For the FRIENDS Comp

I.

The private room is silent when I wake up. It's unusual.

I crack open my eyes with some difficulty, and it's dark, which explains the silence. But with my waking, the pain sets in. My back hurts, like the wolf tore through my spinal cord, and it's hard to breathe. I can tell my wrist is broken from the wrap around it, and my leg has bandages too, and I'm kind of afraid to find out what the wolf did there. Last time, he gnawed the muscle so badly I was on crutches for a month while Madam Pomfrey worked to heal it every night.

Thankfully, the bell on the side table is within my reach. Despite my broken wrist, I ring it anyway, because the tears are rolling down my cheeks and I can't breathe through the pain and cracked-possibly broken- ribs.

Madam Pomfrey is there in a heartbeat. "Good morning, dear," she murmurs, pain bottles and other medications at the ready. She runs her fingers through my hair and says, "I'll be right back with water, Remus," and bustles out the door.

My breath catches and my ribs twinge. I start coughing immediately. I raise my uninjured hand to my mouth and when the fit subsides, Madam Pomfrey is back. I pull my hand away and there's blood on my fingers. Punctured lung, then. I sigh. "How long?" I ask, a breath.

She knows what I'm asking. "A day and a half, dear. Nothing to worry about."

I breathe a sigh of relief. She picks up some potions and reaches around to cradle my head. "Here, love. Drink up," she murmurs, and tips the first one into my mouth.

It's bitter, and the rest of them are equally nasty, but the pain begins to disappear after several minutes. "Thank you," I croak, my throat raw. She smiles.

"Of course, dear."

…

II.

You hurt.

A groan; shifting, and more pain. Bleary eyes glance at the door, and a woman you vaguely recognize bustles inside. "You're awake, Katie," she sounds relieved. What happened?

You try to ask, but she hushes you quickly, handing you a potion. "Knock it back, sweetheart," she says. "I have to see to another student, but I'll be back before you can say, pepper-up," the woman continues, and leaves as fast as she stumbled in.

You lean back, settling into the soft pillows behind you, and for a while, you doze. Then a whisper of clothing breaches your awareness.

You open your eyes blearily and another familiar face greets you. Pale, visibly shaken, framed by white-blond hair- Malfoy, your brain places. He looks frightened, standing there staring at you.

He shifts again and you let out a sigh, reaching for him. He rushes over and grabs your hand, relief flooding his features. "I didn't know that would happen, I swear," he whispers fiercely, clutching at your fingers. "I'm sorry. But they told me to do it."

"Who?" you whisper, and he shakes his head. His hair falls into a chaotic disarray and you don't know that you've ever seen him so disheveled.

"I'm so sorry, Katie," he says again.

He gives your hand one last squeeze and then takes his leave, looking around like some common thief before running. You can hear his swift footsteps lightly hitting tile. A door creaks and he fades into silence.

…

III.

It was a complete accident, and she will swear to it until she dies.

But that's not the whole truth.

Molly figures that Hugo will be fine in time, but for now he's lying in an old bed in a small back room, fingers broken, a hole through his hip, and a torn knee cap. Ron will be here any minute, and while Hermione can't get away from work, she sent Molly a short letter detailing her disappointment and fury that they weren't more careful.

Molly read it and cried, but then she comes to the conclusion that her beloved aunt is right to feel so hurt. It's her fault that her son is injured. For now, Molly sits by Hugo's bedside and rests her head on her arm, slung over the back of the chair. She watches him carefully despite the fact that her eyes are drooping with exhaustion; she's been awake for two days without sleep.

How can she sleep with her favorite cousin under constant supervision from the nurse?

Victoire walks in- she's Madam Pomfrey's apprentice- and rest her hand on Molly's shoulder. "Let me see to your head, Molly," she whispers, tugging the redhead to her feet. Molly sways a little, and reaches to shove her glasses up her nose. "Then you're going to sleep," Vic scolds lightly, half-dragging her to an empty bed in the main room of the hospital wing.

"I can't sleep," Molly slurs, sitting heavily on the bed that Vic shoves her onto. "Have to make sure he's okay," she finishes, clutching desperately at Victoire's sleeve. "Please, Vikki, tell me he's gonna be okay. I can't- I-"

Madam Pomfrey walks into the room with Hugo, slams the door shut behind her, and doesn't reemerge for quite some time.

Vic sighs, and presses the tip of her wand to the gash in Molly's head with a whisper. "He's going to be just fine, honey," she mutters, watching at the blood clears from her young cousin's head.

"It's my fault," Molly confesses, and Vic eyes her quietly. "I dared him to do it."

"He's still the one that went through with it," Victoire points out, kneeling in front of Molly. She grasps both her hands, her mouth in a grim line. "That doesn't mean he's the only one at fault, and yes, you must take responsibility for your part in this. Hugo got the worst of it, but you were there, too, and you both must learn your lesson."

Victoire bumps their foreheads together lightly with a smile. "I'm just glad you'll both be alright."

Molly's eyes droop again, and Victoire presses her to the bed. "Sleep, little bug," she says quietly, and Molly does, her dreams silent.

…