She came by my office today with a muffin from the cafeteria and a bouquet. Sweet peas, red carnations, pink carnations, hydrangeas, one single white hyacinth and one single yellow hyacinth. Couldn't help noticing the arrangement. It stands on my desk now.

"I'm heading off to Bristol for my next attachment," Henrietta said, smiling gently as he'd taken the flowers and looking curiously at the specific varieties. "It was a pleasure working with you, sir."

"Sir?" The healer looked puzzled. "I'm sorry - you were only here for an attachment? Where are you based?"

"I'm training at the hospital in Edinburgh, it's much closer to home." At his expression, she clarified, "I live in Edinburgh to be near my ill grandfather, taking care of him. My home is in York, but I find being closer to him and my workplace more convenient. But I had to spend a while here as part of my experience and training, and I've learned plenty more in St Mungo's than I would have done in Edinburgh." She smiled.

"Oh." He couldn't think of anything else to say. "When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow. I've got everything packed and ready to go." She held out her hand to him, and he took it automatically, running on autopilot since he was still trying to absorb what he'd just learned. "Thank you for... being late night company, and the help. You have a really good friend, too."

"I'm sorr-- oh, yes." Henrietta had been an apothecary-in-training, after all. Who else out of his friends had been an apothecary? The housemate of his who had fussed around him the night he'd crumpled in the living room. "Yes, she's a great friend. I trust she mentored you a little?"

The young brunette beamed. "Yes she did! Please send my regards to her. I can't find her today. Thank you again, for everything."

"You're welcome," said Arcturus. He watched her leave, still holding the bouquet of flowers in his hand. Everything seemed so distant now.

(A piece of paper has been taped below the description of the bouquet. On it the words "Mum, do these flowers have a meaning?" was written in Arcturus's neat script. "Sweet peas, red and pink carnations, yellow and white hyacinth and hydrangeas?"

Below that was Lydia's handwriting. "Sweet peas: Thanks for a good time. Hydrangeas: Thanks for understanding. Red carnations: My heart aches for you. Pink carnations: I'll never forget you. White hyacinth: Prayers for someone. Yellow hyacinth: Jealousy.

Did you let another slip by?")

well fu(smudge)

I hate that I like him.

Didn't this go down so well before ie not at all? Rash decisions lead to a bad time for everyone. Thinking with my head solves things. Thinking with my heart doesn't. It's just things that I wish for, but not with anyone else in mind.

I've sat here at home on my off-day with no appetite except for small things. If E found out she'd be worried and fuss over me again... Merlin knows I need it but she has been busy studying for her qualifying exams and I can't afford to distract her right now. It would be unfair to her, especially with everything she's done for me.

But the fleeting whispers to visit him, see how he's doing tonight... I don't He doesn't need to see me. I want to. His company is peaceful, harmonious, and the voice in my head stops talking when he's there. It just... stops. What I would give to have it stay that way for the rest of my life.

There are other things. Closeness. Touch. Since that time touch feels alien to me, touch of a certain intimacy. Every time E gives me affectionate gestures, I feel repulsed, disgusted by my own being in contact with hers - but  a need for more. A yearning for acceptance. It's the same with him I yearn to rest my head on his shoulder after a weary day. Close my eyes and hope nothing comes for me in the dark behind my eyelids.

But I am filled with disgust at such selfishness. Fear, at what the night could do.

And yet every human touch, when done, leaves me more alone than ever.

I can't tell if the dark in my head agrees or disagrees to this. It says nothing. But emotions now, those are worse. Far more intense than I imagined I had the capacity for. It claws at my insides like an ugly, monstrous beast seeking the light, knowing what it is and what it is not. It turns my insides.

I don't know what's happening to me. Oh for only a time when I was better. I made such a mistake going to the Heath on my own.

The diary is splattered with ink on one side and crinkly on both pages. While one page is entirely ruined by ink, the other is mostly clear, apart from a couple of strings of dried ink across the corners. The date above is written on one page, mostly marred by the ink. The rest of the entry for that day is written on the other.

