Passed Around Dark Lords

19

Draco gradually came back to himself, feeling slowly returning to him. First to his fingers, where he felt them curled painfully around the book that he had been reading in the store, then to the rest of his body slowly, trickling up before down, and he realized that he was laying down, unsure where, of course, before his vision finally returned to him and his eyes saw a patterned wallpaper on the ceiling. Confusion floored him. Neither the Orphanage nor the leaky cauldron had patterned wallpaper, or wallpaper at all, as a matter of fact, and he knew for certain that Grimwauld place's wallpaper was black and tanned, barring the individual rooms. The wallpaper itself seemed familiar, but in his post fainting haze it was hard to make out where it was that he had seen it before. Before he could even worry about that it was fainting alone he must worry over! He had no idea when he had blacked out and fainted. Of all the reactions he had covered to happen when he saw his family, fainting was definitely not one he had check off. He figured he would be stunned, maybe scared, nervous, but fainting? Of all things he could have done, it was so embarrassing. He hated the fact that it had happened in public too, it was horrific honestly!

He pulled himself into a sitting position body aching as he did so feeling quite like the aftermath of a rather nasty stinging hex, but one that went all the way down to his bones, or perhaps the feeling of running for ones' life before being gifted with a torturing curse-not the cruciatus, Draco was not sure what the curse was that was used, as far as he was aware, there was no name to it and the Dark Lord had made it up. He gazed down, feeling high quality sheets under him, and a rather high thread count blanket pulled over him. It made him curve his brows downwards as he puzzled things through even more. The blanket and sheets themselves were silken, and obviously not meant for warmth, though Draco could feel the spells placed over them to ensure it. However, this gave him yet another confusion, as St. Mungos, no wizarding hospital really, would have been able or even willing to spend money on such expensive bedding.

Shoving the blanket off of him, and pulling himself from the bed, he found himself draped in what seemed to be a silver robe with some dark green accents. He blinked confused. He had never owned, nor bought, nor even recognized a robe of this sort. Pulling the robe open, he was dressed in green with silver accented tee shirt and pants. Draco felt his eyes widen as he ripped the left sleeve of his robes up, the mark burned onto his skin still. There was no way whomever had changed him, unless by some miracle they had been using magic, did not see the mark. The mark itself was aching...which Draco now recognized was causing the rest of his body to feel the way it was currently feeling, which meant someone had touched it, probably Tom. From what he could tell, it was probably defective because the Dark Lord was not alive or had not made the marks yet, considering the only times Draco had felt someone touch his mark it had felt as though a mix of fire was licking at his flesh and ice was freezing his blood. It was a deeply unpleasant feeling. Yet at the moment it merely burned slightly, nothing akin to what it had felt the few other times Draco had been called or someone had touched it.

Allowing the sleeve of the robes to drop, he ignored the feeling that curled in his chest, warning him that he was taking things the wrong way, his instincts that told him something happened and he was not going to like what it was, and the general rational that he should stay in his room, because honestly he could not give a shit. If whomever had tucked him away like a doll wanted him to stay put, they would have put a charm or spell on the door to ensure it, which they had not as Draco was able to open the door and step through it easily. His brain was still hazy, and not really up with him as of yet, although he could have sworn that the rails and stairwell seemed horrifically familiar, and as he drew closer to where sounds were coming Draco felt dread pull at his heart, memories of walking up the corridors to meet the Dark Lord personally so that they could practice dark arts flickering through his mind one by one over and over again.