Of Broken Bones and Brittle Flesh... Compelte

That was exactly what he needed to hear. The answer was already prepared. "I can use fire-call," he offered. "He is the sort that stays up most of the night and turns in at daybreak, like a vampire," he let out a chuckle at his own private joke. No, he would not share. She would not get the humor.

"Ten minutes? " He pulled out a pocket watch and checked the time. "Actually fifteen..." he debated with himself out loud. "Yes, fifteen should be plenty. Get him gone so Mary does not have to hear him scream," because that was going to happen as soon as he roused. A truth that had been well-timed. The potion enough to pull Victor from limbo, he could express in words. In flailing movements that only aggravated his anguish.

When Victor awake, Vladimir would pop the cork on another phial 'liberated' from the potions cabinet. An analgesic. The one thing that the nurse should have administered, but her failure was Vladimir's boon. Vladimir, the right one. Vladimir, the strong one. Vladimir, the smart one. Vladimir, his only friend. The remover of his pain. His savior. Through his resources. Thought his actions and his will, Victor would be better. Feel better. Vladimir would be a symbol of security. Something he needed to latch himself to. Something Victor would fight tooth and nail to protect. Someone that Victor would follow blindly into hell.

"Take this!" He forced the open end of the phial into Victor's mouth and had him down the contents. "It will be OK... It will be OK... Got you away from them..." He assured Victor. Yes, them. his enemies. Them, the people that made him hurt. Not him. Not Marion. "I am going to get you treatment, the best," he assured him. "St. Mungos."

Victor let out a howl of pain. He did not even realize that he was screaming. The sound of Vladimir's voice but a ghost, the same with the droning voice of the nurse. Nothing but a shade of grey. It wasn't until the mouth of a bottle was forced between his lips and clinked against his teeth and the foul tasting fluid sluggishly ran down the back of his throat. He coughed and choked. One could supposed he needed at least a bit of air, this boy that appeared to defy human biology.

The pain was still there, it throbbed but it hurt less. On the degrees of suffering it was less. Something that he could not put into words. something that he could not describe. He would have likened it to being on fire, but no. This was the opposite of that. There was no fire. It was like his flesh was being ripped away. No it was always ripped away, what remained was open and raw. But no, that was still wrong. His blood was cursed, there was always a little bit of discomfort. He was bleeding actively. He would try to move. But his body did not feel like his own.His long, thin arms even more broken. Not simply pock-marked but rather deep and careless wounds that would develop into misshapen scars.

Still it was less now. It hurt less, the opposite of more.

Treatment. St. Mungos. Best.

This was her worst nightmare. The nightmare that she knew would eventually come to life. The cries were gut wrenching. She looked over at the cabinet, her eyes wide in a half-panic. It was not that she did not know what to do, it was merely the stress of human suffering. Oh human anguish. His friend, thank Merlin for the boy, had already grabbed something although she was not entirely sure what he lifted from the cabinet. Sneaky kid.

It helped. That was all she wanted in that moment.An end to the noise. That terrible sound. Her shoulders sagged a bit. She had actually done well treating him, but when you look in the face of suffering you question yourself. You tell yourself it was not good. It was not right. That you're an incompetent. It happens in a lot of things, not just medicine. When people ask for more. say someone can do it better. How something is not very hard that you find incredibly hard. Morale drops. Hearts sink. The desire to do good, to do well overcomes the logic of knowing -- I did it right.

"He can do it better?" She was referring to Elliot Price, the one that apparently knew the kid. The blood magic. The situation that she could barely fathom. there was a sense of defeat in her voice. A release of responsibility. A failure on her part. A stubborn part of her that wanted to say that she was successful, that she had done right. "Yeah," she nodded. "Make the arrangements."

Say no more. He could manage that. Manage that and grab Marion on his way back. Give her a chance to say good-bye. To see the better end of all of this. He would take good care of her until Victor was recovered. Very good care of her.

"Thank you ma'am," Vladimir replied quickly. There was a bit of effort to make his voice slightly higher than it was naturally. Sound a bit younger. A bit more dependent. Surprised. Grateful.

He would look over Victor. He took one heck of a beating, but he was glad that the snake was still alive. He just needed Victor away from here before his skin started to grow back. Before his body was not covered in deep, dark wounds. Before the truth was apparent. "I will call my father and secure passage," he announced reiterating what he was going to do. Victor needed to know what was happening. what was going on. Who was doing it.

