The Mudblood

Chapter 22 : Year 2

The first thing I felt when my mind came back into consciousness was the persistent pounding in my skull. I almost just kept my eyes closed in hope that I would fall back asleep, but then the events of the duel began to play through my mind: I'd passed out, Malfoy had likely passed out, and it was still my birthday...maybe. Oh, I really hoped it was still my birthday. I was supposed to have dinner with Ron—

As my eyes flew open, I immediately flinched away, nearly falling off of the white hospital bed. I blinked furiously, hoping that the image of Draco Malfoy lying in the bed directly beside mine was just a dream. The blond boy with white gauze wrapped around his head had been staring up at the ceiling until he heard me having a panic attack over to his right.

"Calm down, Mudblood," he droned impatiently. "I didn't choose to have my bed this close to yours. I woke up staring at your ugly face, too."

I forced myself to breathe, trying to be calm. We were in the hospital wing, which was good. That meant we weren't dead. Honestly, all of my dreams during my coma-like sleep had been about Malfoy's blank, dead eyes staring at me. As much as I hated myself for it, I was somewhat relieved to see that he was alive.

I narrowed my eyes at him as he glanced in my direction. Something about him lying there next to me brought goose bumps to my skin, but I liked to think that I was only cold, so I quickly hid my arms under the blanket.

"Why are our beds so close, then, hm?"

"Don't ask me," he snapped before looking away. "If you think I want to be anywhere near your dirty blood—"

"Oh, please, get over yourself," I retorted irascibly. "No one else is here, Malfoy, you can stop mocking me. Your friends aren't here to laugh with you. You just seem like an outright, prickheaded git."

Malfoy glanced over at me again, a crooked grin on his lips. "Hitting your head turned you into a true Slytherin, aye? Maybe I did win the duel, then."

I rolled my eyes, fighting the smirk that threatened to spread across my lips. "No, neither of us won because our wands exploded."

"Guess you'll never get your school book now, Fitzroy," he mocked smugly. "What ever will you do?"

I pursed my lips gazing over at him slyly. "I don't even need that book, you know. It's a second year Defense Against the Dark Arts book. Did you forget that I'm in third year Defense Against the Dark Arts with you now, or...?"

I almost thought I heard Malfoy growl. "Whatever, Mudblood..." he grumbled turning onto his side to face away from me.

"Ah, good, you're both awake!" Madam Pomfrey greeted as she waltzed into the room. "There has been a nonstop crowd waiting outside of the hospital wing for you two to wake up for nearly twenty-four hours."

"Twenty-four hours?" I blurted. "We've been out for that long? It's not January 8th anymore?"

"I'm afraid it's not, dear," she replied as she hurried over to the side of my bed. "Let me help you sit up. I'd like to see how the back of your head is doing."

"Er—what happened to the back of my head?" I questioned as Pomfrey helped me sit up. I didn't really need her to answer, though; as soon as I sat up I felt a sharp, stinging line of pain down the back of my scalp.

"Minor laceration in your skull, dear," she replied as she examined the back of my head. "The bone did not break, thankfully. Mr. Malfoy did not have the same luck as you."