#714 words

[asheewrites]

Mr and Mr Nice

The First Meeting

A routine assignment. Removal of appendix.

Nothing out of the ordinary – an inflammation caused it to swell, cooling packs were considered useless, it needed to be removed. Operation with a periscope was entirely possible.

An uncomplicated procedure he'd done over a hundred of times and never had any trouble with.

Of course, that did not mean a patient that needed to undergo the procedure would feel safe before it happened.

So that was why Raphael Israfil, resident surgeon, had been called to a patient for a talk. They had requested it. It was still somewhat unusual that the surgeon was requested. He was not too good at talking to people.

But here he was, walking through the door, taking a last glance at the patient file to at least know the name, which was... ah yes.

„Good afternoon, Mr. Loew, I am Raphael Israfil, the operating surgeon tomorrow and here to answer any questions you might... have...“, this pause hadn't been planned. Thankfully, Raphael's face was schooled to be mostly expressionless, but that pause couldn't have been prevented.

It... simply... didn't happen too often that someone appeared in front of you that was exactly 'your type'. He hadn't even been aware that he'd HAD a type up to then. Much less that it was decidedly male, apparently. But here he was. Sitting down on the chair next to the bed, while the man nervously pointed at it with a... nervous smile.

Raphael did everything he could to shove the word 'adorable' from the forefront of his mind. And put on a professional smile. He was very glad he had so much practice with that. His smile would be more nervous than his otherwise.

Unfortunately for different reasons: „Ah. Well. Yes. I... actually wanted to see the surgeon who will... cut me open tomorrow“, he did sound uneasy, also looked like it, rubbing at the cross in his hand. Had he disturbed him mid-prayer? O-oh!

„... well... actually, there will be only three very tiny cuts. 'Open' is actually a bit of an exaggeration. Or are you... concerned for... different reasons?”, he might have looked at the cross a bit too obviously, since he grew conscious of it himself and put it back around his neck.

The smile Mr Loew showed then had reminded Raphael much of his own: professional, practised, never doubting.

“Ahah. No. Not for that one, at least. No. I always saw doctors as the answer to our prayers to save our lives. Priests can not go that obviously against their belief now, can they?”, he pulled his long, black, shiny hair up over the band holding the cross.

… he should not have had this kind of description in his head.

Yes. Priest. He'd read that before. He IS a priest. Right. Right.

“That is true. And? Now that you've seen me? Could I do God's work tomorrow?”, he should actually, honestly, truly THINK before he said ANYTHING. This... what the hell was wrong today!

Raphael still smiled. Saving face, somewhat. It was a stupid joke? Polite and things?

Two raised eyebrows looked back at him, but he smirked back, somewhat: “I did say I wanted to just see you, didn't I? Well. I firmly believe you are one of God's fine creations”, he chuckled himself, shaking his head, “... as is every human. But... I think it would be better if you explained tomorrows procedure a bit more detailed than this flyer here does anyways, just to give me a better feeling...”, he waved the paper a bit at him and put it on the bed next to him.

… at least he hadn't reacted with anger... right?

“But of course, please, I'm ready to answer any question”, with that, Raphael could relax a little and deal with familiar territory. It... went a lot smoother when he could concentrate on the paper. The explanations were trained and something he knew by heart. And so the meeting ended on a professional note. Perfectly reasonable and with him thanking the surgeon. It sounded sincere, too.

He might have not completely ruined his image there.

They would talk after the operation the next day. He'd wanted a full narcosis.

He felt it was better that way, too.

[paraakeet]

An Examination of Elm

Species of trees having specific human personalities and other worldly connections have been seen in many cultures both magical and muggle. My own wand's wood is elm. A common tree, it can be identified by it's broad leaves and winged seeds. The elm tree is very bendable and withstands water well, often making it prime material for boats. It also grows quite large which makes it dangerous. Heavy elm branches have been known to fall without warning and kill people. They are also often used for coffins.

Like most British witches and wizards I got my wand from Olivander's and so that's where my research began. He writes of the elm wand: “The unfounded belief that only pure-bloods can produce magic from elm wands was undoubtedly started by some elm wand owner seeking to prove his own blood credentials, for I have known perfect matches of elm wands who are Muggle-borns. The truth is that elm wands prefer owners with presence, magical dexterity and a certain native dignity. Of all wand woods, elm, in my experience, produces the fewest accidents, the least foolish errors, and the most elegant charms and spells; these are sophisticated wands, capable of highly advanced magic in the right hands (which, again, makes it highly desirable to those who espouse the pure-blood philosophy).”

This is quite a lot to say about someone's potential and I'm glad I wasn't aware of it at eleven. I'll try to examine my own personality as objectively as possible to see how closely I match the description. Firstly, I am a Hufflepuff. I've never much thought about being anything else. I understand the complaints and dislike the stereotypes but I can't say that the core values and subculture doesn't suit me. I work hard at the things I care about. This has included my education, occasionally to an obnoxious extent. I'd like to think myself as loyal, both to my friends and to the school, both of whom I owe so much to. My identity does extend beyond the basic tenets of my house though.

I've never been chronically shy. I can speak loudly if I feel like it, as anyone who spent time around me while I was preparing for my O.W.L.s. I would brag all the time about how intensely I'd been studying, though looking back it all seems a blur of anxiety and late nights. A few other occasions spring to mind but the point is that they're few and far between. I don't usually feel any desire for the spotlight. With the “Boy who Lived” in my year I sometimes would imagine what it would be like to be him. Even if only half of what I've heard has happened to him is true I'd want nothing of that life. An existence in which I have friends nearby to talk and joke about the ordinary challenges of modern life is the ideal for me. I'm unsure how closely this aligns with “presence” and “native dignity”. However I think I'm comfortable with myself. I've never made excuses or pretended to be joking when people laugh at how sappy my life goals are.

Lastly I feel the need to bring up that I had heard of the pure-bloods and elm connection before. When my parents and I got home from Olivander's we had a party for me. More than a few older relatives mentioned it with pride. My family is pure-blood and while I'm proud of my family's history I'm not blind to the prejudices that can accompany that pride if it's taken too far. My batty aunts and uncles are harmless though. I may be acting too serious for the issue. I've been accused of that before.

Thinking about the physical properties of elms reminds me that I do often “go with the flow” as stereotypically Hufflepuff that may be. If there's no need to stir things up I don't. If the situation calls for small talk, silence or even head bopping to music while smiling, I'm more likely to just do what's expected. The death connection is less obvious to me. I highly doubt that my wand chose me at eleven somehow knowing I would be in the Battle of Hogwarts. I don't know if I caused any deaths there.