“I told you I was stressed.”

She was stressed?  Walt ran a hand through his hair.  They were all bloody stressed.  He was up to his ears in coursework and dig applications, all of which seemed to require an apparition license and additional experience, neither of which he had.  Not to mention a general feeling of unease that he hadn't been able to shake.  Ephriam was no better, at least judging by the number of his inventions that were smoking up the dorm room instead of well, doing something.

"That's not a good way of dealing with stress."  He sounded like someone's grandmother, possibly his own.  Drinking and blowing things up were also probably low on the list of approved relaxation techniques.  "You could cut too deep, or get an infection or.." he stopped, not sure why he even bothered trying to reason with her.  "Happy people don't hurt themselves.  If you're unhappy, you should do something that would actually change it."

have it under control. I’m careful. I only cut the arms not the wrists.”

"If you had it under control, you wouldn't care if I saw."   He argued. 

I guess we’re done here,” she said, nodding at the book. “I’ll just study on my own since obviously you’re not going to be in the right mindset for it.”

"What?  Wait, you can't leave."  He couldn't let her leave now.  Who knew what she'd go off and do.  He wasn't accustomed to having a friend that he had to watch all the time, but Brigitte seemed to be vying for the position.

"Tell Pomfrey.  Or I will."