A/N: Long time no update! Sorry, guys. I'll try to have a more predictable writing pattern from now on. Thanks for bearing with me.
All a Matter of Will
As the dilapidated Muggle entrance of St. Mungo's came into view, Tonks made one last attempt. "Really, Molly, I appreciate this but, honestly, I think it's not necessary. I am an Auror, and – " Her dull coloured head drooped down in defeat as the Weasley matriarch cut across her speech: "- still need to be cared for, no matter what you do for a living, dear." Though capable of swelling up like a bullfrog in a way that would scare anybody into submission, her tone was gentle. As much as she knew it was necessary, she didn't want the girl to feel intimidated. Yet.
In the always crowded space before the counter, Molly propelled Tonks forwards in the queue. When they finally reached the reception mediwitch, Molly waved her wand at Tonks' jeans, which promptly rolled upwards into a bunch at her knees. A white bandage soaked through with blood was exposed to view, along with a small huff from the owner of the leg in question.
The calm witch didn't blink before starting to say in her demure voice, "the sign clearly states that for animal bites you should be on floor – " once again, Molly cut in. "No, dear, she does not need to be treated for a bite. You see, last night, when Arthur – that's my husband – and I were out visiting some friends and Tonks was at the head-… er… house… alone, she was having some coffee and dropped the mug. But when we got back she was already in bed, in fact, I wouldn't have found out about this except for today being a Sunday, so I was doing the laundry and so when I went to get her sheets I found the stains on –"
A tall, dark-haired healer passed by, and the blonde witch behind the counter quickly flagged him down and interrupted Molly's flow (or rather flood, she thought privately) of words. "Here, Healer Tarkins will take you into a room and hear it in full." The queue of people behind Molly seemed to collectively breathe a sigh of relief as she bustled off with the Healer, Tonks trailing behind with a drooping head. Each strand of half-heartedly spiked hair on her head seemed to wilt with embarrassment.
"Now, let's hear the story from the start, shall we?" Healer Tarkins was middle aged, lean and starting to go grey. In the private consulting room they entered the light was dim, blurring details. The very promiscuous resemblance to Remus was pushed into Tonks' mind for a moment, and she sat, mildly confused by the change of roles. This wasn't right – she was the Auror, he was the werewolf. She was meant to be healing his injuries, not he hers. But no – no. This wasn't Remus. The man's hair was a shade lighter, his eyes not the same warm almost-gold.
"Well," Molly started again, not seeming put off at all by having to start again, "last night Arthur and I were out, and Tonks was having some coffee in the kitchen. She dropped the mug and it broke, which is how she got those cuts on her legs there. Of course, she repaired the mug and put it back, and didn't think about it. After we came back, she'd already gone to bed, so we didn't hear about it. Today being Sunday – that's laundry day – I was going around the rooms to get the bed sheets. When I got to her room, I saw that there was quite a lot of blood on her sheets, and so I went to find her." Molly took one deep breath before continuing again, just as quickly as before.
"But when I got downstairs, Arthur came and told me that we'd run out of food quite completely except for the eggs and bacon we'd had for breakfast, because the night before we'd meant to get some after visiting our friends but it was so late when we left that it quite slipped our minds. So anyhow, Arthur and I went out to go get some, and on the way we met Tonks, and she decided to come with us to get some things as well. Now, after a while, I saw that her jeans just on top of her leg there –" Molly pointed at the bandage – "a stain was starting to come out. And Tonks was so tired, she didn't even seem to notice, poor dearie."
"Obviously, we stopped as soon as we could to have a look at it, and we saw that there were a few scratches and cuts – nothing enormous, quite ordinary ones that shouldn't have kept bleeding. So she told us about how she broke the mug last night, and we were a bit mystified about why it hadn't already healed. We got her a bandage and put it on, and thought that was that. But all of that happened in the morning, and when we went out again in the afternoon I thought to check on her bandage and –" Pointing at the blood soaked bandage, Molly's face was concerned and baffled – "it still hasn't healed. So I brought her here, even though she said not to worry and –"
"I see." The Healer's voice was firm and decisive, and Molly fell silent to hear what he had to say. "It was an… ordinary sort of mug?" He asked Tonks, who looked helplessly at Molly. "It was Remus's… And looks pretty much like any other mug I've ever seen." Nodding knowledgeably, Molly, domestic goddess, rattled off the make, material and probably date of manufacture of the mug. Tonks, thankful that it seemed to mean as little to the Healer as it did to her, looked down to the floor immediately after he caught her eye. He wasn't as handsome, for sure, but when he tilted his head like that, and his eyes looked upwards…
Shaking her head, which was becoming fuzzy and prickly with unwanted thoughts again, Tonks shrugged. "I've never had this before… Every other time I've hurt myself, which is a pretty big number of times – " Here, Molly looked at her with a distinct exasperated fondness, "- it's just healed normally really quickly." The Healer's eyes took in her limp hair, pale face and dejected stance, then rubbed his eyes tiredly.
