A man and his dog

"You can't put it down! Do you know how much that beast is worth?"

Michael watched while one of the nurses tried ineffectually to calm down the very angry wizard raising hell in the middle of the emergency department. He was tempted to roll his eyes.

Nearby, a healer was administering a pain relief charm to a muggle child, while another held the crup that had attached itself to the boy's foot still.

Honeycutt, the crup's owner, had been causing trouble ever since he arrived with the dog and the boy. The child's parents were nowhere to be seen, which made Michael suspicious as hell. He refused to show them his crup breeder's license (Michael suspected because he didn't own one) and every time they thought of a way to make the boy more comfortable, he raised a fuss about his precious dog.

Apollo was tired, but almost in a good way. The kind that came from hard work that resulted in things that he felt were worthwhile. It had taken two days, but they had collected some more of the ingredients Robert felt they needed, and Apollo was bringing them back on his way home. It felt unbelievably adult, and far more valuable experience than the last few months at Hogwarts had been.

Of course, as soon as he landed in St. Mungo's and started making his way to the potions lab, he heard it. Something was kicking off, and despite wishing he could just ignore it, he had to walk right past the noise, and some healer or other had just strode into the hallway in front of him, frustration absolutely rolling off of her.

Curiosity, mainly, got the most of him. That, and the fact that she turned to look right at him and declared, "You. Zabini. Go help out in there. I'm going on break."

Disdain flickered across his face but he said nothing as she walked away, leaving him no choice but to stuff the ingredients pouch into his inner pocket and walk into the room. Within, some man was shouting about his dog. The dog that was currently latched onto a little kid.

So Apollo strode over to Healer Corner, eyeing everyone warily and just waiting to see what was going on.

Michael saw Apollo arrive beside him out the corner of his eye.

The kid was new, and so far as Michael knew, had spent most of his internship running errands for Robert. Michael didn't approve of that at all, but when did he approve of anything Robert did? A real healer needed practical experience.

"Mister Honeycutt came in with this kid and his crup," he told Apollo, low enough for Honeycutt not to hear.

"The boy's a muggle, and the crup won't let go, of course. He says he didn't bring the boy's parents because he didn't want to cause any more bother for the obliviators."

He finally looked at Apollo.

"Now, tell me what you see, and what our next move should be."

The poor lad, who undoubtedly had been horrified at this two-tailed monstrosity, was essentially just stuck waiting while the dog's owner decided to, at least, try to do something about it. Apollo would grant him that much. Honeycutt had brought the boy in to professionals. Except, wait, now he was meant to figure it out himself?

Thus far, his only real catastrophe involving any real work.. it had been that first day, with Robert. Before that, when he'd been an almost-apprentice the previous summer, it was more on the side of logistics, paperwork and those sorts of things. But the bit with Robert's hand? Apollo had really just done what he was told. And now he felt like a right idiot.

But he did as he was told, which was almost ironic considering his behaviors during the recent months, and looked. He did what he could to cover the unrest he felt, but those feet of his shifted quite tellingly.

Crups would eat just about anything they could, and Merlin did they hate Muggles. Apollo knew that much. Thanks, Professor Thorfinn. Their next move, though?

"Can they not be convinced to eat something else, if offered? Or is the Muggle hatred too strong, so to speak?"

Was he meant to know everything about every creature, plant, spell and potion? Every allergy and wizarding illness? If so, he had a hell of a long way to go before he could ever feel qualified for something like this. Sure, he'd expected it to be a lot of work and to take a lot of studying, memorization and practice. But surely these people were stumped some of the time, right? Merlin's sake.

Michael shook his head.  

"Not what I was asking," he replied. "We already know what we're going to do.  A crup that attacks a muggle is forfeit, no matter how much Honeycutt complains.  Right now, we're just waiting for the papers from the Ministry, and hopefully a vet, if they deign to send us one."

Robert obviously thought Apollo was promising if he was letting him intern, and no matter what Michael thought of Robert's habits, he wasn't completely stupid.

"First rule of being a healer, Zabini, your patients are lying to you," Michael said. "And even when they're not lying, they're not telling you what you need to know, because they don't think you need to know.  Or they're embarrassed.  Or some other reason.  It doesn't matter."

"So what is Honeycutt not telling us?"

Frankly, he couldn't see why anyone would want a crup in the first place. If they ate literally anything, none of a wizard's items sounded particularly safe. But this Honeycutt fellow was outraged at the thought of losing it.

