Work Text:
"Serious and somewhat shy 10-year-old boy. Answers questions quietly and politely. Avoids eye contact, but otherwise social interactions go well with him, considering his age.
He came to the reception to get some headache medicine. Tells that he got hit in the face by a ball during gym class, and now the child says he feels dizzy and has a headache. I ask if I should call the guardian. The child says there is no need, adds that the guardians are at home. He is going home for the rest of the day."
Harry's hands are shaking. He knows the football didn't hit him by accident. He could hear the malicious bursts of tittering at the accident and see the looks they tried to exchange secretly. His head hurts, but he'll be fine. He must be fine.
Harry feels like banging his already maddening head to the wall, as the teacher says, needlessly worried: "No, you absolutely should go see the nurse and have that head examined or at least get some painkillers. Is there anyone you’d like to come with you?"
No one would volunteer nor agree to go, so Harry shakes his head quickly a few times before anyone could even open their mouths. He walks swiftly out of the gym doors, eyes locked to the ground for the whole duration, and keeps that up, until a familiar door faces him. He exhales slowly and knocks.
The nurse looks at him a little too long, too pitifully, too gently. Harry will not meet her gaze; he is afraid of what it might reveal to him. There is no way he could risk it, not after all the effort he has put.
They can't know about this. Otherwise, it'll be like the last time someone worried too much about him. Cold shivers run down his arms as he replies, "No need to call, they're at home."
Hopefully they haven't come yet, so Harry can at least have a moment's peace. Although it would be nice if there was something else in the cupboard for him to eat besides stale beans.
-
"Smart and well-behaved 15-year-old teenager. He says that everything is fine at home. The young man mentions that there is no need for a full health check-up. However, his hearing, height, weight and vision are measured.
Hearing is benign. Height is at a normal level in relation to his age. Weight is almost worryingly low. Instructions are given for maintaining a healthy diet. When checked his eyesight, he can only see the largest letters clearly. A referral to an optician is made to take home."
Harry stares at the clock. The minute hands are ticking far too slowly. The chlorine-tinged smell of the hospital is slowly killing him. He should get out of here soon.
The doctor's eyes feel piercing, as if she’s examining Harry with a giant magnifying glass. Harry knows he's just another patient among a thousand others: a case as insignificant as any other.
What difference does it make if he lets out a few white lies?
What does it matter, when she doesn’t even really care. And the situation wouldn't even begin to change, if some outsider came to browse the sorry sight of the house that Harry doesn't even want to look at. So, it really would be all for nothing.
At least he managed to avoid a full examination. What would he say if the doctor stared at his back and arms in horror? Or if she ended up asking too much about the house and Harry had no choice but to answer.
The minute hand moves once more as the door clicks shut behind Harry. He lets out the breath that has been stuck to his throat as a rock. One breath in, one out.
Another doctor's appointment survived.