"Oh, Dear!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed the second they had crossed the doors, the small witch hurrying in their direction, still carrying some sort of potion she had been about to put down. "Bring him in! Bring him in!"
Sigrid's heart drummed inside her chest like a caged bird, her mind racing in nerves, and she was barely aware that her hands still held tightly to Lasgalen's upper arm, guiding the taller boy into the room. He was as pale as a ghost, except for the bright flush on his hollow cheeks, breathing heavily. Even his icy blue eyes, those that always gave her the impression they could look right past her, seemed suddenly dazed, as if covered by some sort of fog. He was burning. She could feel the excessive heat radiating from his skin right underneath the heavy winter school robe from where her hand still held his arm.
Madam Pomfrey was at her side in a fragment of a second, so fast that Sigrid was left wondering whether the witch had managed to learn how to apparate inside Hogwarts. Immediately, the mediwitch had replaced her, reacting in a flash by taking Lasgalen's other arm, quickly guiding him to one of the beds. For a short second, Sigrid was left standing there, near the doorway, her breaths as shaky as her hands, trying to think on what to do, how to help. Could she even help at all? She had no idea how to proceed, her stomach a new ball of nerves and panic. She had never been good at emergencies! She never knew how to act whenever anyone got suddenly sick! It made her panic!
She took one steadying breath, telling herself to get it together, before following Madam Pomfrey closely behind. For the first time she noticed that, blessedly, the Hospital Wing was completely empty, except for a first-year Hufflepuff boy sitting upon a perfectly made bed, coughing dramatically into his fist.
"Go back to your dormitory, Goode!" Madam Pomfrey hushed exasperatedly, waving a hand in the air in a shooing motion, not even turning to glance at the boy. "You have nothing!"
The boy nearly jumped at the loud voice, giving one last dramatic cough before scurrying out of the Hospital Wing faster than a snitch. Sigrid shook her head quickly, trying to push back her momentary panic and focus on the situation. But what situation? She had no idea what was happening!
But Madam Pomfrey did. Sigrid had not missed the way in which the mediwitch had not yet asked a single question, moving quickly from one side of the bed to the other, muttering to herself in a voice so low and so quick that Sigrid was sure she would not be able to understand a single word even if she tried. And yet, what made her heart continue to race frantically and nearly leave her feeling out of breath was the evident sense of urgency visible in the small witch's face.
Madam Pomfrey had somehow managed to lie Lasgalen down on one of the beds, the back of her hand no pressed to the tall boy's forehead, eyes widening at the temperature she must have felt. For the first time since walking into the Hospital Wing, Sigrid ventured another glance at the Slytherin Seeker, immediately wishing she hadn't done it. He looked so different….so vulnerable. It was as if a bubble around that powerful royal figure she always pictured in her mind of him had suddenly burst. He was pale, far paler than she ever remembered seeing anyone, skin looking clammy with a sheen layer of sweat. His stunning, piercing eyes were shut tightly underneath a knitted brow, visible shivers running down his body. And he looked as if he was…..in pain? He must be, his jaw set tightly, teeth biting his bottom lip.
"Drink this, dear. All of it!" Madam Pomfrey ordered, her quick hands already placing a glass full of a nasty looking bright purple drink in front of Lasgalens' mouth, doing something with her wand she could not really see. Just when she had thought her presence had been forgotten, the mediwitch's popping eyes flashed in her direction, pinning her on the spot with a look that almost seemed to accuse her of being responsible for the situation.
"Get Professor Snape." Madam Pomfrey barked urgently, and she did not need to be told twice, nearly tripping on her own feet in her haste to dash from the room, her long school robes tangling on her legs.
Never before had she run so fast in her life. She could not tell why, but it was as if the urgent tone of the mediwitch had somehow made her follow her orders with a speed she would not have considered herself capable of achieving. Thankfully the corridors were mostly empty, the student's still probably celebrating and talking about the Quidditch match. Only two ghosts crossed her way, gliding away from her path just in time as to not walk right through her, throwing her nasty and disapproving looks.
She knocked on the small office door so quick she was oddly reminded of a woodpecker, her hand knocking as fast as her heart was beating. In seconds the door was abruptly pulled open, her hand left mid-air and ready for another knock, eyes lifting to find a pair of disgusted yet widely surprised coal black eyes looking down at her.
