A/N: hello again and thank you for giving the story a chance! I hope you enjoy the second chapter!

Chapter 2

India was tinkering with the flame under her cauldron when she heard the two mediwizards whispering in her close vicinity. She was trying to prepare a Sleeping Draught for one of the more restless patients on the Janus Thickey Ward, but she couldn't help eavesdropping on the conversation happening at the next table.

"…honestly, are we going to treat You-Know-Who himself if he ever gets a sore throat?"

"It's bloody ludicrous, is what it is. I've got friends whose family are dead because of this twat and others like him. We should be able to break the Hippocratic Oath if we're dealing with bloody Death Eaters."

"Yeah, but you know Strout. She's hungry for fame. She's probably convinced she can cure evil."

India dropped the lavender sprigs into the cauldron. She wrestled with her bottom lip in thought. It was true that Madam Strout was a very ambitious, very exacting superior, but she also cared a great deal about the hospital and its patients. It wasn't just a job for her. It was her life. She was dedicated enough to do certain things other Healers wouldn't. Like take in Sirius Black.

Most people, including her colleagues, thought she was being unwise. India hadn't made up her mind yet. She looked up to Miriam Strout a great deal, but if she were being honest with herself, she wasn't sure she wanted to be her.

On that note, India didn't know what she was meant to be or do; she just knew she wanted to heal people. The reasons for this desire were multifaceted. Yes, she wanted to end people's pain, but she also wanted to see why they hurt, she wanted to find the source of that pain and explore it. A Ravenclaw never stops being a Ravenclaw, after all.

The two mediwizards, whom she recognized as Denbright and Mather, had clearly been Gryffindors in their day, and the moral uncertainty of this ordeal bothered them greatly. She understood their outrage perfectly well, but she could put it aside for more important things. You could learn many things from Sirius Black as a patient. The Death Eater movement was on the rise; the Daily Prophet said many young men and women were being drawn to it, but they never explained why. Well, here was a chance to find out. Now that Black was in their care, she wanted to know what made him, and others like him, tick.

Of course, she'd think twice before sharing that thought with anyone else. She knew exactly what reactions she would get. It was difficult to draw a line between a medical case and a public menace. And she wasn't made of stone. She got very sad when she remembered her school years. It would have been easier if she had been young enough not to see Black as a carefree teenager.

"Yeah, well, she's going to learn there's no cure for someone as depraved as Black," Denbright replies moodily, drawing India away from her thoughts.

As depraved as Black.

It didn't seem so strange anymore that Black had told her the Healers hadn't been very nice to him. How could they be when there were friends and family involved in the struggle against the Dark Lord? And yet, they were mediwizards. They were not supposed to do further damage to the patient.

The question was, where did the damage end and the healing begin?

She made the rest of the Sleeping Draught in troubled silence.

Her next shift with Black was scheduled for Thursday evening. She noticed that the initial batch of Healers assigned to him had shrunk by at least a half. Either some medics had signed off, or Strout had found them unfit. She did not find Denbright's name on the list anymore, but, curiously, Mather had remained.

Meanwhile, the hospital was trying to function under everyday circumstances, a task which was rendered very difficult by a plethora of inquisitive reporters. The press had got wind of Saint Mungo's latest patient and it was clamoring for interviews and testimonials from the medical staff. Every Healer had been forbidden to discuss matters with journalists, under penalty of dismissal. This, however, didn't stop the small merchants and vendors in the Visitors' Tearoom and Shop from giving anonymous accounts to whoever was willing to pay.

That's how she came upon an article in Quill-Scratch - an ill-reputed gossip rag - detailing the "horrific" condition of Sirius Black and his subsequent hospitalization.

A madness so profound and shocking that many of his Healers simply could not bear to be in the same room with the man who embodied such physical horror; eyes bulging from his sockets, bloodshot and desperate to kill, teeth gnashing in an effort to bite the attendants and set himself free from his own demons….

