28 March: Scars Who: Remus and Florrie What: In which Remus presents for a follow up and Florrie strongly suspects she knows what he is, he confirms those suspicions. When: Thursday, 28 March morning Where: Florrie’s flat Warnings: Standard ones r/t Remus’s history.
It wasn’t that Remus didn’t like healing professionals, he just preferred to keep a distance. One of the few benefits of his furry little problem was that common injuries healed quickly. Beyond that he had learned the basic healing spells at a young age. It was just werewolf injuries that he really had to worry about. And most months that was just him, at least until the Battle of Godric’s Hollow.
So, Florrie McGonagall had taken interest. Which was fine, it could have been worse. Except in all of the ways, it was already bad. But he really needed to close the book on this and prevent her from getting tangled in the mess that was his life.
Armed with his favorite of Sirius’s jumpers, a bag of scones, and two cups of coffee he let himself into the flat. “Wotcher!” He called out, still staying by the entry. “Your morning patient has arrived for his examination. He is also not above bribing you to close his case.” Remus smirked, food held high in offering. The least he could do, really.
"I'll take all bribes but I'll only close your case if you're ready to be released. Werewolf injuries aren't to be trifled with," Florrie reminded Remus, as if he didn't already know. "Come on in, and let's check the quality of your goods--and your healing." Florrie gestured to him to come in to her little flat. She lived in a tiny flat with barely enough room for her things and a very nominal kitchen. But since she was on call or on duty a lot of the time, she was hardly at the flat except to sleep and occasionally to mend her friends in the Order.
Remus was a rare visitor--Florrie had long suspected he was getting his healing elsewhere--but honestly her favourite of his foursome of friends, so it was a delight to see him even if she loathed the circumstances. She gestured to him to sit down on the sofa and took the scones to the kitchen to plate them properly.
"How are they doing, by the way? Tell me true, because I'll know the minute I do any diagnostics."
Remus followed. “Healing well enough. But really just starting to get used to the new scars. Although I have been told they make me prettier by the day.” He smiled, big, and gave her a bit of a pose that really showed them off.
“Still getting used to the weird cravings. It can’t be right to want eat as much meat as I do. Or even as much as I do around the moon.” It was an easy lie. Met with no hesitation because it held a truth. So many years in and he was still bad at getting enough calories.
"I worry about you," Florrie told him from in the kitchenette of her flat. "I don't know how you get enough to eat now, and extra cravings on top of that. And you hardly keep a job as it is." Which she said without judgement; knowing he was in the Order and suspecting that it was his primary commitment, as it was for Sirius, had put paid to any concerns that she might have had about that. Also the fact that Sirius could more than keep the pair of them lodged and fed even with his profligacy.
She brought out the scones on a tray with some jam and cream. "I don't care whether you eat Devon or Cornwall, as long as you eat. Unless you've completely gone off scones. How's your appetite through the lunar cycle?" Clearly she'd been studying up on these things.
“Serve them right if I did.” He chuckled. “Ravenous right before and after the full moon. Which really is only a problem when day after I seem to get a bit sick.” He was also physically exhausted, and could sleep for two days straight it allowed. Only that much information was a bit more damning. “But I have a small army to keep me fed.” A pack. “Even if Peter tries to withhold my bacon allotment.”
"Bacon's too much fat. It's a sometimes food. And Peter needs to eat less of it than you do," Florrie grumbled as she prepared her own scone Devon-style to fortify her for her work. "Do I need to have a word with him? Or is this one of those--long-term things?"
Remus shook his head, helping himself to a scone quite liberally covered in clotted cream and a second one with jam. “Nothing that serious, I think. More teasing. He knows how to get me right here.” He tapped his chest. “But if you want to put in an official word that he’s never to deny me bacon, then cheers.” He raised a clotted cream scone and took a rather large bite.
"You may tell him I said so," Florrie announced around a bite of her creamy, jammy scone. "And if he doesn't obey, I shall have words with him. Or I'll do worse. I'll let Lily in on it and then he'll have to deal with both of us."
“And then my reign of bacon will be complete.” He polished off the first scone with two more bites. For as much as people fussed about him eating more, Remus could put away a lot of food. “I think I will be a humble and kind bacon god.”
"I'm sure you will be," Florrie assured him, and took another bite of her scone. Considering him, before she finished it, she added, "Is there anything you want to tell me about your medical condition that you haven't already disclosed to me? Because you know, if I really wanted, I could get hold of your Mungo's records. If I thought you weren't telling me the truth about something to do with your injuries, something I needed to know to treat you."
“No hospital records. Just Madame Pomfrey.” Remus stayed well clear of St. Mungo’s, showing up there would be far too risky. He shoved another bite of scone into his mouth, allowing himself a moment. “There’s nothing you could help me with anyway. A few new scars doesn’t really change anything.”
"Remus, this sort of thing could kill you," she reminded him once her mouth was empty of the scone. "But," she added, "it hasn't yet."
He grinned at her. “What can I say? I’m like a cockroach.”
