Hello everyone and welcome to a little fic I created quite a while ago. I know that marriage law fics are over done and outrageous, but I couldn't get this one out of my brain. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, etc.

Chapter 1: What's up, Doc?

Life for many people is considered rather boring. They start their boring life by waking up in their boring houses and then leave their boring families and go to their boring jobs before going back to their boring families and starting the day over again. But for Charlie Weasley, his life was anything but boring. He woke up every day to the sun rising in beautiful Romania, and all of his wonderful—if rather overbearing—family was back in Europe, where they stayed unless Charlie invited them unwillingly over. And he only stayed in Britain if something special had happened, such as Bill and Fleur's first child two months ago.

His job was anything but boring as well. Who all could say that they got to work with dragons, birth them, nurse them, and train with them every day?

Well, he couldn't at the moment. He was looking down at his newly-burnt arm with a horrible understanding of what it was like to not work with dragons. It meant that he was going to be put on medical leave. It was rather severe and the newbies around him had decided to start panicking, pushing him towards the medical hut. It hadn't started hurting yet, but when it did, he would be in for a very painful end of the day.

"...just your luck, too," one of the more experienced men, Jared Smith, was saying as he hurried Charlie to the healer, "there's a new healer as of today."

"New?" he heard himself asking, wondering if he might lose his arm after all. New healers were usually right out of wizardry school and only the most foolish ever came to the dragon reserve. The good news was that this healer had to be better than Old Man Jenkins who couldn't see two feet in front of his face and gave out sugar pills for everything...even a burn. With a new healer, he knew that his arm would be scarred for life at the least, and at the worst, he would definitely lose his arm. Still would have been better than Jenkins, but... "Just my bloody luck."

"American, I hear," a newbie from Hogwarts was saying, still frantic with panic. "So now I'm not the newbie anymore!" Merlin, he hated newbies. Didn't know anything they really needed to know and always thought that their label was gone the second someone even newer came along. Eventually they learned or burned out, but at the beginning it was always a tossup.

The medical hut was a small, seven-room house that was crudely made with fire-proof bricks of different reds and browns. A cool mud kept the heat out as there was no "air conditioning" as the muggles called it. It was old, haphazard, and slightly cramped. One room was the healer's, with space for one bed, a desk, and shelves for potions. Three were patient rooms, and each held three beds, while another one was the small waiting room in front. One more was surgery, and the last was physical therapy, for those poor souls who had worse than third degree burns. He knew which one he had, and it definitely wasn't third or second.

"Dad," came a female voice as he walked in, supported by a man on either side of him, "I told you, I've just been re-stationed. No—no, I can't tell you where I am. It's—it's classified. No, you cannot trace this call!"

"Healer?" Jared Smith called, trying to keep Charlie from falling flat on his face.

"A moment," she called, a tense silence between her and whoever she was talking to. "No, it's not what I wanted, but I can't tell the government no." Who the hell was she talking to?

He was looking at the floor now, seeing some horrible shag carpet there, but it seemed like the right place to be looking as his vision swam.

"I have my own clinic, I have good pay, and I'm helping people. What more could I—good God!" Charlie saw papers falling to the ground in front of him. "Dad, I'll call you back!"

Suddenly he was being levitated through the air. "Tell me what happened," came that voice, and it seemed far away but he could tell that the woman was right next to him. He was laid down on a hard table and he vaguely felt his shirt being magically taken off. A light was shone over him and something was touching his hurt arm. He growled, flinching away from the touch. Something restrained him.

"We were working with a rowdy group of dragons with the newbies, and some of'em decided to try and show off. Charlie here jumped in front of'em." Good ol' Jared.

"What breed?"

"Does it really matter?"

"Yes, actually, it does."

"Peruvian Vipertooth. But why—?"

"I need all of you but Mr. Smith out of here," that same, stern voice said as a light was put over his eyes, moving back and forth. He clenched his eyes shut and swatted at it.

"Charlie, can you hear me?" the voice asked. He felt fingertips gently fluttering over his forehead, dusting away the hair there. "Is there any chance, any at all, that he got bit?" Besides the repeating sting of something being pulled off of it, his entire arm was starting to go numb.

