SARLANDA

I used to deeply enjoy fall. The shift in the temperature. The brilliant colors. The crispness of the air. Quidditch season beginning. Leaving behind the hollow halls of Malfoy Manor to be with people who actually cared about me and what I wanted from my life. Friends who just wanted a good laugh. Every fall, I used to feel like I could start over, become a new and better person. A breath of fresh air.

It was my second fall spent in a hospital ward attending to some gruesome injury, and I was beginning to wish I could simply vanish away into the changing leaves.

I hadn't quite felt the same since the incident with George, even though it had been nearly two months ago. It was difficult to place the exact feelings. I certainly missed the structure of school, the deadlines, clear goals. Turn in the homework. Get good grades. Pass the tests. Graduate. Get a good job. Then….?

Fight in a war, I guess.

Security had been deeply tightened at St. Mungo's after the break-in at the Ministry. The papers had of course confirmed it was Harry and Jennifer, along with probably Ron and Hermione, though that was my own private guess. I couldn't imagine Harry doing anything without his best friends. And when two people showed up that morning with ailments suspiciously similar to some Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products…

Well, it hadn't been difficult to put two and two together, at least for me.

I walked through the false wall that separated the Muggle world from the interior of the hospital. The lobby had been completely overhauled. Where there used to be a simple check in desk and many waiting chairs was now an extensive security team and defensive charms preventing people in disguises from walking into the building. The actual waiting area was beyond this, and much smaller. I could only see a few people sitting in the chairs this morning as I approached the barrier.

"Sarlanda."

"Astor."

The wand inspector and I shared a polite nod while I waited for him to finish. He was often lax with how thoroughly he inspected the Healers, which was the case today as well. He had hardly cast the spell on my wand, confirming me as the owner, before waving me through. While I found it to be entirely irresponsible, I also couldn't see who would be disguising themselves as a Healer anymore. The need for subtlety among Death Eaters was gone now. Any one of them could freely waltz into the hospital, claim to be an agent sent by the Minister, and pretty much do what they wanted.

I made my way to the fourth floor, running over my morning routine in my head. I had my morning rounds, then checking on a few potions brewing, attending to any emergencies that occurred, one person who may be checked out today, lots of bed sheets to clean and food to deliver… and more research. Always more research. I had been basically locking myself in to the Spell Damage's library at every break, pouring over books to try and find an actual counter curse to Sectumsempra. It gave me some sense of a purpose, and there just had to be something. There was no way someone hadn't ended up in here before cursed by it. Even if Snape had invented it, he was a Death Eater for a while. Certainly he taught it to others. How else would Lance have learned it?

"Good morning, Miss Malfoy," Donatello said as I found him in his office, preparing a few files. "We got three new patients overnight, they're all in the Lufkin ward. Start your rounds there, if you'd please."

"Of course, sir," I said. I left briefly to drop off my cloak in the office I shared with the other junior staff members on the fourth floor. I grabbed the roll of parchment in my shelf, a quill, some ink, and charmed them all to follow me as I began my day. The Curses team oversaw three different wards, and had been helping out with a few of the other non-permanent spell damage wards as well. I had two of the Jinxes wards on my list today. There had been a steady increase in the amount of patients we saw over the past month. There had been squads of Ministry workers deployed to round up Muggleborns to "create order." We had been the ones left to tend to the violence left in their wake. I hadn't had an actual day off in weeks.

Though I knew, logically, I was making a good difference in the war here, I couldn't help but feel entirely sidelined and useless. How much use was I healing people compared to if I was out there preventing people from being hurt? Surely I would be much more effective in the field? And what kind of spying did I even need to do here? Not many of my patients were talkative, and the ones that were had useless information. Besides, we were so overwhelmed with work that it wasn't as if I could spend time interrogating people. What use even was I against an unyielding tide of hatred?

I finished checking over the Lufkin ward and moved on to the next on my list, where the four beds were all occupied. Hal was overseeing a patient with another Healer, muttering counter curses as they waved their wands. I tried to ignore them, going over the notes I had for the witch laying on the bed in front of me, still in a painful sleep and covered in bandages. But I kept glancing over to the patient, noting the scarlet-stained cloths dressing him. I checked through my notes to see if he was listed.

