NOVEMBER BI-WEEKLY Part 1

[Equinox Chick]

NOVEMBER CHALLENGE

(part one)

Ah, November, month of bonfires, remembrance and coughs and colds - in UK anyway.

Your challenge for the next two weeks is to write a drabble from the point of view of an OC (yes, really) who is working in St. Mungos. Whilst they are there, they come into contact with a patient. Somewhere along the way, your OC changes things for the patient.

• The patient must be a canon character.
• The patient must be able to have a conversation with your OC.
• Any character, any era, any ward.

A note about drabbles. You are allowed to use a beta (we beg you to use a beta) because it’s always a great shame when we read fantastic drabbles but have to discount them because of SPaG errors.

All drabbles should be between 300-500 words. All MNFF guidelines must be followed.

Points:

Participation - 5 points (that's per entrant not entry)
First – 15 points
Second – 10 points
Third – 5 points

The barmaids reserve the right to award more or less points and places depending on the quality of the drabbles. We have not cake-womaned anyone yet, but it could very well happen. **

Use this form for your entry:

[B]Name:[/B]
[B]House:[/B]
[B]Title:[/B]
[B]Ratings/Warnings:[/B]
[B]Word Count:[/B]
[B]A/N:[/B] 

This competition will close on Thursday 15th November at 9PM.

Good Luck!


~Madam Carmerta~

** And just what is 'cake-womaning'? The explanation is here.

[Gmariam]

Name: Gmariam
House: Ravenclaw
Title: Once More
Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd years/None
Word Count: 500
A/N: Hm. I got nothing. Oh, but Mungo Bonham was the man who founded St. Mungo's. This man is definitely related.


The Potions ward saw more accidents than anything--potions gone wrong that brought the user in violently ill, various colours of the rainbow, or even with an extra appendage. But that night a patient came in completely unresponsive, his heart beating so slowly it was a wonder he was alive.

As Clarence Bonham watched, several Healers rushed to treat the poor man. He was pale as a ghost, his breathing shallow, his eyes closed behind round glasses. When one of the Healers brushed back the greying hair from his forehead, Clarence nodded in recognition: Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived.

He left the ward, determined to return later, should the man survive. Whatever potion he had ingested had certainly been a dangerous one. He doubted it was a draught gone wrong; it was more likely Mr. Potter had been deliberately poisoned, or had even poisoned himself.

When he returned later than evening, the man was still alive, though weak. He went to Mr. Potter's bedside, not wishing to wake him, but hoping he might speak to him nonetheless. He was rewarded when the man grumbled at him.

"I thought visiting hours were over."

"Indeed they are, Mr. Potter." Clarence smiled, though the man was facing away and could not see him. "In fact, it is the middle of the night. I apologize for disturbing you, but I wished to see how you were doing."

"Wretched." Harry Potter was apparently a man of few words.

"Were you poisoned?" asked Clarence. He sensed it did not matter either way, as this man did not appear to care whether he lived or died at that moment, but he was curious.

"That would certainly appear to be the case, wouldn't it?" Harry replied. "I don't normally visit the Potions ward this time of night."

"You are angry." It was a statement, not a question, and Harry turned over and gave him a withering glare. He was not wearing his glasses, so he couldn't see clearly, which was probably for the best. "And weary, I believe."

"I'm old," replied Harry Potter. "And I'm tired of almost being killed."

"You are not ready to die, though," said Clarence, sensing it was true even if Harry did not yet believe it.

"What do you know about me?" Harry grumbled, and he turned away once more.

"I know you are a fighter, Mr. Potter. That you never give up. That you will live for your friends and your family, and that you will find whomever did this to you and bring them to justice."

Harry did not turn around, but Clarence could see the man's body relax and knew that his words had been heard and perhaps even taken to heart. It was enough for now. The sun would be up soon, and he had to leave. Harry Potter needed his sleep.

Murmuring farewell to his patient, Clarence floated from the room and left the Boy Who Lived to his rest, knowing that Harry Potter would survive once more.

