'Tis But a Scratch (Dante Boscono)

Timothy was many things. Smart resourceful, kind, hyper. And oh so stubborn. When Timothy was sick or injured, he always adamantly refused to step anywhere near St. Mungos. Perhaps he was afraid of the doctor. Perhaps there were too many memories of his brother. However, Timothy had no choice at this time. The shield around the school created such trouble for everyone. Especially the creature attack. Timothy had fought hard with those beasts as they prowled their way through the building. Along the way, Timothy had sustained quite the injuries. He had let them sit as long as he could stand before he finally breaking down.

Timothy arrived at St. Mungos Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries and made his way inside. For a hospital, the building was very ornate and quite a sight to see. However, Timothy didn't pay too much attention to the decoration of the building and made his way to the Magical Creature Injuries division. Timothy walked into the lobby area and walked up to the desk, signing his name on a registration form. "Thank you." he said to the reception lady.

After a few minutes, Timothy heard his name called and he walked back into the rooms. He passed several rooms with a varying display of injuries. Some minor, some looking as if they needed some care rather quickly. However, Timothy just pushed forward to the room he was assigned to. Timothy's limp, a limp that came and went sometimes (though it was all the more frequent now) followed him into the room. Timothy had waited far too long for this.

@Axel

Things had begun to slow down finally in the hospital. Once the dome was down and people were beginning to return to their everyday lives the influx of creature induced injures dropped drastically. It was certainly nice for the younger healer to be allowed a few minutes to breathe every now and then. His schedule for the day seemed pretty open and was able to let in a few people who came in without a prescheduled appointment which meant he could take his time and get to know his patients a bit more. Dante loved that part of his job. The interconnecting relations he had with the people who came and gone was something he valued. He never wished people would harm themselves so he could talk to them, but he did enjoy their company and loved helping them through their injuries so they can do what they do best.

Today he was given an appointment to look over a man by the name of Timothy Winchester. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Dante just brushed the feeling aside as he had seen many patients in the past few months so it’s possible someone had a similar name. There was a small rap upon his door that was a signal for him to head to the appointed room where his patient would be waiting for him. “Alright I will be there in a bit,” Dante said to the nurse who had given him the signal. The Italian picked up his clipboard and a pen and headed out of his office. With a short walk away he made it to the room and pushed open the door. “Hello Mr Winchester,” Dante said with a gentle smile, “I am Dante Bosoco and I will be the healer in charge of your care today.” He looked at the man’ appearance and noticed he wasn’t that much younger than he was and gave a polite nod before adding, “What can I do to alieve your pain today?”

Timothy looked at the various medical instruments around the room. Some he recognized, others were unfamiliar and Timothy hoped to keep it that way. The room was actually somewhat comfortable otherwise, something that Timothy didn't remember here with his brother. But, that was awhile ago. Timothy still remembered it all very clearly, though. He remembered the anger of his brother's death. However, now that Timothy was older and a little wiser, he no longer harbored any anger against the hospital and it's staff. His brother was going to die with or without their intervention. That's something Timothy learned with the war.

Timothy hadn't been to St. Mungo's since the war. Twice, Timothy had found himself in the care of these healers. The second time wasn't his choice. Timothy sustained some serious injuries after a battle. He was taken to St. Mungo's by a close friend of his who also made his way through the battle. Timothy was injured seriously by flying curses as well as being momentarily incapacitated. Frankly, Timothy thought he was going to die. But he lived. He also practiced his stubborn nature by forcefully checking himself out of St. Mungo's against healer orders and he went off to continue the fighting. A mere two weeks after that, he was fighting at the Battle of Hogwarts.

Timothy sat up as the doctor came in. Boscono sounded familiar to Timothy, however he had no idea why. Timothy shook the doctor's hand. "Hello. I...I'm stubborn and I've sat on some injuries sustained under the dome that I shouldn't have waited on. I'm a professor at Hogwarts. I teach Arithmancy. When the creature attack happened, I sustained some vicious clawing in my chest and getting thrown about injured my leg...again. I was treated here during the war for serious damage in my leg as well as emergency treatment for a blunt curse to the chest. I've not had a lot strength in my chest since then and I sadly was hit by another rather violent force to the chest falling from a winged creature. I suppose...I just need checking up on everything that I've let sit for so long."

