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Remus was just finishing the last sip of his terrible coffee at the nursing station when Marlene, one of the triage nurses, came searching for him.
“Got a fun one for you, Remus,” she sing-songed, which he took to mean that it would be the exact opposite of fun. He hadn’t even started his shift, and already he felt exhausted.
“Oh, goody,” Remus sighed, grabbing a biro to take notes. “Wait, don’t tell me — let me guess.” He steepled his fingers beneath his chin and threw out a few suggestions based on previous patient experiences he considered fun. “I’m going to say either…Lego up the nose, or swallowed a series of coins adding up to no more than 50p.”
“Wrong on both counts, but great guesses,” Marlene laughed, collapsing into the rolling chair beside Remus’ behind the desk. “The kid’s fine — just a small forehead laceration and a fat lip. He’ll need a bit of glue and an ice pack, and he’ll be on his way. It’s the dad that’s a handful.”
“Ugh,” Remus groaned, pretending to bang his head against the desk. “Can’t Alice take this one? Apparently my kid in room six has a nosebleed that starts up again every time he sneezes, and the mum can’t be bothered to put her phone down long enough to help him hold the tissue.” As if on cue, a loud sneeze rang out across the hall, closely followed by the scurrying of a nearby nurse’s aid to answer room six’s call bell.
“Sorry, no can do,” Marlene apologized, handing over the few pages of information comprising the triage assessment. “She’s getting the kid with the fractured femur, the lucky girl.”
“Can’t say I didn’t try,” Remus said with a shrug. “I’ll be out for them in five minutes, just let me have a look at the chart.”
“You’re a doll, Re!” Marlene said, waving over her shoulder as she headed back to the reception area. “Everyone in the waiting room will thank you. The dad has been on the phone with a friend for 15 minutes — he’s lost the plot over something the pharmacy cashier could have fixed with a few steri-strips.
“Brilliant,” Remus muttered, pausing for a moment to rub at his temples. He adored Marlene and her exuberant personality, but had she spent any more time on the unit, he’d have needed to put on sunglasses to protect his retinas from her hot pink scrubs. The fluorescent hospital lighting wasn’t doing him any favours either; he could feel the beginnings of a headache forming behind his eyes, and he’d taken the last of his naproxen yesterday afternoon.
Well, he thought, more than a week between migraines was perhaps too much to ask.
Remus tossed his paper coffee cup into the bin beneath the desk, wheeled his chair back so he could reach the hand sanitizer dispenser on the wall behind him, and held out his palm to accept a generous dollop of clear foam from the automated machine. He rubbed it all over his hands and between his fingers, beneath his nails and around the bases of his thumbs, humming a little tune to himself to ensure he did the full 15 seconds recommended when using alcohol-based hand rubs. As a registered nurse who’d spent the past 10 years of his career in children’s A&E, Remus Lupin was a real stickler for proper hand hygiene.
The triage report Marlene had dropped off provided him with all the important information he’d need in order to care for his patient, 18-month-old Harry J. Potter. According to the triage interview, little Harry had been at home playing in the sitting room when he took a tumble and hit his forehead on the corner of a coffee table. He’d been brought in by James Potter, his father, who was solely responsible for Harry’s care while his wife Lily was away at an education conference in Aberdeen for the weekend. His only injuries were a laceration approximately 3 centimetres in length to the right side of his forehead, and a small cut to the inside of his lip where his tooth had gone through it during his fall. Harry’s vital signs were normal, he wasn’t in much pain, and he wasn’t showing any signs of a brain injury.
“No allergies, no medical history, meeting all his milestones,” Remus read aloud, nodding to himself. Not a particularly exciting case, but sometimes that was just what a nurse needed, especially when they were at the end of a five day stretch of 12-hour shifts.
Remus adjusted his name badge on the front of his scrub top and tucked his freshly sanitized stethoscope into the pocket of his trousers before heading for the waiting room, where Harry and his father had been sitting for about a half-hour. The A&E wasn’t terribly busy (yet) for a Friday afternoon, which was just fine by Remus, who’d had his fair share of busy days this past week.
