Out of the Fire

           ’I’mnotgoing...Idon’tneedthehospitalwing...Idon’twant...’

           HewasgibberingashetriedtopullawayfromProfessorTofty,whowaslookingatHarrywithmuchconcernafterhelpinghimoutintotheEntranceHallwiththestudentsallaroundthemstaring.

           I’m—I’mfine,sir,’Harrystammered,wipingthesweatfromhisface.’Really...Ijustfellasleep...hadanightmare...’

           ’Pressureofexaminations!’saidtheoldwizardsympathetically,pattingHarryshakilyontheshoulder.’Ithappens,youngman,ithappens!Now,acoolingdrinkofwater,andperhapsyouwillbereadytoreturntotheGreatHall?Theexaminationisnearlyover,butyoumaybeabletoroundoffyourlastanswernicely?’

           ’Yes,’saidHarrywildly.’Imean...no...I’vedone—doneasmuchasIcan,Ithink...’

           ’Verywell,verywell,’saidtheoldwizardgently.’IshallgoandcollectyourexaminationpaperandIsuggestthatyougoandhaveaniceliedown.’

           ’I’lldothat,’saidHarry,noddingvigorously.’Thanksverymuch.’

           Thesecondthattheoldman’sheelsdisappearedoverthethresholdintotheGreatHall,Harryranupthemarblestaircase,hurtledalongthecorridorssofasttheportraitshepassedmutteredreproaches,upmoreflightsofstairs,andfinallyburstlikeahurricanethroughthedoubledoorsofthehospitalwing,causingMadamPomfrey—whohadbeenspooningsomebrightblueliquidintoMontague’sopenmouth—toshriekinalarm.