Hogwarts School Forum (Challenges and Assignments): Assignment #3
Healer Studies: Magical vs. Muggle Healing
Task #1: Murtlap essence vs. painkillers: Prompt: Write a fic with the genre hurt/comfort.
Day 9 - Auction 2: Healer!AU
Warnings: Mentions of sickness/illness/asthma, all that whumpy stuff. Essentially, my asthma is being a pain today, so I'm taking it out on Al. Fairly soft though!
[Word Count: 3000]
Healers at St Mungo's rarely do house calls.
But sometimes your name is Teddy Remus Lupin, and you've just come off a twenty-four-hour shift because an outbreak of Shivering Shingles sent the Wizarding community into pandemonium recently. And sometimes you're exhausted and sore and thinking longingly of a hot shower and a drink of something strong before you collapse into bed, but you don't make it past the Welcome Witch's desk before a harried stag patronus comes galloping through the wall.
Sometimes, your godfather begs you to help him, so you do, because your name is Teddy Remus Lupin and you're a Healer, and maybe Healers don't do house calls, but you never learned how to say no to him.
"I'm sorry to call you here," Harry says, hushed and frantic on the doorstep, ripping open the door when Teddy's first knock is still echoing, his fist still raised. "Especially this late. I know you must be going mad at work lately and I don't want you to have more work to deal with, but I didn't want to bring him in and risk him getting something worse."
"It's fine," Teddy says, even though he can barely stand and his legs are doing their best impression of Molly's first foray into gelatinous cooking; ill-structured and faintly, off-puttingly gloopy. "Is it Al, again?"
Harry's face creases with worry, and that's all the answer Teddy needs.
The inside of the cottage is warm and dry. Stiflingly so, compared to the cold, brisk street outside. Godric's Hollow is never a bustling place to begin with, but the bad weather and sickness have driven most people indoors for the last few weeks. Teddy unwinds his scarf, sweat forming instantly on the back of his neck, hanging it on the peg beside the door. His shoes come off, as does his coat, and he hefts his briefcase further along his wrist, chock-full of medical gear. He stumbles a little on the bottom step, and has a split second to imagine himself flattened face-first against the carpet, too tired to slow his fall or put out a hand.
But he doesn't need to. Harry's firm, familiar hand catches him by the elbow and hauls him upright before he can crash-land. Teddy blinks at him, a little slow and hazy, and Harry's eyes go briefly wide.
"Oh," he says, with soft realisation. "You're exhausted, Teddy. I shouldn't have called you."
Behind his slim spectacles, the deep, dark circles beneath his eyes look bruised. And his eyes are no less bruised with worry and concern, tinged at the edges with guilt. It's the guilt that kicks Teddy into action. Harry's done so much for him over the years. Took him in, fed him, helped him grow, loved him like he was worth all the trouble until Teddy actually believed it. The least he can do in return is ease his worries. Teddy shakes his head and straightens up, yawning so widely that his jaw almost slides clean off.
"I'm fine," he says immediately afterwards, ignoring Harry's incredulous, dubious stare. "Seriously, don't worry about it. I'm never too tired to help my favourite Potter. Speaking of, which room's Al in?"
"Don't let James hear you say that," Harry warns him. His smile is wan and tired, but he stops fighting Teddy on it and leads him upstairs, past crooked family photographs and old grubby art of finger-painted flobberworms.
The banner pinned to the outside of Albus's door is pitch-black and boasts the slanting signature of the lead guitarist in Albus's favourite band, Pogrebin's on Parole. The music they play is loud. That's really the only description that Teddy has for it, although admittedly he doesn't hate their newer songs, a fact which just makes Albus look at him in pained disgust whenever he brings it up.
He knocks, but there's no answer. He didn't expect one, but it's a habit, by now, to knock on Albus's door even when he's been specifically invited inside. Even when the door is open, which it rarely is. Albus is the quiet one, the reclusive one, the one that appreciates space and distance and knowing when to step back instead of pressing in with questions and demands.
Harry's the one that pushes open the door, revealing a bedroom as dark as the banner, the curtains drawn tight to block out any light. It's stuffy and smells a bit ripe, but it's far from the worst scene Teddy's encountered in his years of healing. The rug is strewn with tissues and the bedside table is littered with glasses of water, each in various stages of evaporation.
On the bed is a lump. Teddy feels it's generous to call it a lump, really, but there's no need to kick the sick when they're already down. He brings his briefcase over to the bed and kneels on the rug, motioning with his wand for the curtains to open slightly. The window pops open, and a cool breeze runs through the room. It feels like that first breath of relief after summer, when the muggy heat finally breaks and the hosepipe ban lifts.
"I wasn't sure if the pollen…" Harry begins, but Teddy shakes his head, flashing a comforting smile his way.
"It's fine, it's not a bad thing. We don't know what triggers it properly yet. If it gets worse with the window open, we'll shut it, but fresh air can't hurt for now."
"Don't talk about me like I'm not here," comes a grumbling voice from inside the lump.
