Draco woke with hammers pounding on the inside of his skull. It felt as if his brain had been skewered, roasted, then blended to a pulp. Momentarily, he couldn’t recognize his surroundings. Confused, disoriented - he blinked hard and slow before the crown-molded ceiling of his room came into focus. He could faintly recognize the sticky feeling of wet clothing, and discovered with heavy limbs that he was nearly soaked in sweat. With his peripheral vision spinning, he desperately racked his brain for any memories of the night previous. 