When he passed the heavy metal doors into the space that served as triage, patient registration, and a waiting room, Remus was greeted by a cacophony of familiar sounds: a squalling baby being hushed by its mother; the crunch of velcro as a blood pressure cuff inflated around a child’s arm; canned laughter in the background of a kids’ TV program. What stood out to him from among the rest of the noise was a man practically shouting into his phone.
The other families in the waiting room had migrated to the edges of the room (even though the chairs in the middle were much more comfortable) to avoid sitting too close. The safety officer didn’t appear particularly worried by the fellow’s loud antics, Remus gathered, as he was still doing his crossword in the security booth beside the door.
A toddler with a square of gauze taped to his forehead was balanced on the frantic man’s knee, quietly babbling to himself as he played with a ring of colourful plastic keys. Not a threat, then, Remus determined, just new to the A&E experience.
“Harry?” Remus called out, glancing down at his clipboard to make sure he had the name right. These days, kids had all sorts of strange names, usually with more letters than he knew what to do with. Harry was a nice, normal name, he thought; not so common that every second kid at school would share it, but not too tough for a child to spell when they reached kindergarten and started learning their letters.
The boy’s father paused his phone conversation and looked up at Remus, eyes wide behind round-rimmed glasses. “Pads, I gotta go,” he hissed at his mobile, “they’ve just called Haz’s name. Please, for the love of god, get here as soon as you can, and bring that silly doll of his if you can find it — check behind the sofa, and maybe under his bed.” The man shoved his phone into his trouser pocket and hoisted the toddler onto his hip before approaching Remus.
“Mr. Potter? Right this way,” Remus said, scanning his ID badge so that the doors to the treatment area would open automatically for them. “I’m Remus, and I’ll be Harry’s nurse today.” As they walked onto the unit, Remus pointed out a few areas of interest — the bathroom, the water/ice dispenser, the linen cart from which he could grab extra blankets if they were feeling cold. James just nodded mechanically, his eyes a bit glazed over as he trailed behind Harry’s nurse.
“If he’s okay to stand, I’d like to get a height and weight from Harry before anything else,” Remus said, pausing beside the scale set up beside the nursing desk.
“Sure, of course,” James agreed, not really comprehending what Remus had said, but agreeable enough to setting little Harry down atop the scale’s black platform. The nurse knelt down in front of Harry and offered him a smile.
“Hello, Harry,” he greeted the boy, keeping his tone bright and happy.
“Hi,” the dark-haired toddler said, his voice just slightly above a whisper. He held his toy keys tightly against his round little tummy as if he thought Remus might try to take them if he didn’t guard them carefully.
“My name is Remus, and I’m going to be your nurse today,” the man explained in a gentle voice. “We’re going to have a look at your boo-boo so we can make it all better. How does that sound?”
Harry regarded Remus with bright-green eyes, taking a moment to process his words. Eventually, he released one hand from his key ring so as to point at his own forehead.
“Ouchie?”
“Yes, there it is,” Remus nodded. “Does it hurt? Ouch?” He winced in a show of pain so that the toddler might understand him better.
Harry frowned and shook his head; he wasn’t crying, and he wasn’t covering his wound like many children did to keep others from touching. He scanned Remus’ face for a moment before reaching out and ever so lightly touching the shiny pink scar that ran across the bridge of the man’s nose.
“Ouch?” Harry repeated — his way of asking, Do you have a boo-boo as well?
“Yes, that’s right,” Remus smiled, wrinkling his nose and making a silly face to get Harry to laugh, “but this one is all better. Doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“You’re really good with him,” Harry’s father said, observing the interaction from where he was leaning against the wall. “Do you have kids?”
“No kids,” Remus told him. “But I’ve worked in paediatrics a long time now, and you’ve got to learn how to talk to little ones if you want to do well at it.”
“Makes sense. Oh! Uh, what percentile is he in for height and weight?” James asked, his question prompted by watching Remus scribble down a few numbers onto his clipboard. Harry had plopped down onto his bum on the scale so he could play with his toy key ring again, but all his measurements had been taken during his short chat with the nurse.