Apollo squinted between the man, the boy and the crup. What was it the man had shouted? Something about money? So the dog wasn't actually on the same level as a pet, but rather had monetary value. Or perhaps both.

"Two ideas come to mind," he decided after he got over feeling slightly chided and naive. The point was to learn, so fine. He'd take it. "The dog might be a recent purchase or gift, or intended sale. That," he continued, more grimly, "or this may well have happened before and he got caught this time so he didn't want to risk his.. high-margin product if the Ministry got there first."

Michael nodded. Robert was right, the kid had talent. There were qualified healers who wouldn't have thought it through that far yet. Or they might have, and decided that much trouble was above their pay grade.

"Nice," he said. "I'm personally leaning toward the second explanation. It would explain the boy, and why his parents aren't here."

As he finished speaking, a nurse escorted two ministry representatives into the room and then handed a file to Michael.

Mister Honeycutt, seeming to know what this meant for his crup, fairly roared with indignation.

Michael idly flicked through the paperwork (he had used to make sure it was all there, but now it was just a habit and a convenient excuse to ignore annoying people) before snapping the file closed and turning to Apollo.

"Come with me," he said, leading the way to his office.

"You know what crup baiting is, of course."

Apollo nodded, confirming that he'd been suspecting the latter as well. The idea made him feel rather ill, and his gaze drifted subconsciously towards the young Muggle's foot once more. Ugh.

It felt wrong, somehow, to leave the lad - not to mention the man who clearly didn't approve of what they were apparently going to do to his crup. Didn't he read something about the creatures having to be licensed? That obviously explained the Ministry employees. It wasn't like this bloke could just get away with something like this. He should have known better.

But they would be watched by officials, which made their exit less worrisome. So Apollo trailed after Corner, only for his pace to falter a little when Michael spoke again.

"Well, it sounds fairly obvious, but I can't say I remember it from class. Care of Magical Creatures was never my strong suit, to be honest. But if it involves distractions or something, then I might be thinking of the right thing." He shrugged slightly. "I've got pretty decent reflexes, if that's the case." He'd been Keeper on the house team for years, after all. "So I don't mind doing it."

Michael grinned as he sat down. Instead of signing the papers immediately, he leant back and bit the end of his pen.

"How did Blaise and Daphne manage to produce the likes of you?" he asked, fascinated.

Blaise might have feigned sympathy for the boy outside, because Blaise had always been one of the cleverer Slytherins, but Michael doubted he or Daphne would particularly care one way or the other what ultimately became of him. They would have definite problems with Michael allowing Apollo distract the crup (or was the boy talking about Honeycutt?) or whatever plan he was brewing up.

"Crup baiting," Michael changed the subject, "is when certain wizards - or witches, I suppose - train their crups using live bait."

Apollo presumed, however wrongly or rightly, that the question was a hidden or perhaps backhanded compliment. So, as he hovered and then finally sat in a spare seat, he tilted his head and shrugged a bit vaguely.

"They had a lot to do with my less positive traits, I'll give them that," he muttered with a slight grimace. He knew full well that Christian and Lily were to thank for most everything else.

But when Corner went on, Apollo's face fell into disbelief and, actually, a mix of both disgust and despair. He couldn't even begin to swallow that concept. It was certainly a long wait off from what he'd expected, and this was far worse than maybe risking his fingers. He himself had been attacked by a werewolf - albeit accidentally - and that didn't make him as uncomfortable as this crup baiting stuff.

"Human bait, I take it." Apollo shook his head, turning it away. "Muggles."

An irrational, sarcastic laugh threatened to bubble up within his chest. It wouldn't be crazy for Michael to assume that Apollo wouldn't care about such things. He doubted his father would have been bothered. And, to be quite fair, Apollo couldn't name a single Muggle that he knew. Perhaps he ought to change that. But the important bit was that he had been proven wrong about everything else - Halfbloods, so-called traitors, magical creatures (though the last one had been pushed partly by the Ministry themselves). So he had a hard time believing that his parents were right about Muggles.

Charlotte was another good example of why it was unrealistic to think that way. But he wasn't eager to contemplate her friends or preferences any time soon.

"What's the sentencing for something like that?" He asked finally, his eyes darting back to Michael's. "How long?" Because surely it had to be serious enough to warrant time, he felt confident in that. And, if not, perhaps he could ask Robert why.