The note was to be as un-stunning, as un-official as possible. Adon used unmarked parchment from home. He took the note to the owl post office and opted on a ratty looking thing rather than the sleek (if not rather arrogant) Ministerial owl.  And he’d kept it sufficiently vague:

Healer Thorpe,

My name is Adon Eleor. You are receiving this letter (presumably—though I distrust this owl) because I hope your experience on both Floors 4 and 2 might be helpful in answering a concern I have regarding a friend.

I am available during the lunch hours or after seven this week to discuss particulars.

After several stalling attempts to conclude the note in a way that sounded neither trite nor officious, Adon circumvented all procedure, penning an artless:

Etc.
Adon Eleor

Less confident that his use of the English—and likely Latin—abbreviation was fitting, Adon considered that Healer Thorpe, to his knowledge, was a younger healer, so she shouldn’t have the staunch indignation some older, pug-faced healers were known to have.

Adon was hardly given enough words in reply to determine whether or not she was. Her reply was short—two lines—and to the point. Tuesday at seven would be an appropriate time. In true form, Adon arrived at the information desk of the Fourth Floor 4 minutes late, in street clothes, still a bit short of breath from a bit of sparring he’d managed to squeeze in beforehand.

In general, Adon avoided eye contact whenever he saw a glimpse of acidic-green robes.  After his bout of potion-induced, euphoric marriage proposals mid-March, Adon had found it difficult to meet any healer in the eye. They might have got the wrong idea. They might be expecting something.

However, Adon now lounged casually against the desk, looking about for someone who might look like a young and promising healer with a career both in France and England—what little he had pieced together on Thorpe.
His eyes settled on an approaching, dark-haired healer with a slim build and rather shapely legs. Oh, God. He hoped she had not had any interactions with him in March. He would have most definitely proposed.

Righting himself easily and with a non-chalant, polite smile, he greeted: “Healer Thorpe?”

Vivienne had been busier than usual lately. Between wards, patients and her recent brewing endeavors, free time was beginning to become a rarity. Even her days off were not really breaks. She would visit the ingredients registry, meet with other Healers (though more recently, an Alchemist) or spend hours stirring a cauldron half-filled with a concoction that had only a remote chance of being effective. But even with all her tasks at hand, there was still time to entertain a curiousity-- the curiosity in question was in regards to a rather unspectacular letter she had received from a Mister Adon Eleor.

A few enquiries to the hospital Archivist reminded her that the wizard was an Auror who had recently been treated at St.Mungo's. Viv recognized the Archivist's description immediately... why, Eleor was the proposing patient! Though not a first-hand victim to his marital aspirations, she had heard enough about Auror Eleor's stay in the wards to be intrigued by both him as well as the portents of his letter. A time and date had been arranged. Now, strolling into the reception area of the fourth floor, Vivienne looked around for the man who had been a suitor of oh-so-many healers.

She spotted the fellow easily enough and approached him with calm, assured grace. Viv had just come off from a surprisingly uneventful shift and she was feeling quite tranquil today. "Healer Thorpe?" Adon Eleor addressed her and she returned his smile with one that reached her grey eyes.

"Good evening Auror Eleor," Vivienne murmured civilly as she observed him. Now what would an Auror want with her now? Meeting with one might be a novelty at first but she hoped to God that this one wasn't going to start telling her how to do her job as well. Her gaze flickered from his eyes to the side of his face. Scars, Viv thought with equal measures of curiosity and sympathy. Nasty looking job. "Would you like to speak in private? I have requested an unused treatment room, if it suits you."

"Auror Eleor," he repeated, eyebrows raising in playful surprise.  "I didn't mention anything about that. Someone's been researching me, I think." He waited a moment before adding, "Don't believe it--any of it."

He gave a self-satisfied smirk, which quickly dimmed the moment she saw her eye rake his face--and linger...

Adon turned his head abruptly to look back at the receptionist, giving a strained smile and a farewell nod before following Healer Thorpe.  Adon tried not to think too much about titles--and the Healer-ish thoughts that were likely running through her mind at the moment.

He tried not to think about how she was probably assessing the nature of the scars to determine its source. Or considering how his own magical ability--or vocation--might have caused it.  He tried not to think about how she, a Healer, was probably viewing him like a patient.

God, he hated this place.  It was never good news--coming here.  It was either his own injury, or another's. Adon liked neither. It made him grumpy--all this not thinking about it.

