WHERE: Potions & Plant Poisoning: Third Floor, St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London. WHEN: Evening, August 8th, 2002. STATUS: closed / @snakesandscars
If he listened closely, Fabian imagined he could still hear Hannah’s panicked breathing from the hospital bed he was perched nonchalantly atop, eyeing his comically ballooning hands with the same detached curiosity that had always accompanied each new affliction he acquired along the way. It wasn’t, unlike some Healers would contend, that Fabian was accident-prone or even that he went looking for trouble. Trouble simply had a way of finding its way to him.
As it was, he’d slowly regained the ability to breathe and speak, to an extent, since that first emergency draught had been forced down his throat and the usual restless energy that accompanied his hospital stays was beginning to surface. Really, an allergic reaction was no reason to keep him here, mysteriously back from the grave or not, and there’d been something about the look on Andromeda’s face when she’d set eyes on him that told him she’d had some mischief up her sleeve.
Monitoring. He wasn’t about to stick around for that or Molly to show up, uncooperative limbs or no.
A wheelchair was parked outside his neighbours closed curtains and it didn’t take much of an effort to coax his lethargic, numb limbs to shuffle between the bed over to it, dropping heavily into it and beaming at having secured a getaway vehicle so quickly. His hands were largely a write-off, but proved capable of gripping the wheels to get them spinning and as he clunked into the doorframe, reversed, and pushed successfully through that time accomplishment drew a ominous smile to his swollen face.
The hallway was brimming with people who ducked out of his way as he built up speed, admission gown flapping in the jet stream.