I let it take me.

It hadn't felt like a difficult or dangerous task, but I have underestimated my own abilities. Or shall I say - I kept them hidden for fear of knowing the extent of my capability? I've felt the surge of power before in my fingers. This is not new - our lineage has made for some immense power stored in us, despite being halfbloods. I would go even further to say that not being pure has given us magical power beyond belief.

Alright I tell a lie, it's not 30 July but rather 2nd August. I just don't think I can change the date after the fact. It had been meant to be progress notes on my liquid manipulation. Well look at that now. Two days to gather my thoughts after that mess.

I shall try to recall what happened. It's difficult, I feel that my subconscious is deliberately blocking it out from me.

The experiment for 30 July was meant to be a test on whether I could allow these spherical shapes of liquid to unravel and make it easier for me to hold. It also ties in with my research of taking blood without even staining a patient's skin or using invasive means like the Muggles do. If even possible, extracting liquids and controlling their flow without even a second thought - a command, perhaps? Though if my books are to be believed, it's all about the natural flow of liquid rather than commanding it like we are some god with nature at our bidding. To believe that is to beget arrogance in its greatest form, and the greater the pride the harder the fall.

It didn't seem to work. The water actively resisted me. Same with ink when I tried. How does one 'unravel' water like it were a ball of yarn? Flatter surfaces fell apart - not enough tension, I presume. How do you make water break surface tension?

Focusing on the manner of which Polynesian and Hawaiian surfers control the waves - and I use the term control in the lightest sense, it is more of a gentle nudge upon which they direct the current, but it must flow freely - ended up in a mess. Not the mess that mars these pages, just on the floor. I presume that this has something to do with the water not being in its natural environment, but I'm not about to go and attempt draining the British Channel. There is no flow, no current to this form of water. It is static, in glassware that does not cause movement. Not the correct state of water to use those techniques on.

While I rested, I must have hit a threshold of frustration. This part has been what has been holding me back for months on this, causing me great distress, taking up mind space in my waking hours. I need to achieve this or all the effort I have invested into this would have been for naught.

Another attempt, brief and a failure. Ink all over the desk. I cleaned it up, and then... I vaguely remember gripping my wand like a vice. This was not to be. I will not have liquid disobey my will.

So I let it.

The... feeling was euphoric at first. I relaxed and let it flow. Let the water in. And at that moment my mind became almost tranquil, like the untouched surface of a lake high in the mountains with no man having ever set eyes nor foot upon it.

And the ball of ink unravelled into a long snaking thread, black and shimmering against the light. The joy I experienced was... unbidden. I remember the smile breaking out on my face as it followed the tip of my wand like an obedient stream. It was beautiful, like a sea snake off the coast of Greece. I lowered my wand and it swam around me in circles, following my every thought. It had been so much easier.

Then something in my mind had added, why not another? The water unravelled, and soon enough I had two snakes under my command. One black, the other transparent, smooth as glass and twisting, turning as they flowed around me almost joyously as if happy to be free. I had twirled around and they had danced with me, following my robes but not touching, my wand barely streaming along their smooth bodies.

It had been easy. Too easy. Just letting the magic flow from my fingers.

Like the branch of a tree, my mind must have taken the euphoria as encouragement to keep going. I made swirls in the air and they broke apart into black circles and glass swirls. They made shapes! Parlour tricks, entertainment for the mind, but I was fully entertained and I won't deny it.

Some childlike thing left behind in me went further.

I'm sure I didn't expect the ink and water to harden into sharp spikes and discs. But I felt a laugh, playful, gleeful with the amount of magic I could use. I must have gotten carried away.

I left holes in the desk. And the gouges in the walls. Not what I did to make them I can recall. Just that the moment I realised, they turned back into liquid and dropped. I had to repair the laboratory before I left, and rescued the rest of the journal. Not the pages unfortunately.

I think I can adequately describe my feelings about this as - horror. What had been joy is now concern and how much I wish to let myself go. I cannot do this with blood. This is beyond what it was meant to be.