"Bowman?" Snape's cold voice questioned her, as if trying to put together what she was doing there, but she was too busy attempting to catch a breath to speak. Her lungs were burning.
"I…." She panted, desperately trying to get words out of her mouth while at the same time taking in heaving breaths. "Hospital W-wing….Lasgalen…"
She did not need to add anything else, it was as if the second those two words had left her mouth Snape was already moving, eyes widening with a jolt, nearly walking over her as stepped out of the office, slamming the door behind. She could not suppress her own surprise, her own nerves only getting worse, as it seemed evident that whatever it was that was happening Snape seemed to immediately know, the horror in his own black eyes not doing anything to help her panic.
And yet, before she could do or say anything, Snape's languid face had turned to address a portrait of a fat old wizard who had been looking irritably at his pocket watch, clearly listening to all of their short conversation. "Inform Professor Dumbledore. Immediately."
He did not even wait for the plump wizard to have disappeared from his frame, already hurrying in long steps towards the Hospital Wings, black robes swirling at his sides like bat wings. She rushed to follow closely, not sure on what else to do. She had not been asked to follow, but neither had she been asked to stay behind.
They nearly ran into Madam Pomfrey on their way in, the witch jumping in surprise with a hand flying to her heart. "Oh, it's you, Severus. I was about to go looking for you myself."
The mediwitch threw Sigrid a half-reproachful look, as if complaining that she had took too long in her simple task. But she had run the entire way going and back! How could anyone had expected her to go faster!? And yet, not a second glimpse was given in her direction, Madam Pomfrey already hurrying Snape towards the only occupied bed, her heart skipping a beat at the sight.
It was impossible. She had only been gone for minutes. Minutes! And yet her eyes were not tricking her, no amount of blinking changed what she saw. Thranduil Lasgalen was shaking from head to toe, his face scrunched up as if in agonizing pain. A frail thread of crimson blood trickled down his chin, from where his clenched teeth were brutally biting at his lip, muffled whimpers leaving his mouth against his will.
For a second she felt dizzy, her head swimming as her knees trembled when she walked closer to the bed, not knowing why but trying to offer any kind of comfort she could think of, even though her mind seemed blank at the moment. Neither the mediwith nor the Potions teacher were paying any attention to her, the latter now sitting at the edge of the bed, opposite from her, black eyes wide with fear.
"The fever is not going down." Madam Pomfrey muttered to Snape as she too reached his side, shaking her head as if thinking something to herself.
"It will not." Came Snape's answer, and she somehow got the feeling that the mediwitch already knew that, the latter hurrying to look through the stashes of flasks and potions covering the walls in an effort to find anything to do.
"Have you alerted Dumbledore?" The mediwitch seemed to be getting impatient, only making Sigrid's heart want to jump out of her chest, dread pooling inside of her, spreading through her veins like poison. Why was Madam Pomfrey not doing anything? She could cure everything! Anything!
"Yes." Snape had suddenly drawn his wand, pointing the tip lightly to Lasgalen's upper left arm, mouthing a long complicated incantation she could not hear.
A soft silvery glow emanated from the wand, like a water wave, traveling briefly around the Slytherin boy's arm, who instantly let out a cry of agony that made her blood run cold, the sound sure to haunt her in her dreams. He was shaking more now, uncontrollably, struggling to breathe between gritted teeth, pitiful whimpers still leaving his mouth. She could see his other hand frantically clenching around the sheets, as if trying to hold onto something, anything, and then fingers suddenly curled around her wrist, making her gasp and jump in surprise, not realizing just how close to the bed she had been standing. Lasgalen's grip was painfully strong, crushing her wrist with a force she thought would shatter the bone, not even seeming aware of what he was holding onto.
Snape had nearly jumped back, his face blanching, a new sense of urgency crossing through his usually hostile eyes, looking at the mediwitch intently. "He needs to be transferred, now."
"But, Dumbledore…." Madam Pomfrey started, suddenly looking as scared as Snape, her eyes glancing at the doors as if begging for them to suddenly open.
