Draco lay bored in his bed in the Hospital Wing, occasionally stuffing a snack into his mouth while muttering something.
Life in the Hospital Wing was clearly far too dull. To let him recover, Madam Pomfrey would not let him do anything, not even homework when he asked, and she would not allow anyone to stay with him. He did not have a single person to talk to.
He had another week of this ahead of him. That afternoon, his father had specifically written back to tell him that he had to pretend his injury was very serious and leave the rest to his father.
Just as he was imagining how to deal with that damned Hippogriff, soft footsteps sounded through the empty Hospital Wing.
Draco hurriedly swallowed the snack in his mouth and began letting out a series of groans.
When he saw who had come, he froze, even forgetting to groan.
Douglas placed some fruit on Draco's bedside table and asked with a friendly expression:
"Good evening, Mr. Malfoy. How are you feeling?"
Draco instinctively covered his arm, which barely hurt anymore, hesitated, then said painfully:
"It still hurts terribly. I can barely feel my arm anymore... Professor, what brings you here?"
He had even considered the possibility that Dumbledore might come to question him, but he had never expected Douglas to visit.
Douglas gave Malfoy an indifferent glance without exposing his clumsy acting.
"Oh, why shouldn't I come? You're my class representative. I heard you were badly injured, so of course I had to come and see you.
"But you do seem to be in a serious condition. It looks like you won't make it to Wednesday's class representative selection..."
Only then did Draco remember a very serious problem: his rival in Slytherin, Theodore Nott, had always