I Check It, I Wreck It, I Turn It Around
If someone asked him how his summer was, he was going to scream. That was not a promise, that was a guarantee.
How embarrassing would that be? Oh, oh yeah, the Draco Malfoy ODed and went to rehab. He would die from shame before his father could kill him for telling people. Lucius Malfoy wasn't too keen on the wizarding world knowing his one and only heir was a druggie.
Platform 9¾ was a bustling slew of noisy, sweaty people huffing and puffing the same dense air. Excited chatter lurched from the other students, echoing throughout the station.
Clingy parents pet their child's hair lovingly. Returning students chatted to friends. Everyone was talking all at once; dozens of conversations bouncing off the walls and assaulting Draco Malfoy's brain. He wanted these people to shut up. He wanted to go home. He wanted his Adderall. Or Xanax. Or—Merlin—something.
Needless to say, this was not Draco's crowd. He would much rather just get to his dorm than his parents breathing down his neck, while waiting for the train. To distract himself he took to people-watching. Luna Lovegood was already there, clunky jewelry and all. Malfoy's favorite first year (now second year) was there. So was that Gryffindor and the other Hufflepuff, the ones who sold to him.
No sign of the Weasleys though, no Potter or Granger either. Maybe they won't show, finally a quiet year, Draco thought wistfully.
Suddenly, the comforting crow of none other that Pansy Parkinson's voice tore through Draco's thoughts. "Oh, my!" she sang, "Is that Draco Malfoy?"
His signature smirk dominated his features, he turned his head to the side, covering the half with a hand. "No pictures," Malfoy declared haughtily.
His friend cackled, and dragged her things over to him, her mother chasing after. Pansy looked him up and down.
"So, how was his majesty's summer break?" Merlin's sweaty balls.
He looked away from her, eyes on the tracks. My mother found me dying on the floor, sent me to inpatient, and all I can think of is laying in bed and getting high "Quiet," Draco replied, voice unwavering. Next time, though, he will scream. Definitely.
He didn't have to look at her to know Parkinson didn't believe him, but she knew better than to say anything in front of prying eyes. The girl is a human lie detector, Malfoy would swear to it.
An uncomfortable silence over took the two. Draco fiddled with his sleeve, unraveling the woven material. This was a nervous habit he took up recently.
"Well," Pansy quickly slashed through the tension, "I went to Italy, it is so beautiful there. Did you get my postcard?"
Before he had the chance to lie again, a band of redheads plus one shaggy-haired chosen-one came barreling through the crowd. Pansy noticed them too. Both she and Draco produced a scalding jeer in their direction, brows knitted and noses scrunched.
The Granger girl sent one straight back her way. Pansy just rolled her eyes. The Weasel Boy leaned close to Potter's ear, whispering something. The savior looked at Malfoy with an amused glance, then back to his friend, laughing.
Oh, how dare that snot-nosed, piss-poor, lackluster, hideous, little vermin—
That is when the train came howling to a sudden halt in front of the Hogwarts students. The screech of halting wheels stopped all chatter. Dozens of heads snapped towards the noise. Seconds later is when everyone's mother and father began to kiss their child's forehead and send them on their merry way.
Right when he was about to leave, Draco's Mother grabbed his arm, spinning him around. "Please." is all she said. It's all she needed to say, really. Draco knew what she meant, but it didn't necessarily mean he would listen to her.
Draco gave a curt nod towards his mother's plea, mouth morphing into a thin line. He started to gnaw on his lower lip.
Before he walked off, though, the young Malfoy endured one last hug and kiss from Narcissa and then the raw, bone chilling scowl from Lucius.
Rolling his belongings away, he glanced over his shoulder at his father. Lucius narrowed his eyes at his son, slowly crossing his arms over his chest and lifting his chin. Petulant bastard Draco thought as he hurried to catch up with Pansy.
Finally in a compartment, Draco sat down and sighed. Pansy was chatting away with their friends, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott, while Greg Goyle and Vincent Crabbe talked alone. Malfoy, Parkinson, and Crabbe sat on one side while Zabini, Nott, and Goyle sat on the other. Draco sat by the window.
"—yeah, The Duomo di Milano was stunning." Pansy blabbed.
