Who: Emy Montgomery and Oliver Wood What: Healer Montgomery does her rounds Where: St. Mungos When: Backdated to hours after the bombing
Oliver's last memory had been a mosaic of the outside world and the chaos of the festival. Little pieces of memories floated through his mind: the explosion, Mia, Cassius, the burns from a wand and the shame of finding himself on the ground, humiliated at the truth of his selfish nature, and then a voice calling for him before everything went black. A few times he'd woken up here and there, the familiar setting of St Mungo's swimming before his eyes while healers scrambled around him.
Black again. Awake again.
Twice Oliver inquired if they'd won the match, having no memory of why he'd woken up in what was supposed to be a private room now curtained off housing other occupants. The familiar crumpled jacket of his agent - Jenn - sat discarded in a nearby chair without it's owner.
Leaning back into the mattress a sigh escaped Oliver's lips and he winced slightly. His body ached all over.
"Ivy?" The name slipped from Oliver before he'd even realized what had been said. "Emilia, sorry. You understand." He smiled apologetically, though not without indulgence. "I... How are you?"
--
Emilia just laughed, she didn’t mind being called by her twins name, she knew it was bound to happen being that they were identical, and Oliver was quite a bit confused to begin with. She stepped closer to his bed, a wave of her wand projected his vitals for her which she made note of in his file.
“It’s okay, I hear that my bedside manner is better than Ivy’s. And Emy is fine.” She smiled, “I’m fine, I’m not the one in the hospital bed.” She gave him a playful wink. She chewed her lip slightly, catching the wince of pain that crossed his features, no matter how subtle Oliver often attempted to be, Emy was trained to read such things.
She moved over and grabbed the two medicine’s off the counter. “This one here is for pain, alright? It shouldn’t be strong enough to mess with your concussion, but if you start to feel nauseous or faint, let a mediwitch know immediately.” She said, polite but stern, before handing him the vial to drink. “After that, I’ve got some salve for your burns.”
--
"Emy," Oliver grinned, "you mentioned that before." Ivy called her twin by the same name. He marvelled at the familiar face, feeling a strange sort of disconnect in the fact he could close his eyes and know every inch of this woman's body and every placement of a stray freckle, but know nothing about her as a person beyond the time they met after he'd broken his leg and the occasional story from Ivy.
Another wince, followed by a sharp intake of breath. Various parts of his body light up randomly to remind him that despite the overall sense of well-being Oliver felt he was in pretty rough shape. This time the pain radiated from his hands, while healed the flesh under was still tender and raw.
"What if I pass out before I manage to call for help?" It had meant to be a joke, hopefully Emilia wouldn't fall into her healer training automatically.
--
“Well,” Emy said, as if she were thinking the problem threw, “I suppose we’d better hope your quidditch reflexes are as good as they say they are.” Emilia teased him lightly. “How else are you feeling? Are you feeling warm? Tell me what’s going on.”
As she asked her questions, Emy pulled up a chair close to his bed, and opened the bottle of burn paste to spread against his burns. “This might tingle a little bit, alright?” Dawning a glove, she dipped two of her fingers in the thick cream, before spreading it against one of his burns. “Must have been some hero out there, getting all banged up like this.”
--
A lazy smirk drifted across Oliver's features, and he shrugged (followed by flicker of pain radiating from the freshly magicked closed shoulder wound), as though to say his skills were indeed as good as they say.
"Maybe you should come to a match and find out for yourself?" The season didn't start for a few more months, it would be enough time for Oliver to be back in top condition.
Shaking his head to her questions (and stopping due to the awful wave of nausea that followed), Oliver looked down at himself, feeling fine all things considered, though confused and sleepy. The angry burn marks, perfectly round on his sternum and stomach, throbbed dully but the pain was lost to the ocean of other sensations vying for Oliver's attention.
"I... Really don't know what happened." He admitted sheepishly, the dark blue eyes watching her fingers while she worked. "I don't remember much. Little pieces." His gaze relocated to her face. "You don't know, do you?"
--
Emy let out a soft hum of thought, “I suppose I could give it a chance. I’ve never been much into sports. But maybe I’ll make an exception for you.” She winked at him playfully, “Though, I’m quit married to my job, you may have to whisk me out of here.” She laughed at him.
