Euphemia and Fleamont

Euphemia shifted in bed, half-asleep, reaching out for her husband. In vain, as his side of the bed was already cold. The realization that she had no one to cuddle with woke her up.

"Not again," she sighed. She valued her husband and appreciated his willingness to help. Support and assistance to others were essential aspects of her life too. However, they were both getting older, especially Fleamont. Aging affected wizards, and these late-night wake-ups and brewing potions whenever the Healers at St. Mungo's needed a potion for someone unable to afford it from the hospital's dispensary were definitely not good for his health.

Instead of her husband, she reached for her wand and, with a graceful motion, lifted the darkening charm on the curtains, letting the muted glow of early summer morning fill the room.

She was almost done with breakfast, prepared by their house-elf Tiki, when she finally heard the sound of Apparition.

"Good morning," she smiled at her husband, but her smile faded when she caught his expression. "Was it that bad? Couldn't they manage without you? Couldn't they send you a message during the day, and-"

Fleamont wearily sat on a chair next to her, squeezing her hands and stopping her from speaking further.

"Nyriplica only calls me when it's absolutely necessary, my dear. And tonight, it was necessary. A boy, about fifteen or sixteen. They brought him from Hogwarts overnight. An allergic reaction, couldn't use standard potions. And from the records about him and his family, it was evident that the hospital's services were always covered by charity. If I didn't go to brew the necessary potions, who would?"

Euphemia shuddered at the mention of the wizarding school. "From Hogwarts? What happened to him? Couldn't they handle it in the school infirmary? Or did they send him to St. Mungo's because of the allergy?"

"Both," he swallowed and seemed to search for words. "I'm starting to regret not going to Albus earlier to tell him what I think about the Hogwarts infirmary."

In her mind, his wife thought that she told him this already. Several times, most recently this Easter when they found out that their son came home from school with another strange injury, improperly treated again. But Fleamont refused, as Albus was his friend, times were tough, and boys will be boys, who knows what mischief he was up to, and so on.

"He attempted suicide, but," before he could continue, she interrupted him with a horrified expression.

"Suicide?" the witch was genuinely shocked. Suicide was something incomprehensible and taboo in the wizarding world, more so than in the Muggle world.

"Yes, yes... but that wasn't the main issue," Fleamont continued with a tired voice. "He also had a head injury, a concussion, bleeding. A severe injury, untreated for more than twelve hours!" He fell silent for a moment.

"When it was clear that he'd make it, Nyriplica conducted a more detailed examination. His entire body is covered in traces of various injuries, be they physical or magical in origin. The vast majority of them weren't properly treated. Either the boy doesn't go to the infirmary at all, or the Hogwarts Healer is doing a terrible job! And considering what we saw at Easter..."

"Will you talk to Albus about it?" she asked with hope in her voice. She genuinely wanted this issue to be addressed. "We only have one son, and if something like this happened to him-"

"I realize that, dear, I do. After lunch, I'll visit the hospital once more, then immediately Apparate to the Hog's Head and make my way to the school. The hospital doesn't have contacts for the parents of the injured boy, and if he needs to take an antidepressant potion, I'll have to find out which version their family can afford, or help them fill out charity forms. And while I'm there, I'll discuss it with Albus, this time, yes."