"How are you feeling, child? Merlin, you suddenly appeared on the lawn and scared us half to death."
She set the plate on the bedside table and reached out as if to feel his forehead, but then drew her hand back, seemingly afraid of being too forward.
"You've been unconscious for most of the day. Arthur said it looked like you'd been through something terrible."
Skofot lowered his eyes at just the right moment, his long lashes casting small shadows across his pale face.
His lips trembled faintly, as though he wanted to say something but could not form the words out of fear or weakness.
He nodded lightly in response.
"Don't be afraid, child. You're safe here." Molly's voice softened further.
"I'm Molly Weasley, and this is our home. Can you tell me your name? And... what happened?"
He fell silent for several seconds, as if gathering his courage, then spoke in a faintly trembling voice that sounded appropriately weak while still striving to remain polite.
"Skofot... Skofot Leoqi."
He gave his name, then paused, his gaze somewhat hollow as he stared into empty space.
"I... I don't remember very clearly... I only remember that it hurt... that it was dark... and then I saw you."
He deliberately blurred the details and emphasized only the outcome.
—the outcome of a victim.
Fuzzy memories were an excellent excuse. They let him avoid exposing flaws by fabricating details, while also inspiring sympathy.
He needed to maintain the image of a frightened, badly injured stray child in need of shelter.
Sure enough, Molly's expression grew even more heartbroken. "Poor child."
Molly Weasley looked at the pale, fragile boy in bed, as though he might shatter at the slightest touch.
Her heart softened, and she was just about to offer more comfort when