Pluvia

Summer was over, seemingly, just as quickly as it had begun. The day dawned dreary and grey over London, with heavy cloud cover threatening rain from the very moment watery sunshine broke through to provide an inadequate amount of light that left the street lamps still running well into the early morning. For Muggles it meant that public transport was due to be a nightmare with everyone flocking to the underground to provide some sort of protection from the onslaught of water from the clouds that had rolled in from the north. For Wizards there was a cleaner approach and Apparation spots within various workplaces were created so that their workforce could avoid being left sodden by the lashings of rain that rumbled down from the sky at just after a quarter to nine that morning.

At St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, the workforce managed to avoid the downpour – a side-effect of burning the candle at both ends when it came to their work hours. They were all rather glad to be free of the dampness that would afflict many latecomers, not to mention their patients for the day, and they discussed the weather while in the cafeteria that morning before their first shifts, complaining of the state their respective gardens or washing or children would be in when they came home as they picked through bits of croissant or whatever they had taken from the pastry counter.

Helene Delacour had not deigned to linger in the cafeteria, finding that work was waiting for her in swathes on her desk when she entered the room she’d half renovated into an office but still bore some of the utilities of a patient’s room – such as the bed and the screen, the latter of which was pushed back while the former sat unmade. Helene put her bag up on the hook behind the door and shed her coat, placing that on the same hook before rolling up the sleeves of her plum coloured knit-wool jumper and moving over to the desk where she began to sift through the various files that had been placed there. She realised almost immediately that they were patients afflicted by the itch and she cursed her rotten luck. She’d so far avoided having to work with the itch but now they’d finally caught her. Helene was just glad that she didn’t appear to have to work with the patients themselves, rather their medical files.

“Cross referencing,” She murmured, her accent still as heavy as it had been the day she first set foot in Britain.

Looking up from the file she had opened and had been scanning, Helene’s eyes scanned quickly the shelves, picking a canister off of the shelf and unscrewing the cap from the top. She poked her fingers through the mouth of the bottle and took out a pink little square that was covered in sugar. Helene observed it carefully before opening her mouth and popping it onto her tongue, immediately feeling the fizz of the sugar that wasn’t actually sugar – not really – and brought her lips together again. She lowered her eyes back down to the file and lifted it off of the pile, slowly brought herself down into the leather chair that was pulled out from underneath her desk. She crossed one leg over the other and put the file down on her thigh before absent-mindedly beginning to spin the chair back and forth, bringing her hand to her face and biting down gently on her thumb nail as she read through it, resigning herself mentally to a very, very boring day.

Matt looked out the window drearily. He huffed as he turned his eyes to the sky only to see grey. Typical London weather for the middle of the summer. He'd say it looked like it was going to rain but he knew it was going to. Luckily enough he didn't plan on going out much that day. He was always a fan of this kind of weather however today was not a day he planned on enjoying it. He looked down at his watch as he walked outside of a patients room. Volunteering, how on earth had he gotten himself into agreeing he would. Khaat had done something that made him say yes, obviously. Looking down the hallway he saw very little amusement.

He stuffed his hands down his jeans pocket and began to stroll down the hallway. Occasionally glancing through open doors into various other rooms. He swore he saw the occasional patient who looked green. He had heard about a brand new illness but he had never actually thought it was for real. He shrugged it off and continued on his merry way. He hadn't even been at the hospital for an hour. He was supposed to be meeting a volunteer leader person who would show him what to do but Matt had left before the leader arrived. To put it plainly, he was bored. There really wasn't much to do in a hospital but he didn't feel like going anywhere else. He had hoped to see someone he knew. In the past he had spent quite a lot of time in St. Mungos. But to no avail.

Matt had lost count of the amount of times he had spent walking up and down stairs. He found himself in the cafeteria. He saw an unattended magazine and grabbed it as he made his way to buy a cup of coffee. This, he assumed, was going to be the highlight of his day. He didn't feel like sitting, he couldn't. So he continued randomly strolling around the hospital. The coffee was not that good, so he figured he'd add his own touch to it. Pulling out a flask he poured a bit of the contents into his coffee. Unbeknownst to him, someone was watching. And that someone happened to be a security guard. Assuming he was a patient, he was sure, the security guard yelled at him and began to chase him.