[Ginny Weasley Potter]

Name: Ginny Weasley Potter/Pooja
House: Hufflepuff
Title: Two Saves
Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd years, no warning
Word Count: 497
A/N: Chizpurfliasis is a disease which is transmitted from Chizpurfles. The causative agent is a fungus, Cenza chizpurfliana, a sky-blue fungus with spores that attach themselves to any witch or wizard passing by the Chizpurfle. The cure to this, however, is not by potion administration, but a series of spells that have to be repeated thrice everyday for five days by a qualified Healer.
The Chizpurfle was borrowed from 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them' by our very own Jo.

____________________________

Demelza Robins had high fever, headache, nausea and a terrible, dry cough the day she was admitted to St Mungo’s hospital. A Trainee looked her up in the clinic before she was assigned to Healer Chris Stevens, one of the most promising Healers in the hospital.

Chris had finished his Healer training four years ago and he also had an additional degree in Muggle medicine. There were few diseases that escaped his eyes and his mind, and the moment he read Demelza’s chart, he could vaguely guess what she was suffering from. He walked up to her bed. “Miss Robins,” he smiled. “Flex your knees, please.”

She followed his instructions and he asked her to take a deep breath before gently pulling apart her gown and feeling her abdomen, starting from bony protrusion on her hip. Soon, he could palpate her spleen, which confirmed his diagnosis. Chizpurfliasis. He took her chart and started to write on it. “You have Chizpurfliasis. It’s completely curable, but you will have to spend a few days at the hospital.”

“Okay.”

“Is there anyone you’d like to call? A family member?”

“No, no…” She was quiet, as Chris took out his wand again and waved it at her abdomen, to see the exact dimensions of her spleen. He moved his wand over each part of her abdomen, scrutinising her organs, but he frowned as his wand hovered over her lower abdomen. “What is it?” Demelza asked him, noticing the frown.

Chris bit his lip. This complicated everything. “You’re pregnant, Miss Robins.”

***

“So… you’re saying that I could lose the baby?” Demelza asked Chris quietly.

“I’ll try my best to make sure that doesn’t happen,” he said softly.

There was silence. When Demelza broke it, her voice was heavy. “I want to abort the child.”

Chris frowned. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t even know who the father is,” she whispered. “Even if I don’t miscarry, what will I do, bringing this child to the world?” Chris didn’t reply to this, but she continued. “I mean, how much will I miss out on anyway?”

This time, Chris couldn’t help but talk. “A lot,” he said. He sighed, and smiled. “I have a four-year old myself.”

“But isn’t the pregnancy a danger to my condition?”

“No,” said Chris. “Your condition is potentially dangerous to your pregnancy, not vice-versa. But if you wish to abort—”

Her expression was soft. “Tell me about your child.”

Chris grinned, as he spoke to her about his son, Tom, about when Tom was born, all the good times, and the fun he had parenting. When he had finished, Demelza just looked amazed. Chris, however, checked his watch and stood up. “I must leave now. Let me know… I’ll be back in an hour.”

She nodded and he realised that she wasn’t about to abort. He left the ward, the thought of saving not one, but two lives making him happier than ever. He had fulfilled his duties successfully.

***

Title: Ante-Mortem
Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd years, character death
Word Count: 385
A/N: Yayy! I did it!

I could feel the colour drain off my face the moment they wheeled him into the morgue and placed him on my table. I stared at his pale face helplessly, not believing that this was it. I had known him for a long time—longer than his other students, because he and my father were friends. He had been my Herbology professor at Hogwarts. Yes, Professor Longbottom (Uncle Neville to me) was dead.

How did he die? I knew it was up to me to find out the answer, as I washed my hands, my heart heavy. I wondered if I should ask someone else to perform the autopsy, but then, I realised, it would give me some peace to find out how this had happened. How was he dead, when two days ago, he had just come in with mild but persistent fever?

I sighed and gave his introduction on the Recording Charm. After the basics, I picked up my wand and pointed it at his bare chest. “Opening chest cavity…”

The patient in the ward next to his was dead, and I was just walking past when I noticed Uncle Neville in the hospital. He was reclining against his bed, relaxed and chatting animatedly with his wife. When he saw me, he grinned. “Sandy! How are you?”