"Immediately, Poppy." Snape barked again, and Sigrid tried to open her mouth, tried to wriggle her wrist free from Lasgalen's painful grip, but it was of no use, the fingers were wrapped too tightly.
"Did you not give him a pain potion?!" Snape demanded in a hurry, black eyes glancing at the shaking whimpering Slytherin who seemed completely unaware of anything that was happening around him.
"Of course I did." Madam Pomfrey hissed back, seeming momentarily offended that such a question would be thrown at her, as if she did not know how to treat her patients properly. "You know why you were summoned here Severus, and it is not because of my incompetence, no matter what you believe."
For a second she though he would jinx her for such comment, but the Potions teacher did not bother to move. The doors suddenly banged open, her heart once again skipping a beat in surprise, once again trying to wriggle her hand free, and once again failing. It was only partial relief what she felt as she saw the tall figure of Professor Dumbledore rushing into the Hospital Wing, his long silver beard glittering oddly at the flickering orange light of the torches.
"He needs to be transferred to St. Mungo's immediately." Snape spoke the second Dumbledore had walked in, rising to his feet and approaching the headmaster in a haste. "Should have been transferred an hour ago!"
"Calm down, Severus." Dumbledore's voice was like a warm gentle breeze in the middle of a storm, ever so patient and peaceful, even though his piercing blue eyes were sharp behind his half-moon spectacles. And yet, Snape had quietened, although begrudgingly, allowing the headmaster to approach the bed and take a look for himself.
"I will take him. No time to wait around." Was all that Dumbledore said, still strangely calmed, turning only once to address Snape. "Owl Oropher Lasgalen."
And with that, she saw the headmaster curl a hand gently around Lasgalen's left arm, the closest one to him, the Slytherin boy letting out another hoarse cry of pain. Her eyes widened, heart drumming at her throat, opening her mouth desperately the second she understood what was about to happen, free hand fighting frantically against the grip around her wrist.
"N-no-wait-I" She tried to speak, shaking her hand frenetically but it was too late. She felt herself spinning around wildly, feeling compressed, as if her body was being squeezed tightly from all sides, her head throbbing, and she was about to be sick….
Her feet landed clumsily on something hard, her body going out of balance as she stumbled in order not to fall, closing her eyes tightly against the spinning sensation that still swallowed her. It took her a second to realize that the hand gripping her arm was gone, her eyes flashing down to look at her wrist, now angry red, tiny cuts visible from where his nails had dug into her skin. She turned on her heels, trying to catch her breath, eyes searching frantically around her, only to find a group of wizards and witches in lime green robes hurrying away from her, carrying someone in a rush.
Her heart stopped beating, her stomach dropping, and for a second time that day she was sure she was absolutely going to be sick. She was no longer at Hogwarts. She was not inside the castle anymore. Panic rushed through her once more but she pushed it back, her mind too occupied on trying to find out what was happening to be concerned with being scared.
"Wait here, Bowman."
It took her a second to realize she had been spoken to, but when she turned her face to answer, Dumbledore was already rushing away through the long white corridor through which the group of wizards and witches had disappeared. So Dumbledore knew she had been accidentally brought along. At least she would no need to awkwardly make her presence known. And yet that did nothing to ease her shaking nerves, now finding herself alone.
She took a long steadying breath, eyes looking around her carefully, taking in her surroundings. She knew where she was, knew her destination even before her feet had landed on the hard floor. St. Mungo's Hospital. And yet the room around her felt completely strange. She had never been in the hospital before. Not even….then.
She was in a sort or reception area, or waiting room, she could not decide exactly which, seeming more like a combination of the two. The first thing she noticed was the bright white of the walls, seeming almost shockingly blinding, so…sterile. She stood awkwardly in place for a long moment, watching as a grey-haired witch dressed in horrible magenta robes and what looked like a large bird nested on her head tossed through some parchments behind a large wooden reception desk. A quill danced next to her, scribbling something rapidly on its own, a couple of papers folding themselves into tiny planes and zooming in and out of the room through a set of tall glass doors, the very same set through which Dumbledore had just disappeared.
