Miranda stared down the list for a fifth time that morning. She blinked and then rubbed her eyes. There were four options: she had worn herself out and was too tired to be reading properly, she needed new glasses, her healer in charge of spell damage should have been a patient or said healer was trying to wind the boss up. Whichever it was, Miranda needed to know why her healer in charge was asking for massage chairs for infants and a full time herbologist.

So she pushed the glasses to the top of her head, slipped her heels back on and stood up. Of course, the other suggestions such as increased healer training and new cauldrons, they were understandable. Not necessarily manageable, but understandable.

The stairs to the fourth floor took a while to climb. Yet Miranda preferred this to taking a lift. It gave her the opportunity to consider how she was going to broach the subject that her charge healer was quite possibly incompetent.

Upon the correct floor, Miranda made a beeline when she spotted the shaggy haired healer as he stood at the reception filling in paperwork. Her own parchment under her arm, the head healer stepped up to him with a calm smile.
“Healer Hughes. A moment?” She glanced towards his office and nodded her head in the same direction. As they began to walk, Elliot decided to get straight to the point. “Now, I’m sure when you found out about a new Head Healer you were very excited about the apparent opportunities for a rearranging of budget. More money coming towards your department for…massage chairs and… new staff. Am I correct?”

Flynn had just finished off some fairly important paperwork when Miranda Elliot pulled him away; she had always struck him as fairly professional, though he hadn’t really gotten to know her as a boss yet. It was true, he was excited about the opportunity to have so many necessary things addressed—and potentially get more funding in a few areas that were in dire need. A few areas that previous head healers did not think were as important as Flynn thought they were.

He waited until they reached his office to respond.

“Well, I was testing you with the massage chairs. I figured if I made a ridiculous request, you might actually consider the others.” It had worked in the past, he hadn’t tried it with Miranda. “But I do think the live plants we do keep for potions need better care, the better the health of the plants we use, the better the quality of the potions we produce. It’s important for patient care.” Flynn ran his fingers through his hair, “I understand if you wouldn’t be able to make funding for that. But we do have funding for support staff already, I don’t see why an herbologist can’t be included.”

He cleared his throat, and walked to his desk, pulling out a sheet of paper that had a list of different costs for research. “As you may know, I’ve been working on a cure for lycanthropy. Or at least a better alternative to wolfsbane. The research done of my place isn’t enough anymore. I think that we need to put more funding into research in general—so that we can manage and cure diseases that were not curable before. Before we can even consider that, we need better equipment, a better space. Have you seen the caldrons we have? Some are wearing holes through them from overuse. This would benefit all the department, not mine alone.” 

“Well, I was testing you with the massage chairs. I figured if I made a ridiculous request, you might actually consider the others.”

Of course he was. And now she’d come down to hear his reasoning and demands. Miranda’s lips pursed in mild disapproval. Yet she let him continue with his explanation. He fished something from his desk and explained about herbologists, funding and a cure for lycanthropy. She stood still in the middle of the small office, arms folded to allow the arms of her loose emerald robes to hang down and her heels were still on the floor.

Elliot let him fall silent. She slowly moved over to a chair in front of his desk and lowered herself into it, taking her time to consider her words. Did the wizard think money and funding came out of nowhere? That she could just whip it up to suddenly give him his own laboratory to research werewolf cures and keep his own private garden for potions ingredients?

“Okay.” Elliot finally responded. She was sat back in the chair, legs crossed at the ankles and hands in her lap. Her expression was calm and unreadable. “You can certainly have more cauldrons. And a new lab. A herbologist even.”

Flynn had always been painfully, painfully gullible. He trusted too much, and that was one of his massive character flaws.

“The calderons, the lab, and the garden—it’d be for all the healers.” Flynn clarified, “And—obviously, we’d have to figure out a way to raise money. I get the feeling we haven’t been doing as much fundraising as we could.”   He rummaged through some papers on his desk, making his space even more messy than it had been before. “Fundrasing ideas. The last benefit we had was successful—I think we should do one again. It’s been awhile.” Flynn looked down at his piece of parchment, “I think, an auction would be good too. We could ask some of the local businesses to donate. We could probably get the theatre to donate tickets,  quidditch tickets too… I have some rare plants I can donate as well.”

