Title: Diagnosis
Pairing: HP/TR and an assortment of others
Disclaimer: I don't really own Harry Potter or Grey's Anatomy (which this was inspired by).
Note: Fairest was giving me a really hard time since it's always so dark and heavy. It's usually around this really plot heavy time that I hit writer's block, so here's a light-hearted medical dramedy.
Full Summary: Harry Potter is screwed. With a penchant for Firewhiskey and late-night parties, he had no idea that he would find a handsome man in his bed the next morning, when he wakes up; already late for his first day at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies as a Healer trainee. He also had no idea that his mom's ex-boyfriend would have an axe to grind, the most eager girl would follow him around like she'd been hit with a Permanent Sticking Charm, or that the handsome man in his bed that morning was his boss, Tom Marvolo Riddle, Head of Spell Damage. Like I said, Harry Potter is screwed.
Diagnosis
Chapter One
Harry Potter was screwed.
The pounding behind his eyes intensified before he opened his eyes to the searing light of day. A powerful wave of nausea washed over him and he swallowed the bile rising from his belly. He groaned in contempt as his head rebelled, a steady pounding that never relented. He knew he shouldn't have gone to the Leaky Cauldron.
It had been a celebratory little thing for himself, really. Harry had just wanted a bottle of Firewhiskey and then he would have gone home to get ready for his big day.
But, then, that gorgeous hair and flawless jawline had to ruin it.
The green-eyed man sat up, swiftly, the world spinning and he whined in the back of his throat, reaching blindly for his glasses. He shoved them onto his face and looked at the floor.
He whimpered, torn between arousal and confusion, as his gaze trailed up long legs, powerful thighs, a tapered waist that widened to a pair of delicious shoulders. The man was still there, with only a blanket covering that delectable arse. Harry tugged his own blanket tighter around his body as his cock twitched. He wondered how he could still get it up when he was feeling so fucking awful.
Harry's head fell back against the dusty loveseat.
Harry hated one-night stands.
"This is so not my thing," Harry whispered to himself.
"Obviously, it was your 'thing' last night."
The older man rolled onto his back, uncaring for his modesty as he stretched his legs and his arms over his head, showing off his well-muscled abdomen. Harry shifted as a sharp ache raced up his spine. That man wasn't little, and suddenly, Harry's body wanted to remind him of that. He squeaked in pain.
"Oh Merlin...this is so humiliating," Harry whispered to himself, mortification coloring his cheeks red.
The man stood up, stretching all of those tight muscles that Harry remembered, suddenly, bunching and tightening as he thrust into him over and over again, after bending him over the armchair. Harry shook his head and he slowly stood up, suddenly glad that he was all alone in the huge townhouse. If Sirius or Remus had been there, they would've never let him live it down.
"You have to leave. Grab your robes and get out," Harry said, firmly.
"I thought that perhaps we could participate in a little...morning coitus," the handsome man said, a smirking adorning his face. Harry swallowed hard.
That smirk was what had drawn Harry to the man in the first place. That and the Firewhiskey he had bought him. That smirk and the dark hair that curled at his name and his large hands. Largest hands that had left marks on Harry's hips, marks that Harry was trying to forget existed. Merlin, the man was so tempting.
"Tempus," Harry said, instead, waving his wand. He winced when he saw the time and jumped up, shaking his head. "Yeah...you using the word 'coitus' and all is kinda sexy but, nope. I'm late for work. On the first day. Not good."
Tom snorted, looking around the house, curiously. "Are we still in London?"
"Um...yes," Harry said, looking around the room, awkwardly. "It's...a wizarding home."
"I can see that. Quite old. Definitely a pureblood home. Is this your home? Wait...are we in your parents' home?" the man asked, delight on his face as he walked around the room, searching for portraits of ancestors or perhaps a tapestry. Harry pressed his hand over his eyes, groaning.
The man was naked and utterly shameless.
"No, we're in my godfather's house. It's the...no. We're not gonna do this. The awkward talking thing that makes it all more uncomfortable," Harry curled his shoulders down tighter. "Now, I'm taking a shower and you'll be out of my house by then. Right…so, goodbye...um..."
Harry flushed darker. He had forgotten the man's name.
"Thought you'd remember my name, with how loud you were screaming it last night," the man quipped with narrowed eyes.
Harry glared, pointing his wand at the man. "Okay. Sorry about that. I'm a bit of a right mess. Now, if you're not out by the time I'm out of the shower, I call the Aurors. My dad's an Auror, so that won't be pleasant. For either of us. But, I'll do it."
