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CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
the sister substitute
BETTY STAYED IN the hospital wing for only a day before Madame Pomfrey deemed her ready to leave. The cobblestone floors were just as she had remembered it, but the dreary ceiling seemed to bloom with new life as she stared up at it the night before she was released. She knew that nothing had changed, but as the seasons started to turn, the light started to flicker onto it as the sun overtook the night and the clocks turned. As the days became longer and the sun started to inch its way into her life, it curled over the stones in the early morning and greeted her with a warm kiss on the cheek before her final evaluation. She headed to her first class after she was released and sat through her potions lecture, taking notes diligently, but her eyes secretly flicked over to the clock ever so often and willed the seconds hand farther along—closer to the evening, closer to dinner, closer to after dinner when a hand would grab her own in the shadows, whisk her away and tell her a million sweet nothings as she nodded along with blushing cheeks and sweet butterfly kisses. Madame Pomfrey had told her not to do her rounds, so Betty was going to make sure that James didn't hear that. Before, she'd like waking up in the early sunrise, but now, she longed for the way the stars turned and how the lamplight flickered and caressed the faces the of the passing portraits.
Eventually, with her potion brewed and immaculate mark earned, she packed up her bags and headed to lunch, where Philippa waved her over with a bright smile.
"Betty! What happened?" Aisling screeched as she stood up and guided her towards the Gryffindor table. "Peter told me that James brought you to the hospital wing last night?"
"Why didn't you say anything?" Cece asked, a spoonful of mash in her hand. "Are you feeling alright?"
Betty smiled, a blush painting her cheeks. "Everything's alright. Caught a small cold and he got concerned." She caught herself. "Said something about wanting to be the one to kill me, not Snape."
"I can't believe that rat bastard is still here after all he's done!" Philippa grumbled as she shot daggers, like routine, in his direction. "I'm not one for hating people, but lord, that boy makes me want to tear someone's hair out."
"Preferably his," Cece snidely mumbled under her breath.
"I'd have to wash my hands three times after with that amount of grease," Philippa countered in a grumble.
Betty didn't have the heart to quiet their snide comments as a small smile settled on her face and forced the edges of her lips up. She let the venom hang in the air, not wanting to be everyone's antidote anymore.
