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Thalia had grown adept at crafting little white lies to keep her friends from questioning her weekend absences. Over the past few weeks she had been telling her Grandfather that she was attending Saturday study session in the library, whilst on Sunday she had been telling her friends she had been holed up in the common room study. This appeared to appease both sides and kept curiosity at bay. Her studious reputation worked in her favor; no one had thought to question her motives.
However, this weekend presented a new challenge. Her grandfather had flatly denied her request to attend her usual Saturday session, citing the arrival of important guests. He had made it clear he didn’t want her disturbing their meeting by “traipsing in and out all day.” His tone had been sharp, leaving no room for argument.
So, Thalia had woken early that morning, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she composed a quick note to her friends. With a sense of practiced guilt, she had tied the message to her grandfather's hawk owl and sent it on its way. In the note, she had claimed to be bedridden with a terrible head cold that had kept her up all night. It wasn’t her most inspiring lie, but it was enough to explain why she wouldn’t be joining them for their trip to Hogsmeade that day.
The twins, in particular, had been buzzing with excitement all week about visiting the Hog's Head. While Thalia struggled to understand their fascination with such a dingy, questionable establishment, their enthusiasm was contagious. George had spent a solid ten minutes the night before trying to convince her to join them, offering various remedies for what he thought was her aversion to the crowded pub.
“C’mon, Lia,” he had said, slinging an arm over her shoulders. “You’ve gotta experience the charm of the place. It’s...uh, rustic! Yeah, rustic.”
“Rustic?” Fred had interjected with a bark of laughter. “More like rickety. But that’s half the fun!”
Thalia had laughed along with them, but the seed of guilt had already been planted in her chest. Now, as she sat in the dim light of her grandfather’s parlor, the muffled sounds of conversation from his study drifting through the walls, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of her deceit.
Would they believe her excuse? She knew the girls might worry, but Fred and George were more likely to show up to the Hufflepuff Common Room with a dozen dubious potions or charm-infused tissues in hand to “cure” her supposed ailment. How would she explain her absence then?
She sighed, leaning her head against the cool glass of the window. Outside, the frost-covered landscape sparkled in the weak winter sunlight. She could almost imagine her friends laughing and joking as they made their way to Hogsmeade, their breath visible in the cold air, the promise of butterbeer and mischief warming their spirits.
~.~.~
On Monday morning, it appeared that Merlin himself had heard her little white lie and saw it pertinent to exact his revenge, punishing her with a particularly vile cold. Her head pounded, her body ached and along with the waterfall-like runny nose she had a hacking cough to match.
By the time she had managed to drag herself to the Great Hall, she was feeling utterly defeated. Her usually neat hair was a chaotic mess of curls, her nose was red and raw, her eyes were watery and had deep dark circles forming underneath. Slumping into a seat beside Fred and Lee she dropped her bag onto the floor with a loud thud before letting her head hit the table with a loud groan.
The reaction from her friends was startled and immediate.
“Holy Circe’s dry right elbow, Lia!” Lee exclaimed, leaning away from her as if her misery were contagious. “We thought you had skived off on Saturday, we didn’t realise you were on your literal death bed!” He edged further down the bench, his expression a mixture of mock fear and genuine concern.
“Egh” Thalia groaned, her voice muffled by her sleeve as she buried her face further into her folded arms, trying to block out the incessant noises of the Great Hall. The clattering of cutlery and plates and the excitable chatter of the surrounding students all exacerbated the pounding in her head.
“Have you been to see Madame Pomfrey?” George asked, his brow furrowed as he studied her huddled form. His voice was softer than usual, worry evident in his tone.
Thalia lifted her head just enough to glare at him, though it lacked its usual spark and mocking grin. “There’s been an outbreak of Black Cat Flu,” she wheezed. Her voice sounded rough and nasal, almost completely unrecognisable. “I can’t bother her for a simple cold!”
“And you’re positive that’s not what you have?” Lee asked, eyeing her with suspicion and carefully leaning farther away, so that he was almost seated in Katie’s lap. “Not to be rude Lia but you do sound like death warmed up.”
