the infirmary was a still, sterile space, lit by the cool glow of enchanted sconces. the faint hum of diagnostic spells and convenient charms buzzed throughout, blending with the quiet rustle of parchment as apprentice healers scribbled notes. rows of cots stretched across the room. some occupied, others waiting for their turn. the air smelled of antiseptic and, occasionally, bodily fluids.

your voice carried softly over the stillness, explaining the intricacies of diagnostic charm reading to the group of apprentices clustered around you. they watched intently, quills poised, as if the weight of the world rested on every word you spoke. it was a calm, methodical moment, but like all things here, it wouldn’t last.

the door creaked open, drawing every gaze toward the figure stepping inside. draco malfoy. his presence was as sharp and contained as ever, his movements deliberate, his posture braced against an obvious strain. his robes hung in tatters, streaked with blood and dirt. the deep red staining his chest and abdomen spoke of significant injuries, though he walked as if they were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

he made his way to an empty cot, his broad shoulders squared despite the stiffness in his movements. the years had hardened him, but not in the way of arrogance or cruelty. simply a quiet, lethal confidence. his edges were sharper now, yes, but tempered with discipline and a muted determination that came from necessity, not pride.

gone was the spoilt, ignorant prince of slytherin. he was now replaced with a very different man—physically and otherwise. malfoy was bigger. his shoulders broader. knew he took up space and for that alone, purposefully took up more.

he had a lot more to prove now that society now despised him so.

he didn’t sit, instead glancing briefly toward you, then the apprentices. “i’ll need this handled quickly,” he said, his voice sharp yet firm and professional in tone, though weariness lingered beneath. “there’s a debriefing in thirty minutes.”