The tears were a good sign. The tears that weren't coupled with panic, but instead slipped silently as the young girl spoke, they were good. Healing. Using her wand to accio a box of tissue, she handed it to Brigitte.

"Take it a day at a time," Pomfrey said, smoothing a hand over the back of Brigitte's head. "Just one day at a time. Or, if it works better, take it an hour at a time. Don't think about tomorrow or next week, just think about the next class and get through that class and then get through lunch. Just take it a bit at a go, that's all."

It wasn't, she felt sure, what the girl wanted to hear, but what else was there? She had to attend classes, or she couldn't remain at school. She couldn't go home, because she was right; she was the only one left. She wasn't yet old enough to take care of herself, nor would it be wise to let her. Were she to leave school, she would have to be taken in by a group home and that would only be the worse. So, what else did the girl have but to take it a day at a time?