October 15th, 1892 - Wildflowers, Diagon Alley
Mabel Brighton

Well, this was embarrassing. Daff had know that this would be an undertaking, one she was fully prepared to work her ass off for, but also knowing herself, she had bitten off a little bit more than she could chew in trying to do everything by herself. At least she had been smart enough to try and build the greenhouse out back, that she had snookered Jack into helping her with and it had come out splendidly. Hector was already happily stored back there as well as the beginnings of what would be a fully-functional space for her to grow her blooms in.

Today however, she had gotten a little overzealous and tried to hang some shelves on her own, levitating and rearranging the boards against the wall. Unfortunately Winston had other ideas as he tore through the shop floor chasing after an errant garden gnome that had somehow gotten into the shop. He sprinted on his little legs around the main floor while Daffy had a shelf in the air, but she lost her concentration and in order to avoid the shelf landing on Winston, she sort of twisted its path, which had unfortunately meant it came down straight on her, gouging her leg wide open.

Daffy hiss out a long low curse, thankfully nobody else was around to hear such an oath leave a lady's lips. Well, aside from Winston anyway. Pushing the shelf off of her, she surveyed the damage and immediately decided she needed to summon someone to come to her, there was no way she was going to get to the hospital, or even upstairs to her washroom to fix this. Summoning a clean rag and some writing supplies, she pressed the rag down onto the wound with another hiss, wrapping it tight and applying pressure with her right hand as she hastily scrawled a request for a mediwtich. Fortunately Daff had already acquired an owl for deliveries and was able to send it out with the missive.

"Perhaps I should leave you up upstairs next time." She chuckled as Winston came back around with his ears low and whining, prodding her with his nose. "I'll be alright." She assured him as she pet him with her free hand.

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Mabel had been putting away supplies that she'd taken to restock her kit when the request came into the department. Ever since her...falling out with Dory, she'd put herself to task on anything and everything that she could get her hands on. Anything to keep the lasting sting away that had lingered for far too long. It could only be described as a dull ache at this point, but it was still there, poking her in the side when she picked up something that reminded her of Dory — even worse were his colleagues from the Ministry that came in on occasion. Mabel had certainly made sure to occupy herself with something mundane and duck out of view to avoid having to encounter anyone from the Ministry. She knew they weren't all acquaintances, but she'd have rather not risked anything while the wounds were still fresh.

When the message came for her, she was the only person in the ward that had been free. She'd have much preferred taking in a new case, but as it stood her colleagues were already engrossed in the patients to be pulled away for a swap. Resigned, Mabel packed up the last few things in her case and took a look at the address scrawled on the script. It wasn't a place she recognized in Diagon Alley; "Wildflowers?" She mused, tugging her cloak on as she walked out and down the steps. Perhaps it was a new place in Diagon Alley. But there was no use musing over anything until she arrived, was there? Once outside, she turned on the spot and apparated away with a crack.

The store in front of her was most certainly new, but there wasn't much time for her to ascertain anything beyond that aside from assessing the shop to make sure it was safe for her to enter. The front door was cracked a bit and Mabel pushed it open cautiously. "Hello?" She called as she stepped inside — aside from being a new shop, there didn't seem to be anything cursed flying around. Like the bookstore that night you and Dory —

Her intrusive thoughts were mercifully interrupted by the sight of a young woman, perhaps around Mabel's own age, on the floor with a bloody rag pressed to her leg and a dog snuffling at her with a worried expression. "You called, I presume?" The mediwitch entered the shop fully, eyeing the fallen shelves and guessing what might have happened.

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The woman that appeared was somewhat familiar, perhaps from school, but Daff was too preoccupied with the blood dripping down her leg to think much of it. "Indeed, I'm fresh out of dittany, but I would think it needs a bit more than that anyway." Daff was not so averse to blood that she hadn't taken a look, but this was a little much for her.

"Sliced my leg open when the shelves fell." It was deep, she could tell and it was all she could do keep pressing the rag into it to keep herself from passing out. "I'm not the healer in my family, however, so I thought somebody with more knowledge should probably take a look." As if she could even stand up anyway.

Winston was still sitting patiently, whining a little. "Somebody forgets how little he is and I may have almost tripped over him." She explained, reaching out a free hand to pat him gently.

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As she drew closer, Mabel looked at the dog. She’d never seen such a repentant expression on an animal before. It made the corners of her mouth twitch up in amusement. Moving her gaze from the dog to the injured woman, Mabel sank next to her, her robes pooling around her in a soft puddle. She settled with both her knees pointed the same way, and leaned on her hand as she set the kit in front of her. She was used to uncomfortable positions in the field — most often out on the Quidditch pitch trying to duck under arguing players and referees, her focus on their wildly gesticulating arms that were pouring blood. Thank the lord this patient was stationary.

“Thankfully I’m rather skilled, so you should be back up on your feet in no time.” She replied before turning to the dog. “And you, little one, can go back to keeping yourself out of trouble!”

