Madam Pomfrey

Miss Haley has arrived and will be fine. I’m treating her for hypothermia and a nasty ankle sprain, but all will be well by morning, so you needn’t worry overly on your niece's account, Aurora.

Feel free to stop up when you're able to reassure yourself on that score.

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My records tell me you had a birthday yesterday. That means you should bring yourself to my ward for an examination.

I'll expect you today. Come at a point when you're on the cusp of needing a next dose. I wish to examine you.

It's several months yet until Milland's birthday, I believe. I'll have you bring 'him' along for a checking over then.


Oh, and Severus? I trust you enjoyed yourself yesterday. Did you celebrate with anyone special?

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Happy Christmas, all.

I haven't seen Pomona yet this morning, so I trust that means you had a most festive gathering yesterday. I regret having to miss it, but it was as well I did. No deaths or near-decapitations to report. (Save Sir Nicholas's, of course, but there's not a thing I can do for him!) I did, however, have a steady stream of frost bitten ears and fingers, one eye injury due to snowball, several ankle and wrist sprains, one nasty cut had in a skating mishap, and several creatures incidents. I do not understand why parents will insist on sending new familiars in parcels at Christmas. It's not the animal's fault when it emerges in a foul temper.

In any case, I had a lovely tea with Professor Brutka as a result, so all was not lost. It was lucky he was about, as Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank was off for the afternoon with her family.

And, Cousin Caradoc: thank you for your letter and for the house shoes--they arrived Sunday and fit perfectly--but, really, bells on the toes? 'I'm sure your young patients would appreciate a bit of warning as you approach with their next foul-tasting draught.' See if I waste my plum brandy on you another year!

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Sirius, Mr Finch-Fletchley is resting more comfortably this morning after what was an undeniably difficult night. (He bore up stoically.)

He is not yet able to write, so you oughtn't expect to read any confirmation of his recovery direct from his quill just yet. However, his jaw is firming nicely and he is able to speak, though I'm afraid I had to impose a liquid breakfast to avoid the warping or compression that mastication might cause.

His bones are still quite soft. I'm not able to allow him to sit up yet even, but this shouldn't alarm you. It's quite normal for this process. We simply don't wish his chest to collapse in on his heart and lungs. Precautions prevent setbacks.

He's in good spirits, and I anticipate that he will mend steadily as the day progresses.

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Sirius, I thought you would wish to know that your young acquaintance, Mr Finch-Fletchley, has been brought to my ward tonight. I'm afraid he was subjected to a very nasty hex that attacked his bones, turning them to sponge. They were well on their way to complete dissolution when he was delivered to me, but I've stabilised him and have initiated treatment.

It shall not be pleasant, but he will be fine in the end.

I fear this may be an awkward incident for Minerva. It's not the first attack the boy's suffered here. The students who brought him to me made sure I knew that some of the bruising and a split lip he's also sporting were bestowed in a previous altercation. Miss Perks dropped the hint that his assailants in both cases were older Beauxbatons students. Of course, it's a delicate matter to accuse foreign students of mayhem.

Froissart--the Head teacher in the French delegation--is away from the castle tonight--at the Malfoy soiree, no less--and is not available for consultation, but I assure you that I'll insist on making my report to him immediately upon his return.

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Severus, Pomona and I have just been discussing over breakfast how entertaining it was to see Mr Milland surrounded by interested witches.

We each enjoyed our dances with you, though one does wish to comment that generally it is socially appropriate to acknowledge pleasant conversation with at least a smile if not with a reciprocating word.

To your credit, you seemed to do a bit better in your impersonation of the amiable Mr Milland when you were speaking with his other admirers.

Shame you fled so early from the scene. 'Duties', indeed.

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I trust you're all right?

The rest of the session went well. No worries there. Though this batch were repeatedly struck by the sillies over my instructions about the formalities of social interactions. One inspired witch transformed her sample dance card into a folded paper bird and soon we had a whole flock whirling over our heads.

I wish I could say that this lot were any quicker to pick up the niceties of partnered dancing. You'd think that keeping time involved higher maths. So many furrowed brows and most eyes glued on the floor as if watching their feet would improve things.

And then there was the young man--Rickett, I think--who was grossly overconfident and kept swirling through the densest throngs, bashing his partner into other couples with wild abandon.

But I do think they all felt a bit more at ease by the time we finished.


Have the elves brought you supper, dear? Is there anything you need?

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Aurora,

I've just been tidying up my waiting area and have come across a copy of a gossip rag called Dish! It was folded open to an item about you and Professor Lestrange, I'm afraid. Nothing terribly specific, but boldly speculative, nonetheless.

How are you bearing up?

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Did you see the article in today's Prophet about the Hooper trial?

Sirius, you may have been right to suspect that it's all been a gruesomely overplayed theatre of cruelty to showcase the regime's power. And whatever else he may be, Auror Crouch seems to fall short as an actor. Shouting down his father's summation? Really.

In any other world than the carnival we live in, he'd have been hauled off to an asylum. Instead, I suppose he'll receive a commendation for eloquence and loyalty.

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While it is true that the Healing Arts are capable of reattaching severed digits (provided that the sufferer brings all of the pieces promptly for reattachment), it would, on the whole, be far better to avoid such injury altogether.

To that end, I urge you all to take extreme care if choosing to participate in the current 'fast friends forever' fad. If applied with even a fraction too much vigour, the charm meant to tighten the knotted-thread ring around a finger will cinch without ceasing. The result is dismaying and creates rather a lot of mess.

