Thank God. Malou sent quick thanks above as her blue eyes remained on Mr. Prewett. The warmth of his hand receeding from its comforting position on her back as he sank down.

Though at his joke she grew solemn. "Will you be alright to move?" The concern in her voice was more than just a healer's concern at a patient, but she barely noticed. She righted herself, hastily checking for her wand. The reticule was still there, the twisted band of it had left a welt in her wrist but it was still closed. Her cold almost numb fingers fought with the clasp to get her wand out. "I can look at it before we do."

But he was right they did need to get back to safety. Her eyes glanced over him toward the remains of the room, the vague shelter of the corner with a roof and walls, fruniture slammed into the sides. But if they could get there she could spliched his ribs before further damage was done. She met his gaze again, a plan forming in her mind, heedless of her own throbbing head or the fact that she was shivering from the wet layers of fabric and her own adventure in the flooding kitchen belowl

  

---

"I'll be alright," He replied automatically, though there really was no telling the damage he'd done to his side. Now that he was stationary and no longer able to distract his brain from the pain of the wound in his side, Faustus became much more aware of the distinct burning sensation that had begun to persist. "Truly, I'm sure it's nothing."

Even as he said this, he knew he was sorely mistaken. Brushing aside his jacket revealed a bright red stain that had blossomed on his shirt. That wasn't good. Faustus cast her an apologetic look, knowing this would do nothing but slow them down. But the pain had set in and he suddenly couldn't move as it felt someone had taken a knife and split open his side. He let out another gasp of pain as he fell backward, unable to support himself on his one arm alone.

---

  

Malou leveled a concerned glare at him, skeptical that he wasn't just sucking it up, but it was for nothing. She watched each movement he made, the jacket pushed aside, the blood seeping through vest and shirt alike, she saw the look on his face as he started to drop backward. Malou was already crawling toward him, her ankle and head throbbing as her fingers grasped her wand like the lifeline it was.

Her shaking fingers dismayed her as she pushed aside his jacket further, unbuttoned his vest, then round the tear in his shirt, finally pulling away the hasty banadges that had once been his shirt sleeve. Blood was everywhere, it wasn't just the rib she had thought might be broken. No the wound itself had torn, likely into muscle. There was no way Malou could look into Mr. Prewett's face, reassure him, tell him what she was doing. She was too worried to keep up bedside manner, and well... it felt more personal than a patient. Taking a deep breathe Malou willed her body to still to push aside her own discomfort and said a quick cleaning spell.

The next few moments she used verbal and nonverbal spells, cleaning the wound, stopping the flow of blood. Finally there was nothing else for it, they needed bandages. So she sat back on her heels, fumbling with her layers of skirts to find her soaked petticoats. A large chunk was torn from them, the hems of her gown beyond repair, she paid them no mind, using her wand to cut strips from the skirts. The strips in her hands she quickly doused them in clean water from her wand, thanking Professor Ruskin for teaching them aquamenti, then drying them. Finally she wrapped them securely around his side. It was the best she could do for the moment. Her fingers warmed against his skin, noticing each touch more than she had ever noted the touch of a patient before.

"One more thing." She murmured, trying to brave a glance at Mr. Prewett only managing to make it to his neck given that her hands were splayed on his bare chest near the bruising that indicated the fractured rib. "It'll hurt." Malou warned him, her own free hand sliding into his own for comfort and support, then she said the spell aloud too concerned to want to risk it nonverbally, "Episky." Gently, still holding her wand, she pressed on the rib to assertain if it had helped. "How does it feel?" Malou looked up at him, only then realizing she was still holding his hand.

  

---

His breaths came in short and ragged as he felt her tear open his vest and shirt in search of the wound. Even as she worked, he could tell it was bad. Years of being patched up by healers had led him to at least vaguely recognize when something was serious and when it wasn't. Everyone had their own bedside technique, but the wounds stayed the same, telling him when it was time to stop pushing the injury to its limits and sit down. Though he by no means was the worst (it was likely Sterling) Faustus knew this was a bad habit of his; had it confirmed by the glare Miss Skovgaard had sent him just before he fell backward. He would have laughed had he not been focusing on holding himself together.

He lay there while she worked, knowing even talking would likely just distract her. He did his best to shift his bodyweight and not encumber her as she wrapped strips of — what was this? He glanced over at her curiously, and then immediately stared straight back up at the ceiling. Merlin's Beard, she was using her own petticoats to dress his wounds. If he hadn't owed her before, he most certainly did now. The urge to apologize was on his lips but he fell silent as soon as she spoke. Felt the gentle pressure she applied to his chest and winced as he felt her find the bruising.

