It all happens very quickly, the man drawing a blade and slashing his wrist, deep enough to send a spray of blood against the wall as he says that word again, harsher this time. A great gust of wind pushes Sirius forward at the same time, close enough for him to get an even better look at the man's eerily black eye, close enough to feel the force of this man's power, however violently impotent it may be at the moment.

Instinctively, Sirius pulls out his wand, readying for a fight, a defensive spell on the very tip of his tongue. Before he can utter a word, the man is crumpling, shaking as blood spills dark across the wood at his feet.

"Fuck," Sirius mutters and, despite his better judgment, drops to his knees and grabs the man's bleeding arm. "Vulnera Sanentur," he murmurs under his breath, dragging the tip of his wand across the mess of blood at the man's wrist. Then again, "Vulnera Sanentur," up the same path, drizzling, misting rain clearing the blood awayand skin slowly reforming. "Vulnera Sanentur," he breathes one last time, still cradling the man's arm with his other hand as the blood flow stops, skin mending fully over the clean gash.

Sirius's hair clings to his face with wet when he looks up again to meet the man's eyes, his heart still thundering in his chest. "Is this your magic?" he asks with no small amount of judgment in his tone. "What in the bloody hell, mate?" And to think people call him dramatic.