"...and further more, it is a chronic allergy! If I was 'sick' I would be experiencing some kind of symptoms and most likely would be placed here under some other authority. There's nothing wrong with me but it is urgent I have a meeting with the Healer-in-Charge. So just do your job, you silly woman!"

Such was the speech that followed a flustered looking Welcome Witch as she retreated to Delilah Foley's office. She blustered in. "Excuse me, marm, but there's this, it must be a Hogwarts student but he's adamant to speak with you and he won't tell me why. Are you...?" Her mouth was left to flap with no words coming out.

Casey, not trusting the Welcome Witch to even be able to put one foot in front of the other, had followed and was standing outside in one of his suits pressed and cleaned to Dingy's usual perfection. In his hands was a vinyl box, like a cubic suitcase. He was getting impatient, an attitude fouled by the constant headaches he was having. He had gotten his first memory extracted...whatever it was, it was in the Pensieve. The full thing, not a copy. The migraine still lingered until his mind got used to being divvied into chunks and stored in a bowl of mist.

It had been a rough month, and it had stacked itself up on one of the office desks in piles of paperwork, letters, and folders. No one had been bitten or killed, but a few healers had their own rooms on level one and there was a slew of things that needed to go through the Board, WCU, and various patients' records. Delilah was sitting at the desk with her dreadlocks tied back and falling down her back, as usual, while she sat up straight and organized everything into a small package.

When the door open and the woman entered, Delilah hardly needed to look up at the woman to understand the situation. Instead, her eyes lazily lifted to the young boy at her side, then to the babbling Welcome Witch. The scene came together, the expressions, the faces, and the many possible reasons as to why there was a little parade into the little office on the Ground Floor.

"Busy?" Delilah added with her lingering lilt, "Unless 'di chile is ready to to sprout toad warts an' croak, I don't see why a mediwitch can't attend to 'eem, dear." Delilah nodded her chin up at the witch, respectfully, before raising an eyebrow to the young boy at the woman's side. "Your job isn't to bring every pompous boy wit' a sneeze to me."

There was so much rolling of eyes that Casey's eyeballs could pop out of his head and then they would have a medical emergency on their hands. "It is NOT me who is sick!" Casey sniffed. Curses! Of all the time for a runny nose to develop. "If I was sick or ill or in some way in need of medical attention for myself, I would simply submit to your 'mediwitches' and be done with it. I only called upon the Healer-in-Charge because of an issue that does require the attention of the hospital's administration."

"Part of that request requires digression," Casey continued, giving the Welcome Witch a look that left her even more on edge, that even though Casey was not her superior it was a look that suggested she make herself scarce.

He visibly straightened, stood firm, smoothed out his voice. "I am here for a family member that requires urgent hospitalization."

The Healer-in-Charge slowly shook her head as she continued to speak, "If you or a family member were sick or ill, 'dey would also be here and you would still 'ave to 'submit' to 'my' mediwitches."

She started wrapping a stack of papers, skillfully weaving her fingers around it, "Urgent ," she continued, "is calling Mungo's emergency response," the bag softly crackled as she smoothed out the side of the paper, "Urgent is 'dem being here right now for treatment," the package was secured as a finger left it and pointed a finger down, onto the floor in front of her, "But urgent is not standing at a doorway and being a patronizing juvenile."

The witch stood up, her long dreadlocks falling down her tall torso, "So eid'er get t' the point, wait in 'di reception area, or go home chile." Her voice was sharp and smooth, like listening to a hunter sharpen their dagger. She wasn't going to have a child acting like a fantastic brat to the staff, regardless of how important he thought his own agenda was in comparison to others.

Ultimatiums. Finally, a sign that somebody was going to listen. "I suppose 'urgent' is a strong word but is is important that she gets attention soon. It's...well I don't know if it's life threatening."

Casey's tone cooled, his voice grew hard for different reasons than the healer in charge's piercing tones. "It's my mother. She's nearly comatose. I don't now how it started but I think she was bitten by one of these," from the box he removed a dead glumbumble. "There was a nest  in the attatic near the ceiling of her room. She...she needs help."

He composed himself to keep his words firm. "I can't risk apparation with her. And I can't take her by Floo."

