Scene 1: Helena's bedside in St. Mungo's Janus Thickey Ward
Time: late August 2108

Violet was sitting beside her mother's bed, as she had been doing every day for nearly two months, reading over one of her pieces in her writing journal. Every once in a while she glanced up and looked over at the sleeping form of her mother, Helena Blackthorne Hurst. She hadn't seen her mother since she was a little girl and had been starting to forget her. Even now, she was having trouble reconciling the face on the bed before her with the idealized and younger version in her memory. She was dying of both concern and curiousity, anxious to find out more about her mother's condition, but also eager to find out just where she had been all these years.

But the healers were still unwilling to make a firm diagnosis, yet, and as for what had happened over the last ten or so years, Violet would have to wait until (not if! her mother remembered. So for now, she read, and wrote, and waited.

Helena Blackthorne, once an elegant and prim woman, now laid on the bed in a ward at St. Mungo’s looking quite wasted away. Her hair was wispy with streaks of grey. Her face had lost that rosy colour. Her cheeks had sunk and the proper hourglass figure she had once sported was completely gone. Her eyes, when opened, carried a blank and haunted look. No one would recognise the current Helena from the one that was so lively many years ago.

As it was, the woman had fallen into one of her many bouts of napping but rather than having a peaceful rest, she was plagued by frightening dreams. The present one she was in saw her being chased by an unknown assailant. Whether it be human or creature, being or spirit, she could not tell. All Helena could make out was its raspy breath mingled with her own heavy panting from trying to elude it. “Sam!’’ Even as she called out in her dreams, the name actually echoed through the room she was in.

It was a conundrum to say the very least.

And since their latest charge had been rescued off the streets of London and deposited in their care, the healers of St. Mungos had tried to figure it out. Two months of running scans and trying the treatments that they could do without risking adverse reactions without all the facts and they were no closer to any truth in the matter. And Kat was more than a little frustrated on the matter as one of the healers in place to take care of the poor woman.

And not just for the inability to help the woman…but for having no answers to give to the younger woman who sat by her patient’s bedside day in and day out. Her daughter but not remembered as such which had to be gut wrenching no matter what relationship they had. With one woman napping and the other busy reading, Kat did her best to slip into their midst without being disturbing, her wand discretly out and in her grasp as she cast the spells to check all the woman’s vitals and anything else that might pop up.

SAM!

The healer’s brown eyes switched to her patient’s face at the yell only to find her still unconscious. “Mrs. Hurst…” she remarked, loud enough the sleeping woman might hear but not too shocking of a tone at first knowing from years of experience that to jolt a patient awake wasn’t usually a good move to make.

Violet was startled out her thoughts by the sound of her mother's voice calling out that name--Sam! Violet harshly sucked in her breath. Her father's name. Violet wasn't sure what to make of it. As a little girl, she had been excited and amused by the forbidden letters she had received from her Muggle father, right under the noses of her grandfather and uncles. And when he had finally invited her to come with him to New York, it had seemed a glorious adventure. But the thirteen-year-old Violet had soon learned that what her father said was often not exactly in agreement with reality. She had eventually realized that Sam Hurst was nothing better than a petty con man, always trying to hit on the big scheme that would set him off for life, and what was worse, he seemed to expect that his daughter and her magic could make that happen for him. Which just goes to show how much Muggles knew about magic, because after only one year at Hogwarts, Violet couldn't have done much to help him even if she'd wanted to. Fortunately her governess, Miss Howard, had shown up before the year was out to rescue Violet and bring her home to her grandfather's house.

And the very worst thing about it all was that her father could not tell her where her mother was or what had become of her. And now here was that very same mother, looking very different from how Violet remembered her (but to be honest, Violet only vaguely remembered the mother she hadn't seen since she was a little girl). And she was calling out for that self-same no-good husband that Violet had been so disappointed in. Was she calling out for help? Accusing him? Or...or for love? Violet just had no idea, but every time her mother said anything remotely comprehensible she allowed to feel encouraged.

