The parchment was read for a second time before the witch screwed it into a ball and shoved it into the pocket of her loosely hanging robes. From her pocket she removed a golden pocket watch and studied it. The time was closing in on the meeting herself and Ignan Storm had agreed upon to discuss some combined lessons. It was boxing day, a day to relax after Christmas day with leftover food and contemplate how fat Christmas had very possibly made you. But some people never stopped working. Miranda Elliot was one of those. She was not one to contemplate the granddaughter she hadn't even been aware that she even had.

In order to avoid the festivities and the students yesterday Miranda had left the castle, instead deciding to accept an invitation to her oldest brother Sam’s home for the festivities. Sam hadn’t always been the oldest, as now living in this castle again reminded Miranda. Leon Carter had been her oldest brother.  His murder in these grounds was the reason she’d chosen to leave the country, the reason for her reluctance to return with the Durmstrang crowd and her refusal to go anywhere near the quidditch pitch. Where it had happened. Obviously this hadn’t been mentioned by the witch to her Durmstrang colleagues. Weakness was never something one would wish to show such a crowd.

The silence of the corridor Elliot was walking through was disturbed when a set of footsteps ran towards her, knocking the witch into the stone wall. In a flash her wand was out, pointed at the boy and his legs knotted themselves together. With a crash the jeans wearing student crashed hard onto the floor, still, scared.

Elliot’s heels clicked along the ground, reaching the boy slowly. Her foot tucked under his body and she rolled him over.
“I care not how much of a rush you are in, boy, next time you feel the need to knock a professor into a wall, you’ll have little choice but to practice a complex healing spell.” And with that, the witch continued down the corridor until she reached the door to Storm’s office.

A quick rap on the door with her knuckles and Miranda pushed the door open.
“Apologies for my tardiness, Professor Storm. I found myself somewhat…waylaid.”

"Come in, come in." Ignan replied to the appearance of his expected visitor. He gestured to the chair the other side of the desk, which he had cleared as best he could of the usual clutter. A pile of text books remained on one corner, and the lamp, but otherwise there was am modest set of parchment plans on his desk, quill and inkwell, and Ignan's organised mark book.

"I'm glad we are able to cover some of the elements of the standard curriculum together." The Hogwarts Deputy Headmaster remarked, by way of assurance that Miranda's delay was not a hindrance. After a moment's pause, he gestured to a tea tray the house elves had brought a matter of minutes before, pouring for them both.

"I hope yesterday was a break from duties with the students?" He asked politely, not sure whether Miranda would elaborate on her activities on Christmas Day. It didn't concern him either way, but given it had been yesterday, it was polite small talk while she settled into the office. The fire was giving a warm glow from the fireplace nearby, tinging everything with a yellow light.

"With regards to the lessons, I thought it might help to review what the exam board require us to instill, and elaborate from there on what might be both useful and engaging. Memorable lessons are easier to recall in both examinations and at moment of crisis in life, after all. I suspect the first years will not forget the breaking of fingers in a hurry with Auberon last term." His aged features twisted into the slightest of humoured smirks as he referred to the lesson.[1]

1.	November 13th 2009

“Yesterday was certainly a pleasant break from the castle.” It was no huge secret Miranda didn’t want to be at Hogwarts. She had left the castle in 2008 for a reason but it was her job to be there, supporting her students, colleagues and headmaster. The tangibles professor lowered herself into the proffered chair and dropped her bag to the floor. “But the holidays last not for long.” Only a day had Miranda spent with her family but it was enough for her natural accent to once more start creeping into her speech, the Devonshire drawl that made her colleagues and student struggle to understand her in the English language.

Storm suggested how they should go about this planning as Elliot reached forward and took a teacup in her hand. Her thin lips twisted into a smirk at the mention of the breaking fingers class.