Harry turned on his heel and ran towards the door, his blanket streaming behind him. He stopped in the doorway and looked over his shoulder. The man remained, his hands on his hips, still naked and smirking. Harry flushed darker and jabbed his wand at the man, threateningly, before he turned around and stomped down the hall and turned into the bathroom.
He let his blanket pool around his feet and he sighed as he listened for movement on the other side of the door. Harry could hear movement, and he only went to the shower when he heard the front door slam shut. Harry lifted his wand again.
"Tempus," he said again.
It was already nine-thirty.
Merlin, he was so late. He was screwed.
DIAGNOSIS
"Each of you comes today hopeful, wanting in on the game. A month ago you were in school—whether Hogwarts or Beauxbatons or Durmstrang or even Ilvermorny—being taught to be witches and wizards. Today is the start of your training to be Healers. The years you spend here as a Healer trainee will be the best and worst of your life. You will be pushed to the breaking point. Look around you. Say hello to your competition."
Harry looked around at the others, his eyes narrowed behind his round frames as he took them in. Some were more distinct looking than the others. One woman, in particular, looked particularly eager, her frizzy bush somewhat tamed back into a ponytail, lips peeled over teeth just a little too big for her mouth. Harry looked back to the Chief Healer.
"Eight of you will switch to an easier specialty—whether that means joining the bureaucracy at the Ministry or venturing into business practices. Five of you will crack under the pressure. Two of you will be asked to leave. This is your starting line. This is your arena. How well you play, that's up to you," Chief Healer Albus Dumbledore said with a grin on his wizened face. He ran his fingers through his overlong beard, tucked into the belt of his lime green robes. "Now, we shall part under a few choice words: Nitwit! Blubber! Odment! Tweak!"
Harry snorted even as the other Healer trainees laughed, awkwardly. The room was rampant with nerves, already smelling of stale sweat and hormones.
"Is he mad?" one man muttered. He was taller than all the rest, all long gangling limbs and freckles. He ran his hand through a thicket of red hair.
"Mad? He's a genius. Greatest Healer this world's ever seen," Harry said, watching as the man puttered from the room, plucking a lemon drop from his pocket, as he watched them with twinkling blue eyes. "But, yeah, he's stark-raving mad."
The redheaded man looked surprised that Harry had responded and he grinned as the rest of the room spun into action, searching through their lockers for the hunter green robes that marked them as trainees, chattering and shouting over one another. The man extended his hand.
"Ronald Weasley. Just graduated from Hogwarts. Gryffindor," he said with a grin.
Harry's eyebrows rose. He smirked, taking Ron's hand and pumping it up and down. "Same. Harry. I can see why we haven't met. We ran in different circles. I was a Slytherin."
"O-oh," Ron stuttered. His brow furrowed but he didn't snatch his hand away like Harry thought he would've. Ron grinned, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. "Sorry. I...my sister's told me to get my head out of my arse, you know. House loyalties don't mean much out of Hogwarts anymore. You don't seem like a Slytherin."
"I'm not one really. The Hat thought I'd do well in Gryffindor or Slytherin. Wanted to put me in Gryffindor. Picked Slytherin to piss off dear Mum and Dad," Harry laughed as they walked over to their own lockers, pulling out of their robes. Harry stripped, ignoring Ron's stares at the hickeys that lined his collarbone. Quickly, he pulled his robes over his bare skin.
"That's a very Gryffindor thing to do," Ron said, appreciatively.
Harry threw back his head and laughed.
They continued to change, very little talk happening, but already an easy sense of camaraderie was settling. Harry even hoped that they'd be assigned to the same Healer.
"Turpin, Entwhistle, Cornfoot, Hopkins."
"Smith, Abbott, Patil, and Runcorn, you're with me."
Harry looked up, wondering when his Healer would enter the room.
"I'm with the Hellcat. What about you?" Harry asked, curiously.
"I am too!" a voice chirped obnoxiously before Ron could respond. Harry glanced at the eager young woman from before, his eyes wide as he considered her.
"Um...hello," Harry said, startled. He glanced at Ron from the corner of his eye but, the man already looked put off-kilter by the eager young woman as well.
"I'm Hermione Granger. I went to Hogwarts too. Ravenclaw, actually. Definitely not same circles but, I think I recognize you from NEWT classes. Can you believe that there are only four women in the program? How insane, right? Anyway, I'm with the Hellcat too," she babbled, excitedly, her lips curled into a smug little smile. Harry raised a single eyebrow and nodded at her.
"Cool," he drawled, stopping himself from rolling his eyes.
"And you are?"Granger said, turning to look at Ron with less enthusiasm.
"Ron Weasley," Ron said, staring at her with utter bewilderment. Harry hid his grin behind a hand as he looked through his bag for his parchment and quills.