“He’s right around the 25th percentile for an 18-month-old,” Remus said, eyeing the chart posted on the wall, “so he’s on the smaller size for his age, but that could change.” He was pleasantly surprised to hear a father asking such a question, because it tended to be mothers that carefully tracked their children’s growth on the charts the paediatricians provided.
“Right, okay. But that’s not bad, is it? He’s not abnormal?” James asked, running a hand through his hair as he watched his son play. “We’re vegetarian for religious reasons, but we follow the list of protein-rich foods from his doctor, and he gets plenty of exercise. He’s just petite, my wife thinks.” The toddler extended his arms towards his father, asking to be picked up, and James obliged.
“Not abnormal at all,” Remus assured the man, “growth is influenced by many different factors. So long as you’re following his paediatrician’s recommendations and keeping an eye on him to make sure he’s eating well, he’ll be just fine.”
“Brilliant, I’m glad to hear it,” James said, doing a dramatic show of brushing the back of his hand across his forehead, as if to wipe nervous sweat from his brow. Remus continued on down the hall, stopping outside a room to the left of the nursing station.
“We’ll put you here in room three,” Remus said, drawing the curtain back from the doorway of a jungle-themed room so that James and Harry could have a look. “You can sit Harry on the bed there, or if it’s easier, you can sit with him. It’ll be a bit of a wait to see the doctor, but we’ll have a look at his forehead and get him cleaned up in the meantime.”
James did as he’d been told, seating himself with Harry on his lap so he would have a proper hold on him. The father had a look at the wall murals, seemingly impressed by their quality and by the layout of the room.
As Remus scanned the checklist for his initial assessment, he felt something prodding at his belly. When he glanced down, little Harry was poking at one of the cartoon images on the nurse's scrub top.
“Kitty!” Harry declared, staring wide-eyed open-mouthed at Remus’ shirt. A bit of drool was dribbling down his chin, but it didn’t seem to be bothering him. “Kitty, kitty, kitty,” he repeated, pointing to each of the differently-coloured cats in the shirt’s pattern: a calico toying with a ball of yarn, a snoozing tabby, a fluffy ragdoll eyeing a mouse.
“Do you have a kitty at home, Harry?” Remus asked the boy.
Harry thought about that for a moment before shaking his head. “NO!” he shouted, delighted to have the opportunity to use what was clearly one of his favourite words.
“Daddy is allergic to cats,” James explained to Remus, “but Nana Evans has two kitties, and Harry adores them. Don’t you, buddy?”
“No, no, no,” Harry hummed, too preoccupied by the bit of dried yam puree he’d just discovered on the leg of his pyjamas to give a thoughtful answer to his father’s question.
“Er…” James smiled nervously at Remus, as though the nurse might call Child Protective Services on him for bringing in a baby who’d slopped a bit of food onto his clothes.
“How’s about we take off this bit of gauze and have a look at Harry’s forehead?” Remus suggested, giving James a reassuring smile. “Doesn’t look like it’s bleeding through, so it should be fine to remove. I want to get the skin around his cut cleaned up so the doctor can have a good look when she gets here.”
“Sure, of course,” James agreed. He shuffled himself back on the bed and repositioned Harry on his knees to give Remus a bit of space to work. Out in the hallway, someone let out a raucous laugh — not one Remus recognized, but that had James’ eyes flashing brightly with recognition.
“That’s got to be my brother,” James said, glancing towards the doorway. “Sirius, we’re just here in room 3!” He raised his voice so he might be heard by whoever was out in the hall.
A few seconds later, a tattooed hand drew back the curtain covering the door so that the new arrival could have a look inside. “There’s my boys,” exclaimed the visitor, their voice a low, smoky baritone.
Curious, Remus glanced up to see whether the resemblance between brothers was as uncanny as that between father and son. He spent a moment in confused silence because Harry’s visitor looked absolutely nothing like he’d anticipated. With sharp, angular cheekbones, olive-toned skin, and a perceptive gaze that passed over Remus in satisfied appraisal, this was quite possibly one of the most attractive people Remus had ever laid eyes on. Unlike their brother’s clean-cut look, this person — Sirius, as Remus recalled hearing James address them — had visible tattoos, a plethora of rings and studs in both ears, a hoop in one nostril, and another through the centre of their lower lip.
