WHO: Leon Stebbins, Imogen Ollivander & their secret patient. WHAT: Leon and Imogen grapple with a tough decision. WHEN: 15 February 2018 [backdated] WHERE: Leon's Clinic. WARNINGS: None.
Leon had been telling Ted not too long ago that he was struggling with where to go next when it came to this grand clinic idea he’d had. He’d meant to ask Remus, but as usual, life had a way of getting away from him before he could do anything about it. At the very least, it was there for the Order and anyone they needed to help.
And now Imogen’s friend.
It didn’t solve his problem of how to get the word out without compromising the safety and location, without drawing Death Eater fire upon his head (like he had no doubt Bellatrix Lestrange would bring), but it was something. It was a start. He felt a small amount of guilt for being glad -- not that someone was hurt, but that he and Imogen could put their promises to use. They’d vowed once to be there for anyone in need. Now they could make good on that, if only they could figure out what was wrong.
“How’s he doing?”
Imogen chewed the bottom of her lip, brows furrowed as she unwound the bandages on Lewis' arm. He was asleep, thankfully, but his breathing was off. "Stable, but that only means he's not getting any worse." She glanced back at the old curse books that Angelus had owled her from the Rosier collection. "I found a few things that could be it, or at least match Lewis' symptoms. I'd love a second opinion?"
“Yeah, ‘course.” If Snatchers were casting spells with damage that Imogen didn’t recognise… a chill ran down Leon’s spine. That wasn’t a good thing. It wasn’t exactly surprising, considering who the Snatchers were working for, but it was unsettling. What else did they have up their sleeves?
He wished he could ask Ted. He trusted both of them individually, but would Ted trust Imogen enough to show up? Or could they consult via the journals? Would that be enough? He really didn’t know.
“What are you thinking so far?”
"Well, there's something called a flesh-killing curse. The book it's in is quite old, so I don't know if anyone really uses it, but it seems like it's similar to the muscle-killing curse?" Which Imogen did know was a nightmare to treat depending on the exposure. "Given how much it's spread, it — we might just have to amputate the arm, I don't know if we can save it?"
Leon sucked in a breath. Those weren’t great options, but given what he’d seen so far, he had already thought that the injury was either really old or really new -- or some combination? It wouldn’t have surprised him to learn that the Death Eaters and their ilk were trying out new spells.
“I’d hate for it to spread farther before we get a chance to figure out how to stop it,” Leon mumbled, frowning. “But I know he’s not going to like the idea of losing his arm. Although if it means saving his life...” Leon knew it wasn’t an easy decision to put on someone’s shoulders. He’d run into trouble there, before. People didn’t want to let go.
"There are options," Imogen said, nodding slowly. She chewed her bottom lip -- Lewis was a drummer, removing his arm would stop the curse from spreading, but at the cost of his livelihood. "Maybe he'll get a magical arm to replace it?"
Or maybe he'd hate her forever. But her old friend's feelings towards her wasn't her priority in this moment. "Do you want to do the honours, or shall I?"
Leon glanced towards the younger man. An amputation was something he was sure that they’d both handled before -- though due to vastly different causes. If they were at the hospital, Leon probably would have asked her to step back because of her connection to the man. As it was, he didn’t think they had many choices left.
“Let’s try some other things first,” he suggested, even though it seemed like time was already running out. “But if he starts to crash, we do it. He’ll --” Leon wanted to say he’d understand, but there was a chance he wouldn’t. That was a risk they had to take, though. That was a risk they always took. “At least he’ll be alive.”