From the Ashes

Who: Bob and William
When: Tuesday, January 26th
Where: The Hospital Wing
What: Making amends. If possible.

Voluntarily walking into the Hospital Wing wasn't generally something William was prone to doing, but Bob did have a point in that they weren't certain yet of what effects the monitoring charm might produce. It couldn't hurt to have a Healer look at it, now that the Kneazle was out of the hat. Besides which, he did genuinely respect Bob's opinion, and going around him had put something of an edge on their interactions.

Bob didn't always take breakfast with the rest of the staff, and when he hadn't today, it had seemed as good an opportunity as any. William waited in the doorway to make sure that Bob wasn't busy with patients before walking in and taking a seat on one of the examination tables. "Good morning, Healer Bryar," he said quietly. "If you're free..." He slid the sleeve of his robe back, undid the button on his shirt sleeve and rolled the cuff to expose the dark gleam of fresh ink. "...I wondered if I might have a moment of your time for that discussion you requested yesterday."

Who: Bob, Z, and William.
When: Monday, January 25th, lunchtime
Where: Library
What: Bob is not a teacher. He knows nothing about Ancient Runes. Who thought this was a good idea again? (Also, William is a Christmas tree.)

It was really time to face the fact that students couldn't be expected to read from their textbooks for the entirety of the school year. If such practices were acceptable teaching methods, no one would bother with school and teachers and it would all just be book work. To that end, Bob had dragged himself into the library to learn a little about Ancient Runes and try to cobble together some sort of lesson plan. Hopefully Beckett wouldn't discover him and toss him out on his ass for eating among the books. Or if Bob was discovered, the librarian would be so offended by Bob's teaching methods that he might volunteer to create lesson plans for Bob? That was a really nice thought, but somehow Bob sincerely doubted it would play out that way.

Who: Bob and whoever (open post!)
What: Bob hates Brian. And Ross. And runes in general.
Where: Staff lounge
When: Monday, January 18th, evening

One of these days Bob really needed to figure out why the hell he put up with Schechter as a friend. Here Bob had already agreed to pack up his life and move to the middle of nowhere (though, okay, he'd kind of been unemployed at the time, so it was a mutually beneficial arrangement, but still), but that still wasn't enough, no. Now Bob had to take time out of his busy day ("You hide out all day on the off-chance some kid has a skinned knee, Bob. It's not like you're doing anything important," Brian had insisted, because he was a jerk and possibly more evil than You-Know-Who) to babysit a bunch of kids just because Ross decided to run off on sabbatical.

It didn't make any sense. Bob knew absolutely zip about runes, ancient or otherwise, and yet here he was trying to correct a stack of tests that had been left behind. He was starting to really doubt that the copy of Ancient Runes for Dummies that Brian had given to him would be of any use here. Ugh.

Who: Z, Adam, Bob (and Betsy)
When: Very late on December 31
Where: Hospital Wing
What: Z introduces Bob to The Patient

After successfully levitating Adam after Gerard's attack, Z made her way to the Hospital Wing as quickly as possible. She decided to eschew the not-so-secret-passages that would make the trip shorter, but would also increase the odds of Adam getting some kind of unintentional damage from his head bouncing off a wall or something.

"-so I'm sitting with Greenwald and Alexa and it's sort of confusing because she also goes by Alex sometimes? So we've instituted a last names policy thing when it comes to Alexes and Mikes and Nicks, only we're all rather sloshed at this party and it's really hard to pronounce Runion's last name after a certain point and that point is also when "Mark" and "Mike" start sounding alike? So I'm sitting with Alexa and Greenwald, trying to talk to Murray and Runion about...something, and someone was distracting me and somehow this becomes a game of truth or dare? These things happen, and then someone dares Greenwald to snog Mike, but it comes out like Mark or maybe Runion ended up sounding like Ronson? Either way, the only Mark in the room right then is Ronson and that was hilarious because they had a thing neither of them admits to-and you're not listening at all, are you?"

Z'd had to take a flight of stairs that was notorious for shifting direction and she'd ended up one floor above and most of a corridor away from the Hospital Wing. Adam was sliding in and out of consciousness and Z was certain he shouldn't be allowed to pass out entirely so she needed something he could focus on. Stupid stories about her friends obviously weren't doing the trick-singing might?

"What are your thoughts on Queen, Professor? No objections? Excellent. Feel free to sing along then." Z started singing Bohemian Rhapsody (figuring that with Adam in tow and The Events of Which No One Should Ever Speak, it was a better idea than Somebody To Love, which was the only other Queen song she knew most of the lyrics to). She got most of the way through the song when she came the Hospital Wing doors. Z stopped midlyric to rush forward, bang on the door and yell

"Healer Bryar! Professor Lazzara's been hurt!"

