Rory Potter, the Girl Who Lived

The Boggart in the Wardrobe

          I don't find the strength to return to classes until almost a week later. Walking slowly into Potions halfway through class, everyone stops what they're doing to gape at me. Snape opens his mouth to say something about it, but I just hand him the note from Madam Pomphrey and take my seat. I'm dressed in clothing that just barely passes as a uniform, only because I'm wearing my Gryffindor robes.
          "You okay, Rory?" Hermione asks quickly. "You don't look it. I can get your cauldron for you if it hurts you to bend over too much."
          "Would you do that, please, if its not a big deal?" I ask. "It honestly feels like my stomach is on fire . . . "
          "No problem. If you hurt that much, why did you come to class?" Hermione says, stooping down, grabbing my heavy cauldron, and placing it on the table.
          "I was getting way behind in my classes, and I've already failed History of Magic, so I figured Moony - er, Professor Lupin - would want me to," I tell her quietly, rummaging through my bag and accidentally dropping my wand.
          "But he's your godfather, I'm sure if you explained he would tell you not to go to class," Hermione says, looking concerned.
          I bend down to pick up my wand, grimacing as a sharp jolt of pain shoots up my body. I let out a fast, high-pitched hiss of air, then sit back up without grabbing my wand, pressing a hand gently to my stomach.
          "I know, but I don't want to fall behind," I say, then turn to Ron. "Ron, if you've got a moment, could you grab my wand for me? I dropped it and it hurts to bend over."
          "Sure," Ron says, grabbing my wand. "But just a question. Why couldn't Madam Pomphrey heal it with magic?"
          "I dunno. She wouldn't tell me when I asked, but she muttered something along the lines of 'damn hippogriff talons'. I wonder if you can't heal hippogriff wounds with magic or something?"
         "Hmm," says Ron. "Weird."
         I begin work on my potion in silence, wincing very now and then as I move too much and hurt my stomach. Occasionally, I have Harry, Ron, or Hermione do something that is too difficult for me, but other than that I just bite my lip and power through.
          Five minutes later, Draco bursts in. That causes an uproar of questions from the Slytherins. They demand how badly he's hurt; that git is babying it. Unfortunately, Snape makes him sit at our table.
          And he just keeps making it seem as though he's been victim of an intense battle. As if he has a difficult time doing anything; I can't bend over, lean back, or twist to either side without feeling like my skin is ripping apart.
          "Seen your friend Hagrid lately?" he sneers. "I'm afraid he won't be a teacher much longer. Father is not very happy about my injury."
          "Keep talking, Malfoy, and I'll give you a real injury," Ron snaps. "It's not as if that tiny scratch is hurting you. Rory's whole side got torn open."
          "Don't drag me into this, Ron," I say wearily.
          "He's told the school governers. And the Ministry of Magic. Father's got a lot of influence, you know. And a lasting injury like this - " he heaves a fake sigh, having ignored the comment about me but for a concerened glance in my direction - "who knows if my arm'll ever be the same again?"
          "You're just faking it to get Hagrid fired!" Harry hisses.
          Draco has no chance to respond, as Neville is in trouble. Sitting across from me, his potion hisses and froths, turning bright orange when its supposed to be acid green. Snape swoops over.
          "Orange, Longbottom," he says, ladling some up, then dumping it back into the cauldron. "Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn't you hear me say, very clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn't I state plainly that only a dash of leech juice would suffice?"
         "Please, sir, let me help him," I say.
          "I don't remember asking you to show off, Miss Potter," Snape snaps. "Now, Longbottom, we'll feed a few drops of this potion to your toad at the end of class to see if you've righted it."
          As Snape strides off again, Neville turns to me, his frantic eyes begging for help. I start to whisper instructions out of the corner of my mouth, half-listening to Harry and Ron quarreling with Draco. Five minutes later, something Draco says catches my attention.
          "Maybe you'd rather not risk your neck," he whispers to my brother. "You'd rather leave it to the Dementors. But if it was me, I'd want revenge. I'd go and hunt him down myself."
         I know exactly what he's talking about; Sirius Black, and what he did. Draco let it slip to me earlier this year, but I know for a fact Harry has no clue. I meet Draco's eyes and give him a look that screams for him to shut up right now. Luckily, he takes a hint and says nothing more, despite Harry's demands.