Hidden reasons why. [Drarry - HarryxDraco]

Draco groaned with fatigue, he'd woken up to a horrible headache, one that seemed to throb right in between his eyes. His body felt stiff and unresponsive, as he was sprawled across, what he considered, his bed. The mattress was lumpy, and thin, and the bedframe was made from decaying wood, with a snake carved into it. Draco racked his brain for memory of last night, but nothing came to him, besides the dull pounding from his headache. He slowly rolled himself over, now laying flat on his back, watching as feeble strings of gluey sunlight peeped into his room, dawning on his desk, and some parts of his bedsheets. Draco sucked in an irritated breath, using his elbows to push himself up, and out of the covers. He was half-expecting for there to be someone in the bed with him, but he was met with nothing. To his dismay, he still couldn't recall exactly what had caused him to end up like this. 

Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair, which was indeed very tangled. He wasted not another second thinking about how or why he woke up like this, instead, he went to go shower. The bathroom in his dorm was rather large, and since he wasn't sharing his dorm with anyone, he was free to take as long as he liked in the shower. Hot water steamed up the mirrors, as Draco scrubbed off the stench of himself, his memories returning to him. 

-

Yesterday, there was an 'event', at Hogwarts, meaning that all students who were involved in the war, were inclined to deliver a speech about their experiences. Of course, everyone was informed about this before hand, everyone but Draco, who was told at the very last minute, by none other that Harry fucking Potter. Turns out, everyone was asked by the ministry to deliver a speech, but Draco was not. At first, he thought it was an accident, so he pushed aside his ego, and thanked Potter for telling him, before preparing a speech. Sure, he could've just passed the opportunity, and decided not a write a speech all together, but no. Draco was willing to prove himself, to prove that he was nothing like the 'Dark Lord' he was once forced to serve. 

So by the time it was evening, he had a fully rehearsed speech. When every student was summoned to the great hall, Draco noticed something. Potter was avoiding Draco's gaze, even if Potter had been the one staring at Draco first. It all felt foreign, almost odd, if you will. Draco had to admit, he had been avoiding everyone for some time, as he would've liked to keep himself as obscure as possible, but this was not what he'd been expecting. 

The night went on, names were called, and speeches were delivered, but not once did anyone mention 'Draco Malfoy'. He was happy about it, to some extent, but he also felt terribly confused. Why was everyone called up to give a speech but him? The event carried on, after Potter delivered his long, and quite frankly, emotional speech, leaving Draco somewhat pissed. He got up swiftly, ignoring as all the guests gathered around the tables, eating and having polite conversation with one another. He wanted to ask Headmistress McGonagall what exactly had happened and if they'd missed Draco, but his thoughts, came to a halt, as he as McGonagall with the minister of magic. They seemed to be discussing something personal, as McGonagall kept glancing around herself. Draco debated what to do, but ended up hiding to eavesdrop. 

"Oh, you saw the look on poor Malfoy's face! He was clearly confused as to why all his peers got the speak and not him." McGonagall urged, sounding concerned.

"Minerva, calm down, the boy is a foul deatheater! That's why he didn't get to speak, I hope you know it's better this way, we don't need the boy faking his misery and lying about feeling sorry." The minister spoke, sounding rather amused.

Hearing those words, 'Foul Deatheater', broke Draco in a way so unimaginably cruel, that Draco left. Not a peep was heard from him, he left the hall, and went into his dorm, locking it, before retrieving a large bottle of whisky. He had stolen this from his father's study and was too scared to keep it at home, in fear of getting caught, so he lugged it around in his obnoxiously large suitcase. 

The rest of his night was spent locked up in the confines of his room, drinking away every thought he had, to the point where he felt as if someone had used a memory charm on him.

-

Draco scoffs at the memory, as he wraps his towel around his waist, standing to look in the mirror. Somehow, the boy staring back looks different. His eyes are sunken in, he looks pale but his skin is still smooth like porcelain, now that he's shaved. The steam creates small dewdrop in his face, making him look almost iridescent. He looks down at the empty sink, the cool marble pressed against his warm torso, as he leans onto the counter. Maybe a bit of sun would do him some good.