In the beginning, as life became form...
The clammy wet cold of the blanket was his first stimulus, and he was surrounded. His burdened eyelids parted.
There he took in the vague shapes of light, orange and licking.
A candle fire’s flicker; dim and sticking to those distant walls, as instant as they disappeared. He made to rise, fruitless. What was a dull ache ripped through him sharply and put him back against the bed. He made to favour his ribs to no avail. He sharpened his conscious, sharpening his eyesight, swiveled his sluggish eyes around and learned two things.
He could not move, and he was lying in a bed of the Hospital Wing.
It was the pink heat of panic creeping up his chest, the blonde hairs raising against the cream sheet above. Yea gods!, this dull ache! How it had throbbed when he awoke, but now how it drummed on with such anxiety!
Who’s done this to me?
It wasn’t all clear still. He saw everything with soft corners, rose coloured edges. In that following half hour, in the beginning at least, even mousy little Granger could appear appetizing. He wasn’t able to do much for thinking a majority of that time, but it took less for his vision to return still. Considering, it wasn’t all that long before finally, he seemed to come to where he might hold that elusive reality.
The Pitch. Oh it did come flying back to him very hard, the same as the ground had when he was thrust upon it. The brown muddy earth and green blades of summer ground in his eyes, his nose, filling his mouth and throat with sediment and grass.
That’s right.
Face-first.
His building tension slipped then. It was his own sodding fault. He wasn’t paying attention as he was preying upon the Snitch. There was something distracting him even as he closed in on the golden ball, even as those glinting wings did tickle his knuckles, even as he’d run broom first into the metal of the goal post. Then he had been stunned. It wasn’t very ladylike, not very Malfoy whatsoever. And it was a short descent.
The clicking of kitten heels on boots, faint at first and growing louder, gently echoed through the infirmary. His throat bubbled with a groan instead of those words he meant to express. The clicking paused, the candlelight jumped, and then both came directly for him.
Poppy Pomfrey approached, her finger slipped through the candle stand, and with her infinite wisdom or excellent hearing, knew he was stirring. She placed the candle upon his nightstand and sat at the side of his bed.
“Alright Mr. Malfoy, how are you feeling?” Her hands worked her pockets quickly for a little phial, filled halfway with a purple liquid. She placed some into a gauze pad, dabbing at a couple of what were now superficial scratches on his face. Smoke and hissing came out of the wounds, it stung somewhat, and her healing wand replaced those cuts with fresh and unmarred skin. His throat gurgled something unintelligible.
“Oh, I expected as much.”
With another wave of her wand, and with a little help from her hands and the pillows she’d conjured, she had him propped up properly into a sitting position. She produced another phial from her nurse’s apron, this time a draft of green shimmering liquid, and helped him to drink it. It hit his throat with disdain, and he sputtered. Words could flow clearly now, and he spat with some lame hate.
Sin, that is! were his first words, the back of his hand coming freely to his mouth, wiping at the dribble there.
“Well what were you expecting, pumpkin juice?” Her private laughter showing only slightly, she capped and returned the phial to her apron. Coming to her feet, she stretched a hand to Draco. He looked at it as if it were very far away. She frowned with little patience.
“Come now sleeping beauty, you’ve only suffered a little surface damage and a broken rib! You’ve been sleeping for ages, let’s see you on your feet already.”
His face screwed up in protest, not impressed with her title for him, but he did feel that much better since consuming the dreadful elixir. He took her hand. She pulled him to his feet and kept his fingers in hers for balance. Once achieved, she smiled brightly and released him.
“Lumos,” she spoke, bringing her wand up to eye level and slowly swayed it back and forth, “follow the light, please. Do you remember what happened?”
It was at once very bright and somewhat painful, but only because of his previous darkness and selfmade melodrama. He found some words he could use.
I remember practicing on the Pitch.
“That’s right. Then broom first into the goal pole, and face first into the floor!” Then more of her badly hidden private amusement. “You seem fine enough to return to your dormitory Mr. Malfoy. If you have any dizziness or headaches in the next couple of days, come to me immediately. Now go on, it’s very late.”
He did stand about looking a little confused.
“Alright?”
I’m fine actually.