Judging from my admittance records for the past four days, I infer that the charm in question requires at least third-year skill for safe application.

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Well. You are certainly the Man of the Moment this morning! It's a wonder our journals don't spontaneously combust with all the crowing and cursing and carrying on that's splattering these pages. I've tried every charm I know to tell mine it needn't show me what every witch in Westlington thinks about your picture.

And what a photograph it is, too! Dear me.

You were even the subject of cheerful talk here this morning. To summarise: Irma Pince and Gwendolyn Acton agree that you're not at all as thin as you ought to be if you've been in hiding all this while; Pomona chipped in that it looks as if you're suffering terrible tooth ache and haven't seen the right side of a brush in months, which prompted Rolanda Hooch to note that you're clean-shaven and to theorise that you must have your wand even if you haven't a comb; Cordelia Carpenter has, it seems, been having visions of you ever since you were said to have died, and you've consistently told her that you will show yourself again; Professor Brutka offered to lay wagers that we'll hear before evening about little old witches dying of fright from having opened their papers to see you glaring so fiercely out at them; and Horace Slughorn offered that it was the least flattering photograph he's seen in the papers since the one they ran of Dolores Umbridge overtop the announcement that Cornelius Fudge would be replacing her as Minister.

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You are very brave, my dear. I want to say that I do understand the choice you made, but also that I know it comes at a high cost. I shan't say more about it, as it's done with now, but if it would be a help at any time to speak with someone, my door is open.

Speaking as your Healer now, I'd like to hear a report on your arm. If there's any lingering pain, it may be a sign that we were not successful in setting it last night, which is more than possible, under the circumstances. If it's not entirely as it should be, do come to the Hospital Wing as soon as you return to the castle and allow me to reset it. There's no reason in the world to carry on with lingering injury of that sort.

Also, I must remind you not to underestimate the knock you took to your head. You did lose consciousness for a time, and while you came back to yourself quickly and showed no severe impairment, you should continue watching today and tomorrow at least for any signs or symptoms--headache, changes in balance, vision, hearing or sense of taste. Or difficulty sleeping, though that could have multiple causes.

I'm very sorry about the young man who was so badly injured, and I trust you understand that you did more for him by offering him comfort than I could do with any healing magic in my power. Truly, he was beyond my help. It says much for your character that you stayed with him as you did.

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I've just learned there's a servants' area beneath that top box. Miss Granger should have been there. I'm waiting just a moment more and I think I'll be able to work around behind the push towards the exit ramps.

There's a terrible lot of smoke pouring out of the debris up there.

Can any of you see a way to get there?

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Oh, for Mercy's sake! Will this inspection never end?

Do you know what they're most concerned about? That I haven't enough supplies to treat truly dire injuries. Not enough Skele-Gro. Not enough blood replenishing potion. Not enough Magistery of Bezoar. Not enough Cinnabaris Vitalis. (And who's fault is it I haven't got the dragon's blood I need to make it?) Oh. And my cupboards were found inexcusably lacking even a single pot of Ward's Fistula Paste. Imagine.

Alice, Frank. It seems ages since I was there. As soon as the inspection team leaves tonight, I will send off that parcel for you. I've managed to find half a dozen pairs of spectacles you might try with Felicia Saint. If none of them works sufficiently well at improving her ability to read the fourth line on the chart (remember to use the charm so she doesn't simply memorise what it's supposed to say!), then she'll need to wait until I'm able to come again and transfigure the curvature of the lens to address her particular deficiency. That's a bit of a delicate procedure, I'm afraid.

Would you offer my apologies to the Lees? I'm afraid I was rather sharp with them for having confused which of their twins is which. If I were to hazard a guess, it would be that the one they're now calling James Xiabo is the one endowed with magic. But, really, only time will tell at this point.

Do let me know how the Christiansen boy does with the potion I left for him. I should like to see him grow a bit more sturdy. I will worry for him this winter: he'll be vulnerable to every fever and flu, and a chest cold could well carry him off.

I must go. My task masters are back from their excursion down to Horace Slughorn's storeroom. I had hoped he might distract them a while longer.

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I've spent a delightful weekend in New London with Nymphadora, Remus, and Albia.

Remus, I will send my observation notes directly to Severus. I can certainly attest that there's a marked improvement in the immediate aftermath of the transformation over the times I examined you at Hogwarts. My observations during the transformation will have to stand on their own, of course, as I never had occasion to observe you during the moon when you were with us at the school. I wish we'd thought to do that, but hindsight is worth exactly nothing. In any case, I was pleasantly surprised by what I witnessed: the wolfsbane is more effective than I imagined. I was glad to see your colour back this morning. Suspect you may already be in bed tonight. I apologise for not getting this written earlier.

Dora, I haven't played Snap in years! What fun to knock the rust off a bit! As for other things, I feel quite confident that your instincts are perfectly good. And just a reminder about the Rest Easy: start with a single drop in your cup of chamomile before bed. Even if you were to increase that to three drops, it oughtn't affect your ability to respond to Bea in the night, and it will increase the amount of rest you take in the hours she allows you between feedings.

And now for the news the rest of you wish to hear: Bea is doing beautifully--she made a very good showing on the developmental inventory for someone ten weeks old. Of course, she's been seen at St Mungo's for each of the normal infancy visits, so she didn't require anything from me beyond a bit of shameless spoiling.

