A/N: Thankyou to gagmewithasp0rkx, Aeryn Alexander, Quicksilver Fallen and ClaireBear for their reviews.
I would have written this a day earlier, but we were hit with a rather violent electrical storm, which hit a powerline and left us without electricity for hours - at precisely the time when I usually write. That's luck for ya. Plus, I may be developing an ulcer on my eye (yes, ouch) which could have me not being able to open them for up to a week - perfect timing for christmas, wouldn't you say? Hopefully if I get some rest it'll disappear through the night. Otherwise it may be a while before I can write again.
From now on I'll use * to emphasise a word that I would usually contain in italics. I work with html, but they just don't work when I upload to ff.net
Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. Really. Don't sue me.
Codeword? Jeans.
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Sacrifices
Part 9 - Hilarity and Exhaustion
Draco self-consciously moved is hands to his face, though whether he was attempting to brush away his tears or simply cover them he didn't quite know. What he did know was that he had just been caught at the most unfortunate time by the most unfortunate person. He guessed he would rather have Weasley see him in this state - probably even Potter - than Professor Snape. He realised that Snape was still staring down at him. He felt exposed. Shamed. He hated it. What could he say? 'Oh, hi Professor, just feeling a tad off so I decided to stumble out here and throw up. Oh, and cry a little too, of course. And how are you?'. He focused on finding his voice. It was difficult. He was scared that if he opened his mouth, sobs would come out instead of words. Meanwhile, Snape had spoken again. Asked the same thing. 'Good question' thought Draco. What *am* I doing? He shook his head, as if shaking out the fog that seemed to have settled over his consciousness. He couldn't think straight. He looked at his hands. They were bleeding. Dirt and half-congealed blood had run down his hand and trailed down his forerm. He guessed that it would hurt like hell later, but for now it was painless. He found himself wishing that it *would* hurt. At least then maybe he'd feel more *here*. Right now he felt like he was walking in a dream.
Snape watched him with concern, though his face remained stoic and expressionless. The boy had been crying, he could tell that much, and he'd also been sick. Snape tried to conceal his distaste. He didn't know what to do. He looked around, trying to determine of there was anyone else around who was more... suited... to this sort of thing. There wasn't. All the teachers and students were in class. He guessed that if there was any consolation for Malfoy, that was it. Nobody had seen him apart from himself, and he guessed that the boy would want to keep it that way. He certainly would, if he were in that position. He looked at Malfoy's hands, which the boy was watching with sickened fascination.
"Malfoy, perhaps we should let Madam Pomfrey take a look at your hands"
The boy didn't hear.
"Malfoy"
No answer. Louder -
"Malfoy"
This time the boy looked up at him, and for a moment seemed suprised to see him there. But then he looked back down again, quickly, his head lowered in shame. Snape pretended not to notice.
"I said we should let Madam Pomfrey look at your hands"
The boy looked down at them , and his eyes widened. He looked like he was seeing them for the first time, and Snape grew more concerned. He looked to be almost disoriented. Then he shook his head, and turned his face upward to look at Snape.
"Yeah, I think I might have grazed them when I fell down"
Might have, Snape mused. Might have indeed. He put his hand back on Draco's shoulder and helped pull him to his feet. The boy looked like he may fall right back down again, but after a moment he found his footing, and started to trail Snape back into Hogwarts.
Snape was unsure of whether he should question the boy or let him regain his composure first. He debated with himself while walking down the corridors, Malfoy walking silently behind him. He was still trying to decide when he found himself at the Hospital Wing doors. Now it would have to wait. When they walked into the room, Madam Pomfrey was writing something on a tablet of paper. She looked up expectantly when Snape entered the room.
"Accident in potions, Severus? Neville Longbottom, most likely. Send him in, then"
Draco was standing behind Snape, whose imposing figure hid him from view.
"Actually, Poppy, it seems Master Malfoy has had an..." he paused, trying to think of the right word. "...accident". He glanced down and was partly annoyed, partly amused to find that the boy was almost cowering behind him. He stepped aside and practically pulled him throught the door. Madam Pomfrey frowned, and shook her head.
