The Theory of Magic (Book 1)

28 // Guilt & Mother's Love

Fi woke with a head full of unhappy Thunderbirds.

A low groan left her as she wondered just what in the world she'd done the night before to feel so utterly woebegone. Chugged a bottle of Firewhisky? Eaten a bag of poisoned flobberworms? As she tried to move about and open her eyes, the aching in her head became more insistent, and the pain heightened, evolved from a throbbing to a sharp, keening agony that did not come from a bit of over-imbibing or a bad dinner. Something was wrong.

Soon, her last memories returned to Fi, and though she damn well wished they hadn't, Fi wrenched her eyes open.

She was in the hospital wing. She knew that and felt grateful for it, because Fi did not want to end up at St. Mungo's, not where they could maybe poke around a bit in her head and discover some of her...abnormalities. Every inch of her felt stiff as a board and just as itchy from laying there in that bed, and Fi wrinkled her nose. "P—." Her breath caught, and she licked her lips, trying again. "Poppy?"

It took a moment, but Madam Pomfrey came hurrying into view. "Oh, you're awake. Thank goodness."

Fi tried to sit up, even if just a little, and grunted at the pain. "The children, Poppy. Potter, Weasley, Granger—?"

"All well and accounted for, don't you worry, Delphinia."

The curious sensation of utter relief hit Fi and she deflated, dizzy. She had fallen unconscious listening to their screams. "Thank merciful Morgana. What about that bastard Quirrell?"

"Dead."

"Good."

That said, Fi began to poke at herself, at her wrapped middle and bound arm, at her sore jaw and head, until Poppy smacked her hand away with a glower. "That is quite enough, Professor Dullahan. You should rest."

"Actually, Poppy, I could really use something for the pain." Truly Fi had never felt so wretched, and she had literally been trampled by a hippogriff once. That was one of Ever's favorite "Fi can be a bumbling moron" stories.

"I—." Pomfrey took a steadying breath. "Can you recall what happened?"

"Most of it, yes."

"Your stomach was injured, and a few of your other internal organs. I've set it to rights with the, ah, rest of it, and you've lost a kidney—."

"Cursed, I assume? Can't regrow it?"

Poppy nodded. "We've not been able to give you anything more substantial than water for the past three days, and once you're properly healed, you will have to follow a very strict diet plan. I've been reapplying compressions topically for pain relief. It's all I can do for now." She looked regretful at that admission.

Fi made a series of faces because, frankly, her face was the only thing not trying to do her in and she had to have some outlet for her frustration besides resurrecting Quirrell and killing him herself. Maybe a few times. She could get creative, write a few friends who dabbled in things that would curl both of Quirrell's faces right off his bones. Fi sighed. "Thank you, Poppy."

"You've some visitors, if you're up for it."

"Alright."

Fi didn't know who to expect, maybe Dumbledore and Aurors with their pesky questions—but she was surprised to see bright-eyed little Gryffindors rushing past the curtain, almost bowling Poppy over in their haste. Granger, Weasley, and Potter all looked down on her expectantly, relieved and excited. Fi was touched.

"Professor Dullahan! You're awake!"

"That I am." She reached out with her good arm and cupped Hermione's cheek, the child nearest her. "You've a bit of a bruise there. Nothing serious, I hope."