RP: Concerning Mr. Proudfoot.

[shh_robards]

Date: May 22th, 2005
Characters: Luna Lovegood, Gawain Robards, [John Proudfoot, Elizabeth Proudfoot], ?
Location: Hospital
Status: Private
Summary: Let's talk about Willlllliam. And stuff.
Completion: Incomplete.

Comments

[shh_robards]

It was strange to see Elizabeth Proudfoot without her husband. Gawain had known of the escort, the required return to London, and was not surprised that one of the two had chosen to keep watch over their son. The strangeness came in the fact that she had remained to face the wizarding world alone. Not, mind, that there would be much to face, but that it must have seemed so. The Proudfoots seemed almost to shield one another against some unspeakably vile influence of magic. Gawain could not bring himself to understand this--rather felt that they would do well to reconsider their views, that they were perhaps ridiculously stubborn in sticking to such ways--but he had perceived its presence. They made little effort to hide these feelings.

Still, he reminded himself that they were here, that they had thus far allowed William to remain. And, in their fashion, they were quite polite.

The visit would, he felt, be rather different without John Proudfoot's overbearing silence. Gawain couldn't say quite what he expected, though in the back of his mind he examined several quite various scenarios. The real matter at hand would be discerning whether there had been any developments in William's case. Without a staff member around--this may, give the individual most recently assigned to the case, have been something of a blessing--the information might be best heard from Elizabeth.

At the very least, he must respond in kind. "Good evening, Mrs. Proudfoot." Because it was best to exercise caution around these people, he approached no nearer than was necessary. There was no use in making her any more uncomfortable. "How is he?"

[shh_proudfoot]

With grudging reluctance, Elizabeth admitted, "It's hard to say." She was unable to resist reaching out to brush hair from William's forehead. "His... condition has not changed. I have not been able to speak to with a nurse, or that doctor."

Glancing to her son, she found she could say no more. William lay still with nothing out of place. His chest never rose. His eyelids never twitched. There was no hair to brush from his forehead. What was extraordinary about him was he hadn't changed. Not since yesterday. Not since last month.

Not since eight years ago.

It was nearly bizarre to think of him as alive.

"There has been no mention of the nature of the next procedure." Elizabeth could not decide if she was comfortable with that. Still, she looked to Mr. Robards.

[shh_robards]

"Ah." He continued to look over the unconscious body--whatever state it might be, exactly; there seemed no definite answer, and so 'unconscious' seemed a term suitable enough--for a moment longer. Nothing out of place, nothing changed. A moment more, perhaps not fully necessary, and then he did turn to regard the mother.

He hadn't specifically expected anything of the woman's reaction, and certainly hadn't expected this. It wasn't any sort of break, not so much as that, but there was a discomfort to the woman, now, an indication that all was not quite well. Moreover, that she was uncertain, earnestly concerned and even at a loss. And perhaps this was what struck him most. Until this time, the Proudfoots had seemed sure of their actions, assured that the situation would resolve itself. Whether they had been certain or not, they had seemed so.

This quality. It had been there before, perhaps (with her if not with John, in certain phrases, certain slight motions), but always accompanied by her husband's steady gaze--often, almost a glare--as a balance. So it had occurred, and so it had passed on beneath, but here the indications could not be ignored.

It was, he reflected, a somewhat uncomfortable situation.

And it was a situation understandable in many ways. That she had received no further word regarding her son seemed somewhat odd. Seemed, in fact, rather inexcusable, though the staff must have their reasons. There may have been no further developments. There may have been a delay in procedure for any number of reasons. Or perhaps the staff had simply--and maybe, by some sights, wisely--chosen to avoid confrontation with Mr. and Mrs. Proudfoot.

"I am certain that they'll have news for you shortly." Not smiling, but speaking with the warmer business tone, an almost indirect speech of reassurance. "Have you been here very long?"

