Post by nameface on Aug 8, 2012 0:08:25 GMT -5
Meical could not think of a worse way to spend his final Friday before leave. At the personal request of the minister for magic, his supervisor had been instructed to visit and treat a recent ‘arrival’ to the Azkaban prison. According to his supervisor it was an opportunity to demonstrate the “compassion” of the ministry to prisoners in an attempt to make some realise just how much better their lives could be. What was unusual, was that he had been personally selected to assist in this process. His supervisor, an older balding healer by the name of Figgis, had taken a liking to Meical since he demonstrated an ability to make decisions without second guessing himself and even though he was still a trainee healer, was known for getting the job done. Perhaps that was why Figgis had insisted that Meical be his assistant instead of one of the trained medi-wizards, or perhaps this was some kind of sick and twisted punishment designed to ‘welcome him to the profession’ or something equally as cruel. Either way, once it was decided Meical was essentially stuck with it. After all, should he refuse to go he would jeopardise the reputation.
It was for this reason that the young healer found himself sitting alone, in what he assumed was generally used as a dining room for prisoners. Ever since he arrived, Meical couldn’t help but feel completely atrocious with a mix of anger and resentment swirling in the pit of his stomach. In the past hour or so he began to shiver slightly, as the deafening silence echoed within his head. It was the first time Mike had ever seen a dementor, and their eerie, hooded appearance made him understand exactly why this was considered the best place to keep the Ministry’s monsters. Yet, he truly understood why his fellow colleagues gave sideways glances as he left and even a sympathetic pat on the back. He sighed heavily, before taking a small bite out of the piece of chocolate he was staring aimlessly at. The sensation was immediate, like what he imagined muggles would feel then they injected illegal narcotics into their systems. He felt his heart rate rise and a small voice in the back of his head began to tell him he would be leaving soon, everything would be okay, and after this… he would have two lovely long weeks off. That happiness was quickly drained as he stared around at the poorly lit dining hall. He wondered silently just who this really was a dinner hall for. Was it the prisoners who would need to eat a minimum of three meals a day? Or was it the Dementors? who he could easily imagine greedily lurking at every entrance as they drained the happiness of all those around them He could visualise what that would be like; a feast, in the worst possible sense of the word.
The actual surgery wasn’t so bad. Sure, there were a number of hexes that he had to remove from the patient, a few gashes that needed to be magically closed, and even a potion that he made from scratch to be taken daily for the next six to seven days to limit the effects of blood loss. In honesty he had seen patients in far worse condition that were merely mucking around with friends, having fake duels or in wand related accidents. This guy, while it was clear he had received a well-deserved ass kicking was far from being a challenge. It was quite disappointing in a way, one of the only positives about coming all the way to Azkaban was that he felt it would be an exciting learning opportunity. Instead, it turned out to be just another common spell related injury, with the added benefit of creepy moulding rags that sucked the happiness from your soul. If there was one thing Meical had realised from coming here it was how different it was being in a hospital when compared to the real world. It was like living in a completely different community, with no fear of disgusting magical monsters, no being surrounded by insane serial killers and never having to worry about death eaters. The worst they really had to worry about was the occasional pandemic such as the vanishing disease or coming down with a fire cough. Here… well, let’s just say he couldn’t believe the conditions of the prisoners, and he could not understand how the ministry of magic would allow people to be treated so despicably. Sure, they may be the scum of society, but surely even THEY deserve some kind of humane, ethical treatment.
He shivered again as he thought about all those locked away here, and wondered what they would be like should they ever be released, having being drained of energy and happiness. It made him wonder whether in reality, the healing he had assisted in was in fact not a demonstration of compassion. Perhaps, it was the Ministry’s way of punishing people by giving them a fate far worse than death. Frowning, Mike looked towards the door, he could hear footsteps getting closer. He hoped they were that of Figgis’s telling him that as the treatment had been concluded their business on this godforsaken hellhole of a rock was also. Yet as the footsteps became louder he couldn’t help that creeping sinking feeling in his chest. He could tell those weren’t the footsteps of an older-gentlemen who suffered from a significant limp. Those footsteps sounded faster. Shaking his head vigourously, Meical took a huge bite of chocolate and chewed slowly, closing his eyes and giving himself time to think. He seriously hated them right now. His supervisor, the ministry… EVERYONE. How dare they send him in here? He was a bloody healer, not some kind of criminal. If anything they should be sending criminals to St Mungos. Although, come to think of it the thought of Dementors guarding doorways at his place of work sounded even more horrifying then them being here. Either way, if anyone ever made a snide comment about his alcoholic tendencies he would bring this up… because this, right here proved why he drank. It was messed up stuff like this that made him realise he had picked the wrong profession.
