For most people, this was just another day as they ramped up to Christmas and the general holidays.  For Adon, his family was celebrating Shabbat on the tail end of Hannukkah together, today.

But there was no celebrating whatsoever on the Third Floor of St. Mungo's.  Already the workforce seemed defensive, worn thin, bedraggled.  Adon felt tension pulling at his temples by the mere proximity.  If he stood as just one more thing to do, one more person to handle, one more hurdle to pass while they faced a crisis--he'd never get anything from the Healers.  The important thing was collaboration.

Unfortunately that was all probably shot to hell already, when Solomon Carstairs had curtly wished him luck dealing with Carstair's primary correspondence at Mungo's, a Flynn Hughes.  Sounded like it went real well.

That was why Adon had decided to look up the healer over potion and plant poisoning--aside from other obvious reasons that this was actually her line of work.  If Hughes happened to appear in the course of this investigation, as Adon was sure he would, well, hopefully he would have already gained enough forward momentum and a spirit of collaboration, outreach, and--all those other Zephyr words that Adon wanted direly to believe but could not quite allow the delusion.

Adon had taken directions from the welcome witch at the reception desk, who had directed him down yet one more nondescript hallway lined with beds and white curtains.  He paused as he approached the threshold of a small room--an adjoining office of some sort.  One knuckle rapped lightly on the doorframe as he tilted his head to look in.  Good; it looked like it was just the Healer. No patients.

"Healer Deville? I hope you received my message?" Which had only been sent perhaps 2 hours prior, but was about as much notice as he'd received that he was working this case at all.

For a few moments, Jules was alone.

It had been a grisly few days, these past bunch; the death count was in the double digits and the head of the hospital was approaching that same status. Jules was one of the few left to gather the pieces of the puzzle, the solution to the crisis that was plaguing the nation. With hardly a moment to think, Jules had spent the last several days in a whirlwind of apologies and rushes. She’d had hardly the time to sleep, yet forced out a look of dazzling authority. She would not let the public know that she was just as bewildered as they were. These precious private moments were spent pulling herself back together. She rubbed the sides of her nose where spectacles occasionally sat.

Those moments were interrupted by a knocking at the door. Somehow, Jules was not surprised.

"Healer Deville? I hope you received my message?"

Jules had not yet looked up at the intruder, having kept her eyes shut while continuing to massage her nose. “Been a bit busy,” she snapped. She tried to place the voice but her head was a rush of thoughts, so she finally opened her eyes, placed her hands on her hips, and looked at the voice in question. He was handsome, which was a nice change from the gruesome sights she’d been accustomed to over the past few days. “What is this regarding?”

Damn.  The heels and shock of red hair should have been an indicator of what was to come, but still.  Creature-induced injuries had not been the right place to be brought back from the dead, apparently. (Though, he had to note, Hannah Bombay was certainly a far-cry from... well, that was probably some sort of workplace harassment even to think about it.)

Right. Right. His job. What this was regarding.

"Investigation into the poisonings," he answered in brief.  The healer had that harried sort of look about her that made Adon want to speak faster, speak in incomplete phrases--just to get the words out.  He was wasting her time. No-- He pulled out his card from his crimson cloak, along with a brief slip of parchment--official notice of the beginning of the investigation, proper signatures, filled out in Eleor's own pristine hand. "Auror Adon Eleor," he elaborated.  "I'm hoping to make progress in determining the source of contamination, apprehending the culpable parties, all while staying out of your hair when I can," he looked up at the red locks, instinctively.  Down, Eleor.  Resuming eye contact: "I'll be meeting with the administrative staff shortly to look into the intake and shipment paperwork; we're running a couple of leads on your suppliers.  I wanted to check first about the floor, here."  He gave a sympathetic smile.  "We have no reason to suspect Mungo's responsibility at present, but I want to be sure that we're not missing something. Have there been any changes in staffing recently--no one, say, missing a shift?  I know that with the holidays and the end of the year, leave schedules can be shifted a bit unpredictably."  He looked at her to confirm this. 

Adon Eleor very much doubted it was Mungo's--or an employee of the hospital--were responsible.  It was likely the breach happened far before.  The ingredients had come from too many suppliers and ingredients sent to other clients, apothecaries, for instance, had the same contaminated ingredients on their hands.  Still, if this was foul play, it was likely that Mungo's was the intended target: not only because they supplied the victims in terms of patients, but that the hospital itself might have been an intended victim...

One question at a time, however.