Edwin McGregor - arrived with deep cut-like wounds that have refused to close. Blood supplement potions every 4 hours. Unable to articulate incident.

Cut-like wounds that wouldn't close? Sounded terribly familiar.

"It seems to be working, Hal, let's get these off him," the Healer said, shifting now to taking the bandages off the man. Hal assisted, and the two of them revealed a chest that was still gashed, but had seemed to have rapidly healed in places and wasn't spilling blood. I blinked. What? Had Hal known how to counter Sectumsempra this whole time? I watched them, slack jawed, as they began again, tracing their wands back and forth along the wounds. Their chanting had a song-like quality to it, and I felt entranced just watching everything. I spent several moments just watching them before I snapped out of it and went back to the notes about the patient in front of me. She just needed more of the potion that was already brewed, waiting on our supply shelf down the hall. I turned abruptly and left for the closet, shutting the door harder than I had intended behind me.

I felt so incredibly stupid. They had been doing a flesh mending charm, just over and over to get the wound to close. And of course, they would probably use some Dittany to soothe the scarring. How in the fuck had I not thought of that? I had literally done that charm dozens of times in the past months. Though when I had done them, it had only taken a pass or two to heal the gashes... fuck. I was so dumb. It was so obvious, and I was so useless. Snarling, I snatched the potion I needed off the shelf, took a few breaths to not appear emotional, and went back to the patient.

As I suspected, Hal was now slathering Dittany along bright red scars on the man's chest when I returned. I ignored him, proceeding to my patient and adjusting her on the pillow. She slept on, so I carefully fed her the allotted amount. I was very careful to make sure she didn't choke, using immense care to steady my hand and not spill on her face. When I was done, I stoppered the remainder and did another check over of her vitals, then scribbled the results down on the parchment. I felt absolutely ridiculous, and moved on through the rest of my morning checks as fast as I could. I did not want to be around anyone right now.

It was thankfully slow at the moment, and by mid-morning I was done with my first rounds and gave a very stiff-voiced report to Donatello before retreating into the spell damage library for my short break. No one was in here, and I locked the door behind me. I had the strongest desire to hit something, but settled for casting Muffliato on the room, moving into the far corner, bundling up my robe sleeves, and screaming into them. Over and over I screamed until my face was red and my chest heaving. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I had panicked that night at the Burrow, and it had cost George an ear. No amount of his joking about it being fine would ever ease the knowledge that it was my fault. I could have fixed it. But I panicked. I was an idiot. And I had to fix this. There had to be a way.

As I was digging through every book that looked remotely helpful, the knob of the door jiggled before there came a knock.

"Miss Malfoy? You have a visitor," Donatello said. I froze. A visitor? Oh no, please no. "I saw you go in. Please open the door."

Reluctantly, I dropped the book I held and unlocked the door. Just behind Donatello was a slim, blonde woman that I had hoped I never had to see again.

"I'm busy," I said, trying to control my temper. Donatello raised his eyebrows at me.

"You know better than to lock a resource room, Miss Malfoy. Mrs. Malfoy, shall I escort you up to the tea room…?"

"No, this will do fine," she replied. Her eyes never left mine.

"Very well," Donatello conceded, and I was forced back as my mother pushed into the library and shut the door behind her.

We stood for several moments, staring at each other, testing each other. I flexed my left hand open and closed, longing to just whip out my wand. She looked just as terrible as the last time I had seen her, circles under her eyes, and her hair and clothes not quite as perfect as they normally were. Most people, I suspect, would still see her as a proper lady.

"I have work to do, Mother," I finally said, moving to push past her, but she blocked me.

"I need to speak with you, Sarlanda."

"Move out of my way."

"Or what? You'll attack your own mother, in a hospital no less?"

"Quicker to put you back together," I sneered. She looked for a half-second as if I had slapped her, but she stood firm.

"You want to hear what I have to say."

Her voice was even, not clipped or snide. And it was the fourth time she had showed up in the past month.

"Fine. You have five minutes," I said, stepping back and crossing my arms. "I don't plan on believing anything you say."

