September 27th, 1888 — Hogsmeade, Scotland
Begonia Belby

When Dionisia was not serving as a field medic during times of disaster or assisting a child who had fallen and broken their leg, she often busied herself with the sort of work a nurse usually did: paying visits to the long-term residents, wheeling the injured between their rooms and the tea room, and—today—sorting through patients' mail.

She'd collected a small stack of letters from the mail room, most of which sealed in plain envelopes and appropriately labeled. Mostly, she said, because there was one in particular that stuck out like a sore thumb: the words "Miss Begonia Belby" were written across the blush pink envelope in delicate calligraphy, marked by a single heart-shaped stamp in the corner. Dionisia's eyes caught on it for a moment before she brought it to the front of the stack, deciding in the moment to visit the woman's room before the others'.

(Perhaps it was the lettering—which read as distinctly feminine in Dionisia's opinion—that brought the sudden curiosity upon her, or perhaps it was merely that "Belby" was at the beginning of the alphabet. She couldn't say.)

She made her way to Miss Belby's room and entered after a double knock, a pleasant smile spread across her lips. "Miss Belby," she greeted, noting the woman's fiery red hair (which, in her opinion, suited her well). "Forgive me for disturbing you. My name is Miss Dionisia Tweedy, and I've brought you your mail." Dionisia surveyed the woman. She was clearly in no condition to be maneuvering on her own, so Dionisia stood, letter in hand, without making any attempt to hand it over.

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This had not been her best move. Begonia was rarely an experimenter in - well, experimental potions - but had been curious enough to try one that was supposed to make one more alluring when rubbed on the hands and arms. Except it had not made her more alluring, it had burned her skin horribly, and she had been lucky to get to the hospital before it caused more damage. (It was, supposedly, an allergic reaction - not a common one - but B was still furious.)

As it was, she fixed Miss Tweedy with her best really? look. "I don't think I'm in much of a position to open it," she said wryly.

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With an apologetic grimace, Dionisa nodded. "Of course," she said. She had no business meddling in the personal lives of patients, but neither did she want to leave it on the desk in case she wanted it read. "I can either leave it here for you to read later, or I can read it to you. As a mediwitch, I am sworn to patient confidentiality, so no need to fret about my knowing anything of a sensitive nature," she explained, still using her Official Mediwitch Tone.

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"Can you read it to me?" B said. Her curiosity would always outweigh her sense of propriety.

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A smile that hinted at her unprofessional curiosity touched her lips. She quickly roped in her emotions and nodded, slowly opening up the pink envelope. She opened it, her eyes scanning across the page, but—

"Reuben Crouch," she murmured, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of warmth and unjustified affection. The smile returned, but this time it was wider and uncharacteristically silly for the serious mediwitch.

"I..." she said, suddenly aware that she was meant to be reading this to the patient. She could not, however, find her focus, nor the will to maintain professionalism when the only person on her mind was a stranger.

"I must go," she said quickly, clutching the envelope tight in her palm. "I must find him."

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