Brigitte was calmer but that didn’t mean she wasn’t feeling stressed or worried or overwhelmed. She just wasn’t losing it. Her face was red. Tears stained her cheeks. And her hands were shaking. But she was not losing it. She wasn’t. She was not going to do something that elicited potions and St. Mungos.
 
"I won't say it will be easy, but you can still bring your marks up and pass your OWLs with decent enough marks to get into the right courses for your NEWTs.”
 
Brigitte shook her head, starting to get anxious again. She was too far behind and too stupid to catch up. She couldn’t focus. She got too overwhelmed. There was no way she would bring her marks up now. They were plummeting as they spoke. Brigitte looked at the time. Yup, her first class had already started and was well on its way to being completely missed.
 
“You are not automatically banned from becoming a Healer simply because you have dealt poorly with stress. That you are in here and not in a loo somewhere bleeding is a huge step, no matter what you might want to argue.”
 
Again, she shook her head. “They already sent me an owl telling me I lost my internship.” Without those kind of connections, she was royally screwed. “They don’t want a patient in the program.”
 
"Tutors and hard work and keeping your focus on your dreams will help. Sometimes the best Healers come from places of darkness, Brigitte,"
 
Her hands shook as she raised her cup of tea to her lips and too a few sips. Brigitte took a deep breath, trying to take in what Pomfrey was saying but it was no good. Madam Pomfrey was wrong. Brigitte wasn’t cut out for this kind of stress. “Being a healer was a stupid idea,” she grumbled.
 
"Healers who have been through hell and back tend to have a deeper compassion for those in pain. So, you see, your pain can be turned into something good, Brigitte. But you need to want to find that desire to reach your goal."
 
She shrugged Madam Pomfrey away. “I don’t need compassion. I need a new bloody brain!” she let out. “I’m not smart enough to become a healer. I’m not sane enough for a boyfriend. And I’m not good enough for my family to want me!” Brigitte then burst into tears.
 
Standing up, she tried to get her shoulder back on but kept getting tangled in it. “I…I’m just….Ugh!” She threw her bag down and kicked it. “I’m late for class,” she finally let out, glaring at the bag.

06c155406099f5cf3f6153d23d18293b12a7ea6.