Neville was sitting curled up in one of the chairs, reading a book. Rosier hadn't said anything about his bookshelf, after all, and there was nothing else to do except bathe (which he had done twice since yesterday) and focus on the enormous ache that was his body. He had practiced walking for a while, but had stopped when his legs had started shaking.
He wasn't really reading the book, in any case. Every time he tried, his eyes slipped across the words as though they were made of glass. His brain refused to take anything in. He had long since forgotten what the stupid thing was even about. The darkness that had occupied his mind since the stranger's visit was still haunting him. All his feelings seemed numb somehow.
Despite this, his heart leapt when he heard a knock on the door. He got up carefully, hardly daring to hope. It took him a while to reach the door, and he hoped that whoever it was hadn't given up and left. He opened the door a crack. The mane of red hair that greeted him almost made him faint with relief. "Hi," he said, in a hoarse voice which refused to return to normal.