I cast my eyes around, trying to find the source of the sound. Seeing no one, I follow my ears around the corner. Here I find a small boy who I deduce is in the second year. His black hair is disheveled and is casting a shadow over much of his face. His sleeve is ripped and his Slytherin tie looks stretched, as if someone tried to pull it from around his neck. He is curled into a ball in the corner, shuddering with sobs. The gray eye I can see is ringed with red. His face is shining with tears.
I kneel down on one knee. "Hey," I say in my best soothing voice. "Hey, are you okay?" Of course he isn't okay, but it's the best things I can think of to say under the current conditions. The boy stifles another sob. He turns to look at me. Suddenly I notice that his previously obscured cheek is bloated literally to the size of a cantaloupe and is covered in snitch-sized boils.
"What happened?" I ask consolingly. The boy only hides his face again in reply. "It's all right, I'm trying to help." I pause for a moment, then try again; "What happened?" Silence persists. A thought suddenly catches my attention. "Did someone do this to you?" Finally, the boy answers with a nod. "Does it hurt?" Another yes. I rise to my feet. "C'mon, let's get you to the hospital wing," I say, offering my hand for him to grasp. His gray eyes lock onto my own blue ones. I smile kindly. He takes my hand and I pull him to his feet.
"Let's see if Professor Calum has anything to help with that bruise, yeah?" I propose. "Stay here. I'll only be a moment." I leave the boy outside the classroom door while I poke inside.
Professor Calum turns his head at the creaking of the door. "There you are, Mr. Selwyn. You're late," he says in mock impatience.
"Yes, sir. But, there's a boy out there," I gesture towards the door, "and I think he's been hexed. His cheek's all swollen and blistered. I was wondering, do you have anything that could help?"
Professor Calum looks a bit surprised and flustered at my unusual request. However, he quickly recovers his relaxed stature. "Yes, I've got just the potion. Hold on." He strides quickly to the back of the classroom and searches through the cupboards.
Meanwhile, I look around the room at my classmates, who stare intently back. My eyes linger on one Slytherin student, Hugo Bog. As my eyes rest on him, I watch him snickering under his breath with one of his fellow simpletons. Then he turns back toward the door where I stand, a nasty smirk painted gruesomely across his face.
"Here you go," the potions master says, commanding my attention onto him. His arms are outstretched, offering me a cloth and a vial of clear liquid. "This should help with the pain, although it will sting a bit at first."
I take the materials and tell him, "Thank you, Professor. I'll take him to the hospital wing." I turn and open the door. "I should be back for part of class," I finish as I go through the doorway.
The boy is still outside the classroom. He seems to have calmed down a bit. I unstop and tip the bottle, catching the cascade on the cloth. "Here," I say giving the boy the cloth. "Put this on that bruise." He obeys and winces harshly. "Sorry. I forgot to warn you. Anyway, let's go. There a load of stairs." Trying to cheer him more, I joke, "But not as many as in Ravenclaw Tower. That's how most of us get our exercise."
He allows a microscopic smile to flicker momentarily across his swollen face. It disappears so quickly it could have been the torchlight throwing a misinterpreted shadow.