Delilah's eyes rolled, cutting her gaze like a line through the room when she heard him utter the word "coma." The Jamaican witch immediately coupled her fingertips over her hospital badge, readying a response team to go and check on the boys mother. Then she made a quick analyzation from her daughter's own memories, her past trip to the career fair at Hogwarts, and common knowledge, "You are an O'Doherty, yes?"

Her lilt quickly became biting , "Your actions are ridiculous, child," she her hand up in a gesture of hopelessness, "I've already readied some healers to go out to t' check on her--as I said before you were better off contacting t'ings for an emergency by tossing up some sparks." Her hand then curled together as she shrugged in dismissal of the boy's concerns, "We 'ave ways of transporting patients wit'out di effects of any form of magical travel having an effect on 'dem."

"So your trip here was pointless and naive, unless you are leaving somet'ing crucial out from your explanation, or wish to correct me," her arms then wove together, and her brows rose as her gaze weighed down on the boy in front of her. Was Delilah suspicious? Quite, when a boy took such a roundabout way to get his mother critical medical attention it always was, but the witch was more worried about the mother in question than what was going through the boy's head.

Casey almost sighed. "Yes, I'm a O'Doherty, and in regards to that--"

His face peeled away into a kind of horrified shock. "What?! You've sent healers? When, today or just now? They can't go to the manor it's..."

His mind was spinning, and he wanted to kick himself because this was the kind of instance where he wanted Occlumency, some way to keep his thoughts under control. "I was getting to an explanation. The rest of the family isn't supposed to know. My grandparents aren't going to like people poking in on their son's deadbeat muggle wife that they don't want anyone to know exists." The O'Dohertys were the kinds of societal folk that preferred their privacy and keeping it private.

There was a tickling on the back of his throat. More of his allergies were flaring up with his conflicting emotions. "I want her to get help, but that won't happen if the people who kept her shut in an attic find out about it. That's why I came, it needs to stay secret."

Asking like this was awkward. Rarely in Casey's interactions with to her people did he ever have to ask. Any other time it was an order, but that wasn't going to work here. "Can I at least get her out of the house so your healers can pick her up somewhere else?"

And there was what she wanted, the answer, and almost instantly the boy's emotions ran rampant. Complicated. And for whatever control he sought he had none of it, except that which was gained from admitting the truth. Delilah breathed a sigh as she shook her head. If that was how some pureblood families were going to use their attic, to keep some muggle woman they didn't want, then she really wondered if they actually did anything significant with their time.

"It's not my business as to why or for what reason your family keeps a muggle woman 'dey don't want in their house," Delilah rubbed her hand over the badge to keep from dispatching the healers, and kept them on alert, as she walked over to the young O'Doherty, "But if 'dey aren't treating the thing like family, or anyt'ing at all," She then knelt down and picked the dead billywig from the boy's hands, her voice gentle, but haunted with caution, "Next time, 'dis could be somethin' bigger."

And people wonder why muggles and wizards just couldn't "get along." It was an old prejudice that arose from simple problems like this, that turned into an all out total hatred of someone else, and then a whole species or race; misunderstanding was genius' curse.

"So, you get her out, 'den we'll treat her--spirits know we don't need a muggle in a coma among wizards." Then she stood up and looked down at the young blonde, "Since she got bit by a magical creature and is suffering a magical illness, she'll get put on th' first floor, and since we need to look at her immediately, an' get her hospitalized, 'den she'll stay here temporarily," her voice had finally gotten back to its crisp, disinterested, and matter-of-fact tone the witch was so well-known for speaking in, "Afterwards you don' have many options boy--but if you want her to stay well 'den keep her out of 'di wizarding world." A hand snaked onto her hip as she studied the boy  again.

Casey stewed in his own thoughts. What had been a simple plan, a process of steps to get a task done, had halted so he had to see the enormity of these events. He felt limp and shrunken, a feeling slightly familiar but long ago forgotten. The dead glumbumble was taken from his hands without complaint. The accusations made him remember that, since he had begun schooling at Hogwarts, he had been keeping the same opinion about his mother as the rest of the family.

The words of his mother getting treatment invigorated his hollow ears. Yes, that was the most important thing right now for his mother, the most important. When Casey began to move again his joints felt weary, as if he had been mummified and locked in a tomb for thousands of years.