Faustus knew it was coming - knew it was his turn eventually, seeing as he'd performed the spell on her just earlier this evening, even though it seemed like a lifetime ago. He nodded, bracing himself, knowing there was really nothing to be done at this point. The spell hit him and he felt his ribs snap — or rather it felt as if they did, even if they were merely fusing back together — and he shouted as the pain crackled along his spine.

And then it was over. He breathed in and out steadily, testing the limits of his ribs as Miss Skovgaard pressed on the spot to make sure it had healed properly. He glanced over at her, seeing the concern written across her face, plain as day. Did she always look this concerned for her patients? It was most likely if she had as kind a soul as he thought she did. Faustus smiled, wanting to ease the tension he saw in her shoulders as she looked at him. "Better, thank you." He said, only realizing he was holding her hand when he absently ran his thumb over her knuckles.

He only felt himself let her hand go under the premise of attempting to sit up. The wound in his side still smarted, but he knew it was a small price to pay compared to if she hadn't been here. As he eased forward, he came face to face with her, his eyes moving down to her ankle. His brow furrowed in concern. "Be honest." He said quietly, knowing he was the epitome of a hypocrite given the nonsense he'd told her when she asked him the same question. "How does your ankle feel?" Faustus fixed her with a gaze he usually only employed to warn others that he would know if they were lying to him.

---

  

It was the warmth of his thumb against her knuckles, a gentle reassuring gesture that reminded her of her hand in his grasp. As soon as she noticed it though he was pushing himself up to sitting, giving her a moment to realize his chest was bare before her. She swallowed and looked up at his azure eyes. Her breath seemed to catch with how close their faces were. Then he looked down at the torn hems of her gown, her ankle that he had so recently done the same thing to. Concern crossed his face as he met her with a gaze that seemed stern and concerned at the same time.

"It is throbbing a bit, but I don't think it is any worse." Malou answered honestly, her tone soft in the small space between their faces. For that moment the storm seemed to have faded away leaving only her and Mr. Prewett. She knew she'd remember the concern on his face, remember this moment, for a long time to come. The kindness he had shown her....

It wasn't the right time to think about this. They needed to find shelter, against this storm she had no idea how long his shield spell would work. "Do you think you can make it to that doorway?" Malou nodded behind him. The door had blown into the hall beyond, hanging off the hinges, but half the room before it still had a roof and three walls, which was good news. If they could make it to that hallway then she didn't think the ballroom would be much further beyond that.

  

---

He studied her, unsure of how truthful she was being if only to try and discern if she would need any more assistance getting back to the ballroom. In the end, he had to trust her - this was neither the time nor place, and he had to take her at her word unless they wanted to have a battle of who was more stubborn.

He peered over his shoulder and looked to where she had gestured. The ballroom seemed such a long way off, but they had very little choice. It was either get to the ballroom or wait here for the storm hit them again. Neither option sounded good when apparition was off the table.

"I suppose I shall have to," He replied, shifting his weight onto his palm to ease himself up. While his ribs protested, they merely felt bruised. It was the bandages he had to contend with, and he winced as he stood upright. With a wave of his wand, the buttons on his shirt did themselves and he figured he only looked slightly horrible, though the bloodstain on his shirt was likely going to cause some amount of alarm. "Here, let me." He held out a hand to help her up, intending to support the side she had injured.

---

  

It wasn't the response Malou had wanted, but she supposed it was better than nothing. Despite that the edges of her lips tilted into a worried frown. But he stood up, his shirt quickly buttoning up and hiding the patch of skin, the lace and silk of her petticoat bandages. The vest flapped open exposing the blood on the shirt, there would be questions, but they would deal with that when they made it back.

Ever the gentleman Mr. Prewett held out his hand to her and Malou slid her slender fingers into his grasp. Now that she was no longer focused on him she realized how cold she was, how much her fingers were shaking still, how much she was shaking. She steeled herself against it and allowed him to help her up, grateful that it allowed her to keep her weight off ankle.

As she straightened the world seemed to spin, the back of her head throbbed and her hair piled high in its elaborate evening design tugged where she had hit her head. Slowly, she blinked, willing the pain away. She would deal with it once they found safety. But just in case... Malou slipped her arm into his as they began to make their way toward the door. The wind howled and pulled against the shield, but she was determined they would make it. It didn't matter that each step hurt, that the shivering made her dizzy. No, it only matter that they made it to safety. One step after another. She stumbled, but didn't pause- wouldn't pause. They had to make it. She had to get him out of this mess she had gotten him into. He had to be okay. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if he wasn't.

