"This may shock you, Pyrites, but I'm not naturally so suspicious. You've given me reason to be," he explained. If he wasn't careful, he might have lines on his forehead before twenty-five. Perhaps he needed to limit his time with the former Gryffindor—schedule it, even. Though trained to face all injuries with a straight face as to not upset the paitent, he could not help the creased-brow grimace he worse as he examined the fused arms. He held them up, eyeing Pyrites for any indication of pain. It was a simple enough fix, he supposed, but he couldn't help but be curious about who—or what—had caused it.
"It should be," he answered, "but I'll need to get you a pain potion before I separate it. Unless you'd prefer the healer to do it?"
"It should be," he answered, "but I'll need to get you a pain potion before I separate it. Unless you'd prefer the healer to do it?"
