Shatter

When Pansy Parkinson came to, the first thing that registered in her mind was that she was lying in clean sheets. This was a welcome change; she invariably woke to find her bedding stained with blood. The second was that it was strangely difficult to move. Not difficult in the sense that she was stiff, for that was normal too. No, this was a different sort of difficulty. She moved an arm experimentally. It felt leaden, but shifted easily enough. Emboldened, she tried to move more forcefully. Her arm slid away from her prone body, as slowly as if she had tried to push it through a pool of molasses. She sighed. It was obviously no use trying to sit up, then, with this sort of restraining curse. She must have been taken to the infirmary while she was unconscious. Pansy tried to fall back asleep. There was nothing else to be done, and she hated being bored.

What felt like hours later, Pansy was still staring at the canopy over her head. It was white, of course, with neat little pleats around the edges. The canopy version of hospital corners, she supposed. Pansy hated hospitals. Even now, the astringent smell of disinfectant was stinging her nose. In an effort to occupy herself, the Slytherin began listing poisonous herbs and their uses from memory. In her first few years at Hogwarts, she had been teased by her housemates for her proficiency at Herbology, but that had ended when she finally got fed up in her third year and poisoned Blaise Zabini. It wasn’t a deadly poison, of course, and Blaise had deserved it, the spiteful bitch. The month of detention had been worth the end to her friends’ derision.

Digitalis to stop the heart, Pansy thought happily. Echinacea or goldenseal to override the immune system. Lobelia, henbane, celandine. Belladonna to cause hallucinations. Mistletoe, blood-root and chaparral.₁

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room. Pansy raised her head slightly, light-headed with effort.

"I don’t suppose I could have a glass of water," she tried to say sardonically. It actually came out rather pitifully, given her dry throat.

"Of course, child." The dumpy witch conjured a cup, presumably from the adjacent kitchenette, and sat on the edge of Pansy’s bed. Supporting the girl’s head, she lifted the cup to her patient’s lips. Pansy fumed at the indignity, but drank gratefully enough. She finished it as quickly as she could and waited impatiently to be released. Madam Pomfrey, however, seemed to have other ideas. Without releasing her grip, she set the glass down and began rocking gently back and forth. Pansy scowled.

"Oh, child," the matronly witch said softly, as if to herself. "Dear child. Why do you endure this?"

"I fell down the stairs," Pansy said irritably. "The ones leading down to the Dungeons from the Charms corridor. You know how slippery they get in spring. Will you let me go?" Madam Pomfrey regarded her a moment, then finally set her back down as gently as she might an infant. Blinking suspiciously, the older woman continued to whisper to herself.

"Poor, poor child. How I wish you’d let me help you."

"Help me what?" Pansy said rudely. "Improve my balance?" Madam Pomfrey gave her patient a sharp look.

"You aren’t to excite yourself, now. Sleep for the day. Then we’ll see how you’re doing," she said firmly, cutting off Pansy’s protests. "And--child, you do remember that charm I taught you--last time? To alert Professor Dumbledore, next time you--fall down the stairs." Despite herself, Pansy was grateful for the acceptance of her fabrication.

"Yes, yes," she answered, not as insolently as she might have. "It’s just a bit difficult to perform when you’re flying through the air, you know?" Madam Pomfrey winced.

"Yes, well...Don’t hesitate to use it if you ever do get the chance, dear." With that, she left the room much as she had entered it, with a reassuring aura of business.

* * *

Pansy awoke with a feeling of having slept deeply and well. This was a sure sign that there had been something in the water Madam Pomfrey had given her. She was getting better at her potions, Pansy reflected. There hadn’t even been an aftertaste. Right on schedule, the witch in question appeared at the door to her infirmary.

"Awake, are we?" she said brightly. Pansy rolled her eyes. As if Madam Pomfrey hadn’t known exactly how long her potion would last.

"I’m feeling much better," the Slytherin stated coolly. "Could I go back to my dormitory now?"

"Ah. Well. Actually, Professor Dumbledore has a special, er, project he’d like you to complete before you rejoin your housemates."

"What sort of project?" Pansy had jumped into ‘cautious’ mode. This was potentially a very dangerous turn of events.

"Oh, it’s one concerning--that is, it has to do with your--well, you’ll be working with--Oh, just come along, Professor Dumbledore will explain it to you, I’m sure." Pansy moved cautiously and found that the restraining curse had been removed. Pushing herself out of the hard bed - hospital corners, a part of her mind noted - she saw for the first time that she was wearing a thin set of light green robes, Madam Pomfrey’s uniform for long-term patients. This was definitely a bad sign. Pansy cleared her throat.

"If we’re going out into the hallways, could I have something to wear over this?" The polite words were belied by a sardonic tone, but the older witch seemed not to notice.

"Of course, of course. Here you are." She opened a cupboard, seemingly at random, and picked out a heavy, navy blue cloak. Pansy settled it over her shoulders and made a face. It was big enough to fit Hagrid, and smelled of mothballs. Still, it was better than being seen in hospital robes. And, she reflected, it could always have been red. Pansy hated red.

The two witches made their way up to the Headmaster’s office, footsteps echoing eerily through the empty halls. Everyone else was at dinner, Pansy realised. The observation didn’t stop her from treading as softly as she could, or from glancing over her shoulder at regular intervals. Even after they passed the stone gargoyles and entered the teachers’ wing, Pansy retained her wariness. She could never afford to be caught by surprise.

Finally, Madam Pomfrey stopped in front of a closed set of double doors. She knocked brusquely and they opened at once, as if by an unspoken command. Pansy peered into the room, hardly taking in the eccentric decor. There was Dumbledore, and there was Fawkes, about whom Pansy had heard many wild tales, and there, sitting perpendicular to the tiny old wizard was-- was--

Pansy stepped back heavily. As much as she had sworn to be ready for anything, she could never have prepared herself for the sight that then met her eyes.

1. These are real herbs, and the uses that I listed are true (so far as my research showed). Most of them actually have opposite effects in small doses, such as echinacea or digitalis, but can be harmful if too much is taken.