  

---

Despite the shield, Faustus still felt urgency biting at their heels as if a hound was after them, herding them to the ballroom. There was no rushing Miss Skogvaard though, and Faustus watched with a frown as she gingerly made her way towards the door. Though he supported her with his hand, he ever so quickly loosened his grip, observing her reaction as he did so.

He did not like what he saw. Her eyes had turned glassy and distant yet focused at the same time, as if she kept losing focus. In all his years as an auror he knew a concussion when he saw one. And so, he didn’t resist as she took his arm for support - in fact he’d hoped she would - but the frown on his face deepened as they headed toward the door. It was when she stumbled that he stopped abruptly and, without warning, stooped down, sweeping her legs out from underneath her with one arm and supporting her around the waist with the other.

His entire body ached and even though his ribs no longer protested, he could still feel the sharp pain from the cabinet slicing into his side. Regardless, her stumbling told him that with the additional weight of her skirts (even with some of them gone and used as bandages around his abdomen) would continue to be a hindrance in combination with her ankle. “My apologies, Miss Skovgaard,” he murmured, adjusting his grip on her waist as he moved forward to the door. “This is not how I would normally do things, but I fear that ankle of yours may need further looking at.”

He glanced down at her, concern mixed with an apology etched on his face. They were nearly at the threshold now, and Faustus angled himself so they could pass through without her feet or head catching the now battered doorframe.

---

  

Mr. Prewett halted and Malou found herself almost stumbling again. Then she felt his arms at her knees and - she might have protested if the world hadn't spun so violently around the edges of her vision. Instead she squeezed her eyes shut at the movement and nodded at his apology. "It's alright."

Surprisingly it was. His warmth seeped through his damp clothing, helping her calm the shivering, and she could feel each movement of his. But his own injury - her blue eyes flew open in concern only to notice his own look. Her own emotions seemed to be echoed back at her as he shifted through the doorway into another hallway. "But what of your own side? You'll only hurt yourself further." As a healer she certainly couldn't allow him to hurt himself for her sake. Not again.

  

---

Even as she protested, Faustus shook his head, eyes focused on the path in front of them as he crossed the door. The hallway was - expectedly - deserted, though it was still easy to feel the wind howling past them. In a way, Miss Skovgaard was right, his own injury would get worse, and the prickling pain at his side certainly proved that statement correct. Bandages would only do so much, and he could feel the uncomfortable sensation of the wound grating against the makeshift bandages, which was only bound to increase the amount of bleeding. The urgency to get out of the room that had almost taken their lives was greater though, and Faustus could see a bench just a few paces down the hallway that they might be able to pause at.

Regardless, of the state of her ankle, he ventured a guess that her world had just turned on its axis and was currently not helping with her balance. "I've sustained greater injuries for far longer," Was his reply as he reached the bench and set her down. Kneeling before her, he observed her appearance again, this time looking to see if his theory was right. Anyone who'd almost drowned would experience incredible dizziness; that combined with everything else they'd just been through, he was surprised how willing she was to move forward. "Are you able to focus on me?" He inquired, locking eyes with hers.

---

  

"That doesn't mean you should." Her gentle voice insisted, quiet even though it sounded louder to her with the slight quiet that came from the sudden shelter. For the first time in her life she found herself worried that the walls and celiling of the hallway might suddenly be torn away again, leaving them facing the storm once again.

His eyes were on her's again but she couldn't get herself to focus on them. Malou shook her head and winced, regretting the movement. "No." She swallowed. It was not a good thing she couldn't focus, she knew that, but she couldn't really remember why that wasn't a good thing. She gave him a small weary smile, "But it doesn't matter." She tried to insist, realizing the words came out weaker than she expected.

  

---

Faustus couldn't help but crack a smile at her first response. How many times had he heard that from various colleagues, or said that to the group of Aurors that were constantly putting themselves in danger? A sustained injury is an injury, no matter how small. Though he knew the one at his side was worsening, it was far more important to get them both back to the ballroom. It wouldn't be life-threatening, though it might worsen to the point where he'd add another scar to the slough of ones that he already had.

His smile disappeared slowly and then all at once as soon as he saw she had trouble focusing on him, then her subsequent reaction. "Yes," He contradicted firmly, mentally bracing himself for the protest his side was about to put up as he lifted her up again. "Yes it does matter very much Miss Skovgaard." He began walking down the hallway again, this time his pace quickening as he eyed their surroundings for any sign of glass walls warping or branches flying through windows. "And you wouldn't be saying that if one of your patients said that to you."

