I do not own the Harry Potter series or Pokémon.
Mentions of terminal illness, needles, and homework ahead.
Chapter Fourteen: Malady and Medicine
St Mungo's looked a lot different when Moon viewed it through the eyes of a spectator. Being cooped up in a solitary room and then being guided out as quickly as possible hadn't resulted in a good impression of the place. Walking through the halls behind a chattering Fawley, however, was changing that impression.
"We weren't entirely sure where to hold this trial," the Healer babbled. "Typically werewolves are put in the Creature-Induced Injuries section, but that doesn't really count. We nearly set up in the Magical Bugs and Diseases ward on the second floor, but we didn't want anyone to accidently catch something during the trial and mess up the results. So we're here on the third floor—Potions and Plant Poisonings—which fits with what we're doing."
Fawley was waving his hands wildly as he spoke, attracting a few harsh glares from the other Healers. He didn't notice, but Moon did, and made sure to return equally sharp looks.
"It didn't take too long to get a small trial group together, which is a surprise. Most people don't run around proclaiming their werewolf status. We decided to be honest, saying we wanted to test a potential cure and needed people to come forward. I thought it'd be best if we kept these people off the registry, since most aren't on there in the first place and they were brave enough to come here. We could always claim patient confidentiality if the Ministry starts to pry."
He smiled at her mischievously, and Moon found herself smiling back. Fawley was like an overly-friendly puppy, and it was hard not to be charmed by the cute Healer.
They stopped in front of a metal door that had no handle. Fawley tapped the door with his wand. The door slid open, revealing a room containing six hospital beds, partition curtains, an assortment of armchairs, and a table that had the remains of a card game strewn over it. Six people—four men and two women, all dressed in hospital-issued clothing—turned their heads to the door.
From what Moon could gather, none of them were older than forty. The stress lines, scarring, and greying hairs were from the constant transformations. Some looked only mildly disheveled, others looked like they had been living in caves until recently.
"Hello everyone!" Fawley greeted cheerfully. "Thank you all for being here, truly, thank you. This lovely young lady here is Moon Blakesley—Moon, this is Elvira, Aldric, Owen, Claudia, Hektor, and Conner."
Fawley gestured to each of them as he said their names. Elvira, Claudia, Owen, and Conner smiled or waved in response, but Aldric and Hektor glared at her in disdain.
"This is the girl with the miracle cure?" Aldric, the oldest one in the room, asked sceptically.
"That's yet to be determined," Fawley laughed, although there was a hint of worry seeping into his voice.
"So you don't have a cure," Aldric stated gruffly.
"We're working on it. That's why you're here—"
"You mean to tell me," Hektor said lowly, "that you dragged us all here to use us as lab rats for a cure that doesn't exist yet?"
Fawley opened his mouth to speak, but Moon cut him off.
"If we didn't think that we had a potential cure, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
Both men clenched their jaws, but said nothing. Fawley pulled out a chair for her and insisted that she sit down.
"Now, err," the Healer stumbled, having lost his previous steam, "we thought—or I thought, anyway—that we discuss potential methods to use the cure. All we know so far is that it can be absorbed through the skin."
"Why not inject it?" Moon asked. The seven people turned to her with varying looks of horror.
"Inject?" Elvira, a thin woman with patchy black hair, said shrilly. "You mean, those Muggle needles?"
"Well, yeah," Moon replied, confused. "You don't use needles?"
"Why would we?" Hektor snarled.
"It's barbaric!" Elvira exclaimed.
"Most potions can be applied topically or can be ingested," Fawley said. "Why Muggles insist on stabbing themselves, I don't know."
"When a medicine needs to be spread through the body quickly, it's easier to inject it into the bloodstream than to wait for it to take effect," Moon said. "It's also easier to calculate dosages."
"Didn't Grey—the first patient have the cure applied topically?" Fawley asked.
"Well, yes, but back then I was more concerned about not being slaughtered than finding a miracle cure," she said flatly. "Unless you're suggesting that I have Nihilego punch everyone in the throat, then I think we should try to use syringes at least once."
Everyone around her shifted uncomfortably. No one spoke for a moment. It was Aldric who finally broke the silence.
"I'll do it," he said gruffly. "You can try out any method you want if you think it'll work."
He said it so evenly that Moon almost missed the weariness behind it. She had known that lycanthropy wasn't a walk in the park; that it was brutal and exhausting, but actually seeing someone willing to try a taboo form of medicine on the off-chance that they are cured was eye opening.
"We can try different methods to figure out what works the best," she conceded, and everyone around her relaxed. "I'd like to get started as soon as possible."
"Excellent!" Fawley cheered as he jumped out of his seat. "We'll head to a lab—a place where we test new potions—and come up with some ideas."
"Right now?" Moon said, surprised. Fawley pulled her out of her seat and towards the door.
"You said as soon as possible," the Healer winked as they went back into the corridor.
"But—why can't we just come up with ideas in there?"
"Have you ever worked in a group of more than three people? Nothing ever gets done."
She would have liked to point out that she had collaborated with groups much larger than three people, but she couldn't begin to explain the complexity of the League system to this man. She struggled to keep up with Fawley as he speed walked through the hall. They slowed down as they approached the lift.
"The labs are down in the basement," he said as they waited. "They're not accessible to the public, but you're a special case."
The lift finally arrived, and three other Healers stepped off before Fawley and Moon were able to get on. Fawley tapped his wand twice against a panel.
"First Basement; Research Laboratories," he said in a clear voice. The lift jolted as it started to descend.
"Greyback hasn't been too happy," Fawley said conversationally. "We've had to restrain him to keep him in observation. The loss of his lycanthropy hit him hard."
