Trigger Warning
Graphic descriptions of an attack (by plant). Blood and injuries discussed Immediately Following THIS
23 June 1920
6:00pm
Brazil, Jungle Hospital
Her face held no color, except somehow still looked flushed with fever. Sweat beading on her forehead, her eyes moving restlessly behind her lids stuck in some never-ending nightmare. Bram stood next to the magically floating stretcher and held Matilda’s left hand, Benji steadfastly clutching her right. She jerked suddenly, letting out a small sob of pain.
“Can’t we make this process go faster, we need to get her to St Mungo's IMMEDIATELY!"
It felt like days since the attack in the jungle, in actuality it had only been a couple hours. Once the vine had been detached fully, the guides made quick work of securing her and assessing the situation. It was deemed necessary to apparate to the nearest medical center, on the outskirts of the jungle in a remote magical area of Brazil. Each guide laid a hand on Matilda and took the hand of Bram and Benji and before they could blink the monthly crew was standing in the reception area of a very primitive medical facility.
Healers and nurses swarmed their group, pushing Benji and Bram out of the way to get closer to Matilda. They talked in their native tongue, which made the scenario all the more strange. The doctor, while competent, was young and from the way things seemed to be playing out, inexperienced. Nurses pointed and gesticulated with their hands, the doctor’s brows furrowed, he looked shaken. A nurse came over and shooed Bram and Benji behind a curtain, surely to give them more privacy.
Her eyes were kind, but worried. “Where you from?” she asked in broken English. “London.” Bram said in a scratchy voice. She nodded. “We do…” her brows furrowed. “We do things. You take her… Mungos?” She looked at Bram with a question in her eyes.
“St Mungo's, yes. I should take her there?” Finally, something for him to focus on. “Yes. Quick.” she rattled off, but then disappeared behind the curtain. Bram paced the small area, hat in his hand twirling it between his fingers, waiting for something to change. One of the guides came up then, face filled with apology. Thankfully this was the guide who spoke fluent English, Bram needed information. “Mr. Nordstrom. They are readying her for transport. They don’t have the necessary tools to treat her here. We have sent ahead information on the plant to St Mungo's, to better help them treat her. She is…” The man sighed. “I’m sorry to say, she is gravely ill. I will accompany you through transport to speed things along as much as I can.”
Everything moved quickly then. The curtain sprang open, his eyes finally landing on Matilda again. He didn’t like what he saw. She looked even more pale, if that was possible. Her hair was a mess with sticks, leaves and blood from the cut on her forehead. There were scratches, blood and dirt covering her body. She looked so small on the stretcher. They had her clothing cut free and a hospital gown wrapped around her, a blanket over top then magical straps keeping her connected to the board. Her leg was out, but covered in a magical bubble of sorts. Bram’s eyes focused on the leg, it looked to be floating in a substance, suspended just a centimeter above the board.
“It’s a magical stasis. It's freezing the plant and the neurotoxins from entering into her bloodstream any more than it already has.” He wasn’t sure who had said it, but he mentally thanked them for the information. Everything moved fast from there. Benji, standing beside Bram, now carrying both of Matilda’s prized boots in his hand, bless that boy. Within minutes they were apparating to the Brazil branch of the magical transit system.
The process of getting them out of the country was not as smooth as Bram would like. There were questions, documents missing, probably still sitting in their backpacks on the floor of the jungle. Thank Merlin for their guide, he was working his magic (pun intended) to get them out. With a “POP” someone apparated right in the middle of their group, carrying their three backpacks full of all their belongings and documentation. From that point they were off.
By Portkey, Bram, Benji, an unconscious Matilda and their guide traveled to the British Transit hub. Their re-entry into the country had no red tape, thank god, and minutes later they were standing in the triage of St Mungo's. The team was waiting for them and without word took Matilda into an emergency bay and began to work.
