A week had passed since the fight at Malfoy Manor. The purple bruises on her neck were starting to vanish, and she was finally back at St. Mungo's.

She had made up a lie that she told nearly everyone. It went like this: the bruises had been made by a student at Hogwarts under a horrible curse that made them violent. But she was alright.

She had tried to heal her skin at Swan Manor, with Regulus watching, but she couldn't do it. She concluded that it was because her body was too tired. He insisted that she rest. He had helped her to her bed before disappearing with the tides, leaving her as nothing but a large question mark. Regulus had told her about his past, rescued her, and fought his family so she could be safe, risking his own health. Could it be possible that he had... grown to care for her?

Darya felt someone poke her side. She looked down and found a little boy there with pink cheeks and large brown eyes. His lips formed a circle, and his brows were arched. Quickly, she forgot her worries and began to ponder what his troubles could be.

"Hello," she greeted him softly. "Are you alright?"

He shook his head. "I need help: my friend is hurting."

Darya looked up at her mother, who was so busy, that she didn't even notice the staring. She had to deal with this on her own. "Well, where is your friend, then?"

"You have to follow me."

He took her hand, his small one trying to wrap around hers but only ending up getting ahold of her finger. They walked out of the room and down the corridor, passing the blue door, the pink and the orange.

"Can you tell me what's wrong with him?" she asked as they walked down the stairs to the third floor. The boy didn't answer, so she paused before continuing,  "Is he bleeding? Feeling nauseous? Ill?"

When the doorknob of the yellow door on floor three twisted open without any of them touching it, Darya fell to her knees.

The whole floor was a large pool of crimson blood. Her favorite patient lay in it, with her doll beside her.

"Amalia," Darya shrieked, crawling to her on the floor. Her white uniform, her knees, and her hands were getting covered in the blood. "Amalia, Amalia, please-"

She lifted Amalia's head into her lap and checked her pulse, only to feel nothing. The ten-year-old was dead. The death rattle breathing silenced as the soul was leaving.

"Why did you do that, Darya?" The yellow door smacked shut. She jumped and turned. It was Tom Riddle who was standing there, shaking his head. "Why did you kill her?"

Darya rose from the floor and charged at him. It was he who had murdered Amalia; she knew it. She lost control. She knit her fist so hard that her knuckles turned white. For the first time, witnessing death did not bring her grief or sorrow. No, she felt pure, unbridled rage. She yearned to harm him, to exact vengeance. An eye for an eye, a life for a life.

Riddle caught her instead. She stumbled into his arms. He stayed still and let her sob against his chest.

"My dear Darya," he whispered softly. One of his hands reached out to stroke her hair. "This is your work. You killed Amalia the second you decided to defy me."

She tried to push him away. He responded by grabbing her head and twisting it so she was forced to look at Amalia.

"Tom!" Darya screamed desperately. "I have never defied you! Who told you that?"

"Have you forgotten already?" He clicked his tongue. "Last week, I needed your service at Malfoy Manor. But you fled without my permission."

Her tears fell on his hands. The hands he had used to murder a child. She felt like she was being held by Satan.

"I was attacked," she cried, "I tried to heal Bellatrix Lestrange but she tried to kill me. Oh, please, you have to believe me! Please! Read my mind, Dark Lord! I tried to help, I really did!"

It took no less begging before Tom had entered her mind, flicking through her memories. She watched the night on repeat. Entering the Drawing Room, she saw Bellatrix lunge forward, ready to hurt her. She watched herself turn blue from the strangling, and Regulus coming back from the mission, rushing to attack Bellatrix. Gosh, he looked divine, saving her.

Finally, Tom saw the memory of her and Regulus Apparating away from the manor. He left her head.

"You were right. She did attack you." How come his tone had suddenly turned sweet, upon discovering the truth?

"I wouldn't defy you," Darya said through gritted teeth. She showed him her Dark Mark. "I practically belong to you. And yet here you are, killing my dearest without a legitimate reason."