The voice calling to her did reach her though much like sounds outside of one’s dreams, it actually mixed into Helena’s current dream. The result was that the words ‘Mrs. Hurst’ seemed to have come from the being chasing her. In full panic mode, the woman sat up rather abruptly. Her skin was drenched in sweat, her eyes wide, her heart hammering. A fear loomed over her - the fear of the being catching up to her. She feared each ragged breath would be her last and there would be no one to save her. No Sam would come - whoever he was.

Helena slowly became aware that she was in the room where everyone fussed over her. There was no being, no creature here. A thin hand reached for one of the pillows on her bed and then its equally thin partner joined the first in clutching the pillow to her chest, as though using it as a shield from the two females before her. Helena’s eyes moved back and forth between them, recognition of their faces dawning on her though she still did not quite believe the younger one to be her daughter as she was told.

It almost seemed as if her own call had gotten her patient’s attention in her dreams, but clearly not in a good way. Kat reacted quickly to her movement and panic, not wanting the woman to come to harm especially by her own doing in her fear. Though she was loath to use a calming spell too often to rely on it. Or run the risk her patient would think she was doing something negative on her. “Easy there… you’re alright,” the healer remarked in calm tone to try and ease her from the state she found herself in as she became more and more aware of her surroundings.

Well as alright as she could be with her memory issues. “You’re safe,” Kat assured her, conjuring up a cloth to gently wipe the sweat from her charge’s brow if the woman let her get near her. It was one of the hardest complications on trying to figure out what was truly wrong with the woman, having to worry what actions would be something the woman would react badly to.

It broke Violet's heart to see her mother look right at her and not seem to really know her--though truth be told, Violet only vaguely remembered Helena from her childhood. And the woman in this hospital bed looked very different from what she did remember. She supposed she looked a lot different, too, after all these years--she'd been just a child then, and now she was a young adult. No wonder her mother didn't recognize her.

"It's all right, mum, it'll be all right," she murmured softly, trying not to crowd around the bed, where the Healer already was, and make her mother feel they were ganging up on her. Violet wasn't even sure she should venture to say anything--the Healer's brief comment seemed to have had a negative effect and Violet didn't want to add to it. But still, she couldn't just stand around and do nothing.

I need to talk to that Healer later, when Mum's settled down--ask her what she really things is wrong and when she might get better (Violet refused to think 'if she got better'). And her grandfather! or one of her uncles--they needed to get back down here more. They were adults when Helena had left, she might still remember them. Violet used to think she couldn't wait until she was grown up and could take charge of things, but being an adult was hard and now she rather wished she didn't have to do it all.

Fearful eyes shifted to the older woman, Helena’s mind racing to place her. It took her half a minute to recall that this was a Healer - Kat. Kat, who took care of her constantly. It was the Healer’s calming presence, voice and words that made her grip ease on the pillow just a fraction. Safe. Yes, it seemed that she was safe. Helena panicked jolt back to reality was slowly registering that and what had just been experienced was nothing but a bad dream. One of the many nightmares, actually.

There was a quick nod from the woman. Despite being familiar with Kat, it did not stop her from flinching horribly when the cloth came into contact with her skin. Helena didn’t have the energy to fight anyone off. If anything, she felt more exhausted today, whatever the reason may be. It was why those seemingly dead eyes stared right at Violet. Once again, Helena wracked her brain violently in an attempt to draw up some memory of this girl, this girl as a baby, Sam, her life before St. Mungo’s.

Still…

Her mind remained a blank canvas.

She saw the flinch and almost ceased her movement to help wipe her brow, but her patient seemed to give in after the original reaction, so she followed through. Her actions sought to make her comfortable as she calmed down, going through the motions that came with each cycle of the unknown. “There you are…” Kat said as she stepped back as not to crowd her while watching Helen as she stared blankly at her daughter. The recognition still remained too out of reach it seemed, a situation that bugged her to no end.

“Here’s some water,” she offered, placing a cup on the table within reach. Her patient not an invalid as much as her brain appeared to be playing tricks with her. Kat using the distraction of the water for checking further on the woman’s vitals. There just wasn’t a clear answer, the healer sighing softly at what she was seeing as she moved back towards the door.

