Diane McKenna hated waking up before her alarm went off. When she opened her eyes and the hands of the clock were bent into the narrow angle of five-twenty in the morning instead six-o'clock's no-nonsense straight line, she knew that there was no point in trying to fall back to sleep. She could burrow back into her blankets all she wanted, but no matter whether she put a pillow over her head or turned over a million times to try to get comfortable, sleep would refuse to return.
This was one of those mornings. Diane rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling of her modest apartment, trying hard not to look at the clock again. The worst part of lying awake in the morning was waiting for the alarm to finally go off. The anticipation of the shrill tinkling of the bell mounted and mounted, until she looked at the clock again to see that only a couple of minutes had passed.
The sixth time she did this, Galen, her barn owl, gave a disapproving hoot from his perch in the corner of the room.
"Fine!" she snapped, finally throwing off the covers. "I'm sorry if I'm keeping you up, Mister Fussy-Feathers! It's not my fault that time decided to go at a flobberworm's pace this morning."
As she stalked into the bathroom, Galen cooed contentedly and stuck his head back into his feathers.
Diane had the morning routine down to an art form. First, into the bathroom to splash some water in her face and pull herself together. Then, the stretching and strength exercises she had frequently performed back in the days when she still played quidditch. In the past, she had sometimes even taken time in the morning to cast a disillusionment spell and go for a quick ride around the city on her broomstick, but she hadn't done that in months. Long hours and lots of responsibility at St. Mungo's were catching up with her: she wasn't a trainee anymore, and she didn't have as much time or energy as she used to.
After the brief exercise, a cold shower was followed by breakfast. She would eat, leisurely read the mail, and finish up any paperwork she had neglected the night before, and then pull her hair back and put on her Mungo's greens to set off for work. Those few minutes spent at the kitchen table with a warm cup of tea at her elbow and the paper in front of her made up her favorite part of the day. The low light of the early morning and the quiet in the air made everything seem orderly and manageable, as though all of the pieces of her life were slipping predictably into their places for the day.
She was finishing the Daily Prophet ("Officer in Department of Magical Law Enforcement Disappears, Son Implicated in Possible Murder" the headline had proclaimed, though Diane had skipped to the zoological section, and then to the crossword, which was even more fiendishly difficult than normal), when an envelope fell out of the classified section at the back of the paper.
"Galen!" she called, lifting the envelope between thumb and forefinger. "What in Merlin's name is this?" The envelope was a curious shade of pink, and mildly scented with what seemed to be something floral. The smell grew stronger when she broke the seal.
Dear Sis,
It's been so long since I've seen you! We've written from time to time, of course, but I don't think I've actually visited with you at all since the wedding. It's not as though Benjamin and I live very far from London – you could come see us for Christmas this year! Don't worry: I don't really expect you to come. I've invited you twice now, and if you were going to spend Christmas with us, you would have. But the offer's always open; maybe one of these days you'll realize that you need some company after all and give in.
Right now, however, I have a different invitation that I hope you will be willing to accept. I'm in town on business (to put together an advertising campaign for the Gladrags location in Diagon Alley – personally, I think they're crazy to try to seriously compete with Madam Malkin's), and so I thought that we could get lunch together! Maybe at that adorable new café? It'll be so exciting! We haven't done anything like this in so long, and you can tell me all about what you're up to at St. Mungo's. It'll be my treat! After all, what are sisters for?
Let me know when you're available. If you don't, I may just have to show up at St. Mungo's to tear you away from all that boring hospital work. I'm not leaving London without seeing my favorite sister!
Hugs and kisses,
Fiona Moore
Diane sighed, and stood up to get some parchment so she could write a reply. She really hadn't seen her sister in a long time. She hadn't seen anyone in her family in a long time. Or anyone who she knew outside of work at the hospital. She and her younger sister might clash a bit in personality, but maybe Fiona was right. Maybe she did need to get away from her work more.
She woke Galen to tie her brief reply around his leg, and he clicked his beak at her in annoyance.
"Come on, Galen," she reprimanded him. "This is your job. You can't always just sleep all day. Now, get this to Fiona quickly. Otherwise, she's likely to show up at St. Mungo's this afternoon."
She opened a window, and Galen soared through it, brushing the top of her head with his wingtips.
"Uppity owl," she muttered, smiling a little despite herself as she watched him disappear. "Now, I need to get to my job."
At eight-thirty in the morning, the Scamander Ward for Creature-Induced Injuries was already getting crowded. It seemed as though Diane had been administering Doxy antivenom since she had arrived at work: a large family had uncovered a sizeable infestation when cleaning out a spare bedroom.
