Draco stood, rocking back and fourth on his heels, gripping the edges of the marble countertop as he struggled to stop the tears flowing down his face and steady his breathing. This was pathetic, he was sixteen years old. He was a Malfoy! What would his father think?
Draco stood in front of the full length mirror in his bedroom, staring intently at his body which was. in his opinion, far too doughy. He prodded at his stomach, arms, and thighs with a deep frown. He was supposed to be more muscular, less soft. Sure, there was a faint outline of abs, but not nearly as prominent as they should be, like Zabini or Nott. What would his father think?
Draco stared down at the paper in front of him. It was his graded transfiguration exam. He’d gotten an 84. An 84 percent. He’d never gotten under a 90 before. He was one of the top in his year, beat only by Hermione Granger. And yet, he was staring at the painfully average score. 84. What would his father think?
Draco sat on a black leather couch in the Slytherin common room. Well, sat may not have been the right word for it, more accurately he was sprawled on top of it, staring dazed up at a girl the year above him, who had him pinned to the couch as a dare. And even though he was absolutely blackout drunk, he knew he was enjoying it. Judging by the look on her face, she was as well. But as the male Malfoy heir, he knew this was wrong. He was supposed to be the protector, the provider, definitely not… submitting to some girl he didn’t even know. What would his father think?