Alice, I do still hope to make a quick visit to you if we could tuck it betwixt and between my remaining obligations. I think I could make it there after supper on Friday this week, though I will have to play the arrival time by ear as I've a supper meeting and I'd have to leave quite early on Sunday. I'm sorry to have to rush things so.


I hope the rest of you are safe and sound tonight. Be well.

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I'm having a lovely time this week in the beautiful Cotswold village of Burford. This morning I followed the gentle curves of the riverbank right out of town and through the fields up to what passes for a high pasture in this district. The cows and sheep were quite gracious about my intruding on their breakfast, and they seemed entirely unfussed, though also entirely unimpressed, when I recited to them the Great List of Prime Preservatives.

I'm here, naturally, on a course of study at the Institute of the Golden Dragon. This week's topic is the wholly practical matter of extending the shelf life of medicinal preparations; as our leader, the venerable Master Pinchworthy, says at the start of each session, it's always useful to refresh one's knowledge of such things.

My enjoyment this week of Burford's quiet charms makes a notable contrast with the invigorating experience Professor Sprout and I shared last week in the experimental gardeners' haven at Alnwick where I was studying the healthful uses of poisonous plant materials and Pomona was learning apparently fascinating things about advances in fertilisers and magical mulching techniques. To each her own, obviously!

The gardens at Alnwick are some of my very favourite, laid out as they were, originally, by Capability Brown for the first Duke in the middle of the 18th century. The roster of illustrious master gardeners who have served there includes the very top names in the history of Magical Horticulture, and they each in turn made improvements and introduced new specialty sections to the cultivation scheme. Bertram Stafford dedicated his practice to recovering and preserving ancient domestic strains; Anselmo d'Este it was who began the introduction of exotics to the gardens; and Angelica Baptista created what remains the realm's most vigorous magical hybridisation programme.

Through all the passing years, Alnwick's gardens have never lost their importance to healers and herbologists, despite there having been a dark period of nearly a hundred years in which their wizarding heritage became secondary to the family and in which they were constrained to open the castle to Muggle visitors merely to afford its upkeep.

To their credit, the current generation are doing their utmost to erase the damage caused by those years of neglect. The statute of secrecy cost us much more than was admitted at the time--especially in the last years of its sway, but it is one of the joys of the present age that we may reclaim the great resources of our realm. And it was shortly after the start of our great new era that the Poison Garden was created at Alnwick by Hepzibah Culpeper, one of Professor Sprout's brightest and most fondly remembered students. I must say that I learned as much last week as in any course I've attended in the past decade. Next summer I shall do my utmost to induce Professor Slughorn to join me there for one or two of her sessions; I know he would find it every bit as stimulating as I did.

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I've had an interesting several days here at the Haweswater Institute in Mardale. Cumbria is simply beautiful, and it shows especially well in these gentle summer days. (Mind you, I've been here in the past when the temperature has turned blistering, but even then, it kindly provides shady glens and cooling waters.)

The seminar's topic has been anaemia and systemic imbalances in adolescent witches, organised by the eminent and immensely wise Healer Strangeweale, whose methods are not only sound but practical. I shall be taking many of his suggestions back with me and expect they will make a positive contribution in the lives of my young patients.

This morning everyone packed up and dispersed to the four winds. For myself, I plan several more days in the area, rambling around the lakes and craggy slopes in search of Cotton Grass, Mountain Ringlet butterflies, and--I hope--a cutting or two of Salazar's Saucer, which is a very rare bracket fungus rumoured to grow on the fells hereabouts. I shall leave Mardale on the old corpse road to Shap, though I imagine that tonight I may only reach so far as a little bothy above Swindale described as 'an unlikely-looking property' in my guidebook, which sounds entirely suitable to me. I'm also promised a chance of spotting a golden eagle pair if I am both sharp-eyed and fortunate. I do hope they are in the habit of stretching their wings on Sunday afternoons.

Oh, and that reminds me. I made a quick sketch yesterday of a fellow who came and joined me for luncheon. I think you'll agree I've been in pleasant company!

                                        

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For Mercy's sake. I'm as skittish as a bird in a room full of bludgers.

Frank, Sirius. As soon as you are able, do please let us know that you've made it in and out of that castle safely.

Merlin knows I need to be doing umpteen things this afternoon, and 'check your book for news, recheck, check once more, and again once more' are nowhere on the list.

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I was there. Just this time last year. I was there in that pub, and I saw them. The barkeep and the waitress.

I thought them a bit daft the way they were going about hinting at their secret. Putting 'grim' into every fifth sentence and the waitress making sure I noticed she had Canis Major tattooed on her forearm. Not a bit subtle.

And not much like the face of Dogstar we're seeing from the voices that shout rebellion out of that stolen journal. Or that we read about in the papers, but then, Merlin knows we'd not recognise ourselves if we were written up in the Prophet.

I suppose the wonder about this lot in Bramhope is that they weren't arrested long since.

Though they only arrested five. I had the notion that pretty much the whole clientele were playing at being a secret society.

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You'll no doubt see in your books that there's been a bit of bother between your son and another of the Gryffindors, Mr Thomas. A flying collision.

The boy is fine. Or will be very soon. He scraped himself up, blacked his right eye, and broke his nose. But, really, the most difficult thing will be the job the elves will have, taking the stains out of his robes, so you needn't be overly concerned.

There is, however, something I think you ought to know, and I'm going to have to bend a promise I've made the boy in order to tell it you.

