It was a spectacle to watch her, Bennett making sure he would remember her, as well as let the woman know he saw her, could recall her features, it was a powerful thing, to know you were remembered, for better or worse, for if one meant ill-intent, they could be spotted by him easily. Thus, he spent his time memorizing the color of her hair, the gait she held, the curve of her eyes, working to ignore the pain in his leg and chest, his thoughts, his eyes at times not on her face, but her hands, her posture, the way something felt familiar about them, something to recognize if he looked hard enough, though this could be rationalized as he would have seen her before at the hospital, how often he would find himself upon them, enough to have a regular healer. He wouldnât speak for a moment, keeping his gaze on her cheekbones, the lines around the eyes, her age, no older than he, and this was another concern, if she would know what she was dealing with, if she would know him, the breath of a ghost of past, still present in the way she walked, in the turn of her head, the way light held itself on her cheek, and it only mixed itself with the pain of his chest, all he would notice, all he would recognize.Â
âDo you even know what the hell youâre doing?â His words were tinted with how much hurt was held within him, the injuries he withheld that afternoon.âAnd Iâll need more than a name,â a pause, âOnly a name means shit,â this was to say he needed to know she could take care of him before she began, a werewolf shouldnât be given to a trainee, to let him be the experiment. While his tone wasnât entirely civil, it was given with concern, which out offset the usual feeling of his dialogue, a bit more human in its deliverance.Â
It would be ironic, however, that the way Bennett hid himself in this world was to be as inhuman as he could manage when it mattered the most, when halting a riot, when making his appearances among events ordered by the Ministry, he was never entirely human, a werewolf, and yet there, the one part of his person was erased from the world, from the minds of those around him on purpose. He hid his true blood status by being one where this fact wouldnât matter, and those who did know either way, werenât one to share such secrets so easily, were such friends as well that Bennett knew their pasts, their own hidden ways.
To the eyes of the public, Bennett couldnât be a muggleborn wearing a mask, a muggle among magic, as he always felt, as he always knew, still believing that his magic wasnât his own, an accident. He wasnât laying low, or working to make sure the world forgot him, but would remember, would know his name as its connector to the pack, Greyback wasnât much of a name, but a title to share that he was one of them, as he could no longer be a Moreno, the idea of that Bennett had to die. There wasnât a way to ignore him, and while he may have been a weak link in the pack, one of the younger, without the history of magic to help him navigate on his own, without the innate personality to belong among the brutal natures he was meant to behold, to protect. In a way, he did keep his mouth shut, he did hide, but only in the way that he masked himself, speaking in a diction that he had to observe, and was still learning. His dialogue, especially in imperative moments, was something practiced, rehearsed, and at times, this was a notable fact, at others, frightening how well he worked to adapt.
There was no deep thought processing yet that has occurred on whether this was the best place he could be in the middle of this new government, if there were better options for his own morality, just as he was never ready to do so, and still isnât. The pack being the last thing he could consider a home, the last people to care for, and the last of his friends among the Death Eaters, belonging was a simple thing, and a childhood need, to be among others who could accept him as it was always a question of whether he would be seen as a monster or not, and those who knew about him before the graduation stayed with their factions, as would he, as he would stick with those he trusted throughout his life, trusted with his life. Loyalty is what mattered to him, more than laws, and he couldâve made a good Gryffindor or Hufflepuff if it wasnât for the ways he still wished to be a hero, though in many eyes, his heroic acts werenât directed in the right path, taken too far, brainwashed, in a sense, even if it was by himself, becoming his own tragedy, spilling blood in the name of protecting family and not willing to notice the split in what was truly justice.
( And he has already killed, forming these ideas as concrete in his head, that he belonged here after what he did, what he did to Lily and those after her, all the pain he caused, the fires he created, Lily was the beginning, the gateway. He would have gone down this same path either way, however, the door to returning to who he was sealed with her death, as death couldnât be taken back, she couldnât come back and neither could he. )
His life wasn't in his hands, not like hers had been that night. He wouldn't die if she walked out of that room with her dignity intact, as he would obviously get another healer and she would get lectured for quitting on a patient. There was nothing that made her stay, but she wanted to. If Bennett didnât recognize her, then no one would ever, and that was a test she refused to fail. He of course would get better in no time; it was in his DNA and his werewolf nature, so it wasn't like he needed a healer. This was about being the bigger person, the one who would do her job and make sure he healed correctly. The one who would pretend he hadn't tried to kill her, the one who had stolen her life from her.
Lily took a deep breath and stopped, looking up at him. "Of course I know what I'm doing, Mr. Greyback. I'm just trying to heal your leg, nothing else." The was such anger in the way he spoke, and Lily wondered if it was a werewolf thing or it was true that he had turned into a different person. He had fooled her once, but wouldn't twice. Healing her was her job; having any compassion for him wasn't something she would allow herself to. He didn't deserve it. He was a murderer. He hadn't killed her, but surely had killed other people. There were all kind of horror stories about what the pack would do just for fun, to terrorize people and make sure they all respected them. She supposed they shouldn't be surprised. For centuries, people had pushed them aside, not giving them a place to belong. And now they had power and they were going to use it.
It was funny though, because they weren't nothing more than just guard dogs for pureblood people. If they liked lying to themselves, then Lily wouldn't be the one to give him a reality check. "My name is what I can give you. If you're not comfortable with me, I'll gladly tell my supervisor." That would be easy, it would give her a reason just to leave him there and never talk about this again. And she should, save herself the pain and just get the hell out of there. It was enough torture as it was she didn't need to make it longer. It was just too much and she wasn't ready for it at all.
She was a professional. Liking the patient wasn't part of the deal, she only had to do make sure he got better and out of there. Fighting him would be childish and not what a good healer would do, so she simply ignored him as she continued working on his leg. If he truly wanted her gone, then he would say so, if not then she would just pretend he didn't say anything. He just wanted her gone because he was a jerk. She wanted to be gone because he was a murderer. Karma was with her in this one. She only hoped it would come back to bite him on the ass and that she would get to see it.
