𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎. fred weasley

𝚡𝚒𝚒. 𝚊 𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚛

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Fred and George come visit her just as she's about to check out of the Hospital Wing. There's still a bandage on her arm, the worst form of rash she's had, says Madam Pomfrey, but the rest of her is healed up and her throat is no longer swollen or scratchy so she counts it as a win. The nurse is about to send her off when the two ginger boys come sprinting in there, looking out of breath and in need of some water.

"Merlin, Little Diggory," pants out Fred, hands on his knees as he bends over. "You gave us quite the scare!"

"Almost thought we had killed you when your brother told us where you were." George places a hand on his heart as he bends down, resting his hand (the one not clenching at his chest dramatically) on his knee.

Cress just stares at them because she's pretty sure there's nothing else she can do. They're here and that's great, but they're out of breath and looking at her like they actually did kill her and are now attending her (very) sad funeral. Before she can say anything in response, Madam Pomfrey comes over and shoos all three of them out. Cress gapes as the huge doors to the Hospital Wings slam shut in front of her.

"I was going to get some chocolate from her," she whines pathetically, staring at the wooden doors like they'll magically open for her. They don't. She pouts some more.

Someone throws a hand over her shoulder. "Now, now, Little Diggory," George says, "we'll get you some chocolate." He raises his eyebrows suggestively when she looks up at him.

"But," Fred speaks, "what in Merlin's beard was in that pie that was life-threatening?! I'm at least eighty percent sure Mum didn't poison it, Georgie."

"She didn't," George agrees brightly. Cress doesn't feel too reassured. Her stomach rolls and she fiddles with her day old sweater, wishing she could just go to her dormitory and sleep.

"I'm allergic to cinnamon," Cress explains. "Makes my throat swell up, rashes appear. The whole shebang. It's not pleasant, honestly." George's arm around her shoulder is warm and companionable as they walk towards the basements. She almost falls asleep, he's emitting so much warmth.

Fred makes a surprised noise. "Allergic to cinnamon?! That's like being allergic to life, Little Diggory!"

"Erm. . ." Cress trails off, wondering what on earth Fred is talking about because she doesn't speak in riddles and she's not exactly sure she wants to start. She doesn't look at him though because she knows if she does she'll be gone and she doesn't need to act like an idiotic fool right now - especially when it's just something that'll be ignored. Something that'll be brushed off his shoulders.

George hums in a agreement. "Honestly, that means you can't have like-any desserts! No wonder you don't have a sweet tooth." He shakes his head. "You poor, poor girl. I didn't know you were suffering this much."