She was a stern-looking witch in a crisp white apron, her brow furrowed in concentration. A faint, silvery glow emanated from the tip of her wand as it passed over Y/n's chest.

Her eyes, sharp and assessing, flicked down to meet Y/n's gaze for the first time.

Through the tall, arched windows, the silhouettes of the Hogwarts castle towers were stark against the indigo night. Somewhere out there, in the sleeping castle, were the students who had found Y/n collapsed in the main courtyard, wearing clothes that were not of this world.

She gave a final, decisive wave of her wand, and a glass of water floated from the bedside table to hover near Y/n's hand.

With a swish of her robes, Madam Pomfrey retreated to her office, closing the door and leaving Y/n alone in the dim, silent Hospital Wing. The only sounds were the soft crackle of the fireplace and the distant, haunting call of a ghost from the corridors beyond. The reality of the situation began to settle, heavy and undeniable.