Walking was just about the most painful thing that she had ever experienced. Breathing was pretty bad too, of course, and so when you tried to put the two together--stumbling across the flat while panting because you just couldn't seem to get your breath back--it was absolutely excruciating. Swear on Merlin's name, if Alecto ever found out who the two were that had done this to them, she was going to go and wring their necks. Cowardly sons of bitches, hiding under invisibility--it had to be an invisibility charm or spell or something, even if she was rather sure none of those things existed. She had no respect for someone who couldn't face their own opponent, hell she even hated the fucking masks that Voldemort made them wear because it felt like she wasn't showing any pride, hiding under a stupid guise.
Alecto felt terrible leaning on Amycus when he was so clearly having such a difficult time keeping himself up, but several times along the way she felt like there was no way that she was going to make it all the way into the kitchen if she didn't have someone helping to hold her up. She knew she was losing blood, could feel it in her head, but not from where. Her body felt agonizing pain all over, all blended in, and knew she wouldn't be able to assess where the damage was until she could look for herself. Fuck, whatever it was, and whatever Amycus' wounds were--she hoped she could fix them with her potions, or else they were going to be in huge trouble. There was no way that they could go to St. Mungo's without looking suspicious.
"In the top cabinet--" she muttered, falling into a chair. She would have just taken out her wand and summoned the things herself if she thought it would actually work. "Red and green and yellow bottles--and the bandages in the lower drawer."
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