I smiled back and entered his ward. “I’m good, Uncle Neville.”

“And how is Dean doing? All good at home?”

“All good,” I responded. “What happened to you?” I asked him, as I could see no injuries.

“I’ve had a week-long fever,” he shrugged. “I wasn’t even going to come, but Hannah insisted. She is scared it could be dangerous.”

“Well, it could,” I said. “You should never take these things lightly."

That evening, he spent more time with Aunt Hannah and his children. My words seemed to have affected him quite a lot, and he was living every moment of his life. I wondered how he was so affected by what I said—because I had never meant it like that—but right now, as I looked at his lifeless form on the table, I realised that he was right to have done all of that.

Snapping back to reality, I extracted his lung from the chest cavity. “Lung is congested and oedematous, showing petechiae…”

[Equinox Chick]

two entries does not a challenge make.

-scowls-

TWO DAY EXTENSION - I WILL NOW CLOSE ON SATURDAY 17TH NOVEMBER AT 9PM GMT

[welshdevondragon]

Here you go....


Name: Alex/welshdevondragon
House: Gryffindor
Title: A Clean Death
Ratings/Warnings: 3rd-5th/mention of sexual situations, drunkenness and mild profanity. Oh, and character death.
Word*Count: 500
A/N:* Yes. I'm surprised too. Thanks to Soraya for beta-ing. This IS exactly 500 words in word, but might be longer here. 





I don't enjoy this job. Who wants to be cleaning up vomit and piss, changing the stained sheets, washing down endless stretches of corridor which are pounded by diseased feet every day? But someone has to do it. The Healers all have more important things to do, so it might as well be me.

Having been here three days, I'm getting to grips with the place. That's about how long it takes for me to work out who's really in charge, who knows what's going on, who doesn't care, what times people come and go.

I've never liked hospitals. There's too much dying going on. Too much death, I'm fine with, but there's something about death being stretched out. It's not clean. And I've been told, by the man in the bed over there, that I don't like mess.

He--Michael--was right. I called him arrogant, and he laughed. We'd known each other four hours by then. An hour later, we were f***ing.

There are very few people around, and those here are busy with their own patients. Shrug off your cleaning robes, put on a Healer's coat, and no one bothers looking at your face. They see the purple and just think it's a Healer talking to a patient. We're as good as alone.

I perch on the bed, and Michael sits upright, opening his eyes. He used to have pretty eyes, but I saw to that. I feel a pang, not at him saying, 'Who's there?' in a lost, scared voice, lacking any cockiness, but at the mess I've created.

'It's Annie.'

He frowns. There are very few rules for what I do, but rule number three is trust your instincts. I knew I was safe telling him who I was, and he'd recognise my voice anyway.

'Annie?'

'Yeah, Annie.'

'You tried to--you tried to kill me.'

Rule number two: when you kill someone, do it properly. Rule number one: don't get attached. If you get attached, the Killing Curse won't work; instead, it will cause surface injuries, such as blindness.

He's stretching out his arm tentatively, and for a moment, I think he's looking for me; my heart leaps, but no, he's clasped his hand around the glass on the bedside table, and now he's sipping it.

Poison doesn't take the emotional state of the assassin into account.

I'm not sure why I'm here. I should go now, but I don't want to.

'So, why did you try to kill me?' he asks with forced lightness. 'Last time someone tried to kill me was in the battle.'

'I was paid.'

He nods and laughs. I want to tell Michael that I'm sorry. I want to tell him that he seems all right. F***** up, yeah, but then who isn't these days? But I can't think of the words, and now he's choking, shaking, lying back on the bed, and now he's still and always will be.

[Nagini Riddle]

Name: Hmm, good question. I may be suffering from Multiple Personality Disorder, because I'm pretty sure my name is Nagini...
House: That red one full of overly brave people
Title: Not Enough
Ratings/Warnings: 3rd-5th yrs; Character Death, Mild Drinking, Apathy/Mental Disorder
Word Count: 500, at least on Microsoft word
A/N: Florence Nightingale, anyone?

