Haven't I given enough?

Chapter 7 : why I'm I not dead yet?

Draco's eyes snapped open.

For a moment, he didn't breathe-just stared at the white ceiling above him, his heart hammering in his chest. The smell of antiseptic and potion-soaked linens clawed at his senses.

He sat up abruptly, breath catching in his throat. Pain flared across his ribs and legs, and the room tilted violently, but he gritted his teeth and rode it out. His eyes darted around.

White sheets. Potion vials. Curtain-draped beds.

The Hospital Wing.

His lips curled in disgust.

"Brilliant," he muttered hoarsely, dragging a shaky hand through his hair. "Just what I needed. Coddled like some helpless invalid."

Madam Pomfrey was at his side in moments, her expression a mix of relief and concern. "Mr. Malfoy, you're awake. Thank Merlin-"

"Save the sentiment," Draco cut in, voice sharper than it should've been. "I'm assuming I wasn't hallucinating. I'm alive. Unfortunately."

She sighed, keeping her tone calm. "You're lucky to be. You lost a dangerous amount of blood. If Potter hadn't brought you in-"

"Potter?" Draco's expression twisted into something unreadable. "Of course it was him." He gave a hollow, humorless laugh and leaned back against the headboard, though his posture stayed tense. "Can't seem to stop playing the hero, can he?"

Madam Pomfrey moved gently, cautiously. "He saved your life, Draco. He was terrified when he carried you in."

Draco's jaw tightened. "Pity," he said with biting sarcasm. "Would've been neater if he'd shown up five minutes later."

Madam Pomfrey didn't react to the venom in his voice. She just sat beside the bed, folding her hands. "I know it's hard. I examined your injuries. If there's anything you want to tell me-"

Draco's head snapped toward her. "No."

She blinked. "Draco, please-"

"I said no." He swung his legs off the bed, wincing as the floor rose too fast beneath him. His movements were stiff, shaky-but still laced with defiance. "You'll tell no one. Not Dumbledore, not Snape, not even Saint Potter. Especially not him."

"Everything in this room is confidential," Madam Pomfrey said softly. "I gave my word."

Draco paused, his eyes narrowed, voice colder now. "Good. Because if even one whisper gets out, I'll make sure the entire hospital wing regrets it."

She didn't flinch. "You're still healing. At least let yourself rest-"

"I'm fine," he snapped, forcing himself into his Slytherin robes with shaking hands, his fingers fumbling with the fastenings. "I've been through worse."

It was a lie. They both knew it. But he said it like a challenge.

"Draco-"

He turned toward her, chin high, sneer half-formed on his face. "Thanks for patching me up, Madam. But I'm not your charity case. I don't need your pity. And I sure as hell don't need Potter's."

And with that, he pushed the infirmary doors open and strode out, every step stiff and defiant, like he dared the world to try and knock him down again.

Behind him, Madam Pomfrey exhaled slowly, pain etched deep into her features.

But Draco never looked back.

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To be continued...