Bloody hell! Hermione and a girl from Ravenclaw have been Petrified! I feel terrible. Poor Hermione. She might be an intolerable know-it-all, but she didn’t deserve this. They found her with a mirror in her hand, which no one seems to find odd. Hermione is not the vain type, I would think it more likely to find her with a book in her hand.
We’re under lockdown, now, and Dumbledore is gone, although being stuck in the Hospital Wing makes it incredibly difficult to hear any news. Madam Pomfrey prohibits anything that she thinks may upset her patients or their conditions, and apparently that includes gossip. I didn’t even hear about Potter’s Parseltongue outburst for weeks. I never thought I’d say this, but I can’t wait to join the other Gryffindors once more and leave this hospital bed.
Which should hopefully be soon. Madam Pomfrey says that once I go a full week without losing a finger or limb I can leave, and it’s been four days since my last toe vanished.
Yesterday Alnair visited me. He looked more smug than usual. “I see Granger finally got her turn, then,” he said, gesturing toward her still body on the bed. “I told you not to worry about her, didn’t I?”
“You’re rotten,” I said. “No one deserves this to have this happen to them.”
He frowned. “Cressida, I was only joking.” “No you weren’t,” I said. “What difference does it make, Pureblood or Muggle-born?” “You’ve let your mates from Gryffindor change you,” he spat. “What would Mum and Dad say?”
And I don’t know what they would say. But I think the Sorting Hat was right: I do see things in black and white.
Comments
Post a Comment