No One Noticed

By Mireekian

Friday, at dinner…

Scowling at anyone who came near, Draco was definitely not having a good day. Or a good year. Or… scratch that. His whole life wasn't going all that great.

Oh, irony abounds…

After six years of humiliating Potter and his troupe, it just all had to come back to haunt him, didn't it? He'd made Head Boy, and entirely deserved it, contrary to the rumours. He'd worked his fingers to the bone the last two years to get good enough grades for this position, as his father and his father's father before him had been Head Boy, as well as Quidditch Captain, and holders of the House Cup when they attended Hogwarts.

So far two of his goals had been reached. If only he'd known beforehand how hard it would be to keep them… the sacrifices he had to make.

Every night. Eleven O'Clock. Patrolling. With Granger…

…

…Ugh.

And now nearly everyone in the whole lot of Slytherin were sick with some twisted variation of the flu, which had somehow began as toxic mould in one of Zabini's girlfriend's raunchy experiments (a Ravenclaw, see), and Zabini continued on to poison the whole group.

Draco was the 'lucky' one. Draco was the 'safe' one. Draco was the one living in a separate dorm that he shared with Hermione Granger, of all people, as student Heads.

If only they knew how infuriating she could be.

"'Pick up your bag, Malfoy,' 'Your socks are on the rug, Malfoy,' 'Get your ruddy Divinations text off my Astronomy paper, Malfoy,'" he mouthed angrily, stabbing into his steak harder than necessary.

At least he didn't have to worry about his reputation anymore. Without the other Slytherins nearby, no one paid him any attention. In fact, he could probably stand up and scream that Voldemort was hiding under his bed in his shared dorms with Granger… and no one would notice.

With more force than he should have, Draco shoved the steak into his mouth and didn't so much as chew as grind his teeth together very slowly, imagining the Golden Trio – specifically Granger – to be the meat between his teeth, completely at his mercy. He ground a little harder.

When his throat got too constricted, he shot back his glass of pumpkin juice in one gulp and moved to leave –

And promptly sat back down again, his head spinning, his meal threatening to come back up.

Had his anger at Granger made him so dizzy he could barely see straight (or not at all, but Draco didn't want to believe that)? Maybe. It had happened before…

When he stopped seeing stars, Draco glanced up to pin an accusing glare on what he was sure to be the reason behind every injustice in his world… That filthy little Mudblood.

With dawning rage, Draco realized he'd looked up just in time to see her leaving the Gryffindor table, heading towards the staff table, or more realistically just to the left of it, where Draco knew the short cut lied to their common room.

The rule with Friday dinners for them, was that whoever got there first after dinner got to do whatever they liked over the weekend… including have friends over. The pounding in Draco's head must have shaken something loose, because he suddenly forgot about the flu bug going around… and the fact that Potter and Weasley were both locked up in the infirmary.

Instead he staggered to his feet and, without anyone taking note of his departure (as compared to Granger's, who received several well-wishes from various people in the student population as she walked past) Draco left. He had just gotten past the hidden doorway when his shaky knees gave out and he crumpled to his hands and knees, breathing harshly, trying to shake a bead of sweat away from his eyes.

He didn't… he couldn't understand when… he'd been fine right up until…

Blackness.

Draco Malfoy fainted.