"What the bloody hell, Pom-Pom! Will you please let us pass?!" Gemini exclaimed in terseness, her frustration mounting with each second. The day following yet another harrowing encounter—they had narrowly escaped the clutches of a monstrous creature in the depths of the Forbidden Forest—the remaining members of The Gryffindor Quartet were determined to visit their dear friend Hermione Granger. The ordeal had left an unsettling weight upon their shoulders, and they were desperate for a semblance of normalcy amidst the turmoil that engulfed them. However, this quest for comfort would prove to be utterly futile if Madam Pomfrey steadfastly refused to budge from her position in the entranceway, blocking their path.
Folding her arms, with an expression that blended concern and exasperation, Madam Pomfrey replied, "Miss. Lupin-Black, while your frustration is certainly understandable, I must remind you that using crass language is entirely unwarranted. As for your precious friend, Miss. Granger... there's little point in speaking to someone who is petrified. She can't hear a single word you're saying."
Enough was enough. Fueled by a surge of anger and desperation, Gemini shot back defiantly, "Listen here, woman. I nearly met my end last night, and I have an overwhelming desire to see my best friend right this moment. I bloody well know that the sound of my voice isn't going to thaw her out, but I couldn't care less! She's my friend, and I have a right to be at her side!" At her passionate outburst, Madam Pomfrey's gaze turned piercing, catching the flustered girl squarely in her sights. Before the healer had a chance to delve into interrogations about possible necrotic ailments afflicting Gemini, Ron stepped in with an anxious expression.
"We're aware of all that, Madam Pomfrey," he interjected hastily, fidgeting as he glanced back at Hermione's still body. "It's just... well, we thought maybe, we could... you know, be with her for just a bit. She's our friend! Even if she can't hear us, what could it possibly hurt?" With an appeal that tugged at the strings of the elder woman's heart, Ron shifted uncomfortably, pouring sincerity into his words. The glint of sympathy blinked alight in Pomfrey's eyes, and finally she relented, her tone softening.
"Very well, then. But be quick about it. And Miss. Lupin-Black, don't presume I've forgotten your choice of words." With a final admonishing stare directed toward the fiery-haired girl, the MedWitch briskly exited into the inner recesses of her office, leaving the trio framed in the light of hope for a fleeting moment.
"Good recovery, Gem. Now what's your plan?" Ron asked, anxiety creeping into his voice. He was daunted by the possibility of their clandestine actions becoming public knowledge.
"Relax, Ron. I'll just tell them some prank went horribly awry," she soothed, moving towards Hermione's bedside, an uncomfortable knot forming in her stomach. "But honestly, it's just so surreal seeing her like this. I need to know what's happening. I have to understand what could have caused this state."
While she contemplated this grim reality, Ron's eyes wandered over to the small circular mirror resting on the bedside table, the remnants of Lockhart's insipid card (scrawled with glittering, cliché platitudes) lying nearby. He picked up the mirror, eyes narrowed as he turned it over and examined its polished surface. "We all wish we knew what was going on, Gem. But maybe—just maybe—Lockhart could be the Heir of Slytherin. What do you think?" The implications of Ron's suggestion hung in the air, heavy and uncomfortable. Harry and Gemini exchanged disbelieving glances; the notion was ludicrous and patently absurd.
Seeing the incredulous expressions on their faces, Ron stumbled to clarify, "Right. Forget I said that." In a bid to ease the tension, Harry turned his attention back to the stone-faced Hermione, his brow furrowed in thought. "Wish you were here, Hermione. We really need you now more than ever," he muttered somberly, his voice barely a whisper above the sterile silence of the ward.
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SABAISM | H. POTTER
FanfictionSABAISM (noun) : The worship of stars. For centuries, people have looked up to the stars and became instantaneously bewitched due to the pinpricks of light. Such an enigma they are, burning bright in the darkest of atmospheres. Never snuffed by the...