Emilia tried to be careful, rubbing the salve on carefully, attempting not to cause him anymore discomfort as she listened to him speak. She let out another soft hum when he asked her, “I honestly don’t know, I’m sorry. I haven’t heard anything, and I was a bit preoccupied myself… almost got trampled by the people fleeing.” She rolled up her robe sleeve to reveal some nasty bruises she hadn't yet taken care of, "But I'm the lucky one here."
--
"I know the feeling: married to the job." Of course Oliver wanted the white picket fence and the yard with the dog and the large family, but he had goals to obtain, his own goals that through Puddlemere seemed not just the wild dreams of a Hogwarts student. He wanted to be captain of Puddlemere, to win the League cup, to go to the World cup as a captain and win as well. He could do all that, but could he also have the family he so desperately desired? "Maybe if you make that exception I'll make it worth your while." Why not? Worse she would say is no.
Truthfully, Oliver enjoyed Emilia's soft touch on his chest. She might be there mirror image of her sister, but their energy, even her skin, felt different. Feeling entirely comfortable with touching the twin, Oliver reached out to brush at the bruises, letting out a long, long exhale. "Em... Fuck. I'm sorry." Just why he was apologizing, he wasn't sure. She shouldn't have been hurt. This horrible night shouldn't have happened and he should have been strong enough to not get injured.
--
“Yeah, but you’re at least famous for it.” Emilia smiled. She actually loved her job, even though it doesn’t come with the same glory as his job did, it still made her happy to actually be helping people. She’d already conceded to her own, often overlooked, life of working and living in a tiny but functional apartment. She was pickier than most people expected, and others often considered her to be a bit of a snob. Em moved to the other burn carefully, rubbing in the same soft circular motion as before.
She wasn’t expecting Oliver to touch her arms, and instinctively jerked her arm back. But then shook her head, with a bit of a chuckle. “Honestly, Mr. Wood, it’s fine. I’m a healer, and I’ve seen worse just walking the hallway. I can deal with a few bruises.”
--
Oliver scoffed slightly. "Yeah, but I think you're quite clever for stopping clumsy blokes like me from dying."
His own hands jerked back at Emilia's reaction as though her skin had burned him. Of all the reactions he'd expected, Oliver did not anticipate that.
"I... Sorry." Suddenly feeling very exposed, Oliver turned his blond head and looked over at the curtained obscuring the other occupants.
--
“Knowing what I know about you, Oliver, I can say that you’re likely anything but clumsy. You were probably helping. You wouldn’t have gotten all these injuries unless you willingly stayed near the blasts.” She said, her eyes combing over his body, taking in his injuries.
She ran a hand, the one not covered in medicine, through her hair. “It’s just been a long day. It’s not you.” Emy dropped her eyes to the floor, embarrassed slightly by her own reflexes. “I… um.” She sighed, and shifted her weight a little bit, recapping the medicinal paste. “I’m sorry.”
--
Something in Emilia's admission stirred a memory tangled up in Oliver's jumbled mind. Collin. Little Collin Creevy laying lifeless on the ground, the only movement from Oliver shifting the body this way and that with his own movements. How had Collin managed to die twice? Was that even him at the fair?
Again, that nauseous wave threatened to overtake Oliver, and he clamped down white knuckled onto the blanket while a shiver passed through him.
"It's been a long day for both of us," Oliver admitted after several moments of silence, trusting himself to speak with a steady voice. "You've dealt with a lot today." They both had.
--
Emilia hadn’t been looking at him until he went silent. It wasn’t hard to tell what was going on by the look on his face, something was going on, and she couldn’t tell if it was confusion from the concussion or something else. Frantic at his hard grasp on the sheets, she waved her wand over his body, trying to make sure that he was still alright.
“Hey, hey,” Emy said softly, cupping his cheek and causing him to look at her. “What can I do to help you?” She said softly, relieved when he finally started talking. “Everyone has, Mr. Wood, and I’m not certain things will get better for a while.”
--
Another shiver, this time stronger but more controlled as Oliver felt the oncoming tenseness in his muscles.
Collin died at Hogwarts. That boy was not Collin Creevy. He had to mentally chant that phrase, to make his own mind believe that fact.