Who: Gerard and Bob
Where: Warded containment chamber on the third floor, and then... well. That's the problem, isn't it?
When: 12/31, and the moon is rising
What: See above

It was a boring fucking room. Well, it had to be, because even with the wolfsbane potion, Gerard usually went fucking stir-crazy when the transformation hit, couldn't resist tearing around and biting and clawing and ripping until he'd tired himself out, stopped itching to run. Much more sensible to stay in a barren little room, nothing to destroy in it but himself, he knew that, but knowing it didn't stop the wait from being a total demon-balled dickdrag. Nothing to read, nothing to do, nothing to do. Not even a window to look out of. Just pacing, and more pacing.

He could feel it, the moonrise tugging at his bones and nerves and veins. Hot. Itchy. Fuck, soon now. He reached the east wall and turned again, hands flexing, and then he grimaced and spit to the side, and that was just an extra little jolt of misery, wasn't it, that taste, that fucking taste. He normally took the wolfsbane in a series of shot glasses, let as little touch his tongue as possible, but the taste had really lingered this go-round. Spitting again -- useless, he could still fucking taste it, bitter and cloying -- and then he reached a wall, and turned, stalked in the opposite direction.

Soon soon soon, he could feel it, but it wasn't -- he hit a wall and stopped. It didn't make sense, his skin was usually rippling by now, his spine shifting. It didn't -- he didn't understand, and he was so hungry. Fucking hell, fucking room, fucking walls. Walls walls always walls. He bared his teeth and slammed a fist into the wall -- fucking wall -- and then froze.

Fist. Hands. He had hands. He licked his lips -- lips, not snout, and then slowly smiled, wide and toothy. Well. This was -- this could work. This was convenient, this was sneaky. He didn't do sneaky, because sneaky was not what tearing someone's throat out with your teeth was about, but he'd been locked away for so long, and this -- this was a gift, a chocolate-covered blood-filled cherry just for him, and he was going to take it. He could smell them, the wizards and witches, just out of reach, and oh yes. He looked like a lamb, but he had teeth, and they were going to be sorry for all these fucking walls.

He pondered his options, flexing his wonderful, lovely, opposable fingers, and then looked around himself. There. Door. Locked, locked with bolts and with magic, but he could do this. He was going to figure this out, except then he howled in outrage as his knees came in sharp contact with the floor. Two legs now, two legs. Keep it together, remember how the humans walk and talk and taste, mmm. Taste.

Staggering back upright, he glared at his feet and shook himself until the body felt -- he knew this, yes, he did. His human self knew this, and he would take that and use it, pathetic whiny human knowledge. He shoved at the door, snarled and then shoved again, and again, and harder, with his rage and longing for open spaces and running and teeth and things to tear, and it opened. Swung right open, easy as biting into a bunny.

Gerard stared at the empty corridor for a moment, hardly able to believe it, and then giggled in delight and bounded forth, licking his teeth. This was going to be fantastic.

Mr Beckett,

If you could stop by the hospital wing sometime in the next few days, I have something I wish to discuss with you regarding the blood tests I took last month as soon as possible.

Sincerely,
Healer R. Bryar

Who: Bob and Mikey, way too many littles, and eventually a Gerard
When: Tuesday afternoon, December 22nd
Where: A secondary kitchen in the lower levels
What: Adventures in baking!

Tying one of the musty-smelling aprons he'd found in a drawer around his waist, Bob tried to work out how the hell Brian had talked him into doing this... insane experiment. Activity. Thing. Bob was pretty sure it had involved Brian talking about keeping the holidays fun for the lower years while plying Bob with firewhiskey. Sneaky bastard.

Oh well, at least Brian had been able to discover this room down the hall from the main kitchens. It was, apparently, a holdover from the archaic times yore when all young witches were required to take a home economics course as a part of their education. Neither Bob nor Brian had been aware of that little tidbit of history before, which was probably a good thing. Apparently the course and room had been so forgotten to memory that not even the occupiers had managed to find the dusty little classroom. "Right, you lot. First things first. All of you must know basic cleaning charms, right? Grab an apron from the bottom left drawers in your stations and start cleaning," he told the students who were milling about the room.

