Journal Entry - July 30th
Romanian Phunnel Pox.
It's an interesting disease that strikes wizards only - for some reason, it's extremely attracted to magic, thus it tends to stay away from Muggles. The first known case was a man by the name of Phenorius Phunnel, after whom it was named. I know what you're going to ask, and no, he's not Romanian - he was just visiting family there when he was diagnosed.
Phunnel Pox is characterized by the bright red boils it causes on the patient's skin. Other symptoms are lack of appetite, itchiness and general discomfort that result from the boils, nausea and dizziness, and a rising fever until it finally breaks - if it breaks. Another characteristic of Phunnel Pox is that, just like a Muggle ailment called Chicken Pox, it is more easily managed by very young patients. In other words, the older you are, the worse it is, and can even prove fatal to adults; however, once you've had it, you're forever immune. It is extremely contagious, and carries from one host to another when the patient's boils burst - often explosively - and the puss-like contents of the boil come into contact with another person's skin.
(Did I mention you shouldn't be eating as you read this?)
Very few cases have been documented in the United Kingdom - since it was first documented in Romania, most patients are immediately quarantined to restrict the spread of the disease. Phunnel Pox is so contagious that only the most intricately spelled garments are capable of preventing its spread, and those garments are extremely expensive as a result. The few documented cases in the UK have been from people who have come into contact with family and friends visiting from the Continent.
One such person came onto the Hogwarts grounds a week and a half ago, complaining of nausea. They were brought to the now-downgraded infirmary (since St. Mungo's is now no longer so overloaded with incoming patients that we no longer take on the excess minor cases) and settled into a bed. However, before the patient could even be triaged, one of their boils burst, spraying the person who was helping them get settled.
And just guess who that was?!
If I hadn't gone through several months under the Carrows, I'd say this has been the worst week and a half of my life, and Madame Pomfrey says that I'm lucky I'm only almost full-grown or else it would have hit me even worse! Of course, when she said that, I looked at her hopefully and asked if that meant I would still grow another couple of inches. She wasn't amused.
So I've been here in quarantine, a room all to myself, and nobody's been allowed near me. Madame Pomfrey had sent to St. Mungo's to ask if they had any Phunnel-proof spelled robes, and they finally sent one set three days later. I've been nauseous, and dizzy, and feeling absolutely awful - but even worse, I've been bored and lonely.
I've had nothing to do but think. I'm not surprised that I've had nightmares almost every night that I've been in here. I didn't realize how much I'd thrown myself into helping Madame Pomfrey with the infirmary until I couldn't do it anymore, and now, my mind is constantly straying to everything that's happened. The Carrows, the Last Battle... I close my eyes and I see flashes of green and red, crumbling walls and screams of terror. I see Colin and Fred Weasley and Professor Lupin, and so many others lying dead with their eyes still open, lying on the floor of what remained of the Great Hall. And I feel it all again, the fear, the nerves, and the determination to help put an end to it all.
I remember casting a spell, I can't remember which one but it neutralized my opponent, and as I turned, I saw the wall crumble on top of them from the corner of my eye. I hadn't cast a killing curse, but I still killed them. I'd blocked that out, though. I hadn't wanted to admit it to myself.
I remember jumping onto that table and shouting out to the entire school, feeling a selfish need to be the one that spurs them into action, the one they look up to. Maybe if I hadn't, more would have left like Zach, and less people would have died. What if I'm responsible for their deaths too?
I remember nearly collapsing against the wall in the corridor when I had a moment alone - it didn't last long, of course. But in that moment, my tears fell, and I looked up at the ceiling and begged for it all not to have happened, for all the deaths to be reversed. Obviously, they weren't answered.
I remember Michael.
Madam Pomfrey's been good about trying to get us to talk out our feelings about what happened, for our own health, but I've still been holding so much back. So many things I was afraid to think about, and now without any distraction, they've come back to haunt me. And worst of all, when I need someone the most, nobody can touch me to even hold my hand. Michael comes to visit as much as Madame Pomfrey will allow, but even he's to stand in the far corner of the room and talk to me from there. I think she refuses to let him wear the Phunnel-proof robes because she's afraid he'll never give them back until I'm better, and she's probably right.
