Ernie MacMillan

We had a guest lecturer at St. Mungo’s today. It was a Healer from America, one Raymond Rotheri from Marion Square, North Carolina. He is in private practice and is on staff at St. Luke’s Hospital of Raleigh, North Carolina.



Have you all ever talked to an American? Their use of the language stymies me at times. Mispronouncing words such as schedule. We use the dignified shed-ule and they say the word vulgarly said as sked-ule. How can we understand them? Well I did, after a fashion when he was talking about professional matters. When we talked privately later on in the evening, it was as if he was speaking Greek and I left my wand at home.


I’ll remember the lecture for a long time. We were in the basement auditorium.
In walked a man wearing short iron-gray hair wearing a suit with a waist coat,

Since the lectern had an inlaid sonorous spell allowing for hands free talking. He raised his wand in the air and said, “I am Raymond Rotheri. By my mind, heart and wand, I will face our enemy death fearlessly except when it is the natural part of life.” Magic flared and we knew that was an oath that he believed in with all of his heart.

“That my dear colleagues, is the oath that American Healers take when they receive their licenses to practice our art. It goes well with its muggle cousin. Ours is shorter and to the point. Muggles tend to wax poetic--I swear by Apollo Physician and Asclepius and Hygieia and Panaceia and all the gods and goddesses, making them my witnesses, that I will fulfill according to my ability and judgment this oath and this covenant:

To hold him who has taught me this art as equal to my parents and to live my life in partnership with him, and if he is in need of money to give him a share of mine, and to regard his offspring as equal to my brothers in male lineage and to teach them this art - if they desire to learn it - without fee and covenant; to give a share of precepts and oral instruction and all the other learning to my sons and to the sons of him who has instructed me and to pupils who have signed the covenant and have taken an oath according to the medical law, but no one else.

“It goes on for a few more paragraphs, but in my opinion, those were the most applicable passages,” he said.

“So in keeping my Healer and Doctor’s oaths, I’m here today to share with you the newest discovery of the American Healer’s Association.

“Curescara, a new salve to apply wounds created by curses including wounds made by werewolves.

“It effectively removes the curse from the wound to allow healing. It does have one side effect though; the wound could not be healed by magical means. It must be closed by stitches and allowed to heal on its own. Once healed through time, Oblivious Unction can be used to remove the scar totally.

“If the slide projector operator would show the first slide. The patient is a eight year old girl suffering from lycanthropy. During her first transformation before wolfsbane potion could be administered to ease the transformation, she inflicted the wounds on herself seen on slides one and two.” He said.

The wounds were deep gashes along her forearms. It looked as if strips of flesh were stripped. I could see the bubbling of the salve and the edges of the wound turned black and were excised from the arm. Stitches were applied to close the wound. I was just amazed how clever these muggles were in their medical techniques.

“Ten days later, he said, we removed the stitches and applied the Oblivious Unction to the scar. A day afterwards the scar faded. Three days post removal of the stitches; applying Oblivious Unction each day, the scar was gone totally.


“We aren’t sure if the Curescara Salve will work on the initial bites of a werewolf, but we have high hopes it will.

“This salve should work on all hard to heal curse wounds for a scar free result.

“Questions?” He said.

Two hours later, the question and answer period was over. Healer Rotheri assisted the other Healer-Instructors in their rounds exchanging information. Speaking on general topics, his accent and manner of speech was quite unique, often hard to understand. When he talked of medical matters, he was quite understandable, strange isn’t it?


I worked the last eight hours of my shift and retired to the study room. I had one more task to complete before bed. My final ‘Mystery Wizard’ gift to Susan, I’m not sure when I’ll send it yet; but I know I’ll tell her soon who I am.

I took the badger toy out of my bag and set it on the table. According to my notes, I only had a few more enchantments and it would be completed.




The toughest part of this magical toy is to keep my concentration so the old warrior’s voice could come out of my mouth. I lost concentration when I had a silver furred kneazle slide across the table just as I was saying, “Hold me close and I’ll always be here to protect you.” It came out in my voice and not the old warrior’s. Damn! Three weeks of work down the drain if I start anew. So I just do the final charm and seal the enchantments on the toy. What’s done is done. I was going to tell her soon anyway.


Behind me, I heard “Dayum Cat, won’t stay where I want her to.” He said.

The kneazle turned and her hackles rose and she hissed at Healer Rotheri.

“My apologies, Lady Sickle, she of the most beautiful kneazle stock in the world.” He said.

