| Details for Phee Crashes In |
| Summary: | After a mishap with a wild pixie and a scarf, Phee heads to the infirmary, where she gets patched up by Samira. |
| Date: | Tue Nov 15, 1941 |
| Location: | Hospital Wing, Hogwarts Castle |
| Related: | — |
| Characters |
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The weather has taken a turn for the worse. It's not even dinner time, but already the sky has faded from the overcast sky. This makes it hard to see the ice coating the walkways on the school grounds. The Infirmary has been busy with more than a few scrapes and sprains. So far, Madam Spleen has been able to handle the influx with the assistance of her student aide, Samira. The two stand tending to a tearful first year with a swollen ankle and a some nasty scrapes on his palms. Despite the little boy's apprehension of Madam Spleen's aide, he is letting her examine his hands while Madam Spleen tends to his ankle.
"Chauncey! Me goodness, what happened tae you?" A cheerfully concerned voice burst into the room, alongside its owner — a blonde Gryffindor student with her robes in absolute tatters. Perhaps the best way to describe it would be to say that Phoenicia — because of course it was Phoenicia Felicity Phillips, who else would it be at this hour getting herself banged up like this? — had decided to pick a fight with a host of brambles and lost. "Ow, ow, ey, ow!" she whimpered as she made her way deeper into the room. She had a low pain threshold, so there were already tears welling up in her eyes even though she was doing her best to move through it. "'tis naught but flesh wounds, Madam Spleen, Miss Prince, but after last month I figured I ought nae try tae fix this many on me own again. Ah, where should I stand, dinnae want tae be standin' aboot like a numpty while you're workin'!"
"Heavens, child," exclaims Madam Spleen when she catches sight of Phoenicia's tattered state. "What happened?" Usually prone to warm smiles, the grandmotherly witch peers at Phoenicia with concern and a hint of severity. She hasn't forgotten the incident where the untrained witch had attempted to heal herself.
The numerous nicks and bruises across Phoenicia's body have captured Samira's interest. She gazes across the Infirmary at the girl, but remains silent until Madam Spleen turns to her. "Samira, would you please take care of Miss Phillips? I will finish here."
With a nod, Samira says, "Of course, Madam Spleen." And with that, she abandons the firstie and slinks over to Phoenicia. As she approaches, her dark gaze drifts across the taller girl's body, taking in the extent of the damage.
Coming to stand before her, Samira's gaze fixes upon Phoenicia's own brown eyes. "This way. I can mend all that is minor. If something is deeper, Madam Spleen will come." Turning, she heads across the infirmary to an unoccupied bed, expecting Phoenicia to follow.
"Oh, ma'am, just chasin' a few pixies about. One of 'em nabbed a firstie's scarf, I hopped on me broom, got it back for 'im and then some. Left the wee dobber in a cage in the common room, asked a few to nip over and take 'im to Professor Kettleburn." She beamed, beside herself with pride and also a fleck of worry — some hope, perhaps, that this act of heroism might defuse any incoming lectures about safety.
When Madam Spleen just kept eyeing her with a less-than-impressed expression, however, the blonde deflated slightly and turned to Samira. "Eh, right Miss Prince," she answered a bit meekly, then followed her to the far side of the room.
"Please sit," instructs Samira in a calm, quiet tone. It is an Infirmary, after all, and a couple of students are sleeping behind curtains just a few beds away. With a precise, delicate touch, Samira takes Phoenicia's wrist between two fingers and extends her arm to expose the scapes across it. This might take a while. "Be still." Holding the tip of her wand over a scrape, Phoenicia's arm starts to get warm. Warmer. Then hot. But at last, her skin cools, and the cut has vanished.
The calm and quiet just make Phee uncomfortable, glancing over at Samira now and then as she waits for the charms to be applied and such. "So, ah, Miss Prince," she said with a flash of a little smile that turned up the corners of her mouth. "You have a good summer, then? Had to drop Arts Club this year, I weren't the world's greatest singer and I dinnae have the time for it now. Though I still try a wee bit on me own time. Shame, really, but I suppose N.E.W.T.S. have their name for a reason, eh?"
Samira's focus remains on finding and healing Phoenicia's hurts. The silence stretches. But, eventually she offers a mild nod. "Important to focus when you have ambitions. But if you can make time here and there, also it's good to keep your arts in practice." Having tended to the cuts on Phoenicia's left arm, she now takes the girl's other wrist and lifts it. The tip of her wand starts to heat another hurt.
