*The toilets Lily enters feels safe in it's plain, sterile nature. She's surrounded by white walls, white tiled floor, and Mungo's green stalls and sinks. The eerie quiet beyond the bathroom door, however, leaves her feeling entirely unprepared for what she will soon face.
"You sure look like you could use some sleep, dear."
The voice startles her, prompting Lily to grab hold of her wand before she realises it was only the mirror offering not-so-helpful hints at a not-so-helpful time.
Lily bits her lower lips and waits around for James to come through, silently cursing him for taking so damn long. This is not the time for last minute chit chat between best mates.*
*James appears, only to face criticism from the mirror as well, but it's nothing he hasn't heard before. After ignoring the suggestion that he invest in a decent comb, he walks over to Lily.*
Sorry to keep you waiting. Hear anything out there?
*The Carrows have been creeping, together, down the hall. It's gone very, very quiet; most of the patients on this floor died, and they're just checking that it's been cleared out at this point. They're not even looking into the bathroom--there's no potions or people in the bathroom--until they hear the faintest echo of a voice. Amycus presses a finger to his lips and they both slink closer to the door.*
*Muscles in Regulus' reedy arms begin to strain as flashing markers of injured Death Eaters force him to push his spyglass back and forth across the map at alarming speed. The device had seemed light enough when he had put it together, but after having to look down on countless scenes of duelling associates on almost every floor of the building, it's wheels are not enough to ease his job. Only those Marked show up on the paper, but through the glass he's seen an overhead view of alarmingly proficient fighters taking a stand against their efforts - far too many of whom seem trained and prepared well beyond the ability of the average Healer or patient taken by surprise
( ... )
*With everyone through and in and fighting, and no Patronuses to worry about, Sirius has set himself on the noble task of fucking with his brother's head. The first outer ward had taken some wrestling, but the others had fallen much more easily when he took the first. Now that Aurors and other law enforcement can get in--and Sirius is almost ready to kiss their little frolicking dots as they pop into existence--Sirius begins to worry at the grid itself. He manages to pull apart one intersection, and then another, but the whole fabric of the thing is held together at each point--it would take hours to undo, and accomplish very little to just dismantle them.
Impulsively, he decides that it's not about the wards. It's about scaring the pants off Regulus. He pulls apart more points in the net, popping them off like stitches in a poorly made seam, until the holes in it spell out HELLO.*
*Far from the death and chaos of St Mungo's, the afternoon is pastoral and idyllic as Lucius appears with a crack outside the gates of the manor. The wrought iron admits him without hesitation, and as he walks down the drive he tugs off his mask, looking at where the porcelain is cracked at the right temple. There's a trickle of dried blood down the side of his face there, from the Stunning spell that'd caught him unawares. He's been injured worse than this before, but the Order wasn't supposed to have even been there. Just like they weren't supposed to have been at the International Confederation of Wizards attack. He hasn't dared to say so yet, but Lucius is beginning to suspect a leak.
That isn't what has him tense as he pushes through the front doors, though. He ignores Dobby as the elf tries to take his mask and cloak, looking up at the landing before starting upstairs.*
*Trying to read when her husband is 'working' is never really worth the effort - but Draco picks up on her worry and frets, so she prefers not to hold him when Lucius is away on a mission. So his arrival is noted as soon as the front door closes, and she's already hurrying down the marbled halls when he calls her name, pausing at the landing so as not to bowl him over as he ascends the stairs.
*Assuming she's talking about the broken porcelain in his hand (not being himself aware of the blood on his face), he holds it up for her to see as he stops in front of her.*
It's just the mask. I'm fine.
*He doesn't look it, though; he's calm enough, but he never could conceal anything well from Narcissa, and he looks drawn, worried.*
No, my darling-- *A pale hand pushes the mask aside, and rises to his temple. The blood flakes away at her touch, which is something of a relief, but the mere fact that it's even there-- her embrace is fierce and sudden, as if to reassure herself that he's really there, home and relatively safe.
Her words are muffled in his robes; she has little care for what may or may not be on them - they cover her husband, so she'll cling to them.*
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"You sure look like you could use some sleep, dear."
The voice startles her, prompting Lily to grab hold of her wand before she realises it was only the mirror offering not-so-helpful hints at a not-so-helpful time.
Lily bits her lower lips and waits around for James to come through, silently cursing him for taking so damn long. This is not the time for last minute chit chat between best mates.*
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Sorry to keep you waiting. Hear anything out there?
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*Lily reaches out and grasps James' hand, squeezing for a moment before facing the bathroom door.*
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Impulsively, he decides that it's not about the wards. It's about scaring the pants off Regulus. He pulls apart more points in the net, popping them off like stitches in a poorly made seam, until the holes in it spell out HELLO.*
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That isn't what has him tense as he pushes through the front doors, though. He ignores Dobby as the elf tries to take his mask and cloak, looking up at the landing before starting upstairs.*
Narcissa?
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The colour drains from her face at the blood.*
--Lucius, you're hurt.
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It's just the mask. I'm fine.
*He doesn't look it, though; he's calm enough, but he never could conceal anything well from Narcissa, and he looks drawn, worried.*
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Her words are muffled in his robes; she has little care for what may or may not be on them - they cover her husband, so she'll cling to them.*
Please, please tell me you're truly alright?
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