As I was seeing to him, I asked him about the testing. Said I'd seen the article in The Prophet, which he huffed at a bit. I think it's cost him some trouble. And I asked what today's business had been and what was on for tomorrow. Learned about the flying exercises they were doing when he fell and learned that they're to do some obstacle course tomorrow that's rumoured to include a boggart.

We talked the whole while I patched him up, but when I told him I thought he could leave and still catch whatever wrapping up they planned for this afternoon, he looked at me, stunned. I think he expected it to take longer. Much. He went suddenly very pale and couldn't seem to find the words he wanted, and when he did, it was to ask if I meant it when I've said that a person could tell me anything in confidence without fearing that I would reveal what he'd said. (You see the difficulty in my repeating this to you, but I feel it was not you he meant to keep it from.)

When I assured him that I would, indeed, keep any private matters private, he asked if I couldn't keep him overnight and into tomorrow--and couldn't I perhaps say that his injuries were a bit more serious than they are.

'But then you'll miss the obstacle test,' I said. 'With the boggart.' He nodded and gave me one of those special adolescent looks. Very glum. I told him that I understood how difficult it can be to face what one most fears, but he interrupted me.

'Oh, no,' he said, calm as you please. 'I'm not saying I can't face a boggart, I'm saying I mustn't. Do you understand there's a difference?'

Do I understand? Well.

Put that way, I could, indeed, see certain difficulties he might anticipate, so I told him there was always a chance that he might have a concussion. I did a quick further check of his vision and reflexes and told him he should take a bed down at the quiet end of the ward. He's there now, resting and looking exceedingly relieved for someone who has received bad news from the Matron about his injury.

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I shall be only too glad to close the books on this term. What a fortnight!

For the first time I can remember I've been asked to sign off on the records for three students who've left us early. In fact, four have left if one counts young Mr Boot, and it feels to me as though he ought to count, though I was not obliged to file any parchmentwork for him nor given a chance even to check him over before he left us.

And, of course, there's a fifth child--Miss Abbott--who shan't be completing the term.

That was and is too terrible take in.


At least in Mr Wood's case, the early departure is a mark of success. Well deserved by all accounts, and I wish him all the best.

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We've one child dead, as Minerva reported. Hannah Abbott. Aged thirteen.

We've one member of staff critically injured. Rabastan Lestrange. Apparently he took a hex meant for his niece.

And we've several who've been traumatised by witnessing murder. Young Miss Lestrange, for one.

Molly, that number may include your Percy, I'm afraid, though I've not examined him. I'm led to believe he's with Minerva, acting his part as Head Boy. He was, unfortunately, in the room with Carrow when it happened, when the chaos erupted. And it was Percy who summoned me. Well, perhaps you saw as much.

Alice, your children are unhurt. Not to say uninvolved, quite. Your son has been here, haunting my waiting room. I gather he was close to Miss Abbott.

That's all I'm able to tell you at this juncture, and I really must return to my tasks.

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It is my unfortunate duty to inform you as his nearest relations that Professor Rabastan Lestrange has suffered a serious curse injury this afternoon. I am treating him here at Hogwarts in consultation with specialists from St Mungo's curse team. His condition is severe but has stabilised.

I regret to say that I have also treated your daughter this afternoon. For shock and minor bruising suffered as her uncle shielded her from the curse that caused his injury. I cannot offer more detail on those circumstances as I was not present, but I can assure you that Miss Lestrange was not significantly injured. She did, quite understandably, faint in the shock of the moment, but she regained consciousness promptly and continues to be alert and responsive.

I am available to discuss Professor Lestrange's care, or you may wish to contact Healer Socrates Kosta at St Mungo's. He stands ready to discuss whether Professor Lestrange ought best be transferred there.

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Miss Robins. Do set your mind at rest. You did exactly the right thing in bringing Miss Frobisher to see me, however little she wished to accompany you.

Your presence will not be needed this afternoon, so you should continue with your lessons as scheduled.

I'm sure Miss Frobisher would appreciate your collecting any assignments she may miss in her absence from those sessions. And, of course, whilst she is here, your official duties towards her are suspended: I will take care of all the technicalities in that regard.

You are welcome, of course, to stop up during visiting hours this evening, though I expect to keep her overnight.

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As soon as you've a space in your duties, could you stop up to see me? There's been some difficulty concerning Miss Frobisher.

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Aurora, I'm afraid I have to defer our tea. I'm embroiled this afternoon in a bit of a crisis.

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Miss Perks,

I enjoyed our tea yesterday afternoon, and I'm very pleased that the Quidditch, despite its going long, did not prevent your visit. (I've now been treated to a great many accounts of just how exciting a win it was for Slytherin House, and I must say it would have been a great shame had you missed the white-knuckle race for the Snitch that ended it.)

If you have any further questions for me, I would be most pleased to answer them or to refer you to others who can. And, of course, if you require a character reference or a professional assessment of your potential for entering the field, please know that I will be happy to supply it.

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Sirius?

Are you still here? I suppose I'm to congratulate you on having kept so successfully to cover that I really thought you'd withdrawn elsewhere.

Of course, Pomona is telling me nothing. And I'm not speaking with her enough to have asked.

Don't think this means I approve, but I should like to know that you are all right. And I should like very much to hear that you are planning to shift yourself off to some safer place whilst the NEWT and OWL examiners are tromping about.

Is it not today that the NEWT Herbology exams take place?

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Horace, if you'd be so good, I'd appreciate it if you would let Miss Lestrange know that I believe she ought to stop up and allow me to have a look in her mouth.

