Ernest had exhausted the books that one could freely order from the library over the course of the past week, and he had nothing in his personal library that touched on the subject of healing or anatomy. In order to continue his search, he'd need access to the restricted floors of the library — which, for obvious reasons, had to be accessed in person and not just by a servant carrying a note.
The thing about that was that he was supposed to be at home convalescing, not doing research. If he was well enough to go flouncing around the library in London, he was certainly well enough to return to work. He'd already written Urquart and informed him of his intention to return Monday morning, and was now setting about making the necessary accommodations to survive a day in the Department of Mysteries. He'd gotten the hang of this blasted wheelchair easily enough (there was nothing particularly challenging about moving a wheel around, though he was annoyed that he'd had to bother with it at all). There were other challenges, though, some of which could be easily solved by magic (reaching things off of shelves) and some whose solutions were a little less obvious. There were three stairs between the main Department of Mysteries area and the Hall of Prophecy, for instance, and just writing off an entire section of his Department and never visiting it again wasn't exactly an option.
He was sure he'd be able to overcome any challenge he faced — the worry was that there would be something unexpected, and he would find himself stuck in a ridiculous situation trying to puzzle it out while others stood by watching and pitying. To that end, he'd decided to brave the house a few days early and go for an impromptu shopping trip, so that he could identify any potential hurdles before he had to face them around anyone he actually cared for the opinion of.
He was not expecting, not was he particularly enthused by the prospect of, running into anyone familiar. Was it too late to pretend he hadn't seen her? Not yet, but unless he apparated away and abandoned the wheelchair on the sidewalk it would be impossible to avoid her. They were on the same side of the street, and crossing would be too obvious.
Bollocks.
The thing about that was that he was supposed to be at home convalescing, not doing research. If he was well enough to go flouncing around the library in London, he was certainly well enough to return to work. He'd already written Urquart and informed him of his intention to return Monday morning, and was now setting about making the necessary accommodations to survive a day in the Department of Mysteries. He'd gotten the hang of this blasted wheelchair easily enough (there was nothing particularly challenging about moving a wheel around, though he was annoyed that he'd had to bother with it at all). There were other challenges, though, some of which could be easily solved by magic (reaching things off of shelves) and some whose solutions were a little less obvious. There were three stairs between the main Department of Mysteries area and the Hall of Prophecy, for instance, and just writing off an entire section of his Department and never visiting it again wasn't exactly an option.
He was sure he'd be able to overcome any challenge he faced — the worry was that there would be something unexpected, and he would find himself stuck in a ridiculous situation trying to puzzle it out while others stood by watching and pitying. To that end, he'd decided to brave the house a few days early and go for an impromptu shopping trip, so that he could identify any potential hurdles before he had to face them around anyone he actually cared for the opinion of.
He was not expecting, not was he particularly enthused by the prospect of, running into anyone familiar. Was it too late to pretend he hadn't seen her? Not yet, but unless he apparated away and abandoned the wheelchair on the sidewalk it would be impossible to avoid her. They were on the same side of the street, and crossing would be too obvious.
Bollocks.