“I didn’t see what happened,” I confessed for the fifth time to the nurse. “I heard screaming so I went to investigate and I found this—Him. It seems he was hit by a Furnunculus spell,” I informed gesturing at the first year lying on one of the beds in the hospital wings. The boils on his forehead and cheeks pulsed nastily. Aware that I was being watched I pressed my lips firmly together instead of gagging into my hand as I wish I could.

Clearly, no amount of innocent blue eyes and friendly smiles was going to convince the nurse otherwise. I consider myself a lady of patience but this was asking for too much. “I have a potions essay to finish,” I chirped and bowed my head slightly.

I moved away from the Hospital Wing and down the corridor with light steps. Despite having not spoken the entire truth to that bothersome nurse, I feel guiltless. After all, I was only looking out for my own. It’s not like I could turn my back on a fellow Slytherin. I flicked my hair over a shoulder. Yes, my shoulders were light, free of guilt; light as a feather even.