There’s a nothingness that has blanketed my mind, and I don’t understand it. It may be due to the fact that you have to be numb to all the pain death brings in the ward, but this is beyond that. This is apathy. It’s a casual glance to the patients as I pass by; the calm indifference to writing down the time of death; the crossing of my legs as I sit before the walk-ins who complain of various aches and spells gone awry that are easy enough to fix. I might ponder the state of my nails from time to time, or dream of sinking into a luxurious bed, when I am supposed to be administering a healing charm to someone in need. Or perhaps I would drink Firewhiskey while on duty. In all honesty, I didn’t care.

It didn’t use to be this way. I wasn’t the lethargic, empty man I am now. No, I used to be caring, and sharing, and all that pizzazz, or whatever it’s called. My heart would grieve terribly for each life taken away, and I could not bear to gaze into their glassy, tormented eyes. Yet I kept going, struggling each day to overcome the fresh anguish at losing another face, another name.

She should not have come. She should not have died. The fierce pride in her eyes as she lay on the hospital bed shouted at me that she was a fighter, and she didn’t fear what was to come. It amazed me that she could have so much life and confidence despite the awful wound she sustained in her abdomen.

“Miss, why do you glow in that way?” I asked, wishing to know her secret. I should have just left her alone, because the moment she spoke, I was spellbound by her strong voice.

“Glow? What do you mean?” Her dark eyebrows scrunched in a beautiful manner, the bewilderment in her expression making her appear wiser than it did on most others.

At that moment, Healer Smethwick bustled in, interrupting us. “Miss Patil, it’s time for you to see Healer Bussey. He is an expert on sealing these types of wounds.”

I watched Smethwick wheel her away, but I determined to follow. Smethwick scowled at me. “Trainee Denson, don’t you have other duties to attend to?”

“Yes. Miss Patil, is it?” I looked directly at her.

She smiled. “Padma, yes.”

“How can you appear so calm and happy and content?”

Her gaze seemed to penetrate me, as though she were examining my heart. Something in her eyes changed, for they softened, and her voice was soothing.

“I am content because I have served my purpose, done what I could for my family, and stood up for what I believed in. And that is enough.”

She shouldn’t have died, but for some reason, Healer Bussey lost her. Her hand ceased to hold life on that cart, and all I could think was that it hadn’t been enough. It hadn’t been enough…

[iMusic17]

Name: Ellie ... or Elyse if you're daring
House: hisssssss
Title: The Healer and The Husband
Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd years/excessive fluff
Word Count: 500 on the nose
A/N: My apologies in advance, barmaids.

Albus Potter woke up to a splitting headache. Actually, that was only the first thing he noticed; he could barely breathe and his stomach was about to rebel. The last thing he remembered was filling out a report. He hadn’t passed out, had he?

There wasn’t time to ponder the issue, however, as Albus couldn’t repress the bile in his throat any longer. Quickly grabbing the bowl next to his bed, Albus unfortunately had to witness the food he’d ate last night. It was after Albus realised where he was; St. Mungo’s. Bloody hell, it must have been bad. Honestly, though, it was the worst he had ever felt in his life. He was torn between passing out again and throwing up, until a blond blob of a healer entered the ward. Albus would recognize her anywhere, even without his glasses; she was his wife.

“Well, Mr. Potter, it doesn’t look like you’re feeling to well,” the healer said, a coy smile on her face. She had even pretended to check her clipboard for the name.

“Mrs …” trailing off, Albus pretended to look at the name on her uniform, “Piper Potter, you would be entirely correct.” No matter what, Albus could never resist that kind of banter. It was a competition between them.

“It seems you passed out at work. You have the hippogriff flu, Mr Potter, a rather bad case. You probably won’t be released for a few days,” Piper replied, maintaining her act.

“Healer Potter, you even work in this ward?”

“No,” she replied, smiling broadly. Piper’s brown eyes were still twinkling with mischievousness, though.

“Well, then, I wouldn’t hang around. I wouldn’t want to … infect you.” For a split second, Piper’s confusion was evident, and Albus took the opportunity to quickly grab her waist and pull her onto the bed next to him.

