"It appears you are only able to speak French, and don't remember what spell hit you," Madame Pomfrey said as she moved around the end of the bed. "But you still understand English?"
An exasperated sigh from the eighth year rustled the fringe falling into his face. Instead of speaking he shook his head. Draco crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at the plain white sheets covering his legs. "Oui."
Madame Pomfrey turned to the witch sitting at his side, not even trying to hide her shit-eating grin. "Miss Weasley, will you sit with Mister Malfoy until the translation spell wears off?"
"…oui."
prompt from: anonymous
