"My sisters dead," he whispered, then took a shuddering breath and stood up, holding a hand up for Scorpius.
"But who knows, maybe she'll be here tomorrow. Let's go to bed, I cant deal with anything else tonight. Especially not figuring out a whole new bloody career."
Maybe things would be better in the morning. Maybe the sky would turn green and monkeys would write the next great novel. But dwelling on shit never made it better. It just made it more present. He could just have fucked up dreams and work through it in his head, like always.