Seven Minutes | dramione

Chapter 15

When he finally opened his eyes, the light burned him.

He blinked rapidly several times, trying to get a bearing. It was only a few seconds before the pain hit him again, like a battering ram into his chest.

He gasped, shocked. The fuck? What had happened?

"Mr. Malfoy?" a voice cried urgently from somewhere near him. Pomfrey. It was Madam Pomfrey.

"Thank heavens, child," the matron murmured, advancing into his line of sight from the right. "I was getting incredibly nervous."

Nervous? Why would Madam Pomfrey be nervous about him?

He blinked again, slowly, taking in his environment. He seemed to be in a white room, on a white bed.

The hospital wing.

How had he ended up in the hospital wing? He tried to remember. Was it a Quidditch accident? Did he finally give up and try throwing himself off the Astronomy tower? Little glimpses of light filled his memory, but there was nothing palpable. He couldn't form any recollections.

Madam Pomfrey began fussing around him. She shoved potion after potion down his throat. They burned as they went down, but left him feeling light and relieved.

The matron was muttering the entire time. "Damn teenage boys...dueling is going to kill them....surprised it wasn't the other one...."

He raised an eyebrow. Dueling? So he had been caught in a duel apparently. Why had he been dueling?

Suddenly, as if the word had hit a switch in his brain, the memories came barrelling back in.

He sat up slowly, almost shaking with anger. "Potter," he growled.

Madam Pomfrey visibly rolled her eyes. "Before you start hatching an execution plan, you should know that Professor Snape punished Mr. Potter already. Detention every Saturday for the rest of the year, including this weekend's Quidditch final."

Potter had to miss the final Quidditch game of the year? There was something satisfying about that, Potter' stupidity causing him to miss the thing he was hailed for. Oh, the chosen one was probably a pariah now. The Slytherins would be hating him for almost killing Draco. The Gryffindors would be hating him for wrecking their chance at Quidditch victory.

Draco had really messed up Gryffindor Quidditch this year, hadn't he? First, knocking out Katie Bell. Then knocking out Weaselbee, forcing them to sub in that tosser McGlaggen. Now, for the final match of the year, he was the reason the captain couldn't play.

Damn. Even if he messed everything else up, that was a fairly successful legacy to leave behind.

Pomfrey continued to fuss around him. He tried to lie back and ignore the woman's prodding.

"Madam Pomfrey," he muttered at one point. His voice was so hoarse. "How many days have I missed?"

The normally stern face relaxed into something almost comforting. "Only two days, dear. You should be able to leave here by tomorrow as long as no secondary reactions come up."

He nodded sternly and tried to focus his thoughts. He had only lost two days. That was nothing, really, in the grand scheme of life. But the way his life was going, that was everything.

Should he try to figure out the cabinet anymore? It was nearly the end of the May. He only had a month left. He hadn't been able to figure out anything in the past 9 months, why should this one be any different?

It wouldn't be different. Any other thought was just a lie.

Draco was tired of lies.

The hospital wing door creaked, startling him out of the restless slumber he'd fallen into. The room was dark and the sky in the windows was black. How many hours had he been out for? Draco sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, stretching his arms a bit. As he did this, he glanced towards the door. Slowly, he lowered his arms.