A curly-topped third year started to groan loudly, though he quickly ceased when Bob's eyes snapped onto him. "I wouldn't complain if I were you. Either we clean this room and use it, or we use the main castle kitchens and risk angering the trasgus—as well as the rest of the school if any of you happen to do something to endanger the survival of dinner," Bob told him. The kid muttered an apology and quickly pulled on an apron.

Seriously. This was not in Bob's job description.

Who: Everyone is invited to attend
When: December 20th - December 21st
Where: The Great Hall, Entrance Hall, and Courtyard
What: Yule Vigil

On the longest night of the year, all lights in the castle will be doused with the exception of one main bonfire in the Great Hall, which will burn throughout the night. The vigil is a time for reflection on the past year, preparing to face the new year to come. Those who keep it will not sleep until after they watch the sunrise.

Since this is an all-night event, feel free to start multiple threads and jump around as you wish. It's a good time for telling stories, remembering lost friends, making amends, setting new goals, and resolving to change for the better. No one is required to attend or to stay for the entire night if they do not wish to do so.

The bonfire is in the Great Hall, but the doors are open to the Entrance Hall, which will spill enough light outside that people can mingle there. The Entrance Hall is an easier place to have more animated conversations without disturbing the solemnity of those gathered in the Great Hall to reflect in the firelight. The Courtyard is lit by the moon and stars, and is a good place to go for those who feel the desire to commune with nature, or who need a breath of fresh air.

Who: Anyone and everyone!
When: Sunday morning, December 20th
Where: The staff lounge
What: Weekly staff meeting. Let's get this holiday party started!

"So Professor Saporta will be in charge of decorations," Brian concluded, still without any idea of how that had come about, and hoping it hadn't actually been his decision, as he feared it might have been. "Professor Smith can handle the trees, and that should put us in good stead for the end of the week. Hogwarts has a seasonal decoration charm, which I can put into effect now, that should save us all a great deal of trouble."

He cast the charm, the castle recognizing his authority as headmaster and bending neatly to his will. Garlands sprung up around the sideboard, crystal icicles glistened overhead, and a sprig of holly landed neatly on the tea tray. Excellent. "Professor Urie will be accompanying the carolers to..."

Snow began falling lightly in the staff lounge. One the sideboard, a festive wooden reindeer ornament leapt to the floor, charged beneath the table, and dashed through the door with a squeal, singing "FA LA LA LA LA," in a high-pitched festive wooden reindeer voice. As Brian opened his mouth to speak, a shower of miniature candy canes fell out of the air to rain down on everyone's heads.

"For fuck's sake," Brian said. Overhead, a candy cane wobbled loose from its perch on a twinkling icicle and smacked him on the nose. "Keep going," he ordered, pointing back at his staff, and went off down the hallway in a swirl of headmasterly robes, following the singing reindeer.

Who: Bob and Brendon
When: Tuesday morning, December 1st
Where: Mysterious warded room and various works of art.
What: Lost! Lost in lala painting (and tapestry) land!

Having spent the majority the the past two weeks cooped up in the hospital wing and avoiding the wrath of Lazzara (though honestly, Bob didn't know why the man had been so upset about Bob's solution to get him out of Bob's hair), Bob had decided that it was high time to venture out into the world. Also, Betsy had gone out wandering the day before and had yet to return and, alright, Bob worried a bit too much about his cat sometimes. He felt completely justified about this, however—there weren't many cats that could play chess quite so well as Betsy, and she was especially nice company on cold winter nights, such as the sort that were fast approaching.

Still, Bob wasn't about to let on to anyone know just how attached he was to his cat. Thus the reason why he was doing his searching at a time when everyone should either be in class or, well, in class. Ah, the advantages of being a member of the support staff.

Bob started checking the rooms in the hall he was in, opening doors and quickly poking his head in to do a quick search. While he didn't expect to find Betsy in any of these, since clever as she was, she had yet to acquire opposable thumbs, but there was still the possibility that she'd accidentally been trapped after following someone in. He was about to declare this hall a wash when a flash of color in an otherwise dark room caught his eye. Hesitating slightly, Bob cautiously entered, raising his wand and lighting it with a weak Lumos.

At first he couldn't figure out what in the room had caught his attention in the first place, but as he went further in, he noticed a large painting on the wall opposite the door. The subject was, oddly enough, of a dairy maid pouring milk from a pail into a canister, while a cat danced around her feet, no doubt trying to trip her up and cause her to spill some milk for it. A somewhat odd subject for a painting in Hogwarts, but not unheard of. The thing that caught Bob's attention and caused him to freeze up with dread, was that the cat looked just like Betsy from its tortoiseshell markings to its tufted tail and ears. Could Betsy have gotten caught in the painting? This was Hogwarts, after all, and stranger things had happened in the past.