It would seem that she may be suffering from poor oral health. I am quite as capable of seeing to toothache as to shattered bones.

I appreciated your coming up this morning. I know it's a bother to be called across the castle, but I did believe you ought to see what consequences Mr Derrick's companions had suffered before you spoke with him about his role in that matter--whatever it may have been.

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As you know, there's been more than a little bother here today. At least I can now assure you that both of the injured parties will recover.

I've already spoken with Rolanda, as she's happened to stop in about another matter, but if the two of you wished to come now, you'd be most welcome. I appreciate your staying away while I worked to staunch and stabilise. We're through the worst of it, though, and I believe you might as well speak with them whilst they are still feeling suitably chastened about it all; I believe that all three of those concerned require a dose of stiff discipline from their Heads of House

Pomona, your Odysseus Bobolis is one of the injured lads. It seems he and Russell Cadwallader agreed to test themselves one against the other in abseiling off the south-southwest tower, despite access to its stairs having been blocked for years. I gather they climbed out a top-floor window, scaled the tower itself and thence its spire, their plan being to descend the castle's longest drop. Unfortunately, their ropes tangled and both lost footing. Or one lost footing and fell against the other. And down they went, straight to the bottom of the cliff.

Reports vary on the details.

However--and this is where you come into it, Horace--all concerned agree that it was Maghnus Derrick of Slytherin House who conceived and orchestrated the challenge. To his credit, it was Derrick, along with several others, who summoned me to the scene.


Apparently it's that time of term when sixth years resort to dangerous larks in order to fill their time. But do they really have so little to occupy them academically? I take some satisfaction in thinking that all concerned have, at least, learned a worthwhile empirical lesson: cushioning charms are insufficient protection against such drops.

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Rolanda, I've two separate things to bother you with today.

First, I should like to follow up with young Mr Longbottom regarding his visit to me Wednesday evening. Could you ask that he come by after his lessons today?

Second, I've received a mountain of parchment regarding the Frobisher girl from that sanatorium. I've also spoken at length with the pair of 'clinicians' who treated her.

I must tell you they are most unhappy with the parents for insisting on her return to school. Undoubtedly, that is why she has been delayed: there was a protracted disagreement between the parents and the institution over the terms of the programme and their rights to remove her 'prematurely'. Eosphorous are clearly hoping that we will fail with her and that they will then be able to persuade the parents to return her. I have a nasty feeling it's more to do with their revenue than with the child's actual wellbeing, but that's strictly between the two of us.

I have consulted with St Mungo's, and it seems there is not a thing we can do to avoid filing every form we've been sent pertaining to this matter. It's all in the terms sealed by the Ministry when they certified Eosphorous for business. In fact, the sanatorium retains control of the patient's treatment, though in this instance with a minor child, they were unable to block the parents' decision to remove her from their premises. (I gather the Frobishers have had to make an appeal to the Wizengamot and that strings were pulled to bring about this resolution. I imagine the sanatorium is even now at work ensuring that this will not happen again.)

In any case, the terms we must accept include my seeing the girl twice daily--at 10:00am and 8:00pm--for a full examination and 'inventory'. I am told that there may be no alteration of this schedule to account for her morning lessons, so you will need to make the necessary arrangements with whichever teacher has the 10:00 slot on Miss Frobisher's timetable. I will require thirty minutes for the morning examination. The evening examination will likely take an hour.

You will also need to arrange for one of your House Prefects to sit beside Miss Frobisher at each meal and monitor what she eats and in what quantities. I have already arranged with the elves that her prescribed diet will be accommodated at the Gryffindor table. Following each meal, the Prefect will need to send me a signed form detailing all particulars of Miss Frobisher's intake.

There are forms, as well, for each hour of the day, and it will be necessary that one of Miss Frobisher's yearmates consent to oversee her behaviour at all hours and complete hourly parchmentwork, noting anything the child eats, drinks, or otherwise takes into her body (Potions accidents would seem to have been anticipated!)--and detailing what, when, and under what circumstances she evacuates.

I'm afraid you will need to be quite stern with whichever pupil consents to play this role: the fine print requires that this individual submit her reports as sworn affidavits under a Seal of Verity and specifies that Eosphorous has the right to question the veracity of these statements by whatever means they may feel necessary. They hold a certificate for administering Veritaserum, Rolanda. This is quite serious business.

I apologise for the burden this places on you and on your House. Trust me, I am no happier with the role I shall be required to play in the matter. I will be happy to answer any questions you may have or to forward any questions that exceed my brief to Eosphorous and St Mungo's for appropriate answers.


Oh, and do remember about Mr Longbottom, please.

This entry was originally posted at http://alt-poppy.dreamwidth.org/24212.html: comments may be read there.

I've had a most interesting situation tonight, and I believe you will all find it worth your notice, too.

Young Mr Longbottom came to my ward this evening, bringing Miss Parkinson in tow. She was suffering from a most distinctive condition, which the two of them proceeded to lie to me about. First off, they tried telling me that Miss Parkinson had been tutoring Mr Longbottom, attempting to help him with a ticklish switching spell that has been giving him difficulties in Transfiguration, but they could not for the life of them tell me which Transfiguration they were attempting. Switching scales from a kelpie to a potato, indeed. Or from a trout onto a turnip. (At least trout have scales.) And then they changed their story and said they'd been training for duelling club. Which seems a good deal nearer the mark, though I'm thoroughly unconvinced they've been learning anything like this spell in their third year curriculum.

