Drunken Baby Steps
When he gives the potion a stir, Draco has to choke back a gag at the smell. It doesn’t slap him in the face, but it’s definitely strong. At least it looks the right shade of green—tinted with gold and slightly murky.
Maybe this is risky; he could barely read the instructions as the words kept swimming in front of his eyes. But he can’t just sit here and wait for something to happen. Draco grabs a flask from his schoolbag and scoops out a good portion of the green liquid.
He plugs his nose with one hand and gulps down the potion with a grimace. The taste of mint is so overwhelming that it’s nearly spicy. He looks down at his hands. It looks like it went alright. He’s not dying. His body is intact.
Oh. Woah. A shudder runs over him as the room sharpens before him, and the weight on his shoulders suddenly lifts. Draco smiles. He’s finally got a solution to this crazed mess.
___
He walks to the dorms with a bounce in his step and starts the missing assignments that have been floating over his head.
By the time Monday morning comes around, he can breathe freely again. His mind is so clear, it feels as if the world is buzzing.
___
As the dorm stirs and awakens, Draco sits up and heads to the Great Hall. Students trickle in slowly, and Pansy slides in next to him.
“Hi, Draco,” she says with a smile. “I feel like I haven’t seen you here in ages! Busy?”
He nods and smiles back. “Quite.”
“Pastry?” She holds out a fluffy bun drizzled in something sweet. It smells of tangy citrus and powdered sugar.
He responds without hesitation, “Thanks.” He won't eat it, of course, but he may as well pretend.
As Draco holds out his plate, a wave of nausea rolls over him. His eyes glaze over, and he suppresses a grimace. His hands loosen, and the plate slips onto the floor with a loud crash. As everyone turns their heads towards him, Draco tries to laugh and gives a shrug.
“Draco, are you alright?” Pansy stares into his eyes, looking worried.
He looks back at her with a reassuring smile, “Of course. Just a bit off. I should get going.” He stands up, an apologetic expression on his face. She pats him on the arm and turns back to chat with Blaise.
As he walks back to the dorms, he glances towards the High Table, where most of the professors are speaking enthusiastically with one another. Cloaked in black as per usual, Snape stares in his direction. Even though dozens of students are near him, Draco feels like Snape is looking straight at him.
He shakes his head and continues forward. It’s fine.
Draco loiters around the library until classes begin. His head won’t stop pounding, even as he heads to Potions. His finger twitches, and he clenches a fist. The Girding Potion has to have been correct. He made it right. He didn’t mess up. He couldn't have.
___
The drone of Snape’s voice seems to fade into the background as the ringing in his ears grows louder. It won’t stop, and it feels as if a creature in his stomach is slowly tearing it apart. He doesn’t even bother to try and act like he’s paying attention.
As the seconds tick by, Draco finds it more and more impossible to sit up. He slouches over, arms wrapped around his stomach. After hesitating for a minute, he settles with putting his head on the desk.
“Draco.”
He wishes this would just stop. The ringing is incessant. He wants to sleep and never wake up. It won't stop.
“Draco.”
He pulls his arms away from his stomach to cover his ears with his hands. His head is going to explode; it’s going to burst, if it doesn’t stop pounding.
“Draco!” He feels a hand on his shoulder and flinches, snapping his head up and putting his hands up to cover his face. He cowers for a moment before he realises where he is. His face flushes bright red, and he feels his body burning in embarrassment.
He drops his arms to his side and looks around. The entire class is gone. It’s just Snape and him.
“Draco. What exactly would you need one set of fairy wings, four measures of doxy eggs, a handful of toasted dragonfly thoraxes, and four flying seahorses for?” Snape asks, his eyes narrowed. The expression on his face, as always, is unreadable.
Draco sits there, dumbfounded.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Snape stares and waits as Draco stumbles over his thoughts to find a plausible explanation.
“Studying. I needed it for studying,” he mumbles. Snape’s mouth tightens, but he gives no reply. Draco slings his schoolbag over his shoulder and starts to stand.
“Impressive.” Snape’s nasally voice continues, “Studying extra, and yet failing as badly as you are in every one of your classes.”
Draco doesn’t bother to respond. He lowers his head and begins to walk away, just focusing on getting one foot in front of the other. He can make it. One step at a time.
He grits his teeth as his legs shake. He feels stupid and weak, walking like a newborn giraffe.
“Draco,” Snape says. There’s something different about his voice. Draco stops. As he starts to turn around, his knee buckles, and he grabs something nearby to hold him steady. He can’t tell what it is, though, because the world is spinning.
Oh.
His body heaves as it tries to empty out the contents of his stomach. Only water and acid come up, and he retches onto the floor. As his legs give out, he can feel someone grabbing him to keep him on his feet.
Spots threaten to overtake his vision, and the room turns bright white. As his eyes roll back, he can feel himself tip over. Then everything goes dark.