[FIN] No. 1: Curse bite.

“I guess you want to handle this one.”

What was that guess work? The frown shaped on his forehead as the well quote unquote nurse slash healer slash someone who helps the mediwizards work on a day to day basis. He looked up to mentor and he mentioned it was time for him to take care of himself, beside it won’t be something major.

It wasn’t like physically regrowing bone or something that came out from the unbeatable curse. ‘Remembered the first aid and potion lesson, you’ll be fine.’ Let’s hope none die because of his lack of experience.

“Right, Mr Pickering let’s see what — oh, you…” He should know, he was the only muggleborn in Slytherin in his year. The rumour spread like wildfire and it was validated by the purist who looked at the (was) boy in disgust. “What’s the problem?”

There was a clink of a coin right on the tip of his shoe. A knut, he frowned and wondered if it was Pickering’s but the man was too busy with his face boiling like second degree burn. Rhys could be panicked but panic brought him nowhere, so he asked.

"Can't you see?!" Calm down you bitch! Of course I can see! “I can’t help you if I don’t know the cause.” He wasn't a senior Mediwizard who was able to notice the source of injuries or disease on that matter just by the look in the eye. His mouth opened as soon as he knew the cause from the man.

“First take off from your hand, you will make it worse even scaring your pretty face.” He slapped Pickering hand from his own face, hissed when there was some blister pop as expected and in this kind of time, it might have been infected. There was a feather landing on the man's face.

“Who the heck does someone bring an owl here? Accio —” He called a potion in an amber apothecary glass vessel. It was anti-inflammatory and for the itchiness. “Have your mentor mentioned bringing an anti-cursed amulet, especially for something minor like it, it can be prevented.”

He put his gloves on and a handful of cotton buds. “Hold your breath, it might a wee bit stink.” A citrusy aroma filled the room as soon as he put a little bit liquid to the cotton bud before put it on the man’s face.

“You weren't and yet you are here.” Reckless! No wonder there was a wing dedicated for the hit wizard, auror and curse breaker. They were the same, same breed, the reckless. Mostly for those who work by reaction, mostly for those who were in Gryffindor — lots of them were from Gryffindor and yet Rhys met the anomaly Slytherin.

Rhys expected a loud scream, a screeching voice, a grip on the bed sheet and what he heard was a moan released from the man’s mouth. He expected to scold his school mate to stay still but he got shivered at the back of his neck. Fuck that! If only it was allowed to slap Pickering with his inflexible 14” wand — he already did.

“Good thing you mentioned it was from cursed, I could just give you anti blistering for Dragon’s poison. Hold this.” He has no patience to hold the cotton as large as a notebook to the man’s face. He took his want, tapped on his robe when a clipboard with a feather pen floated beside him.

“Mr Pickering, cursed, physical injury, mild.” Rhys spoke mindlessly and the pen started scribbling on the top of it. “First aid, anti-inflammatory.” Before he looked again to Pickering still on the bed. “I would prescribe you the medicine, what you need to do is just take it diligently and — wait, do you have the curse amulet already? Isn’t it working?”

If he brought it, this accident shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

“Same result, eh?” Thankfully it was a mild curse, probably some distasteful prank or a warning from someone who was annoyed. Malice, might but not in the dangerous section of the spectrum. As long as Pickering won’t scratch his face, the feature won’t shift.

"I have it but I currently don't have it on me," The claim was so bold for a curse breaker he sighs as a response. Unaware that the quill recorded his action. He was right, even though Pickering was a Slytherin, the thesis of hit wizard, auror, and curse breaker were reckless being validated.

“— true, and your pretty face won’t look like someone poured hot water or acid.” He prescribed medication, scratch the amulet.

"So you became a healer, eh?"

Rhys frowned while looking at the man laying on the bed, he shrugged. “I always want to be a Mediwizard.” His parents — even though never had a proper education but they were also healers. With the gods and goddesses that they believed and the giants (separation with the giants defined by ministry of magic), also because of his parents he knew more about medicinal plants compared to most highly educated wizards.

“And you are a curse breaker, I knew it from the nurse who gave me your information.” Rhys stood with a thin smile formed in his thin lips. “But why?”

He shrugged. He knew he excel at herbology, potion, and healing charms, resulting in his chosen profession. Rhys has a little patients for potion, and easy to get annoyed with pest for focusing himself as herbologist. He always wants to help people even though it was easy for him to scold people, but if it was for greater good? Why not?

“Not something I used to see from Slytherins alumni, if I can be honest with you.” There was no malice intention, it was just a fact. “People from your house mostly chanted curses instead of breaking one.” The smile formed again, a bit bitter, a bit nonchalant, along with the shrug.

But the whine coming from the man seems harmless, regretting the job, yeah he might, however somehow it won’t happen. Guts feeling. “Resign then, find a new one. Something that won’t bring you to this wing when you forget something. That kind of job isn’t for everyone.” But yet Rhys challenged him.

His eyebrow rose, the conversation was talking about jobs and suddenly shifted about girls. His love life was eventful, but was, as past tense. As soon as he enter St. Mungo, his previous partner, couldn't handle the long hours of work separation but Pickering shouldn’t have to know.

“Everybody is pretty, don’t you think? What? Would you rather me calling you ugly face instead?”

Exception. The word itself seemed alienating Pickering with the path of his previous house, possibly of the world. People have their own prejudice with Slytherin and of course it wasn’t baseless. Numbers of alumni from that particular house and of course, including the founding father of the house itself has a certain trait that for sure Slytherin possessed even dominated.

Rhys smiled, looked at Pickering with his whined, and mentioned the job that was hard for him to get. To be fair, the job wasn’t as hard as on the other side. If he lived in the non magic world, he couldn’t do medicine without extensive additional education for years. None want to pay druid anymore, as chemical medication was already introduced and widely used.

“Well if you said so, consider yourself as an exception then, you are used to it.”

He reached his clipboard and the quill flew to his coat pocket. He took a good look at the man’s face, the redness already calmed down including the boils. “Right, it's just a matter of hours now. I’ll give you a potion and you should take it after the meal. It will regenerate your broken skin.”

There was uneasiness on Pickering’s smile. Why did he say that? Was he the hunter? You know, the one who looks for those who have anomalies and put them to conversion camp or even authority, in fact Pickering was part of authorities. But, he thought those kinds of things only happened in non magic worlds. “I can make sure none wants to spend their time with someone who can’t even spare their time. That someday won’t happen anytime soon.”