Entry 10: Master of All (8b/?)
Title: Master of All
Entry Number: 10
Author: mihnn
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: R
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Spoiler Warnings: None.
Word Count: 1043
The hall was brightly lit. Draco’s steps were quick, the sound echoing off the walls. He was running. There were two others chasing him. They were laughing.
“This is not for the feint of heart, Draco,” his father said gravely as he rose up to his full height slowly. Moments ago he had been on one knee, at Draco’s eye level while his hand held his son’s shoulder in a reassuring manner. Now Draco looked up at his father. He was so tall, so strong. Draco was in awe of such power. No one was like his father, and someday, he shall be just like him.
Lucius Malfoy smiled. “You are too young.”
Draco Malfoy’s eyes snapped open. It took a moment for him to get his bearings, but once he did, all he could see was white. White walls, a white ceiling, and when he moved his head slightly to the right on a pillow that felt too soft to be real, he saw a lone table, empty save for a goblet of water.
He didn’t dwell on the thoughts pertaining to where he was, instead focusing on the goblet of clear liquid that his body seemed to crave. His lips were chapped, his tongue felt like paper. Eyeing the water he raised his arm to bring the goblet to his lips. He was thirsty; so very thirsty. But when he tried to raise his arm, he found that he couldn’t. Looking down, he saw a leather strap across his wrist. Panicking, he tried to move his other arm only to find a similar strap keeping him imprisoned. Draco let out a grunt as he gritted his teeth and tried to move his legs. But the straps across his ankles kept him immobile. He was held down by all four of his limbs, and his strength was such that he couldn’t fight it. Draco struggled nonetheless, his hands fisting and his body twisting to try to free at least one hand or one leg.
Draco had given up for the moment, his head falling back on the pillow in defeat, when he had is first visitor.
Hermione Granger looked well-rested and somewhat surprised by his appearance.
Draco’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Disappointed that I didn’t die, Granger?”
Her lips pursed in annoyance before she suddenly smiled radiantly at him. “Actually,” Granger said in an irritatingly cheerful tone, “I came to see how you were.” She strutted in calmly, pulled out her wand and conjured up a chair beside the bed he was securely strapped on before taking her seat calmly and turning her full attention on him. “How are you?”
Scoffing, Draco stubbornly turned his head away from her so he could stare at the blank expanse of wall on the other side of the bed. Her irritated sigh made him smile.
“Honestly, Malfoy, quit being so stubborn.”
“Stubborn? I honestly don’t know what you mean, Granger.”
“Oh? You don’t know what stubborn means? Let’s see. Wilful, inflexible, immovable… Idiotic,” she said as an afterthought.
“You would know, Granger. You just listed your best qualities.”
He heard the way she let out a low breath, probably to keep her impatience in check, which only made his smile widen. “Why are you being so difficult?”
At this question, he turned back to face her with a glare already in place. “Why am I here?”
She looked at him seriously, her expression apologetic. “Your body went through too much trauma. We had to bring you somewhere you could be fully healed.”
“St. Mungo’s?” She nodded. “How long?”
“A week, maybe.” Her smile was pained and sincere. “But, longer if you’re willing to undergo the treatment again.”
Draco simply blinked at her, unable to fully dissect everything that had happened. He remembered the pain vividly-it was hard not to-but his body felt stronger than it had been in months and his back didn’t ache from a mattress that felt like it was stuffed with books. Was it worth it to go through so much pain just to live in comfort? Was it worth it to play with his mind using unsafe spells, potions and incantations just to get a few days of uninterrupted rest? And was it worth to give up a cell to be tied to a bed without much hope for movement? He needed time to think. But, he needed water first.
Granger followed his gaze only for her eyes to land on the goblet. Without a word, she picked it up easily and held it out to him. Draco eyed her suspiciously and lifted his head as far as he could. She placed the tip of the goblet to his lips and angled it carefully. Draco drank the cool liquid like he had been in the desert for months without water. It had been so long since he had drunk anything so pure. He had been convinced from the first day in Azkaban that clean water was a rare occurrence. Once the goblet was empty she placed it back on the table. Draco simply dropped his head once more onto the pillow and looked up at the white ceiling. He didn’t thank her.
A moment of silence passed before she asked softly, “Do you remember anything?”
“Did it work, you mean.”
From the corner of his eye he saw her shift in her seat. He wondered if it was nervousness or agitation. “Did it?”
Draco blinked up at the ceiling. Nothing felt new. Nothing felt out of the ordinary. “I remember everything that I always did.”
“Nothing stands out?”
He turned to face her, his eyes studying her. “What could possibly stand out, Granger? The memory I have of being played like a worthless creature? The way I was blamed for things I had never done, the things I was forced to do, the poor sods who were tortured in front of me? Are they all things that shouldn’t stand out?” Her expression made him pause. “What?” he asked, somewhat reluctantly.
She stared at him in surprise. “You never said anyone was tortured in front of you.”
His eyes widened. “Are you saying that it worked?”
