Her face fell.  She looked prepared to cry, to protest, and then McGonagall swept into the room.  If she wasn’t already embarrassed, she certainly would be if their Professor got involved.  So the conversation was dropped, she turned to face the front of the room.  Her face became stone, a mask like every good pureblood had.  Draco hoped his outright rejection would nip it in the bud, and not grow a festering weed that would follow him through his last months of Hogwarts.