Losing himself to his internal turmoil, James does not hear the light footsteps approaching him. Barley registering that the footsteps came to a halt, a low female voice with a touch of undisguised concern asks, "Are you alright, Potter? You seem rather ill."
James's head snaps around so fast that a faint pop can be heard coming from his neck. Blinking in a rather bewildered fashion, he wonders, how in Merlin's name did his senses fail him so? Not even amid the worst of the war had he ever been caught so unaware except for that night.
"Prefect Prince, I am fine," James stumbled to say, before taking a step back and feeling himself go quite weak. Instantly to his surprise, the tall, slender Slytherin girl catches him by the elbow. To his own surprise, he glimpses genuine concern and worry on her face before that quickly vanishes.
"Contrary to your statement, Potter, you do not seem to be all that well," Rowan stoutly replied. "Do you wish to see Madam Pomfrey, or do you wish to rest in the kitchens?"
"The kitchens, please," James awkwardly replied as he fretfully runs a clammy hand through his hair. It was a terrible habit of his that he had not broken after all these years. A fleeting unknown emotion flashes through the Slytherin girl's face at his gesture that causes James to limply drop his hand at his side.
Rowan does not appear convinced by his statement but does not loosen her grip on his elbow. "Come along then," she said, gently tugging him further down the hall.
"I'm fine, really," James protested feeling uncomfortable for some reason at being touched by the Slytherin Prefect.
"You are clammy and pale, Potter," Rowan countered. "I am already accommodating you as it is Potter by not taking you to see Madam Pomfrey, do not make me change my mind."
"Er, thanks," James mumbled under his breath before they came to a halt before the painting of a gigantic silver fruit bowl. It suddenly occurs to him just how did the Slytherin know how to get the kitchens?
However, before he can complete that thought the Slytherin stretched out her forefinger and tickled the huge green pair in the painting. It began to squirm, chuckle before a large green door handle appeared. In a fluid motion, she seized the handle and pulled the door open.
"I can walk perfectly well by myself," James started to say before a sharply pointed glance by those pitch black, indigo colored eyes caused him to clamp his mouth shut. Not protesting anymore, the two of them step inside and all the while the Slytherin firmly steadies him by the elbow.
The door quickly closes behind him as James feeling a choking sensation in his throat at seeing the enormous, high-ceiling room that is as large as the Great Hall above it. The mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls begin to sway sickly as though he was on a ship. And even the great brick fireplace at the end is swirling and twirling.
"Potter?" James hears a frantic voice at his side when everything mercifully goes black.
It was the sound of coughing that woke James up. Fluttering his heavy-laden eyes open, he blurrily begins to peer about but is unable to see very well except for white curtains. "Your glasses are on the pillow next to you, Potter," a familiar Slytherin voice instructed.
Blindly sitting up, he moves his hand about on his pillow until James finds his glasses and puts them back on. Everything brilliantly comes into view as he registers the fact that he is on a bed in the infirmary. Feeling highly embarrassed at having fainted, a bright pink flush begins to spread across his face.
"Er, sorry," James stammered in apology and utter mortification. Even to gain Lily's attention, he had never done anything so utterly humiliating! And he had done plenty of stupid and foolish things which he was far from proud of.
Rowan's face is carefully blank as she coolly says, "I should not have given you an option, Potter. I won't repeat the same mistake a second time."
Feeling terribly embarrassed by having revealed his weakness, James glances away from the Slytherin Prefect to stare at the white curtains. The two are silent as each chew on their own private thoughts until Rowan interjects, "What happened, Potter?"
"I just wasn't feeling very well, that's all," James defensively said as he folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the bed.
Rowan gives James an irritated look. "You have never been ill in all the years that I have known you, Potter," she flatly stated. "And I am not a psychologist but taking your reaction it would seem that you were, in fact, having a panic attack."
"A panic attack?" James said in disbelief before in bewilderment adding, "And what's a psy-ko-logizt?"
"A muggle mental healer of sorts. And if that not a panic attack it may have been something similar related to Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, commonly known as PTSD," Rowan explained. Noticing his confused expression, she further explains, "It means that unwanted memories or reliving of said memories or anything associated with said traumatic event is causing your body to trigger a defense mechanism to cope with a highly stressful situation."
James is not able to completely hide the dismay on his face at the answer, but he is from answering as Rowan continues by saying, "Of course, the most logical conclusion is that your body and mind are at war. Your body recalls instinctively recalls Hogwarts and other places, times, and even people. However, the mind itself rejects the body input as it does not believe that which is relayed back to it because the mind does not have any recollections of said event."
"That is probably just it," James mumbled with meeting the gaze of the Slytherin. Though he was rather reluctant to admit that the previously uttered statement was more in line with the true cause of his unexpected blackout. And that caused a trickle of worry to scissor its way across his chest. Because he could not afford for such an event to occur again.