I wonder what that mouth tastes like, Remus’ brain supplied unhelpfully, as his attention was meant to be focused on Harry, and not on what sort of toothpaste the boy's delectable uncle preferred.
They wore a fitted black leather motorcycle jacket, dark-wash jeans with rips in the knees, and heavy leather boots worn by years of use — not distressed for fashion’s sake. Their raven-black hair was swept back into a thick bun and held in place by a pair of silver hair sticks. When they crossed the small space to stand beside James, Remus noticed that there were tiny beads wrapped around the ends of the hair sticks in a delicate rainbow pattern. If that was too subtle a proclamation of their queerness, the ‘they-them’ pronoun button on the lapel of their jacket did the trick.
“Paddy!” Harry cried out, grinning up at the tall, broad-shouldered figure. “See!” The toddler pointed to his head, where the gauze square remained taped despite Remus’ best intentions to remove it.
“Oh no!” James’ brother exclaimed, bending forward to have a look at Harry’s forehead. “What happened there, Haz?”
“Ouchie,” Harry told them gravely.
“Well, it’s a good thing that the nice hospital people are going to fix it up,” they said, smiling as their silver gaze flickered up to meet Remus’. They stood up tall and offered Remus a calloused hand, which the nurse accepted in a firm handshake. “Sirius Black; they/them pronouns, please,” they said by way of greeting. “And you must be my nephew’s adorable nurse.”
“Er, I think you mean, ‘your adorable nephew’s nurse,’ Pads,” James corrected them, rolling his eyes. Either he already knew his brother to be a notorious flirt, or he was trying to gently inform them of their well-timed Freudian slip.
“I know what I said,” Sirius said dismissively, waving James off. “Remus, is it?” They reached out and tapped the plastic photo ID pinned to Remus’ scrub top. “Nice to meet you.”
“You as well,” Remus nodded, trying and failing to keep his expression neutral and unaffected. (He’d been chatted up by his patients’ family members before, but this was a different situation entirely because he found himself wanting to flirt back. It wasn’t often a bloke such as himself had the opportunity to meet someone as intriguing as Sirius Black.)
“So, let’s have a look at that ouchie, shall we, Harry?” Remus suggested, changing the subject entirely as he tore his gaze away from Sirius, whose five o’clock shadow was giving Remus heart palpitations.
Harry continued to ignore Remus, as he was still staring at his uncle — though more specifically, at the misshapen bulge in his uncle’s jacket pocket. “Whazzat?” he asked, pointing at Sirius’ jacket.
“Oh, this?" Sirius asked, patting their pocket. "I thought you’d never ask.”
After a moment of digging, Sirius produced from within their jacket the ugliest doll (if you could even call it a doll) Remus had ever seen in his life. The creature had long, slender limbs, bulbous green eyes, floppy ears like those of a sad bat, and in place of proper clothing wore a poorly-sewn shift dress that looked to have been made from a ratty old pillowcase.
“Paddy,” Harry scolded, reaching out to grab the doll. “Tha's mine.”
“What do you say, Haz?” James asked, raising his eyebrows at his son’s lack of manners.
“Pease,” Harry added quickly, easily accepting James' gentle reprimand.
“Well, since you said it so nicely…” Sirius acquiesced, handing over the hideous fabric doll. Harry snatched it from their hands and pulled it into a crushing hug against his chest. He rocked it back and forth and pressed loud kisses to the doll’s head, so happy was he to have it back in his possession.
“Now, who’s this?” Remus asked Harry, cocking his head to one side to indicate his curiosity.
“Dobby,” Harry said, allowing the nurse a quick peek before tucking the doll beneath his arm for safekeeping. “My fwend.”
“I’m glad Dobby can be here with you,” Remus told Harry. “It’s good to have friends who can help us when we need it.” The nurse glanced meaningfully between the boy’s father and uncle, willing them to assist in his endeavour to get Harry cleaned up.
