Traps and ancient curses ruled Sylvano's life. He'd gotten used to the inherent horror of that fact. Sometimes people died-- sometimes people worse than died, and Sylvano had been numb to that since an early age. It was different, though, watching a trap go off in the thriving epicenter of a civilian festival. One moment he was lost in the colorful games, the scent of a hundred different treats and the current of constant voices. The next, people were screaming.

The next, people were gone.

Sylvano was no martyr. He knew when to run. Anywhere else he might have kept right on going past the lagging man and his child, might not even have noticed his half-missing foot-- but this was Hogsmeade. Everywhere Sylvano looked he saw his sister, and as he rushed up alongside the man he could hear her berating him. Hear her caring

She'd be furious if she got him killed.

"Signore!" Breathless, Sylvano extended his hands-- whether to help the man or take the boy so the father could run, even he wasn't sure. Either way, it seemed it would help.

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