She held her breath as he listened to her suggestion, worried that he might take it as an insult. But in reality, she knew she was right about this; a white shirt would have stood out in the starkness of the warehouse. She watched his hands come up to undo the tie of his robe and for one wild moment, Rowan's mind ran away with what she thought he was about to do. But he just let the robe drop — because of course he had to if he was going to change his shirt...

Which he proceeded to discard next, his back turned to her. Rowan's mouth dropped open at his lack of modesty, and she quickly turned to either side as if that would help preserve any sense of privacy. Her cheeks grew hot, and for one moment, one small infinitesimal moment she watched him walk to his armoire - watched the way he moved as he searched for another shirt; the sudden constriction in her chest forced her to inhale sharply and she quickly pivoted away, her eyes squeezed shut. Of all the moments - of all the moments for her to witness that, for her mind to spontaneously take her thoughts to somewhere other than what they were about to do (get rid of a dead body).

She didn't wait for him to finish his sentence as she quickly gathered her bearings, biting her lip again. "Yes, that's much better." It came out in a rush and she picked her hat back up, jammed it on her head and joined him by his side. "Hold on." Gripping her wand, she didn't wait for his response and counted down to three before pivoting sharply.

---

thirty minutes later ...

If Raphael ever had to handle a dead body again, he'd probably vomit. Probably because he had already vomited, much to his embarrassment, within seconds of watching the pipe be removed from Walter's limp body, and any time after this would just remind him of what he'd gone through. It turned out magic didn't interact with the dead as it did with living people; it treated him like an object, almost, careless and harsh. Or maybe it was just because Raphael was used to seeing people tense up and control their own bodies while being manipulated by magic. Now they were in the clean-up process, with Walter's body having been wrapped in a blanket Yaxley had conjured up. There were more splatters of blood on the floor now than there had been when they'd arrived, and Raphael assigned himself the task of cleaning it up while Yaxley worked on destroying the pipe.

"I can't believe you killed a man," he said, sounding winded despite the complete lack of physical exertion it had taken to get to this point. "Remind me to never get on your bad side again." His mood had soured since they'd left the house, and he'd been poking at her since. He wasn't mad at her, not really—he just needed someone to complain at, and she was right there.

---

She had been prepared for this. As prepared for it as she could have been, and yet when they'd removed the body - Walter - from the place he'd been...impaled, Rowan felt her stomach turn. She'd raised her free hand up to her mouth, but by then Malfoy had already succumbed to what her body was threatening to do, and she didn't feel as bad.

She'd kept silent most of the time, only responding to his jabs every once in a while as she muttered spells to the pipe in front of her - removing blood. She'd forgotten she was able to use magic to clean the blood, but instead she'd conjured a rag and was working on it manually. Something to get her mind off the fact that they had Walter's body wrapped in a blanket just a few feet away.

Finally at his most recent comment, she dropped the rag, wiping the last of the blood from her hands and sighing. "I don't....I don't know if I killed him." She admitted, still looking down at her hands. "I can't remember."

---

He stood up from where he was crouched and turned to look at her, already rolling his eyes. "A great defense you have there. You're lucky you won't have to use it." His words weren't malicious, but not quite joking either. He looked utterly miserable—bags under his eye, his skin paler than usual, his mouth twisted into a permanent grimace from being exposed to death and blood and the remnants of both of their dinner's all at once. He wasn't built for this, and he wasn't even ashamed that she was bearing witness to that.

He paused long enough to take one good look at the scene around them. He'd managed to rid the pavement of the majority of the blood where Walter's body had been, the deep red puddle now a mere water stain. He'd have to get the rest of the splatters, but they were small and easy compared to what he'd put himself through already. He looked back up at her and took a breath so deep that his whole body moved.

"Are you alright?" he asked, the clipped tone gone from his voice.

---

Her usual timing with witty responses was completely gone, and she merely laughed softly at his comment. It, of course, didn't reach her eyes, and Rowan looked back down pursing her lips before looking at him. He looked about as bad as she likely did. Had this not been such a macabre situation, she would have made fun of him, but was in no position to do so.

"No." It was the truth, an answer that she gave up without hesitation because she wasn't alright. She knew he likely wasn't either. The idea that he might never talk to her after this left her feeling even more queasy for an entirely different reason. "But that's neither here nor there, I suppose."

She picked the pipe back up, wiping it clean before making the cloth disappear. "Raphael, I'm sorry." And she meant it, she truly did. "I shouldn't have dragged you into this. Into this mess." She had no idea what she would do now, where she had to search next for more answers. It was better that she did so alone at any rate.