"Pleasure," Granger said, dismissively. "We better be off. I hear the Hellcat doesn't like being kept waiting."
Harry was barely paying Granger any mind as he cursed to himself. He had come up with only a small roll of parchment but no quill. He had been in a rush that moment, practically tripping down the stairs of Number 12 Grimmauld Place before he spun on his heel, Apparating to the defunct department store that stood as a facade for St. Mungo's.
"Problem?" Ron asked.
"Yeah. I was...I was nearly late. Forgot a quill," Harry muttered.
Granger's eyes lit up. "Oh, I have a quill. Right—"
"Here ya go, mate. A spare Spell-Checking quill. From Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. My twin brothers own the joint. It's on Diagon Alley," Ron said, pride flushing his cheeks pink, making his freckles even starker. Harry grinned.
"Thanks, mate. That's brilliant," Harry said, plucking the bright neon blue quill from Ron's offering hand. He tucked it behind his ear, basking in Granger's slight disapproval.
"Why do you think they call her the Hellcat?" Ron asked, curiously.
"Maybe because she's crazy?" Harry snorted, excitement rushing through his blood.
Granger's brow furrowed. "Maybe it's professional jealousy. She's probably brilliant. She is brilliant. I've read about her and she's done so much work, straddling both the Spell Damage field and Artifact Accident—"
"You've got a lot to say, don't you?" Ron interrupted.
Granger scowled and Harry let out a sharp bark of laughter before he swallowed the rest. He refused to wither under the woman's gaze.
She reminded him of his mother. He waved jauntily at her as he walked forward.
Harry staggered to a stop when he realized that only one other person remained in the room with them. Slowly, he looked towards the doorway.
The Hellcat was older than he thought she would be.
Healer Minerva McGonagall was a tall, severe woman, that looked far more intimidating than she should in her lime green robes. Her black hair was combed back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She had a long black hat atop her head, cocked to one side, that clashed remarkably with the brightness of her robes. Harry swallowed as the Spell Damage Healer stepped forward, eyes narrowed.
Granger had no such misgivings. She stepped forward, eyes bright.
"Hi, I'm Hermione Granger. I—"
Healer McGonagall crossed her arms over her chest.
"Granger, Weasley, Longbottom, and...Potter," McGonagall stated, rather than asking.
Harry winced at his last name but nodded, ignoring the way Granger's mouth dropped open. He glanced over his shoulder, searching for Longbottom. He watched a rather tall, round-faced blond stagger forward, his cheeks pink.
I have five rules. Memorize them," McGonagall said, crisply. "Rule 1: No need to flatter me. I already hold little regard for you. That, likely, won't change." She waved her wand, Conjuring up four booklets. Harry took the pile from her hands, passing them off to the others, his attention never wavering. "Trauma protocol. Matrons will 'Summon' you. You'll know when your wand emits bright sparks. Level of emergence will be dictated by color. That will be in your book. You answer every 'Summon' at a run. A run, that's rule 2."
Already she was walking away, and Harry followed after her, delighted. They emerged back into the entrance hall and reception area, filling with artificial light from the fake magical sun that shone through the fake glass windows. The furniture looked different from when Harry was a kid. No longer was it filled with rickety wooden chairs and outdated Witch Weekly's. Now, everything was slick metals, shining like Galleons and Sickles. It was both beautiful and tacky.
"Your first shift starts now and lasts 48 hours," McGonagall said, not bothering to turn to address them directly. Longbottom already looked flustered. Harry hoped that he lasted. He looked like a pleasant fellow. "You're trainees, the bottom of the healer food chain. You will run diagnostic spells, brew potions, work every second and night until you drop and you won't complain."
She led them, briskly, through the busy hall, nodding at those that murmured her name in deference. She turned down a long twisting hallway and then turned sharply, pushing open a door to show a row of beds, all separated by curtains. They looked far too comfortable to be for patients, in Harry's opinion, and he remembered long nights spent in rooms like these, waiting for his parents.
"On call rooms. Head Healers and Healer-In-Charges will most likely occupy them. My best advice is to sleep when you are able, where you are able. This leads me to rule 3: if I'm sleeping, don't wake me unless your patient is dying. Rule number 4: The dying patient better not be dead when I arrive. Not only would you have killed someone, you would have woken me for no reason. Are we clear?" McGonagall said, turning back to face them.
Longbottom raised a slow, trembling hand, and he wilted under the sharpness of McGonagall's gaze.
"That was only four rules. You said there were five," he muttered, nearly inaudible.
Suddenly, McGonagall's wand erupted with a shower of red sparks and Granger made a soft squeal of excitement as Ron rocked forward, eyes wide.
