I'M DYING

[Theodosia Ellis]

She had been sat in the common room playing with spells that made the henna on her hand swirl in intricate ways when the cramps started again. She’d first had them at dinner yesterday, and then at breakfast that morning, but Dosie had mainly put them down to food or maybe indigestion.

But now she was doubting that conclusion. Perhaps she was dying.

Tears pricking at her eyes as she nearly doubled over, she scampered out of the common room, leaving her sketchpad and darting into her dorm. Dosie flung herself rather dramatically onto her bed, scattering several drawings that she’d left at the end as she curled up on top of the sheets still fully dressed, clutching at her stomach. She was going to die, she knew it. All artists died young and tragically.

[Zipporah Ollerton]

With a book about birthstones under her arm, Zipporah made her way to the sixth years’ dorm room. She had brought a bunch of jewelry making things during the last Hogsmeade weekend and she was intending to utilize them. In order to make more handmade jewelry for herself, as well as start working on Christmas presents for her friends. After so many years of knowing her they knew that they could expect some handmade bracelet or necklace for Christmas, but she still liked to surprise them with new designs.

She wasn’t expecting to find Dosie rolling up on her bed like that, as if she had been stabbed or something.

“What happened?!” she asked, obviously worried. She tossed the book on her bed, which happened to be next to Dosie’s and sat on her friend’s bed.

  

[Theodosia Ellis]

Dosie opened her eyes a little as Zipporah came in and sat on her bed. She gave a little groan as another cramp took over her stomach and she curled up into an even tighter fetal position.

“I don’t know!” She whined a little, eyes panicky. “My stomach’s been hurting all day. I think I’m dying!” Dosie proclaimed dramatically. All artists did.

[Zipporah Ollerton]

Zipporah was no healer, but she was 98% sure that Dosie wasn’t dying. The symptoms she described were a bit too familiar to Zipporah. She could only think of one thing: the monthly curse. Zipporah had gotten hers in the end of her fifth year and, as far as she was concerned, Dosie hadn’t yet. Of course, it was hardly the most comfortable of topics to talk about, so she hadn’t really asked her about it.

“You’re not dying,” she assured her friend. She awkwardly bit her lip and then added more quietly: “Have you visited the bathroom yet?”