rodolphus lestrange is living true crime. (actualised) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-01-09 20:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | jeremy dearborn, rodolphus lestrange |
WHO: Jeremy Dearborn & Rodolphus Lestrange
WHAT: Rodolphus needs his favourite healer
WHERE: St. Mungo's
WHEN: Tuesday 9th January, 2018, afternoon
WARNINGS: Mentions of violence, death, etc.
Jeremy was only 80% sure that the trade off was worth it. Not working New Years was great! Working an absurd number of shifts afterwards to make up for it was not so great. He was starting to feel a little bit like he was never leaving the hospital, and the patients were starting to blur together. There always seemed to be a slew of minor accidents and injuries in the new year, even when he didn’t take into account an increase in Death Eater related anything. Though given everything, the distraction wasn’t entirely unwanted. Still, it took him a moment to realise who exactly was in the examination room when he entered, blinking stupidly for a second that felt entirely too long. “Mr. Lestrange,” he said finally, thankful that his voice sounded steady despite the tiny bit of panic that was starting to build up in the pit of his stomach. “What seems to be the problem?” Rodolphus lifted his head as the healer entered the room, eyes lighting up slightly as he recognised the other man. He let his expression dull slightly, but there was an obvious high sheen of friendliness in his voice as he greeted Jeremy. “Healer Dearborn,” he said, warmly. “It’s been a while — how have you been?” He completely ignored Jeremy’s question, despite the blood and dirt covering him and the angle of his elbow. The friendliness in his voice set Jeremy even more on edge as he eyed Rodolphus. A part of him wondered if this was about the chocolates somehow, but the injuries seemed real enough. Still he was surprised to see him — he’d assumed the Lestranges probably had a private Healer on retainer. “Better than you are, evidently,” he said finally, forcing a hint of a smile. “May I ask what happened?” “I had a run in with one of the shop owners I suspected of helping mudbloods,” Rodolphus said, carelessly. “The blood is not really mine.” He was smiling as he told the story, watching Jeremy carefully. He wanted to see the flinch at the word. To Jeremy’s credit, he didn’t flinch exactly. But there was an obvious flicker of alarm and distaste for the whole thing that he couldn’t seem to quite hide. (He wasn’t sure he wanted to.) “I see,” he said slowly. “It looks like they got a few hits in though.” He gave Rodolphus’s elbow a pointed look. “Pity the blood isn’t yours. What’s your pain level, on a scale of one to ten?” “Much less than theirs,” Rodolphus said with a shrug. He was mildly disappointed and he leaned back. “Did you not like my fiction, then? I thought it sounded entirely believable and only right. I’m a hero of the people, Healer Dearborn.” “Not of very many people at all, Mr. Lestrange. You’re certainly no hero of mine.” Feeling decidedly uncomfortable, what Jeremy wanted to do was walk out of the room and let someone else deal with him. But something stopped him from doing that. He supposed he didn’t want to give Lestrange the satisfaction of scaring him off, though a part of him could admit that he was a bit scared deep down. “Yes, well,” Rodolphus said, a little smugly, “we disposed of your hero, didn’t we?” He looked from Jeremy down to his arm and then back up. “Are you not going to do anything about this?” “Is that your way of admitting you helped your brother murder my father then?” Jeremy asked, feeling a rush of anger replacing every bit of panic that he'd previously felt. He wanted to punch Rodolphus, not fix his elbow, and had he been anywhere else, he would have. Rodolphus probably knew that. With a look that bordered on murderous, Jeremy aimed his wand at the Death Eater’s elbow and set it back into place. The fact that he knew it would hurt was a bonus. Rodolphus was no stranger to broken bones or the crack of resetting them. Still, the speed of it was shocking. He barely managed not to flinch, his teeth set hard. He could hear the crack reverberating in his ears. It took a moment, a deep breath, and then Rodolphus straightened his arm out. “Wonderful,” he said, letting it drop to a more normal position. “I don’t believe I’ve ever denied that. I’ve murdered so very many fathers.” It wasn’t like Jeremy hadn’t known that. Or mostly known it, due to the way both Lestranges liked to hint and tease and still give no closure over what had actually happened. Jeremy had thought about what it might be like to stand in a room with his father’s murderer(s) before — the questions he’d ask and the things he’d do — but the reality wasn’t anywhere near the revenge fantasy he wanted. He knew how to destroy a body as well as he knew how to fix it, but his place of employment under DE leadership wasn’t the place for it. His hands clenched anyway. “You may find you regret it. Was there anything other than the elbow?” “I don’t tend towards regret,” Rodolphus said, with a shrug. “It’s not my thing. I believe that everything we do makes us who we are.” He was grinning at Jeremy, his eyes shining with a brightness and clarity that he only knew now with excess cruelty. “I have no time for it.” Still moving his elbow slowly, not quite certain of it, Rodolphus thought about his other injuries: cuts, bruises, nothing major. A wound on his side. Nothing major. He looked up at Jeremy and said, “Not quite yet. Maybe later. I’ve errands to do, you know how it is.” “Not really. I doubt my errands look much like yours. They don’t tend to end up injured or dead, you see,” Jeremy said, trying to maintain an air of casualness that he didn’t feel. “They don’t tend to destroy families without the decency of a body.” There was a brief pause before Jeremy added, with a grimace: “We can give you a potion for the pain, if you feel you need it.” “Your errands are astonishingly dull, Healer Dearborn,” Rodolphus said, stopping short of rolling his eyes. “I’d love some potions, thank you very much.” He pulled at the hem of his shirt, standing and looking over at Jeremy again. “I promise to leave a body the next time.” Jeremy stood still for a moment, his mind racing. His heart racing too. He hated that he didn’t know what to say. He hated that he didn’t know what to do. He really hated that he was going to have to give the man something to make him feel better and not worse, the way he deserved. “Right. I’ll have someone bring in a potion for you and you can be on your way. Unless you have any questions?” He hoped he didn’t. “Not really,” Rodolphus said, with a bright smile. “Although, if you’d care to leave me you address so I don’t have to find you later, it would be much appreciated.” He waited a beat and then laughed. “Joking, of course, Healer Dearborn.” “Of course,” Jeremy replied simply. He didn’t know what else to do. “I’m afraid that if you want to murder me in my home, you’ll have to work for the address.” Not that it would be a lot of work. He’d just have to ask his Death Eater friends. There was barely a beat before he added: “Good day, Mr. Lestrange. I hope we don’t meet like this again.” Then Jeremy was out the door before anything else could be said, letting himself have a moment to take a deep breath before heading off to find one of the decidedly purist nurses, mindful of who else he might be sending into that room. |