ccxlvii. it takes your mind again
Hospitals had an unbearable smell to them.
Elara lacked much experience outside of St. Giles' or Hogwarts' infirmary, but even she knew one could expect a certain odor to waft about the places. Magical hospitals were no exception, permeated by that particular antiseptic funk. Elara sat in St. Mungo's waiting room, her nose wrinkled and her arms crossed, breathing the smell in.
"The woman I know can help. But I won't take you to her unless you agree to see a mind healer."
Initially, Elara had hoped Andromeda's little caveat to introducing her to a witch knowledgeable about her condition would be forgotten or delayed, but Andromeda had been unflinching. She would not take Elara to the person she knew unless Elara saw the mind healer, and Elara would not see the mind healer unless Sirius went as well.
Pursing her lips, she peered next to her from the corner of her eye.
Sirius looked as peeved as Elara did, her father sitting with his feet firmly on the floor and his arms crossed over his chest, their faces set in matching grimaces.
"They're taking forever," he grumbled, glowering at the portrait of a washerwoman on the opposing wall. By the door was a brass sign emblazoned with the words JANUS THICKEY WARD. The ward took up the whole of the fourth floor, divided into sections by long, sterile hallways and the hum of magical barriers controlling possible contaminates. Compared to the larger blocks set up for the long-term or seriously injured patients, the Menslumency area took up a few offices and a partial waiting area near the stairs. The smell of coffee and tea from the lounge upstairs wended down to them, blending with that ugly, lingering hospital odor.
Elara picked at her gloves and jostled her leg, looking toward the Charmed window.
"Bloody waste of time," Sirius muttered.
"Then go," Elara told him, growing irritated by the waiting and his clear desire to leave. Her stomach churned like an anxious nest of worms. "I'll find my own way home."
Sirius answered by huffing and slouching further into his chair.
At first, the pair sat alone in the waiting area, distracted by the smell of breakfast above and the jumbled noise of the wireless, then a man came into the waiting area and chose a seat on the other side of the room below the washerwoman. He had a thick trench coat on despite the miserable heat outside and settled a sizable black briefcase onto the chair next to him.
The jangle of the door opening turned Elara's head, and she held herself still as a short Asian man in casual robes with heavy lines on his sun-spotted face stepped over the threshold.
"Miss Black? Mr. Black?"
Elara and Sirius got to their feet, the latter grumbling.
"Hello, I'm Healer Lane. Won't you come in?"
In short order, Elara and Sirius found themselves seated again, this time on a navy blue sofa with wooden buttons sewn into the cushions, Healer Lane seated in a winged chair across from them. His office didn't much appear as if it should be in a hospital; muted paint covered the walls, the stone floor softened by thick carpet. The shelves lining one wall had to be Muggle in origin, though the books they held were not.
"It's nice to meet you both." Healer Lane smiled, reaching out to touch something on the coffee table between them. He settled his hand on a large crystal ball, the glass frosted rather than clear. "Can you tell me what brings you here today?"
Neither Sirius nor Elara jumped to answer. They looked at one another, and Elara's mouth twitched, pulling from a grimace into a snarl and back again. "You were recommended," she finally said. "By my aunt."
"Is there a reason you felt you should take her up on that recommendation?" The Healer lifted his hand. "And if you would, please touch the receiver for a moment."
Sirius' brow furrowed as he leaned forward to inspect the instrument. "What exactly is it?"
"An Intuiall. In the same family as the Rememberall, if you've heard of it. We use the Intuiall in Menslumency to register emotions by color. We're trained to identify and interpret these colors to better assist our patients in understanding their own feelings."
Curious, Sirius touched the Intuiall just as the Healer had, but Elara hesitated.
"It's perfectly safe, Miss Black."
She didn't snap at the wizard, though it was a near thing. The pressure of their eyes on her finally forced Elara to strip off a glove, and she carefully placed her palm on the glass surface. She didn't feel anything particular, nothing aside from a slight warming beneath her skin that could have been attributed to her own body heat seeping into the object.
"Great! You can sit back now."
Elara snatched her hand away and pulled her glove on.
Healer Lane peered into the Intuiall, nodding to himself as dints of color rose against the frosted texture like blush, or blood to a bruise. "Thank you. Now, as I understand it, you are father and daughter?" They nodded, and he continued. "And this appointment is primarily for Miss Black here?"
