Defining Secrets // Ron Weasley

Chapter Seven: Predictions Of Life and Scary Proclamations

Elise's POV:

I started the day with my usual routine. Sparks of light shot from my wand at a command, and with a second flick the sheets had been cleaned and wrung dry. They folded themselves neatly at the end of each bed for me to sort later. It got a bit tedious after a while, but I didn't mind it.

A little pinch between my eyebrows appeared as I got to my next task. Someone had completely disorganised the medicine cabinet. It must have been the new help, Kiara. Because as sweet as she was, she also had the tendency to leave things lying around. But with a quick flick of the wrist everything was back in its place.

I would be lying if I said I hadn't struggled with spells in the beginning, but the more I worked the easier it got. The sorting hat said itself that I was quite a determined worker – something I struggled to see myself at first. I was almost put in Slytherin if not for my creative mind and inability to be cunning. The sorting hat saw a potential that only grew with the help of others.

It started with a small accident in Transfiguration my first year, which ended with me landing half my class to the Hospital Wing. Including me. I remember feeling so unbelievably guilty that I'd sort of offered myself up to Madam Pomfrey's cause. It may have started off as a way to make-up for my grave mistake, but it slowly grew into a helpful partnership.

I harboured the want and skill for medicine for many years. Even before my start at Hogwarts, there was this need inside of me to do something. To be able to be there and help others – not freeze and get panicked. But to spring into action without a second thought.

So much so that after months of Madam Pomfrey insisting that there was no need, I still came by once or twice a week. I wasn't sure if my pleading was what got to her, or maybe if she saw the same kind of potential in me, but nevertheless – I had my chance. A chance to fix what I couldn't a long time ago.

So I poured myself into my work. Years of herbology and potions studies, days of meticulous research, months of organising, cleaning, and creating. All for the hopeful outcome of becoming a healer. Something I was willing to work so hard for. Blood, sweat and tears.

Madam Pomfrey's quiet laugh pulled me from that dark tunnel before it even came. "Kiara, again, I assume?"

"Not even in alphabetical order."

She smiled again.

"Did you need my help with something?" I asked.

"Yes," she nodded, handing me something from a pocket in her uniform, "could you go to Professor Snape's class and ask for three more of these, and two more of those-" she motioned to the two empty bottles, "we are running low and I need to make some more numbing potions."

I took them in response, heading down the same route I always took towards Snape's class. He let me take what I needed with only a few complaints. I made my way back hopeful and calm. At least, until I avoided another near death experience. Because just as I was about to round the corner, a blunger scathed just by my cheek.

But just as I was about to sigh in relief, I heard a loud groan of pain that meant the ball had made contact. I rushed over to the other end of the hallway, mentally pinning on my healers cap and rolling up my sleeves. Only, I startled again.

"Dean?"

He had been the only one to hear me, completely surrounded by groups of people checking up on him. His head shot up. "El?"

I would punish myself for my pause later, because right now Dean needed to be tended to. "Come on. I'll bring you to the Hospital Wing."

"But I didn't need-"