Takes place directly after Cecile leaves in this thread

In times like these, Cecile needed Lola. Not that the Ravenclaw girl currently guiding her towards what she assumed was going to be the Infirmary[1] wasn't nice, but Cecile had always, and only, really had Elodie around when she was hurt. Well that wasn't entirely true. Gabrielle was generally the one to patch her up, but she would usually get called away by Manon, who would feel lonely by then, and Elodie would be left to comfort her. She trusted her.

Alas, Lola wasn't there and she had to trust in this girl she had never met. It made her feel very uncomfortable, trusting someone she had just met, and she decided she needed to get away from her. "Go back to Class... I'll be fine..." Cecile managed to mumble past the swollen lip, knowing that of all the houses, Ravenclaws would be the most put out by missing a class. "But...I... The professor..." The girl, whose surname was Thorton if Cecile heard correctly, pleaded weakly. You could tell she really wanted to go back but felt obligated to stay. "Nonsense, I know where the nurses office is. You go and.. um... take notes for me!" Cecile openly lied as she offered her the best smile she could manage, considering. A look a relief and gratification passed the other girls face as she patted Ceciles shoulder in an awkward attempt at sympathy "Okay... Best of luck..." she said before bolting down the hall towards the class.

Cecile sighed and turned away, wandering several more feet before the pain pounding across her teeth, a la Bach's ninth symphony, finally got to her. Feeling a bit light headed, she stumbled over to a nearby bench and fell into it. Curling her legs under her, she sat on it sideways so she could rest her cheek against the cool stone of the wall and look out the window conveniently placed nearby. There was an owl out there, probably a post going off, and Cecile admired its beauty, its wingspan and its absolute freedom. Closing her eyes, she felt like she was flying beside it.

1.	Not knowing, of course, how far of a trip it would be.

Beautiful really, the way this man moved—even dressed in a non-formal fashion Nightingale seemed to carry himself as if he were a Prince, moving thoughtfully, from one painting to the next. Graceful, careful, and kind his steps lead him over the stone like a dance. Poised and practiced, his demeanor would have never gave light to the wildness that ran his veins like a plague, but his family ties couldn’t be counted on very often. Gale was everything they were not, and now a Professor at Hogwarts he had a profession that they would never have. He had a life, he had a home.

The suffering came late at night, and in pains so deep he felt that at any moment his heart would sink into his chest. However, never had it brought him to place his skin against the cool stone, or the watch the window as if an owl was the one last saving grace before the darkness.

”Ma petit?” Came his sing-song voice, and the sound of it against the stone seemed warm despite how the draft brought chills to his spine. The darling Miss Fontaine didn’t appear to be feeling as she should, and in the darkness of the hall he thought for a moment he saw a crimson stain on her lips.

He heard of the NEWTs going on with Professor Sandusky’s room, and tried his best to not act as interested as the rest of the staff. Yet, his own years struggling in the subject made him want to be closer to Leopold than ever. As a Hufflepuff you had to admire the man, and the respect Gale felt towards the other Professor still made him fall silent in his company. However, as one of Leopold’s students suffered in the hall, Gale tried his voice once again.

“My dear, are you unwell?” His formal way of speaking complimented the quiet tones in his voice, and the kind features of his face. But just like the dark leather that crossed his face like a battle scar, he carried a sort of unspoken secret that nearly begged to be released. 

"Or do you normally hide away when the rest of the class is still going on?" He smiled then, and the pull of pale lips over his moonlit colored face lit up nearly ever feature as if he mirrored the night sky.

”Ma petit?”

In her daydream, the one where she had grown the wings of an eagle and was flying amongst hundreds of other birds, each a different species, she heard his voice. She could have sworn it came from the large snowy owl flying far in front of her. "Oui?" She ventured to call back, her voice far to weak to belong to an eagle. She swallowed and tried again, stronger this time "Oui... You called?" Still less than an eagles screech but much more than a hummingbird. The owl turned to look at her, or rather his head did as the rest of him continued to fly onwards. The sun glinted off of the brilliant white feathers of his face and she blinked against the brightness. He spoke again, clearer and closer this time.

“My dear, are you unwell?”

She found herself alone with the owl as the sky darkened around them, until just his face was left burning in her vision, like a moon with two dark, intense eyes. She was alone now, at night, with just the owl-moon to guide her. It was then she noticed a dark streak forming over one side like a wound. Her brows twitched into a frown at this, curious to who had hurt her owl guide. As she considered this, the moonlike face begin to transform again. It became thinner and more human-like and that dark wound became rather thick, more like stiff leather than soft skin.

The pain in her lip came roaring back with reality and she realized that she wasn't flying anymore. She hadn't been flying at all. The metallic taste that coated her tongue and filled her stomach with bile reminded her that she was wounded and had swallowed enough blood to be light-headed. Sitting here was probably not the best choice, but she couldn't will herself to stand. Turning to the man, at least she was reasonably sure he was a man in this state, she tried to give him a pleading look in hopes he would help her find a way to the nurse.

"Or do you normally hide away when the rest of the class is still going on?"

"Mmm-m" She shook her head so emphatically that she felt dizzy afterwards. Wincing against the light-headedness that followed, Cecile gathered her senses and pointed to the swollen bottom lip. Perhaps it wasn't as bad as she had thought, if he didn't notice. Maybe she just looked like she was just wearing some strangely mottled purple lipstick that she had applied in the dark. "My lip is... um..." She was having a hard time translating to english in her head, words just seemed fuzzy and her tongue couldn't curl around them. He had spoken French to her earlier, had he not? Perhaps...