With Sirius’ gentle coaxing and James to hold Harry still, Remus managed to peel the gauze from the toddler’s forehead, beneath which he found a thin cut running diagonally across his forehead. Using sterile water, forceps, and gauze, he cleaned up the dried blood around the wound so that it would be ready for the physician as soon as she was able to pop in. The actual treatment of injuries wasn’t what made visits to A&E so long; it was all the waiting in between being seen by nurses and doctors.
“The skin on the forehead doesn’t have much give when it comes to bringing the edges of the cut back together,” Remus explained to the adults while Harry was busy chattering away at his doll, “so it’s more likely that Dr. Pomfrey will use some skin glue to close this than sutures, because it’ll be less painful, reduce the risk of infection, and be less likely to leave a significant scar.”
“I’ve never heard of that,” James said, frowning. “Can we still give him baths if he’s got glue on his forehead, or will it come right off?”
“Jamie, I think it’s probably a bit stronger than what Haz uses on his craft projects,” Sirius said, patting their brother’s shoulder. “Remus won’t let us leave without giving instructions on how to take care of it, isn’t that right?” Sirius shot the nurse a commiserative wink.
“Absolutely,” Remus agreed, focusing all his energy on affixing a clean gauze dressing to Harry’s forehead, instead of replaying Sirius’ wink in his mind. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go and look in on my other patients.” He grabbed the call bell from where it was hanging from the bed railing and set it down on the mattress next to James. “If you need anything, press the button here and someone will be in to see you as soon as possible.”
“Thank you so much, Remus,” James effused, wrapping his arms protectively around the boy in his lap. “I was feeling a bit panicked for a few minutes there, but you’ve been such a help.”
At James' use of the words “a bit,” to quantify the severity of his concern, Sirius barked out a laugh, which they quickly covered up with a series of coughs, leaving James none the wiser. Remus, drawing upon a decade of experience keeping a straight face before his clients, just smiled.
“Keep an eye on your sprog there,” Remus said in joking suggestion as he moved to the sink to wash his hands, “he seems like an energetic little thing. I bet he gets up to all sorts of mischief at home.” Harry glanced up just then, knowing that ‘sprog’ was another term adults used when talking about him.
“Don’t we know it,” James chuckled, giving the top of Harry’s head an affectionate rub with his knuckles. The boy made a noise of gentle protest, but joined in a moment later as James’ hands shifted down to tickle his tummy. Harry’s high-pitched giggle sent Sirius into a fit of laughter, filling the room with a joyous ruckus that Remus was glad to stand witness to. Working at A&E had exposed him to some truly terrible things over the years, but this — seeing a family brought closer together by laughter — was the sort of thing that made it all worth it.
Remus headed for the door, casting one last look at the happy trio. The scene warmed his heart, certainly, but also sent a twinge of sadness through him. Remus had lost his parents just weeks apart a few years back, and having been an only child, he couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous of people like the Potters. With a quiet sigh, he slipped past the privacy curtain and out into the corridor beyond.
Remus returned to the nursing desk to transcribe his assessment on Harry, but hadn’t been sat down for very long before someone came to stand against the counter before him, casting a slight shadow over his paperwork. The other nurses knew better than to bother him while he was charting, so it had to be someone else. He continued writing until he’d finished the sentence he was on, and glanced up to find James Potter’s very attractive brother smiling down at him.
“Oh! Is everything all right?” Remus squeaked, shifting his gaze past Sirius towards Harry’s room. The curtain was still pulled over the doorway, and he didn’t hear any wailing, so it couldn’t be that an emergency had occurred in the five minutes since he’d left the room.
“Yes! It’s just that you, er…forgot this?” Sirius dug around in their pocket for a moment and came up with a black biro, which they set on the counter and pushed towards the nurse. Remus picked it up and examined it with a slight frown. He didn’t use this type of biro, preferring the sort that had four colours packed into one pen, as it made charting much simpler.
