for editing

you're okay

"It's okay, you're okay, come with me."

They staggered into the common room, using each other for support. He leaned on her like she was his crutches, not saying a word, only heavily breathing in their astonishment of somehow still being alive and the occasional swear when she put too much weight on her leg.

Oona was badly burned: There was a large, bright red burn in her knee from when she had fallen into the fire. Black marks streaked across her face, and her breathing sounded identical to a broken record, scratching and sucking in empty breaths.

Harry, surprisingly, ended up as the one better off. The worst of his wounds was a small burn on the back of his neck and another on his shoulder, but the largest one covered his hand, where he had reached out to the apparition of Lily Potter.

They arrived at the Fat Lady portrait: the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, where Harry knew a soft, welcoming bed presided just behind the portrait. Oona must have been thinking of hers as well, for she spoke to the Fat Lady the second that they came within hearing distance.

"Weasleys' Wizards Wheezes," said Oona, but her voice was so hoarse that the Fat Lady stared at her incredulously, and with a heaving cough and a gravelly breath, she croaked out, "We both know that's the right password. Just let us in please."

She continued to stare at them. "What in the devil happened to you two?"

"It doesn't," — Oona dissolved into another fit of coughing — "it doesn't matter."

"Well, I reckon it's quite rude for a student to demand entry when —"

"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes!" Oona shouted, and instantly keeled over from apparent pain. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and with great difficulty, she lifted herself back up.

Looking very unsure and concerned, the Fat Lady swung open her portrait to let them through.

Arms looped together, they limped unceremoniously through the dark portrait hole. Harry could not let her go. Oona was trying her hardest to support him, stumbling into the common room on one leg and wincing with every step, but keeping a straight and unbothered face face. She would not let Harry see her reluctance nor her pain.

Ron, Hermione, and Olivia Monge (for some reason that Harry had no strength to entertain) were all in the common room once they arrived.

"Oona!" shouted both Hermione and Olivia, for she had arrived before Harry.

He stumbled in behind Oona, who was instantly flocked by a frantic Hermione and Olivia. They pulled her into a chair, while Hermione darted up the stairs to find her wand. At Harry's appearance, Ron shot up from his seat.

"Bloody hell, Harry!" Ron cried, lifting Harry's arm over his shoulder and carrying him to a chair. "What the hell happened to you?"

Harry must have been quite the sight: he could see where the lenses of his glasses were spiderwebbed; strands of his hair soaked in sweat and what looked like dried blood; he was limping very obviously, and held a hand up to where there was a large burn on the back of his neck.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," said Harry in a grumbly voice. "Can you turn the fire off?"

"What?"

"The fire."

Harry lifted his weary finger in the direction of the Gryffindor fireplace. It was beginning to heat his burning body, and he did not need to be reminded of that feeling of sinking into flames just now.

Ron, looking incredibly concerned and bewildered, ran over to the fireplace. "Sorry, mate," said Ron genuinely, glancing into the fire. "I dunno how to turn this off."