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Disclaimer: Title from William Shakespeare’s, The Twelfth Night.

I’m not over,
I’m not over you just yet.
~ I’m Not Over, Carolina Liar

Chapter Three: This is Illyria, Lady

By the time Healer Blackwood returned, my entourage had left; it was past four in the morning, I didn’t expect them to stay.

I heard her before I even saw her. The quick tap, tap, tap of her shoes against the marble of the corridors sounded her approach. “Well, I hope you’re more reasonable than this evening, Molly,” she called, just before she entered my room.

I huffed childishly but said nothing. She smiled, showing her rows of perfect white teeth. Her hair had lost some of its bounce—the effects of a stressful job, I’d imagine—but her coat had come off and all I could see was the stretchy red cotton of her shirt covering an hourglass figure and enormous breasts.

For a split second, I despised her.

Approaching me with that same smile on her face, she began fussing with her clipboard. “Wipe that frown away, love, I haven’t even started yet.”

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion and moved away slightly, but she didn’t take the hint. She continued flicking through the papers, tapping her wand absently. “Started what?”

“Well, we need updated blood samples, several actually, and I’ve got several nasty tasting potions coming up any moment I’ll need you to take before I can even think about callin’ it a day.”

I frowned but said nothing.

“You face will stay that way if you don’t lighten up, darlin’,” she warned in a slightly singsong voice. She twirled her wand a muttered a few words, causing several small glass vials to materialise in front of her, which she directed to line up just in front of my right forearm. Taking a seat on my bed, she began pulling things out of my bedside draw; two tubes that seemed to be cream of some kind, a roll of bandages and several stoppers for the vials.

She busied herself organising her space and tapping her vials, each of which glowed a bright green hue. “Now, I’m going to get some blood samples from you, which I’ll take down and test—it will tell us if you’re getting better or worse.”

I felt a flutter of anxiety brush low in my gut and I coughed nervously. “How will you…?”

She gave me a warm smile, pulling at my arm longways and rubbing some salve into my forearm before hovering her wand just above my skin. “Nothing invasive, dear, you’ll just feel a slight tingle.”

She was right, of course, but nothing she would ever say could make me admit it. Her wand light pulsed a vibrant green, and then, slowly, a spray of red began to eek off of my skin. I watched in fascination as the blood began to gather in a thick, soupy ball that twirled and spun at the tip of the Healer’s wand. A few seconds pass and the ball slowly grew thicker and the tingle in my arm intensified to a vague sting, but I didn’t say a word.

“So who was he?” The interest her voice was thinly disguised under a veil of nonchalance.

I blushed. I knew instantly who she was talking about but said the first thing to mind. “Who was who? Shouldn’t you be concentrating?”

She rolled her eyes dismissively. “The one who landed you here, stupid!”

“I, uh...I don’t want to talk about it.” The machines monitoring me beeped warningly as my chest tightened, but the Healer paid them no mind.

“Spill, sugar! You’ll never get over it if you don’t talk about it!”

Thankfully, before I could say a word, Lorcan chose that moment to duck his head in the doorway. “Healer?” He seemed surprised to see her there.

Healer Blackwood jumped, the wobbly ball of blood shaking slightly, before she threw a glare at the sandy blonde head peering in. “Shoot, Scamander—we were bonding.”

I almost laughed but covered it quickly with a cough.

Lorcan arched an eyebrow, his eyes flicking from me to the Healer. “I can see that, Camellia. Should I come back or...?”

She pouted, her big red lips jutting out changing her expression to one of a particularly petulant child.  She moved the blood to a position over the vials before whispering something that caused it to spread “You’ve gone a ruined it now and I’ve got other patients, besides.” She turned to me, her bright smile blossoming once more. “I’ll get you talking, sugar, you just watch.”

She paused at the door way before turning to Lorcan. “Oh and Lorcan? Can you be a darl’ and bandage up our patients arm?”

Lorcan gave me a glace before nodding. The Healer smiled brightly before whisking herself away in a flurry of hair and American sass.

Silence stretched between us as Lorcan moved towards me, replacing Healer Blackwood’s spot on the bed. Placing my arm across his thigh, he began rubbing the cream into my arm gingerly. His face was a mask of calm confidence and his hands were soft and smooth on my skin, the cream sending tingles up my arm.

I took the time to notice the changes in Lorcan had gone through since Hogwarts—and they were immense. Gone was the gangly teenager who couldn’t string a sentence together if I was in a three mile-radius, replaced with a strong, sure and confident man. I couldn't help but notice how much more attractive this Lorcan was. He hadn't changed so much in looks but in his confidence, in his personality--being several years older than him didn't make me blind, he was always attractive. But now, he seemed okay with it.

