Clara cradled Helena's head with her hand, hugging her at an awkward angle while she used her other hand to inspect Albus's wound. She shook her head, with a slight sigh, forcing the air from her lungs. Breathing was a habit that she just could not give up. There were nights when she would forego sleep with nary a problem the next day or four days later, but breathing was the one thing she refused to give up. She didn't need to do it, and perhaps her gasping and holding her breath was a little too long a pause, but it was ingrained in her like every lesson her mother had ever taught her.
"Think you better use it before I throw up all over your hand, yeah?" Clara was trying to lighten the situation — for both Helena's worry and Albus's embarrassment. "Might get some in Helena's hair, and she'll never forgive me. And I'll never forgive you."