Who: Andrew St. Clair and Rachel Cattermole What: The stubborn refusal of illness When: Saturday morning Where: The corridors Status: In Progress
It was an old maxim of the St. Clair family that, if you were upright and breathing, there was no excuse not to go about your business. Andrew was a firm believer in that maxim, at least as applying to him; he was very rarely ill, and when he was, he refused to let it affect him one iota more than it had to. After all, he was upright and breathing, so he was okay.
That said, he didn't feel particularly okay. Nor did he look it. To someone who didn't know him, it wouldn't have been so obvious - he was a little pale, yes, his eyes somewhat bloodshot, but otherwise looked relatively healthy. The real clues were in how little care he had taken over his appearance. He wasn't wearing eyeliner, let alone the fancy patterns he often drew down the side of his face, and his nose ring was out, left on his bedside table back in the dorm. Most obviously, though, for once he was dressed like a normal Muggle, in an old t-shirt, jeans, and a knitted jumper he'd been given for Christmas years ago. He wasn't even wearing a hat or any jewellery, which for Andrew was a genuinely shocking occurrence.
He thought he was doing pretty well. He'd managed to eat his breakfast - and even keep it down - and, although it had been a long hard slog, he'd managed to get most of his Transfiguration homework done. He was heading for the library, bag over his shoulder, for the books he needed to finish it completely, when the wave of dizziness struck him, and he stumbled, dropping his bag and the books in it.