A couple of feet away from the desk stretched a large sitting room, with countless tall-backed seats and sofa's all draped in purple velvet. There were only a few people sitting there, an old wizard who seemed to be carelessly eating through an entire pack of every flavor beans, and, some spaces away, a tall pointy nosed witch with a small sleeping girl on her lap, watching at the enchanted clock every two minutes. A couple of house-elves walked around the space, offering hot teas and other refreshments to those few sitting at the waiting room. Behind her back, and on a long empty wall, stretched at least seven large fireplaces, some of the them still flickering in weak green flames. Flu access, no doubt.
A faint pop erupted from her right, her head flying in that direction only to find a frenzied looking witch nearly dragging a crying young boy by the arm in the direction of the grey-haired witch at the reception desk.
"Attacked by a garden gnome!" She heard the anxious witch exclaim to the receptionist, throwing a shushing look at the crying boy who clung to her skirts.
"That is the first floor, madam." The witch dressed in magenta robes spoke without lifting her eyes from the piece of parchment she was intently reading. "Creature-induced injuries."
"But my son needs a healer at once!" The witch demanded, trying to maneuver the boy who was now jumping up and down and begging to be held in arms.
"Creature-induced injures is on the first floor, madam." The receptionist repeated patiently, as if this was something she dealt with every day. "This is the fourth floor- Spell Damage- there's nothing we can do for your son here. Take him to the first floor."
The witch huffed indignantly, muttering something in a low voice as she lifted the crying boy into her arms, hurrying to a narrow corridor where she could see what appeared to be elevators. Not knowing what else to do, Sigrid made her way to the farthest purple cushioned seat she could find, feeling the size of the chair nearly swallowing her. At least nobody seemed to pay any attention to her, not a single pair of eyes turning in her direction. It felt oddly comforting, to feel invisible for a second. She did not even know what she would answer had anyone asked her why she was there.
It about twenty minutes later when another pop echoed in the ample room, her eyes the only curious enough to lift up and gaze at the newcomer. A waterfall of long silver hair met her eyes instantly, the tall wizard already rushing towards the receptionist, not even bothering to look around him. Sigrid did not need to be told to know exactly who this powerful looking wizard was, only hunching lower on her seat almost instinctively, wishing to disappear. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the grey-haired receptionist lift her eyes once, her expression turning into a sad sympathetic smile as she too seemed to instantly recognize the wizard rushing in her direction.
"He's here." The witch dressed in magenta confirmed gently before Oropher Lasgalen could ask anything, as if already knowing exactly what would be asked of her. "We don't know anything yet, Mr. Lasgalen, sir. I'm sorry."
The silver-haired wizard nodded his head once, not even opening his mouth to speak, his presence feeling overwhelmingly powerful even in the spacious room, standing as tall and regal as his eldest son did. Sigrid had only seen this wizard in tiny photographs at the Daily Prophet, and could now confirm that he did indeed look more intimidating in real life. She squirmed on her seat, a safe distance from the reception desk, begging not to be seen, only feeling the slightest of reliefs when the tall regal looking wizard merely walked to another seat far from hers and dropped himself almost defeated onto it, hand covering his face. And in that second, all of his previous intimidating and scary presence seemed to crumble, her heart aching at the saddened look the receptionist was throwing him.
Still, she had not missed the exchange in between him and the receptionist, a pang of pain gripping her heart at the familiarity of it, for the first time becoming real to her that the Lasgalen senior was frequently seen here, waiting for Merlin knows how long in this cold room. She could nearly see the pages she had seen in Thranduil's file at Dumbledore's office again, the number of visits and the frequency of them suddenly becoming real, not a distant thing she had accidentally known about someone. One of the house-elves had silently walked towards Mr. Lasgalen, placing a hot cup of tea on a small round table next to him without needing to be asked, the wizard not even seeming to have noticed.
Her eyes lifted at the sound of approaching footsteps, only partially relieved at the sight of Dumbledore reappearing at the waiting room, his lilac robes matching oddly with the bright purple of the seats. The headmaster stopped by Thranduil's father, who had immediately risen to his feet, and for a second it was hard to tell which wizard was taller. They started talking lowly, too low for her to understand a single word that was being said, both wizard with expressions so perfectly controlled and serious. It took a few minutes before Oropher Lasgalen sat back down, leaning his elbows on his knees and hiding his face in his hands.
