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The hospital bed shifted, the rustling echoing off the stone walls. From under the duvet Genevieve awoke, forgetting where she was for a moment before it dawned upon her.
She lifted the duvet from over her and grimaced when she caught sight of her arm. It was carefully tucked into a sling Madam Pomfrey must have put on, but the colour of purple and swelling still hadn't gone down. If anything it had gotten worse.
"Sight for sore eyes, that is."
She turned her head in the direction of the voice and saw none other than Toby Whitely sat in a chair by her side.
"You're charming, aren't you?" Gen snorted, pushing herself up and pressing her back against the headboard of her bed.
"Indeed I am," he smiled.
"What brings you to my death bed then, Whitely?" she emphasised, tilting her head to the side.
"Firstly, you're not dying. Secondly-" he looked over at the opposite end of the room. "My mate Bradley thought it was a good idea to duel a seventh year Slytherin for picking on a first year." He stared at Bradley a little too long for them to be just 'mates.'
Genevieve knew Bradley pretty well. They had been paired up for assignments together a couple of times and he was without a doubt the kindest soul she had ever met. She bit the inside of her cheek, wondering what happened to him. Duelling with Slytherins was never a good idea seeing as their aim was to win most the time.
Toby sensed her worry and quickly filled her in, "He only got a few scratches here and there but lost consciousness once he was hit too hard by a stunning spell."
She sighs in relief as he gets up from his chair and tucks his hands in his robe pockets. "Where are you going?" Gen asked.
"I was about to go tell Pomfrey that you're awake, she'll cut my head off if I don't. I'll be right back," he told her before walking to her office.
A few moments later, Madam Pomfrey surely enough came strutting down to the hospital bed holding a few potions with Toby beside her. "You're awake I see, how does your arm feel?"
"Positively painful," Gen replies and gives a tight lip smile to the nurse.
"I figured it would, take these dear and you should be good to go in an hour." Pomfrey says and hands over the three potions she was carrying.
Gen gulped each one down and coughed a little when she finished, the awful taste lingering at the back of her throat. "Doesn't taste like butterbeer, i'll tell you that now," she grimaced.
