“28th” February, 1890 — Hogsmeade Hospital
Tilda MacFusty

It had been Elias’ fault, he supposed, for heading out on an early morning fly before he’d bothered to unroll the paper and read the news. That had been the post-breakfast plan, but instead Elias had found himself apparating himself to the hospital post-haste.

He’d had time to read the paper back-to-front in the waiting room there, in fact. Even at this time of day the waiting room was overflowing with minor injuries, more so he’d ever found before... although, given the funny nature of time today, he supposed he wasn’t sure what time it was.

Lucky he’d managed to leap off from the broom when he had, else he’d perhaps have ended up smashed against a tree when time had fast-forwarded on him and even the quickest braking he could manage hadn’t been enough. The fall hadn’t been fun, and he suspected he’d fractured something in his hand - maybe given himself a concussion - but Elias had faced worse than that, and didn’t mind the bit of a wait in the hospital.

He had no doubt the mediwizards were overrun out on field calls, but when he was finally called to be looked at here, it was up on the Creature-Induced Injuries floor and by a proper healer. She was redheaded and vaguely familiar, but Elias hadn’t yet worked out exactly how. 

“I have to warn you, this’ll be a waste of your talents,” he began apologetically, sure that he looked slightly dishevelled but not in grave danger, only sporting a few cuts, grazes, and cradling one hand in the other. “There weren’t even any creatures involved,” he added in wry explanation, trying to gesture back at himself with his hand and wincing when he remembered that it was the injured one. “Only this fool.”

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When Tilda got ahold of the fool who'd caused this calamity upon all of them, they'd be lucky if she put them at the business end of a blast-ended skrewt. As soon as she'd gotten in for her shift it was absolute mayhem. Granted, this was the work Tilda thrived in, but there were more injuries than staff that they'd had at this point.

The only upside to this was that they'd opened themselves to taking cases from other departments, and Tilda found she got to flex different skills that she hadn't in a while. This next case seemed pretty straightforward, but the redhead also knew those ones often were the most difficult seeing as they didn't wish to embellish their accident on paper and preferred to take the time in person. After apologizing for the wait, she'd seen a man - Mr. Grimstone - back to a spare gurney where she did a quick assessment of his vitals.

As she was analyzing the severity of his whole person, she couldn't escape the nagging feeling that she recognized him from somewhere. His gesture to himself pulled her focus however, and she laughed. "Well I briefly skimmed over your chart," she responded, holding her hand out to gingerly take his injured one. Her eyes flicked to him curiously before glancing back down at his wrist."Did I read it correctly, you jumped off your broom?"

  

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Elias couldn’t help himself; stoic as he would like to be no matter the wound, the healer touching his hand - even gently - had produced a sharp pain shooting through it, which worried him that this might be more severe than he had supposed. He hissed softly in spite of himself. Surely whichever bones he’d crushed in the fall were only fractured and nothing was broken, though? But of course she would be able to mend a break in no time, too? He needed his hands. Obviously, who didn’t, but - Elias needed his hands to work. Desperately, really.

He chuckled to try and cover up the tension in his face from the pain in his hand, and returned to the redhead’s questions, still trying to discern why he might remember her. “Well, that makes me sound like a madman, but yes, I suppose -” Elias explained, with a rueful grin. “It was the lesser of two evils, really. Time took me - er, unawares -” (this day was terribly strange in that regard) “- so if I hadn’t jumped, I expect someone might now be scraping my remains off a tree,” he finished cheerfully.

So, all in all, a few cuts and bruises and an uncomfortable collision with the ground might be a good result. (But he really would like use of his hand again.)

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Her brow creased in concern as he winced. Tilda knew her practice and she had a light touch; that he could feel pain that intense from only initial contact slightly worried her. She removed her hand and summoned her healing cart. It wheeled to her squeakily before stopping obediently at her side. Reaching a foot out behind her, she pulled the stool closer to her and perched on it, surveying her arsenal as he spoke. Her eyes flickered up to his face and caught his grin, which she mirrored easily. Truth be told, it wasn't the craziest tale she'd heard during her time as a healer and certainly not the craziest story of the day, though she let him continue, keen on diagnosing and discharging him today.

It seemed that time was messing with all of them today, targeting people indiscriminately, for she'd seen a slough of people arrive from all walks of life. Some were more injured than others, but there were enough patients for them all to realize the breadth of it. "Well," she began easily, a laugh behind her voice. "I am certainly glad we are not scraping your remains off an obliging tree, Mr. Grimstone," She still had a nagging feeling she knew him from somewhere; this was going to bug her all day, yet she felt she could hardly ask such a question without having healed him first. There was something about the tenor of his voice though...it rang through her head in a familiar way. "I suppose if you had to be here I'm glad it's in this capacity as opposed to something more unfortunate!"

