WHO: Dirk Cresswell & Derek Dobbs!
WHAT: SOMEONE CAN'T DO MAGIC
WHERE: IN THE MINISTRY & ST MUNGO'S
WHEN: omg like two weeks ago? I'M SORRY DIRK I LOVE YOU

Derek had realized with a bit of guilt that it was more like a quarter past nine than half past seven by the time he'd pulled himself away from work. It couldn't be avoided, though—they were short-staffed after he'd pulled rank and essentially man-handled Bianca into taking a few days for herself after the incident with her friend. As soon as he'd realized something was off with Dirk, however, he'd thrown everything on the desk, most of it on the floor, and raced to the ground floor without even his cloak. How long had Dirk even been in the building?

Cursing the lift, he tried to tell himself not to panic. This was his cousin, after all. Accidentally falling on the way to the toilets and knocking himself into unconscious head trauma wasn't the most outlandish thing Dirk could do…

Likely, he was too disoriented by this fall to do his wards properly. That was a plausible explanation, wasn't it?

He quickened his steps to a sprint.

This late at night, the Ministry was slowly emptying of its workers, and as his gaze swept the reception area, he saw that none of the bodies in his field of vision were the one he was looking for.

"Dirk?" he called out cautiously, making his way across the floor, trying to avoid attracting attention, but having to speak loud enough that his cousin would hear. "Dirk, where are you?"

Oh, please say he hadn't passed out again.

Dirk was growing worried.

He flipped through the pages of his journal, looking at all the previous entries, the pictures he’d posted. If he could read those then---in his weariness he had not noticed that the wards that usually cast themselves on his scribbles had not set, that...they looked as if he hadn’t attempted them at all. He miserably flicked his wand at the pages, but nothing, not even a teeny tiny spark flew from the tip.

He was getting really worried now.

The Atrium was quiet, and had been for a long time. Dirk was cramped inbetween the third and fourth floo stations, the nook of the wall just deep enough so that only his sneakers poked out from the edge. He supposed that all the busy ministry workers would have passed him by without realizing. He probably would have. With a groan, he dropped his head back against the concrete wall behind him. Ow. His head already hurt so much, but he couldn’t figure out why. He’d been in line for the toilet entry and...Dirk winced, dropping his journal to his lap, his hand shooting to his forehead as a pain seared through his skull.

Someone had grabbed him from behind and put a cloth or--or something across his mouth. He’d gotten to work rather early, so there weren’t any people behind him on line...wait...no...it was one bloke, but Dirk couldn’t remember a face, just that he’d entered the loo quickly behind Dirk, so fast that the door hadn’t shut behind him. He groaned again, his forearms throbbing. Zora was in Bulgaria with Theo, so she wouldn’t have been expecting him home, but Derek should be---Dirk sat up as straight as he could at the sound of his voice. Time had passed so quickly, he must have been drifting in and out of sleep for Derek to have arrived already!

“Here!” he croaked, barely making a sound. Dirk gulped and pushed himself forward, not realizing how sore his arms were until he attempted to use them. “Derek---here!” He kicked out his foot, sending his shoe flying across the floo platform.

His head jerked up at the sound, in time to see a shoe flying about thirty feet away from him. Summoning it to him, Derek ran in the direction it had come from. He'd thought it might be possible someone with a mean sense of humour had taken Dirk out for a bender, at first, or he'd cracked his head on something, or any one of a hundred other innocuous things that might make someone's head hurt. Something a bit embarrassing, perhaps, which is why he didn't want to cop to remembering what it was. But then with the ward malfunction, and the hiding in the Atrium, well—Derek didn't know, and it was giving him something of a panic attack, because that was apparently all Derek was good for these days.

He almost jogged past the incongruous white trainer sticking out of the wall, but stopped just in time. Stumbling slightly, Derek took in the sight of Dirk squished into a nook in the wall, sans one shoe, and looking a lot more worse for the wear.

"What the hell happened?" he asked, slightly out of breath as he braced a hand on his waist and dropped down to one knee for a better look. "Are you all right?"

“Oh, you know,” Dirk groaned, “Just your typical---Monday at the Ministry.”

He looked up at Derek and frowned; he really couldn’t remember a blasted thing after getting grabbed at the toilets. If someone wanted to steal his money, why beat him senseless and then carry him into the Ministry and hide him away? That was the most convoluted mugging he’d ever heard of! Which was why it could not be the case.

