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Victorians could hire 'professional mourners' to attend their loved one's funeral. These people would partake in the procession and were not allowed to speak, just look awfully sad! — Rune


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#1
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10th March, 1888 — Hogsmeade Hospital, Female Staff Room
Dionisia Tweedy
Shuffling slowly into the female staff room Belle breathed a sigh of relief to find it empty before the twinge in her back reminded her that she might well have misjudged her luck. The shift had been long - that much she was used to - but with the Creature-Induced injuries head off sick she had been called up to consult on a patient and ended up being attacked by the same creature that had burrowed inside him. The sharp slashes to her lower back had been delivered before any of them could react and Belle had found herself gritting her teeth and calling upon the assistant head to finish the task.

What had become of the patient she didn't know but a long, slow stumble to the staff room had left her quite sure that whilst she wasn't in imminent danger of dropping down dead she might well have to call for help before the night was through. Merlin, who on earth was there? She was a head of department and commanded a certain degree of respect: asking any of her underlings to look after her would be, quite frankly, rather embarrassing.

Lowering herself sideways in the first seat she found Belle let her head fall against the back and let out a pained groan just loud enough to block out the sound of the door opening behind her.


[Image: Belle_SIG_by_MJ.jpg]
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#2
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Dionisia, thought not trained in a specific department as a full healer, had managed to learn how to treat emergencies from all of the hospital's departments. She couldn't brew the highly-specific potions required to cure a disease the caused one's fingernails to grow rapidly, nor could she write up a long-term plan for treating a dragon burn; she could, however, fix up bites and scratches and treat symptoms.

She'd just gotten back to the hospital after helping a much older gentleman whose legs had been turned to stone after suffering a wand mishap and had been heading to the female staff room with the hopes of grabbing the sandwich her coworker had said she could have. It was then that she recognized a figure stumbling into one of the rooms.

Breaking out into a tired job, Dionisia entered the room quietly. The woman in question, Mrs. Annabelle Bones, seemed to be breathing through her teeth. "Mrs. Bones?" she asked softly, not wanting to startle the woman. "You're injured." That much was clear, at least when she stepped into the (albeit dimmed) light. Her robes had tears in them; had someone gone rabid in the Magical Bugs ward?

"Oh Lord, what happened?" she asked, beginning to search her pockets for medicine, bandages, anything.



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#3
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Lifting her head proved a great deal more of an effort than Belle had imagined it would but still she managed it to identify the speaker and was relieved to see Miss Tweedy. If she had to be found better that it be a mediwitch who would deal with things quickly and efficiently, without feeling the need to call in assistance. Merlin, she could have ended up with an intern and then it would have been all over the hospital in minutes!

“Nothing too dramatic I’m afraid,” she said ruefully, trying to shift her body into a more upright position whilst being fully aware that it was folly. “I’m sure they’re on top of the situation upstairs but I’m a little worse for wear,” she said, hissing over the last word as she inadvertently pulled at one of her wounds.

“Lock the door if you will Miss Tweedy, I need you to help me out of these robes.”


[Image: Belle_SIG_by_MJ.jpg]
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#4
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Dionisia did as she was told without question, locking the door before approaching the injured Mrs. Bones. The elder witch was in charge of the Magical Bugs department, leaving her wondering what sort of illness could have caused a patient to inflict such an injury upon the head of department! The closer she got, and upon lighting the tip of her wand to take a closer look, it became apparent that there were scratches.

While carefully helping Mrs. Bones out of her robe, Dionisia began asking the simple, basic question she needed to ask: "Did another person do this, Mrs. Bones? Or were you asked to assist elsewhere?" she asked concernedly. "These scratches — they're fairly deep," she noted aloud.



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The visible note of concern in the girl’s voice would have lighted the embers of hope that existed in Belle’s heart that the future of healing in their community would be strong and filled with compassionate, emphatic individuals were it not for the searing pain consuming her body. She had felt worse of course but it was hard to recall those moments when she could feel blood trickling across her skin and every movement pulled at her wounds.

“I’m not surprised,” she replied with a sharp intake of breath as her robes came away and the cold air hit her cuts. “The claws of that thing were the same length as its arms…I wouldn’t recommend going up to Creatures in the near future Miss Tweedy,” she said, twisting her neck to meet the girl’s eye and managing a small smile. “Although they’ve seen off two heads of department in as many days so perhaps someone with quicker reaction times would be a better fit.”


[Image: Belle_SIG_by_MJ.jpg]
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#6
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Dionisia didn't want to think about Creature-Induced Injuries, especially after helping with the victims of the Wizarding World Market disaster. Of course, she'd handled gruesome injuries before, but there was something about being in the middle of a disaster zone — with multiple bodies scattered around her — that messed up a person's emotional health.

Like any good mediwitch would do, Dionisia began digging through her pocket (which, of course, had been adorned with an undetectable extension charm) in search of dittany and a cooling paste. She had no doubt that Mrs. Bones would recover from her injuries, but it would be numbing the pain while also assuring she could function that was the difficult part. Had she been anyone else, she might have found herself in a hospital bed already.

Gently applying the dittany with what applicator she had, she found that the wounds seemed to almost pop at the touch; that was enough to make her wince. She smiled back at the healer-in-charge, pleased that the woman was capable of mustering even the smallest of grin in her state.

"Please tell me if the pain is too much for you. I don't want to render you worse off than you already are," she soothed, gently pressing the cooling paste into her skin. At least that should be able to stop the burning.




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