A Setback
The saying goes that, when one door closes, a window opens. Liam Abbott had always found that a rather trite saying. What was one supposed to do? Crawl like a common sneak thief through a window left ajar? But as Zheng shot down his proposals time and time again, the idea grew more and more appealing. After all, what was that other saying? Better to ask forgiveness than permission? And once she and her fellows saw the genius of his work, he'd be up to his elbows in patients.
But first. First, he needed his linchpin case. Zheng was scrupulous about who was allowed into Black's room and who wasn't, so he'd have to bide his time. But as soon as the window opened, he'd be ready.
His chance came two weeks before Christmas. One of Zheng's other cases had a tragic accident, a slip in therapy that had set her healing back. As it happened, the standing alarm had been taken off Black's bed a few days before, and he was freely ambulatory within the confines of his own room. With Zheng and her team busy elsewhere, Liam summoned a wheelchair and slipped in.
He had to admit, Black was quite the specimen. A model of physical rehabilitation, honestly, once his obstinate streak had run out. Even now, he was hard at work. He hadn't yet been granted the privilege of a wand—that would come after his psychiatric therapy and clearance—but he still stood in the center of the room with arm leveled before him, flexing and flicking his wrist deftly. Even after almost a year in Azkaban, his extension was a thing of beauty.
Liam cleared his throat softly, and Black whipped about. Fortunate, indeed, that he only held a toothbrush and not a proper wand. Jumpy thing. Well. Jumpy for now. Nothing that Liam couldn't fix in an hour or so.
“Sirius Black?” Liam inquired, as though everyone in the country didn't know Black's name and face. “I'm Healer Liam Abbott. I'll be taking over your rehabilitation.”
If anything, Black's wariness only increased. He narrowed his eyes at the proffered wheelchair and didn't approach. “Therapy's in the afternoon,” he said. If Liam didn't know any better, he'd have sworn Black sniffed at him, too, like some sort of beast scenting the wind.
“I'm from Mental Magics,” Liam said quickly. “I hear you've been having nightmares? Healer Zheng and I have finally decided on a course of treatment.”
“Maple didn't mention adding any new therapies when I saw her this morning.”
“Yes, well, she's only just decided. So, if you don't mind—”
Liam nudged the wheelchair forward again, but Black didn't move. After a long moment, he huffed, but his back to him, and resumed his wristwork.
“Think I'll wait for her, thanks. I'm busy.”
When one door closes, Liam told himself as he drew his wand, sometimes you have to make your own window.
One silent Stunner to the small of the back, and Black dropped like a rag doll. Liam knelt and rolled the glassy-eyed Black over. He didn't seem to have hit his head, which was fortunate, but it wouldn't hurt to take care of this little memory, too.
“Sorry about that,” Liam said with a grunt, and he hauled Black into the chair. Black's head lolled back, and he stared up blankly. It sent an uneasy shudder down Liam's spine to be the object of that unfocused grey gaze. He turned Black's head back upright, secured the patient with a quick Incarcerous, and tapped both of their crowns with a Disillusionment Charm. “Believe me, you'll thank me for this later. No more nightmares. No more mourning. You'll be able to get on with your life.
“You know, I had hoped you'd be a willing participant,” he muttered. He strolled off down the hallway, pushing the chair. They turned a corner at the end of the hall, headed for a little-used lift at the end of the wing. “Sing my praises to the others once I'd fixed you, but I'll take what I can get.”
“—sorry you weren't able to meet with Healer Zheng tonight—”
Abbott heard the voice from inside the lift and backpedaled out of the way as the doors slid open. Two younger men stepped onto the landing, one an attendant from Zheng's team and the other not anyone that Abbott recognized: tall, thin, and tawny-haired.
At the sight of them, Black made a sound. Barely a grunt, hardly audible, but the newcomer's eyes slid over to where they were concealed. Liam pressed the tip of his wand to the spot behind Black's ear in warning. It wouldn't do to be discovered now, a mere meter away from sure victory.
“Not at all,” the stranger said, giving his head a small shake. “I'm glad she wrote me. I'm only sorry I couldn't make it sooner.”
The attendant waved a dismissal. “Don't fret it. Mr. Black's right down this way—I'm sure he'll be glad to see you, Mr. Lupin.”
Damn it all! He'd gone this long with nobody dropping in to see Black except the hospital workers, and now the son of a bitch gets a visitor. He shoved the chair into the lift just before the doors slid closed and jammed the button for the Mental Magics ward. Then, on second thought, he pushed for the lower levels. They'd find the room empty any minute now, and then the whole ward would go on lockdown while they searched for their little lost lamb. Best to be as far from the main thoroughfares as possible until the deed was done.
“Who's your friend?” Liam asked as the lift plunged down to the storerooms, archives, and tunnels that made up the Mungo's basement network. Black grunted again, a sound halfway between a groan and a growl. Really, why couldn't he have been compliant? This whole thing would have been so much easier. “Well, not to worry. Cooperate, and you'll be able to show off your sparkling clean psyche before supper.”
The bottommost levels of the basements were hardly ever occupied. They contained little more than decades-old hospital records and outdated research. Still, Liam supposed that if he ever felt the burning need to study a treatise late 19th century leech therapy, he knew where to find it. A flick of his wand set the sconces lining the corridor alight, and he immediately wished he'd planned better. Nobody had been down here in ages, and the reek of burning dust and rancid oil gagged him.
Black twitched against his bonds, the beginnings of him regaining full consciousness and mobility.
“Can you hear me, Mr. Black?” he asked. The answer was another low growl from deep in Black's throat. “Oh, don't be like that. This is for your own good. I could've had you fixed ages ago if Zheng knew proper therapy when it bit her.”
Black stilled. For a second, it seemed he'd finally realized what was best for him. Then, as Liam steered his way into a long-abandoned room, Black gave a sharp jerk against the ropes. The whole chair nearly pitched over, but Liam snatched it and set it to rights.
“Ah-ah-ah—don't make me stun you again,” he chided. “I need you conscious for this. The more you cooperate, the more precise I can be.”
He locked the chair wheels with a tap of the wand and hunkered down in front of his patient. His masterpiece. His magnum opus.
He set his wand tip to Black's temple and locked eyes with him. Now, to get to work.