“Ack! Albus!” she squealed, but even sick, Albus was stronger.

“What did you call me, Healer Potter?” he replied cheekily, as Piper playfully swatted at his arms.

“Fine, Albus, you win,” she admitted, planting a kiss on his nose. “Happy?”

“Very,” he replied, returning the gesture. It was only then Albus realized how hoarse his voice was.

“You realise I could actually get sick, yeah?” Piper replied after a while, and Albus smiled.

“No. You got the vaccine yesterday. So did Charlotte,” he returned, and Piper made a face.

“Damn, I thought I’d got you. She was a bloody nightmare, though; it took three healers and Rose to hold her down,” she said, and Albus laughed.

“That’s my girl,” he said fondly. As a reply, Piper kissed him on the nose.

“I really do have to get back to my work, you know. I’ll send a healer over, though. Charlotte’s going to stay at Rose’s for the night, too.” Smiling, Piper stood up and kissed Albus’s forehead one last time. “Get better, love.”

Smiling, Albus just nodded. Maybe it was just Piper, but it seemed he was starting to feel better already.

[acaciacarter]

Name: Acacia Carter
House: Fufflehuff
Title: News
Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd Years/Wait, none? That can't be right...
Word Count: 337, give or take depending on your view of contractions
A/N: Did anyone have any doubt who my canon character was going to be?

His mother had been startled, as I recall. They hadn't been expecting this sort of development - had in fact been taking steps to avoid it - but then when the parents are powerfully magical sometimes the best precautions fall short. I never got to properly meet his father, though both his parents are currently in one of the permanent wards upstairs.


I don't remember meeting her mother. Her chart does say she's a half-blood, so perhaps her mother opted to use a Muggle doctor. Given the wartime environment, it was probably a great deal safer to stay firmly entrenched in the Muggle world during that time, especially if the father of your child was a Muggle.


They are looking at me expectantly; he looks even more nervous than she does. "Healer Jacobs?" he asks. "What did the tests say?"


I put on my reading glasses and look over the chart in my hands. "It's a bit early to tell-" I say, and their faces fall slightly before I rush to add "-the gender, but whoever is in there is healthy and definitely magical. Congratulations, you two."


They had to have known what my answer would be, but if I were to judge by their reactions alone I'd assume they hadn't suspected a thing. But unlike his mother, his ear-to-ear grin belies the anxiety in his pale cheeks, and he looks very surprised when his wife lunges at him with her arms outstretched to surround him in a hug. "A baby!" she's saying in a tearful voice. "We've been trying for so long, and finally-"


I clear my throat, fighting a smile as he silently mouths the word "baby" as though not sure what to do with it. "I ought to mention that the diagnostic spell detected two heartbeats."


Their eyes grow wide and she turns to join her husband in gaping at me. I keep my face absolutely straight as he takes a slow, deep breath, and faintly says, "We're going to need a bigger cot."

[majestic_ginny]

Name: majestic_ginny/Nadia
House: I'm a badger
Title: Falling
Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd Years/none.
Word Count: 500 exactly on MS Word
A/N: The Graham here is Graham Montague . And that title is just about the worst I ever came up with.

He lay on the bed, his eyes staring up at the white ceiling. The covers were drawn up to his waist. His hands lay limply by his side, his index finger twitching periodically, discreetly. I stood by the door, clutching the clipboard. I was not a stranger to delivering bad news; it was a part of the profession when you were a Healer. But this time I was facing him.

He turned his head, looking straight at me. “Meredith,” he said, smiling. “Come in.”

I sighed. Taking slow, tentative steps, I walked towards his bed, trying not to look at his legs as they lay under the covers, unmoving…

“How are you feeling today, Graham?” I said softly.

“Not bad,” he replied wearily. “When will this numbing potion wear off? I’d like to move my legs.”

I bit my lips. “Graham, there’s something you need to know.”

He frowned. “Yeah?”

“After the accident…” I paused. I didn't know if he was ready to hear this.

He brushed his fingers with mine, sending a jolt up my spine. It had been months since we’ve had skin contact...

“Tell me.”