At the mention of an investigation Jules finally actually looked at the man, instead of continuing to look around at the floating clipboards with patient info. They hovered at reading level for Jules - and her heels, of course. Now it looked as if she might send the clipboards after him. Or maybe that was just the expression on her face.

Once she focused on Adon, she did feel that familiar twinge of attraction. Jules went for a variety of types, her sexuality a lifelong experiment. She didn’t let her face soften or show any sign that she might be interested. She couldn’t keep her pupils from dilating, that was an ocular reflex; but that interesting tidbit of information probably hadn’t been in the auror guidebook. Pupils dilate when your eyes see something attractive. ‘Like they’re a beam of light,’ her cutesy advisor had once told her. Jules found that advisor’s interpretation disgusting.

The handsome man had a little dilation himself, which made Jules scoff. So unprofessional. It was so hard to be a woman in the workplace.

“One of our newest hires is an absolute twit,” Jules responded. “Ambrose Darrion.” Kid had it coming. "Comes from a long line of potioners. Wealthy ones." He’d been caught too many times in suspicious scenarios, and no matter how he tried to defend himself, Jules felt there was something shifty about him. Taking her books, feeding his patients recalled medicine… if he wasn’t guilty then the boy was certainly an idiot.

Her face turned stony as Eleor casually stated that there might be a point that the staff of St Mungo’s would be under suspicion at all. Jules took this as a hint - jumping to the conclusion that he was trying to get some black file from her of their evil plans. “And what would be the point of that?” Jules practically bared her teeth, like a cheetah about to fight. “Think some Healer’s been trying to kill off nearly every patient in the hospital on a spree? On some whim?”

She straightened herself up. “The Healers see enough death.” Jules thought of the patients from the explosions at the Leaky Cauldron. Some of them had nearly lost their lives - a few did. Margo, one of the few people Jules considered herself friends with — Jules had to take her arm that night, in order for Margo to keep her life. Jules still felt the sting of her own burns as corpses lined up in the hospital over the past few days. But that Darrion; he was curious…

Well. She hadn't missed a beat before blurting that out.  "Ambrose Darrion," Adon nodded. "I'll look into it."

“And what would be the point of that? Think some Healer’s been trying to kill off nearly every patient in the hospital on a spree? On some whim?”

Steady, Eleor.  Adon took a moment to compose his thoughts.

With her hackles already raised, Adon didn't see the value in pointing out that death did not prick the human conscience in the same way for all.  Seeing death was not the same as fearing or loathing it.  Aurors, too, still saw death, but that did not keep the few odd ones from going crooked--take Musgrave, for instance. What a headache it all was. 

But what he did find odd is how a healer could so readily throw a co-worker (wealthy nitwit or not) under the figurative Knight's Bus while also attempting to display the righteous indignation against his suggestion that it could be worthwhile to look for culpability within the hospital's walls.

There would be no addressing that, either.

"Investigations aren't so different from diagnostic evaluations and tests," Adon said, levelly.  He ventured a small smile.  "Sometimes, you learn just as much about the disease by ruling out diagnoses  as you can by testing for the ones you do suspect."  Aurors had to be thorough; just like every other job where lives were on the line.  "We are covering all grounds."

"Though," he added, voice low, "I am sure you are right about death."  Six years in the military, four more in the Auror Corps: hands-down, Adon had seen significantly more death on the West Bank, using his magic covertly to recover wounded for their medic, or... less-palatably witnessing and even contributing to events that ...  well, it was hard to think on.  And, in the following four years, more death at his hands than he could ever fully recover from, no matter how many weeks he'd taken off to do so. 

Each body took away part of your soul--like a horcrux.   "I'm trying to do this to prevent more. I appreciate you speaking with me--it will help."

No, Healer Deville did not have the monopoly on moral high ground here, nor the definitive authority on what it was to try to save--and fail--human life.  But it would serve little purpose to hint towards it.

"Perhaps you can help me get an understanding of procedure, here.  Potions certainly pass through the hands of healers, but that cannot be all.  Say a potion is made. Do you brew it onsite? Is there healer involvement in actually creating the potion, or do attending healers request a potion, and it is brought to them by some other source?" Support staff, perhaps.

Once Adon repeated Darrion’s name, Jules immediately regretted having said it. How massively unprofessional; she had no evidence of anything to make Darrion a suspect. She bit down on her back teeth and her whole face sharpened.

It had been days since Jules had slept, having only an hour here and there to escape to her office to nap. Most of the time her attempts to sleep were futile; she was haunted by all the failure that had happened in the past few days. She was used to success, to smiles all around, thank-yous and confident trust. Now the patients looked at Jules skeptically, knowing that she was scrambling for an answer.

