Eddie Carmichael (edasich) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-03-02 20:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | eddie carmichael, fred weasley, rabastan lestrange |
WHO: Eddie Carmichael, Fred Weasley, and Rabastan Lestrange
WHAT: Eddie's day goes from bad to worse
WHEN: 2 March, evening
WHERE: St. Mungo's
Fred didn’t really think he’d have much luck finding Eddie at St. Mungos; Death Eaters didn’t seem like the type to attack and then take their victims to get healed. More likely he was buried in a ditch somewhere, or being turned into an Inferius to set on Alicia next time she went out in public, or being preserved so that Montague could walk around with him draped over his shoulder and pretend like he had one friend. But he’d decided not to share these thoughts with his friends, instead apparating straight over to the hospital to check, just in case. Maybe a friendly neighbour had intervened and saved Eddie. “Is Eddie Carmichael here?” he asked the lady at the front desk. “Or, uh, that’s not his full name. It’s —,” he paused, trying to remember Eddie’s weird as fuck real name. “It starts with Ed anyway. Just look under Carmichael.” The lady had already done so, nodding at him. “Yes, he’s here, but he’s not taking visitors right now.” Not content with just taking anyone’s word when Death Eaters were involved, Fred wanted to see Eddie for himself. “Cool, thanks,” he said. “But I want to send him a bouquet. Daffodils mean get well soon,” he bullshitted, thinking of Percy and all his dumb flower meanings, “What room is he in?” The lady told him and Fred thanked her, turning towards the exit, then making an abrupt U-turn and dashing towards the elevator while her head was down. He walked the corridors, looking for the correct room while trying not to think about his dad, Angelina, how much he hated St. Mungo’s. Finally, he came to the right number, quickly slipping into the room and shutting the door behind him before any healers could see him. “You’re alive,” he greeted, grinning in relief as he sat down in the visitor’s chair, shooting a quick text to his friends to relay that information. “What the fuck happened?” More or less lucid despite the pain potions and other healing magics coursing through him, Eddie stared at Fred (or George? No, this was Fred) like he was trying to put a puzzle together but kept losing the pieces. It did not make any sense that Fred was here right now. It did not make sense that people kept showing up and knowing things they shouldn't. "I got—" He put his hand gingerly over his ribs, frowning at the sudden memory of it. He did not want to say 'stabbed.' His mind wouldn't let him form the word. "I got hurt. What are you doing here?" “Looking for you,” Fred replied, as though that was obvious. “I heard you were getting murdered.” "It was an accident," Eddie said, which was something like the truth. This was wrong. This wasn't how this should go, but Eddie couldn't quite figure out why. "I wasn't getting murdered. I—you heard I was getting murdered?" “I have extendable ears everywhere,” Fred joked with a wink. “And it looks like you were getting murdered,” he added, gesturing at Eddie’s injury and the hospital room. “Death Eaters don’t accidentally try to murder people.” "Wait," Eddie said. He felt a pinch of dread in his spine, not for the first time that day. "Is this an Order thing? I can't have anything to do with an Order thing." His breathing quickened, painfully, as a few more pieces made their way through the potions fog. When he looked back at Fred, he looked concerned, even afraid. "Fred, you can't be here." “Relax, Eddie.” Concern crossed Fred’s face, wondering if he should find a healer because clearly they’d given Eddie some sort of potion that was inducing panic. Or was he worried that the Death Eaters were going to come back to finish what they’d started? “We can get you protection. It will be okay.” "You need to leave," Eddie said, with growing insistence but without explanation. "You can't be here. You need to leave." As if on cue, the door to the room swung open. “I know you likely aren’t up for eating anything yet, but I got you a—” Rabastan Lestrange stood frozen in the doorway, a comically oversized smoothie in hand. After a brief glance at Eddie, his gaze landed on the shock of red hair. The