December 25th, 1890 — St. Mungo's, London

Dorian had always been something of a gigglemug. He was an easy man, excited by the simplest of prospects. There weren't many circumstances that threatened this relaxed demeanor of him. Fewer still that left him standing on needles and pins. However, landing himself in the spell damage ward of St. Mungo's in the wee hours of Christmas morning just so happened to be one of those dampening effects.

Working throughout the Christmas holiday was always a task he volunteered for. The Fisk's, unlike most of wizarding Britain, were known to be Jewish, and thus their celebration of Christmas revolved solely upon their close friends who were decidedly Christian. He didn't care much either way whether or not his colleagues got to be near their families for the holiday, but the batty-fang leader of their committee seemingly did. Dorian knew better than to wage war against the pantry politics that were the Ministry of Magic, which left him on call from Christmas Eve until the monday following.

Wonderful.

Christmas Eve had gone well for the most part. The single call consisted of removing the charms from enchanted ornaments whizzing about the room, a no brainer that was more boring than a daisy-five-o'clocker. All hell had broken loose at midnight, though. First, a young child thought to be a harmless muggle, who really ought to have been in bed, had caused a revolveress to shoot off several rounds in a muggle home. Then, a toddler decided to be frightened by the tale of good ol' Saint Nicholas and afternoonified his entire household. The bright daylight took the better part of three hours to disenchant, finished all whilst dear Mrs. Puddlebottom shrieked about Christmas being ruined.

It was the third stop on Christmas that sent Dory to the hospital. He laid in the bed on his side, a bit 'o Raspberry being coughed into the nearby bucket with every breath. He wouldn't have stoped into the hospital at all, except that the coughing left him feeling like the next thing to judgement day. His limbs were like jelly, his head even moreso. And all because a bloody toddler decided to sneak out of bed for a bloody raspberry cookie. Dorian rarely had such reelings from a young child, but this one he dreamt of rebounding this particularly awful charm upon.

He was mid coughing fit when the door opened behind him. Try as he might to turn and greet his healer, Dorian couldn't will his jellied body to move.

  

The ward had been relatively quiet when Malou had started her shift in the wee hours before dawn. She had volunteered for the earliest Christmas day shift. As she had no living relatives to celebrate with it seemed only right that she sacrifice her own time and allow the others to enjoy their families. Later that day she'd make her way to her godmother's but seeing as those were her only plans it would hardly seem right not to take the additional shift.

It was still just before dawn when the nurse informed her of a Ministry worker had just come in. Mr. Fisk. Of course, Malou thought, it would be Mr. Fisk. A soft smile had slipped unknowingly onto her lips. It seemed he was here at least every few weeks, sporting some minor injury or another. Trying to joke with her as if they had been friends in school. But that was the thing, they hadn't been. He'd been friends with Fallon, almost everyone had been, but Malou could hardly think she had even caused the younger man to notice her.

"Good morning Mr. Fisk." Malou greeted as she breezed into the room, her tone a tad lighter than with her other patients - familiarity with him nothing more. "What have you done this time?" She asked in a teasing tone. That was before she noticed him coughing up what appeared to be blood. All light-heartedness vanished and she was quickly at his side, holding his arm to steady him as he cough. "Whatever happened?" She asked when he finally finished and leaned back on his mattress, her grey eyes looking at in with worry.

  

---

Miss Skovgaard's voice was both a welcome addition to his morning and an unfortunate encounter. Welcome because Dorian had always had an unrequited crush on the former Slytherin, and unfortunate because his present situation was decidedly unattractive. The bottom of the bucket was coated in a thick layer of raspberry jam and undigested black tea. Merlin. Dory knew her to have seen him through his worst injuries, but this mess was just disgusting.

"Morning," he echoed, his voice hoarse from the coughing. "I'm alright. Promise." The concern in her eyes was unmistakable. "Just some jelly gone wro-" Another coughing fit caught him mid-sentence, heaps of jam coming from a constantly refilling source. Dory clutched the bucket as tightly as he could to best hide his embarrassment from her. Then, a minute after it stopped he pulled back. "Never doubt a child's determination to have some sweets."

  

---

beautiful set by lady

He certainly didn't look alright, Malou found herself thinking as he launched back toward the bucket. "Jelly?" Her soft voice echoed as she looked at what she had originally thought was blood spilling into the bucket. It was much lumpier and brighter than blood should be, and while not precisely an appetizing thing to look at, did much to lessen her concern.

