Growing used to specific wards used and a certain ordering system made a person complacent. Since her arrival at Hogwarts months ago, Charisma had learnt extremely quickly where Madame Nadge kept her pain potions and what spells she cast on them to protect them. As a Nadge was a former auror, they’d been complex, but simple enough for the experienced cursebreaker to get through.

Now the new Hogwarts healer didn’t seem to have the same level of distrust as the American. This healer seemed satisfied with an age line and a completely different method of sorting and storing her potions and ingredients. The latter was much to the Ancient Runes Professor’s inconvenience.

Her cane had been discarded against the swivel chair in the office of the hospital wing and she was uncomfortably crouched down with her head in a cupboard moving potions bottles around when she heard the office door open and she span around, wand out.
Someone appearing in the door wasn’t the problem. Charisma was honest enough to own up to what she’d been searching for. Even with her dislike of healers, she agreed they made some bloody good potions when necessary.

Her problem was that the sudden movement sent a wave of pain through her left leg and grabbing onto the cabinet wasn’t enough to stop her from groaning in pain and falling back against the desk. An expletive or two slipped from her lips and she closed her eyes, trying to focus on pushing the pain back.

“Merlin’s beard, woman, you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Temp had been at Hogwarts for about a week, not long enough to get to know the castle very well - nor quite long enough to get to know the residents. She had been a member of the St. Mungo's Board of Warlocks for about twice that long, and yet she was still expected to handle uncomfortable correspondence with the Head Healer[1]. A scowl was perched on the usually pleasant witch's face as she stomped down the grand staircase, heels clacking loudly on the ground. She was honored, truly, to be on the Board of Warlocks at such a young age, but she was not thrilled to be the voice of the body because of her age, especially when the matter was of such a personal nature.

That aside, Tempest had done her duty, and done it well. She had been professional and courteous, though Miranda Storm certainly had not been. The almost illegible reply from the Head Healer was crumpled into a tight ball in Tempest's fist as she made it to the first floor and she visibly calmed herself as she entered the infirmary. She may have been angry, but she was still a healer first and if anyone had come to call while Temp had been away, she didn't want them to see her upset - that didn't tend to help instill confidence in her abilities.

She made barely a sound as she swept through the ward toward her office, mind still troubled with the events of the day thus far. Upon opening the door, Tempest let out a small shriek, both in shock and fear. Certainly she hadn't expected to return to a wand pointed at her, nor for the trespasser to fall against her desk - obviously in pain. The witch hid it well, but to a trained healer, pain can be seen even when you try your best to hide it. "Oh posh," She said, tossing the balled up parchment at the witch in her office.

"Might as well lower your wand and take a seat," She said, waving her now free hand at the chair, and the cane. "If I were trying to give you a heart attack, I certainly wouldn't do so in my own office, it's too incriminating," Her hackles were still raised, but Tempest was rather sure that the other witch wasn't going to hex her. "I'm assuming you work here? Or has Storm hired the worst assassin in the world to do me in? She asked, a hint of bitter sarcasm creeping in toward the end.

1.	Healers aren't Harlots

Upon realisation that the other witch was in fact the new healer, Charisma lowered her wand, spare hand still gripping the desk behind her. The parchment ball flew towards her which she batted away with her wand hand and slipped said wand into the pocket of her usual khaki trousers.

Too incriminating…the older witch smiled, a strained one due to the pain, but a smile nonetheless.
“Cheeky madam…” She begrudgingly manoeuvred to take a seat, trying to keep her expression as plain as was possible. Bloody healers pried too much from experience. But damn she needed to sit for a moment.

“Storm is the sort to do the job himself, my dear.” The witch commented, her welsh accent thick as she sat back in the seat and took a few deep breaths. “He wouldn’t hire a broken curse breaker to pillage your office.”

She reached her right hand forward from the seat, offering it to shake. “Charisma Aldridge, Ancient Runes Professor and Ravenclaw Head for my sins.”

Healer Sage gave the witch, Aldridge, apparently, a quizzical smile - both at being called cheeky in her own office and at who in Merlin's most beloved trousers she was referring, as Miranda Storm was certainly not a he nor would she appreciate being deemed so. A melodic trill of laughter escaped the witch's smile when she realized where she was, and that Charisma must be talking about Healer Storm's husband: Ignan, the Deputy Headmaster. It would have taken Tempest time and energy to explain the mix-up, and why would the Ancient Runes Professor care if she was in a non-dispute with one of the most powerful witches of the wizarding community? And how exactly would that explanation help her figure out exactly why the Head of Ravenclaw House was pilfering through her office cabinets?