And then, Dumbledore was making his peaceful way towards where she sat, seeming to easily spot her, only making her want to shrink further into the cushions, to be back at the castle and at the Gryffindor tower with her friends, to pretend this had never happened, anything to free herself from those piercing blue eyes that seemed able to read her mind. And yet, Dumbledore did not speak, smiling faintly yet comfortingly at her before lowering himself on the seat next to hers. A long second of silence stretched, during with the headmaster merely picked out a magazine from a pile sitting at a nearby coffee table and started reading through it, appearing deeply interested in it.
"Professor?" She asked, her voice sounding like a pathetic squeak. Dumbledore's deep blue eyes gazed at her from above his magazine, where the witch in the front cover kept blowing kisses and winking at her. "Are we not heading back?"
She could not understand why was Dumbledore not taking her back to the castle yet, merely sitting here and waiting, even though in the back of her mind she already knew the answer.
"In a while, yes." Dumbledore answered calmly, and it occurred to her that this was the first time she was alone with the headmaster.
"What are we waiting for?" She asked again in that same hushed voice, knowing that nobody was close enough as to be able to listen to their words.
"We are waiting for news on your friend Lasgalen." Once again Dumbledore's voice was as casual as if talking about the weather, and she did not have to heart to clarify that they were not really friends. Not now anyway. "I like to know that my students will be fine, especially when I am the one to bring them here."
She nodded her head, momentarily not finding her words, playing nervously with a lock of her golden curls as she tried to organize her thoughts. "Will he be all right?"
"I hope so." The answer she received was so vague that for a second she wished she had not gotten an answer at all, her eyes dropping to gaze the intricate patterns of the rich carpet.
"Sir?" She asked again, her voice pathetically low, needing to ask her question before she lost her courage. "What happened to Thranduil Lasgalen?"
Her eyes almost instantly darted to look at Oropher Lasgalen, as if to see whether or not he could listen to their conversation, but found the wizard gazing distantly at the untouched cup of tea, not even seeming to be paying attention to what happened around him, lost to his own mind. She would not want to be him. And she was sure no parent would ever want to be in his place either.
"That, I am afraid, is not at my liberty to say." Dumbledore replied, looking strangely serious in contrast to the gleam in his piercing blue eyes, which were looking at her so intently. "I believe you could not find the answer to that yourself when you snooped at his file in my office?"
She was sure her heart had stopped, feeling her face turning red, no longer able to look at the headmaster's eyes. How had he known she had looked? But then again, how had she ever expected to think she had fooled him? Of course he would know.
"I am so sorry for that." She blurted out, unable to look out, never before feeling so ashamed of her actions. Why had she been so curious? And then, another thought suddenly occurred to her. Why had Dumbledore not done anything about it? Why had he not confronted her about it if he had known all this time? Why had he not given her proper detention or chastised her?
"Professor, why did you…?" She started, but once again it seemed as if Dumbledore had read her mind, those piercing eyes staring deeply through hers, smiling in a knowing way that made her feel awkwardly exposed.
"We all need a friend." Was all he said, fixing his eyes on the contents of the magazine once more, declaring the end of the conversation. "Even if only just one."
She did not ask anything else, not asking what the headmaster meant, merely looking at the dark haired witch ad the cover once again blowing kisses in her direction, and winking so much it seemed as though she had something in her eye. Her mind was reeling through so many questions. Why had Thranduil been in so much pain? And the floor they were in…it was the spell damage floor, but no spell had been cast on Lasgalen, not today at least…could it be an old spell? It seemed absurd to think so, but she could not think of anything else. And still, she worried, perhaps more than she believed she should have worried, begging for him to be all right.
She did not know how long they waited but it felt like hours. Dumbledore had already gone through three different magazines, while out of the corner of her eyes she could see that Oropher Lasgalen had not even moved. Two more wizards had apparated at the hospital, one with such a bad case of tongue twisting spell that had taken nearly half-an-hour for the receptionist to understand what it was he was saying.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she heard footsteps approaching the waiting room, her eyes turning to look as Oropher Lasgalen rose to his feet incredibly fast, meeting the Healer in deep green robes that had just emerged from the tall glass doors. Her heart skipped a beat as she immediately recognized that dark hair and silver eyes. It was Elrond. The twins' father. She had known he worked at St. Mungo's, being the head healer of the hospital and only attending the most important and severest cases. But then, why was he the one talking to Oropher Lasgalen?
