*warning: physical, verbal abuse*
"Draco Malfoy!"
The blond-haired teen flinched and called, "Coming, Father!" He quickly rushed out of the room as he spoke and down the hall.
He found his father in the parlor, looking furious. "What is the meaning of this!" he snarled, holding up a piece of parchment.
The boy frowned. "I don't..." Suddenly he recognized it and blanched.
"It says here..." The teens father read it aloud in a sneering, disgusted tone. "'Hey, baby, sorry I couldn't write sooner. How's your summer been going? Mine's been great. Now that I'm not living with the Muggles anymore. I hope your mum will let you come over! That is, with D's permission. Love, your boyfriend.'" The man finished reading and glared dangerously at his son, who cowered and looked down. "Look at me, Draco!"
The boy flinched and looked up at his father with wide, panicky silver eyes.
"Are you... gay?" The man spat out the word, an expression of revulsion on his face.
"Y...yes, Father," the teen whispered.
"Speak up. I told you not to mumble."
"Yes, Father," the boy said again.
"Yes, what?" his father asked dangerously, his silver eyes flashing.
"Yes, I'm gay, Father," the boy squeaked.
His father was silent for a long moment, fuming. Then, he raised his hand.
*SMACK*
The boy was on the floor, shaking, a huge red mark on his cheek.
"I. Raised. A. Faggot." (Oh, my gosh, I hated writing that!) "Not only that, a faggot who dates mudbloods." His father stared down at the boy with loathing.
"He's a half-blood, Father," the boy croaked. "Orphan-"
"I don't care about whether he's a half-blood, pureblood, or mudblood, Draco Lucius Malfoy!" his father snarled. "I'll speak to you later about your vile decision! To your room!"
The boy, half-grateful and half-terrified, scampered like a frightened rabbit.
---------------------
"Nestor," the old man sneered. "How are you?"
"My name is Neville, Uncle," the small, round-face boy said nervously. "I'm fine, sir."
"How's that school of yours?" the woman beside him asked.
"Um, good," the boy replied anxiously. "Ma'am."
"How are you doing with grades?" his uncle questioned, a dangerous glint in his eye. "You're taking the regular classes as well as Divination and Care?"
"Yes, sir." The boy's face had gone gray. "I..."
"You got your results this morning, didn't you?" said the old woman conversationally.
"Y-yes, ma'am."
"Let me ask you a question, Nathaniel," his uncle said coolly.
"Neville," the boy said again, but it was the barest whisper.
"Why..." he pulled out a letter, and the boy turned white, "why are all your grades P's and A's?"
"S-sir," the boy squeaked, "I -- I got an O in Herbology-"
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