And what, you may ask, was the damage?

Miss Parkinson was covered from nose to knuckles (to ankles and back) with scales of a quite gorgeous irridescent blue. Yes. Just that specific shade of caerulean called, in some circles, 'Junior Auror blue'.

You may guess my surprise. And the questions this brings to mind.

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Molly, are you and Arthur coming this weekend for the play? It's only just occurred to me you might be, and if you are, I wonder if you could stop up to the ward. (Perhaps, if you must excuse yourself, you could say you need to consult with me about a matter that came up with one of your children whilst they were home?)

At any rate, I have two smallish items that need to find their way to Moddey Dhoo, and while I don't know whether you plan to make another trip there yourself anytime soon, I suspect that Arthur could see they find their way to someone who could deliver them for me.

Alice, the items in question include a balm that I've found very helpful for children prone to hives (since you have at least one of those now--and such a strong reaction she showed, too!). I'm also sending along a small quantity of the heartening potion Stephen and I discussed for the child with the heart deficiency, William. Now, I don't want you to get your hopes up: the child has quite a serious and, I believe, permanent irregularity of his heart. The potion is not meant to cure that; indeed, I know of nothing that can heal such a thing. It is merely meant to strengthen the organ and help him through the growth spurts we hope he will experience over the next several months. He will almost certainly remain small, and that is a good thing, as I don't believe his heart will ever be up to supporting a large frame.

I did so enjoy my time with you. Thanks to all of you for being such gracious hosts.

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Alice.

I shall be ready to leave here very soon. Expect me at 9 o'clock sharp.

This entry was originally posted at http://alt-poppy.dreamwidth.org/23460.html: comments may be read there.

Rolanda,

This morning's post brought notice from the Eosphorous Clinic that they have admitted Miss Frobisher as a patient. They request her records from me and request a Floo conference with 'those who have had charge and oversight of said patient whilst resident at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry'. I suppose they may wish to ask questions of you as her Head of House, though the phrasing is vague enough that I could easily respond as the one who has had 'charge and oversight' of the patient's treatment. I know you planned to be away from the castle this week. I will leave it to you and Minerva to determine how best to interpret and handle this request.

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I walked outside this morning very early and looked up into the face of the full moon.

Are you all right, dear? I know these moons must be stressful on the two of you, and I want you to know that if you should suddenly need help, you've only to write here or Floo call one of us, and we'll find a way to assist you.

Pomona and I have a plan should there ever be a time when I am needed away from the school, so don't you worry that it would be troublesome.

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You were quite right to bring her down. Quite right.

The lightheadedness must be taken seriously in this castle. How many stairs does she climb and descend each day? How many lessons are taken atop towers? Goodness. And fainting after supper obviously puts in question whether she ate as she ought to have.

I believe I will keep her here with me tonight. And have a very direct talk with her.

Have you had any contact with the Frobishers? Do they know to be concerned? I shall obviously be sending the usual notification of an overnight stay.

These cases are tricky, though. Very often, the child's issues begin at home and are not helped by inviting involvement from the parents. Can you shed any light on that matter in this case?

If you have a moment in your schedule tomorrow, could you stop in here? Before breakfast if nothing else.

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Rolanda,

I do appreciate your speaking with me this morning of your concerns for Miss Frobisher's health and for bringing her up to be examined. I'm not at all convinced she would have come on her own.

I agree that she continues to be significantly underweight; you're quite right that she has both an unhealthy fixation on thinness and an entirely inaccurate view of her own size.

I have spoken to her in the past of the need to eat a balanced diet in reasonable portions. It would seem, however, that every word I have offered has fallen on deaf ears: she has, in fact, lost half a stone since the autumn when I treated her for an ankle fracture.

I have released her with instructions to return in two weeks, and I have requested that she make a sincere effort to gain two pounds during that time.

I will be mightily surprised if the matter proves so simple to resolve, but it is a first step towards ascertaining what approach will best serve this young woman.

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Well.

The two of you have just made your tasks far simpler in future, haven't you? No need to fuss with the parents after this. You can just pop in and snatch babies from their mothers' arms and justify it as 'best for the babies'.

Because a fourteen year old has told you that's what she'd do.

Very ethical of you.

Congratulations.

What, may I ask, did you do to the parents? Did you wipe their minds clean of any remembrance of the child and of their lives for the past several months? Perhaps that's a pattern for future missions: you could make the camp population feel much better by wiping their minds of any recollection of what they've suffered. Because Merlin knows you know better than they what's good for them.

This entry was originally posted at http://alt-poppy.dreamwidth.org/21775.html: comments may be read there.

I'm treating yet another gross injury to a student caused by negligence in your classroom. This must stop! More than that, I need to know exactly what took place to cause this: the child in question is in no state to provide clear answers.

I shall expect to hear from you directly.

This entry was originally posted at http://alt-poppy.dreamwidth.org/21597.html: comments may be read there.

You will certainly need to make some provision for Carrow's lessons tomorrow. Perhaps for the rest of the week, given how long it took him to recover the last time he was in this dire a state.

I've knocked him completely senseless, since that was the only treatment that would prevent my murdering him in cold blood. I make no promises for Alecto's continued health if she does not desist from shrieking instructions at me.

Oh, for mercy's-
 
 
 
Well.

There's that taken care of.

This entry was originally posted at http://alt-poppy.dreamwidth.org/21336.html: comments may be read there.

