Who: Amory and Open Where: His office, the hospital wing When: Late Friday night What: All work and no play makes Amory a dull boy.
There were papers and quills and books strewn everywhere, covering his desk, the chairs, and parts of the floor. It was Friday night and Amory was doing research. He hadn't been sleeping well lately and there were shadows under his eyes. His jeans and plain grey t-shirt were rumpled, his hair mussed as though he'd been repeatedly dragging his fingers through it. Which he had, even as he brushed another tome aside when it yielded nothing more useful than the cure for a common magical infection. The stack of books by his right leg was considerably smaller than the pile growing at his left. He was frustrated.
The virus had seemingly ground to a halt, and while he was extremely glad, Amory didn't trust the circumstances. Viruses could die out, of course, but it was incredibly unlikely given the situation. School-age children, trapped in close quarters in a drafty castle amidst high emotional and mental strain, did not just escape a blow that easily. Or did they? After all, no one knew anything about the virus besides the obvious: it came, it stole away a person's magic, then disappeared. A naive part of him wanted to believe that it might even have been a spell of some sort, but there was no pattern, no method to the madness of the victims or why they were chosen.
While it lay dormant, he intended to find its source or at least dig up something that could help him and the other healers determine a cure. Or a treatment. Something. Anything. Because he just couldn't accept that it was gone. He needed a break, but this time of night, there was nothing to distract him.