Of Embolisms and An Unexpected Emergency
“Harry! Emergency, Quidditch pitch - hold on to me!” Madame Pomfrey held out her arm.
Startled, Harry jumped from his seat in the Mediwitch’s office, where he’d been studying for his next exam - magical pathophysiology. He reached for Poppy and clenched his teeth as the familiar squeezing sensation overtook him, followed by the roar of the students in the stands.
“Apparating on castle grounds?” He gasped once his lungs were able to fill again.
“Minerva’s idea,” Poppy said swiftly, glancing around for the headmistress. “Not sure why it wasn’t done sooner. Come.”
Harry jogged after her towards the Hufflepuff changing room, listening to Poppy’s muttered diatribe about Quidditch. Discomfort roiled in his gut. The game would have stopped if it was an injury - something bad had happened. He could feel it.
“I don’t like this,” he said as the door swung open to admit them. A tear-stained Pomona was holding it.
Inside, Minerva was kneeling beside a supine Filius. He was still and grey, his open eyes glazed. Minerva was pumping his chest rhythmically. It looked utterly barbaric. Her bun was somewhat loose and a sheen of sweat covered her forehead.
Harry froze in the doorway. Poppy swept in and barked, “Harry! Take over, Minerva is exhausted. Minerva - what happened?”
Harry knelt, counted aloud from three, and swapped with Minerva, who stood and swayed. “He said he felt unwell and would return inside,” she said tiredly. “He struggled for a full breath so I accompanied him. He lost consciousness outside. I levitated him in here and went the muggle route.”
Poppy, already casting diagnostic spells, nodded. “You probably saved his life. Other symptoms?” She asked.
“His chest hurt this morning,” Pomona said. “He said he felt like his heart was pounding and he was tired.”
Poppy clucked her tongue. “PE,” she said. “Blood clot on the lung. Some has lodged in his heart. I can dissolve them, and then we’ll see about getting his heart going again. Harry, let’s have some oxygen.”
Harry cursed himself for forgetting, but managed the tricky spell wandlessly without missing any chest compressions.
Poppy began a complex wand movement. “He’ll have to rest, after,” she said. “I’m thinning his blood, to prevent it re-clotting. He’ll bruise and bleed easily for a while.”
This seemed optimistic to Harry, who knew that Filius was technically dead, and the statistics on recovery were not in his favour. He winced as another rib popped from the diminutive professor’s sternum.
“Okay, Harry. Is your oxygen charm self-sufficient?”
“Yes,” he puffed.
“Good. I have a VF rhythm and I’ve removed the clots. We’ll reperfuse for thirty more compressions and then shock, okay?” She counted down the last ten, and Harry sprang away. “Clear - shocking!” She jabbed her wand, and Filius’s body jumped unpleasantly.
Harry’s hand shot out and probed Filius’s neck, looking for the carotid artery. A beat passed, then two, and then -
“I’ve got a pulse!”
“Well done,” Poppy said quietly as Harry sagged into the chair he had vacated what felt like hours before.
“This was supposed to be a minor magical injuries and illnesses placement,” Harry groaned, and felt a wave of tears threatening.
“Was that your first?”
He nodded.
“And someone you know. You did incredibly well. Now you’re allowed to fall apart,” Poppy said quietly.
He did.