Holding a Torch For Gilderoy Lockhart

Miriam Strout shone the torch into the toilets and moved to allow her patient to see the room.

"See, Gilderoy," she said soothingly. "No giant snake skins, just as I promised."

"But-" Gilderoy said, puzzled. A toothy grin made its way to his face. "I killed the giant snake, didn't I?" he asked debonairly, a wink aimed at Miriam.

"Yes, you were very brave, Gilderoy," Miriam said, closing the door so that he could have some privacy.

"How in the world did I end up at St. Mungo's, holding a torch for Gilderoy Lockhart?" she whispered, begging to be back in Careers Advice with Minerva McGonagall.

"Are you sure, Miriam, that Healing is for you?"

"Oh, yes, Professor. I want to help people..."

"Help me! Help me!" Gilderoy's voice shouted from the bathroom.

"Its only the pull-chain, Gilderoy," Miriam shouted back, wondering if her fifteen-year-old self was pleased. "Pull the chain when you're finished, dear."

Three years of classes, three of training, ten as an qualified Healer, and here she was, the youngest Ward Head at St. Mungo's. She had specialized in Memory Therapy and had spent most of her apprenticeship in the Janus Thickley Ward.

"How do I know when I'm finished?" a plaintive voice came from the toilets.

"Dearborn!" Miriam called to her assistant. "Gilderoy is in the toilet, and I'm taking a break."

"Cow!" Dearborn called back, flashing her a nasty gesture as Miriam jogged to the exit. Augusta Longbottom would be coming in later and Miriam wanted to collect the drawings Frank had begun to do recently. It showed amazing progress, really. It was nice every once in a while to have progress.

Miriam's jogging took her to the stairwell on the third floor, where a group of Healers and patients gathered round a window, smoking pipes and even Muggle cigarettes. Bumming one from Smethwyck, Miriam began to shoot the wind with her colleagues.

"How's things going?" Philippa Horeshound asked.

"I'm thinking about a career change," Miriam said as she puffed away happily. A passing administrator tried to tell them off about Hospital policy but no one listened. Damn bureaucrats had pushed them here, to the stairwell- they wouldn't be pushed any farther.

"Nasty habit, though," Miriam said as she finished abusing the twerp. "Muggles say it kills you."

"Anything'll kill a Muggle though," Pippa said. "Fragile lot."

"So, a career change, eh?" Smethwyck asked. "What is your dream this week? Eel farming? Apothecary shop? Or has it reverted to owning a pub?'

"Owning a pub," Miriam decided. "I'd be able to kick people out, the only issue with memory I'd deal with would be those who couldn't remember being kicked out."

The group laughed. Every week Miriam announced she was switching careers. After her first year on the wards, it had been around Friday morning that she'd make her announcement. Over the year she'd been Head of her ward, her patience had dwindled to Wednesday afternoon. This week, it was Wednesday morning.

"Well, want to hit the Leaky Cauldron with me tonight? Its my birthday," Smethwyck said. "The big 4-0."

"Isn't your wife expecting you home?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "Right. The wife..."

*

Miriam ended up at the Leaky Cauldron that evening anyway. Philippa and Dearborn had "convinced" her that she needed a drink or two to break out of the rut she'd been in.

"Wouldn't coming here everyday after work be considered the rut?" Miriam asked as she took a drink of her Gillywater. "I mean, this is what we do every evening."

"Sad, aren't we?" Pippa asked as she eyed a tall, dark-haired man by the bar.

"Don't bother. He's gay," Dearborn said with a grin.

"I've got a Memory Charm that'll make him forget all about that," Miriam offered.

"Nah. Why are all the single men our age gay?" Pippa asked.

"Because you were too busy to bother with men when they weren't gay," Dearborn said, not really paying attention to her but rather making eyes with the tall man.

"Not all of us. Miriam's already divorced."

"I was too busy to bother with him," Miriam reminded her.

"Yeah. Right. The Murderer. I forgot," Dearborn said, his eyes snapping back to her.

"Don't call him that," Miriam demanded, finishing her drink. "Is it just me, or should we maybe find a new bar?"

"Don't change the subject, Miri," Pippa scolded. "I should hardly think that your divorce had anything to do with you. The man is a murderer! You're an angel of mercy!" Dearborn snorted.

"We split before he was sent to Azkaban, Pip. I didn't have time."

"Ohh, maybe he went bad because you ignored him!" Dearborn suggested.

"Pah! Sirius Black was always bad," Pippa said. "Bad to the bone."

"Isn't that how you like 'em, though, Pips?" Dearborn teased.

"Wanker."