"If, I mean when she gets better," it wouldn't do to appear hopeless, "she won't returning to the manor. I will see to that." Back to tones of business. Although he wasn't sure exactly how he would do this, or if he would place her out of the wizarding world as suggested. In Casey's view it was a needless complexity. If she was just away from the O'Doherty influence she would fare much better. Magically there were better means of security. Did she even have a muggle life to return to? He didn't know. He felt that since magic had neglected his mother Darla he wanted to prove that magic could make her life better. And the only person he had to prove this to was her.

"I can get her moved to Rossein Glen without my family noticing. It's an undeveloped woodland property we own, the deed is on the Ministry's register. My grandparents don't care for her but if the see healers coming to the door for her the response would be anything but positive."

The tall witch's dark gaze fell quickly onto the younger boy again, as he stated she wouldn't be returning to the manor, but he left of one crucial bit the healer wanted to hear, "Nor di' wizarding world?" Delilah interjected with a warning tone. After years of children, she knew the word game very well, regardless of what language it was being spoken in. Sometimes she'd let such errors slide, but this was a serious issue.

"You'll be in school all year, and how long 'as she known 'di confines of an attic?" the change from confinement to freedom would not change a person without the will for it, Delilah knew that well enough from the deranged minds of some of the patients on the fourth floor, "Not'ing will change if you don' give her to people who can understand her."

Whether or not the muggle woman would get better was not even an issue, if the healers couldn't take care of a glumbumble case, then someone was ridiculously incompetent. The tall witch then waved a hand through the air as she rolled back her shoulders, "Rossein Glen is fine, though."

An inward part of Casey sighed. "I suppose when I am at school the vacations are few and far between. But she won't be neglected. The house elves, particularly mine, will be able to assist her. She should remember them, for..." There was no easy way to say this without feeling guilty again. "It was the elves that sustained her. That would work until she is completely situated."

Though location, that was the problem. The 'old' manor, the one his parents had owned before his grandparents seized it, was in no state for occupation and they would know if someone started living there. Diagon, maybe, loft space usually had decent turnover. Though that would be close to his father's business apartment. There was something nagging at him on what was the best spot for her to recover, although he couldn't think of it right now.

"I can have her ready within the hour. Are there any other questions?" Inside his mouth his tongue pressed tight against his raised teeth, a bite without the pressure.

"No, get her ready," Delilah said tersely as she went over to take up the stack of papers again. The boy was obviously to dumfounded with his own  ideas to listen to anyone else's. A pity for someone so young. Even her own daughter kept an open ear to opinions she didn't like.

With dreadlocks gently drumming against her white coat's back, Delilah turned back to lower a cautious and hard stare onto the young O'Doherty, "But chile," her voice dipped dangerously, "Don't fool treating a handicap, wit' treating somebaddy's needs."

"Now go," she quickly added with a heavy and berating lilt, as she began to take long strides past the child and out of the office, "Stop wasting your mother's time."

"Very well, thank you for your time."

Casey's retreat was hastier than he would have liked but he had to get away from her stern, piercing gaze. Whatever composure he had recovered from his initial outburst would have been spent again. But her words haunted him. "Don't fool treating a handicap, wit' treating somebaddy's needs."

What did Darla O'Doherty need? Well they sure has hell wouldn't know until she got better and what was the solution being presented. Casey, with that teenage stubbornness on having thought everything out, didn't like the tone that suggested dumping her in something like a muggle outpatient facility. Oh yes, that would be a lovely story to share in group therapy: I married a wizard, fathered his child, and was left to rot in an attic. Good reintegration. Whatever she needed, Casey could provide.

Because, a small part of him needed her.

And there was another factor of guilt sapping away at him. Guilt as bad as if he had been the one that swept her into the wizarding world and cast her aside, not that guilt was an emotion the other O'Doherty's kept. The guilt of knowing what he did when Dingy had returned after catching a live glumbumble and its nest. How he had prodded it to bite his mother, multiple times, before killing the insect. Staging the severity of her illness, creating a magical source to ensure her entry into St. Mungo's.

It had gotten her in, so it had worked. But the memory was just as haunting as Delilah Foley's words.