Edinburgh St. - A Dramione Story

I - D.M.

The Arthurial, somewhere underneath Edinburgh

ink, preserving chemicals, herbs in bottles. green tile, grey glass, black velvet. latin and bones. something old and strangely puritanical. 

It was 8:52am, and Draco Malfoy was watching iodine drip from the pipette, forehead wet with sweat. There was something habitually stressful about the process and the memories it brought back - the precision required from potions class. He could still recall Snape's leer down his back and the damp smell of the classroom. That, and the fact that iodine always reminded him of blood. His senior years had been stained in it, great rivulets in the bathroom sink and on the dining table. Now, two years on, he could finally handle a pipette without shaking. 

One drop more and Draco straightened, wiping his hands on the linen apron. "Cool and calm, cool and calm." He whispered the mantra and waited for his chest to relax. 

Deep breath. Good.

It was his turn to wash up the supplies today. Today he would relish the task, hot soapy water and the quiet clinking of the glass in the supply room. Some peace and quiet to decompress. It was this methodical nature that imbued everything at the Arthurial, with its strict timetable and studious atmosphere. The Healer's college was a stark contrast to his chaotic last years at the Manor. It was exactly what he needed. 

Years ago, he had considered himself a free spirit -- exploring the woods around the Manor at midnight, insulting his parents, flying his broomstick til he couldn't feel his fingers. He realised now that he'd been naïve. Every aspect of his life had been planned for him. The rebellion itself had been expected. A sense of duty, the theory was, would follow naturally. 

Real freedom meant chaos. The preserving chemicals brought it back to him sometimes -- whimpering quietly while he helped his mother clean and dress the bodies for burial. There were so many in those years, so much blood to clean up. Yes, the idea of freedom he had adopted led to nothing but death. 

To some, his inheritance would've seemed like freedom. But there was danger, too, in being idle like that. Nothing to do meant women and alcohol, rage and boredom and apathy. Lucius liked it, of course. Which was why Draco had taken perverse pleasure in showing him the acceptance letter. A Malfoy, subjected to the most intensive healer's training in the country! Draco chuckled to himself at the memory.

It was thoughts like these that often came to him when he was washing the beakers.

"Draco!" 

Draco had just placed the last beaker on the side of the concrete wash tub when Alastair called out to him. He drained the sink, wiping his hands on his apron. "What's up?"

"You gotta get to the dining hall - they're announcing the potion prize winners for the month."

"And I need to be there to see you accept your prize?" Sarcasm, but less bitterness.

"Naturally, mi amore. Now hurry your arse up!" 

"So we're arse-kissing now too?" Draco followed the laughs out of the room, shaking his apron out as he went. 

o O o

The wooden tables were heaving with healers today. New green jackets mixed with old, making a talking tapestry of foul language and laughter. 

Pumpkin soup and crusty bread. Draco plonked himself down next to Alastair, across from the other greenwoods. Gordon elbowed him in the side. "Got enough chemical burns yet Drakey?"

"I'm getting one right now from your cologne!" Draco wrinkled his nose and shoved Gordon back. "Let me eat my soup you second-grade marsh worm." He picked up the spoon and dug in with relish. 

A hush fell over the dining hall as the Headmaster stood in front of the assembly. Yulias Gretchen was the sort of man that inspired respect with his mere presence, all hard jaw and soft eyes. He nodded. "Thank you, students, for your attention. As I'm sure you've heard, today I will announce our Potion Prize winners. There are some usual suspects, but I trust you will recognise the skill of these students and congratulate them. Our first recipient from the first year class is... Enid Fexby." A smattering of applause bounced around the room as a slight girl with wire glasses stood up to receive the prize. Draco thought he recognised her from some late night sessions in the laboratory. 

"And now for our second winner..." All of a sudden Gretchen was looking Draco in the eyes. Draco's chest tightened in panic. Surely they had written his pseudonym and not his real name. 

"...Draco Malfoy." A murmur of voices swept through the room.

"He goes here?"

"What, the Death Eater scum winning a Potion Prize?"

"Should've killed him when they had the chance." 

Draco was glued to his seat, paralysed by fear. Perhaps if he didn't stand up to recieve the prize his laughable disguise would hold -- people wouldn't see beyond the brown hair dye and tattoo glamours to who he really was. His fingers twitched as he began to rise from his seat. Better now than never, I suppose.

Before he could stand, though, there was a sound of crumbling brickwork and a body tumbling to the floor.