Sometimes I'm glad that you can't spot me,
With tears in my heart and a smile on my face.
I'm not sure quite what I'd do, if you could see.
If you would turn away, or truly give chase.
My constant companions, sorrow, longing and grief
I sometimes wish I could turn a new leaf.
Fly towards the sun, leave the pain all behind.
Better not to try, else I'd probably go blind.
Draco wrote the poem with a sardonic smirk on his face, as if it wasn't a truth that hurt even to scrawl down on paper. He sighed, rolling it up, and putting it beside his letter to his mother, that he sent every week without fail. If he didn't, well, there'd be mum at the gates, and not even Dumbledore himself could keep her out. So, yes, he wrote to his mother, all those pretty little lies that last week were truths. I'm fine, school's fine, everything's fine. Nothing's fine. Mum wouldn't read it and realize, he knew, he'd scrubbed it carefully of any little sharp edges, anything to catch at her incessant curiosity.
Draco sighed, ready at last to teach Greg and Vince. He positively hated that Snape had had the gall to assign him to teach the two lunks. It was like being told how to tie your shoes, as an adult. Draco knew that he was going to teach Greg and Vince - he'd always taught Greg and Vince, everything they knew, in fact. Daph liked to say that he should be a teacher, but Draco'd had to scowl at even that suggestion, as well minded as it might be. Malfoys weren't teachers. They could be businessmen, politicians, even a silver tongued lawyer, but never a doctor or a teacher. Too plebeian.
Even if it would have been a good fit.
[a/n: And tuesday. Which means, I've got a potions lesson next day. Joy.
Leave a review, as always, this is a hard story to write, and reviews keep me writing!]