Despite the shield, Faustus still felt urgency biting at their heels as if a hound was after them, herding them to the ballroom. There was no rushing Miss Skogvaard though, and Faustus watched with a frown as she gingerly made her way towards the door. Though he supported her with his hand, he ever so quickly loosened his grip, observing her reaction as he did so.
He did not like what he saw. Her eyes had turned glassy and distant yet focused at the same time, as if she kept losing focus. In all his years as an auror he knew a concussion when he saw one. And so, he didn’t resist as she took his arm for support - in fact he’d hoped she would - but the frown on his face deepened as they headed toward the door. It was when she stumbled that he stopped abruptly and, without warning, stooped down, sweeping her legs out from underneath her with one arm and supporting her around the waist with the other.
His entire body ached and even though his ribs no longer protested, he could still feel the sharp pain from the cabinet slicing into his side. Regardless, her stumbling told him that with the additional weight of her skirts (even with some of them gone and used as bandages around his abdomen) would continue to be a hindrance in combination with her ankle. “My apologies, Miss Skovgaard,” he murmured, adjusting his grip on her waist as he moved forward to the door. “This is not how I would normally do things, but I fear that ankle of yours may need further looking at.”
He glanced down at her, concern mixed with an apology etched on his face. They were nearly at the threshold now, and Faustus angled himself so they could pass through without her feet or head catching the now battered doorframe.
He did not like what he saw. Her eyes had turned glassy and distant yet focused at the same time, as if she kept losing focus. In all his years as an auror he knew a concussion when he saw one. And so, he didn’t resist as she took his arm for support - in fact he’d hoped she would - but the frown on his face deepened as they headed toward the door. It was when she stumbled that he stopped abruptly and, without warning, stooped down, sweeping her legs out from underneath her with one arm and supporting her around the waist with the other.
His entire body ached and even though his ribs no longer protested, he could still feel the sharp pain from the cabinet slicing into his side. Regardless, her stumbling told him that with the additional weight of her skirts (even with some of them gone and used as bandages around his abdomen) would continue to be a hindrance in combination with her ankle. “My apologies, Miss Skovgaard,” he murmured, adjusting his grip on her waist as he moved forward to the door. “This is not how I would normally do things, but I fear that ankle of yours may need further looking at.”
He glanced down at her, concern mixed with an apology etched on his face. They were nearly at the threshold now, and Faustus angled himself so they could pass through without her feet or head catching the now battered doorframe.