A Little Bit of Magic [siriusblackxreader]

13 - Molly

Y/n deserted the Gryffindor common room when Sirius finally nodded off. He was slumped deeply into her side, his hair sprawled the messy she'd ever seen it. She untangled herself from him, stood up, and strategically didn't tread on James who stretched across the floor.

Creeping around the castle in the early hours going unspotted usually was her forte yet that didn't seem to be the case this day; every corner she turned and every new hallway she entered, the shuffling of a cloak against the concrete floor followed her. With her wand neatly tucked beneath her own jacket, an ease brushed over the mind though there was something ominous about the whole situation. 

In the past, Professor Dumbledore had found her 'snooping' as he called it. He questioned her on multiple occasions though Y/n would simply guide him to the belief of a lie. 'She popped in to help her mum with a job' or 'there was no more fruit at home and she had come to pick some up from the kitchens'. He never minded.

She waded through the long and damp grass surrounding Hagrid's hut and reached the towering iron gates. She thought that when she exited the building, the cloak swishing would cease but the hairs on the back of her arms raised as the swishing continued. 

Holding her breath tightly every time she turned around in hopes of catching whoever or whatever was lurking, she whipped her head in the direction of the sound, only to see nothing creeping out of the ordinary. 

"Alohomora." she whispered under the breath, lining her wand up with the lock and initiating it similar to a key. 

With another heart racing scan of the area beyond the gates, the loud CRACK resonated in the air while she disappeared straight to her living room; the hearth babbling in wisps of orange. 

---

A lie-in was the aim for the morning. A restful couple of hours sleeping, relaxing, and not having worries scatter around her brain. 

Unfortunately, that was not the case as she received only 3 hours of sleep before the owl of an angry Cecily Macmillan came tapping on her bedroom window. It arrived with a ruby red envelope pinched in its' beak. 

The bird dropped the envelope hastily onto the floor once Y/n opened the window; like the letter was something to be greatly feared, the owl flapped its' wings and fled when Y/n picked it up. 

Before she even had the chance to slice the wax seal, the envelope burst to life bellowing the aggressively rowdy voice of Cecily Macmillan. 

"POMFREY!" it exploded making Y/n sharply turn her attention towards the talking parchment. "I NEED YOU AT ST MUNGO'S THIS INSTANT! THERE ISN'T ENOUGH STAFF ON DUTY AND PATIENTS FROM THE ATTACK IN BIRMINGHAM LAST NIGHT ARE FLOODING THE PLACE!". 

The verbally demanding employer caused Y/n to leap down the stairs (almost tripping) and apparate to St Mungo's to complete a 6 hour shift. Similar to how the howler shouted, there was indeed patients left, right, and centre swarming the halls with their injuries and overwhelming all the Healers busy working. 

One o'clock in the afternoon had rolled around and Y/n was so exhausted that she could barely keep her eyes open. She was eternally grateful when Albert Loxley (the deputy head Healer) recognised her struggle to carry on working at the pace she was working at without rest. 

No rest means tiredness. Tiredness means no energy. No energy means less powerful magic. And less powerful magic means fewer and slower 'fixing-ups'.