"So." He said, once they were in the treatment room, behind a closed door. "I wanted to thank you for making time in your schedule.  You're probably pretty busy, yeh? I'll try to keep this concise.  A friend of mine--" He cleared his throat, grimacing slightly.  Too concise.

"Well, first, I wanted to say that this isn't an official visit. I'm not sure if the trainers were enough of a tip-off," he said, wiggling his toes in his Golas.  "So my questions won't be related to anything Level Two is looking into--you don't need to worry about anything you say here being used in an ongoing investigation; and even if that were the case, I'd give you fair notice. I'm here on a personal affair.  But that being said--it's still a sensitive issue. I trust you can respect that..."

Trust was a funny thing. And right now, it felt like a hollow word. He trusted Jonas. And Jonas trusted him. But here he was, making inquiries about the man's condition without him. Talking to a woman he didn't even know, much less trust.  Just like when, as a patient, you checked your body in and handed it over to someone with sterilized gloves and a saccharine smile. Healers.

But he was not thinking about that.  And she seemed nice enough.

He looked at the spartan surroundings, looking for something to lean against, to make this whole thing a little less uncomfortable. Adon leaned against a bedside table, which grated heavily against the floor, causing him to straighten abruptly. "Sorry--I don't really want to take over this meeting in your domain but--" his eyes settled on a bedside chair. That would do.  "Could we sit down?"

Vivienne regretted her observation of Eleor's scars almost immediately. It was that look on his face, self-conscious and closed off. She pressed her lips together thoughtfully... Aurors were generally more proud of their battle scars. His, maybe, were not very noble ones. Her gaze shifted away from the marks and she maintained eye-contact with him instead, listening to his explanation attentively.

A friend of mine...? The number of times she had heard that on the third floor. The wizard stopped short there and then tried explaining to her the nature of his visit, which was unofficial (all the better). Vivienne nodded her head understandingly before leading Eleor down a passageway to a free treatment room. It was not one of the better spaces. Badly-lit and unused, the place required some care. A new coat of paint, she thought as the door closed behind her visitor. She turned to look at him and was confronted again by that sense of unease, a discomfort she couldn't quite understand in someone whose career must surely have led him into such rooms as these on numerous occasions. Viv's eyebrows went up a little as Eleor awkwardly upset the furniture in the room...

"Sorry--I don't really want to take over this meeting in your domain but--" She followed the direction of his gaze and understood, "Could we sit down?" he asked.

The Healer smiled soothingly and nodded towards the chair: "Oui, go on. Don't worry about me," her smile widened a little and she sat herself down on the treatment bed, ankles crossed in a feminine fashion. It was a strange reversal of  positions, their sitting arrangement.

Vivienne was a little bewildered by all this talk of personal affairs and sensitive issues but she didn't let that emotion betray her manner. Patient or not, it was important to maintain calm composure: "I must say that this is all very irregular, Auror Eleor. Consultations are not my speciality but I will try my best to aid you and this... this friend of yours."

If such a friend existed, of course. Viv didn't let that doubt slip into her tone; she only looked at the man with a steady and waiting expression: "So tell me. How can I help?"

It was just one word--but it was very pleasing to Adon's ear.

”Oui.”

Adon could not describe why, but he felt his spirits lighten considerably.  Perhaps it was that someone else would be publicly foreign--something he'd struggled with since his move from Israel again--and that it was delivered with such an unceremonious elegance made him assess her with a curling smile.  Well.

Go on he did, settling himself more comfortably in the chair, angling it so he could look at her while yet not fully turning his back to the door.  That would set him on edge.
 
"I must say that this is all very irregular, Auror Eleor." She was taking this rather well.
 
“Yes, well,” Adon said with a satisfied smirk as he exhaled, “I’d be much more inclined to believe that phrase if I didn’t hear it on so regular a basis.”  He didn't suppose charm would work on a Healer--after all, to his knowledge, none of his attendants had actually accepted his proposals of marriage while under his care, and he could have been nothing but devastatingly charming, then.  But it didn't hurt to try--time with Jonas had taught him that humor was most always appreciated.
 
“My friend,” he said, leaning into the word as she had, eyes signaling a teasing challenge, before continuing crisply, “who is--you will see--quite evidently not myself--if that is what you are implying," he smirked before shifting back to his grave demeanor, "has fallen victim to what was referred to in a Daily Prophet article some months back as the Magical Epidemic.  Magiclessness. This in and of itself is troubling, but I'm worried there may be some darker implications--that I'd like to talk to you about..."

