[Petre blinks like he's adjusting his eyeballs in his skull, mouth parted to breathe while he shakes something off. His hair? No. It's something else, something that's buzzing loudly like the blast made him go deaf.
(Harry said 'blast'. Hah.)
He turns his head to him without a frown. Just a blank stare of someone seeing his own face for the first time and failing to recognize it. Harry has his face. And his hair, or some color closer to it, if Petre didn't dye it every other week.
Eventually he gathers himself, makes proper use of the energy stored in his limbs, focus returning to the back of his mind. Sitting up he places both hands down on the mattress and slides his legs off. The ground feels exceptionally cool beneath his feet. The walls are whiter than before. His senses are flaring. He's high again.]
no subject
(Harry said 'blast'. Hah.)
He turns his head to him without a frown. Just a blank stare of someone seeing his own face for the first time and failing to recognize it. Harry has his face. And his hair, or some color closer to it, if Petre didn't dye it every other week.
Eventually he gathers himself, makes proper use of the energy stored in his limbs, focus returning to the back of his mind. Sitting up he places both hands down on the mattress and slides his legs off. The ground feels exceptionally cool beneath his feet. The walls are whiter than before. His senses are flaring. He's high again.]
Get me out of here.