After a chase scene that would rival that of Scooby-Doo. He had gotten a bit of a lead against the guard. He ran to what he thought was an empty room, slamming the door behind him. He was breathing fairly heavy and he noticed he was not alone. There was a women, sitting at a desk. His eyes widened and his breathing slowed. "Oh, hello." he said. "Sorry, thought this room was empty." he said to the woman. Little bit awkward...

Two people were from Yorkshire but that meant nothing as they were both from different areas of Yorkshire. Another one had two convictions of the Muggle equivalent of armed robbery and had served time in the detention centre in Azkaban, the only area that was devoid of both Dementors and the dankness that seemed to affect everything in the North Sea. Another one was just a young girl, barely eight years of age. It was quickly becoming apparent that there was no lead and that the Itch was just random. However, nothing was ever coincidental – Helene was not foolish enough to believe that – and she knew that she was not alone in being befuddled by the disease. She herself felt fine, though the same could not be said for many of her colleagues. Yet despite this there was an increasing feeling that they could be next and she was almost positive that the placebo effect had something to do with the distribution of the disease. Only, she didn’t quite yet know why.

Rising from her seat and placing the folder down for a moment on the only clear bit of desk she still had, and took a canister from the shelf, unscrewing the lid and taking from it a couple of round, viridian coloured capsule looking things. She reached for the bottle of water that she’d taken from her bag upon arriving and swallowed the capsules with a gulp of mineral water before replacing the cap on top of the canister and pressing it back onto the shelf. Humming lightly to herself, Helene took a marker from her stationary pot that was on top of her filing cabinet and moved to what looked like clear glass that had been mounted on the wall and often got odd looks from those who visited her room. She uncapped the pen and then on the surface, she wrote in bright, white marker:

Placebo?

Capping the pen again, she moved back to her seat, drawing the file back into her lap for further study. However, not a moment later, her immersion was broken by the sound of her door being wrenched open. Helene looked up, her eyes widening a little and her eyebrows rising high on her forehead at the site of a man barrelling into her office. Her eyes narrowed a little bit her expression remained fair as he whirled around, seemingly as shocked to see her as she was him. Helene put the file down on the desk and slowly rose from her chair, holding a hand out between them, a gesture she was sure the English practised.

“This is my office,” She told him carefully. “There is a sign on the door. Nevertheless, I am Helene. And you are?”

Matt really hadn't had the time to read a sign before running into a room he assumed was empty from an angry and potentially dangerous security wizard. So embarrassment was probably one of the last things on his mind. She spoke with a thick french accent, it was kind of hot. But now was not the time to mentally compliment the stranger's french accent. Although Matt loves a killer accent, besides his own of course. A faint smile touched his lips as she mentioned her name. He now realized why he had suddenly thought about her accident. He wanted to ask about her family Veela history but he could probably figure it out on his own anyway. He let his eyes slide from Helene at the desk and move towards the other various things in the room.

It appeared to be somewhat of a makeshift office. Judging by the crammed items in the corner and the bed still sitting unmade, she was new. He continued to explore her office with his eyes, remaining silent, arms to his side. Of course there were elements of an actual office accompanying the "empty" patient room items. The desk was probably the biggest giveaway, if you're not counting the french woman at the actual desk. There was a shelf and a board with a word written on it and a question mark.

Placebo?

He put that aside, she was probably just working on some weird patient who had gophers flying out of his arse. When he was finished surveying the room his eyes fell on Helene again. Staring at her, profiling her. He took in a deep breath and smiled. "Right, hello Helene!" he said, pronouncing her name perfectly. "I'm Matthew Lestrange." he said walking over and putting out his hand cheerfully. "Yes relation to the other one's. I'm just more of a black sheep." he grinned at her.

London was drearier than any other city on earth, Helene had begun to realise. Stuffed full to bursting point with history and scandal, it was a city with every reason to be miserable. It had a secret around every corner and you only had to peel back a layer or two before they came tumbling out. Granted, the nearer they were to the top the more likely they were to be outright lies or fabrications no one really cared to entertain but the fact that they were there, meant a lot.

