The infirmary doesn't feel like it should. I don't think it feels like it should. I visited St. Mungo's once. It was...colder.
Pomfrey must like warmth.
But the chocolate never melts. How very odd.
Sirius is lying on a cot.
Never liked you. You were always too damn pretty. Only you aren't. Not now. Pale. Like you've spent too much time hiding in shadows.
At least you don't stink of potions.
I wonder sometimes. I wonder if I were to go away for a while, for a long while, if the smell would leave my skin. Rat's entrails and bat's wings, gillyweed and dragon's scale, frog's breath and hyacinth, powders and extracts, sharp and bitter, sweet and clinging.
Fuck it. You're still pretty. I'm a sick bastard for thinking it.
You're just sick. How lovely. A Card. "Get well soon."
Poisoned. You were poisoned. Pomfrey's sure I can't do anyth...
I think this is a dream.
I used to always have dreams like this. That people I lov...
That people I knew were dying. I had strange dreams. Lovely colors, though. Red wounds and purple green bruises and blue, blue for drowning in. You only look gray.
Wake up, Sirius.
Don't think I'm going to beg.
Your hair's on your face. *brush it away* It's sticking to the sweat on your temples. You're warm. *too warm*
You're too warm.
That woman doesn't know what she's talking about. Everything has an antidote. I just have to find it.
She said you have three days.
Seventy-two hours. How many minutes? Seconds?
I have time.
Rat's entrails and bat's wings, gillyweed and dragon's scale, frog's breath and hyacinth, powders and extracts and...and...and...No.
None of that's right.
Try again. Wrong order, maybe? Maybe?
Sixty-three hours. No Poppy, I'm fine. Some coffee, if you could...
Seventeen. I still have time. I still...
...and you were terrible at divination. I don't see why the professor didn't see it. Oh, I suppose he was a bigger quack than Trelawney. Brilliant with transfigurations. I never could quite get a handle of the subject myself...It's terribly rude to ignore someone as they talk to you...
...look so faded. You were so enigmatic in our schooldays. Vivacious. Brilliant. It hurt to look at you.
It hurts to look at you.
Your forehead's cooling. Perhaps the fever's breaking after all. Perhaps...
The infirmary doesn't feel like it should. I don't think it feels like it should. I visited St. Mungo's once. It wasn't as cold as this.
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