"Technically we were talking about fresh air," Teddy says,
The lump shifts, and a grunt echoes out of it.
"Hey, Al," Teddy murmurs, peeling back the covers. "Not feeling good, huh? Mind if I check you over?"
A groggy, barely-conscious Albus peers up at him over the edge of the blankets. "Dad called you?" His voice sounds like screws rattling about in a rainmaker, given to an exuberant toddler intent on earning attention. ""I told him not to."
Harry, hovering in the doorway with his arms crossed, snorts slightly. "Try sounding like you haven't gargled glass and maybe I'll listen to your advice."
"Or you could both listen to me when I tell you that it's probably the flu, but I need to check you over just to be sure," Teddy puts in firmly, too tired to listen to them bicker. "Your asthma already makes things difficult for you, and the flu won't help on top of that. Can you sit up for me?"
Chastened, Harry dutifully quiets down. Albus grunts, far too deep in his teenage years to bother obeying after one single lecture. It takes at least three lectures these days before they start having an effect.
"I'll manhandle you if I have to," Teddy says, heaving a sigh as he gently urges Albus upright. "C'mon, then. Let's see the damage."
There's no damage, per say. Albus is miserable and exhausted, his clothes sticking to him with sweat, but he's holy unharmed. Not a scratch on him, not a bump or a wound to mend or tend to. But all Teddy has to do is listen to his lungs for a few seconds, and he wants to grimace.
"It's like breathing out through a straw," Albus complains, rasping his way through a tight, grinding cough. "I tried taking that stupid puffer thing and I…" He pauses for a moment, dragging in another breath and gritting his teeth. "It didn't do anything."
The puffer thing is a plastic blue inhaler, fresh out of the box and thrown to the end of the bed, where it languishes amongst the twisted, tangled sheets. Teddy fishes around in his briefcase for the potion kit he keeps in there. Nothing fancy, but well-stocked and ready to go, everything measured and almost entirely mixed already. Vials of base potions, each stoppered and labelled correctly, line one wall of the briefcase; he roots through until he finds one aimed at the respiratory system. It doesn't take much work or time to make it into something to soothe the airway. A pinch of this, a sprinkle of that, a single murmur and an incantation that turns the pale liquid briefly gold before it settles on an icy blue.
"One day I'm going to have to send a thank you letter to Draco," Teddy says. "I can't believe nobody thought to do base potions like this before. It saves so much time."
"What's that?" Harry asks, coming further into the room.
"Nothing serious, and nothing long-lasting," Teddy promises him, holding the vial up to eye-level. "Put some pillows behind him, will you? The more propped up you are, the better. You remember that position I showed you to get your airways all opened up?"
Albus nods reluctantly. "Yeah, I remember."
"I know it's awkward, but don't let that stop you. I've been working on this potion for a while, but it won't last very long, and it's only a short-term solution. Just long enough to get you some relief, and some sleep. I think that might be the best thing for you right now. You've definitely got some kind of bug on top of the asthma, that's for sure, although I'm not sure if it's the flu."
"Great," Albus says weakly. "Just what I was hoping you'd say. You should come here more often and sweet-talk me like that."
Teddy gives him a smile, a little wry and affectionate. They both endure Harry's fumbling attempts to prop Albus up, dodging his fluttering hands and shuffling feet. It's sweet how much Harry worries, although it definitely doesn't do healthy things for his blood pressure. Teddy makes a note to check it soon, although wrestling Harry into anything faintly resembling a doctor's appointment is like trying to convince a goose that it simply isn't worth it to hiss. When Harry finally backs away, Teddy hands Albus the potion and watches carefully as he downs it, toasting them with a desolate little salute.
"I don't want to mix potions," Teddy explains, keeping his voice low and quiet. "I really do think sleep is the best medicine here though. A bit of dreamless potion shouldn't hurt though, if you want some? Only a small dose, mind, and only if your dad says yes."
Albus's beseeching gaze and pitiful coughs are too much for Harry to fight against. He wilts, turning to Teddy and pushing his glasses up his nose, fiddling with the stem.
"You're sure it's okay for him to have both?"
Teddy ticks an eyebrow up. "Would I give him two potions if I thought it was going to turn him into mush?" Seeing Harry's guiltily torn expression, Teddy snorts, fighting back another yawn. "It's fine, I promise. We've tested the combination at the lab in St Mungo's and if anything, the two actually work better when you use them together."
All out of reasonable excuses, Harry gives his consent. Teddy pulls a small tab of solidified dreamless potion out of a foil packet in his briefcase. It melts on Albus's tongue, and his nose wrinkles at the bitter, chalky taste. Harry hands him a glass of water to wash it down with, and they both watch, hawk-eyed, as he sips at it gratefully. His eyelids start to dip immediately, and Teddy catches a hint of fear in his gaze.
"I'll be here to check on you in the morning," Teddy assures him, checking his airway again with a quick, light spell. "Your lungs already sound clearer, but I'll stick around. And your dad wouldn't go anywhere even if a rampaging phoenix tried to force him out the window."
