Mischief Managed

25: Glass Hearts

I'm not going to try to describe my pain. It's hell. That's what.

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Sirius pulled me closer to him. "He's gone, Bree, I'm so sorry."

My whole being was vibrating, my limbs quaking. Shattering. I was filled with this insufferable, screaming sort of pain, and I could feel it pumping through my veins, burning me to a crisp from the inside out.

My mind wasn't working right. I couldn't think, couldn't hear, couldn't feel anything but the screaming.

Sirius squeezed me even tighter, as if his strength could somehow stop my shaking, and said, "Let's get out of here. We can go...in the hall."

Panic inside me flared and I twisted my body desperately, craning my neck back to the body on the hospital bed.

As Sirius dragged me to the door, as the Healers gazed at me with apathetic pity, one thought flashed through my mind. The words threw daggers at my soul.

Because, even though I was only a few steps away from the bed, I couldn't recognize the body lying there.

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Sirius sunk into a chair in the waiting room, pulling me into the seat beside him. His handsome face was strained and his eyes were red and swollen. My body was still shaking, and he tried to wrap an arm around me.

None too gently, I shrugged him off me and curled in on myself, my body hunched in a natural position to steady the pain.

I began to cry again. Once I started, the sobs flooded from me, battering and beating my lungs and throat as they escaped.

I cried. And cried. And cried.

And all I could think was: My dad. My dad. My dad.

Sirius put a hand on my back, attempting to comfort me again. My body still for moment, and the sound of my breaths, ragged and hoarse, filled the room.

His thumb rubbed gently against my robes.

"Bree...I don't...I don't know what to do," he said.

A sob escaped my throat.

Then another cry. But not from me.

I looked up.

Sirius was hanging his head, and his body was hunched over his knees just like mine. His cheeks were blotchy.

His head turned, and his gaze met mine. His eyes widened when saw my face, and they welled with pity, but not like that of the Healers. His was real.

I shut my eyes. My body began to convulse again. I felt a pair of strong arms wrap around me, and this time I leaned into them.

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I didn't fall asleep. But I didn't speak, or move all that much, either. I half-crouched half-sat in the wooden chair, my head still pressed against Sirius's chest.

His hand was stroking my hair, and every so often I felt a tear drip onto my forehead.

My body was still. My mind was still. Calm, in a state of stress-induced anesthesia.

Suddenly, I jerked awake. Sirius jumped from his seat, and he looked at me, startled as he wiped the wetness from his cheeks.

"Bree- w-what-"

I rose from the chair, my feet wobbly, and replied simply, my tone not calm but not completely frantic either, "I need to see my mum."

Then I ran. My robes billowed at my ankles, and I nearly knocked over an entire cart of potions. The Healer pushed the cart narrowed her eyes with disdain and her old face wrinkled with annoyance.