- My experiences have taught me that dealing with poisoning is very often balancing the magical imbalances caused by the poisonous substances in the body. There are also... chemical... properties, but given wizarding physiology is hardy we often have no trouble dealing with that sort of thing.

- Nevertheless, it is prudent to keep in mind that poisons are still poisons, and even if magical imbalance is addressed, chemical mixes are the next concern to deal with.

- Healer Yaw Gawmdrey is a staunch believer in magical balancing, but then again who isn't. Modern (Muggle) chemistry is completely out of our scope because the science of 'atoms' does not take into account the invisible but very much ever-present nature of magic that persists in our lives.

- For every poison that exists, an antidote to counter it can be made.

- For some poisons that exist, dilution makes them usable for mundane utilities.

- For some medicines, combining them with another can cause magical reactions that may harm the patient. This may occasionally include alcohol.

- This entire bullet point is written in Greek. It appears to be a complex mathematical equation, followed by several question marks at the end.

- But if short but scrawling mathematical equation is proof of another, much longer, mathematical equation then what part of it applies to magical imbalance? Potion-making is not all math; it feels like a fine tapestry interwoven with the natural world and magic only a skilled potioneer can weave. Unravelling said tapestry without understanding what went into it is a foolish task.

The rest of the page is what appears to be the breakdown of a mathematical equation, only broken by the words "Mathematical proof for equations A, B, C, D and E" in handwriting that appears to speed up further into the paragraph, suggesting that the writer was engrossed in finding out the solution. The last few variables have been squeezed together at the very bottom of the page.

The next page returns to normality.

- Then if simple equation correlates to another simple equation does that make it a formula for calculating the amounts applicable to diluting--?

- Example questions from The Advanced Guidebook to Healer Examinations p. 184, Worthington, S. 1964.

One third of the page is covered in mathematical workings. All of them have a tick made next to each of the answers except for the last one, where the words _{No I screwed up. Redo!} can be faintly made out.

- Which therefore leads me to surmise that I have just disproven my own theory on dilution factor but I may have opened up another avenue from my equation that I can use to explore.

- QED. Suck it Gawmdrey.

One night, Arc in fairly extreme frustration ranting to himself in St Mungo’s sat down to let ink flow free from his quill to see if he could find a solution. This was the result.

---

Dear Arc,

I'm writing this to myself because for some unfathomable reason (picture myself making quotation marks with my fingers here!) I split my own personality in two and then deny the best - and I mean THE best, uncontested - part of myself any public exposure while putting the meek puppy as my preferred mask! Not saying it isn't me either, but I'm just as sweet with myself in one whole, you know.

But I digress. Given the chance to pour my thoughts, my real ones not the lies I perpetuate to everyone else, I have more important things to say that aren't rehashed insults towards my more public half.

So let's set the scene right here. It's late, I'm in St Mungo’s as usual trying to wring every last ounce of energy out of me so I don't have to listen to this nagging voice IE me. Not even any research! Though I'll say the thought of people abusing my research would be enough of a dampener, chilling thoughts of potential uses in the Dark Arts, mmmm shall we say you just dug up a landmine.

Honestly, I know why I'm doing this to myself. I don't tell people, not even E or C or J or whatever letter I choose to denote them by is going to come next into my life, because of sheer FEAR. Suffering silently because I want people to not see me as vulnerable and exploit it. Let's be real here, you, I know the truth - not everyone is out to hold a grudge against you. Me. But I in my infinite paranoia believe that the world is still dangerous, still a society that's turning upon each other in distrust and bigotry.

It's been over a decade you daft sod. Sure things still happen, but the war is over. I know you still get the reaction, the abrupt urge to run and hide, but your head is telling you facts. Facts. Are you not a man of knowledge???

You have friends who will help you out. More are out there (possibly) who may help reassure your nerves that everything has ended. You need to move on, my friend.

