#birddog

Sirius booped the tip of her nose, and she giggled, taking a moment before gesturing to the bag he was holding.

“You think those are nice?”

The sweets in Sirius’ hand were bright, somewhere between yellow and orange, and he’d been eating them for most of the night. He couldn’t have the Chocolate Bats she’d been feasting on herself, what with his chocolate allergy, which she loved to tease him about. What with the dog thing, and all.

“Yeah,” he said, popping another one in his mouth. “Sometimes they make you float, but Mrs. Flume has some that she keeps without that part. I want to eat them without worrying about smacking my head about the ceiling, you know?”

Clara giggled, popping another chocolate into her mouth. He’d lost track of how many she’d had, but he didn’t really care. It was Friday night, and they were holed up in the Room of Requirement, so if she had a sugar-high and couldn’t get to sleep, it wasn’t like they needed to be in class in the morning.

And it wasn’t like there weren’t other things they could do if she had trouble sleeping.

“Makes sense,” she said, swallowing and tilting her head. “I don’t know if I’ve ever had one.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Peggy doesn't share candy,” she said simply, and Sirius briefly tried to think of an interaction to refute that, but came up blank.

“Huh.”

“They're her favorites, but she's stingy with them. She doesn't even share them with Moony.”

“Well, Moony doesn't care for them. He only ever wants chocolates.”

The word sat heavy in his mouth, and he suppressed a shudder, watching Clara pop another into her mouth.

Instead, he pulled her against his chest, settling his arms around her and dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “Do you want any Firewhisky?”

She shook her head against his chest. “Níl,” she said, “I'm alright. I just want to sit like this.”

He chuckled, tightening his arms a little. “You don't want to play fiddle?”

“You really meant that?”

She'd turned towards him then, a light in her eyes. Sirius knew she loved to play his violin, knew it was a more expensive instrument than her parents could have ever afforded to buy her or her sisters. He'd seen her fiddle; it was an old, well loved instrument with just enough quality to not sound abysmal.

They didn't get a lot of time to play anymore, and he nodded quickly. “Of course I did. I love listening to you play.”

“Will you play first?”

He hesitated for a moment. Playing brought back raw memories, but the shine in her eyes made it impossible to say no. He nodded, wiping some chocolate from the corner of her mouth and kissing her forehead as he stood up.

“Of course, dearest. Anything for you.”

He played for a while, settling into it the longer he had the bow in his hand. It had been at least a month, if not more, so his fingers ached as they pressed on the strings, but he didn't care. He could feel Clara’s eyes on him, and chuckled, mid song, when she finished her chocolates and started in on his Whisbees. She made a face at the first one, probably not expecting the way it fizzled like carbonation in her mouth, but he watched her eat another, and another, so they must have grown on her.

They were quite nice, and she seemed content and happy. What else could he want for the love of his life?

After a little while he finished the songs he'd memorized, at least that he still cared to play, and held out the violin and bow.

“Alright, my sweet. Your turn.”

She grinned, a little manic in expression, and he realized she must definitely have a sugar-high, just like he'd feared would come. She scrambled to her feet, dropping the now empty bag of Whisbees before taking the bow and the violin in her hands. She took a moment to run her hand along the body of the instrument, and when she looked up, the sparkle in her eyes could have outshone the sun.

“Thank you, mo ghrá.”

He felt a wide grin split his face, and he kissed the tip of her nose.

“Of course, dear. Go on, give a– what is it Brianna always says, a ditty?”

She giggled, high and bright, and he could have drank it in and never needed anything else to sustain him.

He watched her play several songs, her body moving with the cadence of the music in a way he'd been taught never to let his own. She bounced and swayed, her eyes closed and a smile on her lips as the folk music of her childhood flowed from the strings. He could have sat there an listened to her play forever, never growing tired of it, when she started to slow, a frown crossing her face before she stopped playing completely, a puzzled and uncomfortable look on her face.

“Love?” He asked, shifting to sit up fully, confusion filling him. “Is something wrong?”