Feeling sick, Bob moved closer, examining the painting with a keener eye, now, noticing other details now. A discarded shoe under a stack of hay, a pink ribbon caught on a splintered post, a man in the distance on the verge of entering the forest. It was the man that drew Bob's attention now, looking vaguely familiar in a way that worried and niggled at his mind. Moving closer still, Bob saw that the man was glancing back over his shoulder, back and straight out through the frame of the painting, with a worried look and a gaze so intense Bob would have glanced over his own, had he not at that moment finally recognized and placed the face. It was his own.

And suddenly there were trees all around him and he was stumbling backwards in shock and dismay.

Who: Bob, Gabe, William, Gerard
Where: Bob's rooms/the hospital wing
What: Nightime visitations (what happened after this).
When: Late Thursday evening, November 26th 19th (whoops)

One of the nice things about being the healer, in Bob's opinion, was that his rooms were right next to the hospital wing, with doors connecting them to both the wing itself and the adjoining hall. This meant that as long as he has some means of acquiring food and drink (Auror Way, random first years, and the occasional Summoning spell seemed to do fine), he need never actually leave his bubble of safety and risk running into a peeved Lazzara. Not that Bob was planning on hiding away for the rest of the school year or anything crazy like that. Just until the Defense professor cooled down a bit over his forced delivery to Williams. So, sometime after the Christmas holidays, perhaps.

The unfortunate thing about having rooms right next to the hospital wing was that people had no trouble finding him. Which was a good thing, really, since it wasn't as if Bob wanted anyone to be in pain or something longer than they needed to be just because they could find the healer. Still, he couldn't help a small sigh of regret as he was called away from his current game with Betsy (Bob was going to win this one, he could feel it) by someone banging on the door.

Bob limped over to the door and opened it.

WHO: Adam and Bob... and Nate... and Hayley...
WHERE: Bob's House of Pain, aka the Infirmary, a corridor, and Hayley's Office of Doom.
WHAT: The few, the proud, the memory-having.
WHEN: Friday afternoon (11/13)

While Adam was not a fan of Bob, he had heard a rumor, and that rumor was something to the effect of the following: Bob Bryar, nurse extraordinaire, retained his memory in a way that - sweet Merlin - so many other teachers had not. And man, did Adam ever need some sympathy. And possibly someone to put him out of his misery.

That was why he aimed toward the infirmary, anyway. Bob would have fun spells and potions and unctions and whatever else and he would understand why it was so damn hard to be adult-but-trapped-in-a-teenaged body. Also, Bob was probably swimming in his robes just as badly as Adam was. Adam couldn't remember being this short. And now he was. And it was weird. Even thinking "At Least I'm Not Patrick Stumph" didn't make him feel any better.

He burst into the infirmary. "Bryar! I need help!" he said, hoping that, well, Bob was around to witness his dramatic entrance. Otherwise it was a waste.

Who: Bob and Gerard
Where: hospital wing
What: coffee monkeys are wonderful things
When: Saturday morning around breakfast (11/14)

It was with great reluctance that Bob dragged himself out of bed and over to Betsy's dishes when she woke him up. He cleaned them with a charm, then filled them again. She immediately set in, eating as quickly as she possibly could while still maintaining an air of dainty sophistication. Cats, go figure.

He really wished he could go back to bed, but no doubt the daily influx of confused, de-aged amnesiacs would be starting up soon, which meant he should actually see about making it into the hospital wing. Sighing, Bob got dressed, trying to ignore the way his seventeen-year-old body practically swam in the robes, and did just that, albeit not without some trips and stumbles. Brian better fix this soon, Bob had been overjoyed when he'd grown out of his teenage awkwardness and he was not enjoying this reminder of it. Not to mention that he really, really was not looking forward to aging at an increased rate over what would no doubt be a very short period of time. Nobody ever thought about trying to fix things like this in a gradual, easing manner. Bah.

Healer Bryar,

I'm certain you're dealing with more pressing issues at the moment, but if you should happen to have some spare time, I would appreciate a consultation or any wisdom you may have on what to do when one has just undergone roughly nine years and fourteen inches of growing pains in the space of a few seconds.

Essentially: Everything hurts. Please advise.

