when: october 9th , 1982 where: St Mungo’s who: fenrir greyback + @livelywritings ( greta catchlove )
He found himself terribly out of place at St. Mungo’s; he’d never been to see a Healer, and never had intended to. But one of the youngest in his pack had come down with a cold that had not been fixable through rest, careful watching, and soup smuggled from the nearest town, and so he found himself here, perched on a too-small chair in a too-crowded waiting room, with a list of medications he’d researched himself in the muggle library. There was a lot to be said about Fenrir Greyback, and a lot that stemmed from a reputation of horror, of violence, of lawlessness. But he loved his pack like his own children; they were the only family he had ever known, and the only family he cared to ever have.
And he would take care of them -- even if it meant braving a hospital with barely any money to his name, a list of symptoms he could not fix himself, and a severe aversion to crowds. He’d heard good enough things about the Healers at St. Mungo’s, and had opted to come here, rather than relying on the dubious help of his Death Eater allies. They were all well and good -- but his pack, especially the youngest ( a girl named Rosie, whose nose was as red as her name ) deserved the best.
And so he sat, and waited, and made expectant eye contact with every Healer who passed, silently and nervously judging them as they went. After a long while waiting, he rose and approached the nearest, a kind-faced woman, and tapped her on the shoulder.
“‘Scuse me,” he cleared his throat, attempting politeness, “Been waiting a while. Got a sick kid at home -- any chance I can speak to someone soon?”