Dante sighed and realized he was going to be dealing with a patient who was proud and that meant it might be a difficult case to deal with. Taking a few notes down on his notepad he said, “Well I’m very disappointed in you Mr. Winchester. As you have deduced sitting on these types of wounds only makes things worse.” As the man continued to talk though Dante took more and more notes about his patient. The fact he was a professor at Hogwarts just meant he needed to be treated quickly as possible so he could return to school in time for the next term to teach. Depending on the extent of his injuries this would be very plausible. Though Dante had a feeling this man was hiding some things as the events he told the Italian didn’t seem like they would add up to the injuries he described. Still he would get his answers soon enough.

“Alright so now that the discussion of how you received the injuries and the events that took place after we should begin the actual physical examination to test and see how to go about fixing you up.” Dante took out his wand a transfigured a chair towards him and a table with a few items to help with possible disinfectant with any of the man’s injuries. “If my guess is correct we should probably check on the injuries in question right away so if you would be so kind as to remove your shirt I will begin my examination.”

Timothy knew he was foolish. It was reckless to have let all of this sit for so long. And the doctor knew it. Timothy felt small, like he was a first year who messed up a charm. "I'm rather disappointed in myself as well. I knew better than to just ignore these like they never happened. I rationalized it in my mind by telling myself there was too much work to be done. But, there will be no more excuses."

Excuses were something Timothy made a lot of in his younger years. After Sam died, Timothy became scared stiff of St. Mungo's. Every headache, fever, or slip sent Timothy into hysterics thinking that he would have to go back to the place where he lost his brother, his best friend. He blamed the staff, he blamed Sam, he blamed himself. But it was all in vain. It was no one's fault. It was an accident and Sam was doomed to perish from the minute he hit the ground. St. Mungo's did what they could do.

Timothy removed his shirt as per the doctor's orders. His chest had four even claw marks across it. There was bruising as well. There were scars along his shoulder and arms as well as some permanent marks from the war. "War is is a nasty thing, isn't it." Timothy looked down at his scared body. "But, I've found, at the beach it's a...good conversation starter." Timothy smirked his boyish smirk. Something signature that everyone Timothy had come across seemed to remember one way or another.

Well at least the man seemed to recognize his mistake which was at least something. Dante was expecting the man to get all defensive about why he let it sit or pretend he knew how to care for them, but just ended up making things worse. The Italian gave a curt smile and nod saying, “Well at least you are learning from your mistakes so let’s see what we can do about this then.” With his explanation gave Dante the impression that the man was a hard worker which for someone who was a teacher was most likely a good thing. “Before we being though do you mind if I ask what made you choose your profession,” Dante knew this was a bit unprofessional to ask, but he was very curious himself. He never really put a thought into being a professor himself, but he had seen so many people work hard for their students and despite it not being the most frugal career the fact they all seemed to enjoy it fascinated him.

When the professor did take off his shirt though Dante’s face plummeted at first. He hadn’t seen so many scars in quite some time, mostly because by the time people got to him he was able to rid the majority of injuries so they wouldn’t scar and only those who had wounds that were magical left a lasting effect, but this was something quite different. Still the man seemed quite calm about his injuries in fact he seemed to prize them. Dante took a breath to himself before stating, “Well be that as it may we don’t want these to become worse than they already are.” Dante took his wand out and began muttering some spells towards the claw marks. The first few spells were that to reveal any curses or lasting effects which didn’t yield many results. Dante wrote this information down on his clipboard before testing another spell, “Pes Periit.” The spell cast off a cyan colored light towards the markings and should it work would remove the scar completely, but to no avail all it did was reducing the bruising instead. “Well that didn’t work it seems,” Dante said more so to himself rather than to the professor. “Can I get a description of the creature that attacked you?” Dante asked the man hoping this would help him figure out what kind of spells he would need to do to help his patient.

Timothy smiled again as he was asked why he chose to teach. "Well, when I was in school, I always felt that my professors were people that I could count on, and people that were there to help and not pass judgement. After Sam, my brother, died, I found more and more peace in the professors. Not only were they able to persevere despite whatever was going on outside of the school walls, they never let themselves lose their way. I lost way after Sam, and I lost my way even further after the war. As most of us were, for a few months after the war, I was just a directionless shadow that was carrying himself 'round with no where to go. I remembered back to what the feeling of professors gave to me. And Hogwarts was in need of an Arithmancy professor, something I was rather good at in school. So I took the position to give myself direction, a recovery mechanism after the war. And I hope that in what I do, not letting the dome or the horror show going n outside work it's way into the classroom, I can offer that same feeling to my students and to everyone in the school. And we need that. September is going to be very difficult. Convincing parents to let their kids come back without them is going to be...a very different battle that I'm used to." Timothy flashed that ever famous smirk again.

