Elijah sank a bit in his chair, knowing the look his father was giving him better than anyone, given how often he’d received it when he was acting out; he was going to have to tone it down because he was wearing down his father’s last nerve. At least there was still November, right? And the winter holidays. It wasn’t like he was never going to see any of his Hogwarts friends again. He tried not to look so disappointed, knowing that his father was only trying to look out for his well being, even if it meant raining on his parade. “I guess,” he mumbled; he supposed he should be grateful that he only had to spend time in recovery whereas there were a lot of others that didn’t survive the attack at all, “Could I at least borrow some parchment and ink from your supply? I want to at least write to my friends if I’m not allowed to see them.” Even if Elijah had to write slowly because of his hurt arm, he should at least inform them that he wasn’t dead and couldn’t meet up with them for awhile.