"Cheeky indeed," she chuckled, reaching forward to clasp Aldridge's hand in a firm grip - Tempest's soft, healer hands met with the ex-curse breaker's calloused ones, the feeling wasn't completely pleasant. "Tempest Sage, new healer here," She released the witch's hand and moved back to lean comfortably on the desk, crossing her arms in an air on nonchalance, "So, if you aren't here to do me in, I'd assume you have a reason to, what was it...? Oh, pillage my office? Simple Ravenclaw curiosity? I'd understand that, I was an Eagle myself,"

Tempest paused and beamed at Charisma, proud of her Hogwarts heritage, "Or, my guess is you were looking for something in particular? The last healer here was a retired auror, no? You wouldn't have braved the terrors of counter-charms placed by an auror without reason... as you can see, I don't have anything to hide, hence the simple age line. Though, if it's something for your leg you're after, I'm guessing you'd like a pain potion?" At this point, Tempest uncrossed her arms long enough to point at a locked truck a few feet away from the cabinet Aldridge had been poking through.

"Unless you're looking for a bruise balm or a burn salve, that shelf's not going to do you much good. I keep the good stuff locked in that trunk over there. They can be terribly addicting, y'know? So I just keep them out of sight - keeps people from looking too hard for them," She winked at Charisma, and since the Ancient Runes Professor had already thrown out all courtesy by trespassing in Temp's office, she only felt a little bit guilty when she added, "What happened anyway? Have you had it looked at?"

“That was my next place.” With the wave at the trunk, Charisma grumbled under her breath. Perhaps she should have tried to large trunk first. Over a year out of the field meant she was losing her touch if she couldn’t even raid a healer’s unprotected office.

The mention of it being something for her leg made Charisma shift uncomfortably in the chair, unsure if she wanted to continue this conversation and gain some pain potion for the mess that was her leg, or to grab her cane and run as fast as a crippled leg could take her. Professor Aldridge didn’t like personal questions. Even worse; she didn’t like personal questions from healers.

Inwardly there was a debate about whether to own up to the healer. Outwardly there was silence as the witch’s blue eyed stare tried to analyse the healer. There were two lots of people that made the cursebreaker uncomfortable, two lots of people that she hated to be around; aurors and healers.

But that was why her leg was still a mess and she was rummaging through cupboards for pain potion like a bloody addict.

“Oh to hell with it,” she ended the inward debate and threw her arms in the air as if giving up. “Runespoor trap in Egypt. Bloody fool I was with set it off and I got caught underneath. I ran quick enough for it to only catch my leg but merlin’s balls it’s done some damage.”

Tempest was a patient woman, and didn’t mind pressing the issue when it needed to be pressed. Charisma didn’t look like the kind of witch that would endure that temperament, so Tempest merely waited, leaned casually on her desk. Professor Aldridge would either tell Tempest, or she wouldn’t - and letting her compose her thoughts wasn’t a bother or a nuisance. She needed to make friends within the castle, and if chatting with the runes professor could help in that regard, well, she’d take the time.

Eventually, Charisma responded, and Tempest offered her another smile. “Well, I assume you’ve had a decent healer at least look at it, or you wouldn’t be walking on it as well as you are. Runespoor venom is dangerous,” She said, “though, I guess you’ve figured that one out for yourself,” She walked over to the trunk, tapped her wand upon the lock, and opened the lid.

From within, she drew out three small phials of potion, stoppered with corks. The liquid inside was a vivid electric blue, and was extremely thin. She then pointed her wand toward the fire, and a kettle began to whistle loudly. Another lazy flick and the kettle, along with a tea tray, zoomed its way across the room to land atop the desk. “Have a cuppa with me?” She asked, handing the bottles over to the runes witch.

“You’ll only want to use about three to five drops every six hours or so. That stuff’s powerful. It smells strongly of peppermint - as it helps negate some side effects, but don’t let the smell fool you - it still tastes like arse. I suggest mixing it with a nice cup of tea - or something stronger if you prefer,” And then she poured herself a cup of tea, bouncing the bag up and down within.

Was having a drink with the healer a requirement in order to get her pain potion? Charis could think of worse ideas and as she was already sat down and not particularly wanting to put weight on her leg until the potion kicked in, she wasn’t exactly in a position to refuse. Instead she nodded with a smile and took the vial, lifting it to her eyes to examine it, shaking it back and forth as it glistened in the light. Different to the potion from the last healer. Hopefully better.

Now deep inside Charisma knew that masking the symptoms for as long as she had been doing was only going to make matters worse in the long term but she truly hated letting healers fiddle around. Pain potion would need to do until it stopped working.

“And long term use? No nasty side effects? I won’t be growing any extra noses or fingers?”