"Ma bouche est cassé ... et fait tellement mal ..." She managed to speak a bit easier in her native tongue, though her words still came out slurred and clunky "... Je veux juste me reposer ici, où il fait bon ..."[1] With this, she turned away from him and rested her head against the wall again. The window was empty now, however, and a sad sigh escaped her lips.

1.	My lip is broken... and hurts so much... I just want to rest here, where it is nice...

Gale took to a knee before her, his petite figure seeming like a white knight as he knelt there for her to dub him as she pleased. His concern painted his face with a careful mask, and caused his skin to pale even further upon seeing the break in her lips.

“Mademoiselle Fontaine, here.” His voice a command now though didn’t lose the concern,” Laissez-moi voir,[1]”  He spoke the French back to her like a song, soft yet stern. She did not need someone to fawn over her injury, but to lead her—break her from this dream like state.

Though only one eye shown back to her, it was clear enough that he used both to see her. Hidden behind the dark leather was something horrid, something ugly, but in it’s own way—still worked. The cloudy silver of his visible eye bounced the light reflecting from the world outside, but only for a moment as he came to stand.

“Here, child. Can you walk? We should have that looked at.” Thought the French died on his lips, the remnants of their heritage remained, sweet and songful; his Picardie accent thick and colorful.

“Along the way will you tell me what has happened? Tell me in English, Little Dove, so that they do not think we are keeping secrets.” He smiled with a little flush, “I’m not very good at keeping them.”

1.	Look at me.

“Mademoiselle Fontaine, here. Laissez-moi voir”

Cecile did her best to comply, turning her head so he could study the cut. The blood had ebbed away with her saliva, leaving behind a vibrant red gash embedded in a swollen, purple bruised lip, which smarted quite painfully with even the slightest touch. Though she was seeing a bit clearer now and the loss of blood was minimal, she knew it was enough to be concerned about. Part of her chronic issues was from anemia and she was feeling the full force of the affects after the blow to the face. She needed the medicine out of her bag and, after slowly sitting up and fumbling around dumbly at her waist, she realized it was back in the classroom. "Merde" she whispered angrily to herself before gasping and covering her mouth in horror at cursing in front of a professor. Then she winced as a wave of pain from her errant touch washed over her and left her feeling dizzy again.

“Here, child. Can you walk? We should have that looked at.”

She nodded and stood, holding tightly to his arm for support. The lip certainly did need looked at, or if nothing else, she definitely needed something to help replenish the iron in her blood. She knew little about the administration of Hogwarts, but was certain the schools healer would carry something similar to her iron infused potions. It seemed like common sense.

“Along the way will you tell me what has happened? Tell me in English, Little Dove, so that they do not think we are keeping secrets. I’m not very good at keeping them.”

I am... a little voice chimed in the back of her mind before she managed to squash it. It was the same rebellious little voice that wanted to ask him the same question, but about that wicked looking bit of leather strapped across his otherwise blemish less face.  Instead, she gave him the best smile she could manage at the moment before replying with a slight one shouldered shrug "A spell went awry and a hufflepuff ran into me with his very hard head... It was an accident, I am sure." That was it. There was really nothing else to add. So, she studied him out of the corner of her eye before changing the subject "Monsieur... I mean... Professor... May I ask you something?"

When he told her the story he wondered if he should have believed it, but somewhere in the back of his mind he did not. He didn’t like the thought of such violence in the school, but it did happen. An accident like this however, wasn’t something he should be used to.

“An accident hmm?” With his one good eye he examined her further, and when satisfied he tucked her beneath his arm as if seating her beneath a snow white wing. Though he was on the side of a willowy, Gale was very stout for such a petite frame. His body carved, but nearly starved looked as if to be made of fine marble without any fat.

’Monsieur…I mean..Professor..May I ask you something?’

“Of course. Ask away.” He knew it best in times like this that answers always came best in the form of a question. He could get to the bottom of it with what information she would give him, but most of all Nightingale like any songbird did best to listen first. 


(sorry it's short, I am playing catch up)

“Of course. Ask away.”

" Your... Your eye..." She started but stuttered to a stop when she saw his face. He was listening so raptly with an expression that was so open and accepting that she found herself floundering. Suddenly her curiosity seemed not only childish but quite rude, as though she were treading all over his private life without even the courtesy of removing her shoes first. Just because he had been so nice and open with her didn't mean that she had the right to insist he tell her about something that was obviously painful and likely traumatic. Flushing with shame, she muttered "...never mind... It's none of my business..."

At this point, her saliva had pretty much sealed the wound, or at least stopped the bleeding, and she was feeling much more alert than before. Though it helped that she could hang onto someone sturdy since she was still a bit dizzy and was sure that if it weren't for him she would be tripping which each step. That is if she wasn't simply lying on the bench back there, unconscious. For that, she was very grateful and wondered how or when she could thank him for his kindness. An apple on his desk seemed so... paltry.

((Ugh sorry, short AND late. I suck ><)

"The war, Ma petite. Stole more than just my soul." He smiled politely to show her he wasn't offended. Many people were curious. Many had their concerns and their stories. It was only human nature, and though they were extraordinary they still held the same blood as muggles.


"Come, let's get you somewhere where you can rest. And when you are better. We'll talk more." He lifted her carefully, taking her up in his rather firm grip. And for someone so petite, he was very stout. The walk down to the healing hall wasn't too far, and on the way he laughed to try and keep her smiling--talking of simply everything to ease her mind from the pain.


((<3, I'm sorry this was so late!!!))