Helene was realising that everyone had their secrets, it was not just her. No one was as open and fair as they strived to portray themselves to be. Some rarely portrayed themselves in that light at all. They decided completely against it. Helene looked at the man before wondering if he was not exempt from the influence the city had, wondering whether he too harboured crippling secrets that she herself found the need to be buried deeply and effectively to hide as much as possible from view.

She smiled at him, though, regardless. She shook his hand and cocked her head to the side a little when he introduced himself. Her eyebrows furrowed with confusion and she shrugged her shoulders before turning around, crossing the room to where there was a kettle, a box filled with teabags and a bag of sugar as well as some cups. She gestured to it and flicked the kettle on.

“I don’t know of any others,” She responded after a moment. “Am I right to assume your family are well known? Would you prefer tea or coffee, Matthew?”

Matt smiled as she took his hand. But remembering his recent exploits he really didn't feel like anything to drink. "Uh, no thanks." he said as she let go of his hand. He felt more at ease now and allowed himself to step further into her "office". It could turn into a fairly nice place of work if one used the proper charms. He stopped walking when he reached her window. It was nice, it was big. He looked out at the clouds that appeared even darker than before. Typical London weather of course, but Matt wasn't feeling it today. "Storm's coming." he mumbled out quietly. More so to himself then to the other body in the room. He realized he was being quite rude. Admiring her window more than Helene. Who was a beautiful woman, might he think. He turned back to her with a smile.

"Please, call me Matt." he told her as he walked towards her desk. He looked down at it, although he was in front he could see different names and titles of folders. Being fairly good at reading upside down he noticed a few classified folders. "Not interrupting anything am I?" he asked as he lifted his eyes from her desk to her face. "Don't want to be a bother. You seem fairly busy." he told her smiling. He sat down in one of the cushioned chairs in front of her desk and crossed his legs. "Quite a nice setup you have here." he told her.

There was something strange about having a visitor in her office. It was like having a family member in her house when she was acutely aware of how untidy the place was. Her office was in a state of refurbishment but also at the same time it had to be a place in which she could work. She figured it would be another late night sending things in boxes to store cupboards or one of the new rooms that had been done up for patients. She needed to get everything cleared before she could paint the walls, hang pictures and the like and she wasn’t entirely sure she’d get it done before the week was out. She had a feeling she’d be in on the Sunday, even though that was her obligatory day off.

On Fridays she worked nights, staying until around five on Saturday morning before going home and collapsing, only to rise about six hours later. It was Thursday and thankfully, she had an early night. She could go out for dinner and then sit in the Leaky Cauldron until it was considered a sensible time for her to return home and get some sleep. She figured she’d probably end up doing some exploring, London hardly a place she knew particularly well.

“I do not make bad tea,” Helene retorted quickly with a smile. “I promise. I am the only one that really likes it in my family so I had to learn.” Helene stopped herself before she said too much and turned, deciding to busy herself with making the tea. “Is there something else I can get you? I feel bad.” She smiled shyly before turning away again.

The kettle boiled and Helene poured it out, disposing of the tea bag and stirring in two spoonfuls of sugar before adding a dash of milk and leaving the tea to cool a little. She turned at the sound of the man speaking again and she opened her mouth to reply but seemingly thought better of it as she brought her lips back together instead.

“Matt.” Helene repeated it for the sake of her accent; just to be sure she could fold her lips around the sounds and nodded to herself, pleased to find that even to her own ear, her pronunciation of his name was not butchered beyond recognition. Helene picked up her tea, wrapping her fingers tightly around the mug, and drew over to where Matt was stood, looking at the files on her desk. Helene laughed gently before shaking her head, assuring him: “You saved me from boredom, actually. They finally got me. I was the only one to escape but I go downstairs this morning and there it is, my tray...jam packed with files on the Itch. I am rather sick of this disease, crass though I may sound. But then, who is not? People are dying.” Helene sighed and placed the mug down on the desk.