"I'll be right back." Malou declared, if Mr. Fisk could hardly keep anything in his stomach to answer questions she'd need to remedy that first before she could get to the heart of the problem. Not long after Malou had bustled out of the room she was back with a bottled potion and a cup. She poured the dark liquid into the cup, a nutty smell rising from it.

"Here. This should help you keep the jelly down for a little." Malou held the cup out to him, a kind look on her features. She watched to make sure he had swallowed the entire dose before she said anything further. "Now," She started gently as he finished, "What happened?" And how did a child factor into it, she found herself wondering.

  

---

Although Dory trusted Miss Skovgaard's healing capabilities implictly, he was presently unable to do more than roll to his back and wiggle his fingers. Earlier attempts to raise his arms saw them flop about like fish, and he adamantly refused to look so foolish before her. He rested the side of his forehead against the bucket instead and smirked. "I'm afraid you'll have to pour it in yourself."

Seconds later another coughing fit took over, and with it the heaps of raspberry jam. Merlin, was it coming from his nose, too? Why did his face feel sticky?!

Once the fit had subsided, he resumed his tilted position. "This child was having a continued tantrum when I arrived. There was jelly everywhere, even the chandelier was coated in it. Then, once I thought I had finally subdued him-" More coughs, more jelly. Santa had better not bring that retched child more than a lump of coal this morning. "The spell rebounded on me."

  

New concerned wrinkled Malou's features as he hardly moved from his position. "And why is that?" She found herself asking, her tone gentle despite the terseness. She had been Mr. Fisk through many rough patches at this point and there was something about that and the combined school memories that had created a certain fond spot for her regular patient. Not that she would admit to it. Healers most certainly did not have favorites. Malou knelt beside the bucket, tilting his head back in practiced hands and putting the cup to his lips. Hopefully he wouldn't spew jelly on her for her efforts.

Jelly was almost entirely over his face and some even seemed to be coming from his nose. She'd need to get that cleaned up to tell for sure. The smell was everywhere around them, raspberry and a mix of acidic stomach acid. She wasn't sure she'd be eating raspberry jelly anytime soon and she was certain Mr. Fisk would likely swear it off for life.

"What spell?" She asked patiently, her mind already spinning with possibilities.

  

---

The potion mercifully helped enough for Dory to be able to converse without spewing jelly everywhere. Prior to this very moment, raspberries had been among his favorite fruit. Now, however, he believed it would be a long time before he would be able to tolerate the pungent smell again, if ever.

"Thank you, Miss Skovgaard," he said warmly. She was, as always, his favorite healer. "But, I'm afraid I shall have to disappoint you again. See, I already tried the counter to the wandless burst that fixed the jellied room on myself and it was to no avail." It was the first thing he tried, in fact. Nevertheless, Dory then informed her of the counters he had used. Perhaps her wand work was better than his.

  

Use to the regular visits to the hospital, Mr. Fisk was well versed in the routine of such a situation and as such Malou had to do very little prodding for him to explain the spells at play. She straightened herself up as she listened, nodding here and there, and then finally murmured, "Thank you." For half a moment she appeared the quiet doormouse of a girl of fourteen she had been instead of the healer of four and twenty that she was now. Truly she was lost thinking of possible solutions, her brow gently furrowed in concern. "Let me see what I can do." She determined, stepping forward to roll him away from the bucket now that it seemed safe from his spewing sweetness.

It seemed rather unkind to leave him with such a mess over his face, so before she set to work she tapped the side of the porcelain wash basin beside his bed with her wand casting a nonverbal warming spell then dipped in a cloth. "It seems a disappointing way to start a holiday." Malou remarked absent mindly as she began to dab at his face with the cloth.

  

---

He breathed a sigh of relief as he was moved away from the bucket. Her hands were warm through his clothing, too, something he would have appreciated far more were his limbs capable of functioning. Dory knew she was a woman of an untouchable reputation, above his lot in every way. But, Merlin, she was pretty. Prettier even than the loud mouth friend who brought them together in the first place.

"It's not a holiday my family typically celebrates," Dory answered her musing casually. The Fisk's were known throughout the community as Jews, after all. Even if Dory didn't generally care much for religion, he wasn't ashamed of his upbringing either. If anything, he was thankful to be spared the dull hours of sitting in Christian church services. He turned his head so her gentle washing of him might continue easier. (And, if the move afforded him a better look at her face, well he wouldn't complain). "Just another day, really. What of you? Seems unfortunate to have to work whilst the dear Saint brings gifts to all."

