Oh Mr Malfoy, stop making such a fuss! You can go!" Madame Pomfrey scolded, as she swept past the bed on which the young Slytherin was performing his amateur dramatics, pushing through the crowd of Gryffindor students to get to Harry's own bed. "Out of my way! Out of my way! He should've been brought straight to me. I can mend bones in a heartbeat, but growing them back…"
Harry sighed.
Perhaps it would've been better if Snape hadn't let him play Quidditch today. Things had gone from bad to worse – not only had he discovered Malfoy was Slytherin's new seeker, but he'd been assaulted by a rogue bludger and broken his arm. If that wasn't enough, Lockhart had waded in and somehow, he'd been left with no bones in the arm at all.
"You will be able to, won't you?" Hermione asked with concern.
"Oh I'll be able to, certainly," the mediwitch nodded, opening the nasty-looking bottle she held in her hand and pouring out a vial of liquid before handing it to Harry. "You're in for a rough night, Potter. Regrowing bones is a nasty business."
Harry took a sip of the liquid, and promptly spat it all over his onlookers.
"Well what do you expect? Pumpkin juice!?" Pomfrey cried, shaking her head and stomping back off in the direction of her desk, by the entrance to the infirmary.
"Rotten luck mate," Ron said, giving him a sympathetic grimace as the other students started to disperse, talking amongst themselves about the happenings of the Quidditch match.
"Do you want us to bring you anything?" Hermione asked.
"Like what? A new arm?" Ron snorted.