"Rule number five: when I move, you move," McGonagall said firmly and then she was walking so fast that she was nearly running. Granger began moving first and the three others fell in line, running after the two women.
Harry's grin widened. So, this was what it meant to be a Healer.
They moved down the twisting hallway, back into the reception room and where there had been people milling about before, now there was absolute chaos. A team of Healers and Healer trainees, dressed in lime and hunter green robes all revolved around a floating gurney. The patient was rod straight, kept there by a Full Body-Bind Curse.
"What have I got?" McGonagall asked, sharply.
A Healer with hair chopped just under her ears stepped forward. "Ibdore Eavius. Duel go wrong over something stupid. Silly stuff. This one has a mess of lacerations and was 'it with a Heart-Fragmenting Curse. We put 'im under Full-Body Bind to keep 'im still. Put 'im and the curse in stasis but, you know, nasty buggers."
"And his opponent?" McGonagall asked as she began walking, waving her wand and pulling the gurney along with her.
"She was the winner. She's being held in custody. Auror Black is handling it. Will want to swing by and talk to this one too," the Healer said.
Harry blanched at the name but kept himself steady. McGonagall nodded.
"Understood. I'll take it from here. This will be a nasty one," McGonagall muttered before she turned to look at her four trainees, eyes sharp. "Can anyone tell me how to treat a Heart-Fragmenting Curse?"
Harry opened his mouth but Granger's hand shot up, immediately.
"Once stasis over the patient and the curse is placed, you must isolate the curse from the person's magical core. Once the countercurse is said, the true healing begins. The hearts must be joined through a careful balance of magic and potions, and the dark magic remaining must be dispelled," Granger recited firmly.
Harry looked over at Ron. Ron rolled his eyes, his lips pulling into a smirk.
"Very good, Granger," McGonagall said. "Now, how does one dispel the dark magic?"
"Chocolate," Harry blurted out, firmly.
"That sounds so implausi—" Granger started.
"Good, Potter. This way. We don't have much time," McGonagall said. Granger glared at him and Harry grinned at her. "McKinnon's stasis charms were never very good."
Longbottom and Ron followed McGonagall immediately. Granger looked over at Harry, her arms crossed and she huffed softly before beginning to walk.
"Problem, Granger?" Harry called.
"No. It's just...chocolate. Ridiculous. That doesn't make any sense," she muttered, storming away.
"Why, because you haven't read it in a book?" Harry asked after her, taking long strides to keep up. He was only a few inches taller than her, but she walked fast, her eyes trained on McGonagall's back. "Yeah, I know your type. Read all the books ahead, didn't you? Os on all your NEWTs. Not just the required ones."
"Well, I wanted to be prepared. I can lend you my books if you don't know the—" Granger said.
Harry jerked to a stop, glowering at her.
"Do you think I'm stupid?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowed on the bushy-haired woman.
The woman's eyes widened and she shook her head, furiously.
"No, I don't think you're stupid at all. I mean you couldn't be stupid if got into this program. And even so, your mother is—" Granger babbled and Harry threw up a hand to silence her. She trailed off, making a soft keening sound that made Harry feel embarrassed for her.
"Rule one: don't ever mention my mother to me again," Harry said, firmly, turning on his heel and running down the hall, weaving through the sea of Healers to catch up to Healer McGonagall and the others.
They turned into a room and Healer McGonagall Levitated the man onto a bed and looked around at him, her eyes running over the patient's still form.
"Now, I will isolate the curse from the patient's magical core and body. The curse operates in a way that it feeds off, continuously, from the victim's magical core, and affects the blood. Why is this curse harder to counter compared to others?" McGonagall barked.
Ron's hand shot up first, and McGonagall turned to him with narrowed eyes. Ron opened his mouth and let out a soft squeak, bewilderment all over his face. Harry snorted into his hand.
"Um...it's...well...it's because it's not independently power, isn't it? The curse can't be countered by the victim because it'll be two parts of their own magic warring against one another? And spells affecting the body, leave marks, let alone the blood?" Ron said, his voice getting higher and higher with each word, his body tense with uncertainty.
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking me? Or telling me?"
"T-telling," Ron stammered.
McGonagall nodded once. "Good. I'll remind you all to take notes. To isolate the spell, we use a universal spell: Apomonóno."
Harry's eyes widened as the body jerked, and the patient took a deep breath and released it through his nose, the slightest of black fumes emerging with the tiniest hint of white sparks.
"The nasal reaction will let you know that the spell was successful. Now, after this, one would typically search for the countercurse. This is not my first Heart-Fragmenting Curse. Ákrorogmón," McGonagall cast with the swift slash of her wand and the patient jerked again. Harry watched in interest as some of his pallor returned. Just as the countercurse took hold the door swung open with a crack, causing all four trainees to jump. McGonagall didn't flinch.