The weight on Bram’s shoulders just kept getting heavier. Now that Matilda was in capable hands, the adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins was crashing. With an unstable wobble, he fell into a chair in the waiting room. Leaning forward, head in his hands, the full gravity of the situation began hitting him from all sides. His Granddaughter, his Tills, Tilly-Faye… God she hated that nickname. Clearing his throat, trying to stave off the tears, he sat up and noticed Benji sitting next to him.
Clutching the boys shoulder and giving it a paternal squeeze he managed a strained “She’ll be ok,” he sighed. “She has to be.”
Ends
12:30am
24 June 1920
St Mungos
: Powerplay of Benji approved by Amber
It seemed the wizarding world was trying to fall apart in the span of one night. The chief of staff, who had been meant to take his leave hours before, found himself moving among wards between each return to Emergency and Triage. It was a fine night to be short-staffed, he would say. An overly ambitious potioneer who sent an entire apartment building up in magical fire, training gone wrong on the dragon reserve, poisonings, an almost impressive presentation of psych patients doomed by an errant cast of magic at a party that left many with scrambled minds his staff had assured him--with time--could be fixed.
Those were only the ones Dorian had been told about in the last hour or so. The man who'd had plans to retire to his home for an early night with some quiet reading or perhaps a walk around London, found himself instead dealing with many families (wailing or otherwise), medical decisions that needed higher approval, and little more than a tepid cup of coffee and an enchanted clipboard that helped him flip between cases with ease.
The latest to appear was a little girl with fire in her hair but no colour in her face. She'd come in with a man he recognised from the Wizengamot council and a boy who didn't appear to be ill. Thank Merlin for small mercies.
While she was carted away to be handled by his competent but currently overworked staff, Dorian followed the corridor back to the lobby and waiting area, nodding along while an emergency and triage healer gave him quick stat updates on the girl's condition.
Critical.
Not good, but salvageable.
The healer tapered off as they approached the pair, sinking back before turning altogether to head back down the busy corridor, soon to be engulfed once again in the high tension of the night...now morning.
“She’ll be ok. She has to be.”
"That she will be, Mr. Nordstrom." Dorian came to a stop before the man, offering what would be his 20th reassuring smile for the night. The dark circles beneath his eyes gave away his fatigue, but those icy blues were no less attentive and engaged.
"Not much we can give you." They'd only just arrived, after all. "But I was hoping there was more you could tell us." Going in blind was a crude method of healing that hadn't been practiced in centuries, and there was only so much that spells could reveal.
Toxins, certainly, but not every antidote worked the same. Some had adverse side effects, a few of them deadly, depending.
It was always better not to gamble.
"Why don't we start with what happened?"
"That she will be, Mr. Nordstrom."
Bram’s eyes darted around looking for the source, eyes landing on a familiar face. Although, at this moment, his brain couldn’t place the name. He stood, coming eye to eye with the younger man. He looked tired, but alert. Something Bram understood, but didn’t mirror. Hat in one hand, the other hand ran through his unruly peppered hair. The sweat, dirt and humidity from their recent adventures making it flop in all sorts of wrong directions. Disheveled was a good word for it, one that had never been used to describe Bertram Nordstrom.
"Not much we can give you. But I was hoping there was more you could tell us."
A sigh escaped him, filled with exhaustion and bad memories. It felt like days since his feet were on Amazon soil, not hours. “The healer in Brazil sent ahead some information, I was told, but I can tell you what I know.”
"Why don't we start with what happened?"
The story started tumbling out, most of the words coming forth with little thought. The expedition, Matilda’s love for plants and the opportunity for her to learn. Their hike through the Amazon Rain Forest. Rare and exotic (and dangerous) plants.
