Cobblestone

Cobblestone

Chapter One: Orange Bottle

Dusty

I lay in the bed, staring at the orange-tinted bottle I'm holding in my hands. It's quite an uncomfortable position I'm in, straining my neck so far ahead my chin is digging into my chest in an unsightly way. I realize idly that this can only result in a cramped neck, but I can't muster the energy to adjust myself.

The bottle is a typical pharmaceutical one, with a white screw-on top. The labeling hints that the condition one must suffer to receive this medication is quite severe. I stare into the bottle, seeing the prescription is nearly empty. A guilt washes over me, considering the bottle is quite thick and nearly five inches high. I count the pills—eight white, thick ones—and rotate the bottle gently. Soon the pills are rolling around in two single-file lines, eight pills long. I try to hypnotize myself with the movement, but can’t. I flick the bottom of the bottle with my forefinger and watch as the medicine bounces like enchanted beans.

A yellow marking, slightly off-centered in comparison to the other labels catches my eye.

No refills remaining.

These words fill me with dread. I’ve been sick for a very long time now, so long I’ve grown used to it. And now the time draws slowly nearer, and I’ll have to leave the hospital wing. Yes, lying day after day in a usually vacant room isnt exciting, but I feel the classes will simply be a mere replacement. Not nearly an improvement.

I feel utterly drained. Almost as if the illness filled me up, and now I intensely feel its absence. Though I’ll soon be well enough to resume my previous schedule and go back to my lessons, there is little I can do at this point. Most of my make-up assignments have been completed, whether by myself or some ass-kissing second year. Nothing to do but wait until Pompfrey, or Snape, a smug McGonnagal (please, please not Dumbledore) comes through the door and announces, voices dripping with a nasty cheerfulness, that I may now go back to class.

I cringe as I hear the very sound of a creaky door opening. Thank God, it’s not Dumbledore.

Congratulations, Mr. Malfoy, Professor McGonnagal (the next worst thing) says to me. Madam Pompfrey has informed me that you are now well enough to start your lessons again.
Shit.
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Short, yes. Much to explain in the next chapter, which won’t be Draco’s POV. Ta.