Lying was something he had been brought up with, something as a child he had thought to be the norm when it came to adults. A white like here, a lie by omission there, an exaggeration or evasion to save face every now and then. It was an attitude he had gone on to also possess, feeling no guilt or discomfort from it, at least not until he met Moira. Perhaps the problem was not how much he was loath to admit he cared for her, but that her own attitude and values to dishonesty were so different from his own. Had he loved a woman who fabricated her movements as much as he himself did there would be no pang of regret felt as her sympathy began to slip, there would not perhaps have been the false sympathy in the first place. Not that Rabastan particularly wanted Moira involved in certain aspects of his life, however there was no denying that if she was things would have been far simpler.

"How do you know it won't last? What if whoever it was that did it made it permanent?"

His head shook ever so slightly, the movement making his skull ache with a dull thudding pressure. Whatever he had been hit by he really needed to learn the charm for because clearly it was the sort of thing that should have been upon his own house rather than on a muggle lover's art gallery. However finding the charm could wait, for the time being he needed to get better and regain the forgiveness of his wife once again. It was like a timeless dance they played, him screwing up and Moira forgiving him over and over again, with the occasional shouting match accompanied by thrown objects inserted into the mix every now and then for some variety in the steps. Quite how he knew for sure the glamour was wearing off would be hard to justify, for he did not want to tell Moira the whole truth, that anyone who would think to put such a glamour on would never permanently cover their master's mark, but also he knew that she could easily refute his assertion that the glamour had to wearing off by pointing out he had not seen it when it was first cast owing to his distinct lack of consciousness.

"If it was that simple to hide I would have done so long ago," It was as close to the truth as he could get without bringing up what he had been doing in such a way as to confirm what he reckoned his wife was already suspecting. He had never been particularly keen on being a Death Eater even before he met Moira; however the rift it was forever causing between them had caused him to view the whole thing with increasing distaste. Whilst he believed in the theory the practice was beginning to sit ill at ease with him, and there was no denying that life would just be so much simpler were he able to guarantee himself that he would spend every night in his own bed.

"Should I find a Healer then to release you?"

The change in tone, in posture, was subtle but to Rabastan still painfully obvious. Whilst he was sure her question was genuine he could not help but wonder if she had simply said it to break the silence. After all, no Healer in their right mind would simply release him in his current state anyway. As a general rule being released required you having the ability to walk out the door and Rabastan doubted he could even get to the nearby bathroom. Yet that was not why he hesitated from saying yes. If he was honest with himself what he wanted was for Moira to almost approve of him leaving, to want him to go home with her there and then. Perhaps it was the pain potions, after all such thoughts were entirely too sappy to have come from his mind unaided by something foreign in his body, however for whatever reason his answer was not the one he was sure he should have given.

"We can wait a little while, I doubt there are many Healers around at this time anyway." Perhaps it was wrong to give her hope that there was more time before the glamour faded than there actually was, however he didn't have the stomach for a fight, nor the energy to try and convince her of anything, "Did they happen to say what exactly is wrong?" Having awoken long after the healers were gone there had been no one around to explain what was happening, and well, pain everywhere was hardly a satisfactory explanation nor enough of a symptom for Rabastan to even contemplate self diagnosing him. Of course finding out what was wrong might also lead to discovering the ward which had caused all the problems, however muggle loving fools or not he doubted the van Hagens family were that nice that they would drop by St. Mungo's to tell the Healers just what the person sent to destroy them and their livelihood had been cursed with.

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