That leads me to another. You tell yourself that it'll happen again. That's why you stay where you are. My dear, you are a huge believer of progress for the sake of progress, but you will never escape the gaol of your own stagnation if you choose not to believe in the strength you have. The strength your friends bestow upon you. You may think yourself unworthy of deserving this help, but that is not your call to make.

Finally, suppressing me only makes things worse. Oh I've been addressing this to you - me - shit, it really feels like there's you and me rather than just one I. See, this is a Problem. It's real. You think that this isn't you talking, except it is.

I am you, Arc. This is who YOU are. Which is worse - people see you for who you want to be for them, or who you want to be for yourself? What are your friends going to think when they find out that the you they know is not the you who actually is? Technically - and you know this - you're lying to them. How much more important are you that when they do it it's a travesty, but when it's you all sins should be forgiven?

You are strong enough to be you. To let me back into your life like I once was. To go back to who you were before those blasted dementors showed you that your happiest memories are from the recent years, not over a decade ago. To go back to who you were before the war. You know. You remember. You just deny. This is neither long-term nor sustainable and you know it.

You're a survivor. Not to live in the shadow cast by those who tried to take your identity from you. To live, instead, in defiance of whatever comes your way. You have a promise to keep and your can't keep it if you're dead. You know you can do it. You just need to believe.

Sincerely,
Yours truly aka Myself you bloody fool. 

PS: Hey just a reminder again that you're actually limiting your own magic when you're not being who you are. I'm so much more powerful, if you just let me. Have some pride will you. Hollingbury. Badger.

I’ve been going about this all wrong, apparently.

The notes ave been fairly clear and helpful, and I find my path unobstructed now.

Madame le Fay
Status: Criminal watch but not urgent priority
Reason: [redacted]

Has connections with the Syndicate of the Seven Seas
Multiple contacts throughout Europe
Fifteen known break-ins into auction houses, Muggle museums and collectors’ homes
Approximately 27 artefacts successfully stolen

Current location: Unknown, suggested to be travelling between England, France and Denmark

Modus operandi: “Returning magical artefacts to their rightful owners.” Does not smuggle people.

Major artefacts stolen:

Captured Ahuizotl Remains, 1984 - Mislabelled as a tamed dog from Aztec times, the remains of a captured ahuizotl were to be sold at a French Muggle auction house to a private collector. The artifact was found missing from the auction house on the day of the auction. The Aztec artefact is rumoured to be able to be brought back to life using a blood ritual, which put it on the high priority list by authorities.

The Magical Meso-American Museum of History was gifted the same specimen three months later by a wizarding collector who meant it as a donation. On further interrogation investigators found the brand on the inside of his wrist associated with artefact smuggler Madame le Fay. He confessed to not paying her on time and had only the last fifth of what he owed her to pay. The brand vanished the moment his assets were seized.

---

Treasures of Yaroslavl, 1998 - The Russian Ministry of Magic contracted Madame le Fay to prevent black market traders from SIberia and Mongolia from capitalising on artefacts of their heritage. Madame le Fay recovered all treasures from six separate locations scattered across Russia and returned them to the government. The Russian Ministry of Magic has denied knowing Madame le Fay’s criminal status.

Many of the Treasures of Yaroslavl were known to have been protected with curses and possible hexes that might have spread to whoever who broke open the seals on the Treasures. Madame le Fay returned these artefacts without opening them.

---

Copper repousse of Citipati, 2002 - A Mongolian wizarding archaeologist was rumoured to have contracted Madame le Fay to obtain this statuette of the Tibetan twin deities, ironically known as the archenemy of thieves in Mongolia, from a German Muggle private collector who was unaware of the artefact’s history. The artefact has a particularly strong magical aura, and Mongolian authorities feared that the statuette had the capability to set curses on anyone who claimed ownership of it.

The statuette now resides in a restoration room with Mongolian authorities.

It’s been a long month.

I do not need to write my lamentations. I berate myself enough in my head enough.

There is nothing. I feel nothing.

The water doesn’t move. It’s heavy. A thousand pounds of sin.