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Week of April 13-19, 1987Easter Holiday: On CampusGryffindor vs. Hufflepuff:March 15
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Member Since: 07/16/07
May 20 08 6:36 PM
Miss Twistable Arms
Every now and then he heard footsteps pass the door to the ward, always the same brisk sort of stride, as though healers acquired their own way of walking which was quick enough to suggest purpose yet not rushed enough to instil panic. Apparently however the hospital didn't sleep, and now he was awake Rabastan was fairly certain it would be a while before he did too. Potions had dulled the pain but it was still uncomfortable to move, and lying in the dark had intensified each sound so that the ticking of a clock and the splatter of raindrops upon the window became all consuming rather than mere background noise. That he hated hospitals was nothing new to Rabastan, that he avoided them as much as possible went without saying, however all his previous thoughts simply seemed to be further enforced with every extra minute he spent between the crisp, coarse sheets. The only mercy was the fact the room was empty; however the name of the healer on the board above his bed was unknown, though presumably involved in spell damage. It was an area he would normally have consulted Alannah on if he had had to, however clearly this was a situation way beyond the abilities of a trainee. Buildings, after all, rarely cursed people.
Groaning somewhat Rabastan let his eyes fall closed, only to have them fly open again at the sound of the ward door opening. Dark eyes darted to his arm, a small sigh of relief escaping him at the fact he was, for now, still safe, however he need not have worried as it was not a set of lime green robes or a healer which had entered the room. The smile which flickered around his dry lips lasted only a moment however before the expression on Moira's face had his own slipping into one far more neutral. He supposed he should not have been surprised they had informed her where he was, after all, his alibi also meant the Ministry assumed he had been on Ministry business and therefore Ministry protocol needed to be followed. That protocol however was proof if ever he needed it that things were serious, as in minor incidences the family were usually informed in the morning rather than the middle of the night. Not that Moira had apparently made it to bed if her formal gown and vestiges of still to be removed make up were anything to go by.
Her touch was light, and, at the sight of her eyes beginning to glisten Rabastan moved his hand to take hers, his grip still weak but at least he had found the strength to actually move. His first instinct was to tell her he was okay, however despite the fact she would never believe it such a lie would also not help him get out of the hospital any time soon.
At the end of the day even telling his wife how he was had come down to a question of pragmatics, and, in his current state, he struggled to care. He needed her help, and the way to get that would not be to pretend everything was fine, but to stress it wasn't, to stress that the longer he stayed where he was the more chance there was of him leaving escorted by dementors than by Moira herself. Of course there was a chance Alannah could pull strings, but it was one hell of a slim chance and Rabastan was only a betting man when the odds were he couldn't lose.
"Things didn't go as planned," His voice was ragged with effort to speak, "Unforeseen…" He tailed off with a faint wave of his free hand, wincing slightly and abandoning the gesture fairly quickly. Quite how he would even make it out the room, assuming he convinced Moira it was for the best, Rabastan was not sure, however that was not the present challenge. "Look, I can't stay here, someone put a glamour my arm," He paused, turning over his hand to reveal the pristine pale forearm, "But it won't last."
His grip upon her hand tightened slightly as though to emphasise the point. Certainly the situation on paper was simple, get out or get caught.
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