India snorted into her tea. She knew exactly how much physical horror Black inspired, and it was close to zero. Perhaps he was intimidating and terrifying when he was at his most powerful, but as it was, you could knock him down with a feather.

This was confirmed on Thursday, when she saw the same weak, bed-ridden Sirius Black as the week before. Certainly no demons afoot.

This time, whoever had been in charge of shaving him had done a better job, but dark swatches of violet and red adorned his jaw in a way that did not seem accidental. There were also a myriad of small cuts on his throat. Someone had been careless with the shaving spell. On purpose.

India looked over his updated chart and checked his vitals with the tip of her wand. She felt a ticklish feeling on the back of her neck. The curtains surrounding the small bed area, which were now partly open thanks to her, emitted a very strong strain of magic. She knew this kind of magical barrier was necessary for safety reasons, but she wondered if it tampered with Black's health. Normally, these barriers should not affect a patient's condition, but security measures must have been heightened. She made a mental note to research it later.

Black slowly opened his eyes and regarded her passively.

He didn't seem to recognize her at first.

India stepped back a little. "Good evening. How are you feeling?"

He made a strained effort to sit up higher, but he only ended up falling further down into the pillow.

"Not great, as you can see," he mumbled, lifting up his hands in a show of futility.

Under vastly different circumstances, India might've found this display amusing.

She approached the bed carefully and tapped his pillow with her wand. It re-arranged itself more comfortably under his head, although he still remained in a slack position.

"Thank you. I remember you now. Warm hands."

His voice sounded less hoarse than the previous time and his speech was coherent, but there was a fleeting quality to it, as if at any moment, he might lose it.

She folded her arms, hiding her hands. "My name is India. How is your throat feeling today? Still swollen?"

"Not as much," he replied, staring up at the ceiling. "Are you going to check?"

India took a reluctant step forward. "I have instructed the nurses to administer you potions for laryngitis and other respiratory infections."

He looked at her oddly. Like he didn't quite believe her.

She reached forward and touched his throat again. His swelling had diminished considerably, but not enough.

"I will recommend a stronger dosage," she said, eyeing his chest with interest. She could see some of the ribs even through the hospital gown. She tried not to dwell on that.

"We should probably also take a closer look at your lungs too. I'll order an X-Ray."

Her hands unwittingly drifted to his sternum and started palpating it absent-mindedly.

Black flinched a little at the contact, which promptly made India stop.

"Do you feel any pain there?"

"Mm."

"Mm what?" she demanded.

"I probably shouldn't say," he rasped, staring over her head.

"I advise you to tell your Healers everything."

Black seemed to shrug. "In that case, I do feel pain there. From he bruises."

India blinked. "But I recall you were treated for minor lacerations and contusions when you were admitted…"

"These are fresh," he replied sardonically, dark eyes watching her.

India swallowed. "Lift up your shirt, please."

He complied, although his hands shook a little as he did it. And as he had said, there were two fresh yellow bruises under his ribs, on the left side. Small, and probably not very serious, but still upsetting.

"How…did you come by those?"

He shrugged. "Happened during shaving."

India's eyes latched onto the violet marks on his jaw. "What happened exactly?"

"This crotchety fellow was trying to cut my throat. At least that's how it felt when he put his wand here. So... I pushed him back a little. He responded accordingly."

India clenched her teeth. "Do you know his name?"

"No."

"Can you describe him to me?" She had an inkling it might be Denbright he was talking about.

"I…it's all right. I'm fine."

India blinked. "It's not about that, Mr. Black, it's that this isn't hospital policy. I'll have a talk with my colleagues and the nurses–"

"Please don't."

The sudden imploration in his tone made her pause.

He shut his eyes briefly. "I really…don't want to stir more trouble."

She understood from his words what he meant. If the other Healers found out he was complaining, it would make matters worse for him.

India frowned. "I'll talk to the Senior Healer, Madam Strout. She will tell them not to take out their hostility on you."

