Notes: I wasn't planning on adding more onto it, but the people who R&Red asked for more. So I had some free time, and whipped up this thing, the second chapter. I like to think that it's as good as the first, but I really don't know. Oh, and could someone PLEASE tell how the nurse's name is spelled? I'm afraid I fumbled it rather badly. Heh. (Oh, and all the copyright junk is in the first chapter, so I'm not going to make you read all that AGAIN. Ain't I nice?)
Chapter 2
Draco hummed tunelessly to himself as he stared around the room, smiling faintly at the walls, the windows, the rows of beds, the people. A white-clad woman rubbed the last of some disgusting green salve on the palm of his left hand, staring at him intently. His smile widened as he met her gaze.
"What's your name again?" he asked, flexing his fingers and coming back to reality. "I'm sure I've known it in the past."
The woman cocked her head, reaching for a roll of painfully white bandages. "Madame Pomfrey(sp?), to you," she muttered, snapping out the end of the roll, catching it in her hand, and beginning to wind it around his hand. "How on Earth did you manage THIS?" she hissed under her breath.
"Potions class accident," he answered cheerfully, happy to be of service. "I held one of those thin-glass beakers too hard. I'm surprised it hasn't happened before, actually."
"It's never happened before because Professor Snape always warns the first-years before they even touch the chopping stone," the nurse snapped, cutting off the length of bandage with a wicked pair of scissors.
Draco deflated, his shoulders slumping. "I suppose so," he murmured, staring down at his good hand and flushing a dark pink. The blush contrasted oddly with his white-blonde hair. He should've remembered that, of all things. Don't hold the beakers too tight... it was blatantly obvious. It was like the sound that metal made in a fire; it was just something you knew, even if you'd never heard it.
A noise made him look up. There were the three students from Potions, the three that had been staring at him. Draco smiled, confused, and waved with his bandaged hand before he realized what he was doing, stared at it, and stuck it behind his back.
The boy with black hair and thick glasses started toward him, followed by the girl and the pale, red-haired boy. They reached the bed he sat on and stood for a moment, wordless. The girl glanced at the arm behind his back, bit her lip, and glared at the red-head, who shrugged.
"Yes?" Draco asked, running his fingers through his hair. "I know you, right?"
"You've forgotten us over the summer, Malfoy?" the black-haired boy asked with a baffled tone, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "We were your favorite targets, remember? Potter? Harry Potter?"
Draco brightened. The name sounded familiar. "Yes!" he exclaimed, grasping at the straw. "Harry! And... and your friends..."
"Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger," Harry said slowly, pointing to each in turn.
Draco nodded at them, smiling. "Of course," he said, turning back to Harry. "Ron and Hermione. Um. Yes." He didn't remember those names at all. The light at the end of the tunnel turned out to just be a torch on the wall. "I'm sorry, I really don't remember you at all." The truth never hurt...
"Yeah, right," Ron snapped, crossing his arms. "You may be fooling Dumbledore but you're not-"
"I'm sorry, I really haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," Draco interrupted, standing up abruptly, holding his bad hand. So the truth did hurt sometimes. Drat. "And I don't think I have to take this. I'm not fooling anyone."
Ron glowered. "Oh, yes," he grumbled. He pointed at Hermione. "Do you remember Hermione? Hermione the 'mudblood?'" Hermione gasped, and Harry stared at Ron.
Mud... blood. Mudblood. Draco stared at Ron with a stunned expression, searching his memory for the word. "Ah!" he murmured, brightening. And then he punched Ron so hard that the red-head spun. "As I recall, that's a very vulgar term." He scratched his head. "At least, I believe so..."
"You should know, you friggin' miniature Death Eater," Ron mumbled through a bloody lip, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You practically made up the word."
"That's enough, Ron," Hermione hissed, pushing him toward the door and glancing meaningfully over her shoulder at Harry. Harry shrugged, shot a glance at Draco, and followed.
