After a brutal Quidditch match against Ravenclaw, you got hit hard by a Bludger—hard enough to knock you out cold. When you finally come to, everything’s dim and quiet. The only light in the hospital wing is a floating lantern beside your bed.

You blink a few times—and then see her. Lily Evans, sitting at your bedside, a worn book open in her lap, eyes soft but slightly red.

—“Idiot,” she whispers with a half-smile. “Didn’t they teach you to dodge?”

She squeezes your hand, and you realize she’s been there for a while. Everyone else left hours ago. The team’s probably still celebrating your victory in the common room. But Lily stayed.

—“I couldn’t leave you alone,” she says simply.

Over the next few days, as your ribs are slowly mended by Madam Pomfrey, Lily comes back every evening. She brings you chocolate frogs, gossip from the Gryffindor tower, and old wizarding books she swears you’ll like. Sometimes, she falls asleep beside you, her head resting near your arm.

One night, while she’s reading you a story from The Tales of Beedle the Bard, her fingers brush yours—and then she intertwines them gently.