Hermione was working overtime, again.




To tell the truth, she wasn't at all tired. The strange smells of the potions and chemicals brewing in the laboratory were giving her an adrenaline charge, and she strolled about the lab idly, eye on the clock as she waited for the right moment to fill a flask with the latest concoction and test it out.

Dr. Hamlin was very busy in his corner of the lab, which was perhaps the filthiest room Hermione had ever seen. Spills were never cleaned until the potions had already congealed onto the tables, papers were strewn all about, and dust ran rampant. If he weren't brilliant, Hermione would have been terrified of her boss.

She still had a quarter of an hour before the potion would be ready, so she headed over to Hamlin's side of the lab, and began to tidy up. First she wiped up the latest spill; then she commenced stacking the papers scattered about.

Always curious, she read these notes and memos; some were receipts for ingredients, others were Dr. Hamlin's personal mail, already fallen out of his pocket.

One, with handwriting that seemed familiar and caught Hermione's eye at once, was relatively unstained and seemed recent.

Dear Dr. Hamlin,

I am writing to you to ask your opinion on a most serious matter. I am a mediwizard and mind-healer at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I was put in charge of what seemed to be an ordinary case of three intoxicated wizards needing a quick check-up and an escort home.

On 10 November, at approximately 5:00 pm, just a few minutes after their arrival, I was notified that one of the patients was not responding to regular treatments, and his vitals along with his brain activity had dropped alarmingly. After checking over them myself, I discovered that the patient was not a wizard, but a muggle.

I'm sure you can understand my dilemma. The muggle, who we have not yet identified, was given two waking charms, two awareness charms, and two doses of Pepper-Up Potion. I managed to stop any more magical remedies, but I'm afraid the potions and charms have begun their work.

I was referred to you by a friend who knows your speciality. I'm also a friend of one of your apprentices, Hermione Granger. Please, Doctor, even a simple hint would be most appreciated.

Neville Longbottom

Hermione gasped. Dr. Hamlin did not move. She checked the date--a few days old. She turned roughly to Dr. Hamlin, and grabbed his shoulder.

"Have you seen this?" she demanded, shoving the letter under his bespectacled nose.

He stared myopically at it, and then nodded.

"Yes. Someone else asking for personal favors. Ridiculous." He returned to his work at once.

"Dr. Hamlin! This is my friend Neville Longbottom! He would never ask for favors--did you read the note?" Hermione cried. "This is urgent!"

"I'm certain St. Mungo's can handle it," said Dr. Hamlin grumpily. "I don't have time to spare for individual cases. I am doing research, not doling out favors!"

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, and then snapped it shut, angrily. This poor Muggle--suffering at the hands of those imbeciles at St. Mungo's! She'd heard what it was like there from Ginny, and it made Hermione angry enough to twitch. With a firm turn of her heel, she spun around, clutching the letter with white-knuckled hands. The quarter of the hour had passed; the potion was boiling over.

Hermione sat down to write Neville a response.