Thalia threw him a sarcastic thumbs up whilst rolling her eyes. She instantly regretted the gesture as the pounding in her head intensified. Leaning her eyes against the heel of her hands she muttered, “I don’t think so. I don’t have the usual enlarged glands or dark bruise-like rashes. And I haven’t had a particularly long spell of bad luck, unless you call becoming friends with you lot unlucky.” Sniggers and faux gasps of offence rang around the group. “Plus I make a point of staying as far away from the first and second years as possible.”
“Black Cat Flu shouldn’t be the only reason to avoid the younger years,” Fred interjected, trying to lighten the mood with a grin. “They’re revolting even when they’re healthy.”
Thalia let out a weak chuckle, which quickly devolved into a coughing fit. George instinctively rose from his seat and placed a comforting hand on her back, rubbing small circles as she tried to catch her breath.
“You really shouldn’t push yourself Lee,” he muttered. “You look like you could keel over. I’ll walk you to the Hospital Wing right now, if you want?”
Thalia raised her head and looked around the group with a playful grin, her amusement shining through the haze of her cold as she turned to George. “What is with you lot calling me everything but my name? Lia, and now Lee?” she asked, her voice still hoarse, now tinged with mock exasperation.
“Hey, you were introduced to us as Lia!” Alicia laughed, raising her hands in mock surrender. “Don’t blame us for sticking with what we know.”
“Thalia is too formal,” Fred chimed in, shrugging nonchalantly. “I always feel like I need to bow and address you as Lady Winterbourne when I say it.”
“But Lee is already taken by moi,” Lee added sassily, pointing at himself with exaggerated flair before gesturing between Thalia and George. “You’ll have to come up with something more… creative, preferably.”
Fred nodded along earnestly, “But everyone’s got to have a nickname, right Forge?”
Thalia rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her lips, even if it did turn into another hacking cough. George was the one to bring the conversation back on track, his tone firmer and more commanding than usual. “Enough guys, can we stop getting distracted now? Thalia it looks like you need medical intervention, like, right now, ” he said, fixing her with a concerned look.
Thalia managed a weak smile as she allowed her head to rest back in her hand, her curls creating a curtain, hiding her face from view. “I just need sleep. Or maybe to be put out of my misery,” she mumbled, drawing a mixture of laughter and concern from her friends.
Ginny leaned across the table, placing a comforting hand on her arm, “You can’t just suffer through it, Lia. If you're not any better by lunchtime, you are going to Madame Pomfrey. Black Cat Flu or not.”
Thalia sighed but didn’t bother to argue with the overprotective Weasley siblings.The thought of enduring another minute of this snotty misery made her want to crawl under the table and disappear.
Fred tapped his chin, his face lighting up with mock inspiration. “You know what you need? A potion! I could whip one up for you in no time!”
Thalia’s head shot up, her bloodshot eyes wide with panic. “No! Absolutely not!”
The group burst into laughter at the girl's horrified expression.
George slid a plate of toast and a steaming mug of sweet tea in front of her. “What you really need is to keep your fluids up and to line your stomach.” he said softly. “Even the walking dead need to eat.”
Her lips twitched into a faint smile at his teasing. “Thanks George,” she whispered, managing to sit up enough to nibble some toast.
“You’re such a Hufflepuff sometimes, George,” Alicia teased, earning a chuckle from the group and a blush from George.
Thalia smiled despite herself, the warmth of their concern making her feel a little better—though her pounding head still begged for the relative quiet of the library or her dorm. For now, at least, their banter distracted her from how truly miserable she felt.
When it was time for lessons, George insisted on accompanying Thalia to her first class of the day—Transfiguration—despite her weak protests. "You’re liable to roll over and succumb to your plague halfway there," he teased, though his tone carried genuine worry. Grabbing her bag, he slung it over his shoulder and placed a steadying hand on her lower back, guiding her carefully through the bustling corridors.
When they stepped into Professor McGonagall’s classroom, the sharp-eyed professor immediately took note of Thalia’s pale complexion and her labored movements. Raising an eyebrow, she gave George a questioning look, but before he could say anything, Thalia, too drained to engage in pleasantries, simply waved a hand in acknowledgment. Collapsing into a chair and dropping her books unceremoniously onto the desk, she rested her head atop the stack. Letting out a soft sigh, she was clearly struggling to keep upright.
