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From OWL year I’ve thrown myself into my work. That habit hasn’t ceased since I’ve entered the Healer training program. I’ve made my work my life, a habit I’m slowly weaning myself off of; but that doesn’t conflict with my desire to learn the beginnings of life.
Friends and a ‘real life’ is just as important, especially the blue-eyed, brown haired witch whose plait tends to sway in metronome fashion as she floats as she walks down the corridor.
I never think of myself as an extremely clever man, just a touch more intelligent than the average. I just believe I am discreet, sneaky and using my cunning in the best traditions of a certain house I won’t name, but they wear a lot of green and silver.
This was true in my world until I met Fenworthy J. Hollingsworth outside of a teaching situation. The date was 12 October 1999. A distant cousin comes into St. Mungo’s and literally shanghais me into going to attend Ginny Potter’s birth. I would go in seconds if it was a normal birth, but since it was an emergency birth, I call for the best-qualified Healer I know of, Healer Hollingsworth.
Healer Hollingsworth leads our Surgical School. Hollingsworth is a Dumbledoresque Wizard that doesn’t suffer fools gladly. Hollingsworth does seem to exhibit a Hufflepuff trait that I do admire, he teaches his craft well and fosters all that have the honest desire to learn. Sometimes he pushes though, as I learned when he said, “You ought to apply for the Surgical Training Program”.
I thought I was given a choice. I always thought I had the option to say ‘no’. That turns out not to be the case. In the seventeen days since we left Potter Manor, I’ve been shanghaied again into fifteen c-sections, nine amputations and one very rare surgery in the wizarding world, a appendectomy just before it burst.
Seventeen days has four hundred and eight hours. Out of the four hundred eight hours, I’ve slept for sixty; that’s 15% of the total time. I took eight hours out the time to visit with Hannah and do a house call. So out I was at St. Mungo’s for eighty-three percent of the time.
My first surprise comes at 0900 when I report for work. In my message cubbyhole was one written in red “Report to Healer Hollingsworth’s Office-Stat.”
“Healer-Trainee MacMillan, Hollingsworth said, I’ve heard some disturbing whispers.
“You are taking private patients outside of the protective umbrella of St. Mungo’s sphere. Two mothers-to-be; one a higher risk pregnancy due to potion taken to ensure conception.”
I could feel my face drain of color Thank Merlin for the loose robe I wear, he probably can’t see the knees shaking. I’m using ever method I can to lessen or prevent the shaking of my hands. All that I could think of is ‘how in the bloody hell does the old man know this?
“You have shown me you have good judgment and I won’t ask about the private patients as long as I have your word you will ask for help if you need it.
“Don’t let me down, MacMillan. I’d hate to have to kick you out of the program when you are showing such progress.
“Now let us start rounds.” He says.
The day flies by faster than a seeker on a firebolt. I just sign my last chart with a flourish, as an owl flies in the window of the study room. I was hoping it might be Harmony, but it was a great-horned owl instead of a long-ear. The owl stopped in front of me and stuck out its leg. I take the letter and began to read.
30 October 1999
Dear Healer-Trainee MacMillan,
You are invited to apply to the surgical program of this cycle. Please fill out and return the application by 15 November 1999. I look forward to teaching you and your colleagues.
Sincerely yours,
Augustus Pye, Healer
St. Mungo’s Hospital, London
On a small chit of non-descript parchment, I find the note—
‘
Fill it out and send it soon, Ernie. I think you may have what it takes.
F.J. Hollingsworth
Thank Merlin, I have a couple of days off. I need to rest and think about the whole idea.
Friends and a ‘real life’ is just as important, especially the blue-eyed, brown haired witch whose plait tends to sway in metronome fashion as she floats as she walks down the corridor.
I never think of myself as an extremely clever man, just a touch more intelligent than the average. I just believe I am discreet, sneaky and using my cunning in the best traditions of a certain house I won’t name, but they wear a lot of green and silver.
This was true in my world until I met Fenworthy J. Hollingsworth outside of a teaching situation. The date was 12 October 1999. A distant cousin comes into St. Mungo’s and literally shanghais me into going to attend Ginny Potter’s birth. I would go in seconds if it was a normal birth, but since it was an emergency birth, I call for the best-qualified Healer I know of, Healer Hollingsworth.
Healer Hollingsworth leads our Surgical School. Hollingsworth is a Dumbledoresque Wizard that doesn’t suffer fools gladly. Hollingsworth does seem to exhibit a Hufflepuff trait that I do admire, he teaches his craft well and fosters all that have the honest desire to learn. Sometimes he pushes though, as I learned when he said, “You ought to apply for the Surgical Training Program”.
I thought I was given a choice. I always thought I had the option to say ‘no’. That turns out not to be the case. In the seventeen days since we left Potter Manor, I’ve been shanghaied again into fifteen c-sections, nine amputations and one very rare surgery in the wizarding world, a appendectomy just before it burst.
Seventeen days has four hundred and eight hours. Out of the four hundred eight hours, I’ve slept for sixty; that’s 15% of the total time. I took eight hours out the time to visit with Hannah and do a house call. So out I was at St. Mungo’s for eighty-three percent of the time.
My first surprise comes at 0900 when I report for work. In my message cubbyhole was one written in red “Report to Healer Hollingsworth’s Office-Stat.”
“Healer-Trainee MacMillan, Hollingsworth said, I’ve heard some disturbing whispers.
“You are taking private patients outside of the protective umbrella of St. Mungo’s sphere. Two mothers-to-be; one a higher risk pregnancy due to potion taken to ensure conception.”
I could feel my face drain of color Thank Merlin for the loose robe I wear, he probably can’t see the knees shaking. I’m using ever method I can to lessen or prevent the shaking of my hands. All that I could think of is ‘how in the bloody hell does the old man know this?
“You have shown me you have good judgment and I won’t ask about the private patients as long as I have your word you will ask for help if you need it.
“Don’t let me down, MacMillan. I’d hate to have to kick you out of the program when you are showing such progress.
“Now let us start rounds.” He says.
The day flies by faster than a seeker on a firebolt. I just sign my last chart with a flourish, as an owl flies in the window of the study room. I was hoping it might be Harmony, but it was a great-horned owl instead of a long-ear. The owl stopped in front of me and stuck out its leg. I take the letter and began to read.
30 October 1999
Dear Healer-Trainee MacMillan,
You are invited to apply to the surgical program of this cycle. Please fill out and return the application by 15 November 1999. I look forward to teaching you and your colleagues.
Sincerely yours,
Augustus Pye, Healer
St. Mungo’s Hospital, London
On a small chit of non-descript parchment, I find the note—
‘
Fill it out and send it soon, Ernie. I think you may have what it takes.
F.J. Hollingsworth
Thank Merlin, I have a couple of days off. I need to rest and think about the whole idea.
exhausted