Chapter Six: Hex-A-Gone
Amelia Bones hadn't been in her office, so Susan hadn't had any excuse to linger about the Ministry and had returned to St. Mungo's immediately. However, Muriel Hopkirk knew none of this; in her opinion, Susan had been gone too long no matter what the excuse. When Susan didn't even acknowledge her presence as she walked past the Welcome station on the way back to Creature Induced Injuries, Muriel knew that it was time to take action--even though she had the dimmest bit of an idea in the back of her head that Susan might simply have had other things on her mind as her face had been gloomier than usual when she walked past without saying anything. No matter; Muriel had a job to do, and she didn't depend on approval from Healers to get her tasks done.
She rolled from one end of her desk to the other, then settled herself back in her chair, using one foot to swivel it gently from side to side. Eleven in the morning was accompanied by a lull in patients, generally; in Muriel's thinking, that was because most wizards were ready for a cup of tea but hadn't got around to spilling it in their laps yet. She herself took this time every morning for a cup, precisely brewed with cream and two sugars.
There was something lonely about a saucer all by itself, though. She had a wave of nostalgia for days past when her mother would lay out the Hopkirk china and an array of jellies and sweets. After a moment's hesitation, Muriel tore a sheet of parchment free from a pad and scribbled a note: I miss you. Could we meet this afternoon for tea? I know you're busy... She scribbled on, filling the page. Then, she whispered a tricky little charm and folded the note. With a flick of her wand, a pale violet airplane zoomed across the room and out the main doors.
There are so many things to be done, Muriel observed as she organized her desk drawer. Parchment clips here, ink there, the list of departmental contacts Spellotaped just so under the lip of the counter. She sharpened each of her quills and arranged them in a pleasant fashion in a lacquered can. She checked that each of the clipboards hanging on the wall was ready to take a patient's medical history.
At a loss for what to do next, Muriel walked up and down the rows of chairs, lining them up side by side. She straightened and alphabetized the magazines while keeping in mind that this wouldn't last unless the next rash of patients was accompanied with a penchant for order. She even watered the ficus. A shout came from down the hall, but the problem was intercepted by one of the Floo entrance Healers, Muriel knew, when no patient appeared.
A tall wizard in brown robes levitated a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine through from the emergency entrance. Muriel was rather fond of this delivery man. "Oh, hello! Shall I sign for that?" she sing-songed, hurrying to intercept him. Ooooh, he looks gooood today, she thought, running her finger around her lips to remove any stray lipliner and smoothing her robes while the delivery man settled the package at the Welcome Desk.
"Please--"
"And, could I offer you a cup of tea?" Muriel smiled her aren't-you-special-to-have-been-asked smile. She dipped her quill into the inkwell and let it hover above the delivery man's record.
"Sorry, no. Got to get a special delivery over to the Ministry," he replied, a little too jovially for Muriel's taste.
The Ministry this, the Ministry that, today. "Well, if you're certain..."
"Positive."
Muriel sighed as she indulged in a look at the delivery man's retreating form. He had such a nice...set of manners...and it was a shame that he couldn't stay longer. Someday she'd get him alone...she'd ask him to carry a delivery upstairs, then show him into an empty room, and the door would magically seal itself and they'd be trapped in there with nothing to do but snog until someone heard their plaintive cries for help... She shook her head, then Vanished the twine and paper even though the package was clearly labeled 'Hippocrates Smethwyck.'
The box was from Scribbulus Printing. Inside, there was a receipt (which Muriel binned) and a stack of forms. They were evaluations, but not any like she'd seen before. She could see at a glance that there were enough for every single staff member.
A sly thought tickled Muriel right behind her left ear. Her family had donated money, sponsored fundraising balls, founded the damn hospital, and yet she'd never risen above the post of Welcome Witch. True, she considered herself a volunteer, and a valuable one--the salary was a mere pittance when compared to her inheritance--but that was no reason to sit back and admire the glass ceiling. She could help Smethwyck with the evaluations, and he'd be so grateful that he'd give her an office of her own. Something on the top floor with windows and her own personal secretary would be perfect.
Susan Bones could be first. Muriel filled in her name at the top of the page. She had to turn around and check the board--was it Susan, or Suzanne? Yes, Susan. How bland. Position: Healer. Service...Muriel scratched her nose with the end of her quill. "Approximately two years with no sign of advancement," she muttered as she wrote.
After that, the form got harder to complete. "Daily duties," Muriel narrated for her own pleasure. "Come to work. Look at the patients. Drink tea. Look at the patients again. Drink tea. Order the nurses around. Oh, let's see, drink tea. Check the entrance and act like a snob." Muriel thought a moment. Was it overkill? "Drink tea."
