For a moment he was all consumed by the pain, blinding hot as though someone had poured boiling potion upon him, though nothing hurt quite as badly as the skull branded onto his arm, the Dark Mark flaring in protest to whatever protection ward he had hit. The information which had been collated was apparently flawed in the extreme, the simply muggle locks and basic security wards Rabastan had been warned about apparently not the only things Allison van Hagens had protecting her family and precious artwork, almost as though someone had alerted her to the fact that neither would have been enough to keep a remotely determined wizard of even less than mediocre skill out. Perhaps he was seeing traitors where there were none, however it was hard to think he had simply been ill-informed whilst his limbs felt as though they were on fire and his heart rate continued to increase. He had long ago given up trying to focus on anything, the sky above him all a blur and only the damp cobbles upon his back kept him aware that he was still alive, still lying on the ground where he had been thrown.
He was alone, if the few curious muggles peering from windows were discounted, for he had no doubt that the familiar crack of disapparation he had heard only moments before had been Bellatrix making herself scarce. Perhaps she had gone to get help, however Rabastan was well aware he did not have the time to wait for her to return, was aware that the van Hagens were not just going to sleep through whatever it was their damn house had done to him. As the pain began to dull, and his eyes began to focus, Rabastan crawled towards his wand, his mind already trying to list everything he would need to do to cover himself as he fought to stay conscious. Despite the lessening of his pain he was still aware something was very wrong, and though his first thought was that strange curse Dolohov was so fond of, Rabastan knew this was something else entirely, or he would already be dead.
Clasping his wand just as front doors started opening and a weird wailing could be beard down the street Rabastan focussed all his attention on apparating himself away, hoping against hope he didn't splinch himself in his weakened state. His first thought was to go home, however Moira was no healer, and Rabastan as not arrogant enough to assume he was above needing someone with skill at healing charms in his present state. Instead he landed in the Manticore, his entire body collapsing almost as soon as his feet hit the wooden floor and knocking his mask askew. He had barely even realised he was still wearing it, however it was probably just as well he had been, for he felt two pairs of arms drag him into the back room almost immediately, the owners clearly aware that questions would be asked if Rabastan had been allowed to linger.
He must have flitted in and out of consciousness for when he finally came around properly his mask and robes were gone and Louis Yaxley was staring at him most peculiarly. Of course that was nothing unusual considering it was Yaxley however Rabastan got the impression he must have looked like death for Yaxley to look quite that excited. Whilst not his first choice of help beggars could not be choosers and after some bartering involving more money than Rabastan could really afford and the promise to help Yaxley steal Rodolphus' eyes Rabastan watched the bartender apparate away to the Ministry to ensure that to all intents and purposes Rabastan looked like he had been on a mission that night. His body could cope no longer however, and, as the fire ebbed and flowed around his muscles Rabastan felt himself collapse for a final time.
The room was unfamiliar when he awoke, the sheets starchy and rough against his bare skin, however something about the overly clean smell ensured Rabastan was fairly certain he knew where he was and the thought made him panic more so even than when he had found himself flat upon the cobbles of a muggle street. Chinking open his eyes he was aware of being alone, the dark room filled only with empty beds and, seizing the opportunity, he shot a glance at his left arm, aware that it was surely only a matter of time before Aurors appeared to arrest him as there would have been no escaping the glaring mark when he was stripped naked. Yet at first glance, and even second glance, his arm was as unblemished as it had been when he had been seventeen. A third glance revealed the glamour, a far more skilled glamour than Rabastan had seen before, near undetectable and definitely not something a rushing healer would have noticed when trying to repair whatever damage had been done to him. Clearly whoever had brought him there was not entirely idiotic; however even the most skilled glamour charms were only temporary and the fact that Rabastan could detect this one at all suggested it was wearing off.
He had hours, a few at most, to get out of there, but one attempt at moving was enough to let him know he was definitely not going to be going anywhere alone any time soon.