The blonde picked up the file she’d had open and took her pen from the desk, moving over to the glass white-board once more. She took the lid of the pen off, dropping it into the pocket of her trousers, and looked down at the file.

“There’s a correlation between the aggressiveness of the disease and the blood status of the patient, apparently.” She told him, adding a dash under the heading ‘Half-Blood’ that was written, and underlined, on the board. “The less Pure blood, the less violent the strain. It’s not... it doesn’t make sense yet. No one seems to be looking at this sensibly. We’re all too busy rushing to find the cure to worry about what exactly it’s doing, I don’t think. We don’t have this problem in France, though. Just here. I don’t understand it, personally.”

Helene looked around her office before shrugging, a small smile creeping onto her face before she admitted. “There is so much left to do in here – can you tell? It’s half office, half treatment room. I should have really moved before I was expected to treat patients; then I could have gotten everything done. It’s so strange, London. I have an apartment and it’s quite...well, I don’t know about you but it’s incredibly expensive for a three-bed. Then again, I don't actually know how I managed to get that. Let alone... ugh. It's crazy. I’ve been thinking about putting an ad in the Prophet for a roommate or two but you know what the Prophet is like – they twist everything.” Helene bit her lip. “I am going to stop talking now, I think. Erm. How did you end up in here anyway? People don’t usually run into other people’s offices.”

Matt smirked playfully as she said his name. The accent was very thick but it was nice all the same. And it appeared as though she could say his name rather well with it. He loved a good accent, and french one's were definitely in his top five. She was brewing tea and while she had her back turned to her Matt took another glance down at her desk again. Only gathering up small bits and pieces of information from the few words he managed to read. But as she returned back to her desk Matt found the window incredibly interesting. She sat down and Matt gave her a small smile while he looked around again. It was a big office, he was mentally placing various items throughout it if it had been his. He once had an office in this building, a long time ago. A job he never really liked. Teenager's were stubborn, and the batch he was stuck with was as stubborn as they came.

The itch

So it was true, there really was an disease going around. Matt was unaware of the effects of the disease or who the main targets were. Of course, he was interested in finding out so he could better ready himself for it. He highly doubted it would affect him however. He had gotten plenty of various different healing spells and charms put on him over the years. He turned his head to look at Helene again as she spoke. "Glad to have been of service then." he said with another smile.

But at the description of the patients his gut fell and his eyes widened. "Purebloods you say?" he tried his best not to sound anxious about it. He came from one of the most pureblood families the Wizarding World knew. "That's an interesting demographic. I've never heard of a disease acting that way." he said as he stood up to stand next to her and look at the board as well. "Blimey." he said quietly as he looked at her notes. Hanging around at the hospital and Khaat meant Matt learned certain things and this was definitely new to him. Khaat had never mentioned anything along the lines of this disease.

But the topic of conversation trained and Matt's train of thought was broken as she moved away from the board. He crossed his arms and turned to look around the room as well. A lot of work could be put into this room to make it look well. She had mentioned roommates, Matt would have called her up on that offer if it had not been for his present predicament. He smiled at her, "I find it cheaper just to float from motel to motel." He hadn't had a permanent home in ages, he didn't miss it much. "No, it's, fine." he said, looking at her. But suddenly the weight of the flask inside his pocket gained about 50 pounds. He grimaced, "Oh, just a simple misunderstanding and an angry guard." he told her. Not giving her the full detail.

"I think with a little time and effort you could turn this into a proper office." he told her changing the subject quickly. "I'd be willing to help, if you want."

St. Mungo’s had become Helene’s home over the past few months but she could deny the uncomfortably sterile feeling that came with working in a hospital. The potted plant in the corner of the room next to the hat-stand was so she could check that her eyes could still process colour. Everything was so clean, so white, so... dead. Helene had to reconcile with herself the fact that if it wasn’t for extraordinary bad social life in Britain then she certainly wouldn’t have felt the way she did about the hospital. It was sort of love/hate relationship between the inanimate building and the young blonde. She needed to get out a little bit more, she realised. Though when one looked out of the window and gazed upon the capital of the country she had come to begrudgingly love, she saw a murky, grey and drizzly reality that made her want to stay far longer within the cleanliness of the hospital. So really, she could not complain.

