𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐒

VIII

Act VIII.

Nihil lacrima citius arescit.

Nothing dries more quickly than a tear.

Albus Dumbledore stared at the boy for a good minute, for he felt something he hadn’t in a long time, confusion. He studied the bewildered young man before him and asked, “I beg your pardon?”

Draco rubbed a fist over his eyes gently, trying to clear his vision. He had woken up, extremely out of sorts in the Infirmary of all places. Last thing he remembered was eating breakfast in the Great Hall. He really hoped to Merlin he didn’t do something as embarrassing as like say faint like a girl. He knew he was stressed out and on the brink of a nervous breakdown but this was simply ridiculous! Malfoys don’t faint like pansies! He seriously hoped that his father wouldn’t have to hear of this or else he’d be in for a long lecture about Malfoy etiquette…again. He shuddered. Merlin, the last one lasted for hours!

“You fell unconscious. It was lucky Mr. Potter was able to catch you before your head hit the ground.” Albus answered cautiously, afraid to reveal too much. He didn’t want to traumatize the boy any further.

Blushing furiously, Draco stared hard at the floor. He had fainted then, although the headmaster had tactfully veered from calling it that, and not only did he do so in front of the whole sodding school as it seems, but he also had to be saved by bloody Potter and probably landed in his arms like some storybook princess or one of his gaudy fangirls! Draco shuddered. Well isn’t that just peachy? The last day of school and everyone would remember him as the Malfoy with the weak constitution who goes about fainting into the arms of stupid heroic Gryffindors! He covered his face with his hands. He’d never live this down! He’d have to run away to Ethiopia, take to wearing Saffron robes and live in a remote hut. Well, or not. He never really did fancy wildlife, Saffron grated on his fragile skin and let’s face it, Daddy dearest would have kittens and drag him all the way back to this side of the pond. He was about to contemplate the pros and cons of living in Istanbul instead when he realized Dumbledore was actually talking to him and from the tired expression on the old fogey’s face, it seemed as if he’d been trying to get his attention for awhile now. “Er- sorry?” He mumbled, cringing at the incoherent level his communication skills had been reduced to.

“I was just asking if you felt any better. Do you remember what happened at all?” Albus asked gently.

“Well, clearly not or the words 'WHAT HAPPENED TO ME, HEADMASTER?' wouldn’t have come out of my mouth!” Draco snapped, confused and more than a little bit scared about what exactly could have shocked him enough to faint in the first place.

Albus smiled tiredly at the boy, focusing on the boy’s nervous state rather than his angry words. The Slytherin had gone through a very rough time, enough to lock away the painful moments from this morning and it only served to add to his agitation. “Forgive me, child. I know it has been a very taxing morning.” Albus tried to placate the boy.

“Something tells me, it’s about to become even more so.” Draco sighed as he eased back down on his pillows. “Now please tell me what happened to me. Why am I in the infirmary? And why the hell is my whole torso covered with gauze?”

He winced suddenly and clutched his head as a barrage of sounds and sensations assaulted his mind.

“Will you lie then with these mongrels? Will you fight for their cause and slay your friends in the heat of battle? All because you are too cowardly to take power when it is rightfully yours? You disgust me.”

Draco shook his head as he desperately tried to shake away the remnants of that daze. What was that? Was it a memory? Who was that speaking with so much anger and derision?