Draco was just wondering where to sit – "Oh I have so many choices. That patch of dirt over there? Or maybe that corner there?" – when his sarcastic monologue was cut off abruptly as he realised he needed to use the bucket. He glared at the ceiling of the cellar a few inches above his head. "I don’t fucking care if you’re protecting me and mother from the Dark Lord and all his minions," he muttered vehemently, cheeks burning with humiliation that really, he should have gotten past long, long ago. "I bloody despise you all."