"Yes, Walter!" She exclaimed hysteria climbing in her voice as she beseeched him to understand. "He was the one that attacked us the night of the Minister's ball, when I lost that pearl broach they gave us." The words came out in another rush before she realized it wouldn't do. He likely wouldn't remember that anyways. She wanted to remain coherent, but she worried that time had long since passed.

She wanted to bat his hand out of her face like swatting at a fly - almost did if it weren't for the fact that his hand settled on her waist. Miraculously it seemed to ground her enough to focus on the fact that he was trying to help her, and the fact that she was doing nothing of use to help him understand what had happened.

Stop and breathe. Stop - and breathe. So she did just that. She wanted to hold onto him, to steady herself, but the blood on her hands prevented her from doing so. It occurred to her that it might not be all her's. She could feel herself grow clammy. Stop and breathe. Where to start her explanation when the memories themselves were so fragmented? "I stole some old clothes from my brother. I wanted to...I wanted to find out who had hurt my sister. She —" Breaking off, she fished in her pocket with her good hand for the slip of paper: the drawing, and the letter. She handed both to him. "She drew this one day last month - couldn't stop, and said it kept popping up in her dreams. I thought it might have something to do with her attackers, so I found the building."

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