Pathetic. (A Draco Malfoy fanfiction)

Chapter 30.

"Home. Home with nanny, oh how fun." Draco thought bitterly to himself as he watched the old woman struggle to find words to say. His wrist itches, but he can't scratch it, lest he upset the bandages wrapped around them. So he just sits and stares, the only sound in the room the ticking of his father's jade pocket watch, sitting desolate and unused on the mantle. Draco fiddles with an upturned corner of the bandage edge on his left wrist; he never fiddled before, not before he met-
Draco shakes his head suddenly, trying to force away the thought of the girl he's been so desperately trying to forget. Thankfully, Mathilde seems to be inspired by his sudden movement to finally say something,
 "They allowed you to clean yourself, didn't they?"
It's so painfully awkward, her forced earnestness is so ridiculous for such a question; Draco's eyes flick up to meet hers, something she breaks almost instantly, looking away in discomfort. "Of course they allowed me. It 's a hospital, not fucking Azkaban."

 Mathilde clenches her jaw to avoid scolding him for such language, she knows that he's hurting, and she knows that a scolding isn't going to make anything better.
Still, it's so hard to listen to him speak with such venom, to even look at him at all is dreadful, he doesn't at all resemble the little boy she used to read to, the one that would gaze in wonder at the house elves as his little hand gripped her apron when she took him to the kitchen for a snack. No, this before her was a creature. Angry with the world that robbed him of what he loved, tired with life and the sorrows that come with it, and entirely, utterly, hopelessly, sad.
 
Mathilde knew he was sad since the battle, but she never imagined he'd do what he did, not her little Draco. Muggles found him, stumbling around a train station, mumbling about some nonsense place they had never heard of, they called an ambulance when they noticed the blood running down his arms and dripping off his fingers onto the concrete floors.
Draco was treated at a muggle hospital, and stayed there for three days, until Mathilde came to take him home. She had to help him stay upright as they walked to a place where she could safely apparate them both; it was awful to feel him so weak, leaning against her like he had no strength at all, but at least then, he seemed more alive than now.