Chapter 2
"Scars remind us where we've been. They don't have to dictate where we're going." – David Rossi
Dear Healer Kakudō,
It is with a heavy heart that I must impart this gruesome news. The tragedy occurred a mere ten hours prior at the writing of this letter and I must admit, I am still in shock myself.
I will not mince words with you – we are in dire straits right now and in desperate need of a Healer of profound knowledge and wisdom, as well as a deep love and respect for child development. Your dearest Aunt Septima – who you are sure to know is our esteemed Arithmancy professor here at Hogwarts – has expressed and insisted you possess all of these qualities. She's explained that, though you've only just begun your second year of residency, you are a born Healer. I do not have to tell you how rarely your abilities come in our world.
Of course, being Vītālinare isn't enough on its own; and I wouldn't be doing my due diligence as Headmaster of this fine institution if I didn't do my own independent research into your background before extending this offer. I've learned you are quite the talented witch, having graduated top of your class at Mahoutokoro with High Honors. That in itself is remarkable, but the detail that stood out the most to me in your history was your year spent doing humanitarian work in the Philippines for orphans who lost their families in the war. I took the liberty of reaching out to Erinlẹ's for a copy of your CV, which I've pushed forward for approval by the Board of Governors here in Scotland. I hope you can appreciate the urgency, and my sincerest apologies if this was all a bit too presumptuous.
To be very forthright with you, being the matron of a magical school – let alone one as ancient and conscious as Hogwarts – is no easy task. The hours will be long and strenuous, and the work will be exceptionally tedious at times; you will have to sacrifice much, if not all, of your social life. Although, considering you plan to finish your Residency at a hospital as acclaimed as Erinlẹ's, I have no doubt you are made for tougher stuff.
All of that being said, I would like to formally extend you an offer for the matron of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The position – and a home here at Hogwarts – is yours, if you will have us.
We can discuss all the pertinent details – including your salary, bonuses, contracted time off, and the potential to receive an Order of Merlin for this service to the wizarding world – over tea on any day of your choosing within the fortnight. I will also humbly understand and accept your rejection of this role, as I hear life in American cities is rather exhilarating, and you are (of course) committed to your career.
Looking forward to making your acquaintance,
Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
He'd shrunken a copy of this morning's Daily Prophet and sent it along with with his letter. Displayed on the front page for the world to see were three or four Aurors levitating Poppy Pomfrey's body down the stone steps of Hogwarts. Concealed under black drapes – no doubt due to the horrific injuries she'd sustained – her body floated past tearful spectators beyond the school's anti-Apparition wards.
Bex had read both the article on Madam Pomfrey's murder and the letter from Albus Dumbledore no less than half a dozen times each. She sat in a small conference room on the first floor of the hospital, tightly holding the various pieces of parchment and feeling utterly dumbfounded.
Aunt Septima's letter was significantly shorter than Dumbledore's, but no less detailed in explanation, giving additional context that the Headmaster had either glossed over or left out altogether. Bex hadn't seen her aunt since last summer, and she'd been too caught up in her residency work to even think about sending an owl – a fresh wave of guilt washed over her for losing touch over the year. She shoved the feeling down, exchanging Dumbledore's letter for Septima's (which was oddly written on the same kind of parchment, presumably from the Headmaster's office). Her quick eyes skimmed over the words once more. The last few lines in particular stood out to her.
"I won't lie to you – international affairs may have you believe otherwise, but our side of the world is doing a great job of making sure everyone's fate looks rather grim. Dark forces are gathering, and most everyone here is content to bury their heads in the sand rather than begin preparing for the inevitable. We need to begin preparing for the inevitable, my dear niece, and these children deserve someone as caring and competent as Poppy in the years to come. This is part of the reason why I recommended you for this role. And the primary, leading reason why I asked Dumbledore to bring you on is because I want you close to me in the next coming years. For obvious reasons I cannot name here."
A chill crawled its way up Bex's spine. Was this all alluding to what she was thinking? No, it couldn't be…
There had been a quick summary of Harry Potter's third year and the incident with Sirius Black. Of course, Bex knew the story of one-year-old Potter defeating Lord Voldemort and losing his parents all in one night nearly fourteen years ago. As a student at Hogwarts, trouble seemed to find him wherever he went… or, so she'd been told by her aunt. Beyond these basic nuggets of information, Bex knew very little about the Boy-Who-Lived. He was a Gryffindor, like his parents before him, and it appeared he was integral to many of the recent political events unfolding in wizarding Britain.
Finally, Bex placed both letters back in their respective envelopes, shrinking them down and tucking them away in a pocket inside her robes. A dull ache was beginning to form behind her left eye – partially from Occluding for so long – so she rubbed her temples and applied a little healing magic. It would help, but only for so long. She needed caffeine.
Healer Briggs had instructed her to find him in his private office after she'd finished reading, having received his own correspondence from Dumbledore.
Bex walked briskly down the long corridors, taking the elevator to the 12th floor where Briggs' office was located. On the way, she was able to check on two of her sicker patients – one of whom was recovering from a blood infection, so was thankful for the extra wyrmwood tonic. More marble gargoyles smiled and nodded at her from their tall perches when she passed them. Her heels clicked softly on the tile, echoing quietly through the corridor.
Briggs' office door was adorned with a gold-plated sign that had his name carved into it. A luxury afforded to Attending Healers, and one of the many perks Bex looked forward to. She knocked smartly on the cream colored wood, stepping into the minimally decorated room at his soft "come in".
