@marlene-adelaide February 19th, 1979 14:32
--motion seizing, a burst of pain. Their lungs heave, a gritted hiss of breath on the inhale. Wetness on their lashes as they clench their eyes shut. Red splatters on the ground, sizzling into viscous black as it hits the pavement. Around them, the motions of battle are ceaseless.
Rodolphus exhales rough and uneven, and with whitened fingers they let a medallion catch the next torrent of spells- a bit out mutter of ‘torpens’ amidst the chaos. And the trembling stills. Too slow, blood dripping. Until their mind is clear again. Shield charm shattering, the medallion that fractures in iron and rust. They stumble, right themselves. Rejoin the skirmish.
Coffee steams in the air. Milky sweet and strong. An imprint left on the table when Rodolphus takes another sip, eyes flicking over another paper, another useless file detailing the escalating Death Eater issue.
They reach for a folder- and as they do there is a tightening of their fingers, imperceptible and unseen. A dull, phantom pain. The document is slid into the folder, the folder is replaced.
Beneath their sleeve, an ugly half raised mark remains. The remnant of a battle not so many nights past. Refusing all healing or charm in its starkness. A curse within a curse and what glamour they had set still as slick as oil- notice me not, see me not- slippery and slipping, revealing too much, the compulsion flickering dim.
When a knock sounds Rodolphus doesn’t glance up, flicks two fingers to indicate they can come in.
"McKinnon. I trust you have a report for me.”