Sirius woke up at around three in the afternoon, snuggled under the Gryffindor blanket that he suspected Euphemia may have knitted herself. He felt a little choked up at the thought. When he got out of bed, his knees immediately buckled, and he collapsed onto the floor. Crap, he thought. He had hoped he'd be fine after a good night's sleep.
What even was this spell? Walburga had cracked bones and left scars with her wand as well as her bare hands countless times in the past, and a couple of times, she'd even used Crucio. Sirius knew that the Cruciatus curse could cause lasting internal damage, but that was only with prolonged exposure, and he'd only been exposed to it twice, for a total of around five seconds. Not to mention that he was absolutely certain that wasn't the spell his mother had put on him a couple nights ago. It was something cold, it had sent a shiver throughout his body followed by a wave of sharp pain that had never fully faded away.
It's possible that he needed to find some sort of countercurse or antidote- which meant going to Pomfrey when he got to Hogwarts, presuming that he could hold on until then. Or, of course, he might just be being dramatic. He'd probably be fine in a couple minutes.
Except, he reflected, it had clearly gotten worse. He physically could not stand, couldn't even pull himself back up into bed. Shit.
"Hey, erm, James?" he said, hating that he was going to have to explain this to anyone, much less his best mate.
"What's up?" James came bounding into the room, grin faltering when he saw Sirius on the floor. "Shit, Pads, what's wrong?"
"Fuck, uh, I really didn't want to tell you about this," said Sirius. "But my mum noticed me sneaking out, and I had my broom so there wasn't really much she could do, only she used some spell..." He described how it had felt as best as he could remember, and told James he probably needed to go to Pomfrey once they got to Hogwarts.
"Absolutely not," James said harshly. His brown eyes were flashing. "That's in two fucking weeks, and you're laying on the floor right now. If this was wearing off, that'd be one thing, but you were walking yesterday."
"Yeah, I know, that's why I told you."
"I'm gonna have to tell my parents," James said softly, knowing this wasn't what Sirius wanted. "And we'll take you to St Mungo's."
Sirius winced. He hated this, the anger and pity in James's face, the sympathetic reactions he knew that Fleamont and Euphemia would have. No one understood that it just wasn't a big deal. Yes, his parents were arseholes, but this had been true his whole life, and it's not like he wasn't angry, because he was, but that anger constantly had to vye against how fucking tired of all of this he was.
James offered Sirius a hand and practically carried him back into bed, then left to go get his parents. When Fleamont and Euphemia arrived, their faces were tight and they looked quite worried.
"Sirius?" said Euphemia. "What's wrong?" With a sigh, Sirius explained the entire situation a second time. Once he had finished, Euphemia's eyes were swimming with tears, whereas Fleamont's face contained a hot anger that rivaled James's.
But after a deep breath, all Fleamont said was, "Let's get you to St Mungos."
"Er, how do we do that, exactly?" said James. "Sirius can't walk at the moment-"
"I can probably manage-"
"He can't," James cut in flatly. "Anyhow, we don't have, erm, stretchers or anything-"
"I do not need a fucking- fricking, sorry Mrs. Potter- stretcher right now, James Fleamont Potter." Sirius scoffed before thinking suddenly of Remus. His anger ebbed away. Regardless of how many times Remus said he did not want or need to go to the hospital wing, Sirius had to half-carry him there the day of the full moon because that was what was needed. Considering this, he turned to James. "You can, erm, help me a bit while we Apparate, and I'm sure they can fix me right up at Saint Mungos."
"Okay," James said quietly, helping Sirius out of bed. With a sharp inhale, Euphemia turned on the spot, and the four of them were sucked into that odd gap in space and time that Sirius was quite certain really shouldn't exist at all. Before he knew it, they had spoken to the dummy and the witch at the front desk and he was being wheeled to the fourth floor.
"Not the Janus Thickey Ward, right?" Fleamont Potter asked the Healer pushing Sirius's chair. Sirius felt his stomach turn over. The Janus Thickey Ward was for permanent spell damage.
Thankfully, the Healer clarified. "No, no, this is not permanent whatsoever, but it is serious."
"It is, in fact, Sirius," Sirius said, and James let out a strangled laugh.
The Healer looked mildly confused, but continued the explanation nonetheless. "We're going to need to do a lot of diagnostic spellwork and probably institute an intense potion regimen. In my opinion this seems like a curse that will continue to progress unless there is immediate intervention. It's good that you brought him here when you did, but I must impress upon you all the importance of an explanation of exactly what happened."
"No." Sirius knew Wizarding Law- he had to- and he launched into the speech he'd given several times before. "You cannot deny me treatment on the basis of a lack of information. Regardless of whether this curse is illegal, I did not do it and you have no proof to deny that. I can swear to you under whatever oath you'd like that neither I nor the Potters did this. Whoever did it is someone you cannot persecute anyway, and I have no obligation to give you that information. I will tell you everything I know about this spell- and frankly, it's not much as is- but I do not need to say who performed it."
"Young man-"
"In fact, I don't remember," Sirius cut in immediately. "Trauma-induced amnesia, you happy with that?"
"Sirius, it could help him-" James started to say.
"No, it couldn't. It doesn't matter who cast the spell, and," he turned in his chair to glare at the Healer, "it's none of your business."
"This isn't an Unforgivable, so unfortunately, I can't charge Mr. Black for his refusal to give up the perpetrator," the Healer explained to a pouting James and irate Fleamont.
"Well, I'll tell you," said Euphemia sharply, but stopped at a look from her husband.
"We can't break his trust already," said Fleamont quietly, likely not intending for Sirius to hear.
"Okay." She conceded his point softly.
This being settled, Sirius launched into an explanation of what had happened for the third time, filtering out any mention of Walburga and refusing to say where it had happened or why. He swore under oath that this was not the act of a Dark wizard he was trying to protect, and the Healer eventually gave up on getting anything else out of the stubborn teenager.
About five Healers total examined Sirius, each with expressions of concern that he did not want to admit frightened him. How long would this last? It couldn't be permanent, right? His mother was a powerful witch, sure, but not like this.
Eventually, a tall Healer with smooth brown skin and hair cascading to her waist cleared her throat. "Mr. Black, it is our collective opinion that this is an incredibly complex and dangerous hex, Old Magic to be exact. It has caused muscle spasms as the tissue beneath your skin quite literally breaks down, and had you not come here when you did, you may have died."
Sirius breathed in sharply, hating himself for his surprise that Walburga would actually attempt something that could kill him. "You can fix it, right?"
"Yes, of course," said the Healer, "but you'll need to stay here for a couple days, on a strict potion regimen for the next two weeks, and you probably won't be back on your feet for at least the next week." Sirius groaned inwardly. What a stupid hassle, especially to inflict on the Potters after everything they had done for him.
"Is there anything I can do to speed up recovery?" Sirius asked.
"I'm afraid not. With careful monitoring, you should be healthy by the time you arrive at Hogwarts."
James smiled encouragingly. "Good news, right?"
"Right," said Sirius, resolving immediately to be more empathetic when Remus pretended he did not need help. It had infuriated Sirius for years, but now, he thought he understood. This sympathy, the fuss he was causing, was almost unbearable.