“We were in, what the guides called, the magical center of the jungle. It felt charged. Apparently it’s an ancient site, shamen and wizards would go there to perform rituals. Anyway, it came out of nowhere. One minute we were walking, the next Matilda was being drug into the deeper part of the jungle. It latched onto her leg, I saw one of the leaves after it was severed. There were tiny little teeth type things on the underside of the leaves. The guides called it Brazo del Diablo, or The Devil’s Arm. Makes sense. If they hadn’t cut the vine, it pulls you in and strings you up,” his voice made a choked sound, realizing just how close Matilda got.
“Sorry. She screamed,” he said, voice wobbling. “Umm, fever, convulsions, the doctor in Brazil said that it injects a neurotoxin. Blood thinner. It sucks out the victims blood, plasma, magic, life.” He rubbed his hand through his hair and roughly over his face, trying to wipe away the emotions that were taking over. “She’s going to be ok right?”
“The healer in Brazil sent ahead some information, I was told, but I can tell you what I know.”
Well, that certainly made things easier. Dorian flipped two pages of his clipboard, turning to the notice sheet for the emergency ward. He held the master file, a stack of papers that each connected to a different ward by protean charms to make communication just a bit easier. With as much care as a tired hand could manage, he scribbled a note for someone to check any incoming correspondence for more information on Matilda's condition.
Dorian was about to thank the man for letting him know, no longer needing to be filled in when all the information was likely waiting in a more precise and succinct manner, but it was already too late. The man's innocuous question, harmless and informative as it was meant to be, sent Mr. Nordstrom into a spiel the likes of which it was uncertain he would recover from.
To his credit, the Frenchman stood patiently and let him get it all out: the girl's love of plants, the opportunity for learning, the rituals, and the English translation for the seemingly deadly plant. There was a part of Dorian that knew the man needed to get it out. One way or another, he had to expel the adrenaline that was surely still coursing through him.
Perhaps he should be examined himself. Stress was a terrible thing to place on the body, and the man appeared to be falling apart.
"Thank you," he said, when he was through it all. "You've been a big help. I'll be sure to pass it on to the necessary staff." White lies, he found, were not such grievous offenses in his line of work. Telling someone they'd been brave for swallowing medicine that was meant to heal them, assuring someone that love was possible after they'd rearranged their own face with a bad potion brew, even assuring relatives they had played a part in their loved one's healing. Simple, practical lies did their own share of heavy lifting within the walls of St. Mungo's, and though Dorian had received confirmation via return writing that someone had found the summary from the Brazilian healers, he let the man finish, throwing in a nod or two while Bertram went along.
"You have nothing to be sorry for; it was a thorough report," he said calmly. Already, blue eyes were appraising Mr. Nordstrom, looking for any signs of shutdown or failure in his body.
Dorian placed a hand on the older gentleman's shoulder, gently but firmly trying to ease him back into the chair.
"As I've said, you have nothing to worry about. She's in the best hands." He let the pair of papers fall back into place, his quill poised to begin writing again.
"And you? How are you feeling? Any lightheadedness? Shortness of breath? Does anything hurt or feel out of the ordinary?"
He turned his gaze to the boy (Benji). "Anything hurting? Any contact with the plant--either of you?"
James had been right, and she hated to admit it.
"You're too lenient Julia, with all of these children. It's the reason we're in the predicament we're in."
She was quiet as she rushed around her sitting room, gathering up her purse, wand and any other essentials she'd need on her quick trip to London to fetch Benji. "I know," she lamented, shaking her head as she scoured the room for pocketbook.
"This can't continue. I told you Benji shouldn't be allowed to travel across the world without us and - "
"I know," she snapped again, honey-brown eyes meeting the same of her brother's. "Listen, you can scold me all you want when I get back. I'll even listen and agree." She shook her head as she moved quickly past James, his mouth falling open for a moment, obviously wanting to continue, but thought better of it. She hurried to the door, wand in hand as she called back over her shoulder, "You've got Kate, right?"
Before he could answer, a snap filled the corridor, and Julia was gone.
It wasn't often the woman found herself flustered, but St. Mungo's had a way of breaking her composure.
