Remus, wandering into the bright Hospital Wing for his twice-weekly dose of pain-killers, mood-regulaters, and dream-suppressors (a brightly colorful cocktail of potions, which changed frequently along with the most current findings in research), heard the horridly wet hacking noise and, upon utterly failing to find Madame Pomfrey, went to hand the poor patient his water.
"Shall I call the nurse?" he said quietly, holding the glass.
When Remus got close enough, Lucifer grabbed a hold of his arm. Using it as leverage, he flipped himself onto his side, and proceeded to cough and hack blood onto the once pristine sheets. His grip was iron tight on the others arm as his coughing fit continued, but weakened to almost nothing when he was finally given reprieve.
Lacking the strength to move, he lay on his stomach, half smothering himself. His hand had fallen away from Remus, but had not moved at all from where it had fell. His breathing was shallow and uneven, his eye’s glazed. A soft hiccup came, an almost cough, and a slight trickle of blood to stain the sheets where Lucifer’s head rested.
"I'll take that as a yes," Remus murmured, sending a little ball of amber sparks in the direction of the nurse's quarters. Pocketing his wand again, he grabbed a cloth from the bedside table and quickly mopped up some of the blood from Lucifer's chin, soaking up the small puddle on the sheets.
Then, switching to a clean cloth, he dampened it with cool water and dabbed it at his forehead, where beads of sweat had formed. "Can you breathe alright for now?" he asked, completely calm and tranquil, despite the blood now spattering both boys.
Philip ran to Lucifer’s bedside. Seeing the amount of blood on the sheets, floor, and the boy’s themselves, he saw that there was too much. Checking Lucifer’s pulse, he reached for the cup on the bedside that had started all of this. Inside was a potion to make the body produce more blood. He tipped a little at a time into Lucifer’s mouth, his hands steady even as Pomfrey rushed to the scene
( ... )
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"Shall I call the nurse?" he said quietly, holding the glass.
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Lacking the strength to move, he lay on his stomach, half smothering himself. His hand had fallen away from Remus, but had not moved at all from where it had fell. His breathing was shallow and uneven, his eye’s glazed. A soft hiccup came, an almost cough, and a slight trickle of blood to stain the sheets where Lucifer’s head rested.
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Then, switching to a clean cloth, he dampened it with cool water and dabbed it at his forehead, where beads of sweat had formed. "Can you breathe alright for now?" he asked, completely calm and tranquil, despite the blood now spattering both boys.
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