‘You- you don’t feel good?’ I said, my face falling. ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll feel better when you try some Honeydukes sweets! They have Pepper Imps, No-Melt Ice Cream, Sugar Quills…’

But my voice trailed away at the sight of Helda’s face, which was as depressed as mine was mere seconds ago.

‘I don’t feel too good,’ repeated Helda.

‘C’mon, H! Why don’t we get a Firewhisky at the Three Broomsticks? Yeah? That will make you feel good…’

‘I don’t feel too good,’ she moaned again.

‘Helda…’ I said uncertainly. Most eyes in the shop were now on us- to be fair, it’s not every day you see a girl turn completely lethargic in a tearoom, is it? I would probably have stared too. Which reminded me- she didn’t enter here feeling so sick, did she? Or did she…?

I touched her shaking hand. It was stone-cold.

‘Oh… Helda…. Why didn’t you say? You’re just cold, aren’t ya, pal?’ I was trying to kid myself as well. ‘Some tea will warm you nicely. Go on, drink up!’

The tea cup still rattled in her hand as a shuddering tea-leaf drifted to the top. I stared at it for a few seconds, before dismissing it and trying to push the cup to Helda’s mouth. She moaned and pushed it away, so I simply gave up.

‘Come, we’ll go for a walk, shall we?’

By now we had attracted most customer’s stares. A very short, stout woman with a shiny black bun of hair waddled over to us, her face worried. It took me a few seconds to realise it was Madam Puddifoot herself.

‘Is she alright there? Can I get her anything?’ she asked me.

‘Oh- yeah, she’s fine,’ I said. ‘Just- not feeling very well.’

‘I don’t feel too good,’ whispered Helda.

And she puked all over the floor.