I'm just a little girl lost in the moment
I'm so scared but I don't show it
I can't figure it out, it's bringing me down
— The Show, Lenka
Hell. This was what hell felt like. Maybe she shouldn't have written Mr. Avery, and maybe she should have never ran off in the first place. If only she could have been the obedient girl the Scrimgeours tried to raised, maybe — just maybe — she could have avoided this entire mess. Her father was bound to never be the kind gentleman Papa Draper was, but he didn't abuse Araminta; surely he'd have never targeted her if her temperament had been more cool and cautious.

There was no avoiding it now.

She was here.

At St. Mungo's.

And she looked awful. She'd bathed just the night before, but that did letter to make her appear any less gaunt and any less damaged. Anyone without the slightest knowledge of who she was or her situation may have just assumed she'd been hit by a carriage, but she knew those closest to her would know exactly what happened upon seeing her.

Her anxiety wasn't helping her either. Having been fired from the hospital a little over ten days prior, the thought of facing the coworkers she'd abandoned was a particularly frightening one. Never mind that she had a perfectly valid reason — she was still thoroughly convinced that she'd be met with judgmental eyes and harsh scolding.

She'd arrived with the aurors, but she was soon whisked into the hands of spell damage healers after they were informed of her condition. Of course, she couldn't avoid everyone; she had plenty of coworkers who knew her here, and it wasn't long until one in particular — her former boss — turned the corner of the corridor and headed straight towards her.

"Mr. Langley."