If it had been anyone else (literally, anyone else) he might have had no qualms standing back letting them pick off the furniture piece by piece until he was free, but this brought back memories of Miss Yaxley having to push his hand down and show him how to do something properly, and he didn't like the feeling at all. And yet—he knew doing anything might interrupt her method and only result in his own doom, so he was stuck standing there, wand out, resisting the urge to offer to help, to cast a spell, to do anything.

He grew more tense as the furniture was picked off one by one. It wasn't lost that the wardrobe was sliding closer and closer to her each time she managed to rid of one of the pieces, nor that it was angled in the perfect way to hit her if managed to slide past the other piece and towards the doorway.

And then it did. Raphael lurched forward, hand outstretched, but there was nothing he could really do as far away as he was, so it was all he could do not to let out a frightened yelp as she narrowly dodged the wardrobe (which had to have been thrice, maybe four times her size) and fell against the wall. Almost immediately the feeling of worry was replaced with mild irritation.

"You could have gotten yourself crushed," he scolded, shoving his wand back into the pocket in his sleeve.

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