PRECEDENT : Draco Malfoy II

42

There are voices around me, distant and muffled, and then I know where I am. Underwater. Drowning. Merfolk grabbed me in the Black Lake, having let my body go. No one is holding me down, but I don't feel like I can fight again.

I groan and my lungs don't fill with fluid.

My eyes peek open. The room is so bright that a headache surges through me, and I can't even open my eyes to look around. My hands roam beside me. My wand. Where is my wand?

Where am I?

People are making more noise, but my head is throbbing and their words feel out of focus. Then, I feel air move above me, and a wand on my temple.

Someone hushes me, stroking the hair out of my face. Her voice is soft, quiet, "it's all right, Miss Turner. You need to rest."

Miss Turner. Marty Turner. I hadn't realized I was uncertain about my own identity. I peel my eyes open and above me is Madam Pomfrey. Her name feels truthful in a way my own doesn't. Her name is worn in, almost predestined. My head aches when I think about it.

I try to pull myself up, and it's easier than I had expected. Once I'm sitting, I pull my knees into my chest and rest my head against the knobbly bones. I close my eyes and let my hair fall around me, trying to create shade.

I try to remember exactly how I got here. I trace the edges of what happened, what I remember. I am Martina Louise Turner, named after my mother's sister. Clearly, I'm unwell. I'm in a medical wing, after nearly drowning in the Black Lake when the merfolk got me. There are so many gaps that I keep jumping over so I force myself to find my earliest memory and trail my way up to it.

My two older brothers and parents. Brighton. Salt in the air, a letter in my hands. Hogwarts, and magic, and fear and power and the entire world in my grasp. Ravenclaw and my friends, and my self-imposed exile, and Draco Malfoy.

Draco.

I look up. The room is darker now, the sun setting over my shoulder. My head hurts less but my neck is stiff. I haven't moved and I'm not sure how long it's been. Certainly not days, but perhaps hours. Perhaps no time at all, and the night was always this dark.

"You're... you alright?"

I look over at the cot next to me. Ron Weasley sits upright on his bed. Hermione Granger is at the foot of it, though she looks much better for wear than he is. She just might be visiting I suppose. Ron looks like he's been punched in the face. His eyes are ringed with a deep purple than looks even more flushed with the sunlight streaming in behind us. His temples are tinged green, and his arm is covered in pink welts. Some have burst, and pus oozes on him.

Looking at him, I'm sure I am.

Hermione stands up, "I'll get Madam Pomfrey."

"She'll be back soon enough," Ron rolls his eyes.

Hermione shrugs, "and I'll get her quicker."

She walks out of the room, each footstep echoing. As she does, I slink out of bed. I'm in the clothes I last remember. My cashmere jumper and skirt, though they aren't stained black. The gap between spending time with Draco and drowning in the lake is still there. I can't run my hands along it easily, and occlumency doesn't seem easy since my headache, though mild is still here. I grab a mirror off the side table and look at it.

Suspicions confirmed. I'm Marty. Although, there are black smears on my eyes and the bridge of my nose. The smear of what looks like charcoal or perhaps dried ink fades as it goes down my cheeks and up to my hairline, looking more and more grey on the way out. On the dresser next to me, I dip a cloth into the pitcher of water and start to wipe it away.