Nothing good ever came out of things when his mother’s tones wavered between anger and worry. Draco had known that since he was quite small. It’s one thing to maneuver oneself around anger or worry – but generally it ended poorly for Draco when addressed with the mixture of both. And this time, Draco wasn’t an innocent little boy – he was a man of age – and a Death Eater whether it was acknowledged by others or not. Regardless of what tasks he were set to by the Lestrange brothers or whether it was taking a beating, it was clear to Draco anyway that somehow, something good would come of this. Even if it really fucking hurt right now.
“I went out for a drink.” Draco started slowly, as he began to feel a bit better and he turned his head to look at his mother. “And as I left the pub I was cornered and jumped.” He finished and hoped that would be enough explaination, though he knew it was grasping at air to think so.
Draco swallowed and winced as he pulled the glass of Skele-Gro to his lips and took a drink from it, his face contorting slightly as the foul tasting liquid went down his throat.