The series of clicks--hinge, door plate, and lock--as Moira slid the heavy wooden door shut echoed through the modest foyer. The bronze handle felt very cold against the thin witch's palm and yet she clung to it, resting her forehead against the doorframe, taking a deep breath to try and gather her wits. It was already an ordeal for her to host a party but it was ten times more stressful when she didn't have her husband there to assist her. She didn't mind since he was working, or so he'd told her (and she decided he was being honest even if she knew better), but it didn't make the embarrassment or the stress of it all any better. Perhaps the determination in her voice was lacking when she had informed her guests that Rabastan wouldn't be joining them due to the inconveniences of a job in the Ministry because she had the sneaking suspicion that the two designers and their spouses were looking at her with something akin to pity. There hadn't been any gossip recently about their marriage so she couldn't really understand why they would look at her like that…unless they knew something she didn't (or that she ignored). But that wasn't possible. His extra-curricular activities were kept very secret as far as she knew. She hardly knew sometimes what he was up to and half the time was probably wrong when she assumed he wasn't at work like he claimed. Or she was completely wrong and they were just looking at her the way they normally did. It was quite possible that she was just feeling paranoid because of her own insecurities.

She made her way across the hall and up the stairs, briefly listening for the sound of the house elves cleaning up in the dining room, and into her bedroom. She undid the packages her guests had brought for her, unsurprisingly a new pair of shoes and a broach from their new lines, and went about tidying up the room since she'd made quite a mess of it trying to find an outfit for dinner. She'd settled on a simple black dress with a burgundy sash cinched around the waist, apparently not feeling particularly adventurous that evening. Lately it seemed she didn't feel particularly adventurous about anything…Life for Moira was pretty much stagnant but she didn't feel bored but she wasn't excited. She figured she was just at a turning point in her life-one in which she couldn't control much so she wasn't going to fight it or try to progress it. She was along for the ride.

"Madame," came a squeaky voice from the hall, an ear and then two peaking out from the shadows cast by the heavy door.

"Hm?" Moira queried with little effort as she hung up the last dress she'd thrown on the bed.

"There's a note that just arrived for you."

Murmuring a thanks, Moira took the note and read it quickly, her blue eyes widening as the contents sunk in. She had to read it twice before she really understood it and the second time a bit of terror filled her. Rabastan was hurt? But he was a senior Hit Wizard, how was that possible? All of the worst-case scenarios filled her mind and she had to work very hard to calm herself and think rationally. Was he poisoned? Paralyzed? Moira was a smart witch (Ravenclaw, after all) but she could be terribly irrational and she took little interest in Rabastan's career since she doubted he'd tell her much anyways. She remembered the looks on her guest's faces that evening and that helped to calm her. If Rabastan was off doing something foolish and related to that ridiculous mark on his arm then part of her wondered if she should really be all that concerned. He probably deserved whatever he'd done if that was the case.

But that wasn't right. He was her husband and she did love him dearly. Grabbing a jacket and her purse she ran down the steps and out to the garden to apparate to St. Mungo's.

She made her way into the hospital from the busy street outside and immediately found which room he was in from the receptionist who gave her a funny look, though Moira presumed that's how the woman's face always looked. Her heels clicked in the relatively quiet hallways but she walked with her head down, something telling her she didn't want to be particularly noticed (though that was difficult for a woman of her height). A slight bit of anger filled her as she realized she was trying to avoid attention out of some duty to her husband but why would she need to do that? What could he possibly have been up to or who had he been with to warrant suspicions? Well she knew the sort of people he hung around, hell, she knew his family and that was reason enough to be suspicious. But he was a Ministry worker and if he was really in trouble why would she have been notified of his stay in a hospital? She probably would've been informed of his sentence to Azkaban if he was really in trouble. So paranoia was at fault yet again.

Any anger she felt towards her husband melted away, however, as she saw him lying on the bed, his skin sickly pale even against the stark white sheets. "Rabastan!" she gasped through a soft sob. She ran to his side, placing her hand on his chest, afraid to touch his bare skin as she didn't know what was wrong just yet. "What happened?" Tears filled her eyes as she viewed her husband lying there quite vulnerable and obviously very hurt.