Ben Fletcher was beginning to think his working the overnight shift was becoming some bizarre magnet for disastrous events. It was too overwhelming to think about; from the Battle those two-and-a-half years ago, to the plague that had devastated the Victory Ball not six months later, to… this. Hogwarts was burning – and no one knew why.
The question that plagued him and his fellow Healers once they had triaged the injured concerned the best method of transporting those too critically ill back to St. Mungo’s. London was too far away to Apparate reliably (especially with exhausted minds, let alone the fact that they would need to get the students to Hogsmeade before the castle’s wards would even allow for it), so the options were narrowed to the Floo system and Portkeys. They would be able to transport more patients more safely with Portkeys, they decided, as some students needed to remain on stretchers or had bandaged and splinted limbs: neither case would be particularly conducive to spinning like a top through a narrow, sooty fireplace system.
He had been at his alma mater for what must have been hours, working tirelessly alongside his fellow Healers. Only once Ben was certain that the surges of injured students flooding the Great Hall had subsided significantly and that Murphy, Mannie, and Amatia felt they were sufficiently staffed and equipped to manage the situation did he take his leave, returning to St. Mungo’s to escort the last round of critical students. Mediwizard reinforcements were on their way to Hogwarts for backup, leaving Ben free to return to St. Mungo’s to tend for the bay of those too critically injured to remain at the school. His department – Emergency Healing – was a relatively small one, and they needed all hands on deck.
His little cohort – which included a small curly-haired blonde girl, a chubby black-haired boy, and a tall red-headed girl – arrived at St. Mungo’s more gracefully than he could have hoped via a Portkey. Immediately he had set to work, seeking out the Healer-in-Training assigned to him for the night: Geneviève Lémieux, a young woman from France who was proving to be quite the eager student. Her expression told him that she may not have been as mentally prepared for this as she may have thought; fortunately, perhaps, their patients were too preoccupied to notice the young trainee’s alarm. He made a mental note to bring this up with Gen later – not to scold her, but to gently remind her that she was her patients’ rock; that they would feed off of whatever emotion she showed outwardly, and how important it was that those emotions be positive or at least neutral. Even if you had been working for hours and were exhausted, it was something you always had to keep in mind.
Merlin, what time was it, anyways?
Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, Ben was far too busy tending to his patients to pay attention to the clock. Unlike most other professions, Healing did not have a hard-and-fast “quitting time†for the day. It was the furthest thing from a 9-to-5 gig; not only for the physical hours worked, but also for the intrinsic emotional investment. You were “done for the day†when your patient was stable – not when the clock said so. Crises like this were different, though. You could go for hours without a break and not think twice – but once you had the smallest respite to re-orient yourself, the realization of how much time had actually elapsed was almost overwhelming. He almost made this mistake right then, but redirected himself before he had a chance to sneak a glance at the clock.
“Thanks, Gen.†He nodded appreciatively to the young woman as she gathered supplies.
“Good, we need to address the burns first – once we’ve irrigated the area, we can apply a topical anesthetic and take a closer look at the break. Remember: the most dangerous part a burn is the risk of infection, so we need to make sure we address that thoroughly.â€
With murmured thanks to the support staff as they helped get the new arrivals settled, Ben turned to his first patient: the curly-haired blonde girl who couldn’t be more than twelve. She had been singing to herself, and when she finished Ben grinned at her and applauded as he approached her bedside.
“Hey there, Sweetheart. What’s your name? Do you know where you are right now? Can you tell me what happened tonight?†He paused for several seconds between each question, giving the small girl some time to collect her thoughts and answer him without overwhelming her as he prepared to examine the girl himself.
“I’m Healer Fletcher and this,†he gestured to Gen, “is Trainee Lémieux – we’ll be looking after you, alright? First thing we want to do is clean you up a little: you have a couple of burns on your legs that we really don’t want to get infected. This will sting a little, but you’re one tough cookie so I know you’ll be just fine. Can you hold as still as you can for us?â€
He gestured for Gen to stand beside him, and the pair waited. Ben preferred to have some sort of verbal acknowledgement from his patients when possible before proceeding – he found that it typically helped them feel a bit more comfortable with the procedure.