Again, they nodded. Elara's neck hurt from how stiffly she held her head.
"Miss Black—may I call you Elara?"
"If you must."
"Elara, I can understand you're anxious. Most people are when they begin sessions with a mind healer. For today, we're just trying to get to know one another and understand our expectations. In the future—."
"Future?" Sirius blurted out. "D'you mean she'll have to come back?"
Healer Lane adjusted himself so he could face Sirius more directly. "Menslumency is not an instantaneous skill, Sirius—."
"Black."
"As you prefer. The mind is complicated and must be guided into healing itself. Potions, Charms, enchantments—all these only go so far, and relieve deeper issues only temporarily." Healer Lane glanced at the Intuiall. "I understand most of those from pure-blood families are skeptical about Menslumency and see it as a relatively new, Muggle-influenced art. However, I can assure you, Mr. Black, whether Muggle or magical, mental health is a crucial aspect of our lives."
Sirius grunted, leaning back into the sofa. Spots of red, brown, and orange stained part of the Intuiall, then disappeared.
"Don't let me get in your way, then," he snarked.
"Not at all, Mr. Black. I understand you're concerned for your daughter, which is why we often have parents sit in on first appointments. It helps them comprehend what is being done." To Elara, he added. "Now, Elara. Could you tell me about yourself?"
She picked at her gloves again, worrying at the seam over the thumb. "I'm a Hogwarts student. I'm in Slytherin. I'm going into my fifth year."
"Do you like Hogwarts?"
"Well enough."
"Do you get along with your classmates?"
"Basically."
"Fifth year is an important year. Are you anxious about your O.W.L examinations?"
Was she? Elara didn't rightly know. Honestly, she hadn't given it much thought, and she imagined Hermione would have a fit when she told her. Bubbles of pale orange popped among broader strokes of lavender.
"No," Healer Lane said, nodding as he inspected the colors. "No particular nervousness in that area, I see. You must be a capable student."
"…Mostly."
"With the O.W.L examinations come a time in most young people's lives where they consider their future careers. Have you given thought to what you might want to do?"
Flickers of pink, dashes of red, thicker bands of orange. "Not…not really."
"Oh?"
"She doesn't have to decide now," Sirius interjected, crossing his arms over his chest once more. "She doesn't have to do anything if she doesn't want to."
Healer Lane nodded, his expression open but placid, showing no judgment. Elara didn't know if that was better or worse. Wasn't he meant to tell her what she should be thinking? Correct something?
"Understandable. Could you tell me what you think your biggest challenge is?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I apologize. By challenge, I mean what you find most difficult to handle in your life. It could be something physical, or something less tangible."
Elara stared at the wizard—then at Sirius, then the Intuiall, trying to decipher what the new, swirling hues meant. What was her biggest challenge? What did he mean by that? Living in a world under the rule of a Dark Lord? Being taught by a psychopath? Regularly fearing for her god-sister's life?
Elara's attention finally came to rest on her hands. They clutched to one another, her fingers digging in until her bones ached.
"My anger," she finally admitted, voice quiet. "My resentment. It…when my temper gets the better of me, my magic…reacts poorly."
Flashes of a shattered lamp, glass raining upon a dark head. A desire curling in her chest, a hatred, a need, a shameful indulgence thinking of how the fire spilled from her wand and destroyed—.
"Our emotions are often reflected in our spell casting. Do you know what causes you to feel angry? What precedes these moments?"
"She gets frustrated," Sirius said before Elara could formulate an answer. "Often with me and the decisions I make for the house."
"Could either of you elaborate on that more?"
Elara said nothing, her tongue like lead behind her teeth. Sirius scratched at his beard, shades of amber and plum blooming like poppies on the Intuiall.
"You have to know who I am. You have to know where I was for the last decade."
"I am familiar with the papers, Mr. Black."
"Elara wasn't raised—properly. No, that's not what I mean. I—damn. There was—a mistake. An attack back in the bad days. Her mother sent her to a group home, and well, they were Muggles. That's the crux of it, innit?"
"It's not because they were Muggles," Elara muttered. "It was because they were religious."
