The Consequence of Ambition

Far too Honest

Lana led in bed, staring at the ceiling, willing the hours to go by just a little bit quicker. It had been two days since the incident and since then she hadn't slept a single wink. Every time she closed her eyes she was so vividly reminded of Draco's nearly dead body lying so lifelessly in her arms. Sometimes she could still feel his dead weight against her skin, as she willed herself to remember that it was simply her duvet covers encasing her as she led wide awake in her bed through the long hours of the night. She felt so miserably alone, than not even the soft hum of hermione's breathing just a few feet away from her was any sort of consolation. She sat up suddenly, peering over at the mass of curly hair sprawled across the pillow in the bed opposite her, watching the red duvet covers rise and fall in correlation with hermione's sleepy breathing. She was definitely asleep. Lana slipped out of bed, comforted still by hermione's heavy breathing she grabbed her dressing gown draped over her bed post. With a cat like elegance she shrugged it over her shoulders and silently made her way downstairs ensuring that no one was still doing some late night studying down by the common room fire. She was met only with an echoing silence, and she hovered by the portrait door debating her shoes. Despite the cold, she knew she would garner a stealthier approach without them and so with any trails of rationalisation hanging in the air behind her, she slipped out through the portrait and into the empty corridor. She knew exactly where she was going, and as she felt the biting cold of the ancient stone floors penetrate through her socks padding so carefully along, she knew how silly she must look. If the portraits adorning the walls were awake and aware of her intentions she was sure they would laugh. Who wouldn't. If her judgment wasn't so blindingly clouded by guilt and lies, she would probably laugh as well. Her muscle memory was serving her better than she could have expected, as she navigated through the nearly pitch black corridors, not daring to produce any light from her wand in fear of waking the sleeping paintings, and as she reached the hospital wing, she finally released the breath that she had been holding so steadily. God she felt ridiculous. What was she even doing here, what purpose would this even serve? She peered around the door, tentatively scanning the beds for any other students. The room was empty. Aside for a dark figure in the furthest bed, the white blonde hair caught Lana's eye, and before she could even give herself a second to rationalise, she was making her way towards him.

"Draco"

the whispered name was breathed with such cautious intention and yet it still echoed tauntingly around the walls of the hospital. His eyes flickered open, feigning having been peacefully asleep, but Lana knew from the shallowness of his breathing that he was wide awake. He stared at her, his pupils dilating slightly, his lips parting for a second, as if searching for the words to say back.

"What do you want?"

His tone was mellow and his voice was raspy and dry, as if it had been devoid of water for days. He raised a single eyebrow as his eyes rested on her, unwavering. She sighed. She had no answer to the question that could have been so obviously anticipated, but she truthfully didn't mind, being honest was refreshing.

"I don't know"

she made a lame attempt to shrug her shoulders as she finally averted her eye contact for a second to look at her shoeless feet against the cold marble. Draco made a somewhat pathetic attempt at a snort.

"Come to gloat I presume"

"What?"

"Well look at you, standing above the poor cripple, bed bound in the hospital wing." He leaned his body forward as far as his no doubt bruised rib cage would allow him.

"Do you feel powerful?" 

She faltered. There was no way he thought this was all part of the game. That she had come to brag.