Brand-new rifters are infrequent enough that the organisation hasn’t been overwhelmed with receiving them, but common enough that orientation has become a well-honed mechanism by now. There’s a list of people to talk to, requisitions and supplies and clothing to receive. There’s introductory lessons to help rifters acclimate to the history and culture. There’s a curriculum.

And one of the line items, neatly written in someone else’s hand, is generically named: Head Healer.

So Hermione Granger awaits her next speaker in one of the empty project rooms, appointed for this one-on-one interview-slash-discussion-slash-lecture; there’s a table with a few chairs tucked in around it, a pitcher of water, a couple empty cups, attempts at making it comfortable.

The man in question comes bustling in right on time, carrying a small stack of paper, a quill, an inkwell. He’s not wearing the exact scarlet cloak he once did, but one quite similar of Fade-touched silk.

“Morning, welcome,” he says, brisk, as he sets down the supplies; there’s a professorial air to the way he strides into the room. A familiar face, grey-streaked hair. “Doctor Strange. I’m the Head Healer here.”

When he looks at her, it’s without any recognition, only neutral polite greeting.