Killing Time

It was a disgustingly wet and drizzly day. It had started off well enough - merely overcast and surprisingly warm, even for a London summer morning. But, as the day wore on, it only got more and more wet. Rowan stood to the side of St. Mungo's gigantic double doors (big enough for a whole Muggle ambulance to drive through) and peered up at the dripping sky.

I hate the rain, he thought, as he reached for his umbrella, which was stored with all staff umbrellas in a small cubby right to the left of him.

It took him a moment to open up his umbrella and to decide where he was going to go. His hours had decreased at St. Mungo's, as he was starting to phase out a lot of his responsibilities to others. Technically, he was only on call part time now; the rest of the time he was training others or had whole hours free to himself. He pushed up the sleeve of his green mediwizard robe and glanced at his watch.

He had three hours to kill, during which he could certainly grab a bite to eat. It was only 1 in the afternoon - he didn't have to be back to St. Mungo's until 4. Even then, he only had to be at the hospital for about two hours after that; just long enough to get the new nightshift intern settled in for a long eight hour shift of evening work in the Spell Damage long-term patient ward. It was pretty routine work, to be honest; those who suffered from long-term Spell Damage were more or less permenant residents of St. Mungo's and had been for some time. The night-shifts' duties were simple - just watch over the patients as they slept and medicate the ones who couldn't.

The rain pattered softly on the top of his umbrella as he scuttled across the street and down the long winding length of Diagon Alley. It was just a few short blocks to the Leaky Cauldron, which was - by and large - the most favorite spot for St. Mungo's workers between their shifts and various duties. Rowan had been spending a lot of time in the Cauldon lately; in fact, he already knew what he was going to do...

He was going to sit at his booth by the window, with a book on magical herbs, order a tall butterbeer (no alcohol, of course, since he only had three hours before reporting back) and a large bowl of Firewhiskey stew (which had lost all of its alcoholic potency in the cooking).


The rain didn't let up, but at least Rowan could now enjoy it from the safety of the Leaky Cauldron. He leaned his shoulder against the window, propped his feet up on the corner of the booth seat across from him, and started reading. He had no expectations of meeting anyone, had no intention of keeping company (as it were). He had hung up his mediwizard robes on the hook on the post by his booth, but the caduceus was still visible, in stitched white and red, against the green of his robes. Anyone passing by would be able to tell he was a doctor. Not that Rowan was against meeting new people, or chatting it up on his time off. But he was in one of his rare quiet moods - which happened rather frequently when he spent more than ten hours on the Spell Damage floor. Sometimes, even he couldn't look at the Longbottoms without getting drained by all the darkness in the world.

And, in those times, it was nice to just curl up in a quiet spot and read a book.

Carth left the ministry to find the rain had decided to pelt him atop the head as he walked to his usual place for a bite to eat in between training hours. Things in the Auror department had been strangely slow as of late, and he didn't quite understand why. He was so used to being busy that he hadn't quite known what to do with himself at first. That's when he had started going to the Leaky on his hours between sessions or meetings.

Walking down the streets of London, Carth found that he actually rather enjoyed being out in the rain - he was used to it, of course, having lived in England his whole life - and he found it calming. His last session had gone well, leaving him with that adrenaline rush he loved but also worried about. If he got so caught up in his rush of energy, would he be able to handle himself properly when he was in the field? He wasn't so sure.

As he entered the Leaky Cauldron, Carth looked around, observing the people who were sitting around the pub. He saw the usual - men who worked in Diagon Alley, women who came in with their friends for a drink - and as he scanned, his eyes fell on a Doctor, who looked like he was from St. Mungo's. Carth had spent far too much time there as of late.

Curious, Carth made his way to the bar to pick up a drink - nothing with any content worth worrying about (he could do without being fired, of course) - and ambled his way back towards the man at the window table. Call him crazy, but that adrenaline problem had stuck with him, and he felt like it could be easy to just ask.

As he came closer, he realized that this man looked oddly familiar. Perhaps he had been at Hogwarts in the years above Carth?

