RP: When the night has come...
Date: 18 September, 1999 | well after dark
Characters: George Weasley, Orderly [NPC]
Location: St. Mungo's
Status: Private
Summary: George stirs in the night.
Completion: Complete
It is quiet. Chilly. Odd that he should be so cold now; it was so warm last night they'd slept with the windows open. The countryside breeze moving through their room like a caress... He reaches for Lee, and finds that he can't. Can't move...can't reach.
Can't hear Lee breathing.
George opens his eyes slowly, blinking in the dark, willing his eyes to adjust. There is no wide window. No moonlight streaming into their bed. Only this narrow bed, with a thick blanket doubled over him. He moves to rub his nose. He can't. Can't move. Can't...
There is a figure in a chair nearby, and he tries to focus on it. "Lee?" His voice is a whisper, and speaking hurts his throat.
"No, Mr. Weasley. My name is James. I'm your orderly tonight."
James moves, and there is a cup at his lips. Water touches them, and he sips carefully. It's cold, and feels good on his tongue.
He lifts one hand again and it stops, mere inches off the bed. He looks down, blinking until they come into a hazy, gloomy focus. A wide strap runs around his wrist and disappears over the side of the bed. He tries the other, stiff with bandages, with the same result. "Why?"
James' voice is calm and kind. "You hurt yourself, Mr. Weasley. We needed to help you. To keep you safe."
He blinks again, then turns his face to the wall. Where is this place? He studies the bland, nondescript wall, then the equally boring ceiling, then turns his gaze back to James.
"You're in St. Mungo's," James says in answer to his unspoken questions. "Your brother brought you here. Do you remember that?"
George turns his face to the wall again. He doesn't want to think about it. Can't think about it...
"It's okay, if you don't. Or if you don't want to talk about it. Healer Greystone will be here to see you in the morning, once the potions have worn off." He offers the cup again. "Would you like another drink?"
George shakes his head mutely, shifting his body as much as the straps will allow, curling into a ball. James' hands are gentle as he spreads another blanket over him, covering his shoulders.
"I'm right here then, if you need me." George can hear his chair squeak as he settles into it.
There isn't anyone here that George needs...
Characters: George Weasley, Orderly [NPC]
Location: St. Mungo's
Status: Private
Summary: George stirs in the night.
Completion: Complete
It is quiet. Chilly. Odd that he should be so cold now; it was so warm last night they'd slept with the windows open. The countryside breeze moving through their room like a caress... He reaches for Lee, and finds that he can't. Can't move...can't reach.
Can't hear Lee breathing.
George opens his eyes slowly, blinking in the dark, willing his eyes to adjust. There is no wide window. No moonlight streaming into their bed. Only this narrow bed, with a thick blanket doubled over him. He moves to rub his nose. He can't. Can't move. Can't...
There is a figure in a chair nearby, and he tries to focus on it. "Lee?" His voice is a whisper, and speaking hurts his throat.
"No, Mr. Weasley. My name is James. I'm your orderly tonight."
James moves, and there is a cup at his lips. Water touches them, and he sips carefully. It's cold, and feels good on his tongue.
He lifts one hand again and it stops, mere inches off the bed. He looks down, blinking until they come into a hazy, gloomy focus. A wide strap runs around his wrist and disappears over the side of the bed. He tries the other, stiff with bandages, with the same result. "Why?"
James' voice is calm and kind. "You hurt yourself, Mr. Weasley. We needed to help you. To keep you safe."
He blinks again, then turns his face to the wall. Where is this place? He studies the bland, nondescript wall, then the equally boring ceiling, then turns his gaze back to James.
"You're in St. Mungo's," James says in answer to his unspoken questions. "Your brother brought you here. Do you remember that?"
George turns his face to the wall again. He doesn't want to think about it. Can't think about it...
"It's okay, if you don't. Or if you don't want to talk about it. Healer Greystone will be here to see you in the morning, once the potions have worn off." He offers the cup again. "Would you like another drink?"
George shakes his head mutely, shifting his body as much as the straps will allow, curling into a ball. James' hands are gentle as he spreads another blanket over him, covering his shoulders.
"I'm right here then, if you need me." George can hear his chair squeak as he settles into it.
There isn't anyone here that George needs...