Defining Secrets // Ron Weasley

Chapter Twenty Three: Fist Fights and Good Talks

Elise's POV:

I harshly pulled back my curtains. Enough was enough.

I'd already spent half this week in bed, I was no longer going to let it hinder me from my studies. But first, I had somewhere to be.

By the time I made it down, the hallway was packed with people, the silence filled by the hustle and bustle. Today was my last time calling in sick. Staring at nothing but the same four walls all day long was starting to get to me. So tomorrow, I was just going to have to suck it up.

Harry and Ginny had been taking care of me but I since moved back to my own room. Although they still checked on me from time to time. Luna came by a few times in-between classes, and George had made a quick appearance. Neither of us brought up Fred. Yet, he found a way to dive away from that topic anytime it came close. I'm assuming he knew. Ginny must have told him.

Though, I didn't have time to fill Ginny in on everything. Not when the thought of blue eyes and freckles still made my heart go racing. I knew Harry talked to him recently. I didn't ask further.

Now my palms were slick with sweat. Amazing.

"Elise!" Madame Pomfrey darted out from behind a corner. "It is wonderful that you are here. I need your help with something."

It'd been a while since I worked at the Hospital Wing. And since I had more time on my hands than ever, I came back a few times this week. The work was a good distraction.

Potions and healing solvents always were. There was something oddly therapeutic about it – watching the chemicals react in strange ways, the specific colour or scent associated with each one, or possibly the small thrill I got watching the outcome go exactly as planned. A pinch of control in a mad world.

Madame Pomfrey ushered me to follow her to the medicine cabinet, then instructed me to sort through the equipment and fill in any blank spots. There were a couple potions that were running low, as well as a few ointments, but most of them were easy to replace. I grabbed a potion's book from one shelf, a few ingredients from another, and got to work.

Two hours flyed by like five minutes and I was already half way through the list. For the next one I grabbed a cinnamon stick from a small, glass jar and added it to the concoction. The smell was faint, and familiar, but didn't cross my mind until the very last ingredient. A pinch of firewood. The faint hum wafted my senses and I stared down at the bubbles.

Ah, crap.

A small crash sounded from the other end of the room and I was almost thankful for the interruption. I darted over to see who it was, only to spot Fred hunch over in a corner, clutching knee. He swore like a foul man. I cringed.

"What did you do?" I asked.

Fred blinked up at me in surprise. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"Really? You didn't bash your knee on purpose just to get my attention?" I quipped.

Fred lifted his trouser leg to rub his bruise and winced. "This was definitely not on purpose."

"Sit down," I said. "I've got an ointment for that."

"Do you happen to have an ointment for this, too?" Fred asked, raising his sleeve to show off a pretty bad scrape.

"How did you do that?"

"A tree. It was mocking me so I took it outside."

"Isn't a tree already outside?"

"Not in this case. It snuck inside just to fight me."