"He's stable. It's controlled for now." She had to make an effort to hear Elrond's low voice, not even caring if Dumbledore was looking at her spying or not. The silver haired wizard's shoulders dropped with a sigh of relief seeming to be letting out a breath he had been holding. However, there was nothing relieving in Elrond's face, which still looked too serious, a thing that she knew the elder Lasgalen had not missed, and the healer continued informing.
"He was in a lot of pain this time, Oropher. It flared again. It's the second time it breaks through our healing spells this year alone. We've managed to halt it, but it is impossible to tell for how long this time. It is taking longer and longer to control it each time. We do not know for how long we will be able to restrain it anymore. It does not want to stop, and it will find a way, eventually."
"Is he safe?" Oropher's hissed voice was so low she nearly had to read his lips, his face a perfect stone mask that let nothing through, except for those penetrating eyes, which betrayed his fear.
"For now, yes, he is out of harm." Elrond added in a tone equally as quiet. "You may go in now. He is asleep."
"Thank you." Was all the silver haired wizard said, nodding his head once and hurrying through the glass doors that the healer still held open for him, as if not needing to be guided to a room, seeming to know exactly where he would find his son.
"Come, now." She nearly jumped at the soft sound of Dumbledore's voice, who was rising to his feet and motioning for her to follow, walking to the spot on which they had apparated hours before. "Things seem to be in order here. Take my arm."
She did as she was told, not looking forwards to the sensation she knew was close to follow. And once again she was being mercilessly squeezed from every direction, feeling about to suffocate, and just when she thought her bones would break, her feet landed once again on something hard, sending her tumbling down to the floor clumsily.
She blinked a couple of times, quickly getting back on her feet to notice that she was once again in the Hospital Wing, which was now completely deserted, expect for Dumbledore standing right next to her.
"I didn't mean to…" She started, wanting to explain herself, brushing dust from her robes in an attempt to busy her hands with something.
"Lasgalen had you pretty tightly by the arm, I know. You didn't do anything wrong, Bowman." She felt slightly relieved at the words, even though she still felt that odd horrible feeling in her stomach, which she could not tell whether it was fear or worry or nerves or what. "However, I would appreciate it, and I am sure your friend would too, if you were not to tell where you have been today."
"Yes, professor." She nodded her head, once again not knowing from where she was finding her voice. There were so many things that were even more puzzling now, so many other things to ask, feeling the shock of what had happened finally downing on her. And so she asked the only question that seemed important at the moment, the only one she really needed an answer to.
"Will Lasgalen be all right?"
"For now, yes." Dumbledore repeated nearly the same words she had heard the twin's father saying only minutes before, words that did not help at all. For now? What did that even mean? It only worried her more, wishing that the answer could have been a different one. And still there was something she could not understand.
"But why didn't they cure him completely?" She could not understand it. They cured everything at St. Mungo's didn't they? Especially Elrond!
"Ah." Dumbledore sighed as if pensively, that faint smile that seemed so casual always present on his lips, only infuriating her at how impossible it was to understand what he was thinking, throwing her one of those long pointed looks. "There are kinds of Dark Magic that are impossible to cure."
He knew. Dumbledore knew. He knew exactly what it was that was wrong with Lasgalen, and yet she knew she would not get any other answer than that. Still, it felt as if a poisoned claw had twisted her insides, once again wishing she had not asked, worry once again sweeping through her.
"Now, Bowman." Dumbledore started softly again, walking peacefully towards the Hospital Wing's doors, motioning for her to follow. "It is late already, and your friends must be wondering where you are. It is time for you to return to your dormitory, but remember that some things are delicate and it is better if word did not get around."
She nodded her head, not finding her voice, turning on her heels and starting her hurried march towards the Gryffindor tower. She would not say what she had seen, even if Dumbledore had not asked her to do so. She barely noticed that the sky was now pitch black outside the long arched windows, the empty hallways now lit with flickering torches. She felt as if in a daze, as if the Hospital and long wait and the silver haired wizard sitting pitifully on a seat in a corner had been memories from another life.
