"What...?"
I hear the word but I don't know who says it. I don't know what they intended to ask; what question was meant to follow the hollow syllable. Someone shifts to stand at the end of the bed and they peer down at me expectantly. I realise that it was me. It was my voice, although it was too brittle; too hoarse to belong to me.
I push myself up and scoot backwards on the mattress, away from the stranger. I regret it immediately, gritting my teeth as my head explodes and pain shoots down my side. "Easy," says the woman as she places her hands on my shoulders and eases me back down until my head rests against the pillow. "Don't try to sit up. Not yet."
"What's happening?" I ask and I wince as my voice cracks. I clear my throat and try again. "Where am I?"
"Don't worry," she replies, "You're in St Mungo's Hospital."
My gaze shifts from her face and I see now that she wears lime green robes that define her as a Healer. "Fourth floor," she adds, after a pause.
"Fourth?" I groan, eyebrows drawing together. The luminous lights are too bright, the green of her robes too green.
"Spell damage," she explains.
"Spell damage," I repeat but the words don't make sense. "Why?"
I try to recall my last memory but it doesn't come so I try to recall anything. I start off with the basics. My name is Rose Weasley. I am 17 years old. I attend Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. I shouldn't be here. Why am I here?
The Healer doesn't answer immediately but instead makes a great deal of smoothing my bed sheets and tucking in the ends. "Why can't I remember anything?" I ask, my voice faltering. When she is bent over, fussing at my covers, I can see over her shoulder. I am in a small ward with only two other beds – one unoccupied, just a bare mattress, and the other freshly made. The Healer stands and doesn't meet my eyes. "What's wrong with me?" I plead. She opens her mouth but closes it as a second Healer approaches, carrying a water jug. I realise suddenly how dry my throat is and I long for the water.
"Nothing?" The second Healer mutters to the first, almost inaudibly. I lean forwards, trying to read their lips.
"She can't recall anything." The first whispers.
"The boy was the same, he-"
"The boy?" I cut in and the two blink, as if just remembered my presence. My eyes dart to the bed with the neatly arranged sheets.
"Yes, a boy. He was brought in with you." The first Healer replies as the second turns to my bedside and pours a glass of water.
"Who? Where is he?" I ask, sitting up, my thirst forgotten. I clench my jaw as a bomb goes off in my head at the sudden movement. I push aside the covers and swing my feet to the floor. The tile feels icy cold against my bare feet. Someone was brought in with me. Someone has been through the same thing that I have and they can't remember anything either. I see movement and I step to the side, to see past the Healer as that someone enters the room.
"You're awake."
I recognise the low, husky voice and the face although it's missing its usual cocky expression accompanied by the trademark sardonic smirk. Instead he looks exhausted and grim. I probably look the exact same way to him.
My eyebrows shoot up. The boy is Scorpius Malfoy.