SMILE » n. longbottom

xxiii

"EVALUATIONS OF PROCEDURES"

"St. Mungo's Hospital have been operated by half-bred beings since its founding, what are the advantages to come out for that?" A man's thoughts began from the gardens which held silence and peace. He continued to think, "Inexpensive meek procedures are only operated there — not the operations of which is expected to subtracts the effects of my daughter's illness."

Mr. Wallace had kept his thoughts inside of the corners of his mind, where he and only he evaluated his thoughts. The Wallace suppressor had truly not thought of himself as aggressive, but intelligent — as many had not considered him to be.

When he had heard of the incident regarding his only child and daughter, Alana Wallace. And he had arrived back to abode mansion from his business trip.

His wife and daughter had not arrived yet, and besides if they had — he wouldn't have heard of them enter. Mr. Wallace was entirely away from the walls of the mansion that he had been presented with years ago.

His thoughts were scraping the insides of his skull, resulting in a horrid headache that throbbed continuously. What had Alana expected of him? Mr. Wallace was to evaluate everything that she would've suggest. Had she expected him to immediately send her to get done of a so-called "procedure" that he had known nothing of?

Perhaps what my daughter had suggested will truly heal her, what then? Were she return to Hogwarts after healing?

He heard a pitter-patter of footsteps against dirt in the silence as he stared at the sky that had shone the melting of blue into yellow, and yellow melting onto the bright blinding light of the sun. He had wondered what the footsteps could've belonged to, no animals ran freely across these gardens.

Mr. Wallace's wondering came to an end as a short being came into view and voices its own words, "Mrs. and Ms. Wallace have arrived at the Mansion."

It was a house elf that he hated the least, since he spoke the truth and no nonsense. He nodded, "Very well. Your information is well respected, as it had not been expected. Tell my wife and daughter that my presence shall be held delayed — I wish to think of a certain matter."

The creature bowed its head and set off for the building that shadowed the entire area behind it. Mr. Wallace frowned deeply at his current situation that he had regretted deeply — a current situation that only he knew of and the many others included.

A certain force had cursed him and stolen his later lifestyle that he remembered with his wife, and when Alana was just a baby. When his attitude and thoughts were entirely true and happy.

He missed the days when they would go out for a picnicking lunch in their gardens when his wife would dress in her finest dress and smile a smile that he could only wish to see again, and watch Alana play and rummage in the leaves that had fallen from nearby trees when Fall had taken its full course.

"The times are changing — and history is rewriting itself with yet another fresh page of parchment," he thought lastly, as he brought his vision back towards the skies that hung over his head and lit up the buildings and trees beneath it.

He had arrived late that night and ordered for the meal-staff of the house elves to prepare a supper for him and his family. They sat in the main dining room of the mansion, and the conservation and feel of the room was not heading for a neat beginning.

It was silent as though he was underwater, as though the sounds had been softened to a smaller frequency. He breathed in a mouthful of air and looked to his daughter who sat silently in the wooden chairs that were alike to the dining table, they were all waiting for the meal-courses to arrive, "Alana, did you enjoy your fourth year at Hogwarts, or even the Triwizard Tournament? I read in the papers of the boy, Harry Potter, had been selected as a champion. He's not really twelve, is he?"

"I'm not entirely sure, father. We're in the same grade, so I suppose that he could be between the ages of thirteen and fifteen. Many things happened at the tournament. A boy by the name of Cedric Diggory turned up dead by the end of the third task, apparently; he was in the same house as I — we never really spoke when he was alive and well."

Alana had conformed the age of the boy-who-lived, and had stated the death of a Hufflepuff boy who had died in the tournament. The parents of the girl looked down, as though they were honoring the death of the boy. Her mother was the first to return her vision back to her daughter, "It must be a true devastation to his family, to lose a child — must be hard, I imagine. You wrote of a 'John Doe' in your letters, whom must he be?"

Alana sighed as her mother had made the mistake that her date had been literally named "John Doe." She looked to her mother, not impressed that her mother had so simply thrown away the topic of death, "John Doe is a phrase that is used to describe the normality of a male. Whereas for a female, the phrase is altered to: Jane Doe."

"Oh," her mother simply complied, Mrs. Wallace had not wished to speak of the matter of the phrase "John Doe," so she left the topic at that and continued her questioning of sorts. "Did you enjoy Arithmancy? Your Professor had wrote to me of your profession in her class, and that she saw, apparently, 'you as a shadow of herself.'"

Alana nodded and her eyes and speech had become more soft and decent than what they previously had been, "I think I did exceptionally well for the class of Arithmancy. My professor should be paid more, she knows how to properly teach the magic within the form of mathematics."

Her parents nodded to their daughter's words of compassion and belief in her Arithmancy professor. They appreciated that she had begun to process a sort of belief that she processed herself.

Mr. Wallace spoke up as they finished a well amount of nodding, "We'll have to evaluate whether or not to allow you to be operated in St. Mungo's. The prices may be high, and that is saying a lot considering the fact that our many vaults are filled at every inch with a Galleon. The procedure is a rare thing to expect out of the hospital, perhaps they cannot cast the spell — what then, Alana?"

"Anybody can do anything they put mind their mind to. Perhaps St. Mungo's cannot cast the spell, then anyone shall cast it," she evaluated to not the hospital that she had wished for, but instead complied with a different plan, a plan that made her parents fear for the days to come, whether they be good or bad. "If the spell does not cure my illness, then so be it. I'll live out my remaining days as fully as I possibly can."