"I'm just going to step away for a bit, Mu.... Helena. You just try to get some rest," Violet said in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. Then she smiled softly at her mother as she got up and followed the healer to the door. She wanted to have a few words with the woman, and maybe get some answers.


Scene 2: Just outside Helena's hospital room door in St. Mungo's Janus Thickey Ward
Time: late August 2108

Violet had followed the Healer as she headed for the door and motioned her to step out into the hall where they could talk without disturbing her mother.

"Do you healers still not know what's the matter with her? If this is something physical or magical? It's just been weeks and she doesn't seem any closer to recovering any sense of herself than she was in the beginning." Violet was trying her best to be politic (and not behave like her grandfather), but her impatience and worry was starting to show.

Water was good.

Helena’s lips and throat were parched, anyhow. Her eyes went to the cup and after the slightest hesitation, wrapped extremely thin fingers around the object. The contents were downed in one gulp, the liquid helping to revitalise her somewhat. The woman was also now calmer and suddenly, she itched for something to do. Perhaps a book to read on her own, or some yarn and a needle to do some knitting. Helena loved to knit.

A blank gaze responded to Violet’s words. This girl and the Healer were undoubtedly about to discuss her; Helena could sense it. The fact did not bother her as she slumped back onto her pillows. There would be no more sleep for her, at least not for now, lest she was to be haunted by nightmares again.

Kat led the way outside of the room, getting the feeling even before the younger woman motioned to her that she wanted to talk about her mother and her continued condition. The healer braced herself for confrontation from her companion once they were in the hallway, knowing she had to be just as frustrated if not more than she and the other healers overseeing her mother’s care. She shook her head at the first question posed to her, staying quiet until the woman finished what she had to ask or say to her.

“The most common potential causes for her condition, both magical and mundane, have all been checked multiple times.” To make sure that they weren’t reading clues and results wrong, to make sure delayed reveals of symptoms or causes weren’t missed. “There is just no clear ‘this is the cause’ presenting itself even as we’ve moved on to testing for the rarer causes.” They were in watch and wait mode at the moment, looking to see if any of the woman’s behavior gave them any clues, especially if her memory loss wasn’t brought on by an outside source but an outside person.

Violet frowned, because this is not the kind of answer she wanted to hear. But she tried to control her impatience, because she'd begun to learn as she grew older that being civil usually worked better than getting angry and high-handed, like some members of her family. But it was getting hard--she was tired, and worried, and out of ideas.

"Isn't there anything...can't something be done to help? I try to be here for her, but she doesn't even recognize me; sometimes I think my being here makes it worse." Violet had been worrying that was the case more and more of late, and yet, she couldn't just stay away. She was really hoping this healer wasn't going to tell her that her absence would be better for her mother.

"She keeps calling out for 'Sam'--I don't know if you know who that is, but I think it's my father she's calling for. I'm not sure exactly where he is now, and..and I'm not sure if he would help, or if he's part of the problem. Until I know for sure that he's not involved with what happened to her, I'm afraid to try to find him." Violet had been very disenchanted with her father when she'd run away to be with him eight years ago--he seemed to her 13 year old self to be a thoroughly selfish and unethical person. And he'd had no idea what had happened to his wife, and didn't seem to be trying very hard to find out. But the way her mother called his name--with longing and hope, like she expected him to arrive and save her. Violet had to admit, now that she was a young adult, that she really didn't know that much about either of her parents. And with the shape her mother was in, she couldn't afford to make a mistake.

Despite her being civil, the healer had enough experience in these situations to hear the underlying tone in the woman’s voice. Kat could never really blame the families of her patients in such a time as this to have that anger. Shoot, she’d had it when trying to care for her own loved ones who had a habit pf getting into troublesome situations. “We’re not even sure if this is permanent or temporary.” And the extent that had already transpired didn’t necessarily lean in one direction or the other, having heard of people who had lost their memories for longer and still recovered them eventually.