She knew that wasn't the precise truth. Some of the sisters had been nice enough, and the values they instilled in the religion weren't inherently bad. Being an off-shoot of Vatican cast-offs in a vastly Anglican country that had closed secular orphanages and turned their nose up at ecclesiastical group homes had poisoned the well, so to speak. Father Phillips was a monster, but that had less to do with his faith and more to do with his integrity as a person.
Threads of red went through the Intuiall, stringy and thick like clinging cobwebs.
"I take it you had a difficult upbringing. I'm sorry for that, Elara. Would you like to discuss it more?"
She shook her head—a hard, jerking motion that forbade more to be said on the subject.
"That all right. We can revisit the subject when you're more comfortable with it. Would you say your upbringing has affected the relationship you have with your father?"
Elara snorted.
"Ah." Mr. Lane only nodded, a slight, reassuring smile turning his mouth before it disappeared again. "It isn't uncommon for people raised in situations of neglect or abuse to cling to control in their environment. It's perfectly natural, and when that control is challenged, it inspires different emotions in different people. Anger and frustration in and of themselves are not negative things to feel. What we can address is your response to these situations that inspire your anger, frustration, or resentment."
Elara listened to the Healer, and though she hadn't come to this appointment with an open mind, she couldn't help but take his words and think them over. She could see Sirius considering them as well, though with a stubborn set to his chin.
"Is there someone you particularly care for or respect?"
"My god-sister and best friend," she said, the answer immediate. "And Perenelle, and Mr. Flamel."
She couldn't tell if Healer Lane recognized the name, simply continuing with his line of thought. "When you begin to feel the emotions we're addressing—the anger, frustration, or resentment that can affect your magic—I want you to think of those people. Think of how they may react in a similar situation, how they would feel to see you struggling. Often such consideration will disrupt your emotions from spiraling. The people in our lives help keep us grounded and out of our own heads."
Could it really be so simple? More than anything, Elara wanted to feel in control of herself—in control of the strange magic that stained her hands, the compulsion to use the darkest of spells, the hostility that stole her mouth from time to time. She'd expected the mind healer to tell her she was overreacting—that she was hysteric or ungrateful and should bow to Sirius' authority, but he hadn't said anything of the kind.
"I'm going to give you a series of exercises I would like you to practice that will help you identify and navigate what you're feeling at any given moment, and a Charm you can use if you need to feel calm and interrupt a negative spiral. Our receptionist will owl you in the morning to set up reoccurring appointments, and we can see about arranging sessions for your time at Hogwarts."
He retrieved his wand from his pocket and gave it a swish, summoning a quill and a piece of parchment. As he wrote out his list, he addressed Sirius. "I can recommend you to a colleague of mine, Mr. Black, who could see you privately and assist with your transition back into society. They are very discreet." He finished writing, folded the parchment, and held it out to the Elara for her to take. He looked at Sirius. "If you would like."
Elara could tell he would not like, but her father glanced once in her direction, his expression inscrutable, and he nodded at Healer Lane. The wizard wrote up another name on a second sheet of parchment, and it was time for them to leave.
"So, what did you think?" Sirius asked as they reentered the waiting room, the door clicking shut at their heels. "Bloke asks a lot of questions."
Elara shrugged, not sure what to say. Reoccurring appointments, Healer Lane had told her. What would that mean? He'd mentioned her childhood and wanting to discuss it more at a later date. She didn't want that—didn't think she could. Just thinking of the stone bunker where she'd bound made her chest burn as if freshly branded, and her hands tingled with magic. Sweat built on the nape of her neck. He wanted her to relive that?
What am I meant to do again? Think of my friends. Of Harriet and Hermione.
She tried, though she wasn't certain of her success when her anxiety turned toward worrying over their safety instead.
Maybe that only works for anger.
"Little moon?"
Elara blinked, caught off-guard by the nickname. "Yes?"
"All right?" Sirius looked Elara over, a crease forming between his brows. "You went a bit peaky."
"Yes, of course. I'm fine." Clearing her throat, she straightened her shoulders. "Shall we get going?"
Sirius nodded, reaching out to give her shoulder an affectionate squeeze, and they turned to leave.
