Tainted Saints and Velvet Vices

Chapter 8: Calling Crows

"...said that he should have a few hour's bed rest and then he'd be fine. A bit weak, maybe, but fine."

"Still can't believe Styles let that happen to him. He might be a stuck-up prick but he's dead good at DADA."

"We don't know for sure that Styles let it happen. That Durmstrang git could've surprised both of them. And I get the impression that Styles wouldn't just stand by and watch Louis be hurt, for some reason."

Louis could hear their voices drifting in and out of focus. His head felt light and clear but his limbs felt heavy as lead. He tried to lift his arm but it felt like someone was pushing it into an uncomfortable mattress.

His eyes shot open. He squinted, blinking rapidly as the bright lights brought Liam, Niall and Zayn—who were all staring anxiously at him—into focus.

"What happened?" he said, his voice rough and raspy. He cleared his throat loudly, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his chest.

Liam smiled sadly. "We don't know the full story yet. All we know is that McGonagall found you unconscious outside her office."

In an instant everything came back; following Alexander and Leif after the Ball; duelling them with Harry and sending both of the brothers to the ground; the strange, floaty sensation.

"Where's Harry?" Louis said urgently. His head whipped around and, ignoring the pain, he searched frantically, leaning over Liam from his restricted corner of the hospital wing.

Niall tilted his head curiously at Louis before pointing his thumb over his shoulder. "With McGonagall. They've been gone about half an hour or so."

Louis slumped back in his hospital bed. "What about the Larsons? Where're they?"

Liam chewed on his lower lip. "Lou, we really don't know," he said regretfully. "We just saw you being brought here on a stretcher."

"They're not here, though, so they're probably not seriously injured," Zayn said.

The doors to the hospital wing swung open and McGonagall stormed in, followed by an equally furious Vulchanova, Madam Maxime and Achernar. MacFarlan, whose arm was wrapped around a rather sheepish-looking Harry, trailed behind them. Louis sighed with relief.

Louis watched Harry, whose gaze was resolutely trained on him, ignoring MacFarlan whispering in his ear. Harry's eyes were blank, his face pale, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. His usually perfectly-styled curls were dishevelled and sticking up at the back, as though he had been tugging at them. Louis' breath caught in his throat.

"Mr Payne," Professor McGonagall said sharply, marching towards them. "And the rest of you, off you go. I need to speak with Mr Tomlinson."

Liam didn't even try to protest. Her tone left no room for argument.

"I'll be just outside," Liam muttered to Louis, smiling reassuringly.

"You will not, Mr Payne," Professor McGonagall said sternly. "It is approaching midnight. Back to your dormitories now, all three of you."

They trooped out, looking disappointed.

Louis glanced around at the rest of the group gathered around his bed. Madame Maxime was scrutinising him sceptically, as though she didn't believe that he really was injured.

Professor McGonagall turned to Louis. "What has Madam Pomfrey said?" she said.

"I... I don't know," Louis said. "I haven't seen her. I just—er—got up a few minutes ago."

"She must still be with Alexander," Vulchanova said darkly. He glowered at Harry. "It's an absolute outrage, Minerva! Alexander's injuries will most certainly affect his chances in the next task, and could leave him in a worse position permanently all because he—"