"What do we have, Healer McGonagall? Another dunderhead involved in something he shouldn't be?"
"Absolutely, Healer Snape. A mass of idiots," McGonagall drawled. "Trainees, this is Healer Severus Snape, Head of Potions and Plant Poisonings. You will, most likely, find yourself on his service from time to time."
Severus Snape was just like Harry's dad had described him. Tall, thin, and sallow with a hooked nose, and a terrible disposition. He had none of the bedside manner that Harry expected out of most Healers, and he seemed to have no patience for gree, as he was draped in the blackest of robes. He looked at each and every one of them with narrowed black eyes, hesitating over Harry for just a moment before his eyes narrowed at Longbottom.
"Let's begin," Snape drawled.
"Granger, you're on potions. You'll be working with Slughorn. Longbottom, patient work-up. Do some digging. See if we have any previous files. Write an owl to his family. Potter, revive the patient and get him some chocolate. He's your responsibility now," McGonagall, turning on his heel and walking towards the door. Harry grinned to himself as he looked around at the jealous faces; he had gotten the first patient.
"Um...Healer McGonagall? What about me?" Ron called.
McGonagall looked over her shoulder. "You get to work in Artifact Accidents," she said, a hint of amusement in her eyes. Healer Snape swept out of the room after her, leaving the trainees to stare at each other. Ron groaned.
"Artifact Accidents. I get to stick my fingers in idiots," he grumbled, storming from the room.
"G-gonna set started on the patient work-up," Longbottom muttered and Granger nodded, heartily, linking her arm through Longbottom's, to his intense surprise.
"File rooms are down by the potions labs. We'll walk together," Granger said, carefully not looking at Harry. Harry sighed, a hip cocked to the side and he lifted his wand as he was finally alone with his patient.
"Rennervate."
The man jerked awake, bug-eyed and overly alert. He looked up, his lips curled into a snarl before it dropped into a frown. His blonde fringe fell into his eyes and he shook his head again, tossing his hair to and fro.
"Where is she? Where is that little bitch?" he hissed.
"Mister Eavius, you're at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Illnesses. You were hit with a Heart-Fragmenting Curse but, we're working on reuniting your hearts," Harry said, carefully watching his words as his body thrummed with nerves.
"Buggering fuck, cock-sucking motherfucker...bloody fucking bitch," the man snarled, spitting out foul words that Harry's mother would cuff him around the ear for. Harry stared with wide eyes. "You look like a kid. Get me a proper Healer! I need a proper Healer! I've got some kid that doesn't even have the right type of robes and looks like he might vomit. Healer!"
Harry stared, wide-eyed at Ibdore Eavius.
Bugger. This was not his day.
DIAGNOSIS
Ron trudged over, slamming his tray down, overflowing with roast beef, casserole, black pudding, a hearty helping of mashed potatoes, and rounded out by custard tart and a large bottle of pumpkin juice. He looked at his meal and immediately dug in, even as Longbottom and Granger's lips curled in disgust. He glanced up from his meal.
"What?" he demanded, spraying bits of mashed potatoes all over his own tray. Granger rolled his eyes and primly tucked into her roast chicken and greens, sipping delicately at her glass of water.
"48 hours, Granger. Forty-eight. You don't eat now, when's the next time you're going to eat?" Ron demanded.
"I just spent hours trying to get patient history. Do you know how many files are in the basement? It's a maze," Longbottom groaned, eating his own sandwich and Ron pointed at Longbottom with his fork.
"You try dealing with a Hogwarts student that was throwing up slugs because of his backfiring wand," Ron retorted and he smirked when Longbottom grimaced. Granger gave him a look of distaste. "I'm lucky that I still have an appetite."
"There are vending machines all over the building, Ronald," Granger retorted. "If you get hungry, you put in a galleon and ask it for a meal. It really isn't that difficult."
"Is that what those big boxes are? Do they have little house elves inside, cooking?" Ron asked, curiously as he continued to shovel down food, making a small mess around him.
"Of course not!" Granger squawked. She looked like she was gearing up for another rant before she reigned herself in and raised her hand, waving two other Healer trainees over. The slight Indian woman smiled broadly at the trainees while her blonde companion had a nasty curl to his lips. "Ron, Neville, this is Padma Patil and Zacharias Smith. They're training under Pomona Sprout."
"Who's Neville?" Ron asked through a bite of his food.
"I'm Neville," Longbottom snapped before he turned to Padma and Zacharias, a bright look in his eyes. "You're training under the Pomona Sprout? She's done the greatest work with plants that I've ever read about. She's developing a vaccination for petrification. It's unheard of."