Taking a deep breath, I looked into his questioning eyes. “You fell over a hundred feet, Graham. The wizards on the field weren’t quick enough to cast shield charms, and though your body responded with its own accidental magic, it was only enough to make you survive.” I perched beside him and took his hands in my own, ignoring the swooping feeling in my stomach as I felt those familiar hands once again. “It’s not a numbing potion you’re under,” I whispered.

His brows furrowed in confusion. He was always a bit slow. “But then why can’t I feel my legs?” he asked.

I prayed to the heavens for strength.

“The lower half of your body is paralysed.”

One sentence could change lives. I had seen that before. But this time, it was over a hundred times worse.

Seeing the despair on his face was more painful than a Cruciatus curse could ever be.

“But... but Meredith, that can’t be true,” he said, smiling disbelievingly. “If my legs are gone, I can’t ever fly again.”

A tear escaped my eye.

“Meredith,” he said loudly, his eyes wide. “If I can’t play Quidditch, what am I supposed to do? That’s the only job I can get! You know my grades!”

“You’re legs will heal,” I said, trying to smile encouragingly. Slowly, in ten years, they would. He could walk again. He’d be able to move like a normal person.

But he would never be able to ride a broomstick again.

“Merlin, no,” he whimpered, tearing his hand away from mine and clutching his hair. “No, no, no, no, no...”

“Graham...”

“Leave me alone, please,” he hissed. Closing his eyes, he turned the other way, and I could see a tear escaping his eyes.

I clutched the clipboard and ran out of the room, sobbing, knowing full well that I had just destroyed him.

[Maple_and_PheonixFeather]

Name: Maple
House: GryffinRAWR (I stole that from someone, don't know who though)
Title: Burns
Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd, Rien
Word Count: 442
A/N: Andrew = Lily's best friend. He's from one of my Lily story arcs. Also, I wrote this while practising my chamber ensemble piece and watching someone conduct, so....


When Andrew decided to become a Healer in the creature induced injury ward, he expected it to be busy, gory, and just overall stressful, but there were still some days that surprised him and made him wonder why he became a Healer in the first place. Today was one of those days.

Andrew was walking down the hall after a particularly nasty snake bite when a Healer in training stopped him in the hallway.

“Healer Gallagher, I know you’re really busy, but there’s a new patient who just came in and you’re the best person for the job.”

Andrew mentally sighed to himself. It was starting to feel like a very long day. He nodded at the young Healer. “Catch me up as we get there.”

“It’s a burn injury, Healer Gallagher.”

“Well, what kind of burn? Salamander, fire crab...”

“Dragon, sir.”

Andrew felt his heart stop. “Where is she?” he asked, picking up his pace.

“She’s in the Descartes ward, sir.”

Andrew sped around the corner and threw open the door. Inside was a young woman with what appeared to be second degree burns all over her face, chest, and arms, with third degree burns on her forearms.

“Lily,” Andrew groaned.

“Hey there, Andrew,” Lily said, wincing.

“Lily, stop talking, you’re going to break the blisters.” Andrew began to run his wand over the burns.

“Who cares, Andrew,” Lily replied. “There’s a great story to this injury. Plus, I’m going to scar anyway, so I’ll be ugly whether or not I talk.”

“I can minimise the scarring if you just stop talking,” Andrew replied. “The only place I’m worried about is your forearms. You have some pretty nasty burns there.” He went and grabbed an ointment from a cupboard close by. “Besides, you could never be ugly. You’re beautiful, Lily, and don’t you ever forget it.”

“Shut up, Andrew,” Lily said. “This isn’t making me feel any better.”

“Lily, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to shut you up myself.”

“But...”

“Lily!” Lily shut her mouth. “Do you know how scared I was when I heard it was a dragon injury and they called me? I thought you would be sitting here, dying. Let me do my job and fix you up, including trying to alleviate any possible scars.”

Andrew continued to work, talking about nothing to ensure Lily didn’t speak. When he was done, he looked over at Lily’s face and saw that she was fast asleep on the table. He lifted her up and carried her to the bed she’d be staying in. He laid her down and kissed her forehead.

“I love you, Lily, burns or not.”