Hermione came down for breakfast the next morning with a face like thunder. She threw herself into her seat and began pouring herself a coffee, slopping it everywhere as she did so. She then proceeded to knock over the milk and emptied half the jar of marmalade on her toast by accident.
"In a bad mood by any chance?" Ron asked, putting down the Daily Prophet.
Hermione scowled at him and began scraping the excess marmalade from her toast before giving up and hurling it across the table where it landed in Seamus Finnegan's bowl of cereal.
"I'm guessing it's quite serious. Harry?" Ron said, leaving Harry to find out what was wrong with their friend.
"Are you -," Harry began but Hermione began ranting.
"All bloody night I had to listen to that twit giggle about Malfoy, talking of whom didn't turn up for evening patrol again. I swear I'm going to Dumbledore about him; he doesn't take his authority seriously at all and thinks he can leave it all to me. Well, I'll show him, I'll show him indeed!"
"Um, right," Harry said quietly, giving Ron a significant look to which Ron returned with a roll of his eyes.
"Who was giggling all night anyway?" Ron asked, putting far too much bacon in his mouth at once.
"Parvati Patil," Hermione said through gritted teeth.
"What? Malfoy and Parvati?" Ron asked incredulously, his mouth hanging open.
"The very pair," Hermione snapped back.
"So are you - ," Harry tried once more but Hermione had swept up from the table with a flutter of robes and left again before either of the two boys could call her back.
Draco managed to force his eyes open at around eleven o'clock that morning. It took him a while to compose himself and work out where exactly he was.
He groaned as the memories of the previous night began flooding back to him and he yanked the cotton sheet and the heavy emerald velvet cover over his head, plunging him in darkness in an attempt to escape his mind.
He had drunk far, far too much again and there was no way he could go to Snape for a potion. His head was throbbing unbelievably, his throat was sore and every bone in his body ached.
He could vaguely remember Parvati leading him up to her dorm, doing some kind of charm to prevent the staircase from turning into a slide and the rest was a horrible blur. This was the first time he wasn't proud of his behaviour.
He pushed the covers off himself and slowly rolled out of bed, feeling the cold air prickle his unclothed form like very sharp pins. He rubbed his eyes but had to energy to stretch so instead he forced his legs to carry him to the bathroom where he just stood under a hot shower.
The steamy water massaged his muscles and he wished his mind could be soothed as easily.
He stayed under the water for a long time, and shut the water off with a heavy heart. He wrapped his rich emerald towel around his waist and gave himself a long, hard look in the mirror.
"Something seems to trouble the young master," the mirror said quietly, using its calm and passive voice. "Such a man as yourself should have no troubles."
"You have no idea," Draco replied honestly, wiping the steam off the mirror with a wet hand.
"Clouded minds see clouded images," the mirror said slowly. "Perhaps young master should bring the sun through his dark days?"
Draco looked up at the mirror and saw himself unsurprisingly. The words rang in his ears. The mirror was correct.
"I can't," Draco said quietly. "I can never have the sun."
"Ah, the sun the master craves is not beyond reach and she shines only for one. The light in the young master's darkness," the mirror replied sagely, its soft, cool voice coursing through Draco like some euphoric drug.
Draco turned from the mirror and whipped the towel from around his waist and dropped it on the floor. The mirrors words had awaken something inside of Draco and he knew exactly what he needed to do.
He got dressed, checked the time and headed down to the Great Hall, where he knew Hermione would be.
Draco emerged from the Slytherin common room and began weaving through back corridors and up flights of stairs with determination in his eyes.
He rounded the corner and was mere feet away from the great doors to the Hall when a crippling pain shot up his left arm and into his shoulder, making his knees buckle.
"Ah!" Draco panted, clutching his forearm tightly as it burned fiercer. The Dark Lord was in no mood to be waiting around for his Deatheaters.
Draco took one last look at the Great Hall before storming down the steps of Hogwarts castle and out into the brisk October morning still clutching his arm.