I woke two days ago in this surreal place. Strange to think it is the same Great Hall I spent my happiest days in. The air is hot and heavy, filled with bustle and disease. I never find silence, confined to this makeshift bed, mediwitches scurrying this way and that, tending to those worse off than I am. I don't pity myself. I've seen a lot in the past few months, and I consider myself blessed. I merely close my eyes and imagine a day when this war will be over. I imagine Harry's moment of glory and Ron's triumph. All I can do is imagine, observe, and pray to the gods for salvation.

It is stifling in this ward, so many are wounded the entire Great Hall is filled with us, and we are only one hospital. Bodies are crammed against bodies, trying to fit one more in, but there is no room. I would gladly give up this mattress I share, if Dumbledore would only listen.

I slowly roll over in bed, wincing at the pain in my ribs. My bedmate is one who deserves this place. His face is horribly disfigured on the side nearest me, the only side I can see. He arrived yesterday, levitated in by a mediwitch during one of my rare moments of successful sleep. Imagine my surprise at waking up with someone in my bed! I believe he's still asleep, the lucky bastard. Of course, I can't tell because his eye is swollen shut. His breath is weak because his nose has been melted into his plum-hued cheek, covered in burns and blisters. Arabella comes every half hour to apply more aloe cream to his face. She feels confident she can restore him to his previous appearance once the swelling dies down.

I wish I knew what he really looked like. His head is shaved, but a faint white stubble is beginning to grow, like peach fuzz. No, he doesn't seem old, his body against mine is lean and strong- he must be my age. I wonder what his story is. I place my hand gently on his shoulder and he shivers at the touch. I rub it softly and run it down his arm to grasp his warm hand. Yes, he is young- his flesh is smooth and creamy, but his hand is callused and clenched. Curiosity overtakes me, and, despite the pain, I slowly sit up in bed to get a decent look at him. I stare into one pale blue eye.

I take my available hand to stroke his soft cheek, and smile warmly. His burns look like the result of a powerful acid- not and accident. His nose is surprisingly aquiline, and he has lovely eyelashes. I imagine him to be very attractive, but I can only imagine. His eye softens, and the unharmed corner of his lip pulls up into a smile. I lean down and kiss it, without really realizing what I am doing. His face is quite warm and soft. Pleasant. He lifts his hand to trace my lip with his fingers, eye gazing fondly at me. He touches my matted hair with all the affection in the world, and I find him very beautiful. He closes his eyelid and I kiss it softly, slowly settling into his shoulder and listening to his faint breath.

Arabella wakes me up when she comes to apply the aloe cream to his face. We've become close friends in the last few days, and I appreciate her kindness and patience. He must be asleep now, his rhythmic breathing is entrancing, and I snuggle up against his supple form.

"That's odd," she whispers quietly, as she traces his jawbone with the cooling salve, "he's smiling, honest to goodness smiling."

I grin into his shoulder and entwine my fingers with his callused palm. Arabellla adds a final dot to the tip of his nose.

"I swear, that must be the first time I've seen young mister Malfoy smile."