"After you're better, I will..." he let his voice fade off a bit as it it was a bit hard for him to say. as if he was trying to muster some resolve. "I will get them back, starting with your house."

"Is... everyone.... else," he took a long wheezing breath. "Going... to... be... okay?"

That was his first thought once the pain ended. it was not his heart's first inquiry. Well, in a way it was. There was a small part of him that was angry,that wanted those involved with this attack to suffer. A small part of him that he refused to admit. A part of him that Vladimir would somehow see.

They were going to send him away. Help him. Fix him somehow. But there was no fixing him and he knew it. Not really. Magic injuries are not as easy to repair. Even if his practitioner was brilliant, there was still the matter of his blood. Would they know how to manage him? He was not sure that he could trust it. That he should. "What if they don't know me?" His voice was so small.

Not that he could stop them. Not that he should. He looked down over himself, his body was ruined. Not that there was much to look at before. what he saw now was twisted and marred, dark and broken. Horrific. If they could fix him, he had to go. He was shaking, terrified. He wanted to ask Vladimir to stay, he did not want to be left alone.

But Vladimir needed to go. He needed to get help. There was a painful knot in his stomach. Nerves, Anger, Anxiety. Once Vladimir left, Victor would look towards the nurse. He could not smile nor could he frown, he was far too broken. "I am scared to be alone."

Vladimir would ultimately find Marion waiting at the door of her common room in the basement level. Vladimir would greet her with a smile. His teeth seemed endless. Victor is awake. The first thing that he told her. I stopped by on my way back down to you, a white lie. Technically not a lie at all. He went from the hall to the infirmary to the basement. He just never went to Ravenclaw Tower like she had assumed.

But he is hurt pretty bad, my dad is going to get him admitted to St. Mungos. This was not a long visit, this was just a good-bye. A chance to see him. The damage and the carnage wrought by seeking freedom with those that did not deserve her trust. Probably for the best, I really think that they were trying to kill him. He reasoned out loud. Feeding the narrative that Marion would ultimately share. he actually thought that Marion was going to be the one that got hurt. Little surprises. Minor compromises.

He would stop at the door, let Marion look in. Victor was there, quite possibly somewhat bandaged at this point. Hopefully ready for transport. "I am ready for him whenever you are."

Marion was relieved to hear that Victor was awake, even if he was badly hurt he was alive and he was awake. There was a chance that he could get better. Doesn't matter, he was awake. He has a chance. Vladimir was going to use his vast resources to help him again. All she could say was Thank you. He had already done so much for the both of them and he was repaid with their obstinate stupidity. had they listened to him from the start, they could have avoided this entire tragedy. Let the craziness happen to all of them. To stop trying to live like them. They did not want them. I am so sorry. It was all she could do, apologize and thank. She owed everything to him. She was such an idiot.

When they reached the door she saw Victor. Well, the boy that was supposed to be Victor. He looked like something out of a horror movie. The color would drain from her face. Her lips and fingers would feel numb. She could not say the truth, that he looked like someone had put a hot iron to his face and well... everything else. "Vic," she forced a smile but she was crying. "Gawd, I am like so sorry." Was this somehow her fault. She felt like it was somehow. "H-he," Vladimir. "Is going to make sure that you're taken care of." She was trying to suppress the tears but she was failing. "J-just get better... and I will get better too." This was not going to happen again. This was never going to happen again.

Victor would be transported via the floo network to St. Mungos Hospital. He would be under the care of their Intensive Care Unit: Burns Ward.

There were several notes written by the nurse that would come with the boy, a sort of mini chart.

- Victor Moore
- 3 year Slytherin
- Blood Magic Practitioner
- Magical accident involving bullies setting an enchanted object on fire that used blood magic setting him ablaze.
- Stage III burns over 72% of his body.
- Son of Thaddeus Athanatos is involved in the care of this boy.
- A specific request has been made that Elliot Price be made aware of and possibly be involved in the care of this patient.

It was incredibly basic but it would do. Transporting a patient via the floo network could be incredibly dangerous. Victor was in no state to travel but travel he must.

-- St. Mungos Hospital.

Travel was rough but the boy was well-padded. A team of white-clad hospital workers were waiting for him. That and a man in a rather spiffy suit. Welcome to St. Mungos. No need to enjoy your stay, you won't be here very long. We will take very good care of you. It might not sound like much of an advertisement but it was a better selling point than anything else they could say -- you wont need to be here for long. Let's hope that means that you are getting better.