Dean was not pleased in the slightest. Not even a little bit. And who would be in his situation. A part of him didn't want to believe that he had contracted the virus that Michael had, but he did. That was something that he couldn't even pretend wasn't happening, especially when Madam Pompfrey asked him to perform a spell that was second nature after all the years he knew he had magic.
After gathering up the items that he had brought to the hospital wing with him one way or another, which included his sketchbook and the doodle that Seamus had done, Dean took the walk from the bed that he occupied for last couple of days to the door of the quarantine area. It didn't take him long to spot Michael sitting on one of the beds, a glare slowly appearing across his on features at the sight of the other one. Dean knew that it wasn't fair to blame Michael. It wasn't like he had done any of this on purpose. Not like he went out and fish for the virus either, but at the moment with the news still fresh, Dean couldn't help it.
He took in a breath and walked over to one of the empty beds and dumped the items on top, "Looks like you won't be that bored anymore." Not that Michael was completely. Dean heard the doors open up more times then he'd like when a visitor went in where they shouldn't have.