He filled his lungs to capacity--smelling what seemed to be a mixture of sanitizing salves and sedating potions--and exhaled.  "I'm going to be frank with you--and give you the out right now, if you want to take it.  I myself would be hesitant, listening to my thoughts on the matter.  We get a lot of people coming in to Level Two with their conspiracy theories; advising us how to look into things, without really seeing the full picture." He shook his head, trying to bite down the irritation. "Everyone's got it figured out, apparently. And I don't want to be that person, but I also don't want to sit on this information." He dug his feet a bit into the ground, feeling the back of the chair press against him. His voice was soft--the Israeli accent making each syllable crisp; sibilant.  "And I would be lying if I didn't say I'd appreciate any sort of answers you'd be able to give."

"It's been about seven months--so perhaps you may not know; it may be before your time, but the Mungo's Healers--I think headed by Cecily Antonopoulos--were going to do tests. I didn't hear anything conclusive about it one way or another." He waved his hand to dismiss the unspoken inquiry he'd just voiced. That was not the immediate question. They'd get to that later. Once he felt he knew a bit more--about the situation--about her, he'd find a way to figure that out, without getting pushy.

"Healers had said that it was not caused by a spell.  And I know it's currently being treated as a Magical Bug--but that's not right, either. It seems the Healers know this, too." He looked at her levelly a moment--deciding to now include her in this group: Healers. "You haven't, I suppose, heard of anyone looking into the possibility of a curse?"  He followed up quickly, "Are you yourself familiar with curse-effects?"

Vivienne was quiet as she listened to the Auror's foreign voice-- and her expression remained calm, impassive. Magiclessness. She had heard about this when she was on the second floor but nothing had come her way at the time; Antonopoulos had set others on the task and many had already known about Viv's request to transfer floors. It seemed strange, all of a sudden, that she hadn't heard more about the cases. You would think that if wizards were starting to lose or gain magic...

The Healer realized that her visitor was asking her a question and she pushed away that train of thought to answer: "No. I'm afraid that I was in the process of changing posts within the hospital when that business was starting up. I must admit that the situation bothers me right now more than it did when I was on the second floor..." she trailed off, a thinking look in her grey gaze. There had been an almost amusing article about it in the Prophet. It would have been funnier if the matter had not been so damned bewildering.

"I deal with many curses, as well as their effects, on this floor. At this moment I can only say that I've not seen anyone cast with such a... an affliction. Not by any known spell. It is easy to see why they might believe it is a bug," Viv grimaced at the idea, "A catching one. And yet it does not have the biological characteristic that I would expect to see in an illness." Even when one was drained of magic after a difficult duel, the effects were apparent. Physical weariness, lowered immunity systems. Even fevers.

Yet here there were relatively healthy wizards and witches, walking around with no magic or too much of it. Vivienne looked to Eleor with a sombre expression; her eyes went once again to those scars but not intentionally. They just caught her attention the way an open wound would-- she quickly glanced back to meet his gaze: "My apologies. I don't know how much help I will be to you or your friend," who she could finally confirm was not the auror before her: "But I do wish to look into the matter further. Has this acquaintance of yours been examined yet?"

"Biological..." Adon repeated, giving a bit of a smirk at the Muggle term.   "I am glad to hear you use that word.  As an outsider, sometimes it does not seem there is much that is logical in magical healing. Bio- or otherwise."

The Healer's gaze was once more drifting--and again to uncomfortable regions.  Adon was half of a mind to remind her where his eyes were—and not the scars just to the side.  Instead, he set his jaw, only partly mollified by her accented apology--which may or may not have been for the gaze or for her apparent inability to answer any of his underlying questions.

He gave out a sharp sigh, running a hand over his face before cringing, fearing this would again draw attention upwards, towards his right eye and temple.  "It was unfair of me to expect you'd have knowledge of this off-hand—or beforehand." He was quiet a moment, looking distantly at the pillow of the bed she sat on before feeling the need to ad," I didn't expect you to know it off-hand." Shifting his gaze back to her, he filled his lungs as he cleared his thoughts.  "If you could. Research it further, I mean. I'm afraid that bringing my friend in is an impossibility at the moment.  My friend's of a rather..." here, he gave an earnest, open smile--remembering his and Jonas' bicker fest a few days previous, "determined and stubborn nature. And is rather determined not to be seen by Healers at present."  Which was also made abundantly clear a few days previous.

