Chapter Four: Vexes
It was beyond Draco how he managed to get back to his flat from the Estate. He figured he'd probably gotten there on his own, though he couldn't remember a thing after taking that potion.
And what a potion that was, Draco thought, while splashing his face with cold water again. He felt like he'd just gotten over a hangover — one of the worst he'd ever had. Yet it hurt about ten times more and didn't go away as easily as his usual hangovers did. He'd learned that chocolate made the migraines go away, but he was fresh out of the stuff. So he was left with nothing but cold water, a terrible headache, and a lump in his throat.
Perfect.
He stumbled back to his bed, forgetting to use his eyes completely, and allowed himself to fall — not lightly — on it, making his headache — if possible — even worse.
He groaned at his own patheticness. He knew Snape probably had some sort of remedy for this, but his pride kept him from contacting the older man about it. He wasn't about to go running to Snape because of a headache. He could take care of himself, and it didn't hurt as much now that he was laying down.
He moved to pull his covers over him and nearly yelped when he found a body hidden underneath them. His headache had just reached a whole new level, but even still he forced his eyes to focus on the person in bed with him.
It was a woman. He could tell from her figure, and the long, ruby hair that covered her face. She was curled into a sleeping position and wore a black, silk nightdress, though her eyes were wide open and staring at him. His groaned.
"What, in the name of Merlin, are you doing here?!" he yelled, causing a sharp pain to throb from his left temple.
The woman sat up on the bed, and put on a playful pout. Her glittering brown eyes flirted tauntingly with Draco, though he was too dizzy to notice.
"Haven't you missed me, Draco?" the woman said in a soft purr, and inched closer to him.
He backed away uncomfortably, though he didn't get off the bed — Merlin knew it would be a struggle for him.
"What do you want?" he spat irritably, and wished she'd get off the bed so he could lay down again.
"I missed you," she said simply, and moved to nuzzle his neck with her lips. He jerked away before she could make contact though, sending another jolt of pain through his head. The woman gave him a pout in disappointment, which he quickly avoided looking at. The woman then nodded understandably, and, with a sly grin, began to pull down the straps of her nightdress.
"What are you doing?!" said Draco.
"You're playing hard to get," cooed the woman, batting her long, rust-colored eyeslashes at him.
"I'm not playing anything," said Draco, and hurriedly tore his eyes away before the last strap fell. He really didn't want to be doing this at that moment — his headache was getting worse by the second.
The woman giggled, and threw herself across Draco's lap, nearly making him pass out from the pain.
"Oh, come on, Draco," simpered the woman. "I know you missed this."
"I don't," spat Draco, but made no effort to pushher off — he was just too tired to.
"Well, I have," said the woman, and began to leave a trail of soft kisses from his neck to his jawbone. "You've had me so worried," she purred, sending a soft breeze through Draco's ear.
"I bet," said Draco, irritably shutting his eyes while the woman continued her fun.
"Seriously," she said, while unbuttoning his shirt, "when you'd run off like that, we'd thought the Ministry'd get you for sure."
"I was working for the Ministry," said Draco, almost lazily. As much as he hated to admit it, the warmth from the woman's body was making him feel very comfortable, and he was dangerously close to falling asleep. He didn't dare to though, not while the woman was there.
"Right," giggled the woman, and sent a jolt through Draco's neck as she did so. "Working for the Ministry," she repeated, and giggled again. "Honestly, what were you up to?"
That was it. Draco had had enough. He stood up, almost too quickly, sending the woman rolling down the floor, and another sharp pain through his head.
"You mean when I killed my own father?" he asked, his voice no longer dull and tired, but firm and harsh.
The woman blinked angrily at him. "I know you didn't do that for the Ministry," she said, and stood up to face him — even then she had to tilt her head up to see him. "I know in some way it was to help the Dark Lord, I know it!"
"Help him?" echoed Draco, almost hysterically. "How would I be helping Voldemort by killing off one of his most trusted Death Eaters, which later brought on more deaths of his other Death Eaters, not to mention himself?!"
The woman looked as if Draco was mad — and he probably was.
"You don't know?" she said slowly.
Now it was Draco's turn to blink.
"Know what?"
The woman's confused look contorted into a smile — a cold and merciless smile. "You don't know," she said again, now as a statement.
"Get out, Blaise," Draco whispered. He was shaking from controlled anger.
Calmly, Blaise gathered her things (a purse and fur cloak) and walked to the door.
"We'll meet again," she said, in the same soft purr, and left. The moment she had, Draco collapsed into his bed, feeling like his whole breath and energy had left him. He curled himself into a ball, and as he pulled his covers over him, he found himself missing the warmth from her body and wishing he had not sent her away.
