𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐒

XII

Act XII.

Quod nocet, sæpe docet

That which harms, often teaches.

Draco yawned sleepily as the early morning light touched his cheek, the warmth from the sun bathing him with its hot glow. He turned sideways to avoid the irritating sunlight only to find himself still engulfed in its rays. Draco sat up irritatedly, fully intent on screaming for the insolent House Elf that had drawn his curtains before noon when he realized two things. One, this wasn’t his bed, and two, no house elf they currently owned would dare do such a thing. He looked around quickly and groaned in dismay at what he found. The events of yesterday was not a dream. He was still at Hogwarts, suffering through a mysterious curse and having no recollection of how it happened.

Scowling in annoyance, Draco pushed off the bed, intent on getting dressed, having breakfast, cornering Potter and making him spill his guts. Then he would demand he be sent home. He’d enough of this place after seven years. He had finished his schooling. There was no other reason for him to remain. He was sure his mother could hire the best Healers to care for him at the Manor. Besides he’d had enough of Gryffindors, especially Potter, to last him a lifetime. He frowned at the memory of his encounters with the boy and the confusing emotions that they always evoked. He was spending way too much time with the Boy Who Lived, since it was clearly addling his brains! He shuddered at the remembrance of the sick thrill that ran through his veins and straight to his groin when he was cornering the defenseless Gryffindor. Where had that come from?

He groaned wearily, tired of his conflicting feelings. The last two days had been a rollercoaster of emotions for him and it had thrown him off kilter. He’d never felt so out of control in his entire life. It was so bad that part of him was actually glad his father wasn’t around to see him in such a state. He stretched his back languidly, still sore from his impromptu sword practice yesterday. It seems he was a touch out of shape since his muscles were now sore. He would have to work on that now that he’d gotten his sword back once again. He smiled fondly as he ran his fingers lightly on the blade. At least there was one silver lining in all of this. He brightened even more when he saw a letter propped next to the sword handle, instantly recognizing his mother’s handwriting.

Eagerly, he picked the note up and shivered as the strong wards recognized him and fell away. He tore it open and read;

 Draco,

   Remember that village we visited during our stay in France? The one with their own separate Designer Wizarding District? What is the name of that old robe shop you used to love? It was owned by that handsome man, Nicolai Peredeux. Don’t you think their robes were lovely? Even Witch Weekly wants to write about this latest fashion find. I really must go back sometime. 

 Narcissa Malfoy  

Draco frowned as he read the letter again to make sure he read it correctly, knowing that the letter was keyed to be read only by him. He watched as some of the words were magically bolded and read the secret message within. His family had long made it a habit to seclude the true meaning of their missives amidst seemingly insipid and flowery prose. His mother’s message, although bewildering to the most extreme, was clear. Stay with the old man. Don’t write back. But why would his mother demand him to stay here? Draco growled, his fingers tightening around the note. What the hell was going on here?

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“You must be joking!” Severus snarled angrily at the old fool sitting complacently behind his desk, gritting his teeth when the only thing the man did was twinkle at him from behind half moon glasses. His godson had been mentally traumatized enough and now this? Had the old fool completely taken leave of his senses?