"Master Malfoy, how did you manage to -" she looked at his hands and robes "are they grass stains? How on earth did you get grass stains when you were supposed to go straight to class?"
Draco, meanwhile, was beginning to get beyond caring. He was tired. He felt like he'd run a marathon. He was exhausted, physically. But that wasn't the worst of it. He felt washed out. Emotionally he was beyond tired, beyond exhausted. He felt empty. Like through his tears all his emotions had come tumbling out till he was left completely dry. Numb, like his hands. Except they had started to come alive. They were tingling, not exactly hurting, though he knew they would in time. He almost looked forward to it. Sometimes pain was good. It helped keep your mind off other things. Perhaps that was why when his father... when he... why he wasn't really bothered that much. It was the mind-games that really broke you. He looked at Madam Pomfrey in a disinterested manner. Her mouth was moving. She looked to be in limbo. Some weird place between annoyance and concern. He found it funny. Not in a ha-ha kind of way, but the sort of funny that was funny only because it made no sense. And suddenly it wasn't just funny. It was hilarious. He tried to stifle his laughs, but couldn't. At first it was a giggle. Then another. Madam Pomfrey's face contorted in anger, and he lost it. He laughed until fresh tears rolled down his face (no quite dry afterall) and somewhere throughout, it stopped being funny. Maybe it was when he felt Professor Snape put a stern hand on his shoulder, maybe before, maybe after. It hurt his stomach, but he couldn't stop. He was in hysterics, he knew it, and that made him laugh even harder.
Madam Pomfrey was no longer angry. She was worried. She'd seen people have adverse reactions before. Sometimes when in shock, people would yell, scream... or laugh. It was never a good sign. Snape's eyes were wide, she could see, and she guessed that if she had been able to see her own face, hers would be the same. Probably worse. Snape had grabbed Malfoy by the shoulder, but seemed unsure of what to do next. Luckily for him, the boy started to calm down. Though he was still laughing, his laughs were turning into long, ragged breaths. Snape kept his hand held securely onto the boy's shoulder. He didn't know why, exactly. In case he bolted? In case he started thrashing about? In case he fell down like he'd done already? Maybe. Maybe it was just instinct. Perhaps he knew that in times of great distress, a simple human touch can make all the difference, no matter what its source. For Draco, at least, that was true. When he felt Snape's hand on his shoulder, something clicked in his mind, and he felt like he was coming back into himself. Away from hysteria, back to now.
If he felt weak before his fit of giggles, it was ten-fold now. He felt like he could literally crumple at any moment. His legs felt weighty, but liquid. It felt like his blood had collapsed at his feet, leaving his head empty and flighty. The sickness had returned to his stomach, but he barely noticed. He was too tired to notice. He was too tired to think. He would have asked to lay down on a bed so that he could sleep, but he was too tired. Too tired to walk across the room, too tired to talk... and, dammit, he was too tired to stand. He felt his knees give way. 'Oops' he thought, and it brought a lazy smile to his face. He felt hands grab him under the arms. He attempted to stand on his feet once more, but was only moderately successful. He half-stumbed to the closest bed (though in truth, the hands that were still place under his arms were taking the majority of his weight) and felt is legs being lifted from under him. Then he was on the bed. It felt like heaven. He wondered excatly when the hospital wing had aquired the most comfortable bed in the world. He felt his eyes slide closed and embraced the darkness that came rushing toward him. Welcomed it like an old friend. Which it was, really.
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This was a short one, I know, but my eye really is hurting me, and all this talk of sleep is making my eyes droop. Lets just hope it doesn't get too much worse. I'm getting a load of books for christmas, and it would be extremely unfortunate if I was left without eyes to read them with.
Here in Australia it's officially already christmas eve. If you want me to write the next chapter over christmas, review. Unless people *really* want another chapter I might just party... You should see the yummy bottle of rum that my mum bought me for christmas :licks lips: awfully tempting.