Draco is hopelessly lost between what he is supposed to do, and what he wants to do. As the pressure from his father to follow in Lucius' footsteps grows heavier, and Draco's feelings for Harry grow stronger, Draco finds himself at a fork in the road.
Chapter 08
Chapter Summary:
Draco is officially losing it. He's not eating, not sleeping, and not paying attention to how sick he's getting. This all spells out as a recipe for disaster.
Posted:
10/07/2002
Hits:
548
Author's Note:
Ladeeda. I hope you all like this chapter. Thanks to everyone who reviewed!
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“I'm looking like a fool again
Waking up on the bathroom floor
Pull myself together just to fall once more…
”
--Sugarcult “Bouncing Off The Walls”
Draco woke up just in time for dinner, and trotted downstairs, rubbing his eyes, his robes wrinkled, and his stomach growling up a storm.
Pansy sat next to him and watched him push his food around for a few minutes, then finally said, “Draco, I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, but you’d better tell me.”
“Not now, Pansy, I feel like crap,” mumbled Draco, pushing his plate away. He was certainly hungry, but nothing appealed to him. Finally he pushed it away and opted to sip at his pumpkin juice. Pansy watched him and sighed.
“You have to eat, Draco. You didn’t eat lunch,” she protested, pulling the plate in front of him again and ladling more food onto it. Vomit rose in Draco’s throat as he looked at the food, and he swallowed and waved his hand at it.
“No, really, I’m not hungry.” Pansy bit her lip and went back to her food, her eyes rimmed red. Draco didn’t notice, because he was feeling too nauseous. He pulled away from the table and weaved his way through the throng of people moving out of the Great Hall. His feet carried him to a bathroom, where he leaned against the wall for a moment, then rushed to a toilet and retched.
Moaning, Draco pulled back from the toilet and sat on the floor. He wiped his mouth ineffectively with his sleeve, and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes fluttered a bit, and he felt his limbs sag beneath the weight of sleep.
His dreams carried him from the cold bathroom floor, zooming to a small, warm room. It took a moment for Draco to reorient, but once he did, he saw Potter looking at him…almost lovingly. It made Draco’s heart hurt, because no one looked at him like that. And he wanted so terribly for Potter to be the one who always did.
There were no words exchanged between the boys. Draco and Potter stood, feet apart, staring…no…gazing at each other. Again Draco felt an understanding pass between them, though this time it was different. And this time, Potter stepped forward and cupped Draco face in his hands with gentle touch, and leaned over and kissed his forehead. Like a mother to a child, a father to a son, or a lover to a lover.
And then Potter was gone, and Draco was alone, wrapping his shaking arms around his legs and listening to the sound of his breath.
Upon waking, Draco pressed his hands to his forehead, wishing he could take the energy from his dream and use it.
He struggled to his feet, and grimaced. He had to take a shower; he felt disgusting. He flushed the toilet and left the bathroom, walking carefully back to the dormitories. He slipped into the shower and turned it on full blast. For a moment, he stood stone still, just letting the water splash over him, pounding and echoing in the empty bathroom.
“Get a grip on yourself, Draco,” he said, gripping his wet hair in frustration and screwing his eyes shut. “You’re becoming a freak.”
He shut the water off and pulled on some pajamas and padded back to his dormitory, smacking his forehead and silently screaming at himself.
Once in bed, he hugged his pillow close and wept quietly into it. Desperately wanting his mother, or someone, Draco drifted into a tense sleep, complete with nightmares of dark shapes he couldn’t identify. He awoke many times in a sweat, his breath harsh and jagged, clipped with dread.
The next morning at breakfast, he still didn’t eat, and left early for Transfiguration because the smell of the food was making him sick again. Professor McGonagall gave him a piercingly cold look as he arrived in class almost fifteen minutes early, but she remained silent, and he was grateful for that.
That class was spent mostly transfiguring guinea pigs into piglets, and McGonagall hinted that they would soon be transfiguring much larger things for their O.W.L.s. Everyone groaned at the mention of the tests, and some began to panic, and there was many a panicked guinea piglet.
Lunch came and Pansy spent most her time urging Draco to eat, and at one point had Blaise distract him, and shoved a biscuit in his mouth. He swallowed, but left early and only ended up retching into the toilet again. He felt weak as he searched for the classroom that would serve as Physical Combat, and wholly regretted signing up for this class, considering the fact he could barely stand up straight on his own.
And once arriving in the classroom, Draco found a whole new reason to regret signing up.
Potter was already talking quietly with Professor Clio, who seemed to be the only teacher there. He wasn’t surrounded by his normal cronies.
Sighing inwardly, Draco sat on a chair, and placed his elbows in his knees, and cradled his head, shutting his eyes and holding his breath against the fresh wave of nausea that came over him.
Above his head, he could hear more students trickling into the room, but when he looked up, he saw there were few people. It would be a small class.
Once the bell had sounded, and everyone was seated in the chairs that made an irregular circle in the middle of the classroom, Professor Clio walked to the center and smiled at them.
“Welcome to Physical Combat,” she beamed, her severe Scottish accent making it slightly difficult to understand her, “For those of you I have not had the pleasure of teaching, me name is Professor Clio. I’m the new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher. I was friends with Dumbledore years ago, and he asked me to do this job as a favour. And I don’t mind at all, so I even took on this class!” She clapped her hands and smiled at everyone, and against his better judgment, Draco found himself liking her.
“Now in this class,” she began, tapping her foot against the mat covering the floor that Draco had just noticed, “we’ll concentrate on the importance of body strength, for those rare, and dangerous, times when you need to defeat someone or something and you can’t reach your wand.” She starting pacing around the inside of the circle, occasionally pointing at someone and asking them a short question, or making them stand and she would look them over, then tell them to sit down. When she reached Draco, she asked his name, then told him to stand. She looked him up and down, rubbing her chin and murmuring to herself.
“All right!” she exclaimed after she completed this odd ritual. “I want you all to pick your sparring partner. This will be the person you will practice with. Be sure to pick someone you like, but not someone you will be distracted by.”
Draco’s stomach filled with dread as people scrambled to their friends. He had no friends or even acquaintances in this class.
Once everyone had settled, only two people remained unmatched with anyone.
And Professor Clio pushed these two together, exclaiming they would learn to be friends, and seated them next to each other.
Draco glanced at Potter, who was avoiding looking at him at all costs, and silently cursed Fate, who was really beginning to get on his nerves.