She shook her head as her charge’s daughter seemed to debate her presence at her mother’s side. “No…no having the support of family, even those she may not remember at the time, is good for her,” Kat assured her. “There’s no telling if something you say or do won’t be the trigger that brings her back.” The healer bit the inside of her cheek trying to think. “Is there a song she might have sung or played that she might remember? Music can often be a help to the memory.” It was something she could suggest that may help, the woman listening intently as she was filled in on certain pieces of her patient’s history.

“Do you have a picture…?” Kat questioned having an idea. “Finding out how she reacts to the sight of him could help see if he’s a potential cause or just a seemingly positive memory from the past that she was clinging to." The fact that he hadn’t made an appearance hinted to the fact that perhaps the man in the flesh wasn’t an option or a good idea.

"No!" Violet almost wanted to cry with frustration. "I...I haven't seen her since I was a little girl--like five or six years old. I don't really remember her or my father all that well myself anymore. But...I'll try to remember something that might help." Not even sure if this is permanent or temporary?!? "As for it being temporary or not, I don't even know how long she's been this way--she ran away from home when she was about eighteen and no one in the family's seen anything of her until she was found like this." Violet felt dismayed to think Helena had been wandering around like this for over a decade. Then suddenly an idea came to her. "She was pretty close friends in school with a friend of mine--my ex-governess, actually, but we used to keep in touch. Maybe she might remember something--or maybe," Violet said, getting more excited, "maybe Mother might remember her. Her name's Jane Howard, she works for the Ministry, and she's really awfully smart. It might really help for her to visit." This was such a good idea that Violet was surprised she hadn't thought of it sooner.

"A picture? Um..." Violet realized she was revealing more and more of their family's complicated history and could just imagine her grandfather's face if and when he found out she had been revealing their secrets to an outsider. Well, he could just deal with it--telling the truth to the healers was important to helping her mother's recovery and Violet would endure any embarrassment that involved, and more. "I...I haven't seen him since I was thirteen--about 6 or 7 years ago. And he was...he was moving around a lot at the time and we haven't kept in touch, really..." Violet didn't suppose Sam sending her the occasional pleading and apologetic letter and her stuffing it unopened inside a box in the bottom counted as keeping in touch. "But I do think I have a picture." Violet paused a minute, already planning schemes to track her father down if needed. Then a thought occurred to her. "Well, but he's a Muggle, you see, so--would he even be allowed to come to St. Mungo's, even if we decided it was okay? I mean, he does know about the magical world, because of my mother. And me, of course."

Right…her patient’s memory of daughter or lack of connection to it was complicated by the length of time they had been apart. The woman standing before her was a far cry from the young child she would have been. However, the next bit of information did seem to be something that could be incredibly useful…or just another dead end. “Yes, I would think she would definitely be someone to try and reach out to. Someone that your mother might remember and a connection between all three of you.” A potential way of reconnecting the memories currently laid hidden by whatever the cause.

He was a muggle. Well that most likely ruled out the in person visit.

“Probably not…unless the Ministry was to offer a special ruling.” Likely a long shot. Mungos might be mostly self-governing but the Statute of Secrecy was British Wizarding Law….way above her paygrade. At least at the moment. If it became a matter of importance later on, they would see. “I say stick to Ms. Howard…for now. Keep your mother from being overwhelmed with too much she’s trying to process.” And who knows…if the ministry worker wasn’t the key, she just might be the trail that leads to one.

Scene 3: In and around Helena's hospital room door in St. Mungo's Janus Thickey Ward
Time: September 2108

Violet Blackthorne had stepped out this afternoon 'on personal business,' as she'd told the healers. Unfortunately, her grandfather, Helena's father, had chosen this exact time to make an appearance, not his first in the ward nor his last. A tall, elderly, still handsome aristocrat of the old school, Ignatius Blackthorne, the patriarch of the old Pureblood family, came striding down the halls with an air of entitlement until he reached his daughter's door. He looked right and left in search of some healers on whom he could vent his impatience, but, not seeing any, he went right on into Helena's room without asking permission.

Like everyone else, Helena had good days and bad days.

