CHAPTER TEN
the sad, limp remainder of what, half an hour before, had been a
working arm. “I can mend bones in a second — but growing them
back —”
“You will be able to, won’t you?” said Harry desperately.
“I’ll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful,” said Madam
Pomfrey grimly, throwing Harry a pair of pajamas. “You’ll have to
stay the night. . . .”
Hermione waited outside the curtain drawn around Harry’s bed
while Ron helped him into his pajamas. It took a while to stuff the
rubbery, boneless arm into a sleeve.
“How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione, eh?” Ron
called through the curtain as he pulled Harry’s limp fingers
through the cuff. “If Harry had wanted deboning he would have
asked.”
“Anyone can make a mistake,” said Hermione. “And it doesn’t
hurt anymore, does it, Harry?”
“No,” said Harry, getting into bed. “But it doesn’t do anything
else either.”
As he swung himself onto the bed, his arm flapped pointlessly.
Hermione and Madam Pomfrey came around the curtain.
Madam Pomfrey was holding a large bottle of something labeled
Skele-Gro.
“You’re in for a rough night,” she said, pouring out a steaming
beakerful and handing it to him. “Regrowing bones is a nasty busi-
ness.”
So was taking the Skele-Gro. It burned Harry’s mouth and throat
as it went down, making him cough and splutter. Still tut-tutting
about dangerous sports and inept teachers, Madam Pomfrey re-
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