At around 5 o'clock, Isaac was standing behind the desk, in his office, which had a white bowl, streaked with blood, on it. His sleeves were rolled up, because he had just finished wrapping his forearms in white bandages. He was putting the remaining roll of gauze away in a black box, next to a little knife and a clean handkerchief, for next time.
After he had enchanted the lock on it and the drawer it went in, he looked, absently, in the white bowl and felt his stomach churn, like after the first time he ate horse radish. Just as he gripped the bowl, tightly, shook a little, and vomited into it, Filch came by, about to knock on the door. His fist froze, as he listened to the ghastly sound of Isaac vomit, not only once, but, a smaller amount, a second time.
Filch lowered his hand and said, "Isaac, it's me!" He looked around the hall, to make sure no one was eaves dropping or that Lupin stepped out of his office and classroom, and added, "I don't care how awful it is in there, just let me in."
Isaac was hunched over the bowl and held his burning throat. He pulled his wand out and, wordlessly, unlocked the door. Filch pushed it open and gave him a pitying look, while Isaac stared back, apologetically. A little more vomit dripped out of his mouth.
Filch told him, "I'll be right back. I'll get you some water."
Then, Filch ran out to the halls, past a few students, who whispered to each other about the possibility that something was wrong with Mrs. Norris, while he prayed he wouldn't run into Natalie, and have to explain things to her, Harry, Hermione, Lupin, or Dumbledore and McGonagall.
He ran down up a flight of stairs and leapt, part way, to the fourth floor to get to his office and startled Alison, who had quickly transformed back into Mrs. Norris. He pulled a glass out of a desk drawer and ran back out, without even a word.
Then, he slid into a bathroom, where a fourth year Ravenclaw boy, decked out in everything but his cloak for some reason, with wavy, medium brown hair and beautiful, but still masculine, features had been washing his hands.
He stared, nervously and curiously, as Filch ignored him and filled the glass with water, ran back out, with his hand over the top of the glass, and left the faucet running.
The boy turned off the water for Filch and was left bewildered about seeing an incredibly human side to the bitter caretaker, who, just a year ago, he could remember threatening to whip even the first years under Umbridge's reign.
When Filch got back in Isaac's office, he found Isaac sitting on the floor, leaning against his desk. As Filch put the glass to Isaac's lips and then Isaac took hold of the glass, Filch couldn't believe how Isaac still looked like the perfect protective older brother. Filch's protective older brother.
After he finished drinking, Isaac gave Filch a drained look, like, to Filch, he had just come from a battle, and said, "Thank you."
Then, he got up, followed by Filch, and turned away, towards his room.
Filch told him, "You could use magic to clean it. I wouldn't blame you."
Isaac headed into his room to get a wastebasket and a blue sponge and said, over his shoulder, "I don't want to get into the habit of using magic for everything." On his way out, he offered, "You can wait outside or in my bedroom, while I clean up."
"No, I'll wait here." Filch told him, still surprised that Isaac, as he cleaned up his own vomit, who also cut himself, and who looked constantly sleep deprived, and had a slightly bad haircut, could still seem so much like the hero, the emotional rock he used to be—no, was still seen as.
How was it possible to be so afraid for someone, to see them as fragile, but to think of them as the person you could always lean on?