InsaneJournal

Who: Marcus Flint, Phillipa Flint (NPC) and a couple minor Healer NPCs [Narrative]
What: Conversations of an unexpected nature
Where: St. Mungo's
When: Wednesday, July 22, early afternoon
Rating: SFW

"Well, they sent someone to make tea, at least. Finally," was the welcome Marcus received from his mother when he walked into her room at St. Mungo's. He shook his head slightly in amusement, having come to except this same sort of greeting on the majority of the days he visited. The tone was familiar to the way he remembered her speaking with shop owners as a child - minorly condescending but still somehow managing to be polite, if slightly dismissive.

"How are you today, Mrs. Flint?" he asked as he moved to the tea tray in the corner of the room, starting the process with an absentminded flick of his wand. He watched his mother out of the corner of her eye, noting the small signs of anxiety or irritation he'd become familiar with over the last year of her illness. Though she was staring out the window as she did most days, he could see her arms crossed in front of her, one finger lightly tapping out a rhythm against the elbow of the opposite hand, and the tiniest of frowns at the corners of her mouth.

"I'm fine," Phillipa replied curtly, a clear indication that no further questions should be asked. Marcus was a little concerned. Normally he was able to speak with one of the Healers before seeing his mother, but none had been available when he'd arrived, so he'd come in without his usual background of knowledge of any changes in her routine. The tea finished in silence, one he didn't interrupt as he poured cups and added sugar before they sat at the small table near the window. After the first sip, she said quietly, "This is perfect, thank you."

Marcus was a little taken aback - he couldn't remember the last time his mother had thanked him for something - but answered automatically, "You're welcome." He fully expected an awkward silence to reign for however long, so he sipped his own tea, looking around the room for any differences since the last time he'd been here. As usual, there were minor changes - another scene in the painting in the frame on the opposite wall, and a different batch of flowers in the vase on end table next to the bed. The splash of color caught his eye, and as he looked closer, he could see something laying next to the vase. It took him a moment to realize what it was, and then was able to recognize it immediately. He froze, all his old fears and doubts starting to flood back, but before he could say or do anything, there was a noise from the door, snapping him out of his thoughts as he turned his head to look.

"I'm glad you're here today, Mr. Flint," Healer Braddock said, one of the caregivers that Marcus had become familiar with over the months his mother had been ensconced in St. Mungo's. "Would you mind stepping out with me for a moment?" Nodding as he stood, he heard the Healer say to Phillipa, "Healer Finley is here for your afternoon round of potions." There was a small noise of displeasure from his mother, but since she didn't seem to be actively fighting today, Marcus left the woman - whose forearms made her look like she should be carrying a Beater's bat rather than a tray of small vials - to her job and followed the man out of the room, raising one eyebrow curiously when he shut the door behind them.

Before he could ask, Healer Braddock, who was a middle-aged man who, to Marcus at least, looked perpetually tired, said, "Your mother was involved in a slight altercation earlier today." Marcus felt his eyebrows shoot up slightly - Phillipa had seemed to be doing better these last few weeks. "No one was injured," the Healer was quick to assure him. "But Phillipa did attempt to hex another patient. Since it was apparent that she was goaded into it, Mrs. McCready has since been moved to a different floor to avoid any future issues from arising."

It took Marcus a few moments to process that information, and then he asked, "You mean to say she was provoked? How?" There were any number of things that might have inspired his mother's wrath, as he was well aware of since his time watching her in their family home. He had to wonder what on earth would have set her off this time, though it was interesting to hear that she hadn't actually been the instigator in this instance.

The question seemed to make the Healer somewhat uncomfortable though, and the older man shifted slightly as he replied, "I believe that is a question best answered by your mother herself." Marcus looked at the man a little incredulously, and he hoped the facial expression conveyed his disbelief of that statement. Thankfully the moment was interrupted by Healer Finley exiting the room, and with one last glance at the man, Marcus turned to walk back in to check on his mother.

When Marcus stepped inside the room, he immediately looked at Phillipa, who was now standing next to the window once more, something clutched in her left hand. Some suspicion made him glance at the end table, where the page he'd seen there earlier was no longer laying. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before asking quietly, "Why did you try and hex Mrs. McCready?"

He wasn't actually expecting an answer, or at least not an answer that was anything that would make sense. So he was extremely surprised when Phillipa started to speak. "She was saying terrible things about my son. And while I cannot argue the fact that he did work for the Dark Lord, I will no longer stand for slights against his name for other things, much less who he falls in love with." As Marcus struggled to breath against the strange, tight feeling in his chest, he could see his mother look down at the photograph in her hands. He knew what she was looking at without having see to it - the picture of Roger and himself at Wingbeat during the Pride celebration was already etched into his memory, even if the sepia tones weren't nearly as vibrant as the memory of the night itself. There had been an article of some kind attached - Witch Weekly wasn't the type to not have something to say - but he hadn't bothered to read whatever it had said, which seemed to be a bad idea, looking back.

Distantly, Marcus registered that his hands were shaking very slightly where they hung, which hadn't happened since before he'd been sent to Azkaban, but before he could try to do anything to get control of himself again, his mother continued as if she'd never paused. "He looks happy. I haven't seen him smile like that in years. Not since before the war, back when he and Tristan were sneaking around, thinking they were being subtle. Pearl and I just watched them, ridiculous boys that they were. They caused us endless amusement that summer, at least until everything came crashing down around us all." There was something like fondness or affection in her tone, or perhaps only a wistful sort of reminiscence.

Marcus felt the bottom of his stomach drop to the floor at hearing his mother say Tristan's name, especially so casually and with the implications in that statement. Swallowing against the dryness in his throat, he tried to think of anything he could possibly say in response to her revelations. Without his bidding, a quiet, "Mother," was the only thing that escaped him.

Phillipa turned, and when she did so, Marcus could see a clarity in her eyes that had been absent for longer than he cared to measure. "Marcus," she said warmly, smiling at him in a way he only vaguely remembered from childhood. The fact that she recognized him at all - as himself, nonetheless, and not just a mirror image of his father - was disconcerting, but a welcome change. He noticed how she carefully folded the picture in her hand and slid it surreptitiously into a pocket before taking a few steps towards him. She laid one hand on his face, having to reach up to do so, which was different - Phillipa had stopped with casual touches before he'd left for Hogwarts. "My boy," she said quietly, still smiling softly as she looked up at him. "I am so very proud of you. Come, sit and we'll have tea. Tell me about that Quidditch team of yours." Allowing himself to be led to the table, Marcus sat, embracing the fact that the rest of the afternoon was going to be a strange one, albeit not unpleasantly so, and he would save all his thinking for once he was no longer in his mother's company.