“I don’t think this is mine,” Remus said, pausing to read the logo printed on the side of the pen. ‘Black’s Small Engine Repair’ it advertised. Beneath the logo were the address and phone number for what Remus surmised was Sirius’ place of work — perhaps even a business he owned, judging by the name.
“Oh, my bad,” Sirius apologized, feigning ignorance. “But you might as well keep it. You probably have more use for it than me.”
“Thank you,” Remus said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “We nurses are always losing our pens, so this will surely come in handy.” He didn’t comment on the pen’s origins, or ask where Sirius might have acquired it, as they were clearly waiting for him to do, based on their hopeful expression.
“Right,” Sirius mumbled, their eyes trained on the countertop. “Well, then, I should let you get back to your work.” They offered one last strained smile before they turned around and retreated towards Harry’s room.
Remus held his breath as he watched them go, listening to the little voice in his head that was shouting at him to be brave and take a chance, just this once. It had been ages since he’d gone out with anyone, let alone had someone express interest in him. And what if he was passing up on a fantastic person, someone that was funny and kind and adventurous — someone that might draw him out of the shell he’d been hiding under since the last time he’d had his heart broken, just because he was scared that they might not reciprocate his interest?
“Er, Sirius?” Remus heard himself say. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t come to regret this.
“Yes?” Sirius asked breathlessly. They were right in front of him, having hurried back to the desk the moment Remus had opened his mouth to speak.
“I, er…have this old scooter kicking around in my garage,” Remus began tentatively, “a Vespa, actually; it belonged to my granddad, who bought it back in his days as a mod. Do you think you could have a look at it, and maybe let me know if you could get it working again?”
Sirius stared at him, open-mouthed, for a full ten seconds before they could say anything.
“Are you being real right now, or are you not fond of chat-up lines?” They asked, ignoring the presence of Remus’ coworkers at the other end of the desk, all of whom were watching the interaction with bated breath.
“That bad, was it?” Remus groaned, covering his face with his hands so that Sirius might not see how red he had gone. Shoving his head into the bin beneath the desk seemed like a fantastic idea just then, empty yogurt cups and banana peels be damned.
“What time is your break today?” Sirius asked, interrupting Remus’ train of thought just as the nurse was shifting from feeling sorry for himself to mentally planning his own funeral. Remus glanced up at the clock on the wall and counted the hours until lunch.
“Well, I’m on until 8:30 tonight, but I’ve got an hour for lunch around two o’clock,” Remus said, shooting a dirty look at his coworkers, who had started whispering their suggestions for good places to eat from where they were eavesdropping nearby.
“Brilliant,” Sirius said, smiling down at Remus. “You pick the place, and I’ll meet you out front just after two with my motorbike, all right?”
Remus blinked up at them, waiting for the punch line of whatever joke Sirius was telling. After a few seconds of silence: “You’re actually serious."
“As a heart attack,” they assured him.
“Bad joke in a hospital, mate,” James called, appearing in the doorway of Harry’s room. His son was fast asleep in his arms, carefully arranged so that his forehead wouldn’t get bumped against his father's arm. “Just kiss ‘im already and get back in here. Lily’s on the line, and I need some emotional support."
“I’m not going to kiss you,” Sirius promised, casting a nervous look at Remus. “Not now, I mean. That’d be a bit unprofessional.”
“Just a bit,” Remus agreed, though he probably wouldn’t have turned down a kiss if it was being offered. “All right, go save your brother from his wife, and I’ll see you later. I’ve got to do some actual work or they’ll have me fired.”
“Fat chance,” Sirius scoffed. “The girl in pink at the triage desk says you’re the best nurse they’ve got here, and she seemed like a trustworthy sort of person. I’m a very good judge of character, I’ll have you know.”
“And you come highly recommended by a toddler with impeccable taste in friends,” Remus quipped back.
Sirius gave him one last wave goodbye before returning to Harry’s room, leaving Remus with an image of their bright, silver eyes and brilliant smile, which the nurse would be replaying in his mind every spare moment until the end of his shift (and possibly even after).
Remus decided that despite the bumpy start to the morning, it wasn’t shaping up to be such a bad day after all.