As the lecture began on the intricate nuances of living transfiguration, Thalia's exhaustion quickly won out. Her head grew heavier and her eyelids began fluttering shut despite her best efforts to stay alert. Within moments, she was fast asleep, her robes wrapped tightly around her like a cocoon. Soft snores punctuated the air, earning a few amused glances from her classmates.
Professor McGonagall paused mid-lecture, her sharp gaze softening as she walked over to the girl. Placing a gentle hand on Thalia’s forehead, she felt the telltale heat of a fever. Her stern demeanor shifted to one of quiet understanding. She motioned for the other students to remain focused on their notes, allowing Thalia to rest while they continued their work.
By the time the lesson ended, Thalia was still sound asleep, her cheek pressed against her open notebook. George appeared in the doorway to escort her to her next lesson as promised, his worried eyes darting toward her. Professor McGonagall met him at the door, her expression carrying both amusement and maternal concern.
“She fell asleep not five minutes into the lesson,” McGonagall informed him, her voice softer than usual. “She’s running a fever, and I didn’t have the heart to wake her. Mr. Weasley, would you be so kind as to take her to the Hospital Wing? I believe Madame Pomfrey should at least look her over.”
George’s brow furrowed with worry, but he nodded quickly, his usual playfulness replaced by genuine concern. “Of course, Professor.”
McGonagall waved her wand, levitating Thalia’s bag into his hands and standing aside to let him through. Moving to Thalia’s side, he crouched down and gently nudged her shoulder. “Lia,” he murmured softly, his voice low and coaxing. “Come on, sleepyhead. We’re taking a little detour.”
Thalia stirred groggily, blinking up at him with glassy eyes. “George?” she rasped, her voice thick with exhaustion.
“Yeah, it’s me.” he said, helping her gather her things. “Come on, up you get. Hospital Wing time,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to help her stand.
“But...lesson...” she mumbled, barely coherent.
“Lesson’s over. And even Professor McGonagall agrees you’re overdue for a visit to Madame Pomfrey.”
Thalia sighed but didn’t resist, leaning heavily against him as he led her out of the classroom. George glanced back at McGonagall, who gave him a small nod of approval before returning to her desk. She watched them leave, a rare glint of warmth in her otherwise stern expression.
“I’ve got you, Lia,” George whispered as they made their way through the corridors.
When Thalia awoke, the inky blue sky outside the Hospital Wing's tall windows was speckled with the first evening stars. The gentle hum of the castle settling into its nighttime routine drifted through the air. For a moment, she simply lay there, staring up at the vaulted ceiling and trying to recall how she’d gotten there. Her memories were hazy—snippets of George’s worried face, McGonagall’s soothing voice, and the cool touch of a damp cloth flitted through her mind like fleeting dreams.
She turned her head slightly, the crisp white pillow rustling beneath her, and her gaze landed on a familiar figure. George was seated in a high-backed chair near the foot of her bed, his lanky form reclined in what looked like an awkward yet comfortable sprawl. A thick textbook was balanced on his lap, but his expression radiated utter boredom as he halfheartedly flipped a page.
The only sign of his usual energy was the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against the arm of the chair, a small but constant movement that seemed to ground him. His ginger hair glowed faintly in the soft light of the magical lanterns, and the sight of him, so calm and steady, sent a surprising wave of warmth through Thalia’s chest.
“Studying, George?” she croaked, her voice hoarse but carrying a hint of amusement.
He startled slightly, his head jerking up. Relief washed over his face as he quickly discarded the book onto a nearby side table. “Lia! You’re awake.”
“Barely,” she muttered, attempting to sit up but immediately regretting it as dizziness swept over her. She flopped back onto the pillow with a groan.
“Easy there, you’ve been out of it all day,” George said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “You scared the life out of me earlier. Passed out cold in the middle of your transfiguration lesson! I had to escort you through the halls whilst you feverishly mumbled about whether Nifflers could become ghosts. I think you upset yourself in the end thinking about ghost pets.” teased George, eyes sparkling with humour and affection.