His expression was cynical; he clearly had no faith in her intervention, and India wasn't sure if she was that confident either. Black was the Death Eater of the hour. People would line up just to kill him.

He cocked his head feebly to the side. "Why aren't you doing that?"

"What?" India asked confused.

"Taking out your hostility on me."

She coughed, rearranging her robes. "I'm a professional. And I don't accept violence."

"But you do feel hostility?" he tested.

"What I feel isn't relevant," she replied, reverting to the script she was familiar with.

"How can it not be?" he asked and raised his bruised jaw.

India took out her wand. "I'm going to heal those for you. That's what I do."

And that was an effective end to the conversation, but the way he watched her as she pulled his chin forward certainly spoke volumes. He seemed both grateful for her ministrations and a little suspicious. Exactly what was her agenda? She supposed he was being smart, questioning her intentions. She wasn't, after all, bereft of them.

The skin of his face felt like old paper, although there was a softer quality buried underneath the stubble and cuts. She could feel the steady pulse in his aorta as she maneuvered his neck to the side. It was disturbing how close she could be to someone so revolting. Although, she was not very revolted. He felt like any other patient. Perhaps she needed to work on that.

When she was done, she noticed he had closed his eyes and his expression was more relaxed and serene.

She couldn't help a small smile. "Better?"

He murmured an assent.

"Madam Strout says I have the finest touch when it comes to scars and lesions."

She did not know why she had felt the need to point that out. She felt foolish, standing there, watching him relish her performance.

He opened his eyes again, but his gaze was hooded. "I believe her."

India scratched the back of her arm. "Well, then, my check-up is almost complete. I've written down the dosages that need to be administered for next week. But what I want to do now is… um, ask you a few more questions. If you don't mind."

He heaved a weary sigh. "So that's why you healed me."

India's demeanor changed. "What? Absolutely not." Her cheeks felt very warm all of a sudden.

Black shook his head. "Lies."

There it was again, that word he had used during their first meeting too. Lies, lies everywhere.

India stiffened. "I simply did my job. I didn't do it just to lower your defenses, if that's what you're worried about."

"My defenses," he chuckled darkly. "I am thoroughly defenseless."

India wanted to argue more in her own defense, but realized she shouldn't play into his hand. He was a tricky one, Sirius Black. She conjured a chair and sat down a few feet away from his bed. She decided to wait for him to speak first.

"I'm sorry," he issued at length. "It's just a lot to take in."

India poised the quill against the paper. "What is?"

"This. Saint Mungo. A few moons ago I was sitting in a dank cell with no light or breathable air."

She shivered slightly. "That must have been quite upsetting."

"Oh, no, it was a regular walk in the park," he countered smartly, and she thought she heard an old arrogant echo in his voice, as if there was still something of his old self buried underneath.

"But to go from that to this…Well, at least the people didn't change. Everyone still hates me. Except, "everyone" aren't rotting wreaths of death."

He was talking about the Dementors. She wondered if it would be wise to steer the conversation in that direction. But he continued, before she could ask.

"….I almost miss it."

"What do you miss?" she asked nonplussed.

"Azkaban."

India looked startled.

Black snorted to himself. "I know. But in Azkaban you don't have hope. It's…horrible, but it's final. Here, though…who knows, I might get ideas."

"What sort of ideas?" she prodded.

He shrugged. "Stupid ideas. Anyway, I'm tired. I wish to sleep."

India opened her mouth to protest, but he was already turning on his side, effectively shutting her out. It was hopeless to go on, but there was always next week. It was a good start. Better than nothing, she told herself.

She got up awkwardly. "Well, then, I'll see you next time, Mr. Black."

He made no reply, but as she passed through the curtains, she almost thought she heard a soft "Sirius."

India wondered what he meant by that. Did he hate to be called "Mr. Black"? Or did he dislike the reminder of his family?

In any case, she was not about to call him Sirius.