It was here that she'd brought her father for all of his appointments in the lead-up to his diagnosis and after, his treatments. It was here that she'd watched her world fall apart, that she'd been left with a sense of unknowing in a world where she'd always felt sure.
It wasn't a place she enjoyed being, and just the familiar smell of the lobby was enough to turn her stomach.
Matilda was hurt, she knew that much, but outside of what had happened - well the details hadn't exactly been thorough. She had no idea if her son was alright, only that he'd been brought here with Bertrand, and she was to come as quickly as possible. As appreciative as she was for the brief message, a little more detail would have been a mercy to her already fraying nerves.
She hurried through the doors, and directly to the front desk, inquiring about Matilda before the receptionist could even greet her. The woman nodded behind her, and Julia's gaze fell quickly on Bertram, looking completely wrecked and anxious, and a man - whom she assumed was a healer, speaking to him.
Benji, thank Merlin, was sat as well, looking absolutely shell-shocked, but otherwise alright. Julia rushed towards them, not noticing as she carelessly bumped her shoulder into the healer. She crouched down in front of Benji just as he answered.
"N-no. I think I'm alright..."
"Hey." Her soft voice came, as she ran her hand through her boy's hair, his eyes falling to her, worry flooding hazel irises. He was shaking, his lips parting to say something, but coming up short. She knew this look in his eyes, knew the way he froze when fear took over him. She nodded gently at him, understanding immediately, and stood back up, trying to figure out which of the two men she spoke to first.
"Are you sure he's alright? You've checked him over?" she asked the healer. "He's got scars on his head and beneath his ribs. If he's hurt they can..." she was rambling, trying to gather her composure. "And his hand." She knew she wasn't making much sense now, but she could ask after Matilda once she knew her boy was alright.
"Do you need to take him back for an eval?" She looked over the healer skeptically. He didn't seem to have any urgency behind whatever it was he was doing, which left little in the way of her confidence in him.
As the Doctor asked Bram if he had been hurt he just shook his head. He was fine, shaken up and distraught, but fine. Which made this all worse. She shouldn’t be the one laying in that bed.
"N-no. I think I'm alright..."
Bram barely noticed Julia walk in, but when Benji spoke up, the group of four came into crisp focus. God, Benji. The poor boy looked stricken. He had witnessed his best friend nearly die, bringing on a new wave of guilt.
Julia went into protective momma-bear mode. A job she seemed more than equipped to handle. Bram turned his back to the group as they discussed Benji. If he was injured, Bram didn’t know what he would do. Wiping his eyes, a few stray tears escaping down his cheek. The realization that Tilly may never wake up and that the same fate could have befallen Benji was too much to cope with.
His hand found the seat of a nearby chair, reaching down, he braced himself and fell into the hard plastic seat with a thud. His head went to hands, eyes closed and he prayed. To what god, he didn’t know. All of them would do.
Ren,
I know getting a letter from me is probably not what you expected. I’m sorry to write this, but Matilda was hurt during our expedition in the Jungle. The Doctors say she is out of immediate danger, but she still hasn’t woken and they are unsure what, if any, permanent damage there may be.
It’s a long story, one I would rather tell you in person. I have included a portkey for your use whenever you would like to visit. I’m sure Matilda would love for you to be here when you’re able.
For now, she is in the paediatric intensive care unit at St Mungo’s. They don’t want a lot of visitors, but I have cleared you, Benji and Rae to come whenever you want. Her vital signs have been getting better, so we hope that the treatment is working and that she will wake up soon. We arrived back in London 6 hours ago. It's been a rough night, but we hope things are going to get better soon.
Please come when you can. I will answer your questions and explain what happened.
Bram
June 24th
7:00am
It had been only 6 hours since their feet touched London soil. It felt like days. Weeks even. Matilda had been in triage and emergency for over four hours, which was far too long in his book. From what he could gather, potions and spells had been used to dislodge the plant. It was still clutching to her leg, but they had stopped the vine from sucking the life out of her.
