Draco opened his eyes blearily. A blur of neutral colours eventually formed shapes and sizes, and he realised with a jolt he was lying in a bed in the Hospital Wing. He gingerly felt his head and attempted to sit up.
“Lie down, Mr Malfoy,” Madam Pomfrey called as she bustled past him. “You’re going to do yourself another injury.”
Draco obediently flopped back down onto the pillow. His head hurt. A lot.
Madam Pomfrey sank into the cold, metal chair next to his bed. She poured him some pumpkin juice out of the jug on his bedside locker. He took the glass gratefully.
“I have to hand it to you, Mr Malfoy, not many people end up in the Hospital Wing on the first day.”
Draco wasn’t sure, but he thought he could detect a hint of disdain in her voice.
“Thanks,” he muttered, placing the glass back onto the bedside locker. “What happened, anyway?”
She sniffed.
“Well, as you were late for your meeting with the Headmistress, Miss Granger was instructed to go search for the mislaid Head Boy. She consequently discovered you lying unconscious in a pool of blood in the dungeon corridor.” Madam Pomfrey recited this in a cool voice, almost as if she were reciting the day’s news.
He couldn’t help but wince at her obvious callousness. “Cheers.”
Madam Pomfrey drew her thin mouth into a small line as she smoothed the crinkles in Draco’s bed sheets. She tucked the sheets underneath the mattress and he felt as if he were being mummified.
“What’s the verdict, then? How long is my delectable presence required?” Draco asked her wearily.
“A couple of days, Mr Malfoy,” she told him. “Your injuries were rather serious.”
He laughed hollowly; he couldn’t help it. Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips and stared coldly at him.
“Yes, Mr Malfoy? Am I missing something?”
“Sorry, it’s not funny. I was just thinking - how pathetic is this? I survived Voldemort, for Merlin‘s sake; yet here I am in the Hospital Wing over something as stupid as a school time brawl. Who am I, Harry Potter?”
She winced at the mention of Voldemort and frowned at the jibe at Harry.
“Mr Malfoy, could you please tell me what is so pathetic about a cracked skull and two broken ribs?”
Draco’s stomach dropped ever so slightly.
“Well, I’m as right as rain regardless. So, when am I to be released?” he persisted, desperate not to be cooped up in the Hospital Wing because of some stupid trolls. He was determined to get revenge.
Madam Pomfrey opened a drawer of the bedside locker and retrieved a hand mirror. She passed it to him.
“What do you think, Mr Malfoy?”
Draco took the mirror curiously and stared at his reflection. He forced down a heave of disgust and revolt. The old scars were outshone by a brazen new black eye, a puffy lip and a vicious looking welt dashed across his cheek.
“Keep looking, Mr. Malfoy,” she insisted.
Draco dropped the mirror; he didn’t want to see anymore, but he couldn’t escape his injuries. He saw more angry looking welts zigzagging his arms, blatantly encompassing the healed scars. He could gingerly feel bandages wrapped around his chest and ribcage. His knees felt stiff and they ached. His toes throbbed. He was too afraid to lift the legs of his pyjamas and risk seeing more injuries.
Draco slumped heavily back down onto the comfort of his pillow, only to whack his bruised, bandaged head against the metal headboard.
He swore loudly and clutched his cracked skull.
“I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere soon, Mr Malfoy,” Madam Pomfrey told him loftily.
* * *
Draco pretended to be asleep for the rest of the day. He had few visitors, but when they did come he made sure he wasn’t facing them and faked a couple of snores. He paid particular attention to his deep, slow, rhythmic breathing pattern and hoped he’d nod off, but he couldn’t. The overwhelming shame made sure he stayed awake; it was disappointed in Draco’s behaviour, and it made sure he knew it. Draco stuck his fingers in his ears to drown out a sickly crunch of bones; he closed his eyes to block out a vision of flying punches and purpling, poppy bruises. His stomach lurched as he could smell the cold, metallic tang of his own blood.
Draco had experienced excruciating pain before - most notably at the hands of Lord Voldemort. He had gotten over that. In an odd sort of way, he had almost liked it. It was a way to prove to himself that he was strong; not many people could suffer at the cruel hands of Voldemort and still live to tell the tale. Many a time he had found himself doubled over in pain or rolling on the floor, only for him to shakily get back to his feet and stare into the Dark Lord’s red eyes. The Dark Lord liked that. Draco wasn’t afraid of pain: receiving it or giving it. He could endure it; he would suffer, but eventually he’d move on. The Dark Lord admired that. And so, Draco became a guinea pig; Voldemort allowed the Death Eaters to freely experiment with Draco’s pain tolerance. New curses were first tested on Draco, regardless of the results. It both delighted and vexed the Death Eaters: for them to give Draco all they had and to watch him writhe in agony, then slowly push himself to his feet.
