Draco Malfoy and the Alcoholic's Wish

Dr Anxious

He led me back to the hospital wing this time, right back to bed so that I wouldn't wake up Snape, then disappeared with a crack, so he wouldn't be caught either. Luckily, he didn't stir, his head still drooping forwards like the whomping willow. 

After staring at him for a while, I felt a crumb of something inside me that was not resentment for him, a particle of my being that still hoped that Snape didn't want me dead, that the poison had been an accident. Inside, I still craved for the parental figure I had left behind, anyone, anything that I could cling to, and have them take my problems away- the sleepless nights, the constant paranoia, the ache for a drink of something that burned my tongue and set fire to my belly. 

Snape was smart enough not to promise the world, as he knew he couldn't give it, but, if I was being honest, it was the honesty I had found most amiable.

Consequently, I then swung my kegs out of bed and padded over to him, transfiguring his hard, plastic chair to another hospital bed, and laying his head down on the pillows. I then thought a bit, and apprehensively removed his dark, heavy cloak and shoes, before thinking some more and peeling off his robe too, until he was left wearing nothing but his short-sleeved, grey under-shirt and a pair of plain black trousers, thinking he would probably prefer these to stay on. I took a moment to realise this was a perfect opportunity, and so without a second thought I gently unbuttoned his sleeve, and pushed it up his forearm, revealing the ugly scarring that covered his entire left forearm, staining the skin bright pink and purple, the skin uneven and jagged.

Drawn on top of the scar was a pair of deer- two does, stood regally next to each other, drawn not in a cartoonish way or like a photo, but as a collection of precise waves and lines, woven together to create the obvious outline of a deer, almost like a Celtic cross. The doe on the left was wearing a crown of fine, green emeralds, her head held high. The animal on the left had her head ducked and had somehow been drawn to look like she was laughing. Seamlessly worked into the drawing was a single flower, a lily maybe, tucked behind her ear. Her eyes, unlike the doe on the left, had been coloured in, using the same green ink as the crown, leaving the rest of the tattoo black.

Wondering what this tattoo meant- it obviously meant a lot, if it was the one thing tattooed on his body (although who knew- he might have other things embroidered into him. I'd have to ask him about it in the morning) I folded his clothes and left them on my bedside table. I didn't necessarily like the man, but my mother had taught me to be polite to guests.

 After tucking him in an almost motherly way, I smoothed the hair off his forehead, before wiping my sluiced hand on my trousers, climbing into bed myself, exhausted.

(~(•‿•)~)

"You really think it'll all be over when you die?" bellowed Dumbledore down a long dark corridor, from a room I did not recognise outside of my dreams. "You think a few bad nights warrant the death of thousands of Muggles, Squibs, and everyone else you deemed scrum? My boy, you have learned nothing at Hogwarts, have you? An eternity of hell awaits you, whether you take your anti-psychotics or not. There's no way of taking back what you've done!"

"Please!" I screamed, cowering as my old headmaster grew near, quickening his pace until he passed right through me, although I could still hear his booming voice in my ears, shouting abuse. "Tell me what I have to do to make it right! Tell me how to fix this!"

"Try drinking yourself to death" scorned my mother, who had appeared out of nowhere. "Then we can come to see you sooner."

I continued babbling like a madman, unable to control what was coming out of my mouth anymore, just meaningless nonsense that arose to nothing. My mother scoffed, looking down at me in dislike, then mocked (sounding much like her older sister) "Draco Malfoy, the cowardly Deatheater, the Muggle-loving bastard who isn't even accepted by his own kind. Good heavens, what will he do?"