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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