George tried to breathe deeply, to steady herself, but the Ravenclaw found any such efforts were shaky at best as she obediently moved to put on her shoes, her dressing gown.

“You can walk me there, then,” the third year acquiesced, “but you needn’t stay afterwards. I’m sure the nurse can see to me without any of your input.”

And once Thomas was safely returned to bed, George could find a hidey-hole until morning. It was an ideal plan, though it did not address the blood loss.