Magic? || Years 5-7

Dragon Poison: Year 6

Amisty woke up Saturday morning very much dreading the next Apparition lesson. It was only the fourth one so far, and yet there hadn't been any success rather than the unlucky few that managed to Splinch themselves.

Even Hermione, the star student, was not very happy at all with Wilkie Twycross, and while she refused to insult him, she didn't object when Amisty muttered a few choice words under her breath.

However, Amisty was halfway down the hallway to the Great Hall for breakfast when Echo came fluttering out of nowhere and landed on her shoulder, a tiny slip of parchment tied to her leg.

"Can you. . ?" Amisty held out her arm and Hermione nodded, letting Echo hop onto her shoulder.

Amisty unraveled the note, letting Hermione push her out of the way of the morning traffic, her eyes skimming over the slashing, hurried letters of Madam Pomfrey's penmanship.

Please come up to the hospital as soon as you can.

Vague.

"Go ahead," Hermione said, even though she didn't seem pleased to go to the Apparition lessons without company. They really were dreadful. "Just send me an owl if you need anything."

"Thanks, 'Mione," Amisty said, turning on her heel before halting. "Let me know how Apparition goes, though!"

"Will do."

Amisty dodged through the crowd, waving good mornings to people as she passed, until it broke up once she reached the hospital wing hallway.

"Madam Pomfrey?" Amisty called, shouldering open the door. "You sent—"

Her words died in her throat.

Ron was lying, pale faced and unconscious, in a gurney, with Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey hovering over him and Harry at his bedside.

"What happened?" Amisty asked, hurrying over to the sink to wash her hands as she rolled up her sleeves. Thank Merlin she wore boots today.

"Poison," Madame Pomfrey said grimly, resting the back of her hand against Ron's forehead. "A bezoar, you said?"

Harry nodded wordlessly, his knee bouncing up and down in a staccato rhythm, lips pressed together like he was biting back a scream.

"Good," Madam Pomfrey said, looking up at Professor McGonagall. "Miss River and I can handle it from here, Minerva."

"Of course," Professor McGonagall said. "Come along, Potter, give them space—"

Seemingly outraged at the mere idea, Harry opened his mouth to protest but Amisty curled her fingers around his shoulder. His mouth fell shut.

"Hey," she whispered, giving it a squeeze. "He'll be fine. I'll keep you updated, okay?"

"Okay," Harry said, nodding again as if to confirm the thought. "Should I. . ."

"Hermione doesn't know," Amisty said. "Neither does Ginny."

"Okay," he said again, his hand fluttering from his eyes to his mouth. "Okay."

And he trailed after Professor McGonagall as she left the room, his shoulders hunched all the way up to his ears.

"Do you know what kind of—?"

"It doesn't matter," Madam Pomfrey said, ushering Amisty toward the potion cabinet. "The bezoar took care of most of the poison. We're monitoring to make sure there was nothing in it that the bezoar didn't catch."

"Got it," Amisty said, fumbling with the labels of the potions.

"According to Mr. Potter, he had a seizure and then went into shock, but after the bezoar his breathing steadied and he went unconscious," Madam Pomfrey said, continuing the general wellness spells as she checked Ron's vitals. "What does that mean?"