"... You mean, Potter is just asleep?"
In the hospital wing, Professor McGonagall's face was tense. Her gaze lingered for a long time on the boy lying on the bed with his eyes tightly shut and a seeming smile on his face. Finally, she turned to look at Ms. Pomfrey standing by the bed and asked.
"Yes, at least it seems like that for now."
Ms. Pomfrey frowned, seemingly not accustomed to so many people suddenly crowding into her hospital wing—
So many people?
William looked around... Hmm, indeed, it was almost as crowded as the market at five or six in the morning.
This year's Hogwarts Quidditch final had already ended, and Quidditch did not have rules that prevented starting if one team was missing a player. Gryffindor, having lost their Seeker, could only temporarily pull in a substitute—
And the outcome was just as Cedric said. Cho Chang, Ravenclaw's Seeker, smoothly caught the Golden Snitch before Gryffindor's other players could widen the score gap to 160 points, thus securing Ravenclaw's Quidditch Cup victory for the year.
After the match, nearly everyone connected to Harry Potter gathered in the hospital wing—Ginny following Hermione, Luna following Ginny, Kabuda staying in Luna's pocket, William following Kabuda, Cedric and William together, Cho Chang accompanying Cedric, trailed by a golden retriever...
Everyone had a "legitimate" reason, leaving Madam Pomfrey, who wanted to drive people out, at a loss for what to do.
Moreover, there were quite a few professors in the room, even Dumbledore quietly stood against the wall, his lips moving, seemingly talking with the somber-faced Snape beside him.
With the headmaster present, even the usually audacious Weasley Twins didn't dare to make too much noise. The Gryffindor team surrounded Harry's bed, looking at him as if he were in a sweet dream, with varied expressions across their faces—
Yet the most peculiar was surely Oliver Wood, his bloodshot eyes giving him a somewhat intimidating appearance. Just two and a half hours prior, Gryffindor had lost the Quidditch Cup, yet their highly anticipated Seeker lay here, sleeping deeply?
If George hadn't held him back, Wood would've wanted to devour the boy on the bed whole.
Similarly, Professor Meow was also holding back her temper, her eyes glaring as she looked at Ms. Pomfrey, who was preparing a healing potion, and asked, "But, Poppy, I don't understand..."
"Simply put, Minerva, apart from the fact that his body is still soft, Potter has no difference from those other petrified people." Ms. Pomfrey shook her head, as she poured the potion from her hand into a bottle and continued to explain, "I've tried to wake him up, tried many methods, but none have any effect—"
As she spoke, Ms. Pomfrey carried the potion to the other side of the room, "Though I'd like to continue explaining, I need to apply medicine to Professor Lockhart first." With that, she drew open the white curtains, and with a fleeting glance, almost everyone saw the gray mummy lying on the bed.
"Does the wound still hurt today, Professor Lockhart?" The curtain was drawn, and Madam Pomfrey placed the potion aside.
"Still, still okay." The man's voice was a bit muffled.
"It's fine, it'll start hurting soon..."
"?"
"Ahem, I mean, the good news is, probably after another week of treatment, you'll be able to walk."
"Ow—"
Great, that scream wasn't muffled at all, and it even sounded rather robust.
The scream interrupted the buzzing and conversations in the room. When Madam Pomfrey lifted the curtain and came out, there were fewer people in the hospital now. Seeing the elder in the purple robe standing by Harry's bed, she roughly knew the reason—
"Poppy, what is your diagnosis?" Dumbledore withdrew his hand from Harry's forehead.
"..."
Madam Pomfrey didn't immediately answer; she first placed her tools back on the shelf, then returned to Harry's bedside. "The serpent..." She had just begun to speak but paused, looking around at the remaining little wizards, and the woman changed her phrasing—
"The creature in the Secret Chamber normally shouldn't cause this effect, but I can't guarantee that the creature Slytherin kept would be the same as regular creatures. If it still has the ability to act and considering the 'torment' it experienced in the castle, perhaps its gaze could cause such an outcome—"
After speaking, Madam Pomfrey shook her head again, "No, unfortunately, I can't be certain. Cases of such creatures causing harm aren't well-documented; most of the victims usually die outright—" She looked down at Harry, "Perhaps the Mandrake Potion might be effective..."
"The morning before last, Professor Sprout told me it would take about two and a half more months for that batch of mandrakes to mature—"
Not having been swept out in the recent "eviction," William stepped forward a couple of steps. Like Dumbledore earlier, he reached out and touched Harry's forehead, his eyes glinting with a pale blue light, "... And I can confirm that the Mandela Resurrection Potion won't have much effect on Potter's current condition... Oh, maybe it might give him a wet dream?"
"You are..."
Madam Pomfrey wasn't pleased with someone interrupting her. She glared, as if wanting to ask where William got those "diagnostic results."
"Hold on, Poppy..."
But Dumbledore was the first to speak, cutting her off. The elder turned to look at William, blue eyes behind his glasses twinkling with interest, "William, what did you notice?" The elderly man's voice held a trace of hope, making the remaining people in the room involuntarily look at William.