“I…” she started, stopping and swallowing. “Maybe. I think–” She cut herself off, turning slightly as she stifled a large belch with her fist.

Sirius’ eyebrows raised.

“Wow.”

“Excuse me,” she mumbled, eyes shut as her eyebrows drew together.

Sirius frowned. Clara would have normally made some sort of side remark or comment about how often the boys belched in front of her, but instead she looked… in pain?

“You alright, dearest?”

“Um–” she stopped short and held out the violin to him. He stood quickly, taking it from her and moving to place it in its case.

“Love?” He said over his shoulder, but was only met with a quiet moan and another muffled belch, which only caused anxiety to twist in his chest.

Sirius straightened up and turned back toward Clara to see that she still had a hand over her mouth, but the other was now curled protectively around her midsection.

“Clara?” He said, hating the way the worry came through in his voice. He crossed toward her, speaking all the while.“Clara, love, what's wrong?”

“I–” she swallowed hard, shaking her head as another, wet belch escaped her. When she spoke again, her voice was panicked. “I'm gonna be sick.”

How badly his own chest seized at her words was, in his opinion, incredibly embarrassing. They were nearly seventeen, something as simple as illness shouldn't cause him to get flighty. Yet, he had to fight his instincts to not flee for the door as the color drained from Clara's face.

“What?”

“I'm gonna be sick, I'm–” her sentence cut off, turning into another wet belch that became a gag as Clara clamped a hand down hard over her mouth.

Sirius didn't know what he was doing next, but his body acted for him, whipping his wand out to… what? 

What am I supposed to do?

There was a pop, and Sirius looked down, startled, so see that a bin had appeared out of thin air, directly next to him.

He would have stopped to wonder how it had gotten there, and later realized it was because it was something they required and been immensely grateful, but in the moment he simply grabbed it and shoved it under Clara's chin. His other arms wrapped around her as he guided her to sit on the ground as gently as he could, and it was only a moment before she moaned again. It was short lived, her breath catching as she stiffened.

“Siri–”

She didn't get his full name out before she buckled forward, a thick belch giving way to a wave of sick, her hands clutching at the edges of the bin so tightly that her knuckles went white.

Sirius made sure the bin was stable before pulling her hair back and hastily securing it with the elastic around his wrist.

“It's okay, dear,” he said, trying with everything he had to keep his voice even. Confident. “You'll be alright. Don't be frightened.”

He knew the last sentence would fall on deaf ears. If he knew his Clara, she was already on the doorstep of a panic attack that her body didn't have time for. She vomited several times, each time coming just at the end of a painful sounding belch, and by the third time she heaved, there were quick tears flowing down her cheeks. By the fifth, she was sobbing, fear and discomfort completely taking her over.

He was frightened as well, but more than that, he was broken over the fact that he couldn't fix it. All he could do was rub her back, right along her spine, and tell her she wasn't alone, and that it would end.

“It's alright, dearest,” he said quietly after a particularly strong round. “You're okay. I'm right here, and I won't let anything happen to you. It's going to be alright, love. Try to breathe.”

After several unsuccessful attempts, Clara was able to draw a full, deep breath, and then another, and another.

Her death-grip on the edges of the bin released enough for Sirius to push it away, but not out of reach, and turn her to pull her into his chest, where she shuddered and sniffled, matching his breathing as he continued to take full, even breaths.

He let her even out a little more before speaking quietly.

“How are you feeling now?”

It was a moment before she answered, voice rough from vomiting. “I'm n-not sure.”

“That's alright,” he said. “Why didn't you tell me you were feeling ill? We didn't have to come up here tonight.”

“But I wasn't,” she said, her tone absolutely honest. “I wasn’t and I'm still not. Or, I wasn't, and then I really was, and now it's going away. That didn't feel like any other time I've been sick before. I've never…”

He looked down at her, and her cheeks were a flush of red, but when he pressed a kiss to her forehead, she wasn't warm.

