A Marauder's Guide to Falling Apart

Chapter Twenty Three

Her foul mood did not go away by the time her shift had started. It was thankfully the last week of her practicum in the Spell Damage unit, and at least she could look forward to separating herself from Patrick and thus alleviating the tension that clung to her relationship with Sirius.

But even Patrick seemed to be in a bad mood about something or other and he was taking it out on those working and the patients he was treating. James' words clung to her all evening, and though she had a difficult time picturing his version of Patrick, the one currently berating Douglas for placing a chart in the wrong spot on the desk made it a little easier to believe.

Marlene was happy to take the clipboard for a young patient who had lost a finger just so she could remove herself from the toxic vicinity of the healer's desk where everyone had been affected by his mood. Even Freya, who was normally very happy, had a scowl on her face as she scribbled away at her chart outside the adjacent treatment room.

"Room twelve is waking up," Marth looked up from the desk as Marlene approached nearing the end of her shift. Martha seemed much happier since Patrick had removed himself for his evening break. "Some nasty hex of some sort. He came in this morning in sheer madness; screaming like a banshee and trying to gouge his eyes out with his fingernails. We put him under a heavy sleeping potion, but he needs a check over to see what's wrong with him. I want you to come with me in case he's still agitated."

Room twelve was dark when they approached, and Martha lit the room to reveal the patient cowering away in the corner. His eyes were wide and shifty, and he was cross legged and rocking back and forth, blood streaming down his fingers from where he was viciously attacking them with his teeth.

"Mr. Rookwood," she ran over to him. "Mr. Rookwood, no! You need to stop biting. You're going to tear your skin to the bone! Marlene – grab some of the calming draught. Quickly!"

Marlene hurried to the cabinet and grabbed the familiar blue bottle that was labeled:

For patient use only. Here's looking at you Figley!

Apparently one of the healers liked to occasionally take calming draughts during work when high stress cases came in. However, Patrick had grilled into them how important it was not to take anything that could compromise their ability to think quickly. She noted many of the other potion bottles had similar labels, though not specific to Figley - whoever that was.

It took both of them tremendous effort to subdue the patient in order to get the potion into him. Once they did, it was only a matter of seconds before he had relaxed his mouth and allowed his fingertips to drop away from his crimson stained mouth. Marlene felt nauseated at the sight of his bloody, gnawed fingertips and had to look away for fear she might be sick.

He continued rocking back and forth though; eyes still wide and flittering around the perimeter of the room as though terrified by something unseen.

"What happened to him?" Marlene questioned. Whatever had struck him had been extremely powerful in order to cause such a delirious state.

"I don't know for sure," Martha shrugged. "He came in from the Ministry earlier. Nobody could tell us exactly what he was hit with."

"Well that makes the job easier," Marlene muttered. The two of them struggled to pull him from the floor and get him back into his bed. She noted for the first time that he was young, and couldn't be that much older than herself. His brown hair was in chaos and had remnants of blood smears from where he had attempted ripping chunks out of his scalp.

"What are you two doing?" Patrick was in the doorway. His thundering voice made Marlene jump in her spot and she turned around to see the most menacing scowl on his face before he stormed into the room.