Worry 'bout what you got yourself into

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𝕋ℍ𝔼 game was still in full swing, and Ophelia Gaunt was in her element, darting through the air with precision as she defended her teammates from the Bludger that seemed particularly fixated on Harry Potter. Her sharp eyes tracked the rogue ball as it chased him relentlessly, almost as if it had developed a personal vendetta.

"What the—?" she muttered, momentarily distracted by the bizarre behaviour of the enchanted ball. She shook her head, refocusing on the game. Harry, meanwhile, was swerving and ducking, his arm outstretched toward the fluttering golden snitch. The crowd roared as the Bludger struck his arm with a sickening thud, just as his fingers closed around the Snitch. He plummeted to the ground in a graceless heap, clutching the prize.

"Harry Potter has caught the Snitch! Gryffindor wins!" the announcer declared, and the stands erupted with cheers and groans.

Ophelia, hovering in the air, cracked a proud smile. "Well, at least someone's having a dramatic day," she muttered, shaking her head. But her grin faltered as she noticed the Bludger still barrelling toward Harry, who was rolling to dodge it despite his obvious pain.

"Oi, you bloody psychopath of a ball! The game's over!" she yelled, diving after it.

By the time she landed, Hermes, Ron, and Hagrid were already on the field, wands drawn. Hermes waved his wand with a commanding, "Finite Incantatem!" The Bludger exploded into harmless fragments, raining down like harmless confetti.

Ophelia slid off her broom, marching over with a look of both relief and disbelief. "You know, if that thing had any more personality, I'd start calling it Malfoy Jr."

Hermes ignored her as he bent down to Harry, who was groaning on the grass. "Are you okay?" he asked, concern etched on his face.

Harry winced, clutching his arm. "No. I think my arm's broken."

"Not to worry, Harry!" came Lockhart's cheery voice, breaking through the crowd like an unwanted tune that wouldn't leave your head. The man strode forward with his usual pomp, his robes swishing dramatically. "I'll fix that arm of yours straightaway!"

Harry's eyes widened in alarm, his pain momentarily forgotten. "No. Not you," he blurted.

Lockhart laughed dismissively, as though Harry had just made a hilarious joke. "Oh, the boy doesn't know what he's saying," he said with a theatrical chuckle. Before anyone could stop him, he grabbed Harry's arm, rolling up the sleeve with all the flair of someone unveiling a masterpiece.

Ophelia crossed her arms, leaning toward Hagrid. "Place your bets now. Broken arm, no arm, or he turns Harry into a ferret?"

"Quiet, yeh," Hagrid muttered, but even he looked sceptical.

"Now, this won't hurt a bit!" Lockhart declared, raising his wand. "Brackium Emendo!" A bright blue glow surrounded Harry's arm for a brief moment before fading. Lockhart's smile widened, smug and self-satisfied, as he seized Harry's arm to show off his handiwork.

Instead of a fixed arm, however, Harry's limb flopped forward like a boneless jellyfish, drawing gasps and horrified murmurs from the crowd.

Lockhart's grin wavered for only a moment. "Yes, well, that can sometimes happen..." he said, giving the floppy arm a nonchalant wiggle. "But the point is, you can no longer feel any pain! And, very clearly, the bones are not broken."

Ophelia stared at him, dumbfounded, before throwing her hands in the air. "What bones?! There are no bones left!"

Harry's arm flopped backward as if to emphasize her point, the grotesque sight prompting Hermione to cover her mouth and Ron to grimace.

Lockhart, unfazed, gave a nervous chuckle. "Ah, yes. Well, minor setbacks are common in advanced magic."

"Minor setbacks?" Ophelia exclaimed, pointing at Harry's noodle-like arm. "You just turned his bones into pudding! What are you gonna do next, fix his legs by turning them into sausages?" Even Hagrid couldn't stifle a snort, and Ron muttered under his breath, "Wouldn't put it past him." Harry groaned. "Can someone just take me to the hospital wing before he decides to fix something else?"

"Good idea," Ophelia quipped, grabbing her broom. "Before he accidentally turns your head into a pumpkin. Let's go." As they helped Harry off the field, Ophelia couldn't help but glance back at Lockhart, shaking her head. "And to think they call me dramatic."

𓆙

The hospital wing was buzzing with the usual chaos, and amidst it all, Draco Malfoy lay sprawled dramatically on one of the beds, clutching his arm as though it had been torn clean off.

"Oh, the pain!" he groaned loudly, glancing around to see if anyone was paying him the attention he so clearly thought he deserved.

Madam Pomfrey stormed in, her heels clicking against the floor, clutching a bottle with a skeleton embossed on the label. She approached Draco's bed, exasperation written all over her face. "Mr. Malfoy, stop making such a fuss," she snapped, plunking the bottle on the table beside him. "You're perfectly fine. You can go."