Draco turned only to see a white-clad nurse with her mouth wide open, holding a stack of folded white sheets. He smiled dazedly at her, clasping his hands behind his back.
"What's your name again?" he asked, cocking his head on one side. "I'm sure I've known it in the past."
Chapter 2
Draco hummed tunelessly to himself as he stared around the room, smiling faintly at the walls, the windows, the rows of beds, the people. A white-clad woman rubbed the last of some disgusting green salve on the palm of his left hand, staring at him intently. His smile widened as he met her gaze.
"What's your name again?" he asked, flexing his fingers and coming back to reality. "I'm sure I've known it in the past."
The woman cocked her head, reaching for a roll of painfully white bandages. "Madame Pomfrey(sp?), to you," she muttered, snapping out the end of the roll, catching it in her hand, and beginning to wind it around his hand. "How on Earth did you manage THIS?" she hissed under her breath.
"Potions class accident," he answered cheerfully, happy to be of service. "I held one of those thin-glass beakers too hard. I'm surprised it hasn't happened before, actually."
"It's never happened before because Professor Snape always warns the first-years before they even touch the chopping stone," the nurse snapped, cutting off the length of bandage with a wicked pair of scissors.
Draco deflated, his shoulders slumping. "I suppose so," he murmured, staring down at his good hand and flushing a dark pink. The blush contrasted oddly with his white-blonde hair. He should've remembered that, of all things. Don't hold the beakers too tight... it was blatantly obvious. It was like the sound that metal made in a fire; it was just something you knew, even if you'd never heard it.
A noise made him look up. There were the three students from Potions, the three that had been staring at him. Draco smiled, confused, and waved with his bandaged hand before he realized what he was doing, stared at it, and stuck it behind his back.
The boy with black hair and thick glasses started toward him, followed by the girl and the pale, red-haired boy. They reached the bed he sat on and stood for a moment, wordless. The girl glanced at the arm behind his back, bit her lip, and glared at the red-head, who shrugged.
"Yes?" Draco asked, running his fingers through his hair. "I know you, right?"
"You've forgotten us over the summer, Malfoy?" the black-haired boy asked with a baffled tone, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "We were your favorite targets, remember? Potter? Harry Potter?"
Draco brightened. The name sounded familiar. "Yes!" he exclaimed, grasping at the straw. "Harry! And... and your friends..."
"Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger," Harry said slowly, pointing to each in turn.
Draco nodded at them, smiling. "Of course," he said, turning back to Harry. "Ron and Hermione. Um. Yes." He didn't remember those names at all. The light at the end of the tunnel turned out to just be a torch on the wall. "I'm sorry, I really don't remember you at all." The truth never hurt...
"Yeah, right," Ron snapped, crossing his arms. "You may be fooling Dumbledore but you're not-"
"I'm sorry, I really haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," Draco interrupted, standing up abruptly, holding his bad hand. So the truth did hurt sometimes. Drat. "And I don't think I have to take this. I'm not fooling anyone."
Ron glowered. "Oh, yes," he grumbled. He pointed at Hermione. "Do you remember Hermione? Hermione the 'mudblood?'" Hermione gasped, and Harry stared at Ron.
Mud... blood. Mudblood. Draco stared at Ron with a stunned expression, searching his memory for the word. "Ah!" he murmured, brightening. And then he punched Ron so hard that the red-head spun. "As I recall, that's a very vulgar term." He scratched his head. "At least, I believe so..."
"You should know, you friggin' miniature Death Eater," Ron mumbled through a bloody lip, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You practically made up the word."
"That's enough, Ron," Hermione hissed, pushing him toward the door and glancing meaningfully over her shoulder at Harry. Harry shrugged, shot a glance at Draco, and followed.
Draco turned only to see a white-clad nurse with her mouth wide open, holding a stack of folded white sheets. He smiled dazedly at her, clasping his hands behind his back.
"What's your name again?" he asked, cocking his head on one side. "I'm sure I've known it in the past."