The kneazle surprised me when she walks across the table and leaps up to his shoulder and begins to purr. She licked his face twice, and settled down for a scratching behind the ears.

He looks at me with a small grin and covers her ears. “She doesn’t like to be reminded that her great-grand dame was a common feline.”

“She is a kit from my brother’s kneazle. Her name is Three Knuts. Since she is such a lovely shade of silver, I named her Sickle.” He said.

He points to the toy on the table; “I suppose you are a Hufflepuff? Good House from all I hear about it. Has the best attributes of all of the houses, but they don’t crow about it.” He muttered.

I looked at him incredulously, A Hufflepuff with the mannerisms of a Slytherin? I think not! But on the other hand, Zach Smith is could fill the bill.

“Who’s the toy for, son?” He asks.

As I feel my skin start to redden, “A Witch that doesn’t know I exist, sir.” I say.

“Why not may I ask? You seem to be a strappin’ boy. With a good profession and a good spirit if I don’t miss my mark. You remind me of my eldest son,” he said.

“I’ve always been rubbish with Witches. The one I made this toy for is special.

“It may sound funny, but as long as I send her letters and gifts without her knowing it is me, she is mine for a while at least. I guess I’m just a coward.” I ramble on.

“Not a coward by any stretch of the imagination. Just a little scared of being hurt. It’s perfectly understandable for a boy of your age.

“My one piece of wisdom I’d want to pass along is ‘ Poop or get off the pot, boy’.” He said.

“Healer are you about to quiz me on something pertaining to proctology?” I ask.

He chuckled merrily. “No son, forgive me for slipping into my mother tongue for a moment. Let’s see if I can figure out a euphemism that you can understand easier.

“Don’t block the entrance to platform 9 ¾, you won’t know the wonders you’d find by stepping through, just standing there.” He said.

I smile when I think I understand him.

“In other words, tell the girl!” He said. I nodded emphatically implying that I will.

Damn, first Hannah, then Healer Rotheri. Am I that wide open? Can I find it in myself to tell her?

He asked a few questions about the toy itself. What the toy said. How did I animate its face to look like it was talking? I answered the questions as clearly and concisely as I could.

He said to me as he was scratching Sickle’s ears, “It must be nice to have animals to be your house symbols. I was in Franklin House. Franklin’s Symbol is a lightning bolt. I don’t know of many witches that would want to snuggle with a stuffed lightning bolt toy.

We talked about women in general for twenty or so minutes. He told me how he met his wife. It made me feel uncomfortable. He was just about to go into how his children met their mates; I have had enough of this topic and say, “Can you tell me about Curescara Salve’s inception, sir?”

“The question is son, how open is your mind? Do you let the old prejudices hold sway?” He asked.

‘I try not to, sir.” I say.

“The creator of Curescara Salve, has been recognized as one of the brightest minds by the American Society of Potion Makers. He has a Theoretical Mastery.” He said.

“Why just a theoretical mastery, Healer?” I ask.

“Well Mr. MacMillan, you can only get theoretical mastery if you don’t own a wand.” He said.
I stared at him for a moment, slack-jawed. “The creator is a parent of a muggleborn, sir?” I gasp.

“No, he is a what your society would call a squib.

The only squib that I knew of on a daily basis was Mr. Filch. I couldn’t picture Mr. Filch actually being friendly to anyone. I thought.

“He had special reason to work on Curescara Salve. The girl who was bitten by the werewolf, is his granddaughter and my great-niece,” He said.

“Did you do the practical part of the Salve’s research?” I ask.

“Oh, no son. I’m competent at potions, but they don’t thrill me. My younger brother, George, did the practical part

“The ultimate circular scenario was to have my brother George fail at first year potions. From what I’ve heard, he earned the mark half way between Poor and Troll. A month before school was out, Papa was owled with George’s results so he began studying potion making to help tutor him over the summer. That is one area of magic that a squib could study and actually learn; it is very similar to cooking. By the time the summer of George’s first year ended between Papa and my Granddad, George was retested and enjoyed potions fully.

“When he went back to school for second year, he was half way through the third year’s curriculum and passed second year potions with an O.

“Final thoughts on the subject would be I detest the term squib. Our family has produced its share, but I prefer the term the person has the heart of a wizard, just not the skill.” He said.
.

We discussed a few other things over the next hour. I bought him a cup of tea then packed up my belongings and flooed home. He has given me many things to think about.