The shock and grief and anger were almost too much for Gaius to bear, and he stood staring at Faelan numbly, torn between an outburst of fury and collapsing in sobs on the kitchen floor. Most of all, though, he wanted to run, to escape, as though by fleeing as far and fast as he could go he would be able to outrun the emotions which were trying to tear him apart from the inside.
That was when he heard it, a sound that meshed with the roaring of the blood in his ears and then overcame it, making him go rigid as though a jolt of electricity had suddenly zapped him. Perhaps that was what it was in a way, for the sound of Sirius' motorbike - that roaring, almost deafening sound - was unmistakable. How could he not know that sound, when he'd ridden on that bike behind Sirius more times than he could count, the motor like the growl of a huge dog as he had clung to Sirius' back, laughing and happy and free? But it was frightening now, because that sound brought him hope, impossible, soaring hope, even as it held him fixed in place as immobile as though someone had hexed him that way. Only his eyes moved as his gaze turned toward the door, the sound of the engine cutting off as he stood waiting, hoping, wishing with all of his soul that it would be Sirius who walked through it, looking sheepish or amused or even curious as the joke played upon them. Looking any way at all, so long as he was there, real and solid, and that none of this horror was happening.
One thing Gaius did know, however - if it was Sirius, if he was alive, Gaius just might kill him for this.