Memory Loss
Draco felt like his head was full of cotton.
He resisted the urge to rub at his temples, keeping his face blank as he sat across from The Dark Lord.
“You’ve promised me something, Draco, but yet you deny me.” He hissed, practically snarling.
“I deny you nothing.” Draco replied, trying to keep the ire out of his own voice, “I have promised you Hogwarts, and I will deliver.”
Voldemort bared his teeth, standing from the desk, “Are you loath to give up your home? Do you still feel loyal to Dumbledore?”
Draco continued to stare ahead, not meeting The Dark Lord’s eyes, “Dumbledore holds none of my heart, and Hogwarts is not my home.”
He looked up finally, “Not like it is yours, my lord.”
Voldemort jerked his head harshly, stalking around the desk to loom in front of Draco, “What did you say.”
“You need the ancestral magic.” Draco smiled, all of his teeth on display, “This body is a magical construct, and right now you use my family magic to maintain it. But it is not your own, and you are not the magic’s-”
He was cut off with a vicious slap directly across the face. It sent him clear out of the chair, his arm and leg igniting with pain as they landed harshly against the floor, his head spinning as it rebounded off the wall.
Immediately, he could tell his jaw had been dislocated.
It was easy to forget with how lithe and thin Voldemort was, that his body held incredible strength. Draco himself was much stronger than he looked, but even he was physically weaker than The Dark Lord's magically constructed body.
He stayed on the floor for a moment, his head reeling as he tried desperately to recalibrate himself.
“P-” Draco let his head fall back against the wall, flinching at the pain it brought, “Patience is a virtue, my-”
Draco doubled over as a sharp boot lodged itself solidly into his ribs, catching the scars from Greyback’s attack perfectly. He groaned as he slumped furthur onto the floor, pain consuming every inch of him. But he could handle this, it wasn’t anything close to a crucio.
And wasn’t that funny? The Dark Lord hadn’t used the cruciatus on him since he’d returned, instead choosing more physical means of expressing his displeasure.
Draco strongly suspected Severus’ influence, though it rankled to think about his proud godfather begging on his behalf for anything.
“You dare- to lecture me on virtue?” The Dark Lord removed his foot from Draco’s ribs, “You, who is nothing without me? You, who would lie, murder, and pillage in my name?”
He hissed, “Pathetic,” before stalking from the room, “Get out of my sight.”
Draco couldn’t remember how long he laid on the floor, but he did find it distantly amusing how frequently this exact situation had become recently. He probably spent more time on this floor than in his own bed.
Eventually, when the aches had faded to a manageable amount, he pushed himself to his hands and knees, feeling blindly for his cane.
It was still hooked over the arm of the chair, miraculously, and he used it to help him stand, even if it took longer than he would ever admit.
It was enough he broke every rule of etiquette his mother had drilled into him, and apperated directly into Severus’ rooms. Leaning hard into his cane, he took a moment to fight down the nausea he hadn’t felt since he was incredibly young and still apperating with his father.
He tipped hard into the wall, rattling the frames of paintings hanging there.
Hearing the noise, Severus rushed out of the inner rooms, throwing open the door to the sitting room violently. Seeing Draco leaned against the wall, his face lost the panic and determination it had held a moment before, and instead fell into tired resignation.
“Sit down,” He sighed.
“Ngn,” Said Draco, his displaced jaw preventing him from any further words. He dropped himself onto the small sofa, the developing bruises on his back and chest throbbing in time with his heart.
Severus stood over him, hands surprisingly gentle as they grabbed Draco’s jaw, prodding until Draco flinched back.
“Hm,” He hummed, studying Draco with squinted eyes, “Dislocated. You’ll need a sedative.”
“Nhm!” Draco protested, he was already taking quite a few potions, a sedative on top would throw the whole regimine out of balance.
Severus scoffed, “You’ll need at least a painkiller. Stay here.”
He moved away, to a large cabinet full of vials and bottles, removing two before locking it again with a flick of his wand. He then moved over to what appeared at first glance to be a bar cart, but quickly revealed itself as an emergency potions station, pouring a small amount of each bottle into a small bowl, sprinkling dried leaves and herbs in before mixing.
He didn’t bother bottling the new concentration, instead walking back over to Draco with the bowl, “Open.”
Draco opened his mouth as wide as possible, which wasn’t far at all, actually, but Severus didn’t seem to mind, pouring the awful tasting concoction down Draco’s throat without warning.
He would have gagged, but Draco had been subject to his godfather’s unusually foul smelling and tasting potions since he was born. He swore Severus did it on purpose, just to spite him.
The painkiller immediately took effect, dulling the feeling in his face and chest, though not dismissing it completely.
Severus wasted no time shoving his thumbs into Draco’s mouth, ignoring Draco’s muffled protests. He placed his thumbs over Draco’s back teeth, hooking his fingers under Draco’s jaw, before pushing down and back harshly.
There was a loud pop as the bone relocated, and Draco took the opportunity to flex his jaw, opening and closing his mouth.
“I can’t believe,” He began, “that bastard slapped me.”
“You do tend to inspire that reaction.” Severus raised his brows, “Can I ask what specific instance inspired this?”
“No, you can’t.” Draco sighed, half-truthful, half-petty. He really didn’t appreciate the attitude.
Severus sighed, “Anything else I should be aware of? You do know I’m not your healer, correct?”
Draco let his head drop back against the back of the sofa, “If you aren’t my healer, you should probably stop healing me.”
He should probably stop before Severus un-fixed his jaw.
“Do you have any brewing you need done?” he asked. Draco could already feel the fog closing in, clouding his thoughts until he felt he could melt into the couch.
Severus surveyed him for a moment, frowning harshly. Eventually, he relented, “Follow.”
His godfather led him further into the rooms, where a proper potion making setup was situated. Severus walked around the counter, absently pulling out gloves and aprons, while he gathered ingredients from various shelves.
The second they were placed in front of Draco, he could tell what they were for. A sleeping drought, which was a heavy handed hint, coming from Severus.
Still, he began prepping the various roots and leaves accordingly, the repetitive motions allowing him to drift even further from the situation.
They continued in silence for several long minutes, but eventually Severus spoke, “Your fiancé would have my head if I let anything happen to you.”
Draco stopped dead. Blaise.
There wasn’t anything past this, it was like his mind had tried to reach through the fog, only to find nothing on the other side. There was the disconcerting feeling of freefall as his head seemed to spin around this gap, but eventually he re-balance himself, continuing in his chopping as if he’d never paused.
Draco only realised he hadn’t responded to Severus when his godfather put down his own knife to stare at him, “Draco?”
Severus squinted at him, moving closer to scrutinise, “Sit down.”
“Why?” Draco asked, because he was nothing if not difficult.
Severus didn’t respond, only moving closer to pull one of Draco’s eyelids up, twisting his head in various strange angles.
He didn’t seem pleased with whatever he found, stepping back and scowling.
“Are you quite finished?” Draco asked, not at all liking the look on his godfather’s face.
“No.” Severus said flatly, turning to a small book he’d left on the table, “Sit there for a moment.”
Draco tried to peer over his godfather’s shoulder, but he only caught a few words before Severus snapped the book closed with a glare.
“Stage 4: Memory Loss”