“And neither shall their parents. It would appear Hogwarts pupils and professors fail to appreciate the Durmstrang teaching method, Storm.” The tea was lifted to  Miranda’s lips and she took a sip. Decent British Tea was definitely something that she sorely missed when at Durmstrang. The Scandinavians just didn’t quite understand the importance of a good cup of char.

“I’d hope that breaking the fingers of NEWT students wouldn’t be as pivotal a life crisis for them.” Miranda placed the cup back on the tea tray and straightened the glasses she wore upon her nose. Miranda had her own ideas of how to develop what Storm called a memorable lesson but she was intrigued to first find out what the harsh Durmstrang turned soft Hogwarts Professor had to suggest other than breaking children’s fingers for educational purposes. When there was a bit of missing flesh involved, some gushing blood and a bit of screaming she would be more interested.

“And neither shall their parents. It would appear Hogwarts pupils and professors fail to appreciate the Durmstrang teaching method, Storm.”

He chuckled politely at her sentiment. He understood Miranda had once healed students at Hogwarts, but had eventually made her way to Durmstrang where their time has not overlapped.

“I’d hope that breaking the fingers of NEWT students wouldn’t be as pivotal a life crisis for them.”

"They'd probably relish the task, or try to leave." Ignan agreed, "Last year when it came to covering healing efforts with the seventh years[1], I had one vomit. Shall we aim for two, or perhaps four, that's two apiece, this time?"

He picked up a smaller red leather-bound volume which bore the exam board crest. Within it were a numbered and lettered list of criteria for examinations. The page was open on a section covering Field Healing.

"No great detail - the exam board are more inclined to ensure the students cover how to deal with unconscious bodies, bleeds, and methods to slow down bleeds. Poisons are just mentioned, though I taught last year's seventh years a little more on them to ensure they were able to achieve the highest marks. Ridiculous really, but I imagine they are trying not to encourage them to attempt to heal where their expertise is lacking."

He placed the book on Miranda's side of the desk for her to read through, and got up from his desk, opening a trunk behind his chair.
"I did bring back something rather useful from my time at Durmstrang though, which, if we're not able to demonstrate on live volunteers, might be useful."

Ignan lifted a wooden box about two-thirds the length of his arm from the trunk and placed it on the desk, unlatching the lid to open it.

Within was a grey looking, severed arm[2], which included a hand, forearm and elbow joint. It was preserved by magic, and bore a criss-cross of slight scar tissue down the forearm and the fingers where it had been used for demonstration. A fetor of dead flesh lingered, and it was cold to the touch.

Lifting it out Ignan flexed the fingers gently and examined it, satisfied it was continuing to be in a good condition. He proffered it to Miranda for examination.

1.	Lesson
2.	Looks like this but more of an arm

“Yes, it would seem the Ministry doesn’t wish to tax British students.” She’d spent a single year working in the Durmstrang Institute and it had quickly altered her way of thinking, beliefs on how to teach. Miranda had thought she’d been tough enough on healers in training and fully trained healers under her command at the hospital but the Scandinavian institute called for more practical, more challenging methods.

The professor glanced over the book that had been pushed her way while the wizard went off in search of something. His comment made her look up, eyebrows raised.
“Why would we not demonstrate on live volunteers?” The witch asked as if it was a ridiculous idea. That’s what the poorly achieving students and those in the hospital wing were for! At least in Elliot’s classes back at Durmstrang. “They don’t have to volunteer, after all. I find they never do.”

Now most people would have probably recoiled at what Storm got out to show his acquaintance when they realised what it was. Elliot’s lips simply pursed in mild disapproval, eying the limb warily. The smell was highly unpleasant to Miranda’s sense yet she reached forward, thin fingers enclosing the wrist of the dead limb.