“I’m saying that we should really go over everything we went through before.”
Entry Number: 10
Author: mihnn
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: R
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Spoiler Warnings: None.
Word Count: 1043
The hall was brightly lit. Draco’s steps were quick, the sound echoing off the walls. He was running. There were two others chasing him. They were laughing.
“This is not for the feint of heart, Draco,” his father said gravely as he rose up to his full height slowly. Moments ago he had been on one knee, at Draco’s eye level while his hand held his son’s shoulder in a reassuring manner. Now Draco looked up at his father. He was so tall, so strong. Draco was in awe of such power. No one was like his father, and someday, he shall be just like him.
Lucius Malfoy smiled. “You are too young.”
Draco Malfoy’s eyes snapped open. It took a moment for him to get his bearings, but once he did, all he could see was white. White walls, a white ceiling, and when he moved his head slightly to the right on a pillow that felt too soft to be real, he saw a lone table, empty save for a goblet of water.
He didn’t dwell on the thoughts pertaining to where he was, instead focusing on the goblet of clear liquid that his body seemed to crave. His lips were chapped, his tongue felt like paper. Eyeing the water he raised his arm to bring the goblet to his lips. He was thirsty; so very thirsty. But when he tried to raise his arm, he found that he couldn’t. Looking down, he saw a leather strap across his wrist. Panicking, he tried to move his other arm only to find a similar strap keeping him imprisoned. Draco let out a grunt as he gritted his teeth and tried to move his legs. But the straps across his ankles kept him immobile. He was held down by all four of his limbs, and his strength was such that he couldn’t fight it. Draco struggled nonetheless, his hands fisting and his body twisting to try to free at least one hand or one leg.
Draco had given up for the moment, his head falling back on the pillow in defeat, when he had is first visitor.
Hermione Granger looked well-rested and somewhat surprised by his appearance.
Draco’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Disappointed that I didn’t die, Granger?”
Her lips pursed in annoyance before she suddenly smiled radiantly at him. “Actually,” Granger said in an irritatingly cheerful tone, “I came to see how you were.” She strutted in calmly, pulled out her wand and conjured up a chair beside the bed he was securely strapped on before taking her seat calmly and turning her full attention on him. “How are you?”
Scoffing, Draco stubbornly turned his head away from her so he could stare at the blank expanse of wall on the other side of the bed. Her irritated sigh made him smile.
“Honestly, Malfoy, quit being so stubborn.”
“Stubborn? I honestly don’t know what you mean, Granger.”
“Oh? You don’t know what stubborn means? Let’s see. Wilful, inflexible, immovable… Idiotic,” she said as an afterthought.
“You would know, Granger. You just listed your best qualities.”
He heard the way she let out a low breath, probably to keep her impatience in check, which only made his smile widen. “Why are you being so difficult?”
At this question, he turned back to face her with a glare already in place. “Why am I here?”
She looked at him seriously, her expression apologetic. “Your body went through too much trauma. We had to bring you somewhere you could be fully healed.”
“St. Mungo’s?” She nodded. “How long?”
“A week, maybe.” Her smile was pained and sincere. “But, longer if you’re willing to undergo the treatment again.”
Draco simply blinked at her, unable to fully dissect everything that had happened. He remembered the pain vividly-it was hard not to-but his body felt stronger than it had been in months and his back didn’t ache from a mattress that felt like it was stuffed with books. Was it worth it to go through so much pain just to live in comfort? Was it worth it to play with his mind using unsafe spells, potions and incantations just to get a few days of uninterrupted rest? And was it worth to give up a cell to be tied to a bed without much hope for movement? He needed time to think. But, he needed water first.
Granger followed his gaze only for her eyes to land on the goblet. Without a word, she picked it up easily and held it out to him. Draco eyed her suspiciously and lifted his head as far as he could. She placed the tip of the goblet to his lips and angled it carefully. Draco drank the cool liquid like he had been in the desert for months without water. It had been so long since he had drunk anything so pure. He had been convinced from the first day in Azkaban that clean water was a rare occurrence. Once the goblet was empty she placed it back on the table. Draco simply dropped his head once more onto the pillow and looked up at the white ceiling. He didn’t thank her.
A moment of silence passed before she asked softly, “Do you remember anything?”
“Did it work, you mean.”
From the corner of his eye he saw her shift in her seat. He wondered if it was nervousness or agitation. “Did it?”
Draco blinked up at the ceiling. Nothing felt new. Nothing felt out of the ordinary. “I remember everything that I always did.”
“Nothing stands out?”
He turned to face her, his eyes studying her. “What could possibly stand out, Granger? The memory I have of being played like a worthless creature? The way I was blamed for things I had never done, the things I was forced to do, the poor sods who were tortured in front of me? Are they all things that shouldn’t stand out?” Her expression made him pause. “What?” he asked, somewhat reluctantly.
She stared at him in surprise. “You never said anyone was tortured in front of you.”
His eyes widened. “Are you saying that it worked?”
“I’m saying that we should really go over everything we went through before.”