When Primrose entered the Ministry this morning, she never would have guessed she would be at St. Mungo’s before lunch time sitting with the very person whom she had gotten into quite the heated argument with.  The tension in the waiting room was, notably, thick.  If Primrose and Fergus McPherson could have glared at each other any harder, each of their forehead veins would have probably popped without much effort.  Fortunately, the mediwitch who received them had the presence of mind (and the information necessary) to keep them apart.  Not that McPherson had much of a choice, given the locomotor mortis she’d cast on him.  He was at the mercy of whomever decided to move him.  Thankfully, no one had removed the silencio she’d cast on him, and they needed a healer to deal with the rather unfortunate tongue removal.  The organ in question was wriggling in a bag on the seat next to McPherson. 

Of course, it all could have been avoided. This wasn't their first altercation, after all.  The first shouting match had been months ago... McPherson was a bleeding heart who saw the fault of the auror office in the case of the deceased Wolfgang Storm - he had blamed level 2, she blamed their own office.  It started her crusade to change the requirements for safe houses.  Now, after the most recent vote against her (and the unfortunate public humiliation that followed), he had lauded their "victory" in blaming the correct people for the problems in the wizarding world and squashing bad legislation. 

In the meeting for the morning, he pointed out that their youngest members should be relegated to listening to real policy makers work.  The last bit had made Prim's blood run hot, and she instantly questioned what he meant by 'work.'  She might have pointed out that it was easy to criticize when you weren't doing anything for the past 9 years with a very empty list of published bills or articles... and that might have upset him. 

The Scot was so offended by her honorable truth telling and had pulled his wand.  Prim, never one to back down (particularly when feeling passionate over something), drew her wand as well and the curses had started flying almost instantly.  Several others joined in before the more… level headed had interceded and immediately transported the originators of the conflict to St. Mungo’s.

Though Prim was relatively new to the legislature, the idea of duels over disagreements were not. McPherson, in particular, was known for his readiness to pull out a wand.  No one had informed the young woman, of course.  So now she was stuck glaring at him from across the waiting room, praying another boil did not pop.  She’d tried to touch her face before and was met with the most horrifying realization: whatever additions to the furnunculus curse that had been flung at her made the very painful boils pop immediately upon contact.  Then there was also the mouth breathing… an unfortunate side effect of the teeth enlargment charm (a particularly cruel joke on the already… dentally gifted young woman).

When her name was called that she would be seen, Prim practically bounded out of the chair – glad to be out of the sight of McPherson (she might have tried to stick out her tongue at him in a lack of restraint, embracing a moment of childish behavior… but her teeth got in the way). She could have heard him laughing, if not for the tongue in a bag next to him.  “Right this way, Ms. Woolfolk,” the mediwitch guided her toward an examination cubicle.  She crossed her ankles as they dangled off the table and the mediwitch informed her a healer would be with her shortly.  She sighed.  At least she wasn’t staring at McPherson anymore…

For nearly 30 years, St Mungo’s Head Healer had devotedly worked for the hospital. She’d given up her own evenings and weekends with her family, she’d worked for days on end with little break during emergencies and she’d been in a coma lying in a hospital bed for two weeks. Now, after all this, she was under suspicion of the ministry for poisoning innocent patients and herself. Due to this surfacing over the past couple of days, it was needless to say that the head healer wasn’t in a pleasant mood that afternoon.

Healers and other hospital staff had grown used to judging their superior’s moods. Rarely, she was warm and inviting, the perfect chance for them to request things. Mostly she was cold and detached, leaving her staff to sit on edge, never knowing what to expect. Today the witch was unpleasant, she left a healer in training crying in her wake and when having to deal with the low staffing situation on the fourth floor, had very nearly sacked one of the mediwitches who had shown up to her shift.

It was extra unfortunate for both healers and patients that the staffing situation meant that the Ice Queen (or Wicked Bitch as some referred to her as) needed to fill the vacancies and join in the menial work on the wards.

