Chapter Two
Faxon Price lay still, listening to the light popping sound as Lucius Malfoy disapparated, thereby exacting his uncanny escape from the scene of the crime. For a moment Faxon simply listened to the sounds of the old house surrounding him, but soon even these mundane noises were small conciliation against the still throbbing pain in his limbs.
"That," he began in a hoarse shaking voice, "was not what I was expecting."
Slowly he raised himself off the dusty floor, dried leaves and dust bunnies clinging to his robes and hair. When he finally got to his feet there was a rush of blood to his head, making him wince as a rather wicked migraine began its work. The hand he had used to unlock whatever spell was in the painting had begun a persistent throbbing of intense pain. He suddenly became very dizzy and had to sit down in an old armchair that stood against the wall behind him. Pulling back the folds of his black robes, he examined his hand.
It wasn't as bad as he had expected. No, in fact, he was quite right to say it was much worse.
His hand was blackened up to his wrist, as if he had placed it in a cloud of billowing smoke. He tried moving it and another electric shock of pain shot through him, making him cry out in the dank and disturbing room. The points of light above him were fading, and in the next few seconds he was plunged in to total darkness, leaving him completely alone in his unbearable pain. With some trouble, he had retrieved his wand from where he had dropped it and held it in his other hand. With an uneasy flick, he disapparated. The feeling of every atom of his body disconnecting and spreading out was an almost welcoming feeling next to the constant pain. Soon he felt himself re-condense and found he was sitting on the edge of his bed in his flat.
Without another thought he fell back, his good hand clutching the throbbing blackened one over his chest, and was swept in to an uneasy sleep.
Before he knew what was happening he was hearing the blaring siren of the magicked grandfather clock next to his nightstand. He opened his eyes groggily, watching the pale slanting light of morning slash across his ceiling. Images of the night before came back to him in shameful detail, making him shut his eyes as if it would block them out. He could hardly believe he had to get up and go about his everyday life...But then, he didn't realize exactly what day it was, did he? Not until the sounds of the hexed grandfather clock faded away did he truly understand that today was the day he started his job at-
"Hogwarts!" He yelled, sitting up abruptly and yelping with the strain. The next few minutes he spent attempting to get dressed with one hand, which left him unprepared for the challenge tying his shoes presented. His hand was less darkened than the night before, but the pain was still apparent. Eventually he set off for King's Cross, shoe laces untied and luggage tucked under his arms. Lucky enough for him, Faxon's flat was only a muggle subway stop away, although he didn't bother with such troublesome modes of transportation. He knew it was risky, but soon he was apparating in a bathroom stall at the famous train station. As he stepped out he was met with the unwavering and shocked gazes of three women who were re-applying their makeup at the mirrors.
Faxon cleared his throat loudly, attempting a small smile. He glanced at his own reflection in the mirror and realized at once that their apprehension was valid.
He looked positively wild, with his near-shoulder length wavy hair a mess, and his reddish stubble looking even more out of control than the night before. His shirt had been buttoned wrong, leaving a patch of his white undershirt exposed. His tie was askew and his blazer was inside out. He seemed positively wild-eyed and was panting as if he had been running for a mile.
This all seemed to be working out of his favor.
With one last charming smile he sprinted out of the ladies' public bathroom, leaving the occupants speechless, and towards the stations nine and ten. In a sprint he sped through the magical barrier and in a matter of seconds, which surprised even him, he was sitting on the scarlet train that was still familiar to him even after all these years.