell silent, and I felt my face go red. " I AM DEEPLY DISAPPOINTED IN YOU YOUNG MAN! I RECEIVED A LETTER SAYING YOU SKIPPED TRANSFIGURATION FOR THREE CONSECUTIVE DAYS!"

I buried my face in my arms. This was embarrassing. " YOU'VE DONE NOTHING BUT BEEN AN EMBARRASSMENT TO YOU FAHTER AND I! YOUR GRANDFATHER WAS PRESENT WHEN I RECEIVED THAT LETTER—HE PROBABLY THINKS I'BE DONE A BAD JOB IN RAISING YOU!"

I sank lower into my seat. Grandfather always tells mum she can't raise a child in the right way. " YOU KNOW HE ALREADY THINK I'M A BAD MOTHER! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU! IF I RECEIVE ONE MORE LETTER THAT YOU'RE NOT BEHAVING, I'LL SEND YOU STRAIGHT HOME!"

The red letter exploded. My face was burning. Everyone in the Great Hall began their conversations again, and I ran up to my common room, not feeling hungry anymore. I plopped down on a leather couch in the Slytherin Common Room and sank my head into a pillow. Could my life get any worse? Someone tapped my shoulder. "You okay, Draco?"

It was Blaise. "Do I look okay?" I answered.

"No, and I think I can cheer you up--"

"Well, don't, because you can't," I snapped.

I sat up and looked Blaise right in the face. "Don't," I repeated.

"I just thought, since its Saturday, we could visit Hogsmeade," he told me anyway, getting up and heading for the door.

"You don't want to come with?"

"No," I replied bitterly.

"Hector's coming and maybe even--"

"No," I repeated.

He nodded, and silently walked away. Within five minutes, the entire common room became empty. Everyone was headed to Hogsmeade for the afternoon. Who am I kidding? I should go with Blaise and Hector!

This day's been so dull, and maybe Hogsmeade can brighten it up a little. I stood up and headed down the staircase to Hogsmeade. The first place I hit was The Bronze for a drink. It has bands that play everyday, and really good food. I sat down across from a woman who worked there. "I'll take a butterbeer," I sighed.

She nodded. I gulped it down in one sip. "You okay?" she questioned.

"No," I moaned.

"What's up?" she quizzed.

"I need another butterbeer," I told her.

"No, really, what's wrong?" she asked.

"I need another butterbeer!" I ordered.

She found a larger bottle and handed it to me. "What's on your mind?"

"You wouldn't understand," I replied.

"Try me," she replied.

I sighed. "It's this whole ordeal at Hogwarts. I skipped class three days, and it feels like I'll never see the end of it!" I complained.

"I know just how you feel," she said.

I was surprised. I looked at her. She was drinking a butterbeer too, looking interested in what I had to say. I went on. "My mum even sent me a howler. Plus, I was given three detentions over this! Back in the 5th grade, it was way easier. You were never in trouble—at least not as deep as I've gotten this year."

She nodded. I smiled. Finally, someone who understands me! " I was sent a howler one time for the same reason—oh! I thought I'd never show my face in public again!" she told me.

I nodded. "Exactly," I said, taking a big gulp of butterbeer. "I mean, the professors could stand to be a bit nicer, we need a little respect, which we don't get."

"I know! We have feelings, too!" she said. "Which year are you?"

"Fifth," I said.

"Seventh for me. I work here on weekends," she told me.

"That's really cool. I'm glad I came here today. This morning and last night—miserable. I suppose it'll be the same thing tonight. I have to polish the Trophy room. Bugger—that will be great!" I said, getting sarcastic towards the end.

I took another gulp of my butterbeer. "Well, I'll think of you tonight while you polish each trophy," she said.

"Thanks—but you know what?" I asked.

She looked deep into my eyes. "What?" she questioned.

"I—this will sound really stupid, but—I just wish--" I sighed.

"Go on," she urged.

"I wish—I wish I were back in the 5th grade again," I told her shyly.

"Done," she snapped.