From behind the shield there was no imagining just how difficult it would be to make it down the remainder of the hallway, but it didn't take very long to figure out. From the moment the shield disappeared it became a battle to keep his feet planted on the floor and his hand grasped around Yaxley's. Just as difficult as walking was keeping his eyes open; almost like he'd been thrust into a snowy winter day his eyes stung with dryness, only it wasn't especially cold nor was there any snow.

Without her guiding hand he doubted he would have made it. He couldn't acknowledge it aloud, nor could he ponder on it for any length of time without feeling disgusted by his own sentimentality, but luckily the storm made it easy to forget. His fingers clasped tighter around hers and he held them there, reluctantly releasing them only when she tugged her hand away.

"Fucking Merlin's magical bollock," he cursed under his breath as he stepped out of the windy corridor and into the stairwell. His body was sore and he was far more aware of the pain centered underneath his ear now that he wasn't facing the direct wrath of the weather. He reached up and rubbed the sore spot and was greeted by the warm wetness of blood.

Once again he could only thank his years of quidditch experience for keeping his senses in tact.

"The stairs seem safe, but I'm not sure for how much longer," he said in a strained voice, a grimace on his face as he looked in her direction.

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