When Wyzett finally came to, he found himself lying in the Hospital Wing.
Unlike the hospitals of his previous life, there was no sharp tang of disinfectant here—only the peculiar blend of herbal scents, with a lingering hint of lavender brushing his nose.
Sunlight streamed through the windows, painting the bedsheets in a warm, golden glow. The light was so bright and gentle, he almost forgot where he was.
Bright sunlight…
The Hospital Wing?
He remembered fainting just as the sun was setting. Now, judging by the afternoon light, he must have been here nearly a full day.
Professor Quirrell's class…
Wyzett tried to sit up, but a gentle, invisible force held him down. A dull ache circled his forehead—just like those nights back in his old world, when he'd stayed up for days cramming for exams.
"Awake at last, are you, child?" A kindly, timeworn face appeared above him.
It was Madam Pomfrey. She helped him sit up and offered a measuring cup shimmering with silvery mist. "Still have a headache? Drink this!"
Wyzett pressed his hand to his forehead. Sitting up only made the pain sharper.
He nodded, managing a strained, "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."
"Imagine—ending up here from sheer mental exhaustion…" Madam Pomfrey muttered, half to herself. "I expect this from fifth- or seventh-years, but you're just a first-year! As a Ravenclaw, are you putting too much pressure on yourself? You've got seven years here, you know—no need to rush."
"We met before, didn't we? I told you then, no Baruffio's Brain Elixir—you haven't been using it, have you? Don't you dare get dependent, young man!"
"Of course not," Wyzett said, a little helpless, bringing the cup to his lips. "I'll be careful… This was just an accident…"
The potion had no real taste—just a thick, porridge-like texture. Then a burst of lavender filled his mouth, and tiny granules slid down his throat.
"All right, lie back and rest!" Madam Pomfrey insisted.
The potion worked fast. Within seconds, the pain began to ease. Sleepiness swept over him, and he drifted off once again…
When he awoke, the sunlight was just as bright as before.
A quick calculation told him it had probably been two days. He'd missed both Professor Quirrell's and Professor Snape's classes.
That thought left a sour taste in his mouth. He was worried about Professor Quirrell's condition—and hated missing any lesson, especially from those two.
His dormmates were the first to visit, peppering Madam Pomfrey with questions about whether fighting the troll had left him with lasting injuries. At first, she answered patiently, but soon grew exasperated and shooed them out with a stern, "The patient needs rest!"
Next came Penelope and the Quidditch team. Having learned from the others' fate, they barely got a few words in before being ushered out as well.
Harry and his friends came too, but under Madam Pomfrey's formidable glare, they kept their voices low and limited themselves to three quick sentences.
Ron said, "George and Fred told me you got knocked on the head by the troll—so that's why you've got headaches, yeah?"
Wyzett rubbed his temples, finally understanding why his dormmates had been so anxious and persistent.
Hermione, cheeks flushed, murmured, "Thank you for speaking up for me… If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have become friends with Ron and Harry."
Harry was about to say something, but Madam Pomfrey cut him off. "That's enough. Time to go!"
"But I haven't even said anything—" Harry began.
Madam Pomfrey arched an eyebrow. "The patient needs rest. You just spoke—three sentences, all together!"
With a resigned "Ah!" from Harry, the three were promptly ushered out.
Wyzett managed a simple meal—pumpkin oat porridge and stew. On the table were a few oil-paper parcels: sweets, cakes, biscuits, and dried meats. There was also a silver vessel emitting a soft, white mist—the unmistakable scent of lavender.
Madam Pomfrey explained, "The snacks are from those Hufflepuff first-years. Seems you're quite popular! The silver thing was brought by Professor Quirrell—he asked me to light it, said it helps with headaches."
"Professor Snape checked it over, then added some lavender oil before he'd let me light it."
No sooner had she mentioned Snape than he appeared, gliding silently into the ward with another cup of silvery potion—the same one Wyzett had drunk before. Wyzett noticed something odd about his gait, but didn't have a chance to look closer.
Before leaving, Snape shot him a quick glance, curled his lips in what might have been a smirk, and slipped away.
Wyzett reached for his notebook, deep in thought.
"Can't you rest for a bit?" Madam Pomfrey said, more exasperated than stern. "You're more dedicated than most Ravenclaws I've ever seen."
"Sorry, Madam Pomfrey. I just want to jot down this potion's recipe…" Wyzett took a cautious sip.
"This scent is definitely lavender, but I can't tell if it's tincture or oil… one more taste!"
"It must be tincture—the alcohol evaporates during brewing… The gritty bits are moonstone powder!"
"And this thick texture? Probably moondew honey with wormwood infusion—there's a hint of sweetness…"
Following the techniques Snape had taught him, he tried to deduce the potion's ingredients.
As the potion dwindled, his eyelids grew heavier. He forced himself to finish the last line of notes before sleep finally claimed him.
Madam Pomfrey watched, her heart aching for the boy.
After locking up the Hospital Wing for the night, she marched straight to Snape's office.
The moment he saw her, Snape frowned. "There's nothing wrong with the potion. Impossible."
"Are you putting too much pressure on that child?" Madam Pomfrey demanded. "The moment you left, he started scribbling notes."
"Notes?" Snape looked genuinely puzzled. "About what? And why come to me?"
Arms crossed, Madam Pomfrey pressed on. "He was tasting the potion and deducing its recipe. Was that your homework?"
"Deducing the recipe?" Snape's eyelid twitched. "So what if it was? That's what students are supposed to do!"
"But he's a patient!" Madam Pomfrey insisted, her usual gentleness replaced by fierce protectiveness.
Snape replied coolly, "Then I'll just keep brewing potions… until he's fully recovered."
Once Madam Pomfrey had left, Snape muttered under his breath, shaking his head with a rare, wry smile. "That boy…"
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