Tom finally released his grip on her. Her skin was left cold. He tried to fake a smile. "I shall make sure that Bellatrix never attacks you again, alright? You're supposed to feel safe with us... While I do so, it seems like you have a situation here that you need to take care of."

She didn't respond.

"You've been so good, Darya."

And with that, he was gone. Now she was standing alone in the blood puddle.

Oh God, no, she couldn't be alone any longer. She couldn't take it. Not after this. Not with this much blood and guilt on her bare skin. She needed to talk to someone, so she sprinted out into the hallway. Every Swan was working today. She just needed to find one of them. Navigating the maze-like corridors of St. Mungo's seemed impossible now, but she kept on, knocking on every door until she finally got an answer.

The purple door opened slightly. Valerie stuck her head out. "Darya? What happened?"

"I- Amalia-"

"Oh, is it Darya?" a voice behind Valerie spoke. It had to be Valerie's patient, who somehow knew her.

Suddenly, the door creaked fully open, and Valerie was pushed back into the room. Darya's breath caught in her throat. Sirius Black stood in the doorway, a look of worry quickly morphing into complete shock as he took in her disheveled appearance.

His eyes scanned her from head to toe, finally landing on the Dark Mark visible on her arm. She had forgotten to hide it amidst all the chaos.

Sirius' expression hardened as he noticed the mark. "Is that...?" he began, his voice low. "You're a Death Eater?"

Darya instinctively tried to cover the mark, but it was too late. The damage was done. She could see the betrayal and anger in Sirius' eyes.

"No, it's not what it looks like," Darya pleaded, stepping forward. "I can explain."

Sirius stepped back, his face a mask of disbelief and fury. "Explain? How do you explain that?" he spat, pointing at her arm. "You're a follower of Voldemort!"

Panic surged through her. Her tears were so hot now, that they burnt her skin. "Sirius, don't do this to me..."

Valerie peeked through the slit of the door and looked at Darya's mark. The disbelief in her eyes was enough to make Darya sink to her knees once again, the weight of her choices pressing down on her.

"I trusted you," Sirius said.

She Disapparated before they could say anything else. Flashing colors blinded her vision, and she put her head in her hands, allowing a scream to leave her throat. Looking up seconds later, she realized that she had come to Hogsmeade.

It was raining heavily, with the skies over her shrouded in dark clouds. The cobblestone street she was kneeling on glistened with the sheen of moisture, and she realized she was the only one outside. She understood why she had come here: she needed to get to Hogwarts. She hurried to her feet and started running to the castle.

Her heart shattered for the millionth time. She felt like she had lost everything warm and familiar; everything that had once kept her safe and filled her heart with love. Like the darkness had won.

Sirius would probably never speak to her again. He would tell Remus what he had seen, and then, he would stop speaking to her, as well. She could already hear his cruel words: Remember Darya? The girl who healed your pain, Remus, the one who took care of you? Well, she's a follower of Voldemort, now. She's a murderer. And then, they would tell Lily and James, and she would lose them, too.

Valerie would never listen to her, either, or at least try to understand what she had been through. She would tell the Swans, and then Hell would break loose. Perhaps Darya could never come home again.

And in the midst of everything, she had lost Amalia. It was Tom who had fired the Death Curse, but she felt like it was she who had truly killed her. It was she who had escaped Malfoy Manor. Plus, she could have done a much better job of protecting Amalia while she was at St. Mungo's. But she had failed.

One thing was certain: St. Mungo's would never be the same again.

Who had she become? Darya didn't recognize herself anymore. She missed the person she had been half a year ago, and she missed her girlhood, which Tom had stolen from her.

So engrossed in her thoughts, she hadn't been paying attention to where she had come. She was standing in front of a wooden door.

Regulus' door.

How had she ended up here? What madness had driven her to seek solace in the company of Regulus Black - the person she had once hated?

She raised a hand to knock on his door. Seconds stretched into eternity as she waited for an answer. Then, with a creak of protest, the door opened, revealing a surprised Regulus.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't know where else to go."

He just stared at her, taking in her tear-streaked face and the bloodstains on her uniform, now partly washed away by rain. She imagined that she looked like a ghost of the happy healer she had once been. She started shaking at the thought. How pitful she must have appeared.