She let him say his bit, make his claim to the investigation. Jules couldn’t find a reason to advocate against anything he said. “I agree with you,” she said with a sigh. “I think we do need some outside help. Particularly considering Healer Elliot’s condition at the moment.” Jules sighed again.

“We have an apothecary in the hospital,” Jules began to explain. “They’re able to order for manufacturers and distributors and measure out prescriptions for most common potions. Wolfsbane, pain management potions, ones for sleeping… even sometimes ones for ailments like spattergroit or dragon pox.” She moved closer to Eloer and sat down in a nearby chair.

“Other ones… for the flu, potions with a recipe that must constantly be adjusted...  Those we make here. A lot of the time we have the healers-in-training do it. There’s always a supervisor…” Jules hoped there was always a supervisor. She would hate to be furious with her staff at a time like this.

"I agree with you," came what seemed to be a difficult  concession, punctuated with a sigh. He gave a slight tilt of his head as acknowledgement of this tentative treaty.  If only it hadn't seemed so pained.

He was not too certain what he as an investigator could do to improve Elliot's condition--he'd been told she was comatose--save perhaps bringing culpable to court.  It was a less glamorous solution than something as fulfilling as a cure or a poetic ideal of "justice," and would require hours of this: meeting, speaking, paperwork, subpoenas, search warrants, etc.  But it was his job.

Adon had been called back from his already approved leave in order to take on this case.  His feelings about his profession still had not healed entirely, but he would not let this show.

"That makes sense," he said to her explanation of the process.  "So more complex--or common--potions are sent out and handled by the apothecary, and the less common--uh," he corrected himself,  "adaptive or patient-specific potions are made on-site but approved by supervisors...?" Fairly certain he got that right, he added, "Now the affected potions fell under both categories? Ones ordered by the apothecary--made by manufacturers--and ones made on-site by Mungo's healers?"  That would be proof positive that the contamination came beforehand. 

"I'm wondering, Healer Deville..." he mused.  "You are clearly an authority on potions; I know of course that any number of things can go wrong to in the brewing process, but what seems to be going wrong--have you ruled out brewing troubles and identified it as an ingredient-based issue? It seems rather unlikely that it could be both, am I correct?"

[I didn't realize I had taken so long with this -- I'm sorry!!]

  "You are clearly an authority on potions; I know of course that any number of things can go wrong to in the brewing process, but what seems to be going wrong--have you ruled out brewing troubles and identified it as an ingredient-based issue? It seems rather unlikely that it could be both, am I correct?"

Jules crossed her legs and rested her chin on the hand whose elbow perched on the narrow armrest. She looked at the frames that carried her certifications while she listened to Eleor’s comments and questions. She kept a pensive look the entire time he was speaking, while she ran through the list of possibilities -- something she now moved to do instinctively, since the start of this all. It had just been hours ago, but already Jules’ brain was responding automatically to the mystery. She had to, lest she become too wrapped up in the terror of it all.

She let her hand drop into her lap before she looked back at the man in her office. “That’s correct,” Jules finally answered. “We -- other staff members, and I -- we’ve discussed every possibility we can think of.” Her mind flashed to the scene in Flynn’s office, when the epidemic had been fresh. It hadn’t been that long ago. She thought about Margo and the missing arm, the gore of the explosion’s aftermath.

“Is there anyone the Ministry might have reason to suspect?” Jules saw hundreds of patients each day, along with their families.  Perhaps she had already crossed paths with one of the terrorists; perhaps she crossed paths with them more than once. Jules felt she had the right to know, as a citizen and potential detective in this game. The pawns had become the lives of innocent people, ones who Jules had sworn an oath to protect and medicate.

[no worries!]

Adon's brows knitted as he frowned.  Standard procedure (and common sense) demanded Aurors not give names until an arrest was already in the process of being made.  Unfortunately, they were not anywhere near that point.

Now, to satisfy the anxious requirements of the hospital without giving away too much. "I think you stole my question," he said with a bit of a slow smile.  It was not always the tone he adopted with victims of crime, but Mungo's staff was not your typical victim.  They were coworkers in this investigation, as well.  A little camaraderie could not go amiss. Especially when only moments ago, she seemed like a panther ready to pounce on him, teeth bared.

