Draco,
I'm sorry that I couldn't receive your letters this past week. I was out of range for owls. I hope you didn't send many. Please forgive me I didn't mean to be rude.
Harry
Draco stared at the chicken scratch words with growing irritation.
"Out of range of owls?!" Draco growled to himself, now used to the dry blood under his nails. "What type of bullshit excuse is that?"
He looked back at the paper and frowned at the post script scribbled on the bottom.
PS: Would you mind sending me the letters I missed? I would really like to read them.
Draco glared at the paper in his hand and threw it across the room in a crumpled ball. He threw himself down on his bed and stared up at the dark ceiling with a pout. Suddenly his bedroom door opened with a bang and Draco sat up in the bed with a gasp.
"Pouting again, Draco?" Lucius hissed softly.
"N-no, sir," Draco refuted softly.
"Now what did I tell you about throwing a tantrum when things don't go your way?" Lucius said walking up to the blonde, his cane in his hand menacingly.
"A Malfoy always gets their way," Draco said softly, staring at the ground "pouting is admitting defeat and Malfoy's never lose,"
Lucius looked down at his son with a soft frown filled with bitter disappointment.
"Never lie to me, Draco," Lucius said, grabbing his son's hand and yanking it out.
Draco winced and held his wrist out, facing up towards the aristocrat.
"It will only hurt you in the end," The cane came down harshly.