"Sarlanda… alright. As long as you're listening." When I didn't speak for a few moments, she took a deep breath. Her face was incredibly tense, and she looked at me with an emotion I hadn't seen in a while… pleading? "Sarlanda, I've come to warn you. You need to go into hiding. You need… you need to come home."

I let out an incredulous laugh. "What? You're joking."

"Sarlanda, please, it's the safest place for you. If the Dark Lord thinks you've come home, back where you belong—"

"Where I belong? Are you mad?"

"He wants to kill you, Sarlanda." Mother's voice was quaking, just the slightest.

I laughed again. "He wants to kill a lot of people."

"You are being watched here," she hissed. "Your every movement, tracked—"

"Oh, is he? And how will that work out for you, Mother, when it comes back to him that you've been here visiting me?"

Her face paled even more. "It's a risk I'm willing to take. For you, Sarlanda."

I rolled my eyes. "Right, all the risks you've taken for me—"

"You have no idea what it's been like for me—"

"For you? Oh, I can only imagine what it must be like, married to a Death Eater, working to destroy the lives of people who didn't do a damn thing to you—"

"I have risked everything for you and your brothers." Her voice was a deadly whisper, one she reserved for when Lance (it was always Lance) had done something particularly terrible. "You've no idea the struggles I've faced." I couldn't even laugh incredulously at her. The struggles she's faced? When I'm the one who was always expected to be perfect, to be brilliant and beautiful and quiet and patient and mature? "You and your brothers were not easy to raise, but I wanted the best for you. My only daughter. I wanted to give you the world—"

"Well, you've done a good bloody job of that, haven't you?" My temper was beginning to boil just under my flushed skin. "You started a war to kill off anyone you didn't deem of good enough blood—"

"I never—"

"—and look where that's gotten you! Your husband in prison, Draco throwing his life away, and Lance, don't even get me started on Lance—"

"I'm the only one trying to hold this family together." Her voice was slightly raised, not yet a shout, tears now falling down her face. "Your father has made terrible mistakes, and now I am trying to remedy them."

"What an excellent job you've done," I snarled. "You do realize you're part of the problem, right? Why else do you think your eldest son turned out to be a sociopath? Why your youngest son is a coward?"

"If you knew, Sarlanda, the things the Dark Lord is forcing us to do—"

"Forcing, right—"

"Sarlanda—"

"—Dad sure seemed forced to open up the Chamber of Secrets—"

"He set Draco a mission knowing, or hoping, that he would be killed! A boy of just sixteen—"

"It's sort of what you all signed up for, isn't it? Going along with the whole Pureblood supremacy."

"I never wanted this, Sarlanda! All I wanted was my family, and the Dark Lord has torn us apart."

"He's not the only one to blame, now is there?"

I realized now that I was crying, but I didn't care. I was so furious with her. It took every single ounce of self-control to not curse her into oblivion.

"And it's that girl's fault… the Potter girl…"

"What?" I growled.

She stood firm, though her lips trembled as she spoke. "If you had never befriended her… if she had never wriggled her way into your lives… you and Lance would be—"

"Would be what?"

"You would be home, with me, and your head wouldn't be filled with this noble nonsense, standing up for blood traitors and Mudbloods—" She jumped as the books on the shelf just to the left of her head exploded, my wand pointing at her now.

"Give me a reason, Mother, I swear—"

"And Lance, he is not himself." Tears were falling very heavily down her face now, but she still spoke in a strained whisper. "He is not the same boy I sent to Hogwarts. His obsession with her, it's unyielding — the things he's been doing, the dark magic he pours over — all because of this girl. She ripped my son away from me, and the Dark Lord has just encouraged it!"

