Please Don't Try To Find Me Through My Dealer
It wasn't like he wasn't careful. He was one slippery motherfucker; Pansy Parkinson, one of his best friends, always said it was every Slytherin's right.
So, a month and a half into his summer break, when he'd run out of morphine, Malfoy pulled out his little orange bottle of valium a Gryffindor sold him. The upperclassman told him what it was but Draco just couldn't remember. Whatever, Malfoy thought as long as it gets the job done.
It was about two hours before dinner when he took those pills. Draco wasn't worried about his parents finding out he was high; he went to dinner high all the time. He'd been doing this routine since he was 13. He was a pro.
He would just keep his head down, not talk, and If his mother would slap him with a soft Are you alright, honey? he would just say he was tired and leave it there. Simple and easy. He would wipe his hands from this shit. Never caught.
Malfoy practically inhaled the pills dryly, swallowing them with a morsel of saliva. Pills always took a while to kick-in, as he knew, so he took to laying in his bed. Soon Draco simpered to himself.
Okay so maybe 24 milligrams was too much.
And maybe a pro wasn't choice wording.
It's been-Merlin, how long has it been?-long enough, right? Malfoy should be feeling it but-but he- all he feels is panic and dread and afraid and- and this was not how it should feel and-Merlin-what does he do? Draco's father would have his hide-but his mother would get that sad I should have known look and Merlin his heart would break if it wasn't going to stop-
his chest hurts-but his body feels so heavy and cold, but his skin is so hot and sweaty, and his fingers and toes feel so far away and tingly like his nerves were just clocking out, and he is so tired but his head hurts too bad-
His breathing is so-and-He is gonna choke on all the spit is mouth is creating- and-
Why is this happening now? Draco has been doing this everyday for at least two years. Why?
He should be eating dinner right now, high as a kite, but no, he is laying on his back in the doorway between his room and his bathroom and he is going to die. Great. Malfoy didn't even get to feel good while he died.
I have never been a 'paranoid high', how disappointing, Draco thought blearily.
Malfoy's train wreck of thought started to wax and wane. The tingly-ness in his fingers started to ascend higher to his forearms and calves. A shallow huff of air slithered out of his lungs while his eyelids fluttered, eyelids rolling up into his skull.
It was too bad that Draco was too busy dying to hear the soft knocking at his door, and the placid trill of his mother voice, "Draco, It's time for dinner. Are you alri-" There was some more ruckus before his mind glazed over.
The soft chirping of birds crooned somewhere far away, muffled. Malfoy felt groggy and tired even though his eyes weren't open yet. His body ached, his mouth felt dry, his head was pounding, and he was sober. The inside of his crusted eyelids are too bright to be his drab chambers. This material didn't feel like his sheets, (he wasn't even on his bed when he passed out).
Where the hell was he? Surely not anywhere in the castle, it was far too bright in here. This place smelt too sterile, too clea-
St. Mungo's Draco's mind supplied.
You have got to be shitting me.
Forcing his eyes open, he was blinded by white. Squinting hard, Draco scanned the blurry room carefully, noting the white walls, white curtains, baby blue blanket, his mother sitting to his right, and his father standing to his left. his mother sitting to his right, and his father standing to his left.
A wave of embarrassment and anger swept over the youngest Malfoy, worsening his headache. This is it. This is where I die. Goodbye, cruel world. Tell Potter he's ugly.
"Draco," His father's voice clanged around in his skull, "how long?"
The youngest Malfoy barely registered the question when his mother squeezed his hand (when had she been holding it?) and scolded, "Lucius."
"No, Narcissa. For how long, Draco? Why? Why embarrass me like this?" His father chided. The eldest Malfoy's hands twisted into tight fists as he glowered into his son's sunken face.
"Lucius!"
"My heir, a junkie! How shameful."
"Enough, Lucius. Draco, honey, you can talk to us, please." Uh-oh there's that sad look his mother loves, Now Draco wished his heart did stop.Talk to them? What was there to talk about? It was pretty self explanatory. Just leave him alone. Instead of answering his parents, Malfoy decided on just looking at the long I.V cord taped to his hand.
Over his head his parents spared each other a look.
"Anyways..." Draco's mother began.
His Father cut her off though, "We think it's best if you stay in an inpatient facility." Malfoy's mother gave Lucius a withering look, her lips curling into a thin line. The eldest Malfoy just shrugged and took to looking out the window.
Now, that caught Draco's attention. Inpatient facility... What? Like, rehab? Draco could feel his already battered pride wilt just that much more. Outrage flared up in his chest;his eyebrows knitted together and turned downcast, his lip curled showing barred teeth, hands flexed into fists making the I.V shift uncomfortably.
Malfoy made the move to sit up;nerves rattling in distress and his stomach twist with nausea, Draco's will persevered.
"Like-" Gods, his voice was so hoarse, "Hell you are." Draco heaved. He wrenched his hand from his mother's iron grip, earning a cowed look from her.
"I'm sorry, dear, but what's done, is done. Luckily enough, you have a week at home," Narcissa gave her son a wistful grin, "to, well, pack and prepare."
Draco scoffed, slowly and painfully crossing his arms, "Oh, yeah, because that is exactly what I want."