Death Eater’s eyes immediately narrowed as recognition dawned on him. “Weasley,” he said, his voice low and venomous. “What are you doing here?” “What are you doing here?” Fred shot back, hand gripping his wand in his pocket. It was a good thing he’d got here in time, the Death Eaters obviously had it out for Eddie for some reason “Come to finish off the job with a poisoned smoothie?” Confined to the bed as he was, all Eddie could do was watch as the parts of his life he tried so hard to keep discrete collided. "Fred, it's fine. It's fine. Please, you need to leave." “Yes, Weasley,” Rabastan sneered, his own (new and American) wand out and aloft. “You should leave before I decide to prune your oversized family tree.” Fred’s heart was pounding as he pulled out his own wand but he kept his voice calm and casual all the same, like he faced down Death Eater’s wands every day. Which wasn’t that far from the truth anymore. “Think I’d rather stay,” he said, ignoring Eddie’s protests of this being fine. Eddie was clearly just scared. “Murdering someone who can’t even get out of bed is pathetic, even for you.” Rabastan almost rolled his eyes. “The only person in danger of getting murdered here tonight is you, Weasley.” "No," Eddie said. He tried to sit up more but winced at the pressure in his chest. The sound he made echoed the pain he felt and his hand clutched at his injury protectively. Still, he pushed himself up. "Stop it. Please, stop. He just came to see if I was alright and he's leaving. Nobody's getting hurt. Fred, go." What sort of potions was Eddie on to believe that? “Death Eaters don’t just stop by to see if you’re alright,” he addressed Eddie, but kept his eyes on the Lestrange. Rabastan set the smoothie down on a nearby table, then stepped forward. His eyes were trained on Weasley as he gave an irritable shake of his head. “As usual, you have no idea what you’re talking about.” He aimed his wand squarely at the redhead’s chest. “You’ve ten seconds before I force you out of this room.” There was a pause — the Death Eater’s mouth twisted into a knife-sharp smile. “Keep testing my patience and you may leave in pieces.” "Dad, stop!" “Dad?" Fred repeated, whipping around to look at Eddie, surprise at what he’d heard enough to make him temporarily forget the threatening Death Eater in front of him. “What??” “Edasich, stop talking. You—” Rabastan’s wand flicked between Weasley and the open door. “You need to leave.” Eddie's wide, fearful eyes moved back and forth between his father and his friend as he realized what he'd just done. His already-strained breathing grew heavy, ragged as his pulse raced and he may have just ruined everything. "Please go," he said quietly. Fred was also looking between his friend and his friend’s dad (???), trying to piece this together. The fact that Rabastan knew Eddie’s full name (and, he realised, that his own name was just as weird) seemed to support this whole Father-Son bombshell. “Your Dad is Rabastan Lestrange?” He said instead of leaving. “And you’re okay with being left alone with him?” Eddie opened his mouth to speak, but in the end, just broke eye contact and gave a small nod instead. “I don’t want to repeat myself,” Rabastan cut in brusquely, anger tightening his voice. Not at Eddie — but at Weasley, at Bellatrix, at himself. He perched on the edge of his son’s bed, making his feelings on the matter quite clear. He was staying. Weasley was going, voluntarily or no. Post Layla Betrayal, Fred’s first thought was that Eddie was a Death Eater too. His not wanting to get naked with Alicia suddenly made sense; he didn’t want her to see his tattoo. “Yep, going,” he said, backing out of the room. “Enjoy your family time.” And with that he darted back off, ready to warn everyone about this latest discovery. Eddie watched Fred leave and felt sick and not, he believed, because of any potions running through him. Fred was going to tell everyone. Eddie's life as he knew it was over. "I'm sorry," he said, knowing this was his fault somehow. "I—I'm sorry." “It’s not your fault,” Rabastan replied. He scrubbed a hand against the side of his face as he imagined the fallout from this. Rodolphus wouldn’t be pleased. Eddie’s little friends would ostracize him, but perhaps that was for the best. “Don’t worry about it right now. You should try to rest.” |