The Stag and The Harpy | James Potter

Trust your gut

Phoebe decided not to spend the whole night worrying. She did some assignments, studied, even played cards with Lily. The girls liked to gossip late into the evenings, but one by one they all fell asleep. Even Phoebe. Her sleep wasn't dreamless however. It was full of images of Phoebe sprinting in darkness, running away from a group of men in masks and hoods. Every time she made it five feet, they grew faster and closer until they—-

"PHOEBE!!!"

The Veela jolts awake, shivering in the cold. She'd tossed her blanket off of her while dreaming, but the real reason she woke was the calling of her name.

"Phoebe!!"

She hears the muffled cry again. Her heart sinks as she quickly throws on a jumper and slides into some slippers. She hurries to the door, and throws it open, seeing Peter standing at the bottom of the girl's staircase.

He's panting and sweaty and has a cut between his eyes.

"Dumbledore asked for you. James has been hurt," He finally gasps out, rearing back in surprise as she rushes down the stairs and takes off out through the portrait hole without saying a word. Peter runs after her, struggling desperately, but finally catching up. She nearly trips down the first staircase, but Peter steadies her with a hand. Phoebe shoots him a grateful smile and continues on, rushing down the steps.

It takes far too long to get from the common room to the hospital wing and she's frustrated and scared, but Phoebe composes herself before she and Peter walk through the door. She sees Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore, and Mcgonagall all standing in the middle of the room.

Phoebe feel sick to her stomach as loud cries of pain reach her ears, but she continues on to the adults before facing the boy she knows it hurt. Dumbledore smiles as Peter and Phoebe approach, saying warmly,

"Mr. Pettigrew, thank you for fetching Miss. Griffin. I suggest you go get some rest."

Peter glances at Phoebe. She feels a strong surge of affection for the mousy boy and nods once to signal that she's fine. He smiles tiredly and pats her arm before turning and leaving once more. Phoebe turns back to the old wizard, meeting his blue eyes nervously.

"Miss. Griffin, It's come to my attention that you are rather close to these gentlemen and are aware of Mr. Lupin's affliction?"

Phoebe nods quickly at his words, blurting out, "Can someone please tell me what has happened?!"

McGonagall glances at Dumbledore before saying gently, "It seems that the boys were trying to keep Mr. Lupin away from a student wandering the grounds. In the process, Mr. Potter was injured."

Phoebe swallows past the lump in her throat and nods, feeling heat prickle at the back of her eyes. Dumbledore notices the girl tapping rhythmically on her legs and says,

"Ah, the cello."

Phoebe looks at him, exhaling sharply in shock.

"You're mother chose wisely. An instrument that keeps both of your hands busy. Tell me, have you produced fire yet?"

Phoebe frowns slightly and whispers, "No, Sir. I-I don't think I can. Why am I here?"

Dumbledore smiles, a glint in his eye as he says, "Besides the affection you have for Mr. Potter, we believe that you'll be of great assistance to madam pomfrey."

Phoebe glances at the healer. Dumbledore continues, "Mr Potter's broken several bones and Madam Pomfrey has given him every potion he may have. I think you're presence and your...aura may be of comfort to the boy."

"I—I don't know how..." Phoebe trails off, another loud yell drawing her eyes to the curtain on her left. She quickly walks over and slides it open, sick at the scene that greets her. James is squirming, writhing, in the small bed. A sheen of sweat covers his bare chest as he groans between clenched teeth, eyes clamped shut.

Phoebe grips the edge of the bed and turns to Madam Pomfrey asking quietly, "Skelegrow?"

The healer nods and says sadly, "He's in for a rough couple of hours."

Phoebe turns back to James and slowly walks to the metal chair, taking a seat close to the edge of his bed. She gently touches James' arm, flinching back when he yelps in pain.

Phoebe turns to Dumbledore and says tearfully, "Professor I can't."

"You can, Miss. Griffin. Trust your gut," He encourages mysteriously. She looks at him with wide eyes, nearly asking if he knew that she'd suspected something bad would happen tonight. She hadn't trusted her gut earlier, but she could now. Phoebe swallows down the bile rising in her throat at the terrible sounds James is making, again reaching out to touch him. She gently grasps his hand, holding on even as his body bucks at the contact. She takes a deep breath and thinks of the way her grandma and mother taught her to exude her charm and use her magic, projecting the same soothing feeling.

"James," She says softly, barely aware of her now dreamy sounding voice. Phoebe exhales slowly, feeling a strange tingling in her palms. It was working. The boy's jerking lessened, his breathing slowing as she ran her cool palm up the side of his arm, barely touching his hot skin. She watched in awe as he visibly relaxed, his jaw releasing and his eyes fluttering slightly. The boys lips turn up from the painful frown they were in. He was sleeping, finally comfortable.

Phoebe looks away from him to Dumbledore and asks confusedly, "H-how?"

"We'll discuss it at a later date. If you feel up to it, please continue to look after the boy. I'm afraid you too are in for a long night."