By happenstance, Elara looked at the wall where the washerwoman's portrait hung above the row of extra seats. The wizard who'd been there before was gone—presumably called into his appointment with a different Menslumancer—but he'd left his briefcase behind. Elara paused, her arm bumping into Sirius', drawing him to a stop as well.
"What's wrong?"
"Someone left their case," she pointed out. "I don't know if it'd be better to bring to leave it at the front desk where it'd be safer or leave it be."
Sirius looked at the case as well, frowning. "Man's probably in the loo. We should—."
He hadn't finished his sentence when the brass latches on top of the briefcase snapped open of their own accord, the sound startling in the otherwise quiet space. The case jostled where it'd been propped against the arm's chair—and the lid came falling open. An immense hissing rose, startling Elara—then snakes started swarming like ooze bubbling out of a swamp.
"Elara!"
She jerked back, gasping, too stunned to look away as serpents as big as her arm writhed, their bodies wetly gleaming as vivid green coils fell to the floor. Three, four, five—more and more emerged from the deteriorating case, some smaller than the others, and one in particular as large as a fully grown man. It arched, curled, and a head rose. The creature reared back, its hood flaring wide, and focused its glowing red eyes on Elara.
What in God's name is that?!
The snake attacked.
Her father's hand on her forearm yanked Elara back with enough strength to rattle the teeth in her head. Sirius had his wand out, sweeping it outward—.
"Vipera Evanesca!"
Nothing happened.
"Shit!" Sirius stepped in front of her, physically blocking Elara. "Protego Serpens!"
The large snake approached the shield—and passed right through it.
What is it? Elara wondered, mind racing. Not a snake. Not a snake, it went through the shield. She needed her wand. She needed to do something. Why weren't her hands moving?
The lights in the ward shifted to a blaring, inky red. "Magical leak detected," a disembodied voice spoke, bouncing off the wall. "Magical leak detected. Guests and visitors, please move toward the exit in a calm, efficient manner."
Footsteps came running, doors slamming and sealing shut to protect the vulnerable patients. Wards activated with humming pops and scintillating flashes. The door to the Menslumency offices popped open, one of the confused mind healers sticking their head out—.
"Close it!" Elara blurted, and a spell sparked from her, slamming the door in the Healer's face before one of the snakes could sneak in.
The largest serpent—a glowing, red-eyed beast, formed of magic, of malice—lunged again, spat, and to Elara's shame, she shut her eyes.
"Ruinam Faciunt!"
Heat glazed Elara's face, and she jerked, eyes snapping open once more as Sirius nearly collided with her. Purple fog burst from his wand, but it was as thick and dense as smoke or exhaust from an ailing Muggle lorry. It sank as if too heavy to float—and where the snakes touched it, they dissolved into dust. The creature locked eyes with Elara one final time before it, too, was devoured by the malignant spell.
"Wh-what was that?" Elara stuttered as the fog dissipated, revealing leftover snake bits and a large, pitted swathe in the stone floor. The lights still blared an angry, urgent red.
"Gaunt," Sirius seethed through clenched teeth. He jammed his wand back into his pocket, then grabbed Elara's hand. Even through the gloves, she could feel how wet and clammy his skin had become. "He's making good on his threat. We need to leave."
"Shouldn't we wait for Aurors—?"
"Since that spell was as black as they come and I don't much fancy going back to Azkaban, we're getting the fuck out of here."
Sirius' hand tightened, and he tugged her into motion. Elara followed, her mind spinning, the stink of hospitals replaced by the pungent aroma of Dark magic. It burned in her nostrils.
She looked down at her robes as she ran, and where the spat venom had touched the hem, the fabric had dissolved.
Someone had tried to kill her. Someone had tried to kill her, and it was most likely the Minister for Magic.
A/N: Ultimately, I have no clinical experience with therapy and hope I did a reasonable job in simulating the scenario here. I decided mind healers would be a part of the Janus Thickey ward because mental health is a long-term, lasting struggle and didn't really fit for any of the other floors imo.
In the bit at the end, I wanted to highlight another reason why Harriet's considered "exceptional" at defense. Here, in the heat of the moment, we see Elara freezes up, whereas Harriet wouldn't.
Elara: "It was terrifying."
Remus: "The snakes?"
Elara: "The therapy."