[shh_proudfoot]

"Since noon, as there was the trip back to London to finalise." There no longer lay a note of self-recrimination in her voice. Elizabeth and John were punctual people. Their son, above all others, deserved the courtesy. But there had been many things to organise for John's trip, and thus they missed morning tea with William.

And after so many mornings of one-sided conversation and recitations, Elizabeth was beginning to doubt the importance of it.

"Perhaps. The likelihood of this may increase, now that you are here, Mr. Robards." It was odd to feel a measure of appreciation for the wizard's presence. He had been doing much to make William more accessible to them, and to make their stay more comfortable. Yet she could not forget the ways in which Gawain Robards had made things difficult for her family as well. It was a most curious internal war.

It made Elizabeth regret the absence of her husband even greater.

"Have you more news in your area of influence?"

[shh_robards]

She had been here since noon without news? Gawain kept himself from flicking his eyes toward he doorway; though he half-expected with that news to see a healer enter belatedly, he had heard no sign of one, and knew well enough that such words would not suddenly produce an individual. They had their methods, they had their reasons. So much was not his line of business. He could only hope that someone would at last appear; if no one came, he would find someone before departing.

There was little to be given in the way of new information. The Proudfoots had heard the foundation of the case, along with all details to have become apparent since their arrival. They knew of the room, its scant but effective traces of magic and its conspicuously clean and ordered appearance. There had been no trace to identify the individual (or individuals) who had placed Proudfoot's body in the room, though there had been items here and there to suggest particular details. The desk, the bookshelves, the coat rack appeared to have been a part of the office; this was not necessarily so, but the pieces did seem to fit the building. Items almost certainly imported by the individual or individuals seemed limited to a set of robes, a cloak, and several products apparently used for the care of Proudfoot's body. Save for the fact that his head had rested in a puddle--which did not seem to have caused damage--Proudfoot had been as clean as the rest of the room, had seemed almost painstakingly situated, and had appeared exactly as he had those several years before.

Regarding the individual (or individuals) involved, however, there had been no traces physical or magical, save the wards; these had been quite common, worth indicating, but not likely to lead to any great answer. A simple ward, and there could have been any number of reasons for its use. He had explained these details to the Proudfoots, though he was uncertain as to whether they comprehended the whole of the magical implications, nor or whether they wished to hear the details of these. Better that they know, though, if they wished to understand the case situation.

That those involved should have chosen this particular warehouse seemed interesting, given its location in relation to the developing town (why not choose somewhere at a greater distance from such a number of wizards, why decide on such a place that seemed eventually to necessitate discovery, he could not say for a certainty). He, she, or they had been careful enough to contain activities to the single room, it seemed; no other had given trace of magic or of disturbances. Aurors had searched the warehouse thoroughly, many times, and had not yet turned up any further trace. Even the room itself yielded no more information than had been its original show. Whatever motivation the individual (or, again, individuals) had carried, they had been very careful.

It made finding further leads quite difficult.

They needed another route to follow, had quite exhausted most of what information they now possessed. At present, they were searching. Beyond this, then? The usual details. All that they should know, they had been told.

"Nothing of great consequence, I'm afraid. There has been no further activity at the warehouse, and in retracing your son's previously known locations, we have found nothing." So much hadn't been terribly surprising; it was an old trail, after all, and there had been Merlin knew how many changes since. There was the final known location of William Proudfoot, there was the warehouse in which his body had been found, and in between remained a gaping span of time and space.

"We are following what trails we have. As soon as we find anything, you will be informed." The sooner William was awakened, the better. Unless the individual responsible for the placement of Proudfoot's body--or perhaps any individual who might have seen the body at some point, heard something of it--turned up or was discovered, renewed discovery seemed an opportunity most difficult to grasp.

Gawain would have preferred to be able to give further news, but there was no sense in creating stories.

[shh_proudfoot]

Elizabeth nodded. Nothing about William changed, whether it was his appearance, his health, or the particulars of his circumstance. Mr. Robards had explained that it was some sort of... spell of suspension, that had been placed upon her son.

Indeed, it had worked most effectively.

