"My lord," Cyril hummed in reply. Theo always preferred this title.
Theo asked, referring to the future they all would be witnessing, "Are you okay with what tomorrow brings? It's like privacy being snatched away, and secrets won't be secrets anymo...
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Madame Pomfrey bustled toward Harry's bed, her stern demeanor parting the gathered Gryffindors, including Colin, Ron, Hermione, and the Quidditch team. “Out of my way. Out of my way,” she scolded, shooing them aside. “Should’ve been brought straight to me. I can mend bones in a heartbeat, but growing them back…”
“Mend bone? What does it mean?”
“What happened?”
“What did you do this time?”
Lily and James’s questions came in like a tornado, rapid and relentless.
Harry rubbed the back of his neck, clearly reluctant. “Well, it was during a Quidditch match, right? Fractured my arm bone—”
“Fractured?!” Lily exclaimed.
“don’t ask how—and Lockhart, thinking he’s Merlin reincarnated, decides to step in. He swishes his wand about and goes, ‘Brackium Emendo!’ Next thing you know, my bones are gone. Completely vanished.”
James spluttered. “Who in bloody hell let him near a wand, let alone your arm?”
“An arm without a bone?” Peter said, eyes wide, clearly horrified. “How did that even feel?”
“Like a thick limp noodle attached to my shoulder,” Harry replied dryly. “Floppy as anything. Madam Pomfrey had to regrow the bones. Took the better part of a night and was properly agonising.”
“Merlin’s saggy tits,” Isabella muttered, shaking her head. “And this twit’s still allowed to teach?”
“Nobody questioned him? No consequences?”
“Did you at least win the match?” Sirius cut in.
“Of course,” Harry said, looking scandalized at the suggestion they might not have.
“Good lad!” James said with a proud grin. “Though, next time, maybe just avoid the human noodle phase, yeah?”
Lily groaned, burying her face in her hands.
Euphemia heaved a sigh. “Honestly, it’s a wonder the Potter family has any limbs left.”
Hermione stepped forward, her voice edged with worry. “You will be able to, won’t you?”
“Oh, I’ll be able to, certainly.” Madame Pomfrey set down a glass vial filled with a murky liquid. “But it’ll be painful.” She poured the contents into a glass and handed it to Harry. “You’re in for a rough night, Potter. Regrowing bones is a nasty business.”
Harry grimaced as he took a sip, his face twisting in disgust. He spat it out almost immediately.
“Well, what do you expect, pumpkin juice?” Madame Pomfrey said, unimpressed as she placed the glass on the bedside table.