  

Of course, how inconsiderate of her. Malou instantly realized what she had forgotten at his words. Even before the newest Minister had been elected her godmother had reminded her of the Fisks religion. It was the height of rudeness to have forgotten and Malou's cheeks gained a soft pink tint to them as she realized the misstep. "Of course, I misspoke." She murmured, grateful to turn her attention and face back to the bowl as she wrung out the cloth in a separate empty bowl, pink liquid pouring out.

Of course Mr. Fisk hardly seemed as offended as Malou felt he ought to be. Like Fallon it almost appeared such things bounced right off him. The fact that he could easily turn the conversation to set her more at ease was something she was grateful for and helped her to remember herself and turn her face back to Mr. Fisk to continue her task. "I volunteered." Malou returned simply, then, perhaps because it was early on the morning of a holiday that reminded her of so many happy ones before it that had fade simply to memory, Malou added, "It seemed selfish not to when the others have families to celebrate with." She shrugged, again turning to the bowl and wringing out the cloth. Mr. Fisk was undoubtbly familiar with her past because of Malou. Although that gave her little reason to confession her own loneliness to him. It only invited pity, and pity was not something she wished upon herself.

  

---

"Oh, it's no bother," Dory did his best to assure her immediately. He didn't miss the pinking of her cheeks, and, were his hands properly functioning, he might've reached to touch her arm as well. "Nearly everyone else in our community celebrates it. An easy mistake, there was no harm done." He smiled his best smile, dark pink stained cheeks and all. With any luck, his unfortunate appearance might make her laugh off the discomfort.

The smile lasted all of a few seconds, though, as the realization of what she'd said sunk in. He knew her to be orphaned, but had never really thought of the implications. Even through the obvious loss of his mother Dory still had his father to make things feel slightly normal. To have lost both seemed horribly tragic.

"Well, that's just my luck then, isn't it?" Dory resumed his smile, albeit a much smaller one this time. "Otherwise I would've been left with Old Ms. Turnbull to tend to my illness. And she's not as friendly as you."

  

At least there was no harm done in her misstep, Mr. Fisk was quick to reassure her and Malou found herself believing him. She smiled slightly and gave a gentle nod of her head. Better not to linger on the subject.

“Oh?” Malou found herself asking slightly, keeping her eyes on the bowl, dreading the pity that inevitably came with such a statement. She did not need pity. It had been years ago and she had done much for herself since then.

The mention of the other healer though made Malou chuckle softly. “If you say so.” She demurred, taking her time to rinse out the cloth fully. Indeed most people dreaded the care of Miss Turnbull and she could not blame them for it.

Taking care to remain as neutral as possible Malou turned back to face him the cloth clean again. “I doubt she’s as unsociable as you claim.”

  

---

"She's a bit too stern for my tastes," Dory insisted. Miserable, too, but Dory wasn't going to foulmouth one of her colleagues without knowing how she felt about the old bat. Nor did he wish to appear to be a judgemental grump. Miss Skovgaard would be right to dismiss him if he was one.

[Ooc: sorry for how short this is!!!!]

  

"Perhaps you need a dose of sternness." Malou commented, the edge of her word less stern than she intended. "It might keep you out of the hospital more often." It seemed almost too frequently that she saw Mr. Fisk and while she did enjoy speaking with him, having a friendly face in the hospital, she did hate to see her patients frequently - no matter how much one enjoyed their company, it was worse to see them in pain. "Perhaps, I should let her take over and then you might be more careful in the future." She scolded as she set aside the towel.

"Now then, we seemed to have gotten the vomiting under control. Are you able to sit up?" She needed to know precisely how bad the injury was before she attempted any sort of spellwork.

  

---

"As if anything short of a Christmas miracle could keep me away," he laughed. Sternness wasn't a strong enough of a deterrent to force a job change, anyway, which was the only way he would cease winding up in her care as often as he did. "I think if anything I would try to suffer through my injuries alone at home." And then die, most likely. Miss Skovgaard likely didn't care for him as he did her, but even she wouldn't wish death upon him.

Sitting up without the use of his limbs would prove to be quite the challenge, though he had to at least try for her. "I think my insides are all jelly," he tried to joke once he was vertical. Unbeknownst to him, he was swaying like a wobbly child.

  

Malou tsk-ed, "Then I fear only more harm would be done." Her words almost a sigh. "I shall refrain from calling Miss Turnbull then and settle for imploring you to be more careful."

It seemed a struggle for Mr. Fisk to sit up, Malou watched in concern, noting that he did not use his arms. They may be. Malou found herself thinking in response. "Here," She moved forward and gently helped him lay down, "Let me help." As she helped settle him down she asked, "Are you able to move your arms?"

  

---