She'd been in his office before, having received her fair share of lectures and praise in the very seat she took before his desk. The surface of the desk was littered with pieces of parchment that would be indistinguishable from each other if they weren't all varying shades of ochre. He smiled sagely at her, hands steepled beneath his chin.
"I hear the world has need of a hero," Briggs said at last.
Bex scoffed. "I'm hardly a hero."
His face suddenly hardened, a stern look in his eye. "Don't you dare go doubting yourself already; if you choose to take this venture on – and you have my blessing to do so – those children will need a Healer with no doubts about her abilities."
That made her sit up a little straighter. She always knew he believed in her, but this…
"You think I'm ready to take on the role of a school matron?"
Briggs nodded without hesitating. "Do you?"
She had to ponder for only a few moments before nodding once. This was an unbelievable opportunity, in spite of the devastating circumstances, and the experience she'd gain in her time at Hogwarts would be unparalleled.
"Might I ask what Albus Dumbledore wrote to you?" Curiosity was seeping from her very pores.
He smirked. "I do believe that's between myself and Albus Dumbledore." At her crestfallen expression, he amended, "I imagine it wasn't too dissimilar from what was written in your own letter, Rebecca. I'm none too happy to be losing one of my brightest residents… but what can I do? Who am I to deny you this opportunity?"
"You think I should take the position." It wasn't a question this time. She had the utmost respect for the Attending sitting in front of her, so his opinion mattered greatly.
His chuckle was a warm sound that met her ears. "Healer Kakudō, I think you would be very foolish if you didn't quite literally snatch this offer off the table."
RK + SS
Even a dose of Vitamix potion couldn't keep Bex from tiredly dragging her feet to the second floor or her apartment building. The potion, that was known for giving the drinker a burst of energy, gave her just enough strength to shove open the door to her tiny one-bedroom. She'd just spent another fourteen hours on her feet and the only thing she wanted to do now was eat, shower, and collapse in bed.
Once she'd filled two-thirds of those needs, Bex felt much better. She stretched in bed, yawned, and flicked her wand to draw the blackout curtains in her room closed. Snuggling down in bed, amongst the mountain of pillows, she allowed her Occlumency shields to come down slowly. Gently. It was akin to setting down a very large, very jagged-edged boulder she'd been precariously holding all evening, into the wee morning hours. It was absolutely beginning to wear on her body and mind, Occluding as often as she was, but…
There was nothing to be done for it.
She took a few slow, deep breaths, drawing in the nearest Squishmallow as she let her glamours fade away. She blinked, and whispered, "Finite." The runes appeared on her arms, and she blinked, noting a few more that weren't present this morning before she left for work. There were days when Bex longed for a familiar – a cat, maybe, to curl around her with its soothing purrs as she decompressed from her day – but with her long and often irregular hours at the hospital, the poor creature would be without companionship more often than not.
Maybe one will find me once I start at Hogwarts, she thought.
It seemed like she was living a dream – a bizarre, weirdly fascinating dream. Working at Hogwarts… at only twenty-six years of age. Granted, it was an emergency placement, but still – likely dozens of applicants, and Dumbledore pushed her CV forward to the Board. She felt a brief twinge of guilt for some of the possible nepotism involved, but compartmentalized as best she could; she was a woman of color, and would take these slight advantages as they came.
Bex hugged her Squishmallow tighter. Between the exhaustion and her duties at the hospital, there hadn't been any time to draft a response to either the Headmaster or her aunt. A small scowl, inherently playful in nature, graced her full lips – still no luck with convincing Aunt Septima to invest in a landline.
"The bloody thing would just sit collecting cobwebs for over half the year," the Arithmancy professor had once grumbled over brunch in London.
As soon as she got a few hours of sleep, Bex planned to write to both Septima and Dumbledore, thanking them and letting them both know she was formally accepting the role of matron at Hogwarts. A bolt of excitement shot through her fatigued body at the thought. Living with her aunt, working with teenagers, meeting Albus fucking Dumbledore in a few days – her brain was going in different directions, and she simply needed to rest. Before she allowed the weight of sleep to drag her under, Bex reached out an arm and rifled through her nightstand. All the empty glass bottles inside the drawer tumbled and clinked together, sounding like a discorded xylophone. Her fingers brushed their glossy smooth surfaces, wearily seeking a vial that was at least half full.
Finally, she found one and smiled, uncorking it with her thumb. She brought the cool glass to her mouth and swallowed the sickly sweet purple liquid in one gulp.
For one more night, at least, the nightmares wouldn't come. She allowed the Dreamless Sleep to pull her eyelids shut, the familiarity of the potion like a soothing balm on her fractured soul. With the scent of eucalyptus tingling her nostrils, Bex gave herself unto sleep. The potion worked its magic swiftly, enveloping her in a comforting haze. The remnants of the day's anxieties began fading into the background, to be replaced by a serene emptiness. But, even as her consciousness drifted, a singular cloud of worry cast a shadow on her excitement for what was to come. Could she truly care for these children, guiding them with the all love and stability they deserved, while her own heart was still mending? Her dreams – ha – were vast, her aspirations noble, but the ghosts of her history lingered, threatening to disrupt the peace she sought. The journey ahead was daunting, and her heart ached with doubt, but she remained determined – compelled, really – to stay true to who she was born to be. She didn't have all the answers; that was okay. And... perhaps the road ahead would be fraught with even more challenges than she'd thought were in store for her second year (the ominous words from Septima's letter left her with a queasy feeling that had nothing to do with combining Vitamix and Dreamless Sleep). That was okay too. What wasn't okay was quitting before she even began. She owed it to the students of Hogwarts to try. She owed it to herself.
She would not know until she tried.