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THE POTIONEER | 2.3 "ALRIGHT, LOVERBOY, SIT DOWN" Hogwarts Castle, Scotland | 1994
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LIZZIE LEANED HER HEAD AGAINSTTHE window of the train, watching the rain hit the glass and slide down to the bottom of the pane. Her ribs had been bandaged up by Mrs Weasley when they had gotten back to the Burrow, and she hadn’t been let out an adult’s sight when outside. She appreciated the worry, but she wasn’t so sure that the Death Eaters would turn up in the Weasleys back garden while she was practising her Quidditch skills. Either way, she was going back to Hogwarts and was presently stroking Crookshanks, the cat purring as he leant his head on her lap, stretching out so his tail stroked against Harry’s arm. Lancelot was glaring down from his cage sitting in the overhead storage, hootingly pecking at his feathers.
“That little git,” Ronald shook his head with a scowl, leaning forward after Lizzie told them all what had really gone down after she lost them at the Quidditch World Cup. “When I catch Malfoy, I swear, I’m going to—”
He made a rude gesture that very crudely demonstrated a painful act and Hermione frowned at him, slapping his hands back down to his lap with a shake of her head.
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Hermione sighed, looking back at Lizzie. “I mean, why would the Death Eaters spare you like that? Not that you— I just mean—”