---

His heart panged at her honest answer. He knew there was nothing he could do to help her. She'd been through this on her own, had her own family problems to deal with, and all he could do was be here. It pained him to admit to himself how much that bothered him, how much he actually cared, because he distinctly remembered telling him at one point in time that becoming invested in anyone was a silly thing to do. Now she stood there, sad and covered in someone else's blood, and Raphael found himself irked that this was one situation that he couldn't throw money at to make it go away. He could probably pay someone to deal with this, to hide the body and stay quiet, but that wouldn't change what Yaxley had gone through.

She only made it worse by trying to apologize, invoking his given name. His chest shuddered as he exhaled, and he shook his head. "We've been through messes before. What's another?" he asked, flippantly waving his hand away like this was some minor inconvenience instead of what it really was. Like before, his attempt to blow this off instead of facing it fell flat, and he watched her again with a frown that mirrored her own.

"Come here," he said finally, reaching an arm out to her, palm-up.

---

For the umpteenth time in her life, the appearance of that smug, arrogant look made her want to scream. And she almost did, for all that this night had pushed her to places she would have staked her life on that she never would have had to experience. She squeezed her hands into fists at her side - sparks flew from her wand as words caught in her throat.

His outstretched hand only served to push her further away, and she shook her head, shoulders tight. "No," She protested, finally hearing her voice break. "No, Malfoy I can't do this, I'm — this isn't how this was supposed to go, I wasn't supposed to come to you and drag you into this. I wasn't supp —" Her free hand fluttered up to her neck - air refused to go down her throat. Even the simple gesture reminded her of how she'd almost lost her life, and yet the realization that she couldn't remember how that had happened made her chest constrict even more. "I can't remember anything - what if I'd killed him without thinking; what if he was completely innocent and I just...murdered him?"

She hadn't realized she'd backed all the way up to the wall, as if the more distance she put between them the better the situation would be. The more he would realize exactly how incredibly stupid she'd been this evening. That his expression would harden, and he would look at her coldly, and disappear. Her chest heaved as she tried to draw breath. Spots began to dance in her vision, and she gripped her wand again as that would provide any sort of support.

---

He recognized her panic instantly. The defensiveness, the way she couldn't seem to catch her breath, the sparks that flew from her wand—it all made his chest constrict, because this was what he was most worried about: her not being okay. He knew this wasn't something they'd be able to most past easily, but she was only making it harder. Raphael was raised with the understanding that sometimes you had to do bad things to stay ahead in the world, and while he'd never gone so far as murder, he wasn't in any position to go moralistic on her. What was done was done, intent or causation be damned.

"Rowan," he said gently, taking a tentative step towards her. "Drop the wand before you hurt yourself." Or me, he thought, but knew better than to voice that aloud. He took another step in her direction. "He wasn't innocent after leaving those marks on you. No good man would hurt a woman like that." He continued to step closer to her, closing the distance with each sentence he spoke. Finally he was just a few feet with her, close enough to brush the tips of his fingers against her arm if he stretched his arm out.

"Come here," he said again, his brows creased with concern.

---

Even as she stared at him desperately, air whistled uncomfortably down her throat and she felt her grip on her wand loosen. Hearing her name come from his lips, she nodded, blinking more tears out of her eyes. Her gaze moved down to her hand and she suddenly released the wand at his command as if it had scalded her. It clattered away harmlessly, and she clutched at her hand, begging her breathing to return to normal. She hadn't realized Malfoy had stepped closer, was nearing her even more as he talked, but she was grateful for his words. There was a clear ring of truth to what he was saying, she couldn't deny that.

She held onto that instead, her body finally sagging against the wall. Walter had tried to kill her - had gotten his hands around her neck and squeezed, so she must have defended herself. Must have fought back if he'd ended up impaled on the floor. But was she strong enough to do that to a fully fledged wizard? He had nearly towered over her. A flutter of sensation against her arm made her look up, seeing that Malfoy was within arm's reach, hand resting gently on her forearm. She swallowed thickly, her lip quivering as she stared up at him with a glassy gaze. She wanted comfort, wanted his comfort, and so she let herself collapse into his arms finally, burying herself into his chest.

"Malfoy," She mummured, her voice taking on a frightened edge; a thought had just come to her, born from the memory of the way Walter's eyes had made her skin crawl. Her hand came up to grip his forearm this time. She needed something stable if she was going to finish this thought; tried to say it without her voice wavering, but she could barely get the words out because what if saying them would mean they were true? "What if...what if he did.... more than than try and kill me....?"

---

His arms went around her with ease, holding her flush against him. One arm encircled her shoulders while the other wrapped around her back, his splayed palm resting on the small of her back. He breathed deeply, reveling in the contact—it was more comforting than any words could ever be, and as he leaned down to rest his chin against the top of her head he felt a warm, buzzing sensation wash down his body from the crown of his head to the tips of his fingers.

He allowed his eyes to shut, and if he'd been laying down—he ignored where else that led his mind to, current situation considered—he was positive he'd have fallen asleep immediately. But she was still panicking, so he instead focused on her breaths and the rate of her heartbeat, currently pounding so hard that he could feel it just by holding her like this.

