It was three days later that Professor Dumbledore finally announced the news Leo had been waiting for: The Mandrake Draught was ready. The Basilisk's victims would be waking up within a few hours.

Leo lingered a little at breakfast that day, waiting for the rest of the students to leave. As they were filing out, he went up to the High Table and said, "Professor? Can I ask you something?"

"Certainly, you may," said Dumbledore.

"Can I be excused from classes for today? It's just – the victims are going to be waking up, and I – I want to be there."

He felt horribly vulnerable at this admission, but his mind was fixed.

"I think that can be allowed, given the… special circumstances. I will make the appropriate arrangements."

"Th-thank you, sir," said Leo, and turned to go.

He was in the hospital wing, sitting on a chair beside her bed, five minutes later, writing a Transfiguration essay while he waited impatiently for Professor Snape to arrive with the draught.

"I have the Headmaster's permission," he told Madam Pomfrey. "And I'm not leaving, I don't care what you say."

Madam Pomfrey tutted and said, "When the patients wake up, they are likely to be slightly confused, and they'll need someone to explain what's happened since the incidents."

"That's exactly why I'm here," snapped Leo. "I'm the best person to explain what's been going on to Marisa. No offence, but you and Professor Snape don't know her at all compared to me."

Madam Pomfrey bustled away to check on the other patients, and Leo continued writing until finally Professor Snape arrived carrying a large container filled with a clear liquid.

"Asriel," he said, sounding mildly surprised.

"Professor," responded Leo, putting down his quill and spreading out the essay to dry. He wasn't quite done, but that wasn't important.

"You really care about that girl, don't you?" said Snape.

"I – yes, sir. I do." The admission felt like revealing a weakness, something which should never have been spoken, but he refused to lie to a teacher without a better reason than preventing embarrassment. "Don't tell anyone, sir."

Snape nodded. "I just wanted to give you some advice," he said.

"Yes, sir?"

"I… one of my friends when I was at Hogwarts myself used to know a girl. She was Muggle-born, like your Marisa, and not unlike her – though without Miss King's vengeful streak, or her talent for flying. But they were both exceptional young ladies. But this girl, she wasn't a Slytherin, she was Sorted into Gryffindor, and… my friend, he was in Slytherin… and they drifted apart, because they were listening to such different things and developing different views… and then one day… he called her Mudblood. And she never forgave him."

Leo could tell that this wasn't just a friend Snape was speaking about. The hurt in his words could only have come from personal experience. "Don't worry," he said. "I would never call Marisa – that word."

"Even if your housemates pressure you to abandon her – which they will."

"I don't give up because of what of other people tell me."

"Then perhaps I should warn you that Slytherin House is plotting to get rid of her. I have discovered that as soon as she returns from the Hospital Wing, they plan to send her back again – and they want you to help."

"Thank you for warning me, Professor," said Leo. His mind was in turmoil: he was faced with an impossible choice.

"Anyway," said Snape, "we should wake her up."

Leo couldn't help it: he grinned.

"I will be with you once I have divided these into the correct quantities."

"Thank you, sir." Leo wondered what to do. He couldn't be part of an attempt to seriously injure Marisa: that was as clear to him as the fact that the sky was blue and grass was green. But equally, if he was seen to defend her, he would become an outcast and would suffer as badly as she would – if not worse.

Then he had a brilliant idea. It was going to work. There was a simple way out.

A moment later, Professor Snape handed him a cup containing some of the liquid. "You can wake her yourself if you like," he said. "Just open her mouth and pour it in, and it shouldn't take longer than a couple of minutes."

Leo put the cup on the table beside the bed and moved to sit next to Marisa's head. Touching her felt almost like some kind of sacrilege, but moving incredibly gently and slowly, he pulled her jaw down and curled back her lips so he could pour the draught in.

Then he reached for the cup and placed it to her lips. Smiling broadly, he tipped it back and watched the liquid run down her throat.

By the time he'd returned the empty cup to the table, Marisa had begun to breathe, normally and slowly. He watched her as if in a trance, unable to take his eyes off the rise and fall of her chest.

Then she opened her eyes, which instantly sparkled with life and mischief. "Hello, Leo," she said, pushing herself up into a sitting position. "Did you miss me?"