Lovebirds [Hedric]

Quidditch is Stupid

Harry took off his glasses, folded them, placed them inside the pocket at the back of his bag, and groaned. He was a transfer student from Ilvermorny. He lived in America with a friend for fourteen years, and when he decided to go back to Britain, the place where his parents were born, he had to switch to Hogwarts. At first he thought it was a very interesting place, with the castle paintings, ghosts, and all, but he found it rather dull. Back in Ilvermorny, students were hospitable. They love to chat, play games, and are very fond of muggles. Unlike in Britain, where blood supremacy was considered normal. It was disgusting how people actually care about magical blood status in Great Britain. In America, if you have magic, you're automatically a part of the Wizarding World. Not many people care about being pureblood, halfblood, and let alone muggleborn. It was exhausting, really.

When Harry first arrived, everyone was interested in the inquisitive American. He was sorted by a manky old hat with stitches, dust, and a hell load of dandruff. Harry knew he needed to wash his hair after that. In Ilvermorny, he was sorted into "thunderbird" which was known for students who are fierce and clever. The Sorting Hat sorted him into "Ravenclaw" which Harry thought was the best house out of the four houses at Hogwarts. They were known for books, wit, and creativity.

As Harry walked down the marble staircase, he wasn't looking where he was going. Harry had his eyes mindlessly looking at the painting staring at him with wide open eyes. His foot dropped another step down. And another. And another. And another. Draco Malfoy, a slytherin whom Harry had despised since he got to Hogwarts, passed by him with a sneer. Harry chewed his lip and ignored Malfoy. He absolutely hated that jerk and his good for nothing followers.

Malfoy had other plans. When the two walked past each other, Malfoy stuck out his foot, causing Harry to trip and fall thirteen stairs from the ground. A crack was heard and Harry sat up, groaning in pain. His leg was broken. Harry shot Malfoy a dirty glare. He struggled to stand up and go to the Hospital Wing, where he hoped the matron would give him a cast.

When he arrived, a lot more other patients were present. Some had boils in their faces. Others had broken noses. When Madam Pomfrey, the healer, saw him. She gasped and rushed over. Harry was asked to sit down on a bed. She examined the broken leg, with her wand and everything, and Harry was nervous.

"Your leg is in a bad state, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey exclaimed. "This is worse than most fractures. How did this happen?"

"Malfoy," Harry scowled. "He tripped me down the stairs. I fell thirteen steps to the ground."

"I see." Madam Pomfrey held Harry's leg upwards, scanning it carefully and analyzing. "This is terrible. Three areas broken in a single bone."

"You can just give me a cast, y'know," said Harry.

Madam Pomfrey blinked. "A 'cast'?"

"Uh ... yeah." Harry nodded. "The muggle plaster for broken bones?"

"Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Potter," she apologized, "I don't know much about muggle healers."

"Aren't you knowledgeable about muggles?" Harry asked. "Back in Ilvermorny, we know a lot about muggles."

"We don't study much about muggles," Madam Pomfrey explained.

"What about Brackium Emendo?" Harry asked. "Yeesh, Brits are weird."

"Oh, of course! Dear me, I'm getting old." Madam Pomfrey grabbed her wand, pointed it to Harry's severely broken leg, and said, "Brackium Emendo."

The leg's bones were attaching themselves together. It will take a while because Harry's leg was broken in many places. Madam Pomfrey ordered him to stay there in a quite serious way. Harry opened a book Hermione, a new friend he made, gave him. He missed how the matrons in Ilvermorny were nice and kind and not stressed. He also missed how there weren't many people injured and at the Hospital Wing. A painful headache struck Harry and he immediately massaged his temples.