ink - sirius black

shiny red plastic booths and dry, heavy tongues

February 1, 1980
2:29 pm
Room 131
St. Mungo's

Anneliese was slightly trapped. Sirius wrapped around her would have been the ideal circumstance to wake up with any other time, but Callaway was too anxious to talk to James to enjoy it for a second longer than she had already been awake.

She pushed her chin into her chest to look down at his strong nose and shaped brows, all features as relaxed as a kitten curled up in a morning patch of sun. There would be no waking him until he wanted to be woken up, no doubt in at least an hour.

Still, her stubborn nature forced her to try one last time.

"Sirius," Anneliese hissed, shaking his shoulders. "Wake the hell up- oh my god."

Black shifted in his sleep, rolling his arm further onto her stomach and unintentionally pinning her down even more. Callaway felt like an avalanche had buried her in a warm, familiar pile of boulders.

Anneliese gritted her teeth and propelled her shoulder over to the other side of the mattress, releasing her torso. She wiggled her legs until her foot strained far enough to hitch onto the iron frame of the bed, finally tugging herself free.

Callaway staggered back, slightly off balance as she stood up. Sirius was still asleep, oblivious to the motion all around him.

Anneliese smiled slightly at the tranquility keeping his features resting, more amity in his expression than she had seen him sleeping with in a long time. She pulled a blanket over him and kissed him on the top of his head before quietly exiting the room.

Across the hospital, another boy was taking the much less peaceful route on the way to finding his senses.

The world was a blur of bright lights and colorful blobs. His hand fumbled to his right, aimlessly swinging around open air before landing on solid wood. He winced as he heard himself knock something over, but was satisfied once he caught onto his glasses he was nearly blind without.

The world came into focus as he slid on the circle frames, details sharpening. There was a sling on his left arm, harnessed around his shoulder. His entire right arm and shin were wrapped in white cloth bandages, no doubt the enormous patches of charred and seared skin slowly healing.

He forced himself out of bed, sidestepping to find a mirror. Someone had gotten all of the ash and rubble out of his hair. Now it was only as messy as it was usually.

The only damage to his face was a bandage across the bridge of his nose, but his neck and shoulder both had splotches a shade lighter than usual. The Healers couldn't get rid of all the scarring, and he had gotten the worst of the explosion, not her.

He was just grateful he hadn't lost a limb, a leg, or his life.

The door soundlessly opened as he pushed it forward, chilly hospital air hitting his bare arms and pushing against the tank top he had been wearing underneath his button up shirt. He ignored the Healers and other patients giving him odd looks. He was only looking for one person.

Her voice called out from behind him, telling him that she had been looking, too.

"James!" Anneliese exclaimed, walking as fast as she could without her splitting the skin on her leg again. "James, come on. I just barely got out from being trapped by Sirius, it's a miracle my Healer didn't come in and see me-"

She had around the same amount of damage as Potter, minus the scars on her neck and shoulder. Bandages all around her knuckles and wrists had been added.

St. Mungo's had given her light blue sweatpants, a rosy t-shirt, and white socks. They were soft and clean and smelled like how Anneliese imagined clouds would with a trace of laundry detergent. Her hands were bare, but her hair was somehow still pulled back into a tight bun.