George's early departure from dinner hadn't gone unnoticed. In fact, Thomas was sure that he had rather quickly become the only Ravenclaw with a decimal of sense and propriety left at the table. He had watched in horror as a first year decimated a rather strange looking decapod as if he hadn't ever used cutlery in his life. It had taken the boy nearly a decade to finish the damn thing and not look like some sort of barbarian whilst doing so. The train wreck's neighbor kept squirreling away bits of food into a tin decorated with decangles. If he hadn't been so disgusted by their friend, he might have questioned why.

By dessert, a redheaded denarian, from another house, was so loud in his ramblings about Tennessee (of all bloody places) that Thomas decided he would rather be attacked by a venemous tentacula then remain seated with the Lords and Ladies of idiocy any longer. It was with a huff that he pushed his plate aside, grumbled out excuses, and scampered off to check on one of the only tolerable people left at the blood school.

It didn't take him long to find his way back in Ravenclaw Tower and climbing the stairs that led to their dormitory. It seemed he was yet to cease growing, and his legs had decided to appear somehow even more gangly than before.

Shouldering his way in through the door, Thomas glanced about for George. He seemed about to launch into a rambling rant about how disastrous dinner had been, but the words ended up getting forced out of his mouth with a cough instead. He couldn't recall ever seeing his friend undressed in front of any of them, even in a minor way. It was odd, and, by the way George clutched the shirt in front of him, he felt as if he had intruded.

Merlin, this was awkward.

However, his attention quickly snapped to the bandaging, his mouth forming a thin, worried line. "George, are you alright?"