Sitting next to her hospital bed, still in the clothes he wore 24 hours ago, Bram watched Matilda lay there breathing. She looked peaceful in her sleep. The nurses had cleaned her up some, the scratches and cuts that lined her body were gone, the color was returning to her cheeks, but she still looked sickly and pale. The convulsions had thankfully ceased, but the fever was just as high, if not higher. Her bodies natural defense against the neurotoxin.
Bram’s eyes went to the vine, the usually paleness of her skin was now bright red around where the fern like vines had sunk their teeth into her leg. Angry red welts a sign of just how painful it probably was, thankfully she wasn’t awake for that. There was a bubble like charm around her leg once again, stopping the neurotoxin from moving through her body and preventing the vine from latching onto another unsuspecting host. Every so often the vine twitched, and if he wasn’t mistaken, it almost looked like the edges were wilting, which Bram was taking as a good sign. He had to hold onto the small things, otherwise he would go crazy with worry.
Recieving the letter at camp first thing in the morning was one of the stranger experiences he'd ever had. Sure, there had been stranger events; magical worlds here and flying cleaning supplies there. But as soon as the reception had passed through the letter to the fourteen year old boy, a letter with the label [URGENT] and [Caution: Portkey Inside], his mind could only start to wander of the possibilities. Those possibilities narrowed when his eyes landed on the sender.
Bertram Nordstrom.
'Matilda...'
It was the only thought that crossed his mind. It could only be about her. Under no other circumstances would someone portkey him away from camp in such an abrupt manner. It had only been a small time ago where they'd been couped up together in Sweden. After their blissful moments, they had gone their separate ways. Ren was headed to the facility, barely an option as a ward of the state. Matilda had decided to go farther than that. Halfway around the world, farther.
Something must had gone wrong in Brazil.
The envelope trembled slightly in his hand. The answers were within, but the fear of his thoughts actualizing once he read the message. The front desk of the facility had patiently waited for the boy to get his bearings together.
The next few hours were a blur. Opening the letter, the wave of emotion that poured from the boy. Having to write to the childrens home, having to wait until the next day to hear back from them. All in all, a cruel twenty four hours had passed before he was finally given back the portkey meant for him. A moments hesitation for what would be waiting for him on the other side took hold, but he quickly shook it off as an unwelcome yet familiar pull warped him to nothingness once more.
The landing at the lobby of St. Mungo's was not pleasant.
The murmur of the crowd crossing from section to section, the multitude of medical maladies surrounding him. It was all a lot to take in after being ripped from one building to the other in a matter of seconds. But he had to push past the head spin.
"Bram!"
He ran towards theh familiar face, if not for Matilda simply because there was nowhere else he knew to go. Exhaustion built, the full day of tension had bubbled from simply seeing the man who wrote the letter telling him the girl he loved was still not awake.
"How's Matilda?! Where is she? Has she woken up yet!?"
June 25th
9:00am
Hospital Hallway
Bram stood next to the ward door where Tilly lay, still sleeping. His beard had grown scruffy, after the time in the jungle and now the days in the Hospital, not shaving had made the usually put together gentleman nearly unrecognizable. Thankfully he had showered since arriving to St Mungo’s, the staff feeling sorry for him, let him shower in Tilly’s patient bathroom, or they were tired of smelling him. It was probably the smell. He had sent an owl home, asking the house elves to bring some necessities. He had barely slept and refused to step a toe outside until Tilly woke up and was out of danger.
This time of morning was his least favorite. The healer on duty had changed hands a few hours ago, the new healer on shift was in with Tilly, changing her bandages, checking her vitals, cleaning her up and changing her gown. The containment charm on the vine would need to be redone soon as well.
"Bram!"
Hearing his name was a shock to the system, causing him to do a double take. He knew that voice, and recognized the worry in his voice and shining through his eyes as if looking in a mirror. As ren came closer, Bram took a deep breath. He wasn’t looking forward to this conversation.