The doctor seemed very surprised by Timothy's torso. Timothy concluded that he was just used to seeing it, but that for someone who hadn't seen it before, it was quite an interesting array. Timothy wasn't too bothered by his scars. His mother had always told him that scars were chapters of the long novel we were all living. While he knew they were unsightly, he wasn't overly worried about what others thought of them. Most people in the war had some battle marks so, Timothy supposed, it came with the territory. Timothy kind of giggled at the question the doctor asked. "Oh, goodness what didn't attack? There were creatures on professors and students that I wasn't even fully aware existed. I'm telling you, what went on under that dome was insane, unpredictable. A Magical Creatures enthusiasts dream, the rest of us's nightmare. Well, let's see...these marks came from...oh what do you call them? Oh, a Hidebehind. A big one. Nasty one. But these," Timothy pointed to the ones on his shoulders, arms, and chest, "a courtesy of Tebo. I know that's not native to here, so I assume that it was here illegally. It in was some unused catacombs connecting to Gryffindor tower. I reported it to the Ministry but they weren't too concerned with XXXX beast on grounds. They looked for it later, and it seemed to be gone. Whoever it belonged to must have taken it. Like I said, it was madness."

Dante listened to the man’s story and wrote down a couple things while he talked. He was writing notes on the events that happened and his personality. After taking care of people for some many years Dante learned to study their personalities to help with their treatment process. Different witches and wizards took news and spells differently so knowing who this man was part of his duties. Dante wrote so much the first page of his clipboard resembled that of a charcoal painting. Yet his biggest note was the smirk the man gave twice now. Dante figured the man was one who was used to getting his way in most events and despite Dante really wishing he didn’t have to deal with someone like that he had the responsibility to care for this young man.

When he joked about what attacked him Dante felt a bit sad for the man. It must have been a living hell in the dome. Dante was forced to stay here at St. Mungo’s during the events to help care for students who were exposed to the fires and then those whom did escape the walls. Though he probably wouldn’t have been much help to those who were inside the dome, but the yearning to help still lingered. “I’m surprised you survived,” Dante said in response to the hidebehind as it was a very dangerous creature. Then he was also attacked by a Tebo too? “Well we can mend the Tebo wounds pretty well, but you will have to take a special tonic for some pain and the bruising while during the healing process,” Dante said scribbled a potion prescription onto his clipboard. “For the scar though we do have to check if any fluids got into the wound so it doesn’t worsen into a swollen mass upon your body,” Dante said while grabbing a pair of gloves from a box nearby. He snapped the gloves on and got closer to the man scar upon his chest. He began tracing the outline of the scar with his finger to make sure there weren’t any hidden wounds that could open up. Once he was done with that he would then put a small amount of pressure, with his palm, on the center of the scar to test the density of the scar. Should everything be perfectly fine it would show resistance that any muscle contraction has, but if it collapsed into his chest and bloat into masses on the side Dante would be worried.

Timothy watched the healer scrawl away on his clipboard. It was really quite interesting to see a healer at work. It was something Timothy had always been confused by. He was never one that understood too much about how the body worked, but seeing someone who did and made caring for the body look second nature impressed Timothy. And Dante looked to be very good at his job. It took a lot to be a healer, and Timothy had instant respect for Dante being able to keep his mind together considering the horrors that passed through his care every day.

Timothy nodded at what Dante said. "Alright, makes sense. I wasn't even aware there was such a thing to manage pain that way. It sounds very interesting. I was never very medically inclined, so seeing all this is rather interesting." Timothy smiled a full smile, very much unlike his smirk. This wasn't as bad as Timothy had imagined. However, when he saw Dante clasping gloves onto his hand, Timothy's demeanor changed instantly. His smile and smirk faded. He felt some of the color drain from his skin and he felt his heartbeat begin to race. Timothy hadn't been paying much attention to the last two times he was in the hospital due to everything that was going on. However, he remembered every last detail of the evening when Sam was rushed to St. Mungo's.

Sam was out on his broom practicing for Quidditch tryouts. Though no one was sure how it happened, Sam fell from the sky. Timothy's mother saw Sam's fall through the kitchen window. In a flash, the whole family was outside and then they were whisked away to St. Mungo's. Timothy recalled seeing the doctors crowd around his brother. Very visible broken bones. And much blood coming from Sam's nose, mouth, and ears. The impact was immediately lethal. Timothy remembered the doctor's gloves being covered in his brothers blood. And he remembered sitting along a wall when the doctor came out of the room and removed his bloody gloves. The blood soaked gloves rested on the floor and kept Timothy's attention. Though he heard the news of his brother's death very clearly, he couldn't look away from the gloves covered in Sam's blood.

