Untreated Wounds | Sirius Black

Chapter 25

LILLIAN COX'S POV:

The room had grown cold.

I wasn't sure where I was. I hadn't left the soft mattress I lay upon in days. I'd cocooned myself in blankets but not even the hand-sewn quilts could warm my freezing body.

The bed was too warm to belong to Elliot. He hated having a mountain of quilts on the bed – he always kicked them off in his sleep. It was also too soft to be Elliot's mattress and the quilts smelt too much like vanilla to belong to Elliot.

I wanted to find out where I was but I couldn't open my eyes.

Fear had ridden me to the mattress I slept upon.

What if everything did belong to Elliot?

What if it was all a hoax?

What if I'd fallen back into the grave he tried to bury me alive in?

The door cracked open and a warm breeze fluctuated into the cold room. There were light treads across the room as I listened to the rustling of prying open curtains and a large clunk as the window closed and clicked shut.

"Is she awake?" A man whispered – I hadn't heard his footsteps nearing the room.

I couldn't decipher the voice but it was familiar.

"No, not yet." The woman by my head replied in the same soft tone, "Dumbledore said it would take time,"

"Not this length of time," The man protested in a rather strained voice,

"Sirius,"

My heart dropped.

Sirius?

My Sirius?

Did I really not recognise his voice? How couldn't I recognise his voice?

Had it been that long?

"She'll wake up," The girl continued on, "She just needs time,"

And with that, the light treads of both of them soon faded and the door clicked shut.

Sirius was right there.

That was all my mind could seem to muster.

It seemed to hurt to think about much more than his name.

Maybe it was best that way.

My body had grown achy and sore from laying in bed for so long. Slowly, I opened my eyes, embracing the sunlight that peeked through the curtains as I forced myself to sit up.

The room around me was plain with brick walls and varnished wooden floors. There were only a few paintings hung up and a Persian rug on the ground, yet it was still warmer than any home I'd been in for so long.

That was a sad fact, really.

I stood up, slowly. My legs quivered under my own body weight when I finally forced myself to take a small step towards the old wooden door. My body trembled; I wasn't sure whether it was from the cold or whether I was just so weak.

But I managed. I always managed.

My footsteps were light – I'd mastered that – as I treaded down the stairwell, following the voices coming from downstairs.

"How's she doing?" A man asked. God, all of their voices were so familiar.

"Nothing's changed," The gentle girl said, the one whom had been in my room previously, "I'm starting to worry,"

"Dumbledore said it would take time," Another woman protested as I continued to tread closer. I reached the bottom of the stairwell but they were all crowded around a television, watching what seemed to be quidditch.