With her back turned, Raphael rolled his eyes so hard he could feel a dull pain in his eye sockets. She was being ridiculous—insufferable, even. Weren't the Ministry's employees supposed to be professional? Soothing, even? He was a victim after all. His gaze flickered up at her while she messed with something over by the cabinet, and then to his arm. Had it not been so painful he might have rolled up his sleeve to examine how far the scarring went. Absent-mindedly he wondered how long it would last; most magical effects were temporary, but there was no telling if this was a dark curse or an especially nasty hex.

Only when she spoke again did he look away from his arm, his eyes following the dagger as it floated in front of her. "Not mine," he said quietly, "But if someone sent it to me, I suppose it is now."

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