Ariadne's Thread ⭒ h. potter

Street Fighter

"When will he wake up?" Ariadne found herself asking, though her voice was rough and nearly soundless. She cleared her throat before asking again.

"Soon, dear," Madam Pomfrey answered, observing the pair's joined hands with sympathy. "It's hard to say in these situations. But rest assured, he will wake up."

Ariadne nodded, eyes prickling with tears. She looked up at Ron and Hermione, who were looking down at their hands and pushing back Harry's hair respectively.

"His broom," Ron said miserably. "He'll be gutted."

Hermione began to cry harder. "How can you think about the broom right now? It could have been Harry!"

"I saw something," Ariadne said suddenly. She needed to be distracted. "In the stands. I know Harry did too. It was an animal of some sort– a dog, I think–"

Hermione sighed as Ron gasped, though she allowed him to speak as she adjusted Harry's blankets. "The Grim, you mean? Blimey, it's got you, too? Well, Hermione, Harry's seen the Grim and nearly fallen to his death. Now do you believe?"

"Please, Ron," Hermione said, exasperated. "I can't do this now. Harry almost died! Who cares about Divination?"

"Who cares?" Ron asked indignantly, brows furrowing in anger. "Who cares? We should! Can't you see–"

"Oi, leave Hermione alone," Fred yelled as he entered the room. Behind him trailed the entirety of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, pale and shaking as they steeled their nerves to visit their Seeker.

Ron rolled his eyes at his older brother's command but obliged, snapping his mouth shut and crossing his arms as he sunk back down in his seat.

"There's the street fighter!" George attempted a smile, but it was stiff. Ariadne cringed at the reminder.

"I should apolo–" Ariane began, but Fred cut her off.

"No need. Besides, Oliver's not here. Too busy trying to drown himself in the shower, I think."

"You mean you lost?" asked Hermione.

"Yes," answered a trembling Alicia Spinnet. "Diggory caught the snitch. He didn't realize– it was before– he didn't see."

"And his broom?" Ariadne looked at the team, each of whom kept their head down. She had to ask, knew how much Harry's broom meant to him, but no response was answer enough.

"Flitwick's gone to get it," said Angelina Johnson finally. "But there's no chance. It hit the Willow, you see."

Ariadne reached forward and brushed back Harry's hair, offering a silent comfort for the news that he did not yet know. Ron was right– Harry'll be gutted.

Madam Pomfrey walked over, expression stern and hands on her hips. The group quieted immediately upon her arrival. "He'll be waking up within the hour," she said, voice the equivalent of a finger wag. "Keep it down, please."

"He'll be so disappointed," Hermione murmured. "He'll think he's let the team down."

"Can't hurt to have Ariadne Black to wake up to," a fourth-year substitute whispered. "I personally would not mind losing my broom then, at least." George knocked him on the back of the head.

"I won't be here," Ariadne said quietly, dropping Harry's hand and moving to stand. "I should go."

"You can't!" Hermione whisper-yelled, eyes wide as she watched Ariadne. "He'll want you here. He'll want to see you!"

"He won't," Ariadne smiled sadly. "It's okay." She smoothed his hair back one more time, fingers tracing the raised bolt on his forehead. "Let me know how he's doing, alright?"

Ariadne waited until Hermione nodded before pushing past the confused Gryffindor team and heading back to her room. She collapsed into her bed, feeling utterly drained, before finally allowing herself fall asleep to the lost memory of mad laughter and heavy breathing.