"My feet are firmly planted," Harry agrees, taking the empty glass before Albus can drop it in his lap. "Your mum will be home soon. Get some sleep, Al. Love you."
Albus nods, collapsing back against the mountain of pillows.
"We'll fix it all tomorrow," Teddy says quietly.
"Thanks, Teddy," Albus murmurs, moments before his eyes flutter shut.
He sounds so exhausted that it tugs on Teddy's heartstrings. Halfway to standing, his knees stop all on their own, and he sinks back onto the rug. He smooths Albus's hair back, barely noticing the sweat or stickiness. He's dealt with much worse things on the ward. Hell, he's dealt with much worse things in the staff room. A bit of sweat is nothing compared to the gunge they found in the back of the fridge one time.
Eventually, he gets to his feet, packing up his briefcase and following Harry out of the bedroom.
"It's not just me, right?" Harry demands in a whisper, the minute the door slips shut. "He's getting worse lately."
"I wouldn't say worse," Teddy says delicately, scrubbing his eyes. "Asthma isn't something that the Wizarding World understands yet, and Muggle medication doesn't always have the expected reaction to our biological systems. You know that."
Harry sweeps the explanation away with an impatient wave of his hand. "I do know that, but he can't keep going like this."
"He's not going to. He was only diagnosed a few weeks ago, Harry. It's possible that it's even a reaction from something, a spell or a potion. It's definitely asthma, but it's strange for it to manifest out of the blue like this." Teddy can't fight the yawn this time, covering his hand while his eyes squeeze shut. "I promise I'll figure it out. He's not going to keep going like this. For now, until we know more, the only thing we can do is tweak the dosage in the inhalers and keep an eye on him."
A hand lands on Teddy's slumped shoulder, and he forces his eyes open, meeting Harry's soft gaze.
"I'm sorry," he says, startling Teddy. "I didn't mean to make you feel like it was all on you. I'm just frustrated because I can't do anything. I can't fight this, you know? It's not a Dark Lord or a Boggart. But I didn't mean to take it out on you. I'm grateful that you're doing anything at all."
Teddy squints. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing." Harry shakes his head, smiling ruefully. "Just that you're exhausted, and the last thing you need after a day full of healing is another evening full of healing."
"James comes into the ward every five minutes with a new broken bone to match his broken broom," Teddy says, rolling his eyes. "Lily gets into fights like winning was a mission assigned to her at birth, and Ginny's worse than all of you put together. You're the only one I don't see in the hospital, and that's because you're too stubborn to come into the hospital until your limbs are hanging on by a thread and your organs have shut down."
Harry laughs quietly. "Your bedside manner has definitely gotten better since the early days, hasn't it?"
"My point is, you're all family, and you're all equally stupid." At Harry's raised eyebrow, Teddy begrudgingly adds, "And I'll never stop taking care of you, no matter how tired I am. So don't thank me, and don't apologise. It's insulting."
"I'm very proud of you," Harry says, instead of rising to the bait. He leans forward and kisses Teddy's forehead, scratchy stubble and all. "Now, go shower. You stink. I'll set up the bed for you."
"You don't have to do that."
"You'll fall asleep in the Floo if I don't."
Teddy has to admit that the thought of a nice, cosy chimney nap is far too tempting to risk. He lets himself be dragged to the bathroom and weighed down with towels, and Harry promises to bring him clean clothes by the time he's done.
"You want food?" Harry asks.
Teddy almost groans at the thought. "I don't know if want is the right word, but I think I could eat a Hippogriff."
"One Hippogriff, coming right up."
Harry gives him a little push into the bathroom, and Teddy sways, letting himself be pushed. He's so tired and a little emotional that some small, vulnerable part of him sways too, rearing its head as he watches Harry's back travel down the dim hallway, his socked feet making no noise on the plush carpet.
"You really don't have to do this, you know."
It echoes, almost. Feels too big and too hushed for such a space. A space where he grew up, a space where he learned what it was like to feel loved even though a lot of your loved ones were missing from the world. Harry's always been there, consistent and full of care, and even now with his back turned, peeking over his shoulder, Teddy trusts him with this silly thought: you don't have to take care of me if it's too much trouble, too much work, if you're too tired like I am.
"I know I don't have to," Harry says, at the top of the stairs, equally as hushed. "But I'm never too tired for this. You spend so much time taking care of us that you made it your job, Teddy. Let us take care of you for a change, yeah?"
Healers rarely do house calls.
But sometimes your name is Teddy Remus Lupin, and you've just come off a twenty-four-hour shift and straight into something that hurts more to witness because it's your family, and there's only so much you can do. And sometimes you're exhausted and sore and so busy thinking about how tired you are that you forget that you're a healer and an adult with a job and a flat and all you want is a hot shower and a plate of Hippogriff and a soft smile at the end of the hallway.
Sometimes, your godfather asks you to let him help you, so you let him, because your name is Teddy Remus Lupin and you're a Healer. And maybe Healers don't do house calls, but sometimes a house call can turn into a call to come home.
