WHO: Jeremy Dearborn & Clement Max WHAT: Jeremy's just trying to tend to a patient, okay. WHEN: Today WHERE: St. Mungo's WARNINGS: Death
“—and then we’ll be able to get you something for the pain, Mrs. Plumpton,” Jeremy said, offering up a sympathetic smile to the older woman though it was taking him a lot of effort to compartmentalise. Still, she’d been one of his regulars since he’d started in Spell Damage, an overly ambitious witch with very little sense and a fondness for DIY. “But we really ought to stop meeting like this. You need to be more careful with your home and craft projects. There’s nothing wrong with asking for a little help.”
“I keep telling you that you can call me Fran, Healer Dearborn. I don’t mean to keep having all these accidents but I just get so excited and I don’t want to wait!”
“Waiting might have saved you having to regrow the bones in that leg. Next time you’re taking on a big project, you should ask your daughter to help. Or hire a professional.”
Fran shook her head. “This is hardly the time to have strangers in my house. And my daughter’s been very busy. Did I mention that she just got promoted to head designer? Celestina Warbeck was interested in one of her gowns! She’s doing very well for herself, but still hasn’t managed to find someone to settle down with…”
Mrs. Plumpton had been trying to set him up with her daughter since the first time he’d met her. Somehow it hadn’t eased up even after he’d finally mentioned in no uncertain terms that he was gay.
“When Rose gets here, I’ll be sure to remember to congratulate her,” Jeremy said easily. “Now sit back and try to relax. I’ll be right back with the Skele-Gro and the pain potions, but you’ll be in for a rough night.”
Fran Plumpton did not look terribly happy to hear that as Jeremy left the room.
Clement had not been in a good mood. His (former?) friends apparently thought he’d tried to kill Williamson, he’d lost and regained memories, there were still far too many happy couples working in St. Mungo’s and Jeremy (one of the aforementioned happy couples) was a Dearborn and therefore a constant reminder of the Order of the Phoenix’ existence. He’d been sending him little gifts for a few weeks now, but it was time to step it up. Make Jeremy really pay for his father’s bad decisions, and hopefully make himself feel better in the process. Murder could be surprisingly therapeutic.
He’d been waiting in the room next door, listening to the muffled conversation, waiting for Jeremy to leave.
“Mrs Plumpton,” he greeted as he entered the room, once Jeremy was far enough down the hallway to not notice. “How are you finding Healer Dearborn’s service today? He’s treating you well, I hope?”
But the moment she opened her mouth to answer, he fished his wand out of his robes, an orange beam of light hitting her as he maintained a suffocation curse. He averted his gaze while she thrashed around, struggling for air, looking back again when the bed stopped creaking.
“He’ll be back to check on you soon,” he told the lifeless body cheerily, pocketing his wand again and slipping out of the room, back to his office.
Jeremy was back to check on Mrs. Plumpton, but not soon enough. Regrowing some bones was unpleasant but it was hardly emergent. There had been no reason to think that Fran was in danger of anything other than boredom.
Needless to say, a lifeless body was not what Jeremy had expected to see when he returned.
Swearing profusely, Jeremy ran the code, doing everything he could to resuscitate Mrs. Plumpton, well beyond what was reasonable or practical. But in the end there was nothing he could do. It was a murder and a message, and the message was as clear as day.