But not everything I'd been avoiding was bad. The circumstances were horrific, but... I remember kissing, and touching, and taking and giving comfort. I remember doing things I never thought I would ever be doing, things that were painful at first, but I welcomed the pain, and then beyond it was pleasure, mind-blowing pleasure that for a few minutes erased the horrors that had been witnessed.
But what I remember most is crying afterward, and clutching Michael to me, and him clutching me back. I remember wrapping my arms around his waist, and breathing shakily into his neck until... I can't remember any more - I must have fallen asleep. And I remember waking up with him, feeling stronger and better able to handle the day, yet feeling guilty over what had happened. We had lost so many friends - I didn't want to lose another one over one frantic night of thoughtlessness.
And he's visited me every day, and for the first time I realize just how comfortable we've been with each other for so long - since even before the Last Battle. Not being able to reach out and play-shove his arm or sit next to him and lean on him, it hurts, as if I'd lost a limb.
And then when my fever was at its worst, he wasn't allowed in at all - that's okay, I was rather delirious for about 24 hours. But the fever's broken now, and the boils are almost all gone. Madame Pomfrey says I should be fine in 4-5 days, and then I won't be contagious anymore. I'll be allowed out to do all the things I've been wanting to do while stuck inside this room.
I want to touch Michael. I want to do more than just touch him. I want to kiss him, and hold him, and feel him in me again. I want to tell him to Hades with thinking, that I've done more than enough thinking while inside these four walls. It wasn't thinking I needed to do anyway.
I needed to remember.
I remember everything about that day, and though it hurts, it's better this way. Those of us who forget are most likely to repeat it all, and to remember is to honour those who are gone. Knowing our past will help lead us through the future.
I don't know if Michael's my future, but I'm no longer afraid to find out.
It's an interesting disease that strikes wizards only - for some reason, it's extremely attracted to magic, thus it tends to stay away from Muggles. The first known case was a man by the name of Phenorius Phunnel, after whom it was named. I know what you're going to ask, and no, he's not Romanian - he was just visiting family there when he was diagnosed.
Phunnel Pox is characterized by the bright red boils it causes on the patient's skin. Other symptoms are lack of appetite, itchiness and general discomfort that result from the boils, nausea and dizziness, and a rising fever until it finally breaks - if it breaks. Another characteristic of Phunnel Pox is that, just like a Muggle ailment called Chicken Pox, it is more easily managed by very young patients. In other words, the older you are, the worse it is, and can even prove fatal to adults; however, once you've had it, you're forever immune. It is extremely contagious, and carries from one host to another when the patient's boils burst - often explosively - and the puss-like contents of the boil come into contact with another person's skin.
(Did I mention you shouldn't be eating as you read this?)
Very few cases have been documented in the United Kingdom - since it was first documented in Romania, most patients are immediately quarantined to restrict the spread of the disease. Phunnel Pox is so contagious that only the most intricately spelled garments are capable of preventing its spread, and those garments are extremely expensive as a result. The few documented cases in the UK have been from people who have come into contact with family and friends visiting from the Continent.
One such person came onto the Hogwarts grounds a week and a half ago, complaining of nausea. They were brought to the now-downgraded infirmary (since St. Mungo's is now no longer so overloaded with incoming patients that we no longer take on the excess minor cases) and settled into a bed. However, before the patient could even be triaged, one of their boils burst, spraying the person who was helping them get settled.
And just guess who that was?!
If I hadn't gone through several months under the Carrows, I'd say this has been the worst week and a half of my life, and Madame Pomfrey says that I'm lucky I'm only almost full-grown or else it would have hit me even worse! Of course, when she said that, I looked at her hopefully and asked if that meant I would still grow another couple of inches. She wasn't amused.