"It would be most appreciated." Her glance returned to William. She pondered the things that had been mentioned about the case. This person, or people, who had abducted him, was believed to be magical. Yet another wizard attempting to take away their son. William had been... cared for, dressed and kept clean. Handled. Viewed. Like a... possession, and possibly for the entire duration of his absence. The doctors had found no indication that he had been... mistreated. But there was no precise way of knowing.

And William might not ever know. He could have been as oblivious to those events as he seemed to her voice now.

Elizabeth Proudfoot's son did not like the unknown.

"Have you had cases like this before?" William could not grow, evolve, but the world around him still did. She found herself nodding towards the tea service and a spare seat for Mr. Robards. "Or heard of such? And did... the victims ever awaken? To know what had become of themselves?"

[shh_robards]

Well. He hadn’t expected that. Gawain took the indicated seat, though he left the tea, at least for the time. It had been enough of a surprise that she had invited him to sit, though he reacted quite naturally. Of all the times that he had here met the Proudfoots, they had extended no such invitation; he hadn’t minded, but had passively marked the occurrence in its natural progress. That she should have invited him thus gave cause for some concern. The situation must have been a difficult one for her-for both of them; perhaps, almost certainly, it was the absence of John Proudfoot that had prompted this-and however accustomed the days might become, he rather doubted that the matter could seem any more sensible.

Truly, it was a most awkward matter. It was the body of a man who had been an Auror, pronounced dead, yet who returned years later, apparently unconscious and seeming not to have aged. It was the involvement of some curse or spell, some object of magic that eluded identification. The perhaps unsettling case of someone who would keep a body hidden, warded, and care for it, leaving no indication of reason. And it was a case that none had seen before. Had they known anything certain of Proudfoot’s condition, there would certainly have been a few more answers, and by now they might have discovered some reliable cure. Or perhaps not. There was no sense in speculating, and he waved these thoughts away. Setting aside whatever might have been, the case at hand was strange from most any angle.

“There have been many cases of men and women found under the influence of unknown spells, yes. While my experience with such cases is rather lacking-our line of working falling somewhat removed from the medical field-research has shown that recovery times varied greatly on a case to case basis.” Days, weeks, months, and then longer, and cases that never had been solved, cases in which the victims had lain-whether in positions serene or terrified, perhaps with eyes awake, repeating a single phrase only, perhaps even laughing at nothing and responding to no known stimulus-until death. Here he flinched very slightly inward, an occurrence imperceptible, and one for which he immediately and silently chided himself. It was the truth, and this could not be avoided. And then, those cases did not dictate that of Proudfoot.

No, he was not going to speculate to her. Nor would he explain the ranges of potential. Such was unnecessary, might well cause further (also senseless, for it could do no good) worry. Besides, the Proudfoots could determine as much on their own, and consider it as they would.

To say that no wizard had seen such a case or been under such a curse would be misguided. It was somewhat maddening to think that there may well have been a witch or wizard, or several, who would have seen such a case, that these and their files may have been destroyed with the war. They had lost so much-But that, too, was not worth the trouble of worrying. If such individuals had existed and died, their information was useless. The same could be said of destroyed files.

Still, the matter was quite out of full knowledge, and there was no telling its effects. The Proudfoots must have perceived as much, and to lead them otherwise would be unnecessary and perhaps eventually damaging. “Thus far, we have found no one who has seen this exact case,” so far as he had been informed or found, that was. “However, it is possible that such a case has occurred. If this is so, we may find further leads through files or individuals recovered.” It was one potential lead with many further possibilities, though these were highly uncertain.

[shh_proudfoot]

Frustration and worry were emotions Elizabeth had grown accustomed to by now. She nodded and fell silent. Her thoughts were not placid, however. Scenarios coalesced and mutated in an attempt to ascertain what her son would face for a future.

After some time, she broke the silence.

