Slipping Away

It was about time the healer team at St. Mungo's had developed an antidote for the failed potion that had caused Sacha to be de-aged to the body of a sixteen-year-old. While the man had in some ways managed to enjoy his unplanned foray to how he had been, he was still eager to return to his proper self, his thirty-four-year-old self.

Sacha had begun to... forget things. Little things, such as mistaking the name of a student he had had for seven years with that of one with whom he had attended school, or the date. Once Sacha had gone into his classroom and seated himself at one of the student desks. He had, very briefly, forgotten that he was the professor. Fortunately, none of his pupils had arrived, yet. At first, Sacha was unaware of these slips, but as they became more frequent, even he started to notice.

Today, that would all end. Today, he would take the antidote and become a man, again. Then his mind would no longer be filing away his adult memories to compensate for the disparity.

The mediwitch in the Potions Related Maladies ward greeted him and promptly guided him to an exam room. Sacha then waited impatiently for the healer and his associate, a highly trained potions master, to arrive.

"Good morning, Highmaster," Healer Ruben said warmly as she entered the room, Potions Master Bucy at her side. "Ready to grow up again?"

"You have no idea," Sacha replied with a quick grin.

"Well, we have tested this antidote as thoroughly as possible, and I can say with confidence that, barring other complications, it should work," said Master Bucy.

"I have every confidence in you capabilities, sir." Sacha accepted the vial, and after enduring the usual cautions regarding possible and expected side effects, he brought it to his lips and swallowed the potion down. Then, he waited. Clearly, the healer and potions master were waiting also, because they gazed intently at the man-turned-teen.

Nothing happened.

"How long until it should work?" Sacha finally inquired, not missing the look the two exchanged between them.

Master Bucy hesitated uncertainly. "It ought to have worked, already," the man replied.

"But it hasn't," the Highmaster pointed out bluntly.

"Clearly not. As I said before, barring other complicati-"

"What sort of complications?" Sacha interrupted.

"Well, a spell or stray magic that may have contributed to your condition."

"No such magic was detected," the patient bit out.

Healer Ruben cut in, "While we didn't find anything out of the ordinary in regards to magic when you were accidentally changed, if it was your own magic contributing to your condition, it could very easily have been overlooked."

"Then, clearly, you are incompetent! My friend, who was de-aged with me, isn't here because he has already found a means to regain his proper age. You are meant to be the best--how could you fail?!" Sacha was shouting, now, something he was never prone to as his real self, his proper self.

"Mr. Rusnak, we have done everything in our power-"

"Do better," Sacha snapped. And with that, he pushed past them and out of the room, storming down the corridor.

This was all wrong. He was supposed to be better, now, to be himself again. How could this have happened? His life, his very self, was slowing but gradually slipping away from him and all they could say was they had done their best?

Unacceptable.

Sacha abruptly stopped, leaning against a wall and sliding listlessly to the floor. Both hands lifted to rake agitatedly through his hair, setting it on end. Slamming a fist against the floor, he cursed foully in Russian. Knocking his head into the wall a couple times, he shut his eyes, much of the fight going out of him as uncharacteristic despair took its place. What was he to do, now?

"Keep eating the foods we talked about, Mrs. Rusnak-"

"Miss Nurse, actually," Alise smiled at the healer, one hand around her swollen stomach the other supporting her back, "And I'll try my best," The healer gave a knowing smile and turned down the hall, leaving the woman alone. It seemed, due to a noticable weight gain, her pregnancy was going remarkably better than the first. This, however, didn't sooth the woman's nerves about the future. The bills had begun to pile up, even with her living in the cheapest apartment she could find.

And Alise doubted that she could deal with another loss.

The Russian strolled down the corridor, placing her hand over the soft movements of her child. She allowed herself to think of the positive times ahead for a moment, a way of calming her nerves, before focusing on the world around her again. There was a teen in the hall, surrounded by the bustle and worry of a hospital, cursing to himself loudly. For a moment, Alise planned to avoid him all together and take another route, but the moment she saw his face, she was reminded of Sacha. The way he cried that morning, holding their child. The way he looked when she returned home to him. It was the fimiliar heartbreak that sent Alise to the boy's side.