She reached the portrait of the fat Lady in no time, and had to yell the password three times because the Lady was so angry at having been woken up that was purposely not letting her through. Finally inside, she was surprised to find that the celebration for the Quidditch match had not yet ended, the Common Room full to the top of students jumping and yelling and cheering. Hands grabbed her by the arms, pulling her through the hole with many welcoming smiles and cheers.
"Sigrid!" She could hear Eddelina waving at her from a corner of the room, where she had been sitting with the twins who were laughing hysterically at something. She waved back only half-heartedly, not finding in herself the will to stay and join the celebration. It felt overwhelming now.
"Where have you been?!" Eowyn squeaked on her ear, her pale thin arms wrapping around her shoulders, pulling her deeper into the Common Room. Her best friend was smiling widely at her, seeming to be the heart of the party. "I have been waiting for you for hours!"
"I'm sorry." She apologized, trying to sound casual and yet immediately seeing in her friend's grey-blue eyes that she had failed to fool her. "I'm just tired. I'm going to bed. I'll see you tomorrow, and you'll tell me everything of the match?"
She hurried up the spiraling steps, Eowyn following her closely behind, looking slightly concerned but not too alarmed. Sigrid reached the dormitory, which was blessedly empty- Saturna and Eddelina were still downstairs- Eowyn entering behind her and closing the door, drowning away the noise from downstairs.
"Are you all right?" Her friend asked, lingering by the doorway and seeming to be studying her, making Sigrid wear her best mask of merely tiredness.
"Yeah." She waved her off, throwing he school robes carelessly over her trunk and searching for her pajamas. "I'm just tired that's all. I don't feel like partying. How was the celebration anyway."
She was trying to appease her friend and even she could see it was not fully working, Eowyn knew when to question her and when to simply just play along and let her be. So instead, her friend answered her questions as she normally would, pretending to find nothing odd with Sigrid, even though her eyes still looked a little concerned.
"It was great!" Eowyn threw herself to sit on her bed, playing with Saturna's Pigmy Puff while Sigrid changed. "Nothing too out of the ordinary, although somebody let loose a Fanged Frisbee and it nearly ripped Julian's robes into pieces. You should have seen it! Everyone was so elated that we won! I still can't believe it! Even though the little Lasgalen caught the snitch. He's good but not as fast as his brother. I wish Lasgalen gets sick for the next match too, it would be incredible to win the cup this year!"
There had been no ill intention in Eowyn's casual cheerful tone, merely talking to her friend lightly, and yet she felt as if a painful clamp had been wrapped around her insides at her words, her mind flashing with images of the white waiting room, of the older Lasgalen brother squirming in pain at the hospital wing, burning with fever, and it was too much. It was too much.
"Don't say that!" She snapped at her friend, so uncharacteristically of her. But she could not help herself, no matter how innocent Eowyn's words had been intended, no matter that she knew her friend had no possible way of knowing that Lasgalen had been sick beyond her imagination. "Do not say that. That's a horrible thing wish."
"I'm sorry." Her friend apologized, suddenly taken aback, clearly not understanding from where Sigrid was coming from. "I'm really sorry, Sig. I didn't mean anything; I was talking about Quidditch."
"I know." She sighed, calming back down, and suddenly regretting her previous lash out. But it had been overwhelming. It was not Eowyn's fault. She did not know. "It's just me…I'm tired."
She didn't say anything else, climbing onto her bed and closing the drapes to the welcoming darkness, glad that Eowyn did not add anything else. She knew she would be questioned again in the morning, and she knew she needed to apologize to her friend for lashing out, but that could wait. All she wanted was to fall asleep, to not think, to feel far, far, away from that waiting room, from the Hospital Wing…
Here is the next chapter! I hope you enjoy it! I think it's a little longer than the previous one but once again I couldn't get myself to leave any piece out!
Thank you immemsely to Amsim, Rose61393, ErynielGreenleaf, and Win Lockwood. Thank you so much for leaving comments, it is amazing to know that you are enjoying this strange story!
Amsim: You are not too far in your suspicions but are not entire correct haha, I won't say anything else!
Love,
Elena