Blaise hummed in response "My family went there a few years ago, it really is marvelous."
"Merlin, I want to go to Italy so bad!" Nott cried out.
"How about you, Dray, you've been awfully silent, what did your family do this summer?" Blaise questioned, resting his chin in his hand.
Malfoy blinked at the other for a long second before he opened his mouth to answer, "Oh, nothing. It was a quiet break, you know?"
He nodded silently, continuing his conversation. In the corner of draco's peripheral vision he could see Pansy looking at him.
"Oh!" Theo practically jumped in the air, "What do you think that Golden Trio will pull this year?"
"Ugh, don't even remind me."
"Mischief, probably."
"As long as they don't get in my way, I don't care."
"Being stupid and ugly, I suppose."
Draco, truly, did not give two shits. Sure, bullying the savior was a nice alternative to popping pills with Moaning Myrtle. When it came down to it, though, he just found the group annoying.
"Something to get them killed, hopefully." He stood up, "I'm going to the restroom—excuse me." Draco announced, weaving through Pansy and Vincent's legs.
The long corridor was quiet, save for the muffled conversations and the squeaky wheels of the treat cart. Malfoy's precise steps clicked and clacked until he was met with the men's restroom door.
Peace and quiet, finally, Draco thought bitterly as he swung the door open, not expecting anyone inside. Yet, there stood that Gryffindor. "Malfoy?"
"Oh—uh—I don't have my wallet on me, Foster." The slytherin stammered.
"Yeah? Well, the Vicodin is still in my luggage anyways, so..." The upperclassman chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Shame, shame..."
He watched as Foster flexed his hands on nothing then rubbed them on the sides of his trousers. Malfoy scuffed his shoes on the tiled flooring and looked away. The telltale scorch of embarrassment tainted the color in Draco's ears. The elder cleared his throat and swiped at his nose.
An all too familiar awkward silence enveloped the two in a claustrophobic ambience. Malfoy unraveled some more thread on his robes' sleeve.
"So—" Draco began, only to be cut off one moment later.
"Erm—usual place at 10?" Foster shuffled his feet, making a move to the exit. The Slytherin huffed at being interrupted.
Regaining his footing from his huffing and puffing, Malfoy looked back up to the upperclassman. "Huh?—Oh, yeah, Myrtle's spot, yeah, see you then." Draco side-stepped to allow the other access to the door.
Watching his 'plug' (as the Gryffindor has called himself in the past) left, the younger watched as the door swung closes with a dull thud. Draco hurried to a stall to decompress. It's not so bad, patients, Draco Malfoy, patients, we've waited longer before. He thought hopefully, running an unsteady hand through his hair.
The stillness of the restroom lulled Draco's rapidly beating heart into a quiet sense of normalcy.
Malfoy sat there for another 30 minutes before collecting his thoughts and leaving. The same dreaded corridor held the same dreaded muffled conversations from before. The walk back to his compartment was long and gruelling. All Draco could think about was those damn pills, or shots, or, gods, whatever.
Climbing over Crabbe and Pansy's legs was no easy feat, but the Slytherin remained victorious. He plopped down in the cushioned booth with a heave.
"Tummy problems there, huh, Malfoy." Blaise chuckled, playfully kicking at his feet under the table.
Draco merely groaned in response. He didn't miss the glance Parkinson gave him for, hopefully, the last time that day.
High up in the astronomy tower, a cold breeze danced between the two sitting figures. The distinct smell of skunk dirtied the lofty air. Stars twinkled brightly in between long webs of dark grey clouds.
Draco took a deep inhale of the second joint him and Pansy shared that night. It was not an uncommon occurrence for the two to get high up there. They would climb up to the astronomy tower, swing their legs over the side, and roll a blunt.
Of course, If Parkinson knew about Draco's 'current issues', she would never invite him back up there anymore. At least without the weed. Draco kept it a secret, though, Never to tell anyone. ever. He would especially not tell her about the bottle of Vicodin in which sat like lead in his pocket, either.
It was about midnight, an hour into their session, when Pansy finally spoke up, "So, what really happened?"
Draco breathed out a cloud of fog and looked over to his friend, passing the joint over. He knew what she was talking about. He knew exactly what she was mentioning.
