Ratings/Warnings: 3rd/5th Years: Violence, Character Death
Word Count: 497
A/N: Rather violent, but it would explain a certain someone’s vendetta against non-werewolves.
* * *
Healer Therian Barrows, Chief of the Creature-Induced Injury Ward, gazed disdainfully at the patient writhing in the bed next to him in a fitful sleep. The boy, a thirteen-year-old, was clearly experiencing the side effects of his bite, and it was only a matter of days before he would experience the full brunt of the monster brewing inside of him. Three days, in fact, until the next full moon. Three days until this harmless teenager would turn into a savage, mindless killer.
Picking up the chart, Healer Barrows looked over the young man’s information. Fenrir Greyback: born to a half-blood mother who died in childbirth due to acute haemorrhaging, and allegedly fathered by a poor, half-blood father but suspected of being, in truth, a product of incest with a history of genetic mental illness.
Filth, he mouthed as he scribbled notes on the chart. Such cases were a drain on hospital resources and a danger to the other patients in the ward. The man who claimed the boy as his own seemed eager enough to be rid of his ‘son’, and judging by the tatty robes and rough hands, he wasn’t a man of means anyway.
But truly, there was no cure for lycanthropy; the boy would be a werewolf once per month until the day he died. A miserable, vicious existence that would be wrought with agony and social exclusion. There had been enough cases to come through Barrows’s ward for him to be certain that there were no exceptions. Many of them committed suicide before age twenty when bitten at Greyback’s current age. This lad, a lank and weak-looking thing, was definitely prime for such a fate.
Quietly, Barrows set down the chart and plucked the pillow from underneath the boy’s head. He gripped both ends of it and, with a deep breath, firmly pressed it over Greyback’s face. As the desperate need for air escalated, limbs flailed and grasped at the pillow, but the struggle became weaker as the seconds wore on. Soon, the boy did not move at all.
Barrows placed the pillow back under Greyback’s head and checked for a pulse. Nothing, as he suspected. Picking up the chart once more, he added a series of notes.
Patient status: Deceased
Cause of death: Cardiac arrest due to hysterical distress
Time of death: 14:28
Ringing for a nurse, Barrows said, “The patient has died. I shall dispose of the body.” He handed her the chart. “Please file this.” As the nurse nodded and left, Barrows Levitated the body down the hall to the biological waste chute.
* * *
Every breath was a battle in his old age, but Therian Barrows was willing to fight for them all. Life was a gift, a blessing, and he would not waste the few hours he had left of it.
“Nurse,” he croaked. “Water.”
The door opened, and footsteps approached. “I’ve waited for you, old man.”
Barrows’s eyes widened as hands came at his throat and twisted.