As the dittany bottle floated towards her, she analyzed some of the cuts he'd acquired and dropped a few drops carefully on those. "And, truth be told," she murmured as she did so. "I am rather glad it wasn't a creature induced injuries incident. For the ones who do come in are either Ministry folk who are out of their league or it's those who think they're a match for a beast like a Hebridean dragon and learn the hard way they're not." It did please her that at least some of her patients had their wits about them.

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   Elias Grimstone

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In spite of the ache in his hand, Elias broke into a laugh at her response. Not all healers he’d encountered in his life had exactly had a sense of humour.

He was half-tempted to pay attention to what, precisely, she was doing - to see how well it was working, or to prepare himself for any additional pain if it was incoming - but the lilt of her voice and that she continued talking were a convenient distraction to block out all discomfort in his hand.

And he did have sort of a morbid curiosity about creature injuries. “I wouldn’t consider myself a match for a housecat, if I’m honest,” Elias said, and this was too true to be to his own discredit (and healers took some kind of confidentiality oath, did they not, to their patients? If he could not be honest here, then where indeed?) “But the dragons -” he inquired, with wide eyes and a raised eyebrow in something like disbelief, “- do those sort of accidents happen often?” He might’ve had the excuse of being a former Gryffindor for getting into mishaps, but surely most people in Hogsmeade did not wander into a dragon’s maw every day for the thrill of it.

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Her brow furrowed slightly again, though this time in confusion at her train of thought. She knew she recognized Mr. Grimstone from somewhere, and her first thought was perhaps from her da's side of work. Conall MacFusty, as fierce as he could be, was rather amiable and had many connections at the Ministry. Perhaps they'd encountered briefly during a function then? Conall wasn't one for functions though, so the likelihood was rather slim. That, coupling with his comment about not being a match for a housecat pushed that probability down even more.

But she couldn't have met him through her mother – all her mother did was healers work, and he obviously wouldn't be here if he knew how to heal himself. Granted the ability to heal oneself was an impressive feat, but still canceled out that she would recognize him through her mother. Tilda also thought she might have met him through a friend, seeing as she figured said friend would also come to mind, and none did when she focused on his face.

Now was about the time when she realized that she was staring at her patient with a troubled look and was likely starting to act peculiar – not to mention unprofessional. She gave herself a slight shake and cleared her throat at his question. "Oh aye," She said lightly, happy to explain the sudden conversation turn. "My family are the MacFusty clan," She began, a slightly amused expression on her face now. "We work with Hebridean dragons, and my mum and I do a fair amount of work healing the knuckleheads that are my brothers and father."

At this point, his cuts were well and healed and it was time to focus on his injured hand. "This might also be the time for me to heal that hand, Mr. Grimstone." She added, an apologetic expression on her face.

  

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The way she was staring so intently put a dash of uncertainty into his head - had he hit his head, too, and now she thought he was mad? Or had he just put his foot in his mouth and said something terribly wrong without realising?

Or, was this the way he’d been peering at her in reverse, and this was proof that they had met before? Elias wracked his brain, sure that he could recall where or how. Pity the crash hadn’t managed to shake it out of him in better time.

Before recognition could strike him, however, she had well distracted him on the issue of dragons. “Ah!” He said, in bright amusement. A MacFusty - well, that ought to have rung a bell as to her identity, but he couldn’t help but feel that if they’d met before with dragons in the picture that he probably would’ve remembered it better. “Sounds like quite the challenge, that,” he grinned, imagining all the scrapes her brothers and father must get into, “and you must have the patience of a saint.”

But patience was no longer needed for his hand, it seemed. He winced at the turn her tone had taken, as if the sharp pain in the bones of his hand wasn’t enough. “...Am I to take that as a warning, Miss MacFusty?” Elias said, half-tempted to snatch his hand away. Whatever was she going to do to it?

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Tilda laughed again, knowing if her brothers could have heard that, they'd be roaring with laughter. Patience, their little sister? "My family describes me as many things, Mr. Grimstone," She said, her laugh still apparent in her voice. "But patience has never been one of them." She was still flattered at that though, seeing as her thoughts on the matter were quite different; Lach and Quill had the combined patience of a Niffler.

With his expression turning to cautious, she gave an encouraging but slightly sympathetic smile as she retrieved her wand from her robes. "Of sorts." she said, her voice void of any sentiment of schadenfreude. "It's a simple spell that will heal your hand, but it will be painful for a second."

And with that, she pointed her wand at his hand and said in a steady voice, "Episkey!" With an unpleasant crack, his hand was mended, but left Tilda still wincing at the necessary pain she'd had to inflict upon him. After a minute, a small: "Sorry..."

  

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Well then, her brothers really were knuckleheads, if they didn’t appreciate their sister’s commitment to helping them when they got into trouble! Still, he laughed for a moment at her response, but the laughter died down rather swiftly when she explained what was next. Why did the simple spells have to be the worst ones?

He hadn’t long to steel himself, because all feeling in his hand had already flooded with a hot, sharp pain, and the noise of bones cracking made it distinctly worse. “Christ!” Elias exclaimed, shaking his hand out gingerly, as if it might suddenly fall off, when in fact it seemed to be restored to its usual self. He peered at it a moment as if it were someone else’s hand, grateful that he had a fairly strong stomach; otherwise he thought he might be looking a little green.

