Post by REMY BARNABE LANDAU on Oct 18, 2023 15:45:21 GMT
Remy gulped the last dregs of the coffee and grimaced. It was still luke warm, but the sugar hadn’t fully dissolved and crunched grittily between his teeth. He’d been desperate after his fourth emergency of the day had rolled in. Drink the awful coffee he slapped together or end up notorious at St Mungo’s for face planting on the tile at the end of what had felt like the longest shift he’d ever suffered through. One of the only things that kept him going was the knowledge that Iona would never let him down if he did.
His eyes narrowed as he looked up from the chart he had just signed the discharge. She was here somewhere, buzzing around the halls the same way he had been. What was that muggle saying? Passing like ships in the night? It had felt pretty apt today. The death of a Hogwarts professor – a Head of House to boot – had everyone rattled even more than they had been. The Ministry presence was heavier, especially around the school, people were twitchier. At this rate they were gonna have patients filling the halls and every healer working double shifts. Knowing Iona she’d be the first to volunteer for them as well.
After their little bet he’d tried to stay on top of her about her shifts – something her uncles might appreciate, even if the person convincing her was just the sort they wouldn’t want their sweet ’tit fille associating with. It was a losing battle telling that one anything though. Iona was an incredible healer, that talent just went along with a stubborn streak that would rival any bull. Remy’s lips curved as he set the chart aside and scouted around for the next. Her problem was that he was just as stubborn and charming enough that he could wield that streak without her even noticing for a while. It was like boiling a crawfish, they didn’t know the water was heating up and they were gonna become dinner until too late.
The thought had his stomach rumbling as he gave up on searching the now empty rack and headed around the desk towards the waiting room. No food since the breakfast he’d had with Iseult at a café near her flat, a bad move given how busy they were. He should’ve planned – like Iona probably had – dumping some protein bars or something into his locker instead of eyeing his wand now. Nope, that was how you got into a vicious cycle of having to spell yourself to stay awake and then not being able to sleep when you finally collapsed face down in your bed. Iseult would kick his ass the same way he would have done Iona’s if he caught her at it.
Speaking of...
Hie grin was slow and sweet as molasses as he caught a patient walking out of an examination room with the raccoon eyes of someone who’d just had a broken nose snapped back into place with a swish and a flick of a wand and discharge paperwork clutched in hand. ”I’d put a little ice on that later,” Remy told them with a wink before he slipped into the room past them. They probably had orders for something stronger than that – pain potions and something to help finish knitting the bone and reduce the bruising – but the most basic of remedies helped sometimes.
”Dat looked painful, chère,” Remy murmured, wincing as he sat on the end of the gurney the patient had been occupying until a moment again. ”Lemme guess … a duel over the hand of a good woman? Or a fight with a door?” It was late enough in the day that the chances of the latter were slimmer. That story usually came in with their early risers – or the late ones. Still asleep enough to walk into doors and too woozy at the sight of their old blood to go patching it up at home. Of course, the truth was probably a lot grimmer these days, but if you didn’t try and add a little humour to it all you lost yourself in that endless pit of misery.
Tagged: IONA MORGAN FRASER * Word Count: 693