Faustus glanced back down at her, the ghost of a smile on his face failing to mask the true worry that was now seeping into his expression. He prayed to Merlin that there was another healer at the ballroom already that would be able to attend to her.

---

  

Leaving no room for protest Mr. Prewett once again pulled her up into his arms and Malou closed her eyes quickly against the dizziness, opening them up at his words. "Your right." She admitted, attempting her own smile but failing, still concerned over him rather than herself.

As they continued on she added softly, looking up to meet his eyes, "Thank you." She had no idea how she would ever thank him for everything he had done this night. He had risked himself again and again to protect her, had been nothing but kind and gentle and concerned, and all she had done was worsen his injuries.

The constant dizziness had her closing her eyes again, but she could hear the buzzing of panicked voices not far away, soon they would be out of danger, soon he wouldn't have to hurt himself further for her sake, soon...

  

---

Though in reality Faustus figured it took them no time to get to the end of the hallway, it felt like an eternity. Just waiting for something else to happen, to knock both of them sideways or for the ground to open beneath them and swallow them whole. The faster his pace became, the further away the door seemed. He adjusted his grip on Miss Skovgaard, ignoring the gnawing pain at his side. After what was surely longer than necessary, they arrived, and Faustus could hear the buzz of commotion echoing from the ballroom.

When he stepped through the doorway, it looked like the entire room had been gnawed on by some giant beast. It took Faustus a moment to properly register exactly how much damage had happened while they were gone. There was a cry of shock that rang through the air as he strode a few paces forward to where they had originally left Mr. Thompsett. Soon an older woman came bustling their way, her face a mask of horror and relief. Faustus looked down at Miss Skovgaard, a questioning look on his face as he set her down on a chair.

---

  

The lights of the ballroom and the noise made it even harder to focus on anything, so Malou focused on the pounding of Mr. Prewett's heart, the sound of his breathe, the gait of his pace. He was gentle as he set her down, her eyes seeking his to assess how much pain he was in.

Before she could consider it any further there was a farmiliar cry of, "Malou!" And Mrs. Bagshot was before her, worry clear in the familiar usage of Malou's childhood name rather than the British "Marie" or "Miss Skovgaard", and then hemming and hawing over the state of her before she seemed to register the presense of the gentleman she had often mentioned as a catch of the season. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Prewett. I was so worried.[/b]" Then she turned back to Malou, "Are you alright my dear?" And off she went again question after question to which Malou murmured soft responses as best she could - not that the woman was listening to any of them.

Malou looked over her godmother's weighty frame and gave Mr. Prewett a smile that was a mix of weariness, relief, gratitude, and concern. "Thank you again, Mr. Prewett. Truly." She could only hope that he would hear the sincerity in her tone, see it in her eyes, and understand precisely what she meant.

  

---

He'd heard her name called - or at least a version of it. Malou. Last he remembered when she'd introduced herself, it was as Marie Skovgaard. So either this woman was keenly affected by the evening's events and needed to be checked out more than Miss Skovgaard did, or it was a childhood name that perhaps had escaped the woman in the shock of seeing her in such a state. Faustus quickly surmised it was indeed the latter, given how Miss Skovgaard regarded the older woman, and he stepped aside to let them converse. More to let the woman reassure herself that her charge was indeed alright (to an extent) and, more importantly, alive.

Clearly, by the manner in which she addressed him next, she knew who he'd been on sight despite his rather wrecked appearance, which he took as nothing out of the ordinary. But before he could open his mouth to respond that it had been no trouble and that she had more than shown her competence in such a scenario, the woman had rattled off half a dozen questions to Miss Skovgaard who, to her credit, answered them steadily while Faustus struggled to keep a straight face. He dipped his head to hide his expression. While it wasn't the most amusing situation with Miss Skovgaard still injured, he had a strange feeling this wasn't the first time that Miss Skovgaard had been put in such a situation by the older woman.

As he looked back up, he caught glimpse of Miss Skovgaard peering around the woman. A smile broke out on his face as he caught her thanks and he bowed his head. "Think nothing of it, Miss Skovgaard." He replied, just before he heard his name being shouted. With a quick glance behind him, he saw who it was and, knowing that he was likely about to be called away, turned back to Miss Skovgaard. "I must go check on my family. Forgive me, I'll send over a healer as soon as I can." He said, before bowing to the two of them, stealing one last glance at her and slipping into the bustling crowd behind them.

---