Chapter 11

Scorpius breathed in short, shallow gasps, as he watched Elle's head, a barely discernable blob, sink below the surface of the great lake. He waited, desperately counting the seconds, but by the time he got to thirty there was nothing – no ripple in the water, no tiny head bobbing at the surface. Scorpius was never a great swimmer himself, and despite his panic, he was still thinking clearly enough to know that it would be suicide to try and wade in after her.

Panic. Panic. Scorpius shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts from that one word, buzzing along his veins and souring his stomach. What do you do when you're in danger? As automatic as dialling 999 for muggles (the bonus question on last year's muggle studies exam), his wand arm shot up in the air, faster even than his mouth could form the incantation, and a shower of red sparks climbed 30, 40, 50 meters in the air. It was his first ever wordless spell, something that he would not realize for many, many hours.

No-one came. The seconds ticked by even faster now, and the sweat on the back of Scorpius' neck was cold and clammy in the wind. He let off another volley of sparks, desperate now. How long had it been? A minute? Two? His eyes desperately scanned the water, but there was nothing but the uninterrupted, angry rolling of the waves, as if the lake was a beast that breathed.

Suddenly, a shout. Scorpius' eyes first scanned the water again, hopeful, but the voice was coming from behind him, and very soon a heavy hand clapped him on the back. Scorpius' wide eyes were soon staring into the wild, dark eyes of Professor Blanco, his flying instructor. The shock was starting to kick in. The seconds were still ticking in the back of his head. Three minutes? Four? How long can someone hold their breath, when they have no other choice?

Scorpius saw Professor Blanco's eyes dart between his broom, which he still clutched numbly in his hand, to the twigs caught in his hair. "The forest?" he heard his teacher ask, from what felt like a great distance away, "have you been flying with someone in the forest? He asked, his voice sharper, the effect partially grounding. Scorpius shook his head, his finger pointing shakily towards the lake. "Elle" he finally choked out.

Professor Blanco, blessedly, did not need more explanation than that. The man, who Scorpius had rarely ever seen not bent over a broom, raised himself to his full height in front of him. He inhaled one long, deep breath, inflating his chest, and seemed to grow even larger. Scorpius took a step back involuntarily, as Professor Blanco raised his wand. There was a disturbance behind Scorpius, who turned to see Hagrid's gigantic body crash through the underbrush of the forest, Dirk hard at his heels. A booming voice called out a spell Scorpius had never heard before "Maris Divortia."

Scorpius turned just in time to see a stream of white explode forth from Professor Blanco's wand. The light cut through the black waters of the great lake like a knife, and Scorpius couldn't help gasping as, slowly, the light spread through the water, parting the dark mass of furious waves as it went, leaving a gap of sand littered with small rocks, algae, and even one extremely perturbed fish, flapping helplessly on its side. Finally, a small, wet lump of cloth becomes visible. Elle isn't moving. "Hagrid" Professor Blanco says through gritted teeth. Streams of sweat are pouring down his face as he fights to maintain the strong stream of light bursting forth from his wand.

Hagrid rushes forth, easily covering the distance required in half the steps a normal man would take. He scoops up Elle's prone body as if she weighs no more than a sack of flour, and soon she's being laid, soaking wet, on the rocky shore, and Professor Blanco is dropping his wand with a snap, as if his arm was being held aloft by a string that has just been abruptly cut. Hagrid is already crying and fighting to keep a whining Dirk from licking Elle's face. She's very pale, and her limbs loll about in a looseness that goes a degree beyond sleep. Scorpius chokes back a sob.

Professor Blanco is kneeling over Elle now, tiredly muttering spells under his breath, but she doesn't seem to be reacting at all. Scorpius wants to scream at him, tell him to do something more to help her, to save her, to do something, but he bites it all back, not wanting to break the older wizard's fierce concentration. Finally, in what appears to be a last-ditch effort, Professor Blanco leans over Elle's face, and blows sharply. Elle's body heaves as she takes in an automatic breath, and then she is swiftly turned over on her side, coughing, and Professor Blanco is murmuring encouragements in her ear, deftly wiping away the vomit that steadily streams from her mouth with one ornately embroidered cloak sleeve.

Everyone starts moving quickly again, as Hagrid scoops up Elle and Professor Blanco shouts out orders, directing Hagrid to the hospital wing, telling him how to hold her body so that Elle does not choke on her own vomit, and Dirk barking excitedly at both of their heels. In the confusion, Scorpius is almost forgotten, until Professor Blanco turns sharply on his heels. "You" he says, pointing to Scorpius, as if there is anyone else he could be addressing right now. "With me. To the Headmistress' office." Scorpius gulps, following the professor with quick, guilty steps, his broom still held stiffly in his hand.

It was surprising how little the hospital wing had changed in the decades since Harry had been at Hogwarts. It was the same row of cots covered in crisp linen sheets, the same privacy screens of thin crêpe, the same glass windows set high on the wall, so that the wan afternoon sun filtered in through long beams, lighting spotlights on the floor.

How many times had Harry been in this quiet, stately room? Every year at school at least once, as visitor or as patient, that was for sure. And of course, after the battle… Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, bringing himself forcibly back into the present. It was funny how different places in Hogwarts made him feel different things. He never had a problem at Hagrid's cottage, or in the stands of the Quidditch pitch. Dumbledore's office – because it would always been called Dumbledore's office to him, even if only in his head – made him uneasy, but never brought him back in time for long. Perhaps it was because the hospital wing is the place of the sick, dead, or dying. Maybe that's what made them haunt him here the worst.