It was for this reason that the young healer found himself sitting alone, in what he assumed was generally used as a dining room for prisoners. Ever since he arrived, Meical couldn’t help but feel completely atrocious with a mix of anger and resentment swirling in the pit of his stomach. In the past hour or so he began to shiver slightly, as the deafening silence echoed within his head. It was the first time Mike had ever seen a dementor, and their eerie, hooded appearance made him understand exactly why this was considered the best place to keep the Ministry’s monsters. Yet, he truly understood why his fellow colleagues gave sideways glances as he left and even a sympathetic pat on the back. He sighed heavily, before taking a small bite out of the piece of chocolate he was staring aimlessly at. The sensation was immediate, like what he imagined muggles would feel then they injected illegal narcotics into their systems. He felt his heart rate rise and a small voice in the back of his head began to tell him he would be leaving soon, everything would be okay, and after this… he would have two lovely long weeks off. That happiness was quickly drained as he stared around at the poorly lit dining hall. He wondered silently just who this really was a dinner hall for. Was it the prisoners who would need to eat a minimum of three meals a day? Or was it the Dementors? who he could easily imagine greedily lurking at every entrance as they drained the happiness of all those around them He could visualise what that would be like; a feast, in the worst possible sense of the word.
The actual surgery wasn’t so bad. Sure, there were a number of hexes that he had to remove from the patient, a few gashes that needed to be magically closed, and even a potion that he made from scratch to be taken daily for the next six to seven days to limit the effects of blood loss. In honesty he had seen patients in far worse condition that were merely mucking around with friends, having fake duels or in wand related accidents. This guy, while it was clear he had received a well-deserved ass kicking was far from being a challenge. It was quite disappointing in a way, one of the only positives about coming all the way to Azkaban was that he felt it would be an exciting learning opportunity. Instead, it turned out to be just another common spell related injury, with the added benefit of creepy moulding rags that sucked the happiness from your soul. If there was one thing Meical had realised from coming here it was how different it was being in a hospital when compared to the real world. It was like living in a completely different community, with no fear of disgusting magical monsters, no being surrounded by insane serial killers and never having to worry about death eaters. The worst they really had to worry about was the occasional pandemic such as the vanishing disease or coming down with a fire cough. Here… well, let’s just say he couldn’t believe the conditions of the prisoners, and he could not understand how the ministry of magic would allow people to be treated so despicably. Sure, they may be the scum of society, but surely even THEY deserve some kind of humane, ethical treatment.
He shivered again as he thought about all those locked away here, and wondered what they would be like should they ever be released, having being drained of energy and happiness. It made him wonder whether in reality, the healing he had assisted in was in fact not a demonstration of compassion. Perhaps, it was the Ministry’s way of punishing people by giving them a fate far worse than death. Frowning, Mike looked towards the door, he could hear footsteps getting closer. He hoped they were that of Figgis’s telling him that as the treatment had been concluded their business on this godforsaken hellhole of a rock was also. Yet as the footsteps became louder he couldn’t help that creeping sinking feeling in his chest. He could tell those weren’t the footsteps of an older-gentlemen who suffered from a significant limp. Those footsteps sounded faster. Shaking his head vigourously, Meical took a huge bite of chocolate and chewed slowly, closing his eyes and giving himself time to think. He seriously hated them right now. His supervisor, the ministry… EVERYONE. How dare they send him in here? He was a bloody healer, not some kind of criminal. If anything they should be sending criminals to St Mungos. Although, come to think of it the thought of Dementors guarding doorways at his place of work sounded even more horrifying then them being here. Either way, if anyone ever made a snide comment about his alcoholic tendencies he would bring this up… because this, right here proved why he drank. It was messed up stuff like this that made him realise he had picked the wrong profession.