"How's Matilda?! Where is she? Has she woken up yet!?"
Placing his hand on Ren’s shoulder, he gave a paternal squeeze, like only a father or grandfather could manage. “Come over here, it’s quieter and we can talk.”
Steering Ren over to a small quiet alcove, Bram looked at him with a stoic expression. “I’m sorry I had to send a letter, but I couldn’t leave her.” Besides her friends, Bram was all Tilly had in this world. Her parents and Grandmother had been put on the No Contact list, he wouldn’t subject her to them in any state, but especially not in her critical condition.
“As I said in the letter, Matilda was hurt in the jungle. She hasn’t woken up yet, unfortunately. The doctors say she is getting better, it’s just been very slow.” Running his hand through his hair, Bram went into the long story of what had happened in the jungle. The fun they were having, the hot weather and long hikes. The plants she had written about in her journal, the cuttings she had taken to try and grow them at Hogwarts.
Getting to the attack, his voice changed. It was a story he had told many times over, and now took on an almost robotic tone. Tilly stopping to tie her shoe, the vine wrapping around her leg. The scream that he still had nightmares about. Her being pulled through the jungle. He skipped over the more gruesome parts, the blood thinning, her leg bleeding profusely, how pale she was, the convulsions. Ren didn’t need those details in his head.
“They have her on a number of potions. Her color is starting to come back. The vine is still clinging to her leg, but it looks to be dying. They hope that once it dies off, she will wake up. The plant pumped her full of a neurotoxin, their not sure if it has caused any permanent damage. Only time will tell. For now, we wait.”
The healer came out as Bram finished the story, letting him know that Tilly had been cleaned up, bathed, new bedding and a new gown. Her morning potions had been administered and her fever was down from 40c to 39.2c. Progress.
“Come, lets see your girl.” He said, walking towards Tilly’s room. “Just to prepare you, she looks pale, but her skin is damp with fever. Her cheeks are flushed. There are some cuts and scrapes that are healing. The minor ones were all healed, the ones left were rather deep. They should be gone soon. Her leg is surrounded by a containment field. You will be able to see the vine, but no one can touch it. The bubble cuts off the oxygen to the plant, and is stopping it from feeding off of her. It’s thought that in time, it will whither and die. It also stops the neurotoxin from pumping through her system.”
He stopped, just outside of a door. “Are you ready?”
"Ensure the potioneers have the new list on my desk by 4."
"Yes, sir. And the invite to the summit?"
"Remind me when that was again."
Dorian walked down the corridor with his personal assistant, his eyes trained on the checklist attached to his clipboard while the young man tried to take notes. John was a good kid. He was organised, eager to please and usually kept his schedule reasonable. For some time now, he'd considered offering him a raise if for no other reason than how, despite the chaos that seemed to have erupted recently, he was able to keep on top of everything with little issue.
While John flipped through the parchments on his own clipboard, a casual glance up caused sharp blue eyes to land on the familiar face of the man who'd taken up residence in his hospital.
He'd asked that the healers not entertain the behaviour--vagrants would be a problem in larger numbers and family, well meaning as they were, could often get in the way. There were policies in place for a myriad of reasons. Despite maintaining his stance on this, it had been brought to his attention that some of his healers continued to indulge the man.
Tsk.
"Good morning, Mr..." Dorian paused a moment, wracking his brain for the name that fit the face. On any given day, there were so many faces passing through, so many introductions and so many names. This one held slightly more recollective value from their shared post but even that was new and the information still fleeting. "...Nordstrom."
Yes, he thought that might be it.
He came to a stop by the man and boy at the door to his granddaughter's room, evidently catching them at what would be the beginning of a visit.
"Al-Sayeed," he said by way of brief greeting for the boy.
"I heard she's doing well." There was no need to begin with bluntness, regardless of his French upbringing.
”I was hoping to have a word with you, when you have a moment.”
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