And even the birds have stopped singing...
For when all the world's malice is endured by these handfuls of teenagers, the hush of sorrow settles in.
Carly Wren Davies is her parents' boxing bag and the very reason they need one in the first place...
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A ROOM SO STERILE that not a single scent can penetrate. It may appear impossible to create such a place. However, magical hospitals are far superior in terms of cleanliness compared to any other strictly sterilized system.
Needles and elixirs float through the gleaming white corridors, speedily finding their way into their patients' bloodstreams. Notepads are being filled with blood values and alters in well-being before the quill and paper jet off to the next client.
The actual examinations and charms, however, are performed by certified healers. For, no floating ointments, bandages, or plasters can repair burnt flesh better than a specialist's undivided attention and muttered incantations.
Pamela, Chandler, and Blaise hurry inside as soon as the Chief of Plastic Healing exits the examination room. Though they intend to conceal their rapid heartbeat, the overeager entry reveals the whole of their worries.
"My sweet," Pamela bursts with relief when she views the wounded girl. She takes a seat next to her on the examination table. "How are you feeling?"
A shy smile tugs at Carly's lips when she raises her hands, presenting the white bandages wrapped tightly around her skin. "The pain is gone," she says. Her gaze drifts to Chandler and Blaise. Gratitude swims within her irises. "I'm free to go," she adds.
Mrs. Jordan, the healer, had shown no curiosity about the cause of Carly's injuries. She had made no inquiries about the incident. That is not her primary duty. Her profession lies solely in mending wounds.
Assault is not a chargeable offense in the wizarding world. At least it is not till the perpetrator is guilty of utilizing one of the three unforgivable curses. Only this would result in a victory for those who have been harmed (If they happened to still be among the living and sane to celebrate such.)
But such rules do not apply to you if your name is Davies.
The heinous things Carly could get away with only by mentioning her family name... But it has never been her wish to unleash hell upon mere humans. More than enough devils are roaming the realm. Some familiar faces lingering among those.
The Davies lineage has no need to fear authorities. For, none would dare oppose them. Not even the Malfoy and Black households. Though Pamela thought otherwise, Carly knew better.
Mainly her father, Sir Davies, manages to get away with each and every single misstep he takes – even with designing curses. Ones terrible enough to abandon the list of banned enchantments. That is how powerful he is – dreaded even. And fear causes your bones to shrink and your vocal cords to snap. The man would not hesitate to mutilate anyone who expressed opposition to him.
Silence is simpler to endure than pain.
Carly pushes herself to her feet. "Mrs. Jordan said I was fortunate. Your fast aid prevented a horrid infection," she tells, analyzing her gauzed palms. "My father's magic was dirty, the curse not yet cleaned," the girl explains. "If you hadn't come to my rescue, I might have lost all ten fingers." Carly slowly passes her gaze over Pam, Chandler, and Blaise, an appreciative smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you," she mumbles in a tone just above a whisper.