"Excuse me," He began as he reached the table, standing beside it. He shifted his glass from one hand to the other as he continued, "I don't want to bother you, but I had a question if you've got a minute."

Rowan was nose-deep in his book and was completely taken by surprise when he heard a voice - a very close voice - ask him a question.

"I don't want to bother you, but I had a question if you've got a minute."

The mediwizard looked up hastily from his book - a bit startled and not ashamed to show it - and blinked owlishly at the younger wizard standing next to his booth. A quick glance-over told Rowan that the individual in question wasn't a threat, didn't appear to be injured, and was definitely not intoxicated. Satisfied that the situation wasn't about to esculate unexpectedly into a bar fight - he so did not need to be the focus of one of those today...or ever - Rowan put his book down on the table and smiled warmly in greeting.

"Afternoon," he nodded calmly and folded his arms comfortably over his chest. "Ask away," he raised a dark brown eyebrow and grinned rakishly. "I'm used to answering random questions, I assure you."

Carth felt a bit bad for surprising the elder wizard, but was grateful when the man agreed to talk to him. Unsure if he should sit, however, Carth leaned against the back of the booth seat opposite his conversation partner.

"I'm in training to be an Auror - nearly done - but I have a slight problem," he began, unsure how to go about asking what he wanted to know about, "I get these extreme adrenaline rushes - like playing Quidditch but more so - and when I'm in the training stages or on the smaller missions they send us on, I get really caught up in it." Carth frowned slightly, wondering if he was even making any sense.

Shifting slightly he continued with the question, "I can't tell if that's unusual, or just because I'm new to it? I just don't want it to affect my missions or work."

Rowan pushed his book to the side - the young, as-of-yet-unnamed-wizard, had definitely caught his attention. The mediwizard loved any excuse to talk about what he knew.

"There's nothing unusual about getting strong rushes of adrenaline in the course of a job like Auror. In fact, I think I might worry if you didn't," Rowan flashed his characteristic, wide-toothed smile. "Being an Auror is a high-stress, high-risk job - it's going to attrack people, like yourself, who enjoy the rush of extreme danger. Of course, I'm assuming a bit, in that you enjoy that sort of thing, but with a past playing Quidditch and a current profession as an Auror," the mediwizard opened his hands wide as if to say "you know what I mean?" and leaned back in his seat. "Adreline is a hormone and is designed to hit your bloodstream when you're faced with a trauamtic or a potentially life-threatening situation. It prepares the body for our flight-or-fight reaction, by quickening our heart rate and adding speed and strength to what may be otherwise usual abilities. It's designed to help us either fight as best we can, or flee as fast as we can."

Rowan seemed to realize that he was probably overwhelming the poor bloke with information, so he waved to the seat across from him.

"Take a seat, mate. What's your name? Sorry to ramble on - if you can't tell, I rather like what it is I do," he chuckled and leaned his elbows on the rough wooden tabletop. "But, in short, I don't think you've got anything to worry about. You'll always get an adreline rush doing what you're doing, but in some ways, your body will get used to all the danger and the trauma and the severity of your rushes will level out after a while. Once your body realizes what's 'the usual everyday danger of this job' versus the 'oh, we're really in over our heads this time', your adreline rushes will adjust to hit the hardest when you really need it the most."

Carth listened to the flow of information, suddenly glad he had just decided to ask. Thinking back on it, he didn't remember exactly when the choice had been made, only that he'd ended up doing it. He felt foolish for asking, once the man started, saying how normal it was. Carth decided he had been over-thinking it and took in the information that was fed to him. Anything that could help his job was something he wanted to know. As an Ex-Gryffindor, he wasn't usually the type to crave information, but today was clearly the exception to the rule.

The man offered Carth a seat, which he took gratefully, taking a drink from his cup. "Thanks. I'm Carth Brownlowe. And it's no problem. I enjoy learning about things that can help me in my job. The goal is to be one of the heads of the department someday." He added, hoping it made up for his seemingly naïve question. "I'm sure you're right. It was just oddly strong today, the rush."