There are less snakes outside, Draco thought, expression souring when he snapped out of his reverie and noticed his father standing in front of him. Long fingers quickly snapped the book shut, but he resisted the urge to stand. It was childish sign of respect - and most things in him fought those lately. He felt decades too old for them, rather than years.
"I'm not poisoned or choked, which is more than can be said for me if I stay in sight all the time," he finally answered. There was an edge of bitterness in his voice, as if it were his father's fault that half the Death Eaters in the Manor wanted his head. In a way, it was. And certainly was his fault that their home was overrun now with people who would kill Draco for his failure without hesitation if they thought it would please their Lord.