Magical Hogwarts

Hospital Dolencias Mágicas de Mendoza Alcalá, Guadalajara, Mexico  ||  Friday, 1st April 2005
…not the filling of a vessel”
– Socrates

This year’s international Continuing Medical Education conference had really snuck up on him, it seemed – though perhaps that was because he was actually presenting this year, as Healer-in-Charge of his department. Public speaking had never bothered him much, but he did find the prospect of addressing an auditorium full of the best and brightest in the field internationally to be at least mildly intimidating.

Before he knew it, the weekend was upon him and he found himself enjoying the Guadalajara sunshine.

The Emergency Healing portion of the seminar (and, consequently, his presentation) wasn’t until the following day, but he’d wisely followed his wife’s advice and taken time off for the entire long weekend of the conference. The time away would be cathartic, certainly – and there was the added benefit of a mini-vacation for the pair of them after-hours, partially-funded by the St. Mungo’s CME Galleons.

For the moment, Brita was off exploring the city while he was at the conference, perusing the various research projects on display while keeping a casual eye out for anyone he knew. Oftentimes, events like these were the easiest way to catch up with his friends and colleagues abroad: the conferences drew a steady crowd year after year, with the twofold attraction of the most current Healing practices on a backdrop of prime vacationing cities.

Presently, he was in the courtyard admiring the impressive architecture when he spotted a familiar figure in his periphery. Shading his eyes against the sun confirmed his suspicions: he waved cheerily at Rosalia when he thought she was looking in his general direction.

Rosalia’s attention shifted from the small, handwritten note in her hands—a list of places her abuela insisted she visit while in Mexico—to her bustling surroundings. The warm sun cast a comforting embrace, and the vibrant colors of the city stirred a sense of nostalgia she couldn’t quite place. Rosalia’s grandparents had emigrated from Mexico long before she was born, but somehow, the witch still felt deeply connected to this city. She was linked to her roots here, and the note from her grandmother amplified that connection.

Amidst the city’s vibrance, her thoughts momentarily drifted to her professional life—the reason she’d come to Guadalaja in the first place—and the conference she attended. Rosalia’s gaze lifted as she tucked the note into the pocket of her flowing, knee-length A-line skirt made from soft, woven cotton. Rosalia was in awe of the architectural beauty of the building. Just then, a friendly wave caught her eye, and her heart gave a small leap of recognition. She returned Ben's cheerful wave with a warm smile. The colorful woven fabric of her rebozo shifted on her tanned shoulders as she waved back, the ends cascading down her arms.

Rosa made her way toward him through the courtyard. “Hello Ben,” she said, her voice carrying a touch of genuine enthusiasm. Rosalia was as much part of the medical world as any of the healers here, but she did not work in hospitals like most of them, and thus, had not recognized many people. Ben, the Head Healer at St. Mungo’s Emergency Ward, was a welcome and familiar face.

“I look forward to your presentation tomorrow,” she admitted. Rosalia respected his position immensely, and often learned a lot from him, especially during chaotic and critical situations. “I hope you are finding some time to relax, too. Guadalajara is so beautiful. Is Brita enjoying the trip?”