Ron-Weasly book 2. part 8

"Is that you? Please leave," Harry whispered.

"What is he?" Lockhart was surprised and looked at the Gryffindors gathered around. "Don't worry. I'll fix him up now."

"No need!" Harry objected. "It's better that way."...

Harry tried to sit up, but couldn't. Suddenly, the camera clicked.

"Why take pictures of me like this, Colin?" Harry protested.

"Stay down, stay down," Lockhart advised solicitously. "I'm going to cast a spell. Don't worry, it's not my first time."

"I'd better go to the hospital," Harry whispered through gritted teeth.

"It's true, Professor," Wood remarked and smiled proudly: his hunter was injured, but victory was theirs. "You got him pretty good, Harry. Nicely."

Fred and George are wrestling with a half-witted bludger nearby, stuffing it into a box, and it furiously resists.

"Stand back," said Lockhart, rolling up his green sleeves.

"Maybe you shouldn't..." gasped Harry.

But you can't stop Lockhart! He twirled his wand and pointed it directly at his broken arm. The plague! Can he even perform one spell correctly? I stared gloomily at Harry's hand, which looked like an inflated rubber glove.

Someone in the crowd screamed, and Colin Creevey snapped his camera at the speed of a machine-gun burst. We need to explain to Colin when it's okay to shoot and when it's not worth it.

"M-m. Well, never mind," Lockhart did not lose his presence of mind, "it happens. But there is no more fracture! And that's the main thing. Can you hobble to the hospital wing? Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, show him out, please, and Madam Pomfrey will, uh, put him in proper order."

They helped each other to his feet. There was something like an inflated leather-colored rubber glove peeking out of his sleeve. At least Harry didn't feel any pain.

Madam Pomfrey, after examining Harry, was furious.

"You should have come to me right away." She felt the soft, boneless hand. "It doesn't cost anything to heal bones, but to grow new ones...."

"But surely you can do it?" the friend asked hopefully.

"Of course. I'm just warning you: it's going to hurt." Madam Pomfrey tossed Harry a pair of pajamas with a worried look. "We'll have to spend the night here, young man..."

Hermione was waiting behind the screen, and I was helping Harry put on his pajamas: the boneless hand didn't want to get into the sleeve.

"Are you going to defend Lockhart now?" I chided Hermione, finally pushing Harry's wobbly fingers through the cuff. "Harry hadn't asked for the dice to be removed from his hand."

"Who is not mistaken?" Hermione objected. "But my arm stopped hurting. Isn't that right, Harry?"

"Truth. Only now it's not a hand at all." Harry jumped onto the bed, and his poor arm wobbled helplessly.

Hermione and Madam Pomfrey came out from behind the screen. The doctor was holding a bottle with the label "Kosterost" in her hands.

"You have a long night ahead of you", She said, filled a glass and handed it to Harry. Steam was pouring out of the glass. "Growing bones is not a pleasant occupation."

Harry coughed as he took his first sip. Madam Pomfrey left, grumbling about dangerous sports and incompetent teachers. Hermione and I stayed with Harry, serving him water to wash down the potion.

"After all, we won." I broke into a smile. "Nice way you grabbed that snitch! You should have seen Malfoy... he was ready to tear you apart."

"I wish I knew how he enchanted that ball," Hermione frowned.

"Let's make a Polyjuice potion and ask at the same time." Harry rested his head on the pillow. "As long as it wasn't as nasty as this stuff...."

"Look what you want! It's with Slytherin hair!" I grimaced, trying to distract my friend from the unpleasant sensations. I've heard of this potion. The feeling of growing bones is just terrible.

The door to the ward burst open, and the entire Gryffindor team came in, dirty and soaked to the skin.

"Well, Harry! Well, aerobatics!" George was delighted. "You should have heard Flint yelling at Malfoy right now.: The Snitch was right next to his ear, but he missed it. The poor guy turned completely sour."

They brought sweets, cakes, and pumpkin juice, gathered around Harry, and had just begun to help themselves when the formidable Madam Pomfrey entered the room.

"What is this?" She got angry. "The patient needs rest. He's got twenty-seven bones to grow! Get out! Get out! Everyone out!"