Timothy watched Dante put the gloves on and all of this came rushing back to his mind. Timothy tightened a death grip on the exam table and he scooted his body slightly back on the table. Timothy's skin grew white and he began to sweat. "Wh-what are you d-doing?" Timothy stuttered. 

Dante smiled when the man seemed to be understanding of how medical technologies have gone over the years. This would make things a lot easier in the long run as an open mind to trying new things in the medical field was something Dante felt was needed. He did believe in an air of caution from each person just in case the worse can happen, but to be able to advance still despite these apprehensions was a sign of a good healer. Dante hoped he was good enough to be called someone of that caliber. “There is a lot we can do with the right potions and spells to help heal and recover people should they be sent to our care in a timely fashion,” Dante said coolly before thinking about how almost each case could be viewed as a life and death scenario with a race against the clock. In fact Dante remembered a patient that if they hadn’t gotten to them in time they would have surly died and no one wanted that.

As Dante put on his gloves to proceed with the examination he noticed the color fade from the man’s face. Something was bothering him about this check-up now and obviously it triggered something within him that Dante hadn’t accounted for. Dante quickly raised his hands away from the man when he was asked what he was doing. The man was obviously traumatized by something, but what Dante wasn’t sure of just yet. “I was just going to check the density of the scar to see if there was any fluid build-up,” Dante said as calmly as possible with his hands still in the air where the man could see them. Dante lowered them in front of them and took of the gloves and disposed of them in the proper trash compartment for gloves. “We don’t have to go any further than talking if you wish,” Dante said reassuringly, “Everything we do here is based on the patient decisions unless it escalates to a degree where the patient can’t give us a definite yes or no answer.” Dante grabbed a near-by chair and rolled it towards the man and sat down. “Is there anything you want to talk about or do you want me to leave to for a bit to calm down,” Dante said this as gently as he could as he didn’t want the man to freak out again or even feel like he was being belittled. He just wanted to make sure his patient was ok and didn’t want to harm him both physically or emotionally.

When Timothy saw the man put his hands up in the air, Timothy immediately felt embarrassed. Timothy sighed and shook his head. "I'm so sorry...I know that you're just trying to work and do your job and I..it's foolish of me to react that way. By all means, continue. I won't object." Timothy ran his hands through his hair and raised his eyebrows. Timothy instantly felt like a child. Insignificant. Here was trying to be a rock for the students of Hogwarts and he couldn't even stand the sight of some medical gloves. When Dante pulled up his stool and asked what was the matter, Timothy saw no need in not telling the truth.

"As much as I like to try and say that I've leaped over the boundaries of the past, but there are some hurdles that I've not gotten past. The largest is Sam. My brother. As a child, I was never bothered by St. Mungo's. I came here when my younger brother Bennett was born. And I saw this place as a place of giving, not taking. Well, Sam was all about damn Quidditch. He lived for it. And he died for it. He never went out practicing alone, but for some reason, he had this pull to go practice without taking our father or his friend James along. Mum was alright with it as she could see him from the kitchen window. Out there, he fell from a height that we should have known he couldn't recover from. We rushed him here and immediately every healer on the floor was by his bed."

Timothy pulled on his collar a little, feeling the heat in the room. "He was covered in blood and bruises and his bones were coming out every which way. He looked like a heap...a mess. I remember distinctly the gloves that the healers were wearing were drenched to the skin in his blood. It was on the bed, the floor. I don't even know how long he was dead before they gave up. But...the doctor came out and he threw the gloves to the floor and I was so focused on them. I didn't want to look at Mum or Dad or Sam or James or anyone. But the gloves were swept away and I was asked if I wanted to give my proper respects. I said yes. They opened the door and I saw my brother...my only best friend in a state that no one could come from. We made a pact together at a young age that we would always be with each other. And no matter how much I wanted to bolt out of the room, I stood there for him. I took his hand and I told him I wasn't angry at him. At the time, I was angry at St. Mungo's. In my young mind, they didn't do enough. But as an adult I know that there was only so much they could have done. But I still can't separate the image of my brother from the name of this place."

Timothy reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a locket. He opened it and showed Dante a photo of Sam inside. "We are always together...and he would find me such a child saying all this." Timothy smiled a bit. "I don't know if you've heard about him...but I know that for a while my father tried to get the emergency surgery wing named after him. I don't know it went through or not."