So I've been here in quarantine, a room all to myself, and nobody's been allowed near me. Madame Pomfrey had sent to St. Mungo's to ask if they had any Phunnel-proof spelled robes, and they finally sent one set three days later. I've been nauseous, and dizzy, and feeling absolutely awful - but even worse, I've been bored and lonely.
I've had nothing to do but think. I'm not surprised that I've had nightmares almost every night that I've been in here. I didn't realize how much I'd thrown myself into helping Madame Pomfrey with the infirmary until I couldn't do it anymore, and now, my mind is constantly straying to everything that's happened. The Carrows, the Last Battle... I close my eyes and I see flashes of green and red, crumbling walls and screams of terror. I see Colin and Fred Weasley and Professor Lupin, and so many others lying dead with their eyes still open, lying on the floor of what remained of the Great Hall. And I feel it all again, the fear, the nerves, and the determination to help put an end to it all.
I remember casting a spell, I can't remember which one but it neutralized my opponent, and as I turned, I saw the wall crumble on top of them from the corner of my eye. I hadn't cast a killing curse, but I still killed them. I'd blocked that out, though. I hadn't wanted to admit it to myself.
I remember jumping onto that table and shouting out to the entire school, feeling a selfish need to be the one that spurs them into action, the one they look up to. Maybe if I hadn't, more would have left like Zach, and less people would have died. What if I'm responsible for their deaths too?
I remember nearly collapsing against the wall in the corridor when I had a moment alone - it didn't last long, of course. But in that moment, my tears fell, and I looked up at the ceiling and begged for it all not to have happened, for all the deaths to be reversed. Obviously, they weren't answered.
I remember Michael.
Madam Pomfrey's been good about trying to get us to talk out our feelings about what happened, for our own health, but I've still been holding so much back. So many things I was afraid to think about, and now without any distraction, they've come back to haunt me. And worst of all, when I need someone the most, nobody can touch me to even hold my hand. Michael comes to visit as much as Madame Pomfrey will allow, but even he's to stand in the far corner of the room and talk to me from there. I think she refuses to let him wear the Phunnel-proof robes because she's afraid he'll never give them back until I'm better, and she's probably right.
But not everything I'd been avoiding was bad. The circumstances were horrific, but... I remember kissing, and touching, and taking and giving comfort. I remember doing things I never thought I would ever be doing, things that were painful at first, but I welcomed the pain, and then beyond it was pleasure, mind-blowing pleasure that for a few minutes erased the horrors that had been witnessed.
But what I remember most is crying afterward, and clutching Michael to me, and him clutching me back. I remember wrapping my arms around his waist, and breathing shakily into his neck until... I can't remember any more - I must have fallen asleep. And I remember waking up with him, feeling stronger and better able to handle the day, yet feeling guilty over what had happened. We had lost so many friends - I didn't want to lose another one over one frantic night of thoughtlessness.
And he's visited me every day, and for the first time I realize just how comfortable we've been with each other for so long - since even before the Last Battle. Not being able to reach out and play-shove his arm or sit next to him and lean on him, it hurts, as if I'd lost a limb.
And then when my fever was at its worst, he wasn't allowed in at all - that's okay, I was rather delirious for about 24 hours. But the fever's broken now, and the boils are almost all gone. Madame Pomfrey says I should be fine in 4-5 days, and then I won't be contagious anymore. I'll be allowed out to do all the things I've been wanting to do while stuck inside this room.
I want to touch Michael. I want to do more than just touch him. I want to kiss him, and hold him, and feel him in me again. I want to tell him to Hades with thinking, that I've done more than enough thinking while inside these four walls. It wasn't thinking I needed to do anyway.
I needed to remember.
I remember everything about that day, and though it hurts, it's better this way. Those of us who forget are most likely to repeat it all, and to remember is to honour those who are gone. Knowing our past will help lead us through the future.
I don't know if Michael's my future, but I'm no longer afraid to find out.