At first, he didn't catch her meaning. He lifted his head and angled it down towards her, his brows furrowed in question. But before he could ask, and before she could explain herself, the meaning hit him, and his stomach dropped.

"Does it... hurt... there?" he asked, finding himself growing more anxious with every muttered syllable.

---

She could see it the moment the thought crossed his mind, and she could see her own budding horror building within him as well. The fact that he'd gone incredibly still made her mirror him, and she squeezed her eyes shut wanting to bury her face in him once again. She didn't want to try and think if it did because everything hurt. Her neck, her limbs, her feet, her back. His comfort had done wonders but this new thought had curdled in her stomach and she could feel it turn once more.

And then Walter'z gaze floated in her vision again.

"Oh god," Even the prospect of not remembering was enough. Tearing herself away from him, she ran to the railing to lean over and wretch once more. Eyes hot again, she gripped the iron beneath her fingers, nails digging into the metal as if that might help clear her mind. As if the pain might wake her up.

Breathing heavily, she brought the cuff of her sleeve up to her mouth, shutting her eyes against the sensation swirling in her stomach. "No," She shook her head once more. "No. It doesn't. At least I don't think it does." There was no way to be sure unless she completely gained back her memory which was enough to cause her stomach to drop even more. "But I still can't remember what else he did."

---

He didn't stop her when she tore away from him. His eyes blurred over as he stared off into the distance, focusing on nothing in particular. He couldn't comprehend it, Rowan being raped. Used. Abused. Tossed around and thrown aside. He wanted to scream and shout, to release the rage that was currently simmering beneath his skin. He wanted to be able to say with certainty that it hadn't happened because it couldn't have, that she was strong and capable and never would have allowed that to happen to herself.

His gaze slid back to her just in time to see her wretch over the railing. His lips twisted into a grimace, and before he could suppress the urge he leaned over and expelled whatever was left in his stomach. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, only to grimace when he saw the mess. Without another thought he withdrew his wand and magicked it all away—the vomit, the blood, the tearstains she'd left on his shoulder.

"It's shock," he explained, his voice hoarse, "It'll wear off once we're back home."

---

In her stupor, it didn't occur to her to be affected by the fact that he had said ‘when we’re back home’ as if they might have some semblance of a normal life after they’d just buried a body together. She’d heard him wretch as she’d done, and with a pang of the most vicious irony, she knew that at this point there was little either of them could do to bring them closer in lack of dignity.

“You’re right.” she admitted, straightening up and turning back to face him. He’d cleaned himself up somewhat, which prompted her to walk back over to pick up her discarded wand and do the same. At least, she hoped he was correct. She hung onto that; the other option was too painful to entertain. And besides, they had to finish here. There was no time to break down even further than she already had.

“We’ll need to part ways after this. It’s better that no one see us leaving together.”

---

At least she wasn't crying. Raphael didn't think he'd be able to take it if she was.

He stood up a little straighter and nodded, trying to school his face into an expression of cool, calm neutrality. "As long as you know you'll be alright," he replied. If she wouldn't, he'd make her come back with him. He wasn't going to be able to get a wink of sleep tonight, so it would be better to see her, to know she was alright, rather than send her home knowing she'd be a total mess.

---

Through the fog of exhaustion that was slowly seeping into her bones, Rowan thought she caught a glimmer of exertion on his behalf before his expression settled into the familiar mask of indifference she would always recognize. She couldn’t help the laugh that came from her lips, fluttering the various strands of hair that had escaped from her updo. In the oddest way it was comforting to see. She wouldn’t, even in this untidy, grimy, exhausted state of hers, dare to tell him any of this though.

“Malfoy,” Her voice was soft, only conveying how close to breaking she was for the second time that night. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever be alright after this.” She wondered if it would do to apologize to him again, but she held her tongue, scared that if she did ask, he would have changed his mind and the seed of resentment had been planted. Instead, she reached up and swiped at her cheek, leaving a dark stain of dirt across it.

---

He took a long, shaky breath, watching as the hot air escaped through his lips in the cold building. He stared down at her, his eyes glued to the streak of dirt smeared across her face, fighting the urge to wipe it away himself. In truth, he had to fight off every urge to touch her—to hug her, to touch her shoulder, to stand so close that their shoulders nudged. He hadn't realized how much he needed that comfort until she'd given it to him; Zandra Malfoy had never been the affectionate type, and he'd rarely embraced any of his sisters since childhood.

He crossed his arms over his chest instead. "I know," he said, nodding, "I just meant—alright enough. You know, to be able to act as though everything's alright when you sit with your family." She'd have a few hours to think through things, to gather her wits, but she wouldn't be able to say anything, right?

---