Taking her wand out, Mabel muttered a diagnostic spell and watched the air above the woman light up with bright lights and patterns. “Miss Potts, is it?” She inquired absently, still reading the chart in front of her.

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"Delightful," Daff knew better than to try and do anything herself beyond superficial cuts and scrapes. Ama's persistent lectures were enough for her to make sure she sought care where it was appropriate. It was always fascinating to watch healers work, Daffy thought. She never had the focus to do something so important, but watching both her sister and others (as she was often injured) do such incredible things had always given her a sense of awe.

Tucking her arm around Winston as he sat next to her, she scratched gently between his ears. "He's still a puppy, but generally a good boy." He had some stubborn moments, but they had done quite a bit of training, so he could be worse. "Potts yes, Daffodil. My friends call me Daffy." It was fitting after all. "I'm trying to fix this place up in the next couple weeks to open by the end of the month." She explained as the mediwitch worked her magic. It was coming along, everything painted, things started to be put into place, hence why she was trying to hang the shelving, so she could start really putting things where she wanted them. Maybe she'd ask her dad to come help this time, to make sure everything was solid.

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So far Miss Potts seemed to be a model patient, which made Mabel’s own job a lot easier. She had her little dog with her (who - for a small puppy - seemed rather well behaved in his repentance), and had settled in. Glancing down, the medi-witch assessed the patient’s color. That she felt well enough to talk was a good sign, and her cheeks were flushed a healthy pink. Sure enough, the diagnostic in front of Mabel told of nothing too serious aside from the gash on her leg. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she responded, waving the diagnostic away as she reached for her healer’s kit. “My name is Mabel Brighton, though sometimes my friends and co-workers call me Maple,” she offered in return as she took out a pain potion. And they’d called her Little Wolf, though that wasn’t an explanation a passing conversation would be suited for. She glanced around the shop. It was obvious it was still a work in progress, but it was complete enough that Mabel could see the vision the shop owner had in mind.

“It’s quite lovely,” She commented, before turning back to her and handed her the pain potion. “This will help with some of the pain you feel whilst I tend to your leg.” A tap of her wand saw the blood from the gash siphon away, leaving Mabel with a clean area. Gauze settled itself on either side of the wound to soak up any residual blood. Upon further look, it seemed it was a fairly clean cut with minimal debris lodged in it; which would make both of their lives easier and less painful. “What kind of shop is it to be?”

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Daff took the potion without complaint, though it tasted a little sour. "Pleased to meet you Miss Brighton, though I do wish it was under better circumstances." Then again, how else did one meet a mediwitch? They appeared to be close in age, though Daff had a hard time telling most of the time.

She watched with vested interest as Miss Brighton began fixing her leg. "Oh it's to be a florist of sorts," Daff didn't exactly know how to explain what it would be as it was a little of everything. "But I also plan to sell pieces by local artists, some potions and ingredients. A little of everything one might want if they thought about it, I suppose." It was an eclectic idea certainly, and Daff had no way of knowing if her idea would work at all until she tried. If that didn't work, she could always fall back on the floristry. Standing on the Potts name wasn't exactly what she wanted to do, but as they did have a good reputation for being good at what they did, that wouldn't hurt.

"There's a greenhouse out back and a workshop downstairs. Just need to finish up this floor to get it ready to open." Her own quarters could wait, they were fine for now, but the professional levels needed to be done sooner rather than later.

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“Ah!” Through her administrations, recognition sparked and the mediwitch nodded along. She reached into her bag to pull out a small empty glass vial. Another wave of her wand saw the small bits of debris work themselves out of the wound and into the jar. Mabel held it up to the light to examine the contents. “Yes, am I to presume you’re of the Potts family that owns the florist shop in Hogsmeade?” She’d gone there a few times for random occasions; birthdays, to decorate the office, and for the occasional restorative bouquet when she was feeling down. Perhaps that was why Miss Potts looked so familiar; it was likely they’d crossed paths and hadn’t realized it.

The contents of the jar held nothing conspicuous; nothing that might have deposited something more into her patient’s bloodstream, thank Merlin. Putting the jar back away for reexamination during her reports, Mabel pulled out more strips of cloth, dittany and a small thin pin. “It sounds like a delightful little haven.” Mabel commented, easily visualizing the sun streaming through the greenhouse panes; there were enough of them around in London that Mabel had wondered if she should start saving up to keep her own.

Thoughts turning back to the task at hand, Mabel unstoppered the bottle of dittany and sprinkled a few drops on the wound which responded immediately to the treatment and started to seal back up. “It shouldn’t be too bad to leave a scar,” Mabel mused, taking the cloth and unwrapping it around Miss Potts’ leg. A severing charm took care of the remaining cloth, and Mabel stuck the pin into the first few layers of the bandage. It immediately formed a secure loop. “The bandage has some scarring lotion infused into it and by the time the spell on the fastening makes the pin dissolve the wrap will fall off by itself; you should be good and healed.”

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