A/N: ^_^ double post for your enjoyment!
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"Well, I don't think she's okay every where else," the boy put in, causing Madame Pomfrey's head to snap around and her eyes to narrow.
"Oh?" she asked icily. "Why not?"
"She hasn't heard of me. I mean, she's all like, ' don't know you, I don't know you' then I tell her my name and she's all like, well, like, 'no, that's not true' and I'm all like 'Malfoy's a first year' and she's all like 'first year?' and I'm all talking to her in this soft voice you use with Remus, you know?, and then I was going to leave, but then you came and she's all like 'no, I'm fine' when in fact I BELIEVE she has amnesia or something." After his nice run-on sentence was finished, the boy looked like he'd like to bow. He didn't though, just sat obediently with crossed legs.
Unorthodox, Hermione couldn't help but notice.
"Is that so?" Pomfrey asked, then turned to Hermione. "Is that true?"
"He said his name was Sirius Black!" she blurted out, once more on her feet. "And I don't find that very funny!"
"That was his name, last time I checked," came the soothing reply.
"Oh?" Hermione retorted, slamming her hands on her hips so hard it hurt. "And I suppose his best friends are James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew, and they all four run around calling themselves the Marauders and play pranks and personally hate Severus Snape. Is that true as well?"
"Indeed, it is."
All three started and looked towards the door, where an all-too-familiar old man waltzed through the door.
Waltzed. I mean, not literally /waltzed/ in like the dance. More like strode. That's the word. Strode in.
"Professor," Hermione cried. "You can't be serious! If this is a joke, I certainly don't find it funny!"
"No joke." He looked at Madame Pomfrey. "Is she well?"
"Well, as far as I can tell. Either she's pretending or lying or I don't know..." the healer murmured back. They both looked at Hermione, who had the strong urge to wave and call 'hel-lo I'm still here you dolts!' but she didn't. Instead, a small smile (that was somewhat forced) alit her features.
"Well, I'd like to make a speech about horsing around at the stairs, first of all," Dumbledore announced. "And I'd like to know who hurt and pushed her. This is a serious matter."
"No, not really," the boy next to Hermione said. She glared at him. He smiled back innocently.
"She says it was the Malfoy boy."
"Ah. Okay, then. I'll go have a word with him."
"Can I keep her for the night? I'd like to run some more tests, to check brain activity..."
"I quite understand. But you must also be aware, that she very near almost died. She'll be a bit... traumatized."
"Of course, headmaster."
"Good night, then. Mr. Black, don't cause anymore trouble." He left.
"What? I haven't done anything under the definition of trouble all day!" the boy insisted.
"Oh?" Pomfrey shot back. "And I suppose that breakfast doesn't count?"
"Snape deserved that and you know it. And don't even think about commenting about history of magic and lunch. James helped with those."
"Oh, I won't. You run along now, go to dinner."
"Why, Merci beaucoup, ma dame!" he jumped to his feet and skipped, yes literally /skipped/, out.
Now Hermione was alone with Madame Pomfrey.
"I'm fine!" she insisted. "I certainly didn't hit my head! And whatever is going on, it's not funny any more!"
"Nothing is going on, Miss Granger. Now, just take this potion here, and relax." A goblet filled with something gooey and purple was handed to her. "I'm just going to run a few tests on you." A wand was pulled out and waved around.
.
.
.
"Well, I don't think she's okay every where else," the boy put in, causing Madame Pomfrey's head to snap around and her eyes to narrow.
"Oh?" she asked icily. "Why not?"
"She hasn't heard of me. I mean, she's all like, ' don't know you, I don't know you' then I tell her my name and she's all like, well, like, 'no, that's not true' and I'm all like 'Malfoy's a first year' and she's all like 'first year?' and I'm all talking to her in this soft voice you use with Remus, you know?, and then I was going to leave, but then you came and she's all like 'no, I'm fine' when in fact I BELIEVE she has amnesia or something." After his nice run-on sentence was finished, the boy looked like he'd like to bow. He didn't though, just sat obediently with crossed legs.
Unorthodox, Hermione couldn't help but notice.
"Is that so?" Pomfrey asked, then turned to Hermione. "Is that true?"
"He said his name was Sirius Black!" she blurted out, once more on her feet. "And I don't find that very funny!"
"That was his name, last time I checked," came the soothing reply.
"Oh?" Hermione retorted, slamming her hands on her hips so hard it hurt. "And I suppose his best friends are James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew, and they all four run around calling themselves the Marauders and play pranks and personally hate Severus Snape. Is that true as well?"
"Indeed, it is."
All three started and looked towards the door, where an all-too-familiar old man waltzed through the door.
Waltzed. I mean, not literally /waltzed/ in like the dance. More like strode. That's the word. Strode in.
"Professor," Hermione cried. "You can't be serious! If this is a joke, I certainly don't find it funny!"
"No joke." He looked at Madame Pomfrey. "Is she well?"
"Well, as far as I can tell. Either she's pretending or lying or I don't know..." the healer murmured back. They both looked at Hermione, who had the strong urge to wave and call 'hel-lo I'm still here you dolts!' but she didn't. Instead, a small smile (that was somewhat forced) alit her features.
"Well, I'd like to make a speech about horsing around at the stairs, first of all," Dumbledore announced. "And I'd like to know who hurt and pushed her. This is a serious matter."
"No, not really," the boy next to Hermione said. She glared at him. He smiled back innocently.
"She says it was the Malfoy boy."
"Ah. Okay, then. I'll go have a word with him."
"Can I keep her for the night? I'd like to run some more tests, to check brain activity..."
"I quite understand. But you must also be aware, that she very near almost died. She'll be a bit... traumatized."
"Of course, headmaster."
"Good night, then. Mr. Black, don't cause anymore trouble." He left.
"What? I haven't done anything under the definition of trouble all day!" the boy insisted.
"Oh?" Pomfrey shot back. "And I suppose that breakfast doesn't count?"
"Snape deserved that and you know it. And don't even think about commenting about history of magic and lunch. James helped with those."
"Oh, I won't. You run along now, go to dinner."
"Why, Merci beaucoup, ma dame!" he jumped to his feet and skipped, yes literally /skipped/, out.
Now Hermione was alone with Madame Pomfrey.
"I'm fine!" she insisted. "I certainly didn't hit my head! And whatever is going on, it's not funny any more!"
"Nothing is going on, Miss Granger. Now, just take this potion here, and relax." A goblet filled with something gooey and purple was handed to her. "I'm just going to run a few tests on you." A wand was pulled out and waved around.