“Miss Woolfolk.” Healer Storm spoke as she stepped around the curtain, clipboard in her hand as her gold and emerald robes hung loosely. “I’m Head Healer Storm.” That still sounded strange, “School yard duels tend to simmer out when one leaves adolescence.” It was now that the healer looked over the glasses sat on her nose to see the state of the witch on the bed. One singular eyebrow slowly rose and her lips pursed together. “Unfortunate.”

Prim waited a little while longer, still simmering on the bench for a healer to come in.  Letting out a deep breath, she tried to calm herself.  It wasn’t the healer’s fault that she was sitting here like this and it wouldn’t do well to have an attitude with the person who was supposed to fix her teeth and get rid of these terrible, painful splotches on her face. 

Tapping her nails on the side of the table, Prim looked up when she heard the voice of the healer, startled that it was the Head Healer of the entire hospital.  “Healer Storm,” Prim greeted politely, if not embarrassed.  This was odd, especially for some hexes that just needed to be reversed.  Prim wasn’t under the delusion that she was important enough to warrant that kind of attention, nor was she concerned the hexes had been the sort that required an intense level of skill… unless they did. 

A flutter of anxiety bubbled in her stomach and she sat up a little taller, only to shrink at her condescending comment about schoolyard duels.  “Mr. McPherson is the one to be lectured about schoolyard antics,” she replied tightly.  She hadn’t started the fight even if she had ended it.  It was difficult for the older Scot to cast a spell without his voice… or tongue, after all. 

“They pop,” Prim raised one hand to point to her face, “when you touch them.” 

“Mr. McPherson is the one to be lectured about schoolyard antics,” Primrose Woolfolk tried to defend herself to the Healer and all Miranda could do was purse her lips in disapproval. Cases such as this were a waste of recourses and staff. They were easily avoided and mundane injuries caused by uncontrolled tempers. Miranda couldn’t remember the last time she’d personally dealt with something similar. She wasn’t sure she had the patience for it anymore.

They popped, the younger witch informed her, when they were touched.
“Then shall we make an agreement, Miss Woolfolk, that you don’t touch them?” Her tone was cold; the kindly bedside manner was saved for those who needed it. It was tireless to be kind all of the time. “I’m sure you’d rather avoid the scarring. It can render someone reasonably grotesque looking.”

Seemingly not in the largest of rushes, Healer Storm took a quill from her robe pocket and began to scribble her illegible handwriting on the parchment. She did this for a good minute before glancing over her glasses once more to the patient.
“Do you happen to remember the precise incantations used?”

Weren’t healers supposed to be kind? Prim thought to herself as she sat awkwardly on the table.  Healer Storm certainly didn’t fulfill that role.  She supposed she didn’t need to, she said she was Head Healer (the Prophet and WW confirmed as much), so she wasn’t exactly under the scrutiny of anyone… she could act however she liked.  For the patient, it was bad enough that she was sitting here with these teeth and these boils… she didn’t need someone being nasty to her on top of it.  Not her luck though! 

Bad luck seemed to be a common occurrence nowadays though.  It only made her want to escape even more than usual.  Her casual distraction was quickly morphing into a regular one.  She pretended she wasn’t concerned about it. Just like the boils, she guessed. 

“Of course,” she agreed, nodding at the advice to not touch.  Prim kept her hands firmly placed on the tabletop.  She didn’t want to be grotesque, though, she supposed, if she never got around to actually healing her then the argument would be moot.  She was certainly that way now. 

The thought made her sulky and Prim hunched over, avoiding looking at anything but the toes of her shoes.  They wouldn’t snap at her, at the very least.  When he healer finally asked her another question (after what seemed like ages), Prim looked up.  Since she wasn’t interested in the story behind it, Prim would just give the details she asked for: “Densaugeo[1],” which sounded ridiculous with her overgrown front teeth (her cheeks were hot pink at this point), “and furnunculus[2] – but with an addition: the popping, I didn’t hear.”

1.	Teeth enlargement charm
2.	Painful boils hex