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✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
Peter Pettigrew had became pretty used to misfortunate things happening to his friends. When you hang around with danger-prone people long enough, you eventually just expect to see misfortunate things happen.
Take last week, for example— Peter had seen a Slytherin break Sirius's nose after catching the mischief maker trying to prank him. Another example would be when just a month ago, James had accidentally slipped while running away from Professor McGonagall's wrath and bruised his backside in the process.
Something else he had also become pretty used to was watching tragedies walk their way through his friends lives. Remus's lycanthropy, Sirius's parents, James's unrequited love and the fear that both Genevieve and Lily harboured because of their blood status. Sure, their friend group's happy moments overweighted the bad ones, but that didn't mean they went ignored.
Peter had adapted a long time ago, and he almost always expected what was coming to them. No injury, no punishment, no heart-wrenching event surprised him anymore. What he hadn't expected, however, was to be sat the next morning beside a hospital wing bed as he hoped his best friend, Genevieve Lewis, would wake up from her slumber and be relatively ok.
From the moment Genevieve had been brought into the Hospital Wing, her friends had all pulled up a chair and sat by her side no matter how many times Madam Pomfrey had told them to get some sleep.
"When do you think she'll wake up?" Sirius asked, biting his nails nervously down to the cuticle as his eyes focused on the girls pale skin.
"Shouldn't be long," James answered quietly. His own left arm had been placed in a sling after an injury due to the rogue werewolf, but he was less than concerned about that right now.
"Don't jinx it," Peter muttered and tried his hardest to fight back an exhausted yawn. "She might wake up in a year now because of that one sentence."
From under the thin duvet, Genevieve shuffled and croaked out: "Sounds like a pretty good sleep, if you ask me."
A wide, toothy smile spread itself across James's face, scrunching the corners of his eyes. "Finally!" he exclaimed and cupped Genevieve's face as lightly as he could, planting a kiss on her forehead. "You're alive! You're awake!"
Genevieve winced at his cries of delight. "Sometimes I wish you were born with a volume down button," she said more to herself than him, her voice scratchy and filled with cracks. Catching sight of his broken arm, she gasped slightly but stopped due to the sharp pain that pressed on her stomach. "Prongs, your arm—"
James glanced down at the swollen limb proudly. "Don't piss off a werewolf when he smells humans," he advised, a slight proud smile on his face, "He might decide to throw you around like a rag doll even in animal form."
