"You only have a vested interest because of my mother," Draco answered, wincing when he accidentally moved his arm to gesture and then dropping it back to the table. The salve in the cloths was keeping it from being excruciating, but it still hurt more than most things he could think of - like someone was still pouring fire through his skin. "I'm not the only one who people assume is a failure." And he wouldn't have someone else who'd failed trying to scare him - even if it bloody well worked. Draco knew every day that went by was another day his Aunt, at least, wanted his head for failing The Dark Lord.
"I don't need any help." It was the same thing he'd said all year last year. The only difference was, last year it had been bravado - this year it was fear. At least the training with his Aunt hadn't been entirely useless. He practiced centering, closing his mind. No one else needed to know that he was afraid.
Idly, he wondered if he could still close his mind now that most of the time he thought he'd lost it.