Dante gave the man half a smile and said, “its ok everyone has things they are either afraid of or are objective to it’s not something to be ashamed of. If anything I acted a bit too harshly and should have just gently backed away instead of quickly raising my hands in such a manner.” Then Dante listened to the man’s story about his troubles with the place and the internal scars it gave him. He couldn’t help, but feel sorry for the man and his loss. Dante couldn’t even imagine what he would do if his sister died while playing quidditch. “I have a sister who plays quidditch myself and the idea of losing her would put a damper to my disposition and I can understand you being reluctant to even come here,” Dante said calmly.  “No one is perfect so having this weakness is something you should cherish. It proves you have a strong love for those who has perished and that they will be forever in your heart. Yes a memory such as that is painful and leaves scars that even us healers can’t mend, but those are the memories that shape the person you are today. So don’t feel ashamed for it as it makes you who you are and from what I can tell it made you into a great person,” Dante said this as sincerely as he could as he believed people to be able to change and grow.

Dante couldn’t remember if the emergency ward had been named after his brother, but he would be sure to look later. He had been only in the country for a few years so he wasn’t accustomed to everything about this place, but the years here was something he cherished. They still needed to continue with the exam though, but Dante wanted to be careful of the man’s needs. “Well if you want I can attempt to do this examination without touching you or with your permission I can do it without the gloves.” Dante said this a bit warily as he knew he would probably get in a bit of trouble for not following routine and wearing gloves but he felt this man might be a special case for the rules. “We normally wear the gloves to prevent contamination and the possibility of curse transfer, but we can avoid the protocol if you wish and only you and I will know. It’s all up to you.” He would have to remember not to tell Zach about this particular detail if they went on with this.

Timothy nodded his head at Dante's words. He was right. It was only human. No one with a heart could move past something like that without pain. The bond between family is strong, but the bond between brothers is unbreakable. And that was something Timothy held on to most. What kept Timothy and Sam so close wasn't something that was palpable. You couldn't touch it, or smell it, or taste it. It was something that surrounded Timothy and Sam. And just because Sam wasn't walking on ground anymore, that didn't mean that the essence that was around them was gone. That was something that was going to continue to bond between them even when Timothy was long gone. Timothy rattled these thoughts around in his head, and he let himself smile. Not the boyish smirk, but a genuine smile. Sam would have been disappointed to see Timothy mourning this way. And Timothy never, ever wanted to disappoint his brother.

Timothy took a breath and nodded at Dante. "Keep them on. No need for secrets. I can't be petrified of these little things for the rest of my life now can I?" Timothy moved back the edge of the table and took a good look at his battle worn chest. Timothy shook his head. "I am mental for sitting around on this, aren't I?"

Dante chuckled at the man’s jest about waiting on heading to St.Mungo’s for at least another check-up. “It’s quite alright,” Dante said placing his clipboard on a near-by table before adding, “Besides who knows if I would have been your healer had you not.” Dante smiled at the man and watched his body language and decided he would give into the man’s fears from the gloves. He would help him in any way he could no matter what.

“No I think this might be the perfect time for a different approach,” Dante said with a smile. He had known of an experimental way of testing certain wounds from creatures that had been proven slightly successful overall and it had been recently approved for them to test out on patient, but only as a last resort. Sure this wasn’t a last resort, but to make the man feel much more comfortable was ideal in Dante’s mind. Dante got up and pulled out his wand from his pocket. Taking a deep breath he said, “Glacies Compendium” He waved his wand around the outline of the bruise tracing the area. The sensation the man would feel would be that as if someone was placing ice upon his wound cooling his core. It would also give a sensation like that of pressure as if he was pushing down on the man’s chest with his hand.

Timothy raised his eyebrows as the doctor waved his wand. He felt cold, and then pressure. It was strange to Timothy, but still somehow so fascinating. In truth, the goings on at St. Mungo's were all very interesting. Seeing so many different people with so many different inflictions, being treated by so many different kinds of physicians. It reminded Timothy of Hogwarts. Bustling, busy, yet still organized and highly intriguing. There was a formula down to how things worked. Being an Arithmancy professor, that was a fact that comforted him.

"You know, doctor. I've no doubt that many students in my class will end up working here. After all, I'm sure Arithmancy is used often in this field. It's more than just numbers, it's highly applicable to life. If the students are anything to go by, it looks like in a few years, this place will be filled with some pretty brilliant physicians. Much like yourself." Timothy continued to watch what the man was doing. "I think that this has persuaded me to do something. Last year, the heads of education at the Ministry told me that, should I chose, I could rework the curriculum to prepare students that want to go into the medical field an introduction to the Arithmatic side of Healing. An Arithmancy class is going to start being a basis of hiring for St. Mungo's, so I think that I should start the preparation. There isn't a Healing course at Hogwarts yet, so it may be good for them. What would recommend I try and implement into the course?"