scipio minor

𝐈. 𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥

❛ 𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 ❜
november 1998
THE TONKS HOUSE
⋅ ﹙ ♚ ﹚ ⋅

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄.

He counted up with two inside his head... 2... 4... 6... 8... 10...

Between his counts he breathed. Ted's pulse pounded against his fingertips. He felt his own heartbeat thump against his ribcage.

He reached the one hundred before either of them moved to reapply the needles.

Ted shrugged nervously. "Are you sure we should do another round?" He plucked one of the needles out of Scipio's lower arm with a simple flick of his wand.

Scipio glanced at him. He bit on his lip to keep himself from letting out a shriek. His eyes were watery from throbbing pain that radiated from the needles in his left arm. His left hand was tightly wrapped around Ted's pulse, supposing to help the young man to calm himself to his uncle's heartbeat. He absolutely wanted to stop and be released from the slow torment, but he could not fail.

Nodding a yes, Scipio reached with his free hand for the special cedar brewed vodka he'd gotten from Karkarov for his seventeenth birthday. The good smelled strong and bitter, even worse than the feeling of the cold needles sticking up his skin. He had first opened it a few weeks ago, when they started to experiment with the needles. Ted had advised him to bring some strong liquor to cease the nerves and distract him from the pain.

Every time Ted released a needle out of Scipio's nerve system, Scipio took a sip from the vodka bottle and pinched his fingers into Ted's wrist. Scipio had given up using a glass a few days ago and Ted had given up letting out little shrieks of pain because of Scipio's hold a few hours ago. Scipio had only a few sips left and Ted's wrist slowly ran red. If they were going to another round of nerve healing, Scipio would have to steal something strong from his old father's liquid cabinet and he would have to find something else than Ted's wrist to hold on to.

The dragon-vodka was actually no help at all. Scipio had never been a fan of diminishing one pain with another unpleasant feeling. It made everything worse. The only pro with this dragon-vodka was that it made him wobbly on his knees and made his thoughts utterly distracted from the needles, who gleamed hot against his skin.

Scipio remembered himself to breathe.

Ted's hand shook when he removed the last needle. Acupuncture, especially magical acupuncture that intends to heal tremors in the muscle and ruptured nerves, needed a precise hand. Ted had one, but the tortures in the war had made him quite uncertain about his abilities as a magical healer. They were both sweating from the tension. It made Ted's wand movements slightly tremble, which made Scipio's skin slightly rip. He said nothing. He did not want to encourage more nervousness inside Ted.

The last needle was the one who had been pinned down in the right eye of the skull. The last remains of that horrible tattoo that had made Scipio's life a hell the past three years. A battle scar which reminded him he had never gotten a choice.

A burning sensation spread up Scipio's arm after the last needle was removed. It was worse than before, which meant their new healing strategy was progressively working. He clenched his teeth together and strained his neck to prevent himself from ripping out a scream. He let go of Ted's wrist and cringed together. His free hand spasmed around the scar. The last remains of the dragon-vodka splattered on the floor.

It hurts.. it hurts..

Ted jumped into action. He cleaned up the shards and the stains of vodka on the carpet with a simple cleaning charm. Then he grabbed a pain relieving potion off the kitchen counter and forced it down Scipio's throat.