I've been thinking of you, Sirius, and your decision to give Hagrid some of your warm gear. Are you all right, still? We can't help but notice that the Dementors have responded to the return migration of our children by pressing closer and closer to the school again. Is this affecting you, as well? Surely there's no real need for you to remain here with the weather so cold and those bloody things freezing the marrow in our bones.

Things here are just as you'd expect: I'm up to my haunches in homesickness, sleeplessness, and the dire dumps. There are the usual January cases of frostbite, breathing difficulties, and other complications from the cold--last night, the tears were practically freezing on children's cheeks. Pile on top the Dementors' pernicious multiplying effect: children come in shaking and chattering with anxiety; they don't eat properly and then have no inner fuel to maintain their body temperature; they pace their dormitories because they cannot sleep and wind up chilled to the core.

Returning to school after the excitement of the holidays dampens everyone's spirits. We don't need the guards of Azkaban lurking about to make us all feel blue and snappish, so naturally I'm seeing an appalling number of hex injuries and not a few Muggle-style bruisings.

This entry was originally posted at http://alt-poppy.dreamwidth.org/21052.html: comments may be read there.

And what a year! I trust we will not soon again be tested as we were this past year with the Scourge. In fact, it seems the year to come will bring the silver lining of that dark cloud: the Prophet and these journals have been full of birth announcements in numbers we haven't seen for many a year! I see today alone that congratulations are due to the Hodgsons in Dent, the Peeles of Lyme Regis, and the Herrings of Pocklington. Best wishes to all of you.

Such a hopeful way to ring in the new; such a beacon for spring!

I suppose I needn't say it, but spring cannot come soon enough for me. It's been a dreary and dreadfully cold season here, following on from one of the most blustery, wet autumns I can remember.

This entry was originally posted at http://alt-poppy.dreamwidth.org/20815.html: comments may be read there.

I've a few small pieces of information about what happened at Taunton Deane. My regular post-term consultation with St Mungo's was yesterday morning. Amongst other things, I had a host of questions I wished to direct to one of their experts about the results of sustained exposure to Dementors, but I was told that would be impossible. Both Lonsdale, the one I'd hoped to question, and Lorimer, whose specialty is the long-term care of those who've been Dementor-kissed, had been sent for by MLE. As, I was told, had a whole team of curse damage specialists.

When I expressed the sort of vague concern this news demanded--the sort one hopes will provoke further comment--one of them shared that the severity of the curse injuries on both sides was notable. And, he said, amongst those who'd been admitted there were several Cruciatus victims who are unlikely ever to recover.

You know they've not admitted any of the injured Muggleborns at St Mungo's--they'd have been treated in situ or transported to an interrogation cell somewhere--so that suggests some of the camp administrators or enforcers, does it not? Or MLE. And begs the question who was casting Unforgivables. MLE or the rebel inmates?

This entry was originally posted at http://alt-poppy.dreamwidth.org/20513.html: comments may be read there.

I've got Carrow back in my care. He came quietly, which was a surprise after the ruckus that happened in his classroom--that was a sight, to be sure! I was prepared to petrify him if necessary, but he was suffering so when I reached him that he simply handed me his wand when I requested it and allowed me to help him up the stairs.

He's sleeping now. And will continue to do, if I've anything to say about it, until the children have all left the castle safely.

Minerva, I'm afraid this leaves you to cope with Mr Longbottom's detention, and raises a question about Carrow's schedule for tomorrow.

This entry was originally posted at http://alt-poppy.dreamwidth.org/20104.html: comments may be read there.

Oh. I do wish the Prophet would find something else to cover than the crowds viewing Sirius's supposed corpse.

Have you seen any of it, Sirius? I hope not. It's truly disturbing. And I say that as someone accustomed to viewing bodies in various discombobulated states. But honestly, between the photographs and the lurid, bloodthirsty, evil-minded things they've quoted people saying.

Even knowing that you are perfectly well and safe, it makes my gorge rise to see it there. Day after blessed day.

It's enough to make me wish someone would blow a hole in London Bridge or transfigure the Ministry of Magic into a giant turnip. Anything that would give them something else to write about!


Even Narcissa Malfoy's choice of robes, if that would do the trick.

This entry was originally posted at http://alt-poppy.dreamwidth.org/19830.html: comments may be read there.

Well, and here's the other boot dropping. I thought it might do eventually.

Belletrix Lestrange is here on the ward, questioning Carrow. And she's forced me to allow Alecto back in, blast it.

Fortunately--and you will understand the black irony I intend here--something at supper has sorely disagreed with a great many digestive tracts. Explosively so. Bi-directionally.

Paracelsus knows I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy, but I'm unconscionably relieved to be unable to speak to her for more than a moment and in passing.

More later as this deluge permits.

This entry was originally posted at http://alt-poppy.dreamwidth.org/19602.html: comments may be read there.

A quiet Sunday morning is a wonderful thing. The frost on the windows softens the light on the ward and lends everything a peaceful hue.

I don't have any early risers, just row upon row of tousled heads poking out from mounds of blankets. I like it crisp of a morning, but that always makes my sleepers burrow more deeply for their last hour of dreaming.

I haven't much to report. Bumps, bruises, coughs, the lot.

I'm treating far too many cases of exposure this term: I seem to spend all my time reminding children that they must think to refresh the warming and impervious charms on their cloaks and gloves if they must be out of doors for a sustained period. But they forget. One can scarcely expect them to remember in the midst of a Quidditch practice, during an exciting session at the Creatures' pen, or in the midst of an Astronomy observation, and, of course, their teachers are no better once they are wrapped up in the meat of a lesson.

