#emmeline;3

A week or so had passed since Rabastan returned to Lestrange Manor. Having spent the majority of his time languishing asleep or barely awake, he was now relieved to be rounding a corner. With his focus returning, he set his attention back to more pertinent matters and took to attempting light work from his childhood study. His efforts were slow and laborious. It frustrated him and therefore was likely not very conducive to his recovery. But he was stubborn and determined.

Having considered everything he could no longer complete for the Dark Lord, he then turned his thoughts to Emmeline and their shared enterprise. He'd sent an owl inviting her to the Manor to collect scrolls, neatly written with instructions to take over and complete his cursed items - if she had not done so, already. It would not have surprised him if she had. She was as devoted to their craft as he was, and committed to their clientele. But he'd completed the scrolls nonetheless, mostly to give himself something to do and to create the illusion of responsible activity.

Currently, he sat in the library. Another matter had started to plague him, seeming to rise from some distant corner of his mind as it returned to clarity. That wretched cursed book. Sitting around had given him plenty of time to think, and he was increasingly convinced that he had not overlooked anything when ridding it of its enchantments. The only explanation was that Emmeline was, in fact, a pureblood. But he would not voice this thought without researching further and testing his theory. If he was correct, the news would upheave poor Emmeline. He would not subject her to distress without being absolutely convinced of the truth. This truth would thrill him to no end. He wanted more for her; she deserved it. She deserved to be pure.

A number of books surrounded him, on the topic of blood curses and blood magic. He had scanned them a number of times, but despite feeling improved, he was unable to remain active for too long. He'd forced himself to locate a charm which was easy enough to cast without exerting too much effort, though he was not entirely convinced of its accuracy and would have far preferred to replicate the curse and test it again. Since he dared not attempt any demanding magic, the charm it had to be for now. He'd cast it over one of the scrolls and had set it aside for her to take later. To a pureblood, it should feel warm to the touch; a friendly magic, melting through veins to seek kindred spirits. It would prove no ill effect to anyone with lesser blood.

Feeling a magical shift in the air, he knew that Emmeline had arrived and turned to find her in the room. He was pleased to see her, a curve raising his lips in a way that could almost have been considered warm.