Well, Mother was right. I fell ill, and it took all of a month. “Vanishing sickness is no joke, and you would do well to remember that,” Madam Pomfrey told me when I woke up. “You’ve already lost a pinky finger!”
“I haven’t had a flare up in years,” I grumbled. She stared at me disapprovingly. She muttered something about first year Gryffindors being arrogant and reckless and went to the potions cabinet to find the Anti-Vanishing Draught.
All of my professors arranged for my work to be sent to me along with a tutor...and who else would be my tutor but Hermione Granger? It seems to me that this year couldn’t be worse, but it continues to grow more and more awful. I suppose it’s a bad year for us all. All the Muggle-borns have been skittish with all the Heir of Slytherin nonsense. I’ve had a lot of different companions in the Hospital Wing the past few months. Potter, for one, after a Quidditch match. Some nasty business with growing bones. Then that poor Potter worshiper I met the first day with his camera. Whatever thing has been after the Muggle-borns got him. I think it’s all terrible, but Alnair has been perfectly nasty about the whole affair, saying it serves them right and that they ought not to be at our school. Maybe it’s better that I’m not in Slytherin. I don’t think I want to be around such a rotten lot who thinks it’s funny to be mean to Muggle-borns. Well. It may not be funny to see Muggle-Borns get Petrified, but I have to say, it was difficult not to laugh when Granger came in looking like a cat. I suppose even she can make mistakes. I didn’t see the Gryffindor recklessness in her before, but I suppose I do now.
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