“This would definitely set off the vomiting reflex in multiple students.” She turned the limb over, nose screwed up. It had been a while since the professor had encountered such a smell. “Yet I fear you’ve had this slightly too long, Storm.  Us in the healing profession tend to have a preference for fairly fresh cadaverous limbs, no matter how well preserved…”

“This would definitely set off the vomiting reflex in multiple students.” Elliot confirmed, seizing the limb from him and examining it, her face scrunching into disgust.
“Yet I fear you’ve had this slightly too long, Storm.  Us in the healing profession tend to have a preference for fairly fresh cadaverous limbs, no matter how well preserved…”

"Really? Well, yes, that's quite possible. It didn't smell at all in 2003 when I used it at Durmstrang, and it'd been there before then." He was a little disappointed that since the previous year the arm had begun to rapidly deteriorate.
"I will have to replace it, or, as you suggest, find unwilling volunteers for live demonstrations." He held out his hand to take back the stinking limb, lock it away, and find a moment to safely dispose of it in fire.

"Why don't you elaborate a little more on how you teach the subject at Durmstrang, and we might find a happy medium that is palatable to Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Salem." He smiled grimly, "or not, if so be it." 

“The hospital wing if rather a good place to find those volunteers…” Elliot mused.

A smirk graced Miranda’s pale lips. Her nostrils certainly felt more content now that the limb had been removed from her proximity. The smell of dead flesh was unpleasant for even those who had dealt with it on numerous occasions. No one could surely become used to such a stench. And it had been sat in this wizard’s trunk in his office. If Miranda hadn’t been a professor of healing she might have thought this wizard very bizarre yet in truth, she harboured far stranger items in her office back at Durmstrang.

“Well I am rather active in making my classes practical. There is little point in theory if a student fails to possess the ability to use it. It is regularly in the best interests of the students to study the material before the class. If they cannot recall or perform the healing spell, usually a dreg, they will be used for the spell to be performed upon. I never teach in a dangerous atmosphere. The pupils are never in any serious danger but they tend to be under the impression they are. That’s how you get the best out of a pupil, I believe.”

The witch frowned, eying Storm.
“Here that is not so the case is it? We can attempt to combine teaching methods but I am hardly willing to mollycoddle the Durmstrang students in attendance. I have a reputation to uphold and students to educate.”

Ignan nodded along to Miranda's explanation of her teaching style. They were very much the same in their approach - an emphasis on practical. Not only did it make for better results in life, but aided the memory to move and learn. Unfortunately there were still aspects the students had to spill out of their heads onto paper that were somewhat practical. But he still tried to make them memorable, such as the slideshow of spell damage injuries...

“The pupils are never in any serious danger but they tend to be under the impression they are. That’s how you get the best out of a pupil, I believe.”

The Deputy Headmaster gave an amused snort at her comment.

“Here that is not so the case is it? We can attempt to combine teaching methods but I am hardly willing to mollycoddle the Durmstrang students in attendance. I have a reputation to uphold and students to educate.”

"Oh Hogwarts doesn't mollycoddle, not in my classroom." He smirked, "There are certain distances we can't necessarily reach, we have no dregs here, and the notion we were going to cause serious harm, even if healed, on a student would probably not put either of us in the best stance with the board of governors or the parents. I've considered it, broke a few fingers last term with Auberon, considering a few legs this term." He tapped his fingers on the desk briefly in thought.

"Nagde, our resident healer, prefers to treat them out in her homely little hut near the forest since the infirmary fire." The older professor elaborated for Miranda's benefit. "Although she's an ex-auror, and we share a joke over the number of students I send to her door, I'm not sure we always see eye to eye on the methods. But, we teach them how we see best. Exchanging styles, all part of the Tournament experience."

Drawing some parchment towards him, he picked up his quill and sketched out a lesson structure,
"Teach the basics of spells, then have one half treat the other, or shall we focus less on minor injury and a few majors? Some of them may remember the sight of my splinching accident earlier this year in Hogsmeade. Ministry had us teaching them how to prevent side-along apparition. Noriko Wakahisa ended up with my severed hand on her shoulder." He waved the hand in question, the scar above his wrist beneath his shirt sleeve.

Before long they would have a couple of rather decent lessons to teach together, he was sure of it.


End