Today happened to be a good one. She was sitting cross legged on her bed, a book of plain papers spread across her lap. In her hand, she held a regular pencil which she was using to attempt to draw a pretty flower garden. Her aim was to recreate the pleasant dream she’d had the previous night in which she was roaming among rows and rows of flowers. It had been a while since Helena had had a good dream; maybe it would explain why her mood was so lifted today.

Helena had even allowed her Healer to assist with brushing her hair and it now looked healthier than ever piled upon her head in a neat bun. Sensing someone at the door, the woman looked up. A glimmer of recognition, mixed with puzzlement, reflected on her face.

The man was one she was sure she had dreamt of a few times.

Ignatius had come to St. Mungo's that day in a stormy mood, ready to vent his frustrations on whichever healers were in the vicinity of his daughter's room. But the storm vanished swiftly as he entered and found his daughter, Helena, alone. It broke his heart (and, contrary to what some thought, he did have one) to see how changed she was from the slender, beautiful, lively young woman that had snuck out of his house so many years ago to elope with that seedy, uncrupulous, and highly unsuitable Muggle. Ignatius fully blamed Samuel Hurst for his daughter's current condition, but try as he might, he had not been able to dissuade Helena from falling in love with him.

But right now she seemed to be having a good day. She was sitting up, doing things. Ignatius softly and slowly approached her bed and looked down at what she was drawing. It looked rather like the gardens at the Blackthorne home--Helena had always loved them as a child (as had her daughter, Violet). Perhaps she was starting to remember...

"Hello, Helena, child--that's a very pretty drawing," the older man said with more gentleness than anyone in the wizarding community would have thought possible. "We have a garden very like that at home."

When one fell in love, one got rather stubborn and it would seem that one would forsake the entire world for the person one was in love with. Perhaps this had been the case with Helena after her father had refused to give her and Sam his blessings.

As the familiar {as at the same time, unfamiliar} man approached, Helena found herself clutching at the pencil in her hand until her fist turned white. His words only served to confuse her more. For one thing, Helena was no longer a child. “Th-thank you,’’ Helena croaked, her voice somewhat brittle from the lack of use. She continued to study the man. “Home?” Where was home?

And why… why did it invoke warm feelings in her chest?

Ignatius' heart clenched, but he refrained from voicing his feelings. "Yes, home--your home, our home, where you belong, Helena," he continued in the same soft voice he was struggling to use. [b]"It was tall and had gables and bay windows, and large gardens out back, full of flowers and herbs. You had a little gazebo out there that you used to play in, long ago--don't you remember?" Maybe, even if she couldn't remember him, she might remember places or objects--something, anything.

Ignatius really hoped that after his visit he ran into one of the healers so that he could vent his anxiety on someone before he left. Otherwise, it was going to be a bumpy night for the family and house-elves back at Blackthorne Manor.

Helena’s heart and soul were suddenly aching for a place she could not put a single memory to. The man’s words left her to paint images of her own in her mind, and quite frankly, she liked the way they looked even if they made her ache more. Helena shook her head, silent now. Her eyes were wide as she regarded the man. There were so many thoughts running through her mind but none of them told her to disbelieve anything that was being said to her.

Then Helena was asking the question that reverberated loudly in her head. “Can I go there?” She would like to draw the garden there, please. Maybe even this gazebo. The only issue was would the Mungo’s staff let her go? Would that girl who called herself her daughter let her?

Ignatius's icy blue eyes flashed and he laid one of his well-manicured hands over his daughter's gently. "Certainly you may, if you're well enough--it's your home!" he said firmly. Was she well enough for this? Ignatius suddenly didn't care. What Helena needed was a taste of home, and he dared any of the St. Mungo's staff to try to stop him.

While Helena would have been conversing somewhat with this man, she was not prepared for the hand being placed over hers. She flinched violently and snatched her hand away. “Get away!’’ she screeched, snatching up her drawing and clutching it to her chest as though it would shield her from him. If he aimed to placate Helena, he would have to move slower.

A lot slower.

As it was at the moment, Helena was wondering if it would be right to trust him. Did he really intend to take her to her home? To a garden of gorgeous flowers? She stared hard at him, trying to pry the truth from him by reading his facial expressions.