She's embarrassed. But why would she be embarrassed? He thought for a moment and came to a conclusion, but it seemed silly.

“You've never, what?”

“I've never… well. The, you know. The belching. That's not normal when my stomach’s ill. Only sometimes when I've had a soda, back home, but they don't make me sick. But what could have–”

“The Whisbees,” Sirius said suddenly. “That's what they remind me of, something you had us try when we visited you and your family over summer.”

“Sprite,” she said automatically, clearing her throat and shifting back. She was still pale, and obviously uncomfortable, but she didn't look like she was about to be sick again. “I thought so too, the way they're nearly carbonated, but I don't have problems with Sprite. I never have.”

She sniffled, wiping at the remaining tears on her cheeks. She was obviously still shaky, and he was feeling as much himself. 

Sirius wracked his brain for a reason, any reason, that the sweets or anything else would have made her sick. They'd been in the Room of Requirement since just after dinner, and all they'd done was read, eat sweets, and snog a little.

Maybe a lot.

Dinner had been normal, but filling as always. Then they'd read, snogged, read, snogged. Clara pulled the sweets out, and started in on her chocolate while he'd had his Whisbees. 

Ah.

Things started sliding into place faster than he could get the words out.

“You ate dinner, all that chocolate, and the rest of my Whisbees. That's probably why you're ill, you were too full.”

“But I wasn't, not until I'd been playing a while, and then it just felt like there was air trapped, and so I thought maybe the Whisbees, but then it wasn't just air, it was nausea so, so badly. It's still there, now, though I don't think I'll be sick again… I hope.”

Sirius thought again, trying to figure out what he was missing.

“What sort of chocolate?”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Milk, like I always get.”

Anything Nell had ever told him about potions and chemistry flooded his brain at once, and before he realized when he was doing, he reached out and grabbed the bin she'd been so sick into, peering inside to see if he was right.

“Gross, Sirius, what are you doing?!”

“Using my brain for once. I know what made you sick, dearest. You curdled the milk in the chocolate with the acid in the Whisbees.”

Her eyes widened, cheeks reddening as she realized what he was saying. “What?”

“Acid can curdle dairy. Nell told me that once, though I have no bloody idea what we were talking about to get us there. But the curdling and the air from the Whisbees probably made each other worse, and then you'd eaten so much of both, it was bound to happen.”

Clara blinked up at him, cheeks darkening more, and then she buried her face in her hands.

“Merlin, that's so embarrassing.”

“Being sick isn't embarrassing, Clara. Not even when it's your own fault. You didn't know it would happen.”

“But I shouldn't have been eating all that anyway, I've just been so stressed lately and I completely let myself overindulge, and now I ruined our night, and–”

“Hey! Hey, Clara, no.” Sirius took a hold of her shoulders, waiting until she looked up at him. He gave her a small smile. “Love. You didn't ruin anything. I'm just glad you aren't really ill. The worst that happens is your stomachs sore the rest of the night, maybe a little tomorrow.”

“But I was sick,” she said, “I was sick and crying and I know it freaks you out as much as me, and I… I'm sorry.”

He shook his head, pressing a kiss to her temple. 

“Don't apologize. I love you, Clara. Isn't there something that says ‘in sickness and in health and when you make bad food decisions?’”

“No, and also, that's marriage.”

His cheeks flushed, but he chuckled, pulling his wand out and vanishing the sick in the bin before scooting back into the pillows they'd been sitting in before, pulling her after him to lay against his chest.

“Well, whatever it is, I love you. And I'd never leave you, even if you did stomach chemistry and made yourself vomit.”

She sighed, laying herself against his chest. Now that the panic had settled down, he was happy to have stayed calm for himself. For her. And he'd been able to take care of her while she was sick, just like she'd done for him multiple times over the years. 

“I love you, Sirius,” she said quietly. Sleepily, probably exhausted from the fear and the heaving.

He kissed the top of her head, rubbing his hand gently up and down her arm.

“I love you too, sweets.”

“Please don't say ‘sweets.’”