Half remembered voices echoed in the dark, “-HER!” “-you done, Potter-” “Please-” Everything was covered in an impenetrable black velvet abyss. Then, slicing through that midnight, a shaft of light. She was there, in the spotlight. Or a version of her, standing en pointe. The Song of Swans began to seep into the darkness as she began to move with its ebbs and tides, a cracked reflection lengthened along the ground, a full pale moon on its surface as the music filled the space. The black of the background melted like washed out chalk, and the dancing version of her was moving through moments in her life. The dance studio when she was nine, her father standing at attention with the instructor at his shoulder. “Control, Poise and Balance, Draconia. It is about being aware of your self, and where you place your focus.” Then it was her mother’s voice in the garden’s when she was ten, the private box where she cultivated the Lilies, “-must cut the weakness out, or you risk the whole presentation and months of work. Here,” The dancer moved past her younger self and her mother, as Draconia took the shears from her. “-and reposte,” The image colors shifted and reordered, fencing practice on the family green at eleven. Crabbe and Goyle standing by as she practiced her parries and thrusts with an older man. “Very good. Always look to the advantage of the situation,” Her instructor took his helmet off, her father with his hair tied back considered her with pride. “You’re weak on your right side, you’ll need to work on your form.” Then darkness again. The dancer returned to the spotlight and collapsed like a clipped flower, the spotlight cutting. The black curtain again descended over everything. Draconia’s eyes fluttered open. There was a tight sensation all over, her body stung like she’d been bitten by a swarm of ants. The sheets of the bed rustled as she shifted position, noticing the ceiling of Madame Pomfrey’s which she’d experienced on more occasions than she’d care to recall. She was in the infirmary. She lifted her head, looking down to see her arms and body bandages beneath a patient smock. The light hurt her eyes for a moment as they adjusted before shapes further afield came into view. She was alone, the beds to her left and right empty. The visitors chairs were absent any concerned acquaintances. Where was Crabbe and Goyle? Pansy? Daphne? Her mind was catching up. For that matter, why was she in the infirmary? Like a broken levy, it came flooding back. The fight in the bathroom, Harry had cast some spell she didn’t know, then there was pain everywhere. She was sure she had died. Hadn’t she? Her body tensed as she saw a thick curtain of shadow move towards her before a pale circle of a face resolved in her vision, hung about with limp black hair. “Miss Malfoy, I see you are still with us.” Snape’s dry, cutting voice accompanied his level, appraising look, as flat as it had ever been and somehow twice as piercing. “Harry? What… how?” She wasn’t sure how to phrase her question, or even what she was asking. Snape approached the side of her bed, his pale hands held a small box of Sugar Quills delicately before placing them on the nightstand beside her with his familiar precision. “Potter is fine, though to my estimation, he won’t be when I am through with him.” She shifted, her body still aching, managing to sit up, looking from the box of sweets to Snape. “What happened?” “A question I would very much like the answer to myself, Miss Malfoy.” Snape took up his robes and sat ramrod straight in one of the guest chairs. His chin tilted down as he put the full weight of his eyes on her. “Tell me… what exactly did you say to Potter?” She swallowed, thinking of Snape’s position in their conspiracy. She shook her head, “I didn’t tell him anything. He- He saw me, said I’d hexed someone. Attacked me, I- I was only defending myself.” “Surely,” Snape’s tone was level, but his doubt was draped thick around the single word. He gestured to the box, “The boy has been beside himself over his… clash with you, wanted to give you this but did not feel adequate to deliver it himself. I assured him I would ensure you received his… contrition.” Snape dipped a hand into his robe and produced a salve of Dittany, setting it with a clink beside the box of Sugar Quills. “I managed to repair most of the damage. You may have some scarring, even with the Dittany.” She looked at the box and the balm, then at Snape’s hands as he folded them neatly in his lap. He had repaired most of the damage? Then... he had been there? “Professor?” Snape seemed keen to her question, “Let us not complicate the interaction with questions, Miss Malfoy.” Rising again from the seat, he looked down at her. “I trust once you are healed you will keep to your… obligations. In the meantime, you have been excused from classes and duties for the next few days. I’d urge you to take time to think on where you stand with things.” Snape met her eyes for a long moment, and then turned, leaving her alone in the infirmary with her thoughts. He either had been there when it happened or nearby, but why? Had he intervened after she lost consciousness? Had Potter gone and retrieved him? She’d obviously not get answers from Snape. She couldn’t ask Harry… she recalled the fire in his eyes as he’d cast that dreadful spell. This is what you think of me? She tugged at some of the bandages, peering underneath at the silvery scars before she tenderly reached out and fetched the Dittany, spending the next hour carefully applying it to the dozen foot long scars wrapping around her arms, legs and torso. Seeing the extent of it made her wonder how she managed. What spell had he used? She’d never heard of it. Sectum something. She lay back, looking at the ceiling for a moment. She’d deserved it… for what she’d been up to in the room of requirement. For the hex she’d put on Katie Bell. For what she had yet to do. She deserved much worse. Why would Harry feel guilty for it? She turned her head to look at the box. She stared at it for several long minutes as she puzzled about why he’d feel responsible when she’d attacked him first. She’d been dreadful to him since last year, even turned in Cho to that awful woman. She reached a bandaged hand out to the box and settled it into her lap, opening it up, she idly snacked on a few of the quills. The seats next to her remained empty. She wondered if they even knew she’d been injured, if Snape or Harry had told anyone. Her fingers, brushing through the box felt something out of sorts. She pinched it and produced it, her eyes widening as she recognized the emerald serpent earring from the Ball. She had told Mother she’d lost it. She thought she had. It was a bauble, nothing important. Nothing that meant anything. But looking at it now… it meant something. She didn’t know what. Harry had it? Or was it Snape? No, Snape wouldn’t have left it in a box of sweets for her. Then... Harry? She felt a keen sense of confusion and a fluttering warmth somewhere in her chest, before she palmed the earring and snapped the box closed, her face moving from a hopeful smile to the cold of a winter morning. It didn’t matter, she still had to do terrible things. It was obvious whatever… this was, wouldn’t survive that. #Malfoid #HarryPotter