He cleared his throat, “And then there is always the press. I don’t know if you read, but I was in the paper recently? Regarding my werewolf research. If people knew we needed donations, I’m sure they’d help out.” He set the paper down on his desk and took a seat, not wanting to tower over her.  “Do you have a list  of our large donators? I’m thinking we could probably approach them for auction items too.”

It seemed, that the healer had put plenty of thought into this.

Well…that was unexpected. Hughes babbled like an excited teenager about plans and ideas and suggestions and Miranda could only stare. If she were to be perfectly honest, she switched off half way through and instead began to consider a new tactic. Scaring him off his ideas by asking him to select the member of his floor to fire in order to fund his demands wasn’t exactly the sensible way to handle this situation anymore.

“Do you have a list of our large donators? I’m thinking we could probably approach them for auction items too.” He finally finished and Miranda’s eyes shot back to him. She’d been previously looking around the room at the clutter and disorganisation with pursed lips.

“Yes, you could.” There were more pressing things for Healer Elliot to do right now than beg people to give the hospital more money or things to auction. Hughes apparently lived in some bizarre happy land where galleons fell from the sky when it rained. “I’ll be sure to pass on a list to you.” The witch smiled kindly to with wizard and crossed her arms.

“Just give me the information once you’ve set it up and I will make a statement for the Prophet for you.” Miranda then leaned forward slightly in her chair as if confiding in him. “I am very supportive of such ideas, Healer Hughes. Providing it doesn’t impact upon your main job, I would be willing to give you such responsibilities.”

“Whooo!” Flynn shouted enthusiastically, throwing his arms up in the air. “Alright, if you could give me the list, I’ll send some letters out to gauge interest.”  He crossed his fingers, “Here’s hoping that everything works out!” Though, even if it didn’t work out, he wouldn’t be disappointed. At the very least, he wanted proper brewing stations for all the healers. They couldn’t exactly heal properly if they didn’t have the right equipment!

“I promise you, it won’t affect my job!” Flynn was already keeping himself busy with research outside of work, among other extracurricular activities. He was willing to give up sleep in order to work. As a healer-in-charge, he didn’t exactly get a lot of sleep in the first place. He was not naturally someone who could handle sleeping for few hours at a time, but his job and other life choices had forced him to become that way.

It was almost a bit sad, that he didn’t question Miranda putting all of that extra work on him.  Then again, Flynn hadn’t  been working with her as his boss long enough to really tell what kind of leader she would be.

He was an eager soul, Healer Flynn Hughes. A young healer in charge with enthusiasm to boot. One may have remarked that Healer Elliot was a cruel witch for taking advantage of such enthusiasm and naivety but she merely called it finding the strengths in her staff. If he wished to donate himself to fund raising for the hospital in order to get what he believed his floor needed, she would have been cruel to stand in his way. She was the facilitator, not the exploiter.

“Very well.” Said the Head Healer with a calm smile. “I shall send someone up with the list later today and expect some feedback next week.” Despite the plan seeming to have been made and the aim of her visit completed, Miranda didn’t make a move to leave. Instead she studied Hughes for a few moments, her expression plain and unreadable. He had worked on this floor when she’d been in charge nearly two years ago now. But did he step up in the aftermath of her disappearance? What had happened to some of the patients she’d been working closely with after?

“Tell me, Healer Hughes,” her lips pursed for a moment. The alliteration wasn’t exactly pleasing, it sounded childish, as if he was playing at being a healer. “Were you my immediate replacement when I left in 2009?"

“I’ll get started on it.” Flynn replied, and he meant it. IN fact, he would probably be working on it late tonight. Most folks who worked with the young healer learned quickly that he was not a procrastinator.  Some would argue that Flynn focused a bit too much on work. He worked at home, he worked at the hospital—he didn’t allow himself much time for anything else. It was bound to have an effect on his health at some point, though he wasn’t there yet.

Annnd it seemed that Ms. Elliot was not done. Very well then, Flynn was in no hurry to have her leave. When she asked her next question, his demeanor totally changed. He straightened up, expression stern and solemn, though he wasn't particularly unwelcome to her inquiries.

“No. I didn’t.” He said with a hint of curiosity to his voice. He would’ve thought this sort of thing would have been easily found in records or something. “Simon Greenburg did, but that didn’t last long. I was promoted in November.” Flynn leaned against his desk, “I did take on extra patients, after you left.” He had always spent plenty of time in the Janus Thickley Ward, even as a trainee. “A few are still around."