* * *
The fire encircled him now — towering walls of ember. He stood alone in the middle, but he was surrounded by hooded figures in long, black cloaks — twelve in all. He looked around at them all — they were still and silent, like they were waiting for something. He looked down at himself. He was wearing a shiny black shirt, made of silk, no doubt, and equally dark pants. The thick lining of his pants — was that leather? — and heavy material of his shirt would've normally made him perspire, but he didn't. Ironically, he felt cold. His hands felt numb, and his lips were chapped.
Suddenly, the figure in front of Draco took a step forward. Slowly, it raised it's hand, a small and feminine hand, and held it out expectantly.
Draco stared at it's hand. What did it want?
Then, as if reading his mind, the figure answered, it's voice soft and steady.
"You're blood."
His eyes snapped open as the words echoed through his mind. That had done it. As quickly as he could without making his head throb more, he dashed out of his flat, and out into Muggle London.
He felt extremely foolish for choosing to live all the way out in Muggle London as he quicked his pace to the pub that led to Diagon Alley. He hadn't even gotten his cloak before he left. The cold and bitter air clung to him, reminding all to well that autumn was approaching.
It surprised him how quickly he had made it to Hogsmeade, and even more at how unbearable the pain in his head was being. It was like a sharp knife, heated, was constantly being chiseled into his skull. His skull would resist the trespasser, causing an aggressive war in Draco's head. He could barely stand, let alone focus his eyes.
He heard the indistinct sound of voices from somewhere in front of him, then felt a quick and harsh shove on his left shoulder. He staggered, and nearly fell over. "Hey," he heard himself say, and blinked furiously at the offender. His vision blurred, and blinking was fruitless. Finally, after many attempts to squint his eyes, he saw red. Flaming red hair that looked so much like the wine his father used to drink.
"Blaise?" he muttered, swaying in his spot.
"Blaise?" the woman echoed. Her voice was gentle — concerned. Definitely not Blaise.
"Bugger," Draco muttered again, and felt himself crumble unto the cold street floor. He blinked up at the graying sky, which was suddenly clouded over with red. The woman had run to his side, and Draco was able to make out two honey-brown eyes staring worriedly at him before it all went black again.
Chapter Five; Harry and Ron finally show up, a bit of a past romance is revealed for teaser purposes, and the ever-classic Infirmary scene!
It was beyond Draco how he managed to get back to his flat from the Estate. He figured he'd probably gotten there on his own, though he couldn't remember a thing after taking that potion.
And what a potion that was, Draco thought, while splashing his face with cold water again. He felt like he'd just gotten over a hangover — one of the worst he'd ever had. Yet it hurt about ten times more and didn't go away as easily as his usual hangovers did. He'd learned that chocolate made the migraines go away, but he was fresh out of the stuff. So he was left with nothing but cold water, a terrible headache, and a lump in his throat.
Perfect.
He stumbled back to his bed, forgetting to use his eyes completely, and allowed himself to fall — not lightly — on it, making his headache — if possible — even worse.
He groaned at his own patheticness. He knew Snape probably had some sort of remedy for this, but his pride kept him from contacting the older man about it. He wasn't about to go running to Snape because of a headache. He could take care of himself, and it didn't hurt as much now that he was laying down.
He moved to pull his covers over him and nearly yelped when he found a body hidden underneath them. His headache had just reached a whole new level, but even still he forced his eyes to focus on the person in bed with him.
It was a woman. He could tell from her figure, and the long, ruby hair that covered her face. She was curled into a sleeping position and wore a black, silk nightdress, though her eyes were wide open and staring at him. His groaned.
"What, in the name of Merlin, are you doing here?!" he yelled, causing a sharp pain to throb from his left temple.
The woman sat up on the bed, and put on a playful pout. Her glittering brown eyes flirted tauntingly with Draco, though he was too dizzy to notice.
"Haven't you missed me, Draco?" the woman said in a soft purr, and inched closer to him.
He backed away uncomfortably, though he didn't get off the bed — Merlin knew it would be a struggle for him.
"What do you want?" he spat irritably, and wished she'd get off the bed so he could lay down again.
"I missed you," she said simply, and moved to nuzzle his neck with her lips. He jerked away before she could make contact though, sending another jolt of pain through his head. The woman gave him a pout in disappointment, which he quickly avoided looking at. The woman then nodded understandably, and, with a sly grin, began to pull down the straps of her nightdress.
"What are you doing?!" said Draco.
"You're playing hard to get," cooed the woman, batting her long, rust-colored eyeslashes at him.
"I'm not playing anything," said Draco, and hurriedly tore his eyes away before the last strap fell. He really didn't want to be doing this at that moment — his headache was getting worse by the second.