"She's fantastic," Padma confirmed with a smile.
Zacharias shrugged as he sat down next to Ron, right across from Granger and Padma. Ron frowned at the man as he elbowed him.
"She's alright, I guess. A bit round," Zacharias smirked. Ron snorted but withered under the collective disdain of the others at the table. "But, if you say so...I mean, you have to be kinda smart to be here at St. Mungo's. Especially after Dumbledore and Evans took over."
Granger's eyes lit up. "Did you know that Harry is inbred?"
"Harry? Harry who?" Padma asked curiously. She munched quietly on her sandwich, her eyes darting between the other trainees.
"Harry Potter. Royally inbred. His father is Head Auror James Potter. Which makes his mother, Lily Evans," Granger said, jerking in her seat with excitement. Longbottom, Zacharias, and Padma all made quiet sounds of awe that made Granger nodded up and down like a bobblehead.
"The Lily Evans," Padma breathed.
Ron frowned.
"Who's Lily Evans?" Ron demanded.
"The Evans method is why we've been able to Heal patients more effectively than ever before," Zacharias snorted. "Where did you go to school?"
Before Ron could respond, Padma interjected, "She's a living legend. A Potions Mistress and Alchemist at the age of nineteen and then she revolutionized the field of Healing by twenty-three. The Evans method combined curse-breaking with potions. One day, she's going to create the panacea—the cure to all illnesses.."
"She's won the Ground-Breaking Contribution to the International Alchemical Conference in Cairo and the Order of Merlin, First Class. Twice," Granger hissed, excitedly. She leaned back in her chair, a satisfied smile on her face when Ron looked suitably impressed by the exploits of Lily Evans.
"Talk about parental pressure," Longbottom sighed, almost with pity.
"Merlin, I would kill to have a mother like Lily Evans," Granger said, under her breath. "I would kill to be Lily Evans."
Ron opened his mouth to retort when he lurched, his big eyes trained on the approaching figure. All conversation about Lily Evans ceased as Harry approached the table, and tucked in with gusto, consuming his treacle tart first. When he finished, he looked up, green eyes blazing behind his frames.
"Ibdore Eavius is a pain in my ass. If I wasn't planning to save lives, I'd end his with my bare hands," Harry snarled, angrily. He paused when he realized that everyone was staring at him as if he were some kind of exhibit. His anger drained away and he tilted his head in confusion. "What?"
"Afternoon, idiots," a voice barked. The trainees snapped to attention, staring up as Healer Snape swept into the dining hall, his eyes narrowed. "I should have known I would find you already slacking. This has been posted but, I thought I should share the good news personally."
Harry winced at the ominous tone that Snape's voice took as he towered over them.
"As you know, the first solo brewing is reserved for the intern that shows the most promise. As I shall be supervising in the first lab, this choice falls to me. I have selected Neville Longbottom for the brewing of the Midas Touch Syndrome potion. Congratulations," Snape taunted, grabbing Longbottom by his shoulder and squeezing hard. Longbottom cringed under the force and curled into himself as Snape stormed away, his robes billowing around him.
"D-did he say me?" Longbottom whispered.
"Yes...he did," Granger said in disbelief. Harry leaned forward, his eyes trained on Longbottom's face.
"Congratulations, Neville," Harry sighed. He bit his tongue, holding back the cutting words that he wanted to unleash. Longbottom was always going to be the weak link. No need to destroy him before he went and did that to himself.
They fell into a tense silence, carefully eating their food, their gazes switching between Harry's face and Longbottom's. The son of the greatest Healer that St. Mungo's had ever seen versus the nobody that stuttered and blushed his way through his first day. Harry squirmed under their gazes, his irritation rising until he wanted to do nothing but snap at them.
"What were you saying about your patient, Harry?" Ron asked, breaking the strange tension at the table.
"Oh. Ibdore Eavius. What a pain. He cursed up a storm, wouldn't allow me to treat his superficial wounds, and then tried to refuse to eat the chocolate. I had to try it first in case it was all an elaborate Legilimens trick that—" Harry fell silent as he felt his pocket heat up and he whipped out his wand, watching as red sparks showered all over his food, singing and burning the leftovers.
They watched in silence.
"T-that was red. That's not good," Granger stammered.
"Bugger," Harry whispered. He threw himself out of his chair, nearly crashing into the floor before he took off at a run, his wand still showering out red sparks. "Out of my way! Out of my way! Merlin!"
He pushed through crowds of Healers, all waiting to get their lunch from the cafeteria ladies, ducking underneath floating trays and diving towards the stairs. The lift would take too long. He stormed down the stairs two flights and emerged onto the Spell Damage floor. He raced towards Ibdore Eavius' room and frowned when he saw the crowd of matrons, all dressed in their spring green. They were whispering to each other, eager and excited.