"He's an exception," Moon said. "I doubt most werewolves actually want to turn into beasts with cravings for human flesh."
"Of course not," the Healer chuckled, "but you can't discount the fact that—whether or not these people actually enjoy being werewolves—they've been this way for a while. It's a part of them. It's shaped them somehow. Having it taken away from them can be frightening."
"What?"
"People with harsh illnesses—lifelong or terminal—sometimes start shaping their lives around their disease. People with terminal illnesses can become wilder, donating all their money or planning expensive trips just for fun. They'll do things they never thought they would do because it was inconvenient or dangerous.
"For people with diseases like lycanthropy, it can be a bit different. They'll seclude themselves because of Ministry laws and regulations against them. They won't hold jobs long enough out of fear of being found out. They'll be afraid to have friends or significant others because of their conditions."
Fawley's expression had grown dark. His deep brown eyes were scrunched as though he was recalling something unpleasant. The lift door slid open to reveal an empty hallway lit with flickering white light.
"The spell must be wearing off," the Healer muttered. "Better tell maintenance."
The two wandered down the hallway, passing by many locked doors. Each door was made of metal, had no window, and the space where the doorknob usually rested was instead replaced by a crimson circle roughly the same size.
"You'd think that there'd be an empty room," Fawley said, sounding much lighter, "but there are some people who come down here for… non-work purposes."
Moon raised an eyebrow at the man's sudden flustered tone. "Do any of these purposes result in problems in… say, nine months?"
"… How old are you again?"
"Thirteen," she stated. Fawley let out a long sigh without turning back to her.
"You're—you're not exactly what I'd call mature, but at the same time, you don't act like a thirteen year-old."
"Meaning?"
"You… I don't know… carry yourself like you're an adult."
She was going to ask what that meant, but halted when Fawley stopped in front of another door. The circle where the doorknob was supposed to be was a bright lime green.
"Room B120," he said, tapping his wand against the luminescent circle. The door swung open for them, and Moon stepped in after Fawley.
This room was lined with cabinets containing vials, tubs, and flasks of unidentifiable potions. Unlike the hospital rooms above, there was no sense of warmth or minor comfort. It was cold and sterile.
"These potions aren't actually potions," Fawley said. "They're bases. We use them when we need to make an antidote for venom. Usually we apply it directly to the wounds, so I think they'll work if you really want to try injecting the cure."
His face twisted in disgust at the idea. Moon ignored his reaction and rifled through her bag.
"I suppose you want to meet Nihilego?"
"What? Oh, yeah, of course," the Healer stuttered. Moon retrieved the beast ball, enlarged it, and released the Ultra Beast. Nihilego appeared from the shower of light, floating gracefully in the air.
"That's the thing that brought Greyback down?" Fawley asked sceptically.
"What were you expecting?"
"Something more fearsome," he said with a shrug. "That thing is almost cute."
"Since when did cuteness make something less dangerous? Or have you never met a cat?"
Fawley's mouth resembled a Magikarp's for a moment. He cleared his throat and turned staunchly to Nihilego.
"How much venom can it provide us with?"
"A fair amount, if we ask nicely."
"I'll get some vials, then."
He opened the cabinets with a flick of his wand and withdrew a crate of empty vials. He levitated the crate onto the countertop and pulled three out with one hand.
"Er," he mumbled, "can you get it to give the venom?"
Moon plucked one of the vials from his hand and moved over to Nihilego. The Ultra Beast hovered closer to her and offered one of its appendages. Moon held the vial underneath, and a watery, deep purple liquid started to slide off of Nihilego's limb in droplets.
One vial was filled, and then another, and another, and soon the whole crate had been filled to the brim with Nihilego venom.
"Don't touch it," Moon said briskly as Fawley went to pick up a vial. "The venom is absorbed through the skin. Use gloves."
"Why aren't you using gloves?"
"I've built up an immunity."
Or rather, her exposure to Ultra Space, countless Nihilego, and being repeatedly drenched in the venom had made her conclude that she was immune. She went over to a sink and rinsed her hands thoroughly of the purple venom. Fawley pulled on a pair of gloves and started to mix the contents of the vials with the base potions.
"So," Fawley conversed, "besides pouring the cure into a wound, I'm also thinking of inhalation and a topical treatment—don't give me that look, you said it's absorbed through the skin—and maybe a small dose to ingest. We'll be keeping watch to make sure there aren't any issues."
"What will you do when the full moon arrives?" she queried.
"Lock them in separate rooms and use as many wards as possible to keep them there. Monitor their statuses with more wards. The usual when a werewolf is brought in."
"Can't imagine it happens often."
"More often than it should," the Healer said. His voice was soft, but there was a surprising amount of rage behind it. Moon wanted to ask why, but spotted a clock hanging over in the corner of the room.
"I should be getting back to school," she said, returning Nihilego to its ball. Fawley nodded, capping off the flask he was working on and leading her out of the lab. He guided her back upstairs and through the Floo. Both landed in the empty classroom that they had left from.
"It's been nice working with you, Moon," Fawley said, once again cheerful. He mimed tipping a hat towards her before leaping back into the fireplace and vanishing. Moon was left alone, completely dazed and exhausted. She tilted her head towards the ceiling and let out a long sigh.
"I better get started on my homework."
Fawley's little spiel about terminal illness and lycanthropy is a mixture of stories I've heard plus the stuff I've read.
Ultra Sun and Ultra Moon have just been announced. I'm really looking forward to them, but I have no idea what to expect. In all likelihood, they won't affect the storyline, but I still have to wait and see. A twenty second trailer doesn't show much.
Review?