Draco blinked, his indignation almost comical. "But my arm—"

"Out!" she ordered, leaving no room for debate. Ophelia, standing near Hermes with her arms crossed, snorted with laughter. "And here I thought you were going for an Oscar," she muttered under her breath, earning a muffled chuckle from Hermes.

Madam Pomfrey wasted no time pivoting toward the Gryffindor group gathered around Harry's bed. "Out of my way, out of my way!" she barked, pushing through the crowd like a woman on a mission. "Should have been brought straight to me," she grumbled as she positioned herself at Harry's side, assessing his floppy, boneless arm with a critical eye.

"I can mend bones in a heartbeat, but growing them back..." she trailed off, shaking her head. Hermes, ever the concerned friend, leaned forward. "You will be able to, won't you?" he asked, his tone hesitant.

Madam Pomfrey gave him a sharp look. "Of course I'll be able to. But it's not going to be pleasant." She pulled out a glass and poured the contents of the ominous bottle into it. The liquid inside bubbled ominously, releasing a pungent, bitter smell into the air.

"You're in for a rough night, Potter," she warned as she handed Harry the glass. "Regrowing bones is a nasty business."

Harry, pale but determined, took the glass, and brought it to his lips. The moment the potion hit his tongue, his face contorted in disgust, and he spat it back out.

"What in Merlin's name is that?!" he exclaimed, his voice hoarse.

Madam Pomfrey raised an unimpressed eyebrow, snatching the glass back from him with a huff. "Well, what did you expect?" she said dryly, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Pumpkin juice?"

Ophelia couldn't hold back her laughter any longer. "Honestly, Harry, you've been through so much, and this is where you draw the line?" She nudged Hermes with her elbow. "The Boy Who Lived, defeated by a nasty-tasting drink. Someone write that down for the history books."

Hermes rolled his eyes, but even he couldn't hide his grin. Harry groaned, resigning himself to his fate, and reached for the glass again, his expression a mix of determination and dread. "Cheers to bravery," Ophelia said, smirking. "And poor taste buds."

𓆙

The castle was eerily quiet under the cloak of night, with only the faint glow of moonlight streaming through the high windows of the corridors. The usual hum of activity that filled Hogwarts during the day had dissipated into a serene stillness, save for the occasional creak of ancient floorboards or the distant hoot of an owl.

Ophelia tiptoed into her dormitory, her wand casting a soft golden glow that barely illuminated the space. She moved toward the small wooden box tucked beneath her bed—a makeshift home she had lovingly crafted for her Niffler, Grim. The creature was a mischievous little ball of fluff, with gleaming black fur and an insatiable love for shiny objects. But tonight, he was quiet.

Ophelia knelt beside the box, her heart softening at the sight before her. Grim lay curled up in his little nest of old scarves and soft fabrics she had gathered over time, his tiny chest rising and falling steadily. One of his paws clutched a silver button he must have pilfered from somewhere, and his long snout was tucked beneath his body.

She smiled, the kind that reached her eyes, and gently adjusted the edge of the blanket she had draped over him. "Always up to no good, aren't you?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her hand hovered over him for a moment before she carefully brushed a stray thread off his fur.

For all his troublemaking, Rigby was her constant companion. She adored the little creature, despite the endless chaos he caused in his quest for shiny treasures. It wasn't just his antics that endeared him to her, though; it was the way he would nuzzle her hand when she was feeling down, or the way he'd bring her trinkets—small, insignificant things that he seemed to think would make her happy.

Ophelia sat back on her heels, watching him sleep. A pang of tenderness welled up in her chest. "You deserve the world, you little thief," she murmured with a soft laugh. She pulled a small golden coin from her pocket—a keepsake she'd found on one of her adventures around the castle—and set it gently beside him.

"Something for your collection," she whispered. She didn't mind giving up her own treasures if it meant Rigby would wake up to a small delight in the morning.

As she rose to her feet, her wand light briefly caught a glint of something in the corner of the box—her prefect badge, half-buried beneath Grim's nest. Ophelia shook her head, a chuckle escaping her lips. "Cheeky little thing. I'll let you keep it for now," she said softly, her voice warm with affection.

She backed away quietly, careful not to disturb his slumber, and returned to her bed. Sliding under the covers, Ophelia couldn't help but glance one more time at the box. Grim shifted slightly in his sleep, letting out a tiny snuffle, and her heart melted all over again.

No matter how chaotic her days might be, knowing that Grim was safe and content brought her a kind of peace she couldn't quite explain. "Goodnight, Grim," she whispered, her voice filled with gentle fondness. Moments later, the room settled back into its tranquil silence, with Ophelia drifting off to sleep, her thoughts full of gratitude for her tiny, mischievous companion.

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By: SilverMist707

I hope you all have a wonderful night and have great dreams <3