"The first manifestation of magic which I can recall occurred when William was eight. One of John's brothers was visiting, and had brought his son. The boy, Jack, was infectiously precocious. On this occasion, he had aroused our mild William to mischief. Or... at least we had thought so. William denied his wrong-doing, yet he was still punished. As Jack stood by watching smugly, a strange thing happened. A leather-bound compendium of Shakespeare's works came loose of the bookshelf above the boy's head and began to fall. William was close by and shouted, 'I didn't mean it.' Upon saying that, the book seemed to... divert course, and collided with William's head. It knocked him out cold and left a gash in his scalp. When he awoke, he could not remember the incident. He couldn't understand why it hurt to comb his hair. Or why his cousin refused to visit ever again.

"That incident brought two points into sharp detail, Mr. Robards. My child was extraordinary, regardless of the air of coincidence that followed him. And, magic was a danger even in the noblest of pursuits. The circle is nearing completion. I am hoping he will awaken this time as well. I am wondering exactly what his awareness will be, and how it will affect the rest of his life."

[shh_robards]

It was rather an interesting sort of narrative. Most curious were the almost nostalgic details that might have seemed incongruous with the woman at hand, had they not been placed forth with such apparent purpose. Every details fit into the whole of her explanation, forming an image that seemed to fit well the Auror that Gawain had known.

He elected to consider her narrative as such, as a sort of statement regarding William's character and situation. It was therefore a very factual account, almost a file to be reviewed. To think of it otherwise might be most awkward.

"Mrs. Proudfoot," he paused only slightly, not a hesitation but a moment for continued consideration, "you are aware that we cannot estimate the effects of this particular curse. That there have been instances of a sort of amnesia upon awakening from curses is quite true. Yet the incident that you mentioned--As we grow older, we learn how to control this magic, how to adjust and make most expedient use of it. Witches and wizards often find it more difficult, if you will, to eventually forget incidents than to recall them. And with the aid of others, recollection of lost memories becomes more likely, still.

"Your son has in the past shown a marked aptitude for adaptation, as all Aurors must; at present, he has also the closest expertise on hand for his aid." Obvious points, no doubt, but perhaps necessary here to be stated. "If there is any chance that your son may be awakened, I feel certain that we will recover himself." Not the best of words, perhaps, and it might have been said that he did feel a mild awkwardness now. Never mind that, though. He had stuck to matters true enough--certainly, they were the most likely ends--and had kept himself from the sort of simple, less pleasant facts that he preferred to handle.

It may have been that the Proudfoots preferred these details, as well. Yes, it was possible. No, Gawain wasn't about to turn to these, not unless asked. It simply wasn't the correct situation for such matters.

Nor was it the proper situation for a mild exasperated lecture. Gawain wouldn't begin on the matter of the uncertainty of magic. Not here. A part of his mind had turned already to explaining the dangers to be found in any practice and with any force granted to men and women. No; that was entirely out of the question. It was not an issue to force, not here and not now.

[shh_proudfoot]

She longed to ask him why such things as this happened, if wizards truly had learned to control magic. Instead, she replied, "What concerns me greatest is not the memories he may lose. It is the memories he may never have gained, Mr. Robards."

There was another silence, so that her words may take hold. Again she broke it, softly.

"William was... kept, as though a part of a collection. What do you think is to happen if the collector discovers their prize gone? Or wants him back? If my son is unable to sense what is happening to him now, then how will he protect himself when awake? How will he know the danger, if he cannot tell mother from mur-"

Elizabeth paused. She stared down at the brown leather bible in her brown-clad lap. Both blended into one hue, leaving the white of her knuckles in high contrast. "Forgive me, Mr. Robards. I am fixating on minutiae. It has been a month, however, of sitting in this room with him. Reading to him. Conversing with John to him. And it is only now that I've realised that it's pointless. He does not breathe. His heart does not beat. The doctors say there is no brain activity. He cannot absorb, and will never have memory of it."

Under normal circumstances Elizabeth would not share in this fashion with one such as Mr. Robards. In her solitude, however, there was some relief with the unorthodox.