"You still don't get it, do you?" My voice cracked as I unleashed all my boiling anger on her. "This is all your fault. You and Father. You're shit parents, and you fucked us all up. All my life, you've treated me like a servant, or a nanny, expecting me to care for my own brother, to keep him in line, to be perfect and patient when he was allowed to explode with anger at anything that didn't go his way. You spoiled him, and pampered him, and gave him everything he ever wanted. And the second, the moment someone stood up to him, he tried to kill them." My wand arm was shaking so much, tears blurring my vision. "You've no idea what he was like at school! Do you know, Mother, how many times he cursed people for fun? Dangled first years out a window? He terrorized people, and you made me think it was my job to keep him from doing that!" She was shrinking away from me, just slightly, like my words were stabbing her. "Jennifer Potter saved me from this shit! From you, and Father, and Lance! My friends are the only ones who have ever, truly, loved me. They showed me all the lies you told me, about blood purity and Muggles and everything. And I am sick of you acting like you ever did anything beyond the bare minimum for me!" My voice was hoarse. Blood pounded in my ears. "And if you have ever loved me, ever felt a bit of remorse for how you treated me, you will tell me, right now, what Lance is doing to Jennifer. I will not allow him to torment anyone, least of all her."

We were finally quiet for a moment, and I tried to clean my face off with the sleeve of my robe. When Mother spoke, her voice was thick with tears, but she straightened up. "I'm sorry, Sarlanda. I am. I tried my best with you—"

"I don't want to hear any more of your shitty excuses," I snapped. "Tell me what he's up to."

It was a few more moments before she could compose herself enough to look at me again. "I… I don't know the extent of what he's doing. He refuses to speak on it with anyone."

"I know you've bought books for him. What were the books about?"

"I have no idea, they weren't even in English."

"You know more, Mother. Spill it."

"He… when he joined your father among the ranks, he was tasked with researching something for the Dark Lord. A sort of… connection he had with Harry Potter. I don't… I don't know more than that. I'm sorry."

"Has he continued this research?" My voice was cold, like I was dealing with a disobedient child.

"I… I believe so, yes. But I cannot be certain, he won't speak to anyone about his work."

"And what has he been tasked with doing now?"

"M-many things. He's at the Ministry, working to round up Mudbloods—" I pointed my wand at her again. "—Mu-Muggleborns. For questioning. And he… he is supposed to be the one to remove Jennifer Potter from being in the way of the Dark Lord's plans. Should he fail…"

"And what, exactly, do you think me coming home will protect me from?"

"More people die every day," she whispered. "You… you would be protected at home. Offer to spy, just give up information, it doesn't matter, just anything to keep you home and out of harm's way."

"And what makes you think I would ever betray my friends?"

She took in a shuddering breath. "You are my daughter. And I love you, even though you can't see it."

"That's it?"

"That's all."

I shook my head, and there was an unnaturally long pause before I decided to speak what was on my mind. "Mother, you had better leave. I never want to see you again."

Her mouth opened to retort, to plead, to chide, but her lips trembled and she simply nodded. She began to straighten herself out, arranging her hair, wiping her face off, using magic to melt away the small black stains of her runny makeup. Soon, only her red-rimmed eyes gave away a hint of the turmoil that had just occurred. Before she turned to leave, she looked me in the eyes. "Sarlanda, I love you. Dearly. Please consider my offer. I understand you don't want to take it."

"Goodbye, Mother," I said sharply, and she finally left, the door closing quietly behind her.

I allowed myself a deep sigh when I was finally alone again. The library was a complete mess. Meticulously, I began to repair what I could, tidy everything, and vanish what I couldn't fix. Replacement books would certainly come out of my paycheck, but I didn't care. I conjured a mirror to float in front of me while I fixed my appearance. My break had been far too long. I wished there was a spell I could do that would take away the redness in my eyes. Surely there would be questions about the noise coming from the library, and my tardiness. I could not give anything away.

The few Healers I passed on my way to Donatello's office stared at me as I walked down the corridor. I didn't spare them any glances. I knocked and let myself in to the office, where Donatello had a massive pile of paperwork in front of him.

"Miss Malfoy, I'm told there was shouting coming from the library—"

"You will never, under any circumstances, let Narcissa Malfoy in to see me ever again." He gaped, not used to being cut off. "If you have a problem with this, then you can fire me. I don't care. But I will never be forced in to that position again." He made some choking noises, unable to retort. "I'm going to finish my shift in peace, and I will be taking my full lunch break. Good day to you."

I turned on my heel and stormed off to check on my patients, any semblance of decorum lost with my ability to care about what people thought of me anymore.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the latest installment of "everyone has an existential crisis"!

Best,
Icamane