"It's lucky I'm the one seeing you now, you know, because I know what's wrong and not many Healers do. I have seen a girl like this once before, many years ago." Quickly, the lines on Molly's face changed to avid curiosity. "You see," the Healer continued, "everything in the Wizarding World is a matter of will. You would know this already from spells, and especially apparation – you have to really want to do the magic, to be able to do so. And Healing is a magic too. You have to want to get better. Usually, no matter how badly a person is injured, they will want to get better. When even a simple wound, like this, doesn't heal, it means that… well…"
"Yes?" Healer Tarkins received a full blast of Molly's famous I-don't-need-verisaterum-to-get-truths look. "Well, it means the young lady here doesn't have a… will to live." As he said the last words, a look of slight embarrassment overtook his features. When with patients who only had a slim chance of survival, at least he knew where he stood – no matter how dire the circumstances, the patient still wanted to be alive. But here, unsure of what was happening and unwilling to possibly intrude into private affairs, he was lost and uneasy.
As the two women digested the truth, Tonks without too much surprise, Molly with dawning horror, the Healer shifted uncomfortably in his seat. For the next few moments, something quite remarkable happened. Molly, matriarch of the Weasley clan, mother of six children and an invincible source of power, had absolutely nothing to say. The tiny things wiggling across her brain were only the half-baked beginnings of thoughts, and her face was set into lines of stunned horror as she stared at the Healer, then Tonks. "No… will… to live?" Finally, four words forced their way out of the mouth that usually had a lot more to say.
Nodding and shifting in his seat once more, the Healer ran a hand through his greying hair. "There really is nothing St. Mungo's can do, I'm afraid. Perhaps the two of you ought to… go home… and have a little talk about what's been happening." With furrowed brows, Molly looked at the him while thought processes ran across her brain in erratic patterns. "But… Won't something like a cheering potion help?" After all, never before had magic failed her. "No, I'm afraid not," he replied, "that's only a temporary thing, and the unusual condition we are talking about means there is something fundamentally wrong with life."
Through the conversation, Tonks had sat silent, and the other two had avoided speaking to her. Now she asked a question, but in a disinterested way as if the answer didn't really matter to her. "Could you tell us a bit more about the one other case you said you've seen?" For a moment, the Healer paused. Confidentiality was one of the hospital's codes, but everybody in the story was long dead. Finally, for the sake of shedding a bit more light onto the current scene, he nodded his head and settled back in the chair to tell his story.
"It happened in the first war. In the last few days before the war ended, everything was still going towards a climax, and things here were really bad. Every day, we'd have patients pouring in, and every night we'd had to magically expand the hospital to make room for the next day's new patients. One day, a mother brought in her daughter. She was severely depressed, refusing food and scarcely sleeping. There was a small wound on her forehead, but no matter what we'd do to try and close it, the wound would never quite fully heal and then expand to its original size again after a while. It was as if there was something in her repelling all attempts at healing.
"While depression normally does slow healing, hers was so deep that it was completely stopping it. We asked for her story, and it was a sad one indeed. Her fiancé was a reporter for the Prophet, and one day they risked a day out together picnicking in the woods. They had never heard of anything strange happening in the woods, but unfortunately that was wrong. It was a Death Eater hideout. Half way through, they heard Death Eaters in the woods near them, but even then nothing might have happened had the young man not risked everything and gone after them. He was a reporter after all, and had been in tight situations before, but he didn't understand how much more serious this was.
"Though he told her to stay behind, she would have none of it and followed him. They went up into some trees, hiding there while listening to the Death Eaters discussed their plans. But you can guess what happened – they were heard. To save her, he jumped down and fought them as hard as he could, to buy her time to get away. She did get away, but just as she apparated, she saw them start torturing him. It was one of those as painful to look upon as to feel, and every night she would dream of seeing him with his skin being peeled off his arms, waking with the ring of his screams in her mind. It was this, you see, that made her so depressed. She blamed herself for not being courageous enough to stay with him, to help ease his passage into the next world by going with him. But the latter wish wasn't long in coming – a few days after she came here, she died."
His narrative finished, Healer Tarkins sat leaning forwards in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. It was a sad tale, and this was almost the first time he had told it. Laying his own emotions away, he concentrated on the case before him. That the young woman was suffering the same condition was beyond doubt, but perhaps she would receive a better fate. But no cures without diagnoses, that much was certain. Yet how much would he be justified in prying into what were so obviously private matters? Luckily, the problem was resolved for him.
Molly, who had been slowly absorbing the news and story had just woken up to what it might mean. With eyes and mouth open wide, she turned to Tonks, horror seeping from every pore of her body. "But… but… Tonks… You're only 23! How could this happen?" Then, she rounded on the Healer, the horror turning slightly to indignation. "There must be something wrong here. How can you know it's definitely this? It can't be true. There must be a virus or something stopping the healing." On any other occasion, the demeanour of the Weasley matriarch would have made the Healer smile. However, his face only turned more grave.
"Madam, I know how hard it is for you to accept something like this happening to your daughter." Molly was about to explain who Tonks really was to her, but the Healer's raised hand closed her mouth. "But the symptoms are almost entirely unique, and she does not carry any of the signs that would indicate the Viachen virus or the Utuber Cast. Though there's very little we know about this form of extended depression, especially on how it differs from a normal one, there are some things we can still try. But first of all, we ought to ask your daughter what it is that is troubling her." With a nod of encouragement, Healer Tarkins focused his clear eyes on Tonks. Somehow, those eyes were incredibly similar to Dumbledore's – a light, pleasant blue with a ring of grey. So while she knew Molly would understand the problem from her single word answer, she assumed the Healer, like Dumbledore, would too.
"Remus."