His hesitation was minute as he took some tentative, and then easy, steps towards the door.
Better than ever.
There he took in the vague shapes of light, orange and licking.
A candle fire’s flicker; dim and sticking to those distant walls, as instant as they disappeared. He made to rise, fruitless. What was a dull ache ripped through him sharply and put him back against the bed. He made to favour his ribs to no avail. He sharpened his conscious, sharpening his eyesight, swiveled his sluggish eyes around and learned two things.
He could not move, and he was lying in a bed of the Hospital Wing.
It was the pink heat of panic creeping up his chest, the blonde hairs raising against the cream sheet above. Yea gods!, this dull ache! How it had throbbed when he awoke, but now how it drummed on with such anxiety!
Who’s done this to me?
It wasn’t all clear still. He saw everything with soft corners, rose coloured edges. In that following half hour, in the beginning at least, even mousy little Granger could appear appetizing. He wasn’t able to do much for thinking a majority of that time, but it took less for his vision to return still. Considering, it wasn’t all that long before finally, he seemed to come to where he might hold that elusive reality.
The Pitch. Oh it did come flying back to him very hard, the same as the ground had when he was thrust upon it. The brown muddy earth and green blades of summer ground in his eyes, his nose, filling his mouth and throat with sediment and grass.
That’s right.
Face-first.
His building tension slipped then. It was his own sodding fault. He wasn’t paying attention as he was preying upon the Snitch. There was something distracting him even as he closed in on the golden ball, even as those glinting wings did tickle his knuckles, even as he’d run broom first into the metal of the goal post. Then he had been stunned. It wasn’t very ladylike, not very Malfoy whatsoever. And it was a short descent.
The clicking of kitten heels on boots, faint at first and growing louder, gently echoed through the infirmary. His throat bubbled with a groan instead of those words he meant to express. The clicking paused, the candlelight jumped, and then both came directly for him.
Poppy Pomfrey approached, her finger slipped through the candle stand, and with her infinite wisdom or excellent hearing, knew he was stirring. She placed the candle upon his nightstand and sat at the side of his bed.
“Alright Mr. Malfoy, how are you feeling?” Her hands worked her pockets quickly for a little phial, filled halfway with a purple liquid. She placed some into a gauze pad, dabbing at a couple of what were now superficial scratches on his face. Smoke and hissing came out of the wounds, it stung somewhat, and her healing wand replaced those cuts with fresh and unmarred skin. His throat gurgled something unintelligible.
“Oh, I expected as much.”
With another wave of her wand, and with a little help from her hands and the pillows she’d conjured, she had him propped up properly into a sitting position. She produced another phial from her nurse’s apron, this time a draft of green shimmering liquid, and helped him to drink it. It hit his throat with disdain, and he sputtered. Words could flow clearly now, and he spat with some lame hate.
Sin, that is! were his first words, the back of his hand coming freely to his mouth, wiping at the dribble there.
“Well what were you expecting, pumpkin juice?” Her private laughter showing only slightly, she capped and returned the phial to her apron. Coming to her feet, she stretched a hand to Draco. He looked at it as if it were very far away. She frowned with little patience.
“Come now sleeping beauty, you’ve only suffered a little surface damage and a broken rib! You’ve been sleeping for ages, let’s see you on your feet already.”
His face screwed up in protest, not impressed with her title for him, but he did feel that much better since consuming the dreadful elixir. He took her hand. She pulled him to his feet and kept his fingers in hers for balance. Once achieved, she smiled brightly and released him.
“Lumos,” she spoke, bringing her wand up to eye level and slowly swayed it back and forth, “follow the light, please. Do you remember what happened?”
It was at once very bright and somewhat painful, but only because of his previous darkness and selfmade melodrama. He found some words he could use.
I remember practicing on the Pitch.
“That’s right. Then broom first into the goal pole, and face first into the floor!” Then more of her badly hidden private amusement. “You seem fine enough to return to your dormitory Mr. Malfoy. If you have any dizziness or headaches in the next couple of days, come to me immediately. Now go on, it’s very late.”
He did stand about looking a little confused.
“Alright?”
I’m fine actually.
His hesitation was minute as he took some tentative, and then easy, steps towards the door.
Better than ever.