I don't know if that is a good thing.

I cleared my throat awkwardly, racking my mind for something to say. “Healer Blackwood is...interesting.”

Lorcan gave me a sharp look, pausing from his workings on my arm. “She’s brilliant.”

Taken aback, I let the silence settle once more. His hands were sure and fast, wrapping the bandage tightly around my arm. The burning, tingling sensation was fading but was also being replaced by a dull throb.

There was one question I was burning to ask, so I let myself speak again. “You don’ don’t think much of me, do you?”

He gave me an incredulous look. “What do you mean?”

His strangely intense attitude startled me, causing me to stutter out the rest of the sentence, as a blush crept to my cheeks. “You’ve just...been...never mind.”

He shrugged. “Okay.”

Oddly irritated by his dismissal, I tried again. “You don’t think I’m ill.”

He gave me a long look. “No.”

I decided it was time to state the obvious, indicating vaguely to the monitors with my free hand. “But I am.”


I cocked my head to the side, frustration at his apparent ignorance of my condition irritating as I tried to figure out where the conversation would lead to—I figured it couldn’t be good. “Your boss believes me.”

This brought a small smile to his face. “If you hadn’t noticed, Healer Blackwood has a tendency towards the dramatics.”

Anger bubbled inside me as his words sunk in. The room was becoming too small for the two of us, the hospital blankets too confining and I could feel the thump, thump, thump of my heart quicken in my chest. “So if I’m just being dramatic, how do you explain it?”

His expression darkened. “There has to be another reason. Something else is the cause—you’re twenty-eight, you can’t have BHS, Molly. just can’t. It doesn’t make sense.”

I glared, unconsciously pulling the thin white blanket of the hospital bed up. I was becoming antsy and my chest was tightening ever so slightly, and  “Why not?”

He looked hesitant, eyes flickering to the monitors surrounding me, but apparently the urge to express himself won over in the end. “You can’t be that emotionally attached.”

I frowned, not quite believing what I was hearing. “What?”

He looked a tiny bit flustered; it was strange, because he seemed perfectly comfortable delivering blows to my way of living. “You’re twenty-eight, you barely know who you are yet—”

My voice was hard with a jagged edge. “I loved him.”

He sighed, looking as though he wished to be anywhere but in my room, having this discussion. “I know, but—”

I shut down, unable to let myself hear the words tumbling out of his mouth. I snatched my arm, newly bandaged, away from him and turn my eyes to stare stubbornly at the wall. “I’m done for today.”

His voice sounded irritated, confused. “What—I—”

“No more tests today.”

 In my minds eyes, I could almost see his expression harden. “Molly, we need—”

Thankfully, whatever he was going to say was cut off by a tap, tap, tap against the window. Attention diverted, what I saw now was, the owl at the window, and ignoring Scamander’s vague sound of protest, I leapt out of bed, and hurried to the window. Forcing it open was a slight struggle and the cold air that blustered into the room made me rethink if it was actually worth it, but the owl flew into the room without trouble, gracefully dropping the rather large but thin package on my bed before landing on my bedpost and eyeing me expectantly.

Scamander cleared his throat. “You’re not allowed owls in the hospital.”

I gave him a sour look. “It’s important.”

He rolled his eyes, obviously finding me completely dull, and made to exit the room. “That’s all for now, Mrs. Lupin. We’ll run some more tests tomorrow.”

One of the monitors around my bed beeped angrily as I spat, “It’s Weasley!”

He waved me off, exiting the room silently. I huffed, frustrated at being treated like a child by someone over half a decade my junior, before turning my attention to the package in my hands and the owl that was hooting noisily in my ear. It was an ordinary barn owl, so I had no idea who it was from. Digging around in the overnight bag Rose had been so kind to bring, I found my coin purse. Scrounging up a sickle, i tucked it into the bird pouch, giving it a gentle stroke of affection. The owl hooted happily before taking flight, flying out into the brisk London dawn.

My attention shifted to the package resting innocently on my bed and I picked it up curiously, the brown-paper wrapping tearing easily under my eager fingers. As I peeled away layer after layer, the bright blue cover of the bundle of documents glared at me and I felt my world shrink down to the single object in my hands. My chest tightened but I was already numb and I could feel a thing; my blood was pumping furiously in my ears as I stared at the cover and I could feel my hands shaking, the paper crinkling softly as my fingers tightened.

The divorce papers. The thought fluttered through my head softly, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake, as the monitors started beeping furiously around me. He had sent me the divorce papers.

A single tear slid down my cheek, and then I was crying.

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