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Theodore Nott (nottfinished) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

"They're fools for thinking as such in the first place." he said, slightly scathing, something of him angry as he could apply that to most people that he'd known, from his dad to his recent attackers to himself.

He held himself still when she moved to pull his thumb back into place, a particularly painful injury that made for an even worse digit to fix. He looked even worse as the resetting didn't go smoothly, now almost grey instead of white but still not making a sound. His mind bolted to that safe place and he went a little lax, deaf to the noise of bone and cartilage grinding as he always was in this place.

He heard her speaking to him as though she was calling through a tunnel, echoing and distant. He'd gone blank again but he pulled himself back after a couple of minutes, with some effort. He shook his head because words seemed to be out of his grasp for a little while longer, fumbling for his wand with swelling but aligned fingers. "Sorry, sorry, sorry-" he apologised to Gwenog like pattering rain, turning his wand against one hand and casting something that made him break out into a light sweat but had the swelling retreat on his hand. "That's better, that's better... thank you." he panted, relieved, before he moved his wand into his rapidly healing hand and sent another spell at the other which also began shrinking back. He laughed, shaky and airy and too close to sobbing or hysteria to be wholly comfortable to listen to. He still wasn't thinking about the state his clothes were in or what had happened to put him there, concentrating on the pain elsewhere now that his fingers were just about repaired.

"I'm sorry I interrupted your evening." he said to Gwenog, huddling into himself under her blanket and trying to quash his shivering. "I can't thank you enough for helping me."