Helene blinked out of her reverie at the sound of Matt’s voice and she looked at him, managing a bright smile as she lifted her cup back off of the desk and to her lips, swallowing some of the hot, reassuring liquid before setting the cup down again in order for her to fiddle idly with the pen in her hand. Helene raised her eyebrows at Matt’s comment on the disease and she shook her head, her smile replaced by a slight downward curve of her lips – not quite a grimace but enough to declare her displeasure.

“I think it works the way most diseases do. There are different ways pathogens can harm the body. Some can only exist in the body within the cells of the person. You know, while others just produce and release toxins. But that’s how you end up feeling ill because when they take up residence in your cells, they multiply rapidly and the cell bursts. I think that’s what the Itch is doing. It’s an excelled form of Dragon Pox, that much is clear, but it’s very different from Dragon Pox. Dragon Pox acts sort of... of its own accord. It attacks your magic head on. Newly formed cores or old, weak ones are very susceptible to damage and can even cause the death of the host if they drain on the witch and wizard in order to try and stay, for lack of a better word, alive, so the host dies. The Itch is taking up residence in blood cells, red and white. It’s crippling the immune system of the sufferers which makes the core work in order to keep the patient alive which in turn drains the core.”

Helene exhaled a breath of air and brought the pen up, tapping the lid against her lips. She smiled bashfully and ducked her head a little, embarrassment colouring her cheeks bright rouge.

“I was never fond of hotels and the like. My mother...” Helene bit her lip before averting her eyes, thinly veiled irritation hid behind them. “They’re not fond of them, my family. I suppose it caught on.” Helene brought her hand up and ran her fingers through the front of her hair that was set around her shoulders in soft waves. Helene’s eyebrows shot to her hairline at his admission and she laughed a little, shaking her head. “They’re large gentlemen. I would not cross them if I were you.”

Helene looked around the office with despair written over her face. “Can we burn it down and rebuild it again? We could blow out this portion of the hospital and not tell the Director.” She looked at Matt, mischief lighting up her eyes.

The itch had definitely sparked an interest in Matt. He had always been amazed at the effects of various magical illnesses. Never enough to attempt to make a career out of it. Maybe that's why he associated himself with various members of the staff at St. Mungo's. He even married a healer many years ago. But of course, he remembered how well that had gone. His face fell at the memory of his late wife and the time they first met. One of the many items on the list of why he wasn't very fond of hospitals. But considering the events that happened within the past few minutes hospitals weren't so bad. The staff was definitely nice.

He found himself lost in his own thoughts and staring at the Blonde before him. He realized she had stopped speaking and was waiting for his response. With a crash that was visible on his face, he was brought back to reality. She had gone on about the itch and he had been listening but not too intently. That was the main reason he never thought that becoming a Healer would have been a good career choice for the himself. "And that is why I'm not a healer." he told her, smiling. "Having to know all the information like the back of your hand. And besides, someone else probably knows it all as well. I just get sort of, background information from friends of mine and spending time at the hospital." he added.

He had noticed her blush. He wasn't sure why, he didn't remembering attempting to flirt with her. Then he realized there were probably other reasons why a girl would blush. He was so incredibly thick sometimes. He mentally knocked himself upside the head as she spoke again. About her mother and the not-so-fondness of hotel's they both shared. The truth was, he was running. He couldn't find a permanent state of residence out of fear. Matt wasn't often scared but this time he was. People were after him, people would always be after him. Death Eater's would never leave him alone. He knew how far the Death Eater's would go to cause him pain. The weight he carried was far too much for him alone. He needed a friend, he wanted Milo back, he wanted a good mate.

But now as not the time for breaking down in a stranger's office. He wasn't sure whether or not they could be strangers anymore. He put the notion aside and gave a little pout of interest at her latest words. "Oh I could probably get the director to help." he told her with a bright smile. "We go way back, Khaat and I." he told her. "If you like, I could get you an even bigger one." he winked at her. The mischief in his own eyes matched that of the mischief in hers. He was most definitely keen on finding out more about this woman.