The sort of deflection that got Remus by with many others had little to no effect on Florrie. "Trust me, I've met a few in my day and you're not one. And there's nothing so embarrassing you can't tell me. After you've dealt with old men with dragonpox pustules on their bits you're pretty much past embarrassment about medical issues."
“Sure, but those are things you can fix.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Apparently the wounds from Wales weren’t fully healed after all. “And you know most of it anyway. There’s nothing that can be fixed. I would know my parents tried just about everything.”
Florrie tilted her head, still looking at him. "Do I need to talk to Pomfrey? To tell her that I need to complete your records to ensure you're receiving proper care? Don't think I won't, Remus."
“She’d probably tell you that she’s been seeing after me since I was eleven and would be happy to take over.” As much as he wanted to let her off the hook, there was something to be said about plausible deniability. He couldn’t yield first, it was safer if he didn’t confirm anything.
"She can tell me because you're under my care and she can't come to be where you are the way I can. And she knows I'm bound under confidentiality." Florrie sighed. "The Minister could question me and I'd say no. They'd have to torture it out of me or force me with veritaserum, and honestly if the sort of people who do that have access to me, your health information isn't going to be first on their mind, Remus."
Remus wasn’t sure that was comforting. He pulled at the edges of the jumper, folding his hands inside. He would have preferred to curl up into the whole thing if he could. “Then maybe you ought to speak with her if you feel like I have been remiss.”
Apparently they taught the unblinking predator stare at Mungo's. "Don't you trust me?"
“It’s not a matter of trust.” But also no, he didn’t really trust her. “It’s a matter of safety. Knowledge can be a dangerous thing.”
"Your telling me this or not makes no difference to my safety. But it makes a difference to yours, and your health." Florrie had really quite mastered her aunt's stare even if she didn't have the full McGonagall presence to go with it.
He laughed. Remus shouldn’t have, but he did. Laughter was the easier response here. “Florrie. Do you understand the weight and reach of what you think you know?”
Florrie shrugged, seeming nonplussed by Ramus' laughter. "I understand the weight and reach of what I already know. I've failed to report a werewolf attack--an attack by Greyback--and the full moon has come and gone more than once. If it comes out I've done that much, I'll lose my license already. Not to mention that I'm on the hook for failure to follow Ministry regulations about reporting illicit injuries, and everyone knows what Crouch will do to anyone the DMLE can prove that charge on. It'll be worse if I officially know a patient I've refused to report on was already infected with lycanthropy, but not by much. I can't keep patient records on you lot because of the current set of risks; being able to treat patients accurately with an understanding of history and underlying problems would be worth the additional risk."
Remus closed his eyes. This was the part he hated. The part he worried about, the possibility that gnawed away at him in those quiet moments. Yes, he was damned. There was no way around that. He never wanted to bring other people down with him. “We’ve known each other since school. And I’ve always been sickly, the too thin ill child who hung around the hospital ward. My condition hasn’t changed. Not in a long time. All that’s changed is the people to which my existence might be a risk.”
He was tired. “For all the things ... I never wished for you to get wrapped up in my mess. For anyone really.” The McGonagall family had already put more than enough on the line for him, and Professor McGonagall was still going beyond on that front. As far as Remus was concerned, Florrie owed him nothing, and dared not ask for anything. “Which is why I need you to be sure.”
"If it comes out, I'm already quite well buggered, thanks. Given my situation and placement, it will be hard for the authorities to imagine I didn't already know. There's no way I can claim plausible ignorance at this point," Florrie pointed out. "They might assume I knew as far back as fifth year, though of course I can't be prosecuted for anything until I turned seventeen."
There was that small hope that if all of this was off the record she could still have a way out. Someway not to be caught. Remus sighed. Okay, so he was doing this. “The Battle of Godric’s Hollow wasn’t the first time Greyback laid hands on me. Although, I think, maybe, you knew that. Or at least suspected something similar.” The knot of scars on his right shoulder certainly told a very specific story. “But for all the grief these wounds might give you now, I wear them like a trophy that he’ll never touch another child again.”
"All right," Florrie said, doing her best to keep her relief to herself. "There are somewhat different protocols for treating a lycanthropy patient's injuries, but none that should come into effect with this particular set of injuries at this time." She paused, put down her scone--she'd already developed the mediwizardry talent for eating through even the most difficult discussions--and added, "I appreciate your honesty and will not communicate this information to the Ministry or the hospital." Reporting to the hospital would have been tantamount to telling the Ministry anyroad.
Remus peaked over at her, not sure what he would find. Of course, the was Florrie McGonagall, best friends with Lily Evans and kin to the great Professor McGonagall. But still he didn’t feel any better. “I wouldn’t hold it against you if you did.” There was no judgement, but maybe some small resignation.
Florrie shook her head. "Well, I'm not going to, so don't worry about it. Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. Now let's have some more tea and in a bit I'll get on with examining you. There's no point in going through all that bother and not doing the work. But we'll both do better with a bit more tea and scones in us." Not that she wanted to say so to Remus but she was sure his vital signs would show the stress, and she needed more accurate and calmer readings.
“Cheers.” He gave a salute with the remainder of one of his scones before shoving it all into his mouth. Remus was no more sure on what came next, but here they were.