We've had an awful lot of extremely nasty weather this term, and I'm convinced it's made worse by the presence of those miserable Azkaban guards, lurking out beyond our bounds. Or we're made more vulnerable. I realise that not everyone believes they've any effect on the weather itself. Nonetheless, I've been forced to re-order chocolate twice, and I fear that's put a large dent in my budget. As you know, medicinal grade chocolate must be imported, and it's correspondingly dear. But I'll save that lecture for the governors, shall I?

The Dementors are taking a toll in many ways. Homesickness is up this term, and for the sufferers, it's grown worse and worse rather than abating as they've settled in and made friends with whom to enjoy this castle's many recreations. In fact, I'd venture to say that it's been harder for the children to make and sustain friendships this year. They seem much more apt to be dreadful than kind to one another. If the teachers are to be believed, they've had more than the usual troubles with discipline. And then there's Professor Brutka, who has warned us all that the creatures are suffering as much as the rest of us. Certainly, he's sent me no fewer cases than usual, five or six of them quite severe.

As an aside, I can report that he and Mr Dawlish last week had a tense parlay with the centaurs, who warned of trouble within the forest. I learned this much from Dawlish when I treated him for a very nasty Bowtruckle lash suffered on his way out to that meeting. Missed his eye by a hair's breadth. And left him a bit more talkative than usual, though only a bit.

And, of course, it is not only the students and creatures inflicting their moodiness upon us: their elders are as testy and unpredictable as if they were revisiting adolescence. That, however, may owe less to the Dementors than to the presence of a certain new member of staff. Not that he himself is ever anything less than genial, but he has an unfortunate effect on others. Including some I'd have thought too level-headed to be affected in that way.

All in all, then, I'm glad for a quiet morning when one presents itself.

Or a nice tea with a friend. Dora, I did so enjoy your visit. Tilda says she'll always have room for you should you want to return. Seems you were the 'easiest' guest she's 'ever lodged'--her words--'such a merry one, bless her cotton socks; send me more like that!' To be fair, I think Tilda's had to put up with more than one of our school governors on occasion, and they are not the kindliest souls.

I trust you are all well, whatever you are about.

This entry was originally posted at http://alt-poppy.dreamwidth.org/19263.html: comments may be read there.

Bill, I'm sorry for the delay in getting back to you. I did want to speak with Pomona, but she's been consulting with Acton on ways to add extra protective magic on the greenhouses, and we obviously can't speak freely in her company.

Re'em blood is used in warming draughts to reverse severe hypothermia and in a number of quite prohibitively expensive invigoration potions (of a sort often taken by rich old goats with an eye for young witches, if you take my meaning). Together with lacewing flies, I'd say the latter is a possibility as lacewings are commonly used to catalyse engorgement broths.

Apart from the obvious applications for such a concoction, those two ingredients might also constitute the basis for a strengthening draught. Other ingredients might include salamanders, graphorn liver, or centaur dung. And possibly certain oppositional ingredients as catalysing agents--valerian root, perhaps, or aconite.

Theoretically, one might substitute Re'em blood in any of the recipes for bone-restoring potions, though there would be risks: I should think that bones healed with a Re'em mixture might turn out much stouter than is normal in healthy humans; controlling the ingredient proportions would be a desperately tricky venture.

I've hunted up the articles you mentioned, Bill, and I don't mind saying that they made me shudder. Dark, indeed. For instance, one of the papers claims to be about development of a nightmare curative, while its theoretical discussion shows that the authors' methodological bent is towards nightmare cultivation and consciousness manipulation. The literature review includes the one existing study on controlling Inferi and papers on docility, thought-direction, and dream-insertion in Muggles--the sort of stuff that the Deparment of Mysteries occasionally allows out its doors to prove that it's doing something substantial with its budget.

Of course, it's all beyond my expertise, and I do not generally pay much heed to this sort of research. However, if you think there's a reason we should know more, I'm certainly willing to pursue it.

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I wonder sometimes whether more than one or two parents these days tell their children anything at all about maturing bodies and matters of intimate health. I've spent a great many hours this week educating and reassuring children about the behaviours which might put them at risk of a social disease--and those which will not.

It's well that I do not melt when wet: I've been veritably drenched with tears this week as I've advised the young ladies compromised by contact with our resident Lothario. There are, it would seem, three cases of magnitude: one suffering unpleasant symptoms of the mouth and throat, the others experiencing no outward signs, but infected nonetheless. The only silver lining for one of those young witches was confirmation that she is not, as she had convinced herself, expecting.

But, of course, there has been a heavy additional toll in the form of contagious rumour and rampant misinformation. I have seen dozens of students of all stripes, worried quite sick that they might suffer dire consequences from having snogged someone who snogged someone who snogged someone who might have shared a pumpkin juice with a certain Person of Interest. And it's not just excitable females. Yesterday I reassured a young man concerned that he might have been infected by sharing a toilet with his now-infamous yearmate, only to have him back in my examining room today certain that he was suffering symptoms as a result of having stepped barefooted into the shower shortly after the young man in question had exited. I assured him that his 'symptoms' were a matter of thinking very much too much about the matter in question.

Meanwhile, we seem to be having rather a rash of hex injuries requiring my attention. Not a few of them related to this other business.

I have high hopes that with a new week we'll all move on to new matters here at Hogwarts. I hope that all of you are looking forward with hope to the week ahead.

Cheers.

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