People Watching.

Chapter Eight.

"Shove off, Malfoy!" said Ron, whose jaw was clenched.

"Did you faint as well, Weasley?" said Draco loudly. "Did the scary old dementor frighten you too, Weasley?"

"Is there a problem?" said a mild voice. Remus had just gotten out of the next carriage.

Draco gave Remus an insolent stare, which took in the patches on his robes and the dilapidated suitcase. With a tiny hint of sarcasm in his voice, he said, "Oh, no— er— Professor," then he smirked at Crabbe and Goyle and led them up the steps into the castle.
Harry, Hermione, Ron, and (Y/n) went next, joining the swarming crowd up the steps.

"Potter! Granger! (Y/n)! I want to see you three!" a voice called.
Harry, Hermione, and (Y/n) looked around, surprised. Professor McGonagall was calling them over. She wore her hair in a tight bun, her sharp eyes were framed with square spectacles. Harry fought his way over to her with a feeling of foreboding: Professor McGonagall had a way of making him feel he must have done something wrong.
"There's no need to look so worried— I just want a word in my office," she told them. "Move along there, Weasley."
Ron stared as Professor McGonagall ushered the other away from the chattering crowd; they accompanied her across the entrance hall, up the marble staircase, and along a corridor.
Once they were in her office, a small room with a large, welcoming fire, Professor McGonagall motioned for them to sit down. She settled herself behind her desk and said abruptly, "Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead to say that you were taken ill on the train, Potter."
Before Harry could reply, there was a soft knock on the door and Madam Pomfrey came bustling in.
Harry felt himself go red in the face. It was bad enough that he'd passed out, or whatever he had done, without everyone making a big fuss.

"I'm fine," he said. "I don't need anything—"

"Oh, it's you, is it?" said Madam Pomfrey, ignoring this and bending down to stare closely at him. "I suppose you've been doing something dangerous again?"
(Y/n) covered her mouth and turned her head, trying not to laugh too loudly.

"It was a dementor, Poppy," said Professor McGonagall.
They exchanged a dark look, and Madam Pomfrey clucked disapprovingly.

"Setting dementors around a school," she muttered, pushing back Harry's hair to feel his forehead. "He won't be the last one who collapses. Yes, he's all clammy. Terrible things, they are, and the effect they have on people who are delicate—"

"I'm not delicate!" said Harry crossly.

"Of course you're not," said Madam Pomfrey absentmindedly, now taking his pulse. "I'm surprised you are still standing, (Y/n)," she added offhandedly.

"Hey!" (Y/n) cried. Now it was Harry's turn to hold back a laugh. (Y/n) was a very sickly girl.

"What does he need?" said Professor McGonagall crispy. "Bedrest? Should he perhaps spend tonight in the hospital wing?"

"I'm fine!" Harry insisted, jumping up. 

"Well, he should have some chocolate, at the very least," said Madam Pomfrey, who was now trying to peer into Harry's eyes.

"I've already had some," said Harry. "Remus—"

"Professor Lupin," Professor McGonagall corrected.

"Professor Lupin," Harry said, his tone partially mocking, "gave me some. He gave it to all of us."

"Did he, now?" said Madam Pomfrey approvingly. "So we've finally got a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who knows his remedies?"

"Are you sure you feel all right, Potter?" Professor McGonagall asked sharply.