"Excuse me, pardon me, that's my patient," Harry insisted, pushing through the crowd until he was at the foot of the bed. His jaw unhinged.
Half of Ibdore's face was black, withered and rotting. His eye looked too big for its socket, bulging out obscenely. The blackness chased down half of his body, rotting and necrotic, smelling of old meat that had been left out too long. Harry's stomach turned as he looked at the hair that decorated Ibdore's pillow.
"I've never seen anything like it. Not in real life," one matron whispered.
"What is it?" another murmured.
Harry swallowed hard, lifting the edge of Ibdore's blanket to look at his right foot. Pus swelled from underneath his crack, blackened toenails, the sole of his foot decorated with oozing black lesions. And Harry knew. He knew because, once upon a time, he had thought he was going to be an Auror and his father and godfather used to regale him with tales about the darkest and dangerous curses and missions they'd ever faced. This was a spell that his godfather had very nearly been killed by.
"He's got the Hela-Wasting Curse," Harry whispered. "Someone 'Summon' Healer McGonagall for me."
Harry lurched once more before he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to center himself as he realized the gruesome oversight. He turned away, quickly walking from the room, his hands balled into tight fists at his side.
"Harry?" a voice called.
He ignored Granger as he stalked down the hall and turned into the nearest loo, Granger right on his heel. Promptly, Harry turned to the waste bin and let his stomach unravel, bile and treacle tart stinking the loo up. He clutched his stomach and vomited again, his body trembling violently with the force of his illness. Then, he straightened, wiping the bile with the back of his hand and he looked in the mirror at the shock reflected in Granger's face.
"If you ever tell anyone…" Harry trailed off and then he bent forward, spitting bile into the sink and washing it down the drain.
Granger shook her head. "I won't," she whispered.
"Good. I've got to get back to my patient."
DIAGNOSIS
"I understand what you're doing, Severus, but Longbottom nearly didn't make the cut for this program. He only got an A on his Potions NEWT. He isn't the trainee you want," Minerva insisted as Severus swept around the brewing lab, collecting the necessary ingredients and settling out three cauldrons—one pewter, one brass, and one copper.
"If he only got an A on his NEWT, why is he here?" Severus retorted.
Minerva sighed, her arms crossed over her chest. "He got an Exceeding Outstanding on his Herbology NEWT. Albus felt the need to make an exception. Severus, I won't allow you to torture this boy," Minerva said, firmly.
Severus paused, turning to look at her with narrowed eyes. "Allow me?"
"Every year, you pick your trainee and your trainee suffers more than anyone else," Minerva snarled, angrily, refusing to back down.
"Terrorize one and the others fall in line," Severus snapped. "Isn't that what you told me when you trained me?"
Minerva hesitated, then, and she grimaced when Severus looked at her, eyes bright with triumph. She sighed, relaxing her folded arms just so and she took a step forward, her lime green robes swirling around her.
"Severus, I understand. But, I can't allow it. Longbottom is soft," Minerva said, gently.
"Lily was soft once, too," Severus reminded her.
Minerva scoffed. "Don't compare the boy to Lily Evans. That's absurd. Pick anyone else. What about Granger?"
"And insufferable know-it-all."
"She got all Os on her NEWTs," Minerva interjected and Severus' lip curled back into a hateful sneer.
"That makes her even more insufferable. She'll learn better through practical work with patients. Let her fail a few times. Then, we'll see," Severus said, pointedly and even Minerva had to nod in agreement with his words.
"And what about Weasley?" Minerva asked.
"There's nothing that stands out about him but his hair and his unfortunate freckles."
Minerva sighed. "You should've picked Potter."
"Like hell, I'm picking Lily's son. He looks just like his father. He's probably just like his father. Arrogant, mediocre, a determined rule-breaker, attention-seeking, impertinent, and eager to ride the coattails of his mother," Severus ranted. Even so, Minerva rolled her eyes as she looked at her former student pace through the lab, ranting and raving under his breath.
"They'll know who he is because of his last name, Severus. And I have quite the feeling that it isn't impertinence that lurks under Mr. Potter's countenance but a healthy stew of inferiority," Minerva said. Severus paused, staring at her with narrowed eyes but Minerva turned away, shaking her head.
She could try all she liked but, she knew Severus. He was as hard-headed as the day that he had joined the program with Lily. They had been the two that had changed the most and the least. Lily had risen to the occasion, a rare shooting star, while Severus, though brilliant in his own right, allowed his resentment to weigh him down. Minerva hoped that having Harry there, the spitting image of James but for his eyes, would shake the man awake; would make him realize that there was more to be done, more to discover, more to accomplish.