"It's--" he began, haltingly, not certain how much to reveal, "an Egyptian curse. It’s intended to sap one’s vitality.  Which, I hear, to a mage, would be, primarily manifest through magic. . .” His face grew a new shade of grave.  “I am afraid it may have further reaching implications, though.  Can a—” he sighed. “Could you find out if curses could, by gradients—” Adon’s voice felt thick and he came to a halt.  This was a terrifying word to use. Particularly with Jonas in mind, “kill a mage? Can a curse that has these symptoms… go so far?”

Adon bristled and shifted, slightly, not liking the tone of vulnerability that had rung out in that last question.  Next thing he knew, she would start treating him like the friend or family of the  patient—or worse, the patient himself. Using little, cooing words to try to soothe him.

“I ask,” he said in a stiffer, more assertive tone, “because if there is that risk—I would like to be apprised; and see what I could do to convince my friend to seek some treatment.  However, if it seems unlikely the condition will degenerate further beyond total loss of magic—then I can continue investigating its cause.”

An Egyptian curse. Vivienne gave the wizard a curious look as he spoke though she didn't interrupt. Typical Aurors, never giving anything away unnecessarily. It made her job difficult sometimes-- although right now, that could go either way. Her knowledge of specifically North African magic was even more vague than her experience with the magiclessness of the second floor. It exasperated her, how completely useless she felt to the cause. On the other hand, she knew that trying to dabble in this issue would be spreading her time too thinly.

Juggling her current endeavors was already the cause of sleepless nights. Viv pressed her lips together worriedly when Eleor brought up the matter of death. No cases of that so far. She observed him with care, understanding that this friend of his was important to him. Watching a friend suffer under some unknown curse... a torturous situation.

Vivienne breathed out, sighing very lightly. "From what I know, I would not extrapolate the symptoms to go so far as terminating a patient. The victims do not appear to be physically or spiritually exhausted," her tone of voice was professional but soothing: "They go about their days the way a muggle would, maybe. As a Healer, I will naturally advise anyone afflicted with this curse to seek treatment... but personally, I think that finding its cause might be a more efficient approach. Quicker, non?"

The witch paused, as if to think and then shrugged. "That is as much as I can say based on my own knowledge," she leaned forward a little bit as a  smile pulled at her lips: "But I'm flattered you came to consult with me. It's a credit to my reputation, I'm sure." Viv made a conscious decision not to look at the scars this time.

From what she knew--which, Adon reminded himself, admittedly did not seem like much--it wouldn't cause death. Well... that was something. She also seemed to stop pressing bringing Jonas in to Mungo's.  Healers were particularly insistent--and would go to almost any means to get a patient to cave, beginning with reason, and ending with condescention and parental-like instructions.  If she was backing off, it wasn't likely all that bad.

Except that Jonas didn't have a lick of magic in him and that had a way of putting both of them in rather jeopardizing situations rather frequently.

But nothing serious.

 "As a Healer, I will naturally advise anyone afflicted with this curse to seek treatment... but personally, I think that finding its cause might be a more efficient approach. Quicker, non?"

At least, nothing a bit more investigating couldn't solve, the Healer seemed to think.  He gave a smile at this unexpected comment, which sounded suspiciously like a compliment to his field. "Mais, oui," Adon said, with a bit of a smile. Not really knowing if that captured what he'd meant to convey.  To clarify, he added: "I suppose you're right."

Still flattered, Adon tried not to look like he was caught off-guard at her attempt to receive some flattery, in turn. "But I'm flattered you came to consult with me. It's a credit to my reputation, I'm sure."  

"Reputation--perhaps," he said, hestiantly.  "I don't know much of your reptuation, actually.  But I figured from your split career that you were probably open to a variety of possible solutions.  As well as being foreign--you would not be wed to any single philosophy. I appreciate someone who can have a multi-faceted perspective." 

That was uncomfortably like a compliment to her profession.  But really, it was a compliment to the pretty Healer; this, he could stomach.  "Your reputation, as far as I am concerned," he added with a new measure of gallantry, "is impeccable.”

Even if she didn’t actually have any answers.  And even if she’d spent a fair bit of time looking at his scars. She hadn’t pressed, and she hadn’t treated him like he was foolish for the anonymity.  Rising to his feet—sensing the conversation was at its end, he said, “Thank you for your time. If I can return the favor some day, please let me know.”