By the time they'd got him settled into a bed and brought out the dittany, Seamus was awake again. He was as white as the sheets he lay on and couldn't stop trembling, no matter the warming charms the Healers put on the blankets. Once they left him alone, with a reminder that they'd get in touch with his emergency contact, he curled on his side, eyes squeezed shut against the memory and the tremors. Banshees couldn't kill, but they could certainly leave unsuspecting victims with nightmares for years. His boggart wouldn't be changing any time soon, that was for sure. Oddly, Seamus wanted his mother. Her warm arms around him, whispering that it would all be right as rain in the morning. Susan's (muffled) voice from the doorway of his room had nearly the same effect. His eyes flew open as a particularly violent tremor worked its way through him.
"Susie," he croaked. Was that really his voice? He must've been screaming too. "Susie, it was...someone's going to die. She...I..." his eyes shut again over a grimace. There was still blood crusted along the skin of his ears and neck; it cracked with the movement of his face.