REQUIEM - [h.p]

IV; something amiss

Stepping foot into the infirmary's grounds, Albus paused to check his surroundings, his eyes locking onto the visage of Madame Pomfrey, who was turned away from him, and then shifted his gaze to the sitting figure in the room. 

Newt Scamander was sitting quietly aside a bed, a curtain obscured Albus' view of the patient, but he knew who it was regardless. Edwyn Belmonte still hadn't emerged from his comatose state, a fact which weighed heavily on both men. Newt didn't hear Albus shuffle closer, too absorbed in his own thoughts from the looks of it. The man's eyebrows were knitted together, and his lips drawn downwards into a contemplative, sorrow-filled frown. Eye-bags worsened the man's appearance, which was made no better by the state of his disheveled robes and tousled hair, there was even a fair amount of stubble covering the man's chin and the sides of his face. 

"Perhaps you could do with a rest," Albus spoke. He watched with a sympathetic gaze, as Newt flinched then fumbled around with his hands before finally turning his head to meet his gaze. "You've been sitting here for several hours, my old friend. Depriving yourself will do the boy no favours, you must remember to take care of your own needs as well."

Newt sighed, turning back toward the unconscious form of the young Belmonte. Albus could now see the boy clearly, having moved to the right angle where the white curtain did not obscure his sight. Belmonte was pale, perhaps even too pale, his arms resting outside the white bed sheets, and his face was slack and unmoving. The rise and fall of his chest were the only indicators that the boy was living. 

The silence ticked on, and Albus was about to speak again before Newt finally replied. "I know, but I can't bring myself to leave him like this." His tone was soft and quiet, and if Albus wasn't in such close proximity, he might have even missed the words. "I don't want him to be alone when he deals with it." 

Following Newt's gaze, he shifted his eyes toward Belmonte's left arm. Albus exhaled silently through his nose. It was as much as they could heal, he had heard from Poppy when the boy had first been brought into the Hogwarts' infirmary. Along that pale skin, was a long scar that branched out in rivulets, much like the strands of a spider's web. With such a large mark given, the originating wound must have been caused by a dark curse. 

"There still may be a chance that he could regain full function in his arm." Madame Pomfrey had apparently tuned in to their conversation, her voice was serious but held the slightest undercurrent of hope beneath it. "It's small, but it's there."

"Hope is all we have left," Albus murmured. 

Minutes must have past as they all stayed motionless in their spots. The boy was still resting peacefully it would seem. Not even the slightest hitch in his breath, nor the faintest sound came from the resting child. Albus wondered if the boy dreamt. Edwyn Belmonte had originally been placed into a healing trance by the Healers at St Mungo's, however the boy had yet to awaken from his resting state after the magic had worn off. 

"Shouldn't we tell him?" Newt asked. 

Albus didn't bother asking the younger man for clarification. "Poppy, would you mind leaving us for a moment?"

Madame Pomfrey turned to him with a professional stare, only the smallest amount of curiosity swirling within her eyes. He couldn't blame her for that curiosity, it would be more concerning for him if such a human trait did not flicker through the woman. She nodded. Then Poppy dispensed her farewells and pleasantries and left their presence. 

"You know the risks that are at stake, Newt. The boy cannot be allowed to know. You, as well as I, know the destruction it could bring."

Stubbornly, as Newt often was when it came to personal matters, the younger man replied, "And what if he figures out himself? What then, Albus? You can't hide it all forever, Edwyn will eventually find out, and I believe that outcome will be far worse than anything you think will happen otherwise."