Muriel hummed a happy little tune as she flipped through her Rolodex, copying Susan's street and number down. "Let's see. Strengths: Putting nose in the air. Covering up for her loser boyfriend." Muriel felt a momentary flash of guilt, and moved to strike out the last. Neville had been nice enough to charm the ficus so it would never need watering--and as she looked up, it turned brown in protest and Muriel dropped her face into her hand. "Covering up for"--she scratched out loser--"idiot boyfriend."
Skipping ahead, Muriel attacked the section for 'Areas to Advance Achievement.' This would be difficult; there was so much to write and so little room to write it in. Shorthand would have to suffice. "Spectacles needed. No sense of humor. Split ends could be taken care of with a dose of Sleekeazy's." The next part was difficult to word, but Muriel tackled it head-on. "Needs more fiber in diet; this will help facial expression considerably."
Satisfied, Muriel set this aside and reached for another form. 'Roland Weasley, Nurse..." Before she could get any further, the door swung open and a crowd of reporters pushed their way inside with their hands over their faces.
Finally. I wasn't born to push a quill. Muriel laid her paperwork aside and flipped her hair out from underneath her collar so that the photographer could get a decent shot. "I'll be happy to answer any questions you have, ladies and gentlemen."
The photographer removed his hands from his face first. When he did, a fluttering black cloud formed and zipped toward Muriel, making her scream and cover her eyes. A moment later she removed her hands to flap them around her head. The cloud was pulling at her hair!
"WHAT is the MEANING of this?" she shrieked in ear-piercing tones. "Get these things OFF! Off! Off!"
"Dey're nob tings, dey're bads," the photographer offered as another cloud erupted from his nose.
"Very bad," Muriel agreed. "Stop it!"
"We cad't," a reporter said, pulling her hands away to reply and releasing another nostrilful of winged mice into the air. "We cad't stop it."
The rest of the crowd started shouting questions and Muriel howled as she was buffeted with the disgusting creatures. Only by crawling under her desk was she able to think. What in the world was she going to do? She couldn't even shout for help over the roar of the reporters. As bats filled the room, the lights were growing dimmer and dimmer.
Muriel whimpered. The only thing worse than the dark was bats in the dark. Once, once had made its way into her room and she'd spent the night cowering under the covers and crying until morning. Why, one could have already bitten her. She pressed a hand over the fluttering in her bosom. When she got of this--if she got out of this--a medicinal draught from the flask she kept locked in the bottom drawer would be in order.
Six deep breaths later, Muriel was starting to get herself under control. It would be simple enough to send an Emergency Code Charm across to the doctor board and page someone to come to the lobby. She'd just need a clear shot. Pulling her knees in tighter she wriggled around in the space under her desk.
It was difficult to see through the cloud, and she'd only have one chance. It would have to be the right person, too, or Smethwyck would have her head for using the charm inappropriately. It didn't seem like something for Artifact Accidents, and even though there were horrid little creatures everywhere, the problem probably wasn't caused by creatures. Not Bugs, not Plants...it would have to be Spell Damage. She swished and flicked and... nothing. She squinted. The Healers were having lunch.
"Derwent help me," she pleaded. She'd never been able to get a Healer who was on lunch before. "That's what Emergency is for," they always said, without regard for the fact that it was no good sending an Emergency Code to the Floo entrance because it wasn't anything out of the ordinary.
She was going to have to deal with this herself.
"Finite Incantatem!" Nothing changed. "Well, it was worth a try," she muttered, then crawled forward while grabbing a file folder to swat at the bats. "Gous Aywaius! Skedaddle!" She wracked her brain. "Anitdraculosa!"
Muriel couldn't suppress a snort. That was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever said. But, much to her surprise, a cluster of bats disappeared. Swishing and flicking, she cleared the room and turned her charm on the anxious reporters.
This stopped the influx of bats, leaving behind minor nosebleeds in the patients. Muriel knew what to do about this: She Summoned a box of Anti-Sanguinary Chews (marketed for a tenth of the price as Nosebleed Nougats on the open market) and began distributing them to her patients. "No, no, you've chewed the wrong end," she groused as the photographer began to hemorrhage onto the floor. "Scourgify. I have no idea what we'd ever need that end for. Now, who can tell me what happened?"
The answer was a muddle of grousing and swearing. "Ministry...she's the only one...can't fool her...pushed the wrong buttons...Bat-Bogey Hex...sensitive about Potter...brother..."