It had only awoken a sleeping dragon instead.
"Is he why Lily left?" Severus demanded.
"Lily left because there were other opportunities. She still strives to further the field rather than simply furthering her career," Minerva said pointedly. Severus scoffed at her, brushing away the old insult and Minerva sighed, crossing her arms. "And she left because she's a good mother."
"Explain. Because when she explained, it sounded like nonsense," Severus prompted as he pulled out the patient file, laying it out next to the knives and ingredients and cauldrons.
"Harry has a lot to live up to. I can't imagine what it would've been like to constantly be in your mother's shadow when she's standing right there, casting it. And Lily will do some good in France. She's creating a new teaching program, and her work would've brought her there anyway," Minerva said.
Severus hummed. "Lily's always chased impossible dreams."
"And she'll achieve them. Now, back to your trainee—" Minerva said, her eyes sly and Severus rolled his eyes, turning on his heel. Minerva stepped forward only for her wand to tremble in her shoulder holster. She pulled it out and a shower of red sparks emerged from the tip, dying at her feet.
She looked up. Snape's wand was spitting red sparks all over the hem of his robes.
Minerva's eyes narrowed. "It's Ibdore Eavius. Let's go."
DIAGNOSIS
Harry didn't turn away from Ibdore Eavius as the door was thrown open and Healer McGonagall and Healer Snape entered the room. Granger backed into a corner, as watchful a sentry as a dementor. She hadn't left his side since he had thrown up in the loo. A hand reached out and wrenched him around, Snape's face a sickly pale.
"What. Did. You. Do?" Snape hissed, spittling marking Harry's face.
Harry wrenched himself out of his hold. "I didn't do anything. This isn't my fault!" he shouted back, flexing his shoulder as it twinged from the force that Snape had exerted.
"So, half of the patient's body spontaneously began to rot away?" Snape demanded.
"Clearly not, it's the Hela-Wasting Curse," Harry retorted.
"Do you think it is wise to test me?" Snape hissed, his voice suddenly low as a whisper. Harry didn't back down, glaring up at the tall bat-like man, waiting for him to respond.
"This isn't my fault. This is my teachers' fault. You both missed the most basic test in the book," Harry spat, and he turned to look at Healer McGonagall. Her hand was pressed against her mouth as she took in the horror that had ravaged this man's body. "Healer McGonagall, no one did a diagnostics spell."
McGonagall flinched and even Snape's face twitched with irritation—at Harry or himself, the trainee wasn't sure.
"This isn't anyone's fault…" Granger tried to say, attempting to smooth it over.
"No, it's all of our faults. Not just mine," Harry said, firmly. He looked at them all, his arms crossed over his chest. "Before we came here, we took Healing classes at Hogwarts. You two are fully-trained Healers. And we took an oath. And we didn't uphold that. This man is suffering because none of us remembered to double check the work."
"And what do you propose we do, boy?" Snape hissed. "I...this is…no one survives the Hela-Wasting Curse. Especially not one that was powerful enough to spread so quickly."
"We save a man," Harry said, firmly, slamming his hands on the foot railings, looking the gruesome sight in the face. "That's what we do."
"This is beyond me," McGonagall said, softly. She looked over at Snape. "Should we call Albus?"
"He's a genius but, even he couldn't do this. He's a Mind Healer. This is blood borne. Magic borne. Dark-borne," Snape said, and he looked over at McGonagall with a particular look on his face. It wasn't the same disdain that he looked at Harry with, but one of irritation, disgust, and grudging respect.
"H-Healer McGonagall?" Granger asked.
"Tom, then. We'll need to 'Summon' the Head of Spell Damage. Severus, 'Summon' Healer Riddle," McGonagall said, sharply. Snape nodded once and he pulled his wand just as there was a rap on the doorframe.
Everyone looked up and Harry felt his entire life end, right then and there.
The tall, handsome man looked even better in Healer robes. His robes were emerald green, the color of House Slytherin, and his hair was neatly coiffed compared to the sex hair he'd been sporting when he left. He took a step forward, his burgundy eyes flashing as he regarded the Healers. His eyes finally fell on Harry, and his eyes lit up with amusement and anticipation.
"You 'Summoned'?" Healer Tom Riddle drawled.
Harry was past screwed.
Harry was fucked.
:::
A/N: Hello, everybody! I needed a break from Fairest, my other story about Harry as a King in an empire called Albion. It's been giving me some trouble. So, here, I give you a medical dramedy that's based off Grey's Anatomy for like first two chapters but then will swiftly veer off with something I like to call: PLOT. So, I'm excited. Let me know if you like it!