He felt the hand by pressing it with his other in wonder at how it didn’t hurt to move it anymore, only wincing at the spell which had been more traumatic than a spent split-second was probably worth. “Thank Merlin that’s over,” Elias said, exhaling, and then grinned. “At least it didn’t require much patience from me.”

His head felt clearer, too, now that was over; he hadn’t realised quite how foggy the injury had been making his brain. Because this time, when he looked at the Healer to thank her, something else snapped back into place - enough to make him click his fingers with his no-longer-fractured hand in sudden realisation. “Th- hey, aren’t you the fountain girl?!”

He wished he hadn’t blurted that out, now that he did recall the time they’d met before. Though he’d fallen into the fountain first, hadn’t he? No wonder he’d tried to block that out!

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Were she a lady with delicate sentiments, Tilda might have winced at his curse, however she was rather used to patients swearing in all sorts of fashions; at her, just in general, in pain, the possibilities were endless. She smiled genially though, finding his facial expressions rather amusing as he marveled at his newly fixed hand.

Tilda turned to leave him to his own devices as she started cleaning up her cart. Picking up the dittany bottle, she figured she might have a few more uses left in it before she had to request a new one from supplies. His exclamation caught her by surprise – both in the execution and subject matter, and she quickly fumbled with the bottle because she had nearly dropped it. "I ––!" She returned, her face flooding with color as the realization and memory suddenly resurfaced in her mind.

Merlin, that had been incredibly embarrassing; she visibly cringed as she remembered how tangled her hair had gotten that day. She'd probably looked like a drowned puffskein! Tilda reached out to put a hand on the hospital cart to steady herself. "I...believe that was me!" She said, flustered as she forced herself to meet his gaze. "And that would make you the unfortunate man who had to witness my bedraggled state, then Mr. Grimstone!"

Her other hand floated up to pat her own hair as if it had become soaked all over again. Merlin help her.

  

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Judging by her first reaction, Elias would have thought better of his exclamation if he had not already loosed it. ‘Fountain girl’; she might be that in his memory but he probably ought not to have told her as much when he was supposed to be thanking her for her healing efforts.

“I’m so sorry,” Elias said hastily, biting his lip in some effort to bite back the comment, too late, flexing his fingers on his newly-fixed hand in sheepishness. “Though I believe you’re being too kind,” he corrected, having blocked out much of the more embarrassing elements of the encounter from his mind - had it been May Day once, a few years ago? he couldn’t recall - “as the way I remember it, I was more than a witness, for it was my fault you ended up drenched in the first place.” He gazed at her solemnly, trying to convey a belated apology for that mess. He also remembered slipping and falling and being very damp. “Not that I thought you were bedraggled!” Elias added, in belated protest, sure the assurances would not make her feel much better and yet now quite unable to suppress his grin.

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Tilda's anxious expression relaxed, and her lips twitched. As soon as it was made clear he did not fault her for the situation they'd end up in, her laughter rang through the small cubicle they sat in at the round of apologies they seemed to be making. "It's quite alright, Mr. Grimstone, quite alright! Suffice to say we might have been at the mercy of the fountain rather then the other way around." she replied, making sure the dittany bottle had been corked properly before turning back to him. Her healer's instincts had her reacting before she knew what she was doing and she reached out to pat him on the arm assuringly.

"I certainly hope you didn't catch a cold at all after that debacle." She said, tapping her wand to the cart to make it wheel back to its corner. It rattled away obediently before settling in it's place. The witch got up and went to wash her hands in the available bowl. "That's the last thing I'd need on my conscious after making you suffer through your healed wrist!"

She turned back to him, eyeing his wrist. "How is it, by the way?"

  

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Fortunately, the fountain declaration hadn’t seem to dampen - dampen, get it? - her easy camaraderie, which was a relief. Who knew with healers, really. They didn’t all have the bedside manner to go with the profession!

Not that he had any plans to wind up in Hogsmeade Hospital for anything more than a quick fix like this one.

“Oh no,” Elias assured her, chuckling at even the thought, “I’ve a hardier constitution than that!” It wasn’t quite so cold as Scotland, but Portsmouth had been just as wet and windy, and he was quite used to bad weather at high altitudes - so what was the odd little fall in a fountain in May?

“As for my wrist, it’s - much better,” he said, making sure to flex it, rotate it and clench his fist in clear demonstration. “Good as new, in fact, so I fancy we can call ourselves even. Thank you, Miss MacFusty. To a blank slate next time?” Elias declared, grinning, and he stuck out his healed hand to shake hers.

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She watched with a careful eye as he tested the range of motion of his wrist. Once confirmed that she'd indeed done her job correctly, she smiled with satisfaction. "It was my pleasure, Mr. Grimstone," she said, taking his hand and shaking it. "Be careful in the next few days and careful not to run into any more trees, though."

  

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