Dirk’s wand was still in tact, but it felt---lighter. Lighter? He had not noticed that his wards weren’t working when writing (look at that alliteration!) to Derek because of his headache, but now that he thought of it---trying to produce the wards on his comments had caused some strain and made his head throb even more. Dirk put his hands against the crevice he was jammed in, and tried to heave himself up. Merlin, he felt like he’d been beaten by some Goblin clubs, which, believe-you-me, are heavy as boulders.

“Zora is going to kill me,” he moaned, arms shaking. His wife never did enjoy the dangers his job put him in---or, well, that Dirk seemed to put himself in.

All it took was one good look at the poor man to see he was in terrible condition. Derek rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand absently as he assessed the situation. Obviously Dirk needed to visit St. Mungo's immediately, then he'd have to tell Zora, and then... well, Derek had a sneaking suspicion there'd be an investigation opening up in his own division, because this was no mugging or gentle tumble on the head. But that begged the question, what was this? And why did it seem like simple magical tasks were failing Dirk? A virus, perhaps, Derek thought, some strain Dirk had fallen ill with that suppressed the magical response?

His gut was telling him no, that wasn't it, but since it was the best answer he had, and his cousin looked just about ready to pass out, Derek thought he'd better just see about getting Dirk out of the crevice he'd somehow wedged himself into.

How in the world his cousin managed to get up to these antics, he would never understand. But clearly even extended pumpkins didn't sprout too far along the vine.

"All right," Derek let out, pushing up the sleeves of his robes. "We'll get you out of here, then straight to St. Mungo's, you with me?" Judging it best to use just his hands instead of his wand for the task, he positioned them carefully around Dirk's midsection, praying to any listening deity that no broken ribs had been sustained. "Then you can tell your wife what happened to you, because I'd do it, but no offense, you look about half-way dead already, and it'll likely be easier to finish you off."

------------

More than a few hours later, and after what felt like an involuntary coma brought upon by various potions, Dirk was sitting up in his hospital bed, having been asked to perform some simple bits of magic. Apparently there was “something going around” that was causing people to have stunted magical abilities.

Bollocks.

Derek had fortunately been there when Dirk had woken, and now the silence that hung over the two men was nearly crushing Dirk. Being an eternal optimist, he was trying to form some sort of spin on this whole random bit of occurrence that had fallen upon him. Why him? Why did they decide to attack him, of all the people who entered the ministry that day? The war was long over, Dirk hadn’t even played a part in it, so...the only thing he could think of was the fact that he was muggleborn, but even that wasn’t good enough for him. No one deserved to have something forcefully taken from them, even if the healers said they don’t believe his magic was permanently gone.

But what if it was?

“How am I supposed to get to the goblin colonies in Perth? Gornuk can’t go by himself, he annoyed them the last time we went...” he muttered, his legs kicking out gently against the side of the bed. He felt utterly miserable. “And I was supposed to join Zora and Theo in Bulgaria this weekend...how am I supposed to get there? By plane? I can’t fly there! In an airplane?” Dirk didn’t realize how fast he’d started to ramble, “I’m scared of heights!”

"Dirk," Derek said, but his cousin continued to talk over him, so he repeated it louder, before laying a hand on his kicking feet to still them, "Dirk!"

When he had his full attention, he shook his head and removed his hand. "You're not going anywhere. You're especially not going into a goblin colony when you don't have magic, it's too dangerous."

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hand across his chin in frustrated thought, wondering exactly what had happened to Dirk during the blanks in his memory. And what could possibly take away his ability to use a wand. The thought sickened him, because the longer they were here, the longer Derek knew this wasn't some malignant bump on the head.

"I'll look into what I can," he said, standing. "And I'll make sure Theo and Zora are fine when they get back, but I think you should stay here until you get your magic back, Dirk. It's not safe for you to be out and about this vulnerable."

Dirk tried to take a couple of deep breaths as Derek spoke, but panic still coursed through his body. His cousin was right, but this wasn’t right. He’d been able to do magic for as long as he could remember, even though no one would believe him when he said he could. Dirk had always been able to make certain flowers grow, or the turtles in his yard’s pond swim in circles and leap out like dolphins. Dirk was a muggleborn, but he always valued the little things that magic brought to his life. He appreciated all that magic brought to him and this idea that---someone had forced the magic out of him it...it didn’t settle well, and it was only because it was Derek telling him to remain calm that he did.

“Yeah---okay,” he said, resigned. “I’ll...I’ll tell you everything I can remember.” And he would, he would try his hardest; even in times like this where there seemed to be no hope, Dirk managed to find something positive to come out of it. If people were getting attacked, if there was someone trying to rid the world of magic then he definitely would do anything to put a stop to it. Magic had helped him find his passion for magical creatures, the love of his life, and had brought him a son. He had to help.