Pink Boy

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[attr="class","title-astoria"]Pink Boy

[attr="class","subtitle-astoria"]Boys wear pink, girls wear blue
if you're neither, you do you

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Sometimes students who did not have permission to fly were almost worse than those who did. And by almost worse, Asteria truly and deeply meant definitely worse. She would like to have thought that the fools were mostly in Gryffindor or perhaps even Hufflepuff, but that was mere House pride. A Slytherin student had decided they wanted to practice their flying to force a new tryout for some position, and decided to try diving. Of course, they'd impaled themself, and thanks to having been flying without approval of a professor, it had taken rather more time than Asteria would have liked for them to be found, as the student had barely had the sense to scream out of fear.

But the student had been taken care of, and their bedrest was easy. Not so simple was the student-- the bloody Ravenclaw who had swallowed nearly four hundred grams of Alihotsy leaves for 'an experiment'. The time-tested best way was to repeatedly prod at the belly with a rather pointed stout staff, which would have made her somewhat concerned about reports coming in if not for the fact that vomiting up the leaves would have simply made his symptoms worse.

Her title was called, and Asteria stopped the necessary prodding. The student seemed stable for the moment, and a check ensured that they were progressing well. The Alihotsy was moving well through their system, broken up into small pieces.

"Yes?" she responded in the same language. There were few enough students who could speak Welsh in Hogwarts, and Asteria was always pleased to converse in it when she had the chance. Tamara had never quite picked it up, much to Asteria's largely-absent presence during the years of language-learning, and it did sadden her that her daughter wouldn't learn it now. It was in her heritage, it would tie them together, yet that was precisely what Tamara didn't want with her. She was only a poor excuse for Anthony, after all, useful only in that she was at the school.

Of the few students who spoke Welsh well, there were fewer who would choose to speak it with her. Dominic Evans was one of the few, and his voice was familiar enough that she would have been able to identity it, even had he not spoken in their shared language. A bright, cheerful boy who meant well, often prone to accidents that would wind up with him visiting. "Pink used to be the color we wrapped baby boys in, you know. Closer to the manly color of red, which certainly fits enough for Llereurol." She gave a smile to him, gesturing to a bed. Potioneer she might be. . . but the pink was certainly a very creative accident, and assumptions were always a danger to make. "What were you attempting to brew today, young lad?"

[attr="class","tags-astoria"]☆ Dominic Hywel Evans | also fully in welsh! | 472 words ☆