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“Professor, Professor!”
Minerva McGonagall lifted her eyes from the parchment in front of her to the distressed-looking girl who had just entered the room. “What is it now, Nina? Shouldn´t you be sleeping?”
“It´s Melanie, Professor. She, she…” Nina drew a shaking breath. “She´s been sick since lunch and didn´t return to the common room. Anne told me she´s been in the bathroom the whole afternoon. So I went looking for her and, and… I knocked and I tried to talk to her, but she didn´t answer. She locked herself up in one of the stalls; I saw her feet, but she´s not even moving. Something happened to Melanie, Professor; you need to come help her! Please!”
Having delivered her message, Nina nearly started to cry. She had never particularly liked Melanie and had often enough cursed her stupidity. But she hadn´t actually wanted anything bad to happen to her classmate.
Professor McGonagall got to her feet as calmly as she could manage while terror flooded her thoughts. Another one. Petrified or worse. “Go back to your house, Nina. Do not delay. Do not speak about this to any of your classmates. I´ll be with you shortly.” She shoved the sobbing girl towards the grand staircase, then hasted towards the girls´ bathroom.
℘
Melanie winced. Thankfully, nearly all other girls had already left the bathroom, chatting merrily about the upcoming Quidditch match.
“Of course, Gryffindor´ll win! We´ve got Harry Potter, the best seeker in ages!” was the last thing Melanie heard before the closing door cut off the voices.
Alone, finally.
“Oh, this is not good, not good at all.” Her stomach made a desperate noise and Melanie groaned with pain. It hurt so much! This constipation was lasting five days already, five days of steadily growing fear and pain. Melanie closed her eyes, clenched her teeth and pressed harder. There, just a bit more… Opening her eyes, she looked down — right into a yellow, slit-pupiled reflection.
℘
Eight witches were standing in front of the only occupied stall in an otherwise empty bathroom. Nervously, they exchanged glances between each other. What would they find behind this door?
“Alohomora.”
The lock clicked open.
Slowly, Professor McGonagall pushed at the door, wand raised, ready to attack if anything evil was waiting for them. She drew in a sharp breath and turned around, letting the door fall shut again.
“What is it, Minerva? Is the girl…?”
“She´s not dead.” A sigh of relief went through the small crowd. “But I need you all to leave, please. There´s no need for so many people to see the poor girl in her current state. Poppy, Pomona, will you help me?” Both nodded in agreement.
Once the bathroom had emptied, Professor McGonagall opened the stall´s door again. The three witches gazed at the scene inside. The girl — Melanie — was seated on the toilet, looking down into it with a mix of relief and strain showing on her face.
“Poor dear, petrified like this,” Professor Sprout said.
“We need to get her to the hospital wing. Minerva, if you would grab her other arm? Now lift her up… Careful! I think there´s something — oh. Oh dear.” Madam Pomfrey, normally not known to be embarrassed quickly, flushed a deep shade of pink. “Just… Just get her out of this narrow stall and lay her down on the stretcher on her side. Thank you.”
Three pairs of eyes automatically went to the petrified girl´s backside, or rather the … thing attached to it.
“I believe,” McGonagall said, “we are in need of a stonemason.”