"I know that it's not much help in terms of you reporting anything concrete to Mungo's administration on this, but right now, I'm keeping all options open."  He pulled out a pad of paper and an quick-quotes quill for dictation.  The eagle feather began to scrawl away as he spoke.  "Do you mind?" he asked as a formality.  It was getting recorded anyhow, but at least Jules would be aware that the conversation was now verbatim.  "My approach at the moment is to focus more on determining the point of contamination and introduction; that will likely narrow the list of prospective culprits... or suspects, at least." Culpability was almost always harder to prove in the magical world, when things like Obliviation and Imperio were not just viable realities, but excuses.   

"Again--you're an authority on Mungos' workings more than I.  How do you get your ingredients? Shipments, yeh? Is it always the same delivery service? Any person in particular?" 

“I think you stole my question”

Jules’ brows immediately furrowed; she gave Eleor an irksome glare. “Does the Ministry have any idea who or what might be behind this?” Jules demanded. “Or are they just sending out the drones to scavenge information from people actually working towards a solution?” The inadequacies of government confounded her - they were meant to perform much like the hospital. With rules and order, intelligence and determination. Jules didn’t care if she had offended the handsome man before her. She was tired, and solving crimes wasn’t her chosen profession.

It had been years since Jules had worked in the Apothecary. She could recall the long hours and felt a vague recollection of the tedious job. It involved a lot of sorting and filing, measuring and counting. The things you did each day were not memorable and the tasks were hardly a challenge. Then, it had been all about climbing up the ladder, focusing on what she’d reach at the top in order to get through the muck. It was the means to an end.  Nearly twenty years after her start at St Mungo’s, Jules regretted having so few memories from her days as a plebe.

She was getting frustrated with the conversation because the answers were not coming easily to her. “It’s a lot of paperwork to sift through; the business office deals with a lot of the specifics on purchasing goods for the hospital.” Jules frowned. Could that be the source? Jules couldn’t imagine any of the boring wizards in that office doing anything remotely scandalous, nevermind causing this kind of murderous mayhem.

“The supplies arrive in sealed containers,” Jules added, “If the seal is broken, it could be evidence of tampering, which could obviously lead to…” she paused, trying to find the right words. “Well, it could lead to exactly what we’re dealing with right now.” She rested her forehead on her palm, feeling discouraged that things weren’t running the way that they were supposed to. Systems were in place to keep order, to keep people safe.

"Healer Deville, I will stop you right there," Adon Eleor said, hand up, his voice firm.  "In the hour the Ministry has been on this case, you have already insinuated that I am accusing your healers of murder, and are now indicating I'm a mindless drone."  Obviously she had not had significant experience with drones as he had in the military intelligence service. They could be quite efficient.  "I am sorry if you do not like the questions, or the way I come across; the questions are part of how I gather evidence against suspects sufficient to bring them in.  I need to understand the situation better before I start writing down names."  He paused, "Which I have not yet done, so I cannot say.  I function on a presumption of innocence; disclosing names can lead to horrible complications." People deciding to take justice into their own hands, for instance.

Notwithstanding her anger, she seemed to have simmered somewhat, providing just the sort of useful information he had been looking for.  It was always much easier to slip an inside man into an operations position.  Not only did they control the environment around them, they were often nearly invisible presences.  He doubted that most of the healers or administrators even knew the names of the people in charge of shipments.  He frowned.

"Thank you; I will go below to speak to the business office after this.  I'm no stranger to paperwork."  Here was a slight smile there, which quickly dissipated as he sighed.  She was ragged.  "Truly, Healer Deville, I am trying to be sympathetic to your position and--I hope I had said--eager to collaborate.  But I get the sense that that may not be returned."  He paused.  "You have been under a lot of strain. I can only imagine."  That was giving her a little too much credit.  He didn't have to imagine.  Working in a war-zone for years, working in an Auror's office acquainted one with sleep deprivation, death, high-stakes.  But she might not be as accustomed to this as he had become; perhaps a little more leeway might need to be granted.  "I am sure you do not need me interrupting you when you're treating patients--when there are others who can help.  Perhaps I can inquire with someone else?" He considered. To his knowledge, Carstairs' owls had been responded to by a Healer Flynn Hughes, though with no more tact or professionalism. That was why he had opted to go to someone different.  He was growing increasingly remorseful that Miranda Elliot was incapacitated.  He had been told she was a straight-shooter, at the least.  "Do you know where Healer Hughes might be?"

He didn't want it to smart--like a ruler slapped across naughty knuckles but he'd done nothing wrong, and wouldn't be chided like a child, either. "If you would, however, like to continue this, you are welcome to join as I interview others.  Or I can inform you once we have found a list of probable suspects. I leave it up to you, but I will not waste time on defending myself again. Both of us have too much to do."