“I did?” she asked, her brow furrowing. “I don’t remember that.”
George snorted, “You were completely out of it, Lia. If I hadn’t dragged you away from your conversation with a suit of armour you thought was Lee you probably would have passed out in the corridor.”
Thalia managed a weak laugh, though it was interrupted by a cough. George was immediately on his feet, grabbing a glass of water from the bedside table and holding it out to her.
“Careful Lia,” he murmured as she took a few sips.
“How long have you been sitting there?” she questioned, once she was comfortably sat back against a soft down pillow.
George shrugged, as if it wasn’t worth mentioning. “Since after lunch, I guess. Pomfrey kicked me out once to grab food, but other than that…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the chair as if it explained everything.
“You didn’t have to stay,” Thalia murmured, though her heart swelled at the thoughtfulness of it.
“Don’t be daft,” he said with a grin. “What kind of best friend would I be if I had left you to fend for yourself, huh?”
Thalia raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening as she propped herself up slightly on the pillow. "Best friend? That’s a bold statement, George," she teased, her tone light but playful. The cheeky glint in her eye told him she wasn’t entirely serious, but she was clearly enjoying making him squirm.
George gasped theatrically, clutching at his chest as if he’d been mortally wounded. “Don’t wound me, Lia! After all I’ve done for you! Sat by your bedside, nursed you back to health—well, okay, I didn’t do much nursing, but still!”
She chuckled, shaking her head at his antics. “You did keep me company while I drooled on the pillow, I’ll give you that.”
“Exactly!” he exclaimed, as if her words were definitive proof of his claim. “Just accept it. Best friends, you and me. It’s destiny, Winterbourne.”
Thalia laughed, unable to hold back the grin that spread across her face. “Alright, alright. Best friends it is,” she conceded, though her tone was still teasing. “Don’t let Fred and Lee hear you say that though, we wouldn’t hear the end of it.”
George sat back with a satisfied smile, crossing his arms smugly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Thalia rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “But thanks, George. Really.”
“Anytime,” he replied, his tone unusually earnest. Then, with a wink, he added, “Though if you’re trying to skip Transfiguration lessons, you’ve got to come up with a subtler excuse.”
Thalia chuckled softly, her eyes beginning to droop again. “Next time, I’ll try harder.”
“Get some sleep Winterbourne, I’ll be here when you wake up,” George said with a smile, gently rubbing her leg over top of the blanket.
When Thalia woke again, the stillness of the night enveloped the hospital wing, the soft flicker of low-burning torches casting shadows on the walls. She stretched slightly, feeling the stiffness in her limbs from lying in bed for so long, and glanced at the bedside table. There, perched neatly atop the polished wood, were two folded letters.
The first was scrawled on familiar parchment, its edges slightly crumpled, and as she unfolded it, George's unmistakable handwriting greeted her:
Lia,
Madame Pomfrey is a tyrant. I was rudely ejected at curfew and told to “let you rest” like I haven’t been the pinnacle of helpfulness. I’ll be back first thing in the morning to make sure you don’t escape without seeing my charming face. Rest up, Winterbourne.
— G
Thalia chuckled softly, the letter bringing a warmth to her chest that had nothing to do with the fever that had plagued her earlier. She set it aside, picking up the second, more formal-looking letter. This one bore Madam Pomfrey’s handwriting, neat and precise:
Miss Winterbourne,
I have spoken with your grandfather regarding your condition, and he has given permission for you to remain at Hogwarts for the remainder of the week to ensure a full recovery. You are under strict orders to rest and follow my instructions. Any attempts to argue or disobey will result in swift consequences.
— P. Pomfrey
A wave of relief washed over Thalia. No hurried trips back and forth, no worrying about what her grandfather might say or do—just uninterrupted time to recover. For once, she didn’t feel like the weight of expectation was pressing down on her.
She placed the letters back on the table with a small smile and nestled deeper into the blankets. The combination of George’s lighthearted note and Madam Pomfrey’s reassurance soothed her, and before she knew it, her eyelids grew heavy again. She drifted into a peaceful, dreamless sleep, the quiet of the castle wrapping around her like a comforting embrace.