Clement Max. (maximize) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-04-04 17:34:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | clement max, gerald avery |
WHO: Gerald Avery and Clement Max
WHEN: April 4
WHERE: St Mungo’s
WHAT: Clement needs a favour
WARNINGS: Nope
The confusion had worn off, but if his conversation with Madeline was anything to go by, his memory had been tampered with. Not all of it, but he still couldn’t recall what had happened to him to get him into this situation, and if pieces of information like breaking up with Madeline had been lost, who knew what else he was now missing. Thankfully, he still remembered that Gerald was his uncle and was still in the very hospital he worked in. “Uncle Gerald,” he greeted, shooing the healer he’d specifically assigned to Gerald from the room, “I hope everyone’s been making you as comfortable as possible here.” Sitting up on the edge of the bed, Gerald Avery’s colourless face blossomed into a smile when he beheld his nephew in the doorway. Though one sleeve of his velvet jacket was pinned to the shoulder, he stood up (slow, but strong) and greeted him on two feet. “Come in, my boy, come in. I’m sure it’s in no small part due to your influence.” He waited a beat. “Though I’m just about ready to go home!” “I’ll have a chat with your healers and find out how soon you can be discharged,” Clement commented, picking up Gerald’s patient clipboard and flicking through it as though he was reading it (he wasn’t). “But before you go, I have a small favour to ask you.” “Thank you, Clement,” he said, unashamed to say so gratefully. Then, he turned with eyes narrowed. Curious that his nephew would ask for anything at all. “Of course. I am at your service.” “It seems that someone has tampered with my memory,” he explained, “I know you’re not an obliviator, but you are skilled in mind magic and there is no one else I would trust to see if it can be restored.” He was laying on the flattery, but it was also true. He didn’t want just anyone poking around his head. “ … who would dare,” he stated flatly, “tamper with your memories!” Gerald gestured to a chair behind him with his chin. “Sit here, my boy. Loosen your tie. Be comfortable.” He pulled his wand from his pocket and summoned a stool that he could rest his feet on while he perched on the edge of his bed. Clement followed all Gerald’s instructions, albeit somewhat reluctantly with the loosened tie — he was still at work and had a professional image to maintain! “Whoever it was, they deserve to suffer for what they did.” “Close your eyes, Clement. Take a deep breath -- or I will make you!” he said cheerily. But the sentence held the promise of the Imperius Curse. As Clement followed his instructions, he leaned forward and pressed the glowing tip of his wand against the man’s temple. Memories jumbled from year to year, corrupted and attempting to reorder themselves. They seemed to wait for someone to pluck them up and remind them of the way of things. Gerald pushed, his crinkled eyes closing with concentration as he prised his way through Clement’s mind. There. He zeroed in on the surreptitious man and their suspect encounter. That was the locus of all the disorder. He connected the threads of the memory, knitting their frayed edges and smoothing the connective fibres. He then (and easily) added the suggestion that the man might even be a Phoenix. Then, he also decided that he would impress upon Clement in this moment that he ought to find his Uncle a realistic arm. When he sat back and opened his eyes, colour had snapped back into his cheeks. “Clement, tell me what you see.” “Byron Kettleburn,” Clement snarled the name, his classmate and what he had done to him coming back into full focus. It wasn’t just that he was breaking the law, distributing unsanctioned media, or that he was (as he very suddenly decided but was now sure of) most likely one of those Phoenixes. No, on top of all that, Byron had embarrassed him and Clement was going to make him pay for that. “He’s working with the Phoenixes to distribute fake news,” he explained to his uncle. “But don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.” Gerald straightened, pocketing his wand with a snap, and pasted a beatific smile across his weathered face. “Byron Kettleburn is fake news,” he agreed solemnly. “And he has attacked you, a keeper of peace and civility. You should deal with him viciously.” “Of course,” Clement agreed - because you couldn’t not agree with the older Death Eaters, even if they were family. And because Gerald was clearly right. “As soon as I’ve notified your healers to find you the best arm and discharge you, Byron Kettleburn is dead.” |