To be honest? Friends aren't really my speciality.

“Teddy’s here, isn’t he?”

“Do what, spud?”

Peter Howard looked up from the bit of paperwork he was reading to glance around at his son who was stood in one of the many corridors of St. Mungo’s, pointing up at a placard on the door of an office that Peter didn’t really know very well. In truth, he wouldn’t have even been in this part of the cavernous building if his doctor’s office hadn’t been smashed through unceremoniously with someone in throes of giant sickness. Being messed around only to stand in a chilly corridor at a secretary’s desk while the moody woman glared at him, trying to get him to fill out paperwork he didn’t really want to do in the first place wasn’t his idea of a great morning.

It wasn’t such a great diagnosis, either. Three bruises had popped up in quick succession fairly unceremoniously and thereafter Peter had felt weary and unwell. He’d finally relented after Finley’s pestering and went to his doctor. What he found out was that yet again, his core was leaking magic – as though it wasn’t something that was really beginning to go out of fashion in Peter’s life. He’d tersely pursed his lips, run his hands through his sandy hair and wondered aloud what it wold be next. The doctor’s jovial reply was comical and Peter would’ve laughed if it hadn’t been so spectacularly humourless: total organ failure, apparently.

As it was, they’d gotten the magic out of him. No organ failure today, just a weaker wizard. Maybe next time.

Finley pursed his own lips now and reaffirmed his grip on his stuffed bunny. He’d had a day off of school to be with his father – plus, Finley himself wasn’t feeling too well and Peter wasn’t keen to let that prolong itself either if he was already going to the hospital. Finley had his own exam and had pouted and cuddled his bunny all the while. He’d been given some potions and had even had some blood taken and now he was all bruised on his left arm and no pretty patterned sticker could make that alright. It made him feel awful, really. The lollypop he’d gotten did help.

Bravery was a trait he’d plucked from his grandmother it seemed because Finley lost patience with his father and burst forward towards the door he was sure read: Teddy Lupin on it. He couldn’t be entirely sure but this was the man who had met his cat, Boots. He’d not taught him the Macarena yet like he’d promised Teddy he would but he’d been busy. His dad had been busy too – especially given as last week he’d been hauled into questioning by some burly looking law enforcement officers. Finley had sat in the hall with a witch named Beth who ate Quality Street with him and talked about animals. He didn’t really knew what went on inside the room but Peter hadn’t been the same since, to say the least.

Pushing open the door, Finley stepped inside and smiled at the man behind the desk, hopping forward to scramble up into the arm chair opposite it.

“Hi Teddy,” Finley enthused brightly, setting his bunny down beside him. “What’cha doing?”