After being sat down on a really comfortable arm chair and consuming a Calming Draught, Jo watched as the empty vial was taken away from her now-steady hands.
"Miss Bevan?"
Jo hummed non-committedly. She slowly raised her head, eyes focussed on the witch's luxurious emerald robes.
Was she supposed to feel so tired, right now? So helpless? So... hollow...?
Almost immediately, she found herself staring into dark green emerald eyes, absently noticing the faint crow lines and a faint ache settled in her heart again.
A blatant reminder, it was.
Jo opened her mouth. Closed it. And bowed her head.
No sound came out.
She tried again, croaked, and looked down at her shoes, lips pursed.
"How..."
No.
No, no, no. She was asking the wrong question. She didn't even need to ask a question.
She needed—
"'elp."
Yeah, that was what she needed.
"I... I need... 'elp."
That was it. In English.
"Because I don't... I don't know how... how t'deal with... with the grief... without— without mam w'me."
As she wrung her fingers, lungs searing with every breath, most of Jo was glad now that it was out and that she couldn't see the expression on Professor McGonagall's face.
The rest of her, however, was increasingly relieved. Enough so that she could fall asleep right this instant. The armchair was comfortable enough. Like the one they had at home.
The one where she would pull up her knees. Rest her cheek against the arm. Close... close her eyes... and... and sleep...
Thoughts so far?