Phoenicia winces a little bit, her eyes shimmering with tears of anticipation for the next sharp little pain. "Well, I still cook. Everyone loves fairy cake, aye?" she said with a nervous giggle that suddenly died on her lips. She'd — 'anonymously', of course, but not hard to guess — sent Samira a few sets of red velvet fairy cake shortly before summer break. She'd never had the chance to ask how the upperclassman felt about it.
The summer break ended some time ago. But the fairy cake still seems to resonate in Samira's mind. She pauses and glances up at the younger student. Her lips quirk in a subtle smile, but there is nothing warm in the amusement of her eyes. Perhaps it's even the tears in Phoenicia's eyes that are amusing the Slytherin girl like that. Watching the little mudblood, Samira heals the final scrape on her arm. "I've never been one for domestics." Cuts on her arms healed, Samira kneels on the ground. Holding the girl's ankle to keep her leg still, she continues the application of healing magic.
Madam Spleen has finished with her patient by now and drifts over to check on her aide. "Everything alright, dearies?" she asks, glancing from one student to the other. Samira nods. "Yes, Madam Spleen." But, the healer watches Phoenicia in particular, as if gauging whether Samira has managed to improve her bedside manner or not.
That made Phoenicia wince more than any of the sharp tangs of heat or her tender wounds could have made her. She must have… just not realized the cakes were from her, right? Right. She had worked very hard on them, everyone in Domestics liked them. …Right?
By the time Madam Spleen pops back over, Phee seems considerably deflated to only a few moments prior. "Ah, aye ma'am. Just… feelin' right as rain, that I am." She forced a smile up at the elderly woman.
No doubt Madam Spleen can see right through that smile. But, the Gryffindor doesn't seem scared or unsettled. Tears are a normal part of a healer's business. Still, she approaches to set an example for Samira. Placing a hand on Phoenicia's healed forearm, the healer gives her a warm squeeze. "You're in good hands, dearie. But let me know if you need anything. I'll be just over here." And with a warm smile, she heads off to check on some students behind the curtain.
Samira glances off as Madame Spleen heads off before returning to Phoenicia's leg. As her wand heats a particularly nasty scrape, she murmurs, "I once received a secret fairy cake gift." Her gaze flits to the younger girl with a glint of curiosity as the cold settles in. "Was it yours then?"
Phoenicia let out a little squeak of discomfort, shifting an inch or two to the side; she exaggerated the reaction on purpose to buy her a few extra seconds before her response. "Well, aye. 'twas. Just a wee token of… somethin'. I dinnae. Bit of a numpty, I am, I'm sure you ken." She laughed with a forced cheer, then, lower and with an unmistakable edge of need: "…D-did ye like it, though?"
The curious glint in Samira's gaze turns to amusement as Phoenicia confesss she had indeed sent it to her as a little token. Though she catches the edge of need - that hope in Phoenicia's question, Samira returns her attention to the girl's injuries. But, with a mild nod, she says, "The cakes, I liked. Well made." And it doesn't seem she has anything further to say. She seems to ignore the girl as she heals the last of her hurts. But as she rises, she leans a bit close. "A dangerous thing it is to offer such tokens to me, little muggleborn. You should turn your affections elsewhere." As she straightens, she adds, not quite as quiet: "And take care not to crash through trees and get so scraped."
Phoenicia wished she could just shrink at that. Crashing through trees was one thing; this was another. "…Ah, it- it didn't mean anythin', Miss Prince." Her cheeks turned several shades of pink and she shrugged with a badly feigned innocence, as though she were wholly unaware of what Samira were suggesting. "And I'll try, but if I'd gone 'round I'd have risked damagin' the firstie's scarf. Couldn't have that!" On this she was on firmer ground, able to grin proudly.
Samira arches a brow. "Mm. It would have been faster to mend a scarf than to mend you." It doesn't look like she thinks too much of the simple muggleborn Gryffindor. With a subtle shake of her head, Samira steps back and heads off to tend to her duties, without so much as a farewell, take care of yourself, feel better soon.
Phoenicia started to speak as though Samira hadn't left at all, sitting there all alone in her corner of the room. Her voice was quiet, only growing quieter still as the seventh-year went further and further away, her last words barely even whispers. "…Well, suppose. But mums don't give their bairns scarves to be ripped. You take care of clothes like that. …People heal on their own one way or another, s'why we let them bleed I guess…"