"I'm sorry," she said when Regulus remained silent. "I was stupid for coming here. I'll just leave."

She spun around, ready to go to her own chambers, but he caught her by her shoulder. "No, wait. Stay. Just... stay."

"Are you sure?" she whispered back.

"I'll light a fire. We'll dry you off and fix your clothes. Just come in."

He kept his word. As the storm outside grew fiercer and the rain lashed against his window, he ignited the fireplace in the corner of the room with a swing of his wand. She sat down on the floor in front of it. The warmth began to spread through her body immediately.

Regulus brought her a blanket and draped it around her shoulders, eventually sitting down with her. The fire was the only light in the room. She looked at his face as it emerged from the dark. His gaze was fixed on the flames.

"Your brother is a stubborn man," Darya said.

"Tell me about it." He took a deep breath. "It wasn't him who did this to you?"

"No. Well. Kind of... It's a long story."

"I have time."

The crackling of the fire filled the room.

"The Dark Lord came to my workplace and killed one of my patients. I tried to go to my sister for help, but she was with Sirius. Then they saw my mark."

"He killed a patient? Why?"

Their eyes met. "Because we ran away from the manor last week."

"What? He made a patient pay for it?" His jaw fell. She nodded. "I only wanted us to get out of the manor because you were hurt."

"I know," she answered. "I don't want you to feel guilty."

She truly didn't. He had saved her that night. They were really enemies bound by circumstances, and he had no reason to show her compassion. Yet he did: he had fought his own family to help her.

Besides, it was she who had angered Lord Voldemort. It was she who had Apparated them away, not Regulus. No, he wasn't to feel guilty. But his facial expression didn't change. She could see guilt in his eyes, in his face.

Darya put her head on Regulus' shoulder. "I mean it," she said.

He responded by leaning his head on hers. The warmth that spread through her was much more powerful than the flames in the fireplace. He smelled like vanilla. She noticed that he had pulled up the sleeves of his shirt, and brought her hand to his arm to trace his veins. She followed them down to his hand.

Regulus gently took her hand in his, their fingers intertwining. His touch felt like a comfort that she hadn't felt in a long time. He felt safe.

"Tell me about them," he said. "Your patient. You seem to care about them."

Darya smiled gently. "Her name was Amalia. And even though we aren't allowed to have favorite patients," she paused for a moment, "she was mine."

"Why was she in St. Mungo's?" he asked.

"She had Down syndrome and struggled with her heart, but she was the happiest girl in the hospital. She liked to follow me and talk to my other patients. Oh, and she named everyone after a flower. She called me Daisy. And- oh, I'm sorry-"

Her tears were rolling onto his chest, soaking half of his shirt; as a Siren's tears were three times larger than those of a typical wizard.

"I'm alright, Darya."

Darya. He had called her by her first name. And her name sounded so pretty in his mouth.

Her tears continued to roll down her cheeks as he walked to his closet. He stripped his shirt and put on a dry t-shirt. Then he handed her a similar one. He turned around so she could put it on in privacy.

"It's Sunday tomorrow," he mumbled with his back turned at her.

"It's Sunday tomorrow," she repeated, busy changing her clothes.

"Which means that I have no classes to teach tomorrow. So- if you want to, of course- you could stay here tonight. You know, so that you don't have to be alone after everything..."

As stupid as she was, she nodded, as if he could see it. She ended up walking up to him, so that she was standing in front of him. She nodded again.

It was as if he could read her. Being alone was the last thing she wanted now. To show her gratitude, she tried to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him into a hug. She failed, as he was too tall. He bent his knees a bit and she stood on her tiptoes.

He was tense at first. "Does it hurt when I hug you?" he whispered.

She realized that now that her uniform had come off, her neck was much more exposed, revealing the remains of the bruises from the night she had been attacked.

"Not anymore," she answered honestly.

He dug his face deep into her neck. "Good," he answered.

She wondered how long it had been since someone had last given him a hug. The thought made her hug him tighter.