Sincerely,
W. Beckett

Who: Bob, Mikey, and Patrick
Where: Hospital wing
What: Amnesia is not fun.
When: Wednesday morning (11/11)

Having sent another distraught seventh year on her way after reassuring her that yes, once this whole age fiasco was sorted out, it was highly probable her breasts would return to their previous cup size (Bob didn't pretend to understand the mechanics of the eighteen—now sixteen—year-old female mind), Bob flopped back on a bed and sighed. He wasn't exactly sure of what rate he was losing years, currently, since he didn't feel all that different today than he had on Monday, but he figured he still had plenty of time before he hit his teens. Probably. He hoped. Growing pains were not something Bob was looking forward to going through a second time, after all.

Who: Bob and William
Where: Hospital wing
What: Darn those pesky magical knives.
When: Late morning Tuesday (11/03)

It took some time, but eventually Bob was able to clear out all the zombie victims from the hospital wing without too much trouble. He didn't doubt that this was likely because most injuries were minor ones. If pressed, he might've even admitted (albeit grudgingly) that the healing process was significantly sped up in many cases by the work Auror Way had done prior to Bob's arrival.

Either way, clearing out the gangrene cases left Bob with the necessary free time to read and review the case files left by his predecessor as well as make certain changes, improvements, and adjustments to the layout of his new domain. Important adjustments like wards repelling certain over-eager healers. Bob did not want to have to deal with Healer Williams unless he absolutely had to.

Who: Bob, Gerard, William, and Travis
Where: Hospital wing
What: Settling in and patching up injuries.
When: Around and during lunch on Tuesday (10/27)

While he would've preferred some time to settle in and get everything arranged according to his preferences before starting in on any patients, it was apparent to Bob as he pushed the door to the hospital wing open and stepped inside that he was not going to get that chance. A good quarter of the wings beds looked to be filled from where he stood, and if Adam was to believed, these were just those who were badly enough injured that they couldn't walk about.

Several students glanced up with fearful looks as Bob limped the rest of the into the room. Of these, some relaxed when they saw Betsy winding around Bob's ankles, arching her back and rubbing against his calf before trotting off to the back of the room, hopping up onto the pillow of one of the free cots, and promptly curling up and falling asleep. Still others relaxed when Bob smiled at them, but a number still looked tense despite that. Which was to be expected after what they'd all just been through.

"Hello. I'm Healer Bryar. I hear the old school nurse had an unfortunate encounter with undead house elves last week, so I'll be replacing her until the headmaster manages to con some other sucker into taking the job. Now, does anyone happen to know who's in the worst condition?" Bob waited a little while, taking the time to take off his pack and drop it next to the door. When it became clear no one was going to volunteer, he sighed and fixed them all with a look. "While I'm sure you lot would love to stay in bed and keep on skipping class, I'm going to tell you right now that without the house elves, there aren't enough available and able bodies in the school to keep your sheets clean. Have any of you seen bedsores? Not a pretty sight, but hey, they happen."

WHO: Adam and Bob
WHERE: the kitchen
WHAT: Bob's arrival, post-apocalypse.
WHEN: just before lunch, Tuesday (10/27)

Chore rotations now that all of the school's house elves were re-dead, as opposed to un-dead, sucked. In fact, while he was standing in the kitchens trying to make the most out of the crazy insta-prep meals that had been delivered to feed the army that was in residence at Hogwarts, he was thinking of the best way to get out of ever having to be in on laundry rotation. Or dusting. He was morally opposed to dusting. He had allergies. Lots of students (and teachers!) had cats. It made Adam want to die. It was a legitimate thing.

But he didn't mind fussing around in the kitchen, even though it wasn't like actual cooking, more like standing around and pointing his wand at things to heat them up, or mixing them together. It was kind of boring, actually. But it was better than doing laundry. Or dusting. He was wondering where Schechter even got this amount of stuff on such short notice. Clearly Hogsmeade had hidden shops he hadn't discovered yet. Or Schechter had freaky connections. Adam was pretty sure he knew which was the case. He decided to stop thinking about it and get back to work, rummaging through boxes and singing to himself under his breath as he worked.

Bob,

I heard you might still be looking for a new place of employment. You know I’ve been made Headmaster of Hogwarts, and we’re looking for a new school nurse. The circumstances surrounding this vacancy are unfortunate, to say the least, and I’d be lying if I said similar dire situations were even all that unusual around here. I don’t plan on losing anyone else, though, and the position comes with room, board and salary if that makes it any more appealing. I know you turned me down once before, but I wouldn’t be asking again if we weren’t fairly desperate. I have thirty-two injured kids and several wounded staff members right now if you would even consider filling in as a temporary measure, until I can find a full-time replacement. We could use someone with a firm hand and a soft heart.

You know where to find me if you’re interested.

Sincerely,
Brian Schechter