I'm sure I don't need to say it all again, do I? Happy reading
Draco woke slowly, as if from a very deep sleep, and frowned slightly at the light behind his eyelids. He could hear voices all around him, and wondered where he was. Was he still dreaming? He risked opening his eyes, and they grew wide in terror. He was surrounded by Landfolk. He opened his mouth to cry out, and no sound issued forth. Suddenly it all came crashing back. The Lake Witch had given him a stoppered bottle, and told him to drink it when he reached the shore closest to the Landfolk dwelling-place. He had obeyed, and had downed the thick, disgusting liquid in one swallow. Immediately it had felt like the lower half of his body was being sliced with knives, his lungs were on fire, and the world spun. It had felt like the pain would never end, and he barely caught a glimpse of his new legs before he had passed out on the gritty beach, too weak and in pain to do anything else.
Now he was lying in a bed, presumably in the stone castle of the Landfolk, and he was surrounded by adults, who were all talking at once. The youngest in the room apart from himself was a boy about his own age or older, with dark hair and bright green eyes framed by round spectacles. He had a strange scar on his forehead. The boy smiled at him and looked up at the adults, rolling his eyes. He clearly knew these adults, and had to listen to them often. Draco smothered a smile, and looked around as silence descended on the group around him. The oldest of them, a man with a long white beard, spoke to the other adults, making most of them go away. Soon the only ones left around his bed were the white bearded man, the boy with the black hair and a man with sallow skin and lank, greasy hair. The last of the three made Draco uneasy, though he couldn't pinpoint why.
"Can you tell me your name? Do you know how you ended up on the shore of the Lake?" The bearded man spoke, and Draco was surprised to find that he understood. Was he speaking Mermish? No, it didn't sound like his own language. so this man was speaking the language of the Landfolk, and Draco could understand him. Clearly the potion didn't just give him legs. He opened his mouth, trying to respond, and looked away from the man, shutting his mouth again. This "gift" that the Witch had given him had cost him his voice. Even if he met her, he wouldn't be able to speak to her. He wasn't able to read or write, thus couldn't use that form of communication, so if he wanted to communicate with her, he'd have to use guestures and hope she understood. She'd probably just laugh at him. He didn't think he'd be able to bear it if she laughed at him. Especially with the task that the Witch had set him.
He had to make her fall in love with him and promise herself to him within a week, if he wanted to keep his new legs and regain his voice. How, in the name of the Giant Squid was he going to manage that? He didn't even know where in the castle she was, let alone whether she'd be willing to give him a chance when he found her.
Voices drew him back to where he was, and he looked sheepishly at the three people in front of him. Time to start practising guestures. He tapped his throat, opened his mouth, and shook his head. "You can't speak? Does your throat hurt?" Head shake. "Could you speak before the explosion?" Slow nod. "Do you know what might be wrong with your voice?" Head shake. He wasn't going to tell them that he was a merman given legs. They'd probably lock him up, or fire him back into the Lake to see if his tail grew back. "Can you write? Could you write your memories of the night of the explosion?" Fast head-shake. He couldn't fake injury, the woman hovering a few beds away would try to treat a wound that wasn't there, and then he wouldn't be able to make up any more excuses. It was easier to just shake his head and hope they didn't press the matter. Thankfully, the woman came to his rescue. "With all due respect, Headmaster, the boy has clearly suffered some trauma he can't speak of, and needs to rest. . ." The slight edge in her tone suggested that she wasn't used to being so polite, but the fact that she was being polite at all conveyed that the man with the white beard was important. He wasn't sure what a Headmaster was, as they didn't speak of the customs of the Landfolk back home, but he was bound to learn sooner or later. In the next week at least.
"Very well, Poppy, we'll leave him to sleep, and come back when you're satisfied that he's well again." The older man nodded once to her and motioned to the boy and the man with the sallow skin. "You should be getting back to your Dormitory, Harry. You've agreed to take him under your wing until we find out who he is, Severus?" nods from both men, and with that the man swept out of the room with the boy in tow. The sallow-skinned man spent a few minutes staring at Draco until he too swept out of the room. Draco noted that Harry must have been the young boy, and the older man was Severus.
The woman bustled about his bed, straightening the sheets, plumping the pillows, pushing a mug of hot liquid into his hands, muttering to herself. He didn't know what she was saying, and didn't bother to listen. Tomorrow, after he had slept, he was going to search the castle for the girl who had stolen his heart, and he was going to woo her. He hoped.