Narcissa was horrified. She had a duty as a Death Eater’s wife, and as one so closely connected to the Dark Lord she was not permitted to interrupt these occasions. Instead, she was instructed to stand and watch along with the others as her only son thrashed in invisible cords as layers of his skin were slowly peeled off. Severus Snape could claim proud ownership of these new curses; Narcissa remembered he was always good at that sort of thing when they were in Hogwarts. However, she noticed that his voice was flat and his eyes were carefully averted when he made his reports to the Dark Lord in her presence. He always stood next to her as he casually flicked his wand in Draco’s direction and a new form of torture was displayed. She had regularly tried to run to her son’s aide but was stopped by Severus’ cool fingers nonchalantly clasped around hers. Narcissa forced herself to wait until they bored of torture and had left the chamber. Only then could she rush to Draco and tearfully dab at his wounds with a healing potion.
Draco hated his mother seeing him like that, but what would she make of this? Not heroically tortured by the Dark Lord, but carelessly beaten by a couple of Slytherin trolls? It was shameful; utterly shameful. A Malfoy; lying in the Hospital Wing because of some seventeen year old thugs. Frankly, it was mortifying. Therefore, Draco didn’t feel like a coward when the Headmistress paid a visit to the Hospital Wing and he was regretfully ‘asleep’.
His surge to do good evaporated as quickly as it arrived. He shivered in disgust as he realised who was responsible for this; the Mudblood, Granger. Harper and his cronies wouldn’t have dreamed of touching him if it wasn’t for her. He’d still be their hero. He’d be the Prince of Slytherin; crowded in the common room and swamped at meals. He wouldn’t allow her more than a mere second of his time. It’d be laughable to think of her as an equal, and that was the way it should be; the way it had always been. It worked that way. This alternate universe didn’t agree with him at all; he wanted his old life back. And if that meant disappointing Dumbledore and mocking Granger, then he supposed he’d have to do it.
* * *
Draco heard her come in and greet Madam Pomfrey. He froze and snapped his eyes shut; he didn’t want to talk to her right now - if ever.
“Mr Malfoy is unfortunately asleep. Would you like to come back later, Miss Granger?” Madam Pomfrey’s voice was dripping in contempt and Draco would have bet his life that her lip curled as she spoke. She saw right through him, at least.
“Oh. I might just stay anyway; I’ll be too busy to come back later.” he heard Hermione say.
“All right, Miss Granger. I’ll be inside the office if you need anything,” Madam Pomfrey said as she bustled away.
Draco’s skin prickled as Hermione slowly approached his bed. He had turned deliberately on the opposite side so his face would not give him away. He heard her perch at the edge of the seat and mutter ‘Muffliato’. Draco didn’t know what effects that spell had; he could only hope it wasn’t anything that would show him in too bad a light. She sat in silence for a while and just when he was about to ask her what the hell she was doing, she cleared her throat.
“Draco… What happened? I mean, who would do this to you? Well, all right, a lot of people… But why now? What did you do?” She paused and took a deep breath. Draco noticed she was speaking very quickly and although he couldn’t see her face, he had a sneaky suspicion is was flushed.
“Not that I care. I don’t; I just can’t have the Head Boy getting beaten up every time I leave him alone for a few minutes! Did Professor McGonagall even think this through properly? She can’t have; and she certainly can’t let whoever do this to you get away with it! I’m not going to lie, Draco - maybe you did deserve it. You haven’t exactly been the best person recently but she must have thought you’d changed to make you Head Boy. Maybe you have. Who’s to say you haven’t? I just hope you have for your own sake. It’d be nice for you to do something for the school.” She stopped suddenly, as if she were reconsidering her next words. In the end, she must have decided to just say them because they spilled out in a jumbled mess.
“I know you want to change, Draco. I can see it, you know. Your willingness hasn‘t always been there, but I see it now. It’s there. And that surprises me, it really does. I just hope it lasts.”
Hermione went silent again. He could almost hear her mulling over the thoughts in her head when she stood up, the legs of the chair scraping against the cold tiles.
“Goodbye, Draco.” He heard her walk towards the door.
“I know you’re awake, by the way; it’s okay that you can’t face me right away, but you’ll have to soon. You’re Head Boy now - you can’t hide forever.”
Draco listened as her steps became quieter and died away. He waited until he was sure she had gone until he rolled onto his back and stared at the clean, white ceiling. He felt like a coward, because despite of Hermione’s warm words, he knew that once he left the Hospital Wing it would all have to change. Otherwise, he’d end up right back at the beginning.
Reflection by Nitwit Blubber Oddment Tweak x
Chapter Notes: As the chapter before doesn't seem to be well received I thought I'd hurry up and update! I'm literally begging you to review D:
Chapter Endnotes: Well? What did the readers think? Even if you thought it was just okay, leave me a review. You have no idea how much they mean to me :)