"It doesn't matter what you want, what matters is what you need, and you need to sober up." Venom lanced between every syllable Lucius spat at his son.
Draco couldn't believe it! Who the hell do they think they are? They can't just send him away to be some other person's problem. Before he can voice his complaints, his mom stands, pats his hand. "We will collect you tomorrow, Draco." Lucius sighs, turning on his heel and exiting.
Narcissa whispers one final I love you to her son before slowly backing out of the room, Draco glaring at her all the way.
Once home from St. Mungos, the first thing Draco Malfoy did when he entered his personal chambers, was look for his stash; the one under a few loose floorboards next to his wardrobe.
elation buzzed in his veins as he clawed the wood off and away, revealing a deep pit, but that excitement crumbled when he saw nothing but cobwebs and dust bunnies filling the cavity in his floor. Thoughts fizzled out from where they once raced.
Malfoy blinked dumbly at the dust under him. Suddenly, the powder keg combusted, and he shot up from where he kneeled; a crazed look on his tired features. His nerves flared up from withdrawals as he thrashed about looking for where his trove may be.
Labored breaths beat out of Draco's lungs as he scrambled about his room. He tore his covers and sheets from his bed, pushing it aside (he would've used his wand to move the bed, but his father confiscated it). Nothing was there.
Malfoy lurched his wardrobe open tearing clothes out, check pockets. Every crevice checked but zilch. Shoving the heavy wooden thing away and checking under. Turning up empty handed yet again.
Going through shelf after shelf, nook and cranny, every fissure in the walls and floors served fruitlessly. Ripping apart his bathroom, tearing everything apart. Nothing was here. Where is it?
Now Draco's room was in ruins. Tapestries ripped and lying on the floor, robes strewn about, and furniture sitting in random places. Red-faced and sore, Draco tugged at the roots of his disheveled hair. He stood in the center of it all, biting his lip so hard it bled. The familiar tightness at the back of his throat, and Malfoy's eyes burned.
Draco was so distraught he must've not noticed how loud he was. So, when his mother came in all shaky and miffed asking if he was ok, Draco was surprised. Then livid. Malfoy was going to fucking tear her apart. She stole his stash.
She is why he feels so-so diseased.
Draco lunged at his mother; gripping her upper arms in a bruising grasp. He Looked her dead in the eyes and screeched "Where is it?!" The youngest Malfoy's grip tightened on his mother.
"I-Draco-stop it-"
"Where?"
"No, Draco! You must stay sober!" Her eyebrows knitted together as she bellowed out at him.
Draco shook his mother violently as he screamed. Narcissa managed to sever his grip on her and ran to the door.
She held the door closed with all her might, all the while her son, her boy, scrabbled and clawed at the door like some rabid animal; screaming curses at her. Narcissa shakily charmed the door locked, and wobbled over to where she and Lucius were previously sitting. Later, she sent a house elf there to drop off lunch; even later, dinner.
That was where Draco stayed for two days. Left there to calm down and suffer through early withdrawals. He could barely get up, so he didn't. Malfoy just laid in bed, without sheets, curled into a little ball.
When the charm was removed, he still barely left his room. For meals, he sent a house elf. Whenever his mother came to check on him, he would just turn the other way and say nothing. When his father came in to berate him and ask questions, he did the same thing.
So, one month and 3 weeks into summer break, when the youngest Malfoy was packed up and shipped off to rehab, the only thing he thought about was his next high.
Draco has never been so glad to be back home. Besides from the fact that when he stepped foot in the castle a little plastic cup was shoved in his hands and told to fill it by his father.
But other than that he was is heaven, minus the whole sober thing. So, in actuality, it was about the same just smelled a little dingier and less bright.
Rehab was rough to say the least. He was tired of group talks all day and overly excited supervisors, like, hello? Can you shut up while I'm in a recovery program I don't even want to do? Thanks! Draco would think that every single time he saw them and their stupid all-gum smiles.
Or on his second say when Dr. Thomas shoved a little red journal in Malfoy's hands telling him to write down what he was feeling. Of course, he thought that was some stupid bullshit so, no, he did not write anything.
That was until he checked it the next day, saw nothing and gave him one of his mother's looks, and Draco caved in and started writing.
At least they had this thing called volleyball, that part was ok. It felt nice to absolutely demolish Katie, AJ, and Cole.
Volleyball was a nice distraction to his entire being yearning for, just, something. Just because his physical withdrawals faded, doesn't mean he doesn't want opioids (that's what Candy called them).
it didn't have to be a pill, it could be some weed. Draco would pack his own damn bowl.
It also didn't help that he was going back to Hogwarts in another week. Malfoy still had summer reading. How was he supposed to focus on school, getting high, and finding a way to avoid the weekly drug test his father insisted on.
Draco had a lot more stuff going on. A lot more important than reading about- what were they reading about? whatever.
Though, he supposes it's a good thing to go back to Hogwarts. Malfoy can see all those people. The ones who sell. Getting away from all the drug tests and concerned looks. Merlin, now he's excited.
All Malfoy wanted to do is get high and play more volleyball. He couldn't indulge in the former so... later it is.