While the others fought Sirius had fallen to his knees, less groping and more flailing as he tried to find his wand. He was not so much oblivious to the struggle going on around him as unable to think beyond his state of agony.
"FINITE INCANTATEM! FINITE-" The scorching pain in his eyes eased. He had the brief urge to sit back and cry at the new found relief. Then he remembered the Basilisk, the reason for his act of complete and utter stupidity.
He kept searching for his wand. It may be useless offensively but there was no reason he couldn't cast defensive spells, though he had little hope they would last long against the Basilisk. Why had he tried to cast a spell on the creature? He got an O on his Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. He'd fought Death Eaters and lived. He'd ran alongside a werewolf for countless full moons. How stupid could he-
While he berated himself mentally his hands found not his wand but a battered hat. He forced his eyes open and was suddenly aware that there were tears streaming down from them. In that moment he was thinking many things. Mostly he was worried about fighting the Basilisk and keeping the others alive. But there were two other thoughts: one, that the hat he held was the Sorting Hat; and two, even if he was crying from sheer pain he did not want the others to see him in such a state. He didn't know if what he did next was out of pride and vanity or because of an odd compulsion (or both) but he placed the Sorting Hat on his head.
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"FINITE INCANTATEM! FINITE-" The scorching pain in his eyes eased. He had the brief urge to sit back and cry at the new found relief. Then he remembered the Basilisk, the reason for his act of complete and utter stupidity.
He kept searching for his wand. It may be useless offensively but there was no reason he couldn't cast defensive spells, though he had little hope they would last long against the Basilisk. Why had he tried to cast a spell on the creature? He got an O on his Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. He'd fought Death Eaters and lived. He'd ran alongside a werewolf for countless full moons. How stupid could he-
While he berated himself mentally his hands found not his wand but a battered hat. He forced his eyes open and was suddenly aware that there were tears streaming down from them. In that moment he was thinking many things. Mostly he was worried about fighting the Basilisk and keeping the others alive. But there were two other thoughts: one, that the hat he held was the Sorting Hat; and two, even if he was crying from sheer pain he did not want the others to see him in such a state. He didn't know if what he did next was out of pride and vanity or because of an odd compulsion (or both) but he placed the Sorting Hat on his head.