RP: Facing Facts
Date: October 5th, 1998
Character(s): Lavender Brown, Healer Sirona Salus [NPC], Bill Weasley
Location: St. Mungo's
Status: Private
Summary: Lavender consults a Healer, then visits Bill for a more personal talk.
Completion: Complete
Lavender felt humiliated as she stood on a set of scales wearing nothing more than a flimsy hospital gown. She kept her gaze steady, looking ahead at the magnolia wall as her eyes avoided the horrible, horrible numbers that spelled out her weight.
On Sunday, in Seamus's arms, she'd come to realise that no matter how much comfort he or anyone else gave her, it wasn't going to make things miraculously better. She felt broken and defeated and she hated it. Seamus seemed afraid to touch her, as though he was worried she would break or something; Lavender still couldn't quite see what was wrong with her weight, but she knew that Seamus didn't like the way she looked and that killed her a little inside.
Professional help started in the form of Healer Sirona Salus. Healer Salus had treated Lavender after the battle, which now seemed do very long ago. She examined Lavender in a brusque fashion, taking various measurements and writing them down. Lavender felt about eleven-years-old.
The stout witch studied Lavender, finally telling her to sit down. "What are you doing to yourself?"
"Nothing."
"It doesn't look like nothing, Miss Brown." Sirona picked up her notes, flicking through pages of parchment. "You were a little underweight when you came to us in May."
Lavender rolled her eyes: that made it sound as though she had come here voluntarily rather than as a victim of the battle.
"But this is just... ridiculous." Frowning, the Healer made another note. "It's not healthy for a girl of your height to weigh as much as you do, especially with the effects that the werewolf bite had on you." A specialist in bites, she was one of the hospital's better-versed Healers in werewolves; Sirona glanced at the lunar calendar on the wall. "How do you feel with the full moon tonight?"
Looking down at her hands, Lavender clasped them together in her lap to disguise the slight tremor in them. "This is the worst one yet."
"I would have thought so, what with everything you've told me." Sirona dipped her quill into her ink pot. "I'm going to prescribe a potion to help you sleep. There's only a week's worth, but we'll consider other options if you're still having difficulty sleeping. And you need to put on weight."
Lavender glared.
"If you stay at this weight, you could have a lot of problems in the future. Trouble with your bones, infertility..." The Healer pursed her lips. "And I think you should speak to someone about your emotional issues. I'm a little concerned that you'll hurt yourself if you carry on like this, whether intentionally or not."
That was how Lavender found herself hovering anxiously outside Bill Weasley's office at Hogwarts. She knew he was available to talk because he had office hours, but she wasn't really here to talk to him as a student. She thought about turning away a dozen times before she finally raised her courage and knocked on the door.
Character(s): Lavender Brown, Healer Sirona Salus [NPC], Bill Weasley
Location: St. Mungo's
Status: Private
Summary: Lavender consults a Healer, then visits Bill for a more personal talk.
Completion: Complete
Lavender felt humiliated as she stood on a set of scales wearing nothing more than a flimsy hospital gown. She kept her gaze steady, looking ahead at the magnolia wall as her eyes avoided the horrible, horrible numbers that spelled out her weight.
On Sunday, in Seamus's arms, she'd come to realise that no matter how much comfort he or anyone else gave her, it wasn't going to make things miraculously better. She felt broken and defeated and she hated it. Seamus seemed afraid to touch her, as though he was worried she would break or something; Lavender still couldn't quite see what was wrong with her weight, but she knew that Seamus didn't like the way she looked and that killed her a little inside.
Professional help started in the form of Healer Sirona Salus. Healer Salus had treated Lavender after the battle, which now seemed do very long ago. She examined Lavender in a brusque fashion, taking various measurements and writing them down. Lavender felt about eleven-years-old.
The stout witch studied Lavender, finally telling her to sit down. "What are you doing to yourself?"
"Nothing."
"It doesn't look like nothing, Miss Brown." Sirona picked up her notes, flicking through pages of parchment. "You were a little underweight when you came to us in May."
Lavender rolled her eyes: that made it sound as though she had come here voluntarily rather than as a victim of the battle.
"But this is just... ridiculous." Frowning, the Healer made another note. "It's not healthy for a girl of your height to weigh as much as you do, especially with the effects that the werewolf bite had on you." A specialist in bites, she was one of the hospital's better-versed Healers in werewolves; Sirona glanced at the lunar calendar on the wall. "How do you feel with the full moon tonight?"
Looking down at her hands, Lavender clasped them together in her lap to disguise the slight tremor in them. "This is the worst one yet."
"I would have thought so, what with everything you've told me." Sirona dipped her quill into her ink pot. "I'm going to prescribe a potion to help you sleep. There's only a week's worth, but we'll consider other options if you're still having difficulty sleeping. And you need to put on weight."
Lavender glared.
"If you stay at this weight, you could have a lot of problems in the future. Trouble with your bones, infertility..." The Healer pursed her lips. "And I think you should speak to someone about your emotional issues. I'm a little concerned that you'll hurt yourself if you carry on like this, whether intentionally or not."
That was how Lavender found herself hovering anxiously outside Bill Weasley's office at Hogwarts. She knew he was available to talk because he had office hours, but she wasn't really here to talk to him as a student. She thought about turning away a dozen times before she finally raised her courage and knocked on the door.