"All right." Muriel clapped her hands for quiet. "You will all need a jab for rabies. Standard procedure when there's been bats around. I'll need you to fill out some forms--"
Her voice was drowned out by the resulting uproar. "Can't make me...not sticking me with anything...it's outrageous, the cost of medicine...should do an exposé..."
"QUIET," she roared. However, this did not have the desired effect. Normally, when she raised her voice, people responded. Not one of the reporters (not even the photographer) appeared to have heard her at all. "Petrificus Totalus!" Muriel smirked as the obnoxious patients fell paralyzed to the floor.
A quick trip to the Apothecary station later, Muriel flipped her patients onto their stomachs with a wave of her wand. Another flick to get their robes up and underthings pulled aside, and she began working her way down the row. She averted her eyes from the sight, stabbing in the general direction she wanted. Muted yells told her that she'd connected, and she injected the dose of the potion that prevented rabies. When she was half-done, a rough cough startled her into opening her eyes. Smethwyck, and several Healers Muriel did not know, were gaping at her.
"What is the meaning of this?" Smethwyck's pale face had taken on an alarming shade of red and a vein throbbed in his forehead.
"I can explain," she began. On the other hand, there were half-naked wizards lined up on the floor--maybe she didn't want to. "You see, we had an emergency..."
"What in the world would possess--"
One of the other men held up a hand. "It's quite a recommendation to know that everyone at St. Mungo's is able to triage patients and administer remedies when necessary. Why, this is the most efficient setup we've seen." He scribbled notes while Smethwyck shot Muriel a look that clearly meant I'll deal with you later.
When she administered the last innoculation, she flopped down on a chair. It was stressful listening to people in pain. She was temped to slip away and let someone else unfreeze the reporters, but decided that with a little breather she'd be ready to do it herself.
As she prepared to move on with her duties, a barn owl swooped in through the main door. It dropped a red scroll in her lap. With a frown, Muriel unrolled it and the words on the parchment flew into the air, burning, and a stern, cold voice read them in a voice so loud she had to cover her ears.
Our office has detected a charm to create a type of communication only allowed within the Ministry of Magic. As you may know, owls have been found to be inefficient for communication between Ministry offices, and alternate means were found. However, the Ministry code forbids that any witch or wizard use the charm outside of the Ministry building.
Furthermore, the use of this top-secret charm (so secret that we do not write it in messages that might be intercepted) to send a message between two buildings, especially when the message may be detected by Muggles, violates section 2417 of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy and is punishable under law. You may remit the sum of seven Galleons, sixteen Sickles, and one Knut to the Ministry by owl.
The use of company stationery for personal correspondence, while not technically illegal, is frowned upon by this office.
Yours sincerely,
Mafalda Hopkirk
IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE
Ministry of Magic
P.S. I do not have time to meet you for tea as my work keeps me very busy.
The Howler exploded with a shower of sparks. Muriel let go of her ears. This was incredible. This was embarrassing. This was...not unexpected. Forlornly, she thawed her patients and went back to her desk. The reporters tiptoed out; they didn't even bother to whisper about her on their way out.
Something pricked at her eyes. When the first one rolled down to her chin, Muriel realized they were tears, hot salty ones. She had plenty of practice squeezing out tears when they gave her an advantage, but these felt...different. It was hard to swallow and her nose was running. Muriel heard herself whimper, and then sob, and finally she was bawling outright, great gasping cries unbecoming a Hopkirk.
"Are you all right?" A young woman with bushy hair who looked like she had slept in her robes was looking at her uncertainly. "I have a handkerchief here somewhere. Can I--can I get someone for you?"
"No," Muriel wailed. "You can't get anyone. You could-couldn't get anyone."
"Well, I'm sure I could, actually," said the girl, but Muriel ignored her and went on.
"J-just le-le-leave me alone. Can't you see I'm upset?"
This made the girl frown. "Yes, I can see that you are. Very upset, as I've cried that hard myself. I thought I would be pulled apart from the inside." She fumbled for a handkerchief. "Here it is. Blow your nose."
Muriel accepted the cloth and wiped her eyes. "Well, it's not that bad. I've simply had an awful day, awful. No need it take it out on you, dear." Looks like you've got enough problems as it is, going about all rumpled like that, she thought. "Some days the world conspires against the best of us, and those whom we care the most about refuse to believe that we have their best interests at heart. It's not your fault, and there's nothing you can do about it, so don't worry your"--Muriel convinced herself that an idiom wasn't the same as a lie--"pretty little head."
"Maybe--maybe... Sorry, I'm Hermione Granger. Would you like a cup of tea? It might make things look a little brighter."
"Tea?" Muriel perked up at this. "I'd love a cup of tea. I know the perfect place, if you'll be paying. Shall we go upstairs?"
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