"Hey, kid," Alise said softly, "You okay? You look like you got some pretty bad news." Alise leaned against the wall and slowly slid down next to the boy, trying to comfortably sit with her large stomach. "Do you need someone to talk at?"

Sacha froze at the voice, clearly surprised. He blinked rapidly, ridding his eyes of any moisture that have risen there. As she sat beside him, he turned, only to find himself staring. His expression was blank, although hurt, sadness and wonder briefly flickered across his gaze.

"You're pregnant," he said without any particular inflection, gaze going from her rounded belly to her face. "You shouldn't sit on the floor. It's dirty."

He rested his head back against the wall, but this time his eyes remained opened. The man-turned-teen ran a hand through his hair. He swallowed, then drew in a somewhat shaky breath.

"I was supposed to be healed today," Sacha told her. He would have told her long ago, were circumstances different. Her comfort would have been the first he had sought when faced with the prospect of being stuck indefinitely in a teenage body.

His voice had been choked down to a whisper when he continued. "It didn't work. I'm... I'm still not better."

Was there even such a state for a wretch like him? Truly, not even returning to his proper age could grant him such a thing. Sacha only liked to believe that it would; that it would be a start, at the least. It was all a farce. A person had only so many chances at happiness after all.

The adult let out a bark of laughter before relaxing on to the wall, one hand curling upon her enlarged stomach protectively. The other hand wrapped around the boy's hand with a reassuring squeeze.

"I've sat on places dirtier than the floor; I'll be fine," she replied, eyes flickering at her belly before returning to his face. She listened to him quietly, like a good adult would, even though the residual sadness in his voice made her want to cry.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie," she murmured, moving her arm to wrap around his shoulders. She leaned against him, motherly, and sighed, "You're breaking my heart,"

She closed her eyes, "You remind me of.. of my stepson, Matt. He used to walk around with that broken face too... then again, my husband had that face too," she nudged his shoulder with hers, a small grin on her face, "I'm sure your parents and the doctors will do everything in their power to help you,"

As she wrapped her arm around him, Sacha stiffened in surprise, but soon relaxed into the embrace. "I never meant to make you said," he said softly. "I seem good at that. Hurting people, especially those I don't want to hurt. Always have done..." He directed his morose gaze to a nick in the tile of the floor.

"Was he so broken?" Sacha asked, tone a bit distant. Perhaps he was. It would make sense, really. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a quiet laugh.

"I might have just fired my healers, actually," he said.

Alise giggled quietly, the look on her face rather elated for a woman sitting on the ground. She was rather optimistic for the boy; she could hardly give up on some one so young. And, besides, that crushed look on his face looked so familiar. Like she had seen it one too many times.

"You're a teenager- it's your job to make adults sad, angry, happy, and all the emotions in between," Alise said apathetically, "People hurt people sometimes. People have to move on or forgive, it's as simple as that. It's knowing when to say sorry or to move on that makes a person good."

Alise took in a deep breath and sighed, "I shouldn't lecture like that. I'm too stupid for advice giving,

"My husband was broken, I guess," she replied, drumming her fingers on her stomach, "I've never met a person who wasn't a little broken. He was my other half though; we somehow managed to function as a whole together,"

"A teenager's job..." Sacha echoed musingly. "I suppose it is."

He leaned his head back against the wall and gazed at her, eyes flitting over her face, committing them to memory, once more. After all, if he refreshed them in his mind, perhaps they would be more difficult to forget. "What if it's too late to say sorry?" he queried. "Or if you're not sorry about what you've done, but the pain it has caused? What if it's too late to be a good person?

"I think you're brilliant," Sacha responded without hesitation. He made himself look away, to stare upon the sterile corridor once more. "I'm sure you healed more of his brokenness than you imagine," he confided. "I would bet my vault that he loved you even more because of it."