The woman giggled, and threw herself across Draco's lap, nearly making him pass out from the pain.
"Oh, come on, Draco," simpered the woman. "I know you missed this."
"I don't," spat Draco, but made no effort to pushher off — he was just too tired to.
"Well, I have," said the woman, and began to leave a trail of soft kisses from his neck to his jawbone. "You've had me so worried," she purred, sending a soft breeze through Draco's ear.
"I bet," said Draco, irritably shutting his eyes while the woman continued her fun.
"Seriously," she said, while unbuttoning his shirt, "when you'd run off like that, we'd thought the Ministry'd get you for sure."
"I was working for the Ministry," said Draco, almost lazily. As much as he hated to admit it, the warmth from the woman's body was making him feel very comfortable, and he was dangerously close to falling asleep. He didn't dare to though, not while the woman was there.
"Right," giggled the woman, and sent a jolt through Draco's neck as she did so. "Working for the Ministry," she repeated, and giggled again. "Honestly, what were you up to?"
That was it. Draco had had enough. He stood up, almost too quickly, sending the woman rolling down the floor, and another sharp pain through his head.
"You mean when I killed my own father?" he asked, his voice no longer dull and tired, but firm and harsh.
The woman blinked angrily at him. "I know you didn't do that for the Ministry," she said, and stood up to face him — even then she had to tilt her head up to see him. "I know in some way it was to help the Dark Lord, I know it!"
"Help him?" echoed Draco, almost hysterically. "How would I be helping Voldemort by killing off one of his most trusted Death Eaters, which later brought on more deaths of his other Death Eaters, not to mention himself?!"
The woman looked as if Draco was mad — and he probably was.
"You don't know?" she said slowly.
Now it was Draco's turn to blink.
"Know what?"
The woman's confused look contorted into a smile — a cold and merciless smile. "You don't know," she said again, now as a statement.
"Get out, Blaise," Draco whispered. He was shaking from controlled anger.
Calmly, Blaise gathered her things (a purse and fur cloak) and walked to the door.
"We'll meet again," she said, in the same soft purr, and left. The moment she had, Draco collapsed into his bed, feeling like his whole breath and energy had left him. He curled himself into a ball, and as he pulled his covers over him, he found himself missing the warmth from her body and wishing he had not sent her away.
The fire encircled him now — towering walls of ember. He stood alone in the middle, but he was surrounded by hooded figures in long, black cloaks — twelve in all. He looked around at them all — they were still and silent, like they were waiting for something. He looked down at himself. He was wearing a shiny black shirt, made of silk, no doubt, and equally dark pants. The thick lining of his pants — was that leather? — and heavy material of his shirt would've normally made him perspire, but he didn't. Ironically, he felt cold. His hands felt numb, and his lips were chapped.
Suddenly, the figure in front of Draco took a step forward. Slowly, it raised it's hand, a small and feminine hand, and held it out expectantly.
Draco stared at it's hand. What did it want?
Then, as if reading his mind, the figure answered, it's voice soft and steady.
"You're blood."
His eyes snapped open as the words echoed through his mind. That had done it. As quickly as he could without making his head throb more, he dashed out of his flat, and out into Muggle London.
He felt extremely foolish for choosing to live all the way out in Muggle London as he quicked his pace to the pub that led to Diagon Alley. He hadn't even gotten his cloak before he left. The cold and bitter air clung to him, reminding all to well that autumn was approaching.
It surprised him how quickly he had made it to Hogsmeade, and even more at how unbearable the pain in his head was being. It was like a sharp knife, heated, was constantly being chiseled into his skull. His skull would resist the trespasser, causing an aggressive war in Draco's head. He could barely stand, let alone focus his eyes.
He heard the indistinct sound of voices from somewhere in front of him, then felt a quick and harsh shove on his left shoulder. He staggered, and nearly fell over. "Hey," he heard himself say, and blinked furiously at the offender. His vision blurred, and blinking was fruitless. Finally, after many attempts to squint his eyes, he saw red. Flaming red hair that looked so much like the wine his father used to drink.
"Blaise?" he muttered, swaying in his spot.
"Blaise?" the woman echoed. Her voice was gentle — concerned. Definitely not Blaise.
"Bugger," Draco muttered again, and felt himself crumble unto the cold street floor. He blinked up at the graying sky, which was suddenly clouded over with red. The woman had run to his side, and Draco was able to make out two honey-brown eyes staring worriedly at him before it all went black again.
Chapter Five; Harry and Ron finally show up, a bit of a past romance is revealed for teaser purposes, and the ever-classic Infirmary scene!