Silk || hs

Hermione Granger

Mark leaves Alexa and I to sit in the waiting room while he goes to find Harry. Every passing minute seems like an additional weight added to my chest, and I think Alexa might be feeling the same way. She keeps nervously fidgeting just as much as I am, but neither of us speak a word of our distress aloud. Actually, nothing is said at all. It's silent in the waiting room except for the low chatter between the nurses who are still bustling about despite the lateness of the hour, and it's this quietness that puts me further on edge.

I'm concerned about Harry's well-being, but I'm also feeling very guilty for my thoughtless actions this evening. Because I know that Harry is okay, I'm more worried about what he is going to say to me. Though he hasn't been like this since then, I kind of get the feeling that he's going to treat me the way he did at the beginning of the year. He's probably going to be all silent and passive aggressive, and I really really don't want that to happen. Because if it does, then I'm going to have to press him on what he's thinking, and it's going to be a whole thing that ends badly.

About ten minutes pass before I see Mark round the corner, walking towards us. My heart rate quickens at the sight of him, and it only increases further as Harry appears just a few steps behind him, wearing only his dress pants and his white button down. His jacket and tie are missing, and I cringe at the thought of them lying somewhere on the floor of that nasty club. I stand from my chair and immediately walk to meet them. As Harry approaches me, I see that he has a small but deep cut just on the side of his face near his mouth that is surrounded by shallow scrapes. His skin looks hot and irritated, and so does he.

"Harry, I–" I begin, but Harry cuts me off and speaks lowly to me.

"Not right now," Harry says quietly, brushing past me and making his way to where Alexa is standing several feet behind me. He says something to her that I can't hear, and suddenly, panic floods her already distressed features.

Um, what the hell?

"How did it happen?" she asks him, her eyes earnestly searching Harry's battered face.

Harry glances back at me and answers Alexa with uncertainty, "Um, well, he hit his head on the bar after–" Harry pauses and corrects himself. "He was just really drunk, so he fell into it. He passed out initially, so we called the paramedics and they took him here to look at his head. He's pissed, but his parents are on their way."

Two things. One, if Harry wasn't even the one who got hurt badly enough to be put in the hospital, why the hell did Mark have to freak me out like he did by making me think that Harry was in some kind of critical condition or something? That's just rude. Two, I'm beginning to worry that this whole situation is my fault. Did John hit the bar after I punched him in the face? Am I the reason that we're all her in the hospital at two in the morning? Maybe that's what Mark meant by me causing problems tonight.

Oh, hell, it totally is. Fuck. How ironic of me to think that Harry was the one who got into a fight when really it was me. I hope John doesn't have a concussion, because that would really suck, but given the limited information I have, I would venture to say that a concussion is probably what he has.

Serves him right, my subconscious comments, and I mentally slap her and tell her to shut up. Yeah, part of me feels like John got what he deserved after everything he's done tonight, whether it be just being an asshole to Alexa or physically attacking me. However, I know I shouldn't feel that way, so we're going to keep my satisfaction with the situation on the down-low.

Alexa nods slowly as she processes what Harry has just told her, and she looks up at him brightly with hope in her eyes, "Is he awake?"

Harry nods, "Yes. And they've put him on a ton of fluids, so he's sobering up fairly quickly. They let me see him, so I bet you can too. Mark will take you there if you'd like?"