"Yeah, hen," the soft Scottish accent slipped from the practiced, media friendly regionless standard London accent Oliver adopted for his daily life at the recommendation of Puddlemere. "Feeling a bit woozy. Dinnae think ah hit my head so hard."
The idea things wouldn't get better for a long while depressed Oliver. He simply wanted to go to sleep and wake up tomorrow with the sun shining and everything behind him. But life wasn't that simple. Things hadn't been that simple since the end of the war and Harry dying.
--
Worried, Emy lit the tip of her wand with a quite Lumos, leaning over the brawny quidditch player. “Ok, lets look here,” She said watching for the dilation in his eyes as the light shown in them. His head was bad, but there still wasn’t a whole lot that they could do at this stage, it was still to touchy to give him too much medicine. Instead, she anchored her hand on his forearm and squeezed it gently.
“I think that a piece of the ride must have hit you in the head at a pretty close range. I don’t know where you were when the explosions went off, But I’d reckon that you’re lucky that you’re up and talking right now.” She wasn’t going to point out that there was a nineteen year old girl in the next room covered in burns and they’d yet to bring her back to consciousness, but it weighed on her a bit.
“Nice accent.” She winked, in an attempt to distract him.
--
The light pierced his eyes and stung his brain, causing Oliver to instinctively jerk his head away. "Fooking hell dinnae do that!" He didn't mean to yell at Emilia, but Merlin it hurt. The world was already too bright to begin with, but the direct burst of light was beyond his threshold. His eyes opened slowly again, still dilated. "I'm sorry, just.. Merlin."
He listened for a bit, half tempted to make a joke about not being able to dodge a flying piece of ferris wheel might be a testament to his playing skills, but decided the situation might be a bit too serious for such a thing. Though, he did wink heartily when Emilia complimented his accent.
--
At Olivers very loud protesting, Emy quickly drew the wand away from him with a firm Nox. She combed her fingers through his hair gently, “I’m going to encourage you again to maybe take that pain potion, you’re being highly monitored, and honestly, I think it will help you, alright?” She was trying to be gentle, but what she really wanted to do was force the potion down his gull.
“You’ll be back to normal soon anyway, and then probably be back here again soon for some silly quidditch stunt.”
--
Despite himself, Oliver leaned into Emilia's touch, lazily closing the still stinging eyes. He might as well take the pain potion, nothing else to really do while waiting for the promised release.
"Yeah, alright, hen." The raw, red hand squeezed the bottle though made no other motion. Every two hours someone had to come and wake up Oliver, as sleeping with a concussion could prove to be deadly. The thought of his mortality slipping away peacefully under the influence of a potion simply terrified him; when the time came Oliver wanted to go out playing Quidditch or surrounded by his big family, old and grey.
The mention of Quidditch lit up the handsome features, unclouding the dark blue eyes. "Ah you're gonna have to wait a few months until then." Though he hoped to see Emilia again before that happened.
--
Emilia sighed when Oliver picked up the potion but made no further move to drink it. Gently, she rubbed Oliver's shoulder in a way that she hoped would be reassuring instead of painful. “listen, I get off in about an hour…. If you want, I can come back and sit with you after you drink it. It shouldn't make you tired, but I'll be here to help if anything happens, alright?”
“some things are worth the wait.” Emy smirked at him.
--
Oliver grinned with boyish charm, glancing at Emilia then back to the potion bottle. "I'll probably be asleep, but I wouldn't mind seeing you if you're still around when they wake me up." The annoyance tugged at the corners of Oliver's lips but he made no other indication of his displeasure.
"Well," Raising the bottle and toasting to something remained unspoken, Oliver downed the contents and made a face. "Disgusting. Alright then, don't wait a few months to see me. I'll be here." And with that he settled back into the pillows, waiting for sleep too wash over him.
-- Emy just smiled at him, she was certain there was probably a bit more color than there should have been on her face, given how tired she was from practically working non-stop since the bombing, but it was pleasant. Running a hand lightly through his hair, she nodded. “Don’t worry, Mr. Wood, I’ll be here when you wake up. Healers promise.” She told him softly, satisfied when he drank the potion and leaned back.
“Well, next time you need to take one, I’ll make sure to bring something extra sweet to wash it down with, deal?” She teased brightly. “You have a good nap, and I’ll see you when you wake up.”