The Marauders - Order of the Phoenix Part Three

The Red Vine

Plimpton said, "That's extreme."

"Oh, it gets more extreme, Mr. Plimpton."

"More extreme?"

"More extreme." Hoffman drew a deep breath, "It seems that Mr. Scamander had an operation in the mid-thirties on a limb that was - and he put this just as casually as I'm about to put it to you - yanked off by a particularly nasty grindylow."

"What the hell is a grindylow?"

"I have no idea. Something which can yank a man's arm off whole, though, and it had to be surgically reattached and then e-nerverated, whatever that means, and they discovered then that Mr. Scamander is allergic to what they called muggle put under elixir."

"Muggle put under elixir?"

"Anesthesia to us common folk," Hoffman said.

Plimpton first looked amused at understanding the meaning of Muggle Put Under Elixir, and then alarmed. "Wait, you're not saying --"

"Yes, we did a full open cavity operation with a fully awake man using only local - magical - numbing that the medical team on their side did by rapping his chest every few minutes with their... wands."

"So the patient was... was awake."

"The entire time."

"Unnerving."

"Especially since he is thoroughly fascinated by medical procedures," Hoffman said.

Plimpton's eyebrows raised.

"The man took notes, Plimpton. He wanted to know how to do it himself next time it came up." 

"No!"

"Yes."

"My God." Plimpton crossed himself, like the good Catholic man he was. 

"I strongly discouraged that, but he didn't seem to comprehend. My intern walked out of the OR. Said they couldn't take anymore. So there's the patient, watching us as we're wrist-deep in his chest, asking questions the entire way through, as though it were perfectly normal to be sitting there staring down while a team of surgeons saw open your sternum. What's this tool, what's that do, is that blood supposed to be splurting like that?"

Plimpton was queasy at the thought of it.

"He asked if he could hold his own beating heart, Plimpton."

Plimpton shook his head, "Is he mental?"

"All evidence points to yes."

Plimpton couldn't believe he was about to ask this next question. "And did you... did you find a - the, erm - the - the dragon?"

"Yes, sir. We found a dragon."

"An actual dragon?"

"An actual dragon. The zoo man said it was a miniature breed called a Red Vine. He then launched into a long explanation of how an accidentally severed tail of a Red Vine Dragon had been the inspiration for the Red Vine candies." 

Plimpton raised his eyebrows again. He felt he'd done that quite a lot during the conversation. But it was the sort of conversation which required such a reaction frequently.

"As we were closing him up, the man was playing merrily with his dragon, coddling over it like a mother that's given birth... naming it, the whole nine yards, Plimpton!"

"Naming it?"

"Yes. Pox. Because of that disease they thought he might have had."

"Incredible. How did it get in there?"

"They never did say definitively, but they said he might have breathed it in somewhere. Apparently it's somewhat common to inhale dragons in the wizarding world. Much like flies to the muggle world, they said. It's apparently one of the many ways they can catch dragon pox. Inhaling a dragon causes Type 2 Dragon Pox, compared to a Type 1 which is caused by coming in contact with infectious dragon scales, venom (if poisonous), saliva, or boogies. Type 1 is most common, reacts like any virus or bacterial even in the muggle world, except it responds to nothing, but with a Type 2 Inhalation, the dragon typically dies in the body and the flint remains like a cancer and that's what starts it."

Plimpton shook his head. "Incredible."

Hoffman took a deep breath. "So you see - I simply cannot do any more with medicine. I am done. Hanging up my scrubs. Finite. No more. Sayonara. You understand? I need a long vacation after that, and I don't care what kind of damned party you've planned for my retirement, I'm simply not going to be available as it will take more than the rest of the year just to forget the sight of a tiny dragon curled up in the valve of a man's beating heart."

"You know what, doctor, I honestly don't blame you... I honestly don't blame you at all."