ᴏᴍɴɪꜱᴄɪᴇɴᴛ ✵ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴜꜱ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ✵

𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐕

☼ ꜰʀᴇʏᴀ ☼

»»-------≪ °❈° ≫-------««

"I know dragons are dangerous, and maybe you're right, anyone who thinks they can get close to one is daft... but I also think I'm different and the dragon would sense my loving spirit."

"I just woke up, can you give me a minute before you start being bloody weird?"

Freya's heavy eyes attempt to flutter open, but fluorescent lights blind her and a muffled moan scrapes from her throat as she squeezes them shut. Her entire body aches, her stomach lurches and gurgles, but her head is undoubtedly the worst; it feels like a balloon is under her cranium, slowly being inflated, pressure mounting.

"Sh! I think she's waking up."

"Astute as ever, Dora."

Gritting her teeth, Freya lets loose an agonised hiss and tries again. She blinks once, twice, a slow motion that becomes a Herculean effort, and the blurry surroundings painfully transpire around her. She almost manages to hoist herself up on her elbows, but a hand is quick to gently push against her chest and ease her back down.

"Easy there, love." Reg. His lovely voice is pitched lower than usual, a whisper without breathiness to it, a half-hum. Freya has always been fond of his voice, even when she was frightened of him. She blinks rapidly to clear her unsteady vision, and soon the aristocratic angles of his face bring some relief. "Don't strain yourself."

Small fingers delicately graze her shoulder. Freya flinches when she turns her head, but Pandora comes into focus on her other side, wearing a nervous smile. "How do you feel?"

Freya's mouth is utterly dry. She has to lick her lips several times to wet it enough to grumble weakly, "I feel totally disoriented and I'm frothing with hatred."

Pandora coughs around a laugh, eyes glistening with tears. "I'll get Pomfrey."

Oh. Right, she's in the infirmary. Everything hurts so bad she could hardly negotiate the bright environment that strobes in and out of focus all around her. Freya brings a hand to her forehead to form a shield from the lights, and reaches her free one out to wrap around Regulus' wrist tightly, feeling like someone is perpetually beating her over the head with a mallet.

"Frothing with hatred, huh?" Pomfrey echoes, fondness in her tone while she pulls back the curtains. Pandora trails in after her. "You're not slurring your words, so that's a good sign."

A dozen black spots consume her vision, and Freya screws her eyes closed again, shamelessly whining. "Get me some booze and I'll start slurring my words happily."

She can hear Pomfrey tut. "I'll need to cast a diagnostic charm and check those bandages, dear. Mr. Black, can you help her up?"

"Ready, love?"

"Not particularly."

Regulus releases a soft chuckle, and gingerly slides his hands underneath Freya's back, easing her upwards with extra care, as though she's likely to snap from the slightest touch. With the utmost reluctance, she opens her eyes to see Pomfrey retrieve a wand from the front of her apron, and then Freya abruptly stiffens. No, please, no.

Stomach bile coils in her stomach like a snake, ascending to her throat, and Freya barely has time to curl forward at the edge of the bed before she starts retching. Her stomach is empty, so it's an acidic substance that scalds her throat and makes its way to her nose and burns her nostrils. In a hasty motion, Pandora has a bedpan held out for her.

Freya hugs it like a teddy bear, trembling and gasping, her body convulsing. Regulus curses under his breath, pulls her hair back from her face, and rubs between her taut shoulders through it.