"What do you mean?" Draco mumbled, mind light and foggy.
"What happened this summer, Dray." Parkinson grumbled. She nudged at Draco's ribs with her elbow, the other swatting at her.
"I already told you, it was quiet, you know?" Malfoy lied through his teeth. Every letter infected with the telltale signs of falsity.
"For a Slytherin, you are a shit liar."
Now that caught Draco off guard. He's been so careful! Why doesn't she believe him? Why can't she just let it go? He saw how she was eyeing him all damn day; Malfoy was hoping she would just leave it. Nothing is easy these days, Draco judged.
"Are you gonna tell me anything?" Pansy looked at hi past his eyes, past his mind, and into his soul.
"There's nothing to tell—"
Suddenly, the Slytherin girl exploded at him. "Don't give me that bullshit!" Pansy cried out, crushing the spliff. Draco felt disdain rush up his throat at the sizzle of the dead butt on the floor. "I know something is wrong, Draco Malfoy. You have been so weird all damn day, I'm worried about you."
"Pansy—"
"No! Let me finish. First you barely talked today, then you run off to 'go to the restroom' for, what, an hour?—"
"I'm just tired, Pans, you need to relax." Draco huffed, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. Parkinson's eyebrows raised for a second then shot down in a scowl, nose scrunched, teeth bared.
"You don't get to tell me to relax, Malfoy." She sighed then inhaled the cool air deeply, "And really now, tired are you? You have been 'just tired' for two years! Did Potter do something? I swear on my life, if he did anything I'll hex his ass straight to—"
"No! No, he didn't do anything!" Draco shrieked, gripping the rail.
"Then what happened?"
"Nothing!"
"Did you get into a fight?"
"What? No!"
"What, then, what!"
"It is none of your business, Pansy, shove off!"
The girl was quiet for a moment. She looked at Draco intently, calculating him. Draco glared at her, panting. She opened her mouth to say something, but Pansy closed it a second later. More of Draco's sleeve unraveled.
"Did you get caught smoking weed? I know how anal your parents are with muggle shit." Her voice was quiet. Pansy knew her friend would be in some pretty deep shit if he was caught.
So close, yet so far, Draco's mind sampled unconsciously, worse, actually.
His throat felt like it was closing around his already tensed vocal cords. His voice came out light and airy as he spoke, the usual edge to his voice gone, "No,"
Parkinson's eyes bore into him for what felt like an eternity, "Caught doing something worse?"
"No! Just drop it!" He bellowed at his best friend, "I don't want to talk about this! Gods, why do you have to ruin a good moment!" Draco abruptly stood up and violently dusted himself off. He served a frigid warning glare to his friend. She looked like she wanted to say something, mouth hanging open dumbly. Before Pansy could get a word in, Malfoy stomped over to the exit, swinging it open with a sickening crack. It slammed closed with a thundering clap.
On his way down to the dungeons, Draco distantly thanked whatever gods out there that no professor heard all the racket. He flexed and unflexed his hand around the little orange bottle in his pocket.
The buzz of the weed ebbed into the familiar ache of sobriety.
The headache made it a little more difficult to cast the locking and muting charms but he managed; it also didn't help he was in complete darkness, save for the weak nox he casted. Setting down his wand, Draco sat in the middle of his plush green, black, and silver bed. Forest green curtains walled him into the claustrophobic space. Draco ran one hand along the material of his duvet, while the other hand fidgeted with the cap of the small container.
Merlin, he was still fuming from his argument with Pansy. Whatever he did in his free time was none of her business. End of story. That girl just can't help but stick her nose into places it doesn't belong. Draco noted, fiercely. He was still so stupidly embarrassed with himself about this whole ordeal, and her incessant worrying wasn't helping him. Malfoy's face burned with shame at the memory of St. Mungo's. How disgraceful.
He didn't even realise he opened the bottle when he felt a few pills wriggling down his throat dryly. "Thank Merlin..." Draco mumbled to himself.
The Slytherin flopped back onto his pillows and gazed up at the canopy. So much for staying sober, Malfoy snickered, a sly simper played on his lips as he waited for the familiar relaxed warmth to overtake him.