It didn't help how small Elle looked, tucked into the sheets by Healer Henwick's quick, practised hands. She wasn't small, really – she was actually quite tall for her age, her limbs having stretched like taffy this summer – but it was the fact that it was just her pale face peeking out from the blankets (absent for once of the crease between her brows that Harry was not entirely sure Elle was aware she had), her hair splayed out like a blonde halo around her face, that made her look tiny, and vulnerable.

Harry wondered, not for the first time in the last hour he had sat here alone, how he must have looked to the various adults who had waited at his bedside. Smaller than Elle, and probably paler, too. A shock of dark hair contrasting against the pillow. How long had Dumbledore waited for him to stir, that first time, after his stand-off with Professor Quirrell?

Harry was interrupted from his musings by a small, shuffling sound. He turned just as Elle was blinking her eyes awake. For one heartbreaking moment, Harry could tell that she was back in the lake, by the ways her eyes widened in panic, and the gasping breath she took, sitting up quickly. Reflexively, Harry stuck out a hand, finding Elle's slender fingers, and curling them around his own. Her unfocused eyes landed on his face, where she blinked, coming back to herself. Elle retracted her fingers quickly, blushing in embarrassment.

So that Elle didn't have to ask, Harry started speaking, his voice thick at first as he worked his way around the lump of emotion in his throat. He explained what had happened to the best of his abilities, and tried his best to explain why he was here – at first, it was because it was thought that she may have been attacked in some way. When the full truth had come out of Scorpius' stuttering mouth however, Harry had chosen to stay. He had chosen to stay to deliver the news that he knew Elle would hate.

"Elle" Harry started. The little girl sighed. She looked tired far beyond her years. "I don't like that voice, Mr. Potter. You never tell me good news when you use that voice." Harry acquiesced with a thin frown, and Elle crossed her arms, hugging herself. Somehow, she looked even smaller than before. "Is it my mum?" she asked, her voice quavering. Even now, after everything that had happened to her today, this was her first question.

Harry was happy to answer. "No, Elle. Nothing has changed on that front – no new leads" (Harry made a mental note that he needed to figure out if this was strictly true, and soon. Malfoy had never been patient).

"No, Elle. This is about you, and your flying."

Harry watched as what he was saying started to dawn on Elle's face, and she sat up straighter. "NO! No, please…" she started to beg "it was stupid, I made a mistake. It won't happen again…"

"Elle" Harry said, trying his best to sound grim, despite the fact that he felt his own heart, the piece of his heart that had once been a little boy whose own life had revolved around flying, was breaking. "Elle, you almost died today, do you understand that? Professor Blanco performed an incredibly complex spell, one that could not have been performed even by many of Hogwart's most talented staff. You put yourself in an incredibly dangerous situation and broke at least half a dozen school rules to do it. I- Do you even have an explanation for yourself?"

Elle bit her lip. She couldn't meet Harry's gaze as she shook her head. She sunk back into her cot, defeated. "Am I losing my spot on the team?" She asked, tears in her voice.

Harry did his best to look serious as he spoke, despite that fact that he had been the one who had fought with Blanco for hours to get this answer – "No." He never would have won this argument, if McGonagall's love of quidditch hadn't been on his side.

Elle started to smile widely, barely believing her luck, but Harry was quick to shut down any burgeoning hope, lest it get too big and too painful to burst.

"You have lost the privilege of owning your own broom. Your team captain will be informed that you are to be given access to a school broom for quidditch practice and games, and that the broom is to be locked with the others at all other times."

Elle started to protest, but Harry silenced her with an upheld hand. "This should not be a problem, as you currently do not have your own broom – I recovered the remains of your previous broom from the bottom of the great lake myself, Elle. It is damaged beyond repair."

This sobered Elle into complete silence, so Harry went on, dealing the final, most difficult ruling. "Additionally, you have been banned from performing any stunt flying during quidditch practice or games."

Elle cried out, but Harry forged on, trying to soften the blow, by adding. "Professor Blanco, while acknowledging your great talent, does not believe that you can currently perform these maneuvers safely. If you wish to regain this privilege, Professor Blanco has offered you private stunt flying lessons. He may decide when, and if, you are deemed a safe flier."

Elle spit out a few nasty words that gave even Harry pause. Where had she learned them? He tried his best to appeal to Elle, to make her understand that she was actually extremely lucky that she was being allowed to fly at all, but the girl was stubborn, and upset. It would be more productive to try and engage a brick wall in conversation, and, knowing Hogwarts, may actually have been more likely to be successful.

After a time, Harry offered one last encouraging word, before retreating in defeat. He purposely left through Healer Henwick's private entrance to the wing, avoiding his son and the rest of Elle's friends, who he knew were crowded around the main door, eager to peek through and catch a glimpse of her. By tomorrow, when the sun was shining brightly again and the wounds he had just inflicted had had a chance to scab over, Elle would be grateful for the company. For now, Harry knew from personal experience, the best thing he could do for Elle was to leave her to brood.

He paused at the door one final time and looked at the shadow-figure of the girl through the privacy screen, bent over herself in the only occupied bed, head in her hands. The light was all but gone now, and the torches had lit themselves automatically, bathing the stone room in a soft glow. The rest of the beds were neat and white, no traces of the people they had once held, of the blood that had once stained them. And, yet… there was a certain silence here. The kind that made your ears strain against empty air.

Yes, he decided. Nothing in this room had really changed at all.