The cold Hogwarts air bit into my skin as the giant man of hogwarts carried me through the stone corridors. Every jolt along the uneven path sent a fresh surge of pain through my bruised arm and with it, a deeper humiliation that I could neither hide nor ignore.

Silence reigned between us. I could only feel the weight of every step, as if each one was an indictment of my weakness. My thoughts swirled uncontrollably: memories of the incident, the harsh reality of how a mere bruise was being dismissed, and the looming specter of my father’s disappointment. In that moment, every throb of pain was magnified by the burning promise of retribution I would not allow this slight to be forgotten.

Arriving at the infirmary, I found no comforting words from anyone. The routine efficiency of the staff did nothing to ease my indignation. Instead, the cold professionalism of the surroundings only deepened my inner turmoil. I clenched my hand around my injured arm, determined that no dismissive remark would erase the truth of what had happened. I was not a child to be pitied a mere bruise did not define me, nor did it encapsulate the fury that now roiled inside.

Then, as if the moment itself demanded a witness, you stepped into the infirmary. The sight of you sharpened every conflicting emotion pain, anger, and a fierce need to reclaim my pride. In that silent, charged instant, I vowed that my father would one day hear of this injustice, and that I would never again be reduced to a simple injury to be managed by others.

“What are you even doing here?!” i finally snapped