Ravenclaw Common Room

"No," she said quickly, but frowned and corrected herself. "I don't think so. I mean, I got out of there pretty quickly. Nic, you don't think it really is her, do you? It might just be another student pulling some stunt... Or a poltergeist." Tessa nodded. That was a satisfactory explanation, wasn't it?

Her face paled. "That doesn't mean it's her though, does it?" Why would she choose to come back? And today of all days? Reminded suddenly of her reason for packing, she glanced down at the watch on her wrist and swore. "I'm supposed to be out of here in fifteen minutes."

She nodded, faltering slightly as she came to the realisation that he didn't know. She had refrained from speaking about it, after all, and it wasn't like he had seen her calendar or anything. "Nic... About today..."

Tessa reached out to take his hand, but stopped herself and blinked fiercely a few times. "They, uh, they've said they want to try operating today. To remove the tumour." She pursed her lips. "I meant to tell you, but I... It was never the right time."

She brushed a tentative thumb across his knuckles. "Yes, Bianca knows. It's just... I might not be in school for a few weeks. The recovery time isn't too bad because I'll be awake for it, but it's still not going to be easy."

Tessa smiled, although the expression didn't quite reach her eyes. She wasn't quite sure why she had attempted it; perhaps it was more for her own sake than for his. "Thanks, Nic." There was an audible tremor in her voice that betrayed the lightness of her tone, however. There was no way of hiding the deep rooted fear that something would go wrong. It was her brain, after all. One slip, and... She dared not think about it, but it was impossible not to imagine the possibility.

The Ravenclaw buried her face into his shoulder, exhaling deeply for a few moments before she trusted herself to speak again. "I- yeah. Yeah, I will." It was a brief statement, but she couldn't manage anything else without the risk of sounding either horrifically insincere.

She had leaned her head towards his hand as he placed it against her cheek, and missed the warmth of it when he withdrew. A brief puff of air escaped her lips in some semblance of a laugh as he spoke. "I prefer fashionably late. And I'd much rather be here anyway."

She bit down on her bottom lip, drawing in a slow breath as she struggled to compose herself. She didn't have the heart to recite to him the statistics - the sheer number of things that could go wrong during the craniotomy: pulmonary embolisms, haematomas, the list was seemingly endless. And she had heard them all. "Yeah," she spoke softly at last. "I hope so."