The Hospital Wing

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The Hospital Wing


James was in the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey, complaining again of upset stomach and asking for something stronger than the funny pink potion. It was early in the morning the day before the tourney, and he'd woken up sick yet again, and the potion she had given him hadn't helped the nerves. "It's just this awful feeling," he was explaining, "And I can't really get rid of it but I can't sleep with it either. Isn't there anything ---"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, distracted, collecting things from her store, "I haven't got the time to see you right now."

"But there's nobody else here," James pointed out, waving his arm at the empty beds lining the walls of the hospital ward.

"Not yet," Pomfrey said. "Please, Mr. Potter. I'll help you after."

James was turning to go when they brought Bilius Weasley in. James's jaw dropped as he realized who the nearly unrecognizable new arrival was and he turned as they passed by. "What happened, mate?" he asked, wide-eyed, taking in the considerably messy state Bilius was in. His shirt half untucked, pants stained and ripped at the knee, his hair a curly mess, thick with matting and dried blood in the back, where a crude bandage made of what looked like a part of a torn offp art of McGonagall's own robes. Bilius had a pallid, exhausted expression - red eyed, with heavy lids... "You look like you've been through it!"

Bilius didn't respond - didn't even seem to see James at all.

"Did you see an inferius then, mate?" James asked, starting to trot after him.

"Not now, Potter. Mr. Weasley will have to see you later." McGonagall said. She was clutching Bilius's forearm against her own, guiding him, and she helped him settle into a chair and, with a glance at James that told him not to interfere, she magicked the curtain closed around herself and Bilius, closing James out.

"What's happened?" James asked Madam Pomfrey as she rushed by, carrying a pot of tea and a vial of something smoky and lavender.

"Run along to your dormitory," Pomfrey replied, "This is not the place for you right now. I'll send your potion along with a house elf later. Off you go."

James hesitated, hanging about in the doorway, staring at the closed curtains. "But -"

"Go, Potter," Pomfrey said more forcefully, and she ducked behind the curtain.

James stepped into the corridor, deciding he would find out what happened from Derek Bell, who was surely headed back to the dormitory or something. He walked briskly down the hallway, headed for Gryffindor tower. He was just reaching the stairwell when he was bolstered out of the way by Chriselda Blythe. She was crying, featured contorted as she clutched onto a floating form that was being moved up the stairwell, covered delicately in a white sheet. Guiding the form along was a bleary eyed Flitwick and another wizard that James didn't know. In Chriselda's hand, she clutched two wands - her own and another that looked vaguely familiar to James - and she shook as she held onto the edge of the sheet with a white-knuckled fist. James ducked quickly against the wall, out of the way of the procession as they moved past, and stared, wide-eyed. None of those involved noticed James there, too focused were they on their individual tasks at hand...

James ran quickly now to the Tower, giving the Fat Lady the password. The common room was eerily empty, a stark contrast to how he'd expected to find it. He'd expected Derek to be sitting up, waiting by the fire for Bilius to get out of the hospital wing.

He sprinted up the stairs and knocked on the sixth years' dormitory door. "Derek?" he called through, but there was no answer. Hesitantly, knowing he wasn't supposed to, James pushed open the door. "Derek?" The room was dark and empty and he looked about at the shadows that lined the walls, at stacks of books and robes flung over desk chairs and the messy relics of teenage boys.

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