"No," he managed to groan out. "First degree burn."

"I know that, Charlie, thank you." The snap of fingers came to his ears, a light still in his eyes. "Murtlap essence." He smelt smoke and heard a slight pop. Then something was touching his arm and he jerked, grabbing a small wrist that suddenly tensed up. He could see again and he was looking into bright green eyes that were glaring right at him. Clear skin came into view, as well as a tan that was slightly off on a rather large nose. Black eyebrows and lashes but thick brown hair cut as short as a boy's adorned a woman. She had a square-shaped face and high cheekbones, though the planes were sternly sharp, and her face was rather harsh. "Charlie," she said slowly, with a stern purse to her wide, thin lips, "lay back down so that I can treat you."

"Do what she says, mate," Jared said softly. Charlie saw him rubbing the back of his head uncomfortably.

He felt weaker, all of the adrenaline suddenly gone from his body. The green-eyed witch slowly pushed him down, back onto the table, and more of the painful essence was put onto his arm. "That hurts."

"Everything will hurt." There was a laugh in her voice which made her sound more...human. "Give me a moment and I'll put on the healing salve and wrap you up. Are you positive that the dragon didn't bite you?"

"Extremely. I know what a dragon bite is. Miss...?"

"Doctor or Doc to you." She must have snapped her fingers again. Another poof of smoke appeared and then he felt her hands on his injured arm, covering it in some kind of medication that burned, leaving his entire arm tingling dangerously. "No, I am not wet behind the ears. Yes, I am a certified doctor."

"You mean healer. Where'd you go to school?"

"American Academy of Magic and then Harvard to get my doctorate. I served my residency in New York. I'm very capable—and yes, while I'm a healer, I prefer the term doctor. Took longer to get that title."

He let that sink in for a moment—this meant that she was definitely muggle-born. Not that it bothered him, but he wondered how a witch who went to an obviously-muggle uni was up-to-date on her wizard diseases. Or burns.

"I was at Hogwarts."

"Really?"

He didn't hear her sarcasm so he went on. "Gryffindor. Team captain. Winner of the House Cup." He smirked, remembering the last-minute save of that last match, remembering everything from the cool metal to the feeling of the hard ground beneath him to the handling of himself as the rest of his House picked him up and carried him all the way back up to the Gryffindor common room to start the party of the century. "What's an American doing all the way out here?"

"I'm a doctor and you didn't have one on the reserve that was properly certified. Besides that, it's none of your business."

He was taken aback from her harsh words which seemed to come out of her accentless-mouth so casually. Doc started wrapping the wound at that point and all he felt was a strange numbness. She put a little bit of pressure on his arm which made him look up into her bright green eyes. She was smirking with her wide petal lips. The slight contempt she held in her eyes kind of pissed him off a little. "You're good to go, Charlie. In the morning, take off the wrapping, Scorgify your arm, and you should be good for work."

Jared looked startled. "Are you sure that's a good idea? That was dragon fire!"

Suddenly her face resumed a stern, angry look and she glared at Jared, who then turned sheepish. "Yes, and he's lucky that there was an arm left to save." She looked slightly annoyed as she turned back to look at Charlie. "If you believe it is necessary, you may take precautions tomorrow during work, but other than that you should be fine."

Strange music started to blare from her hip. The doctor groaned and took out a large black brick from her pocket. "Sorry, I have to take this." She moved away, pushed a button on the brick, and then started speaking into it as she walked into another room. "I had a patient...!"

Jared grabbed Charlie by the good arm and tried to pick his friend up. Charlie stared after the new doctor—she was rather plain, besides her eyes. Too skinny. Boyish in figure with that short, mousy hair. Not a bad ass, though. He watched it as she walked away before he shook his head and leaned against the newbie.

"Looks like you won't have to miss work after all," Jared said with a disgruntled look on his sunburned face.

Charlie hoped that the doctor's prognosis was correct, but he would have to see it to believe it. "Yeah...looks like it."