"Is that all, then?" asked the weary mother as Diane tried to get the youngest of the family, a little girl of about two years, to swallow the antidote. "Cousin George will arrive in a couple of hours, and we still need to find a way to tidy up that room."
"Listen," Diane replied as the toddler finally downed the potion without spitting up on her, "Go up to the top floor, and get Liz Blackwell in Potions and Plants to give you some Doxycide. It'll be compliments of the hospital if we don't have to deal with this again."
"Thank you so much," said the mother as she and her husband began gathering together their many children and filing out.
"While you're up there," Diane called after them, "Would you ask Ms. Blackwell to brew up some more Doxy antivenom? That's the last of this batch."
She could already tell that it was going to be a long day. With her arms folded across her chest, she paused a moment to watch the family leave before diverting her attention to a man who had sustained some moderate burns from an ashwinder in his basement.
As she was using a severing charm to cut away the charred remnants of the man's pant leg to get at his scorched shin, someone tapped her on the arm.
"Careful!" she snapped over her shoulder. "If my wand's not steady…"
The apologetic face of a young man stopped her mid-sentence. She whirled around, wand raised threateningly.
"Jack Watson!" she barked, fighting to keep her voice level while in front of a patient. "Do you have any idea what time it is? It's nearly nine-o'clock. You're over an hour late!"
"Good morning to you too, Boss," Watson replied sheepishly. He was a good-looking young man, with a clean-shaven, almost feminine face and straight brown hair. Under Diane's icy gaze, his mouth turned into a guilty, hopeful half-smile which seemed roguishly charming under the bemused wideness of his blue eyes. Unfortunately for him, she was having none of it.
"What do you think you're doing? Do you really think you can just waltz in here this late and expect to get away with it?"
"Well," he replied, grinning more widely, "I figure that you're usually here so early that it makes up for me being so late."
Diane tried to resist the urge to hex him. "Do you even care about ever becoming a real healer? What do you think you're here for?"
"Fine! Alright, alright…" He held up his hands, eyebrows raised so high that it seemed they might disappear into his hair. "I'm sorry, Healer McKenna, ma'am. I promise it won't happen again."
She turned back towards the ashwinder victim, rubbing her temples. "We'll deal with this later, Watson. Just do your job for now: help the patients."
During lunch in the small hospital cafeteria, Diane spread paperwork over one of the round tables. Around her, other Healers causally chatted about hospital gossip and strange cases. Jeremiah Salk, the head of the Research Department, was showing around his new trainee, a pretty young Indian girl with a long, thick braid. A few tables over, Watson was exuberantly relating to Augustus Pye and Christopher Nidos, newly instated young Healers from Artifact Incidents and Dragon Injuries, respectively, the events of the night before that had led to his lateness that morning.
Diane let the hum of conversation wash over her as she chipped away at the tedious work. She was just finishing the report on the Doxy-bitten family from the morning when a balding, round-faced man stormed over to her table.
"What's the big idea, McKenna?"
"Excuse me?" She looked up from her papers into the pink face of Mark Abbott.
"You can't just go around giving away hospital supplies. This hospital has a limited amount of funds, and you hotshot healers think you can just throw valuable potions out the window when the urge hits you. Well, let me tell you, you spendthrifts make my job up in bookkeeping much more trouble than it's worth."
"Abbott – what are you talking about?"
"The Doxycide that you gave away this morning! Don't pretend you don't know!"
Diane pinched the bridge of her nose. "Abbott, that was just Doxycide. One bottle. It cost maybe two sickles."
"Well, McKenna, that was two sickles that I now have to account for."
"What's the big deal? I'm meticulous about my reports; the rest of the staff usually forgets to include all sorts of stuff in their write-ups."
"I resent that!" called Watson, casually walking towards them.
"Because!" yelled Abbott. He seemed strangely close to tears. "You can't just give things away."
"Here, then." Diane dug in her pocket, impatient to get him to leave her in peace. She deposited two coins on the table. "That should cover it, right?"
Abbott scooped up the little silver pieces, and then sat opposite her at the table, his head resting in his hands. Watson had reached them, and now stood just behind Diane's shoulder.
"Mark," he asked quietly, "What's going on?"
Abbott's energy appeared to be spent. "The Ministry's cutting funds to the hospital. By a lot. I just finished the projected budget for next year last week, and now…" his voice trailed off.
"Did you hear it from Mama Theresa – ow!" Watson was cut off as Diane elbowed him hard. "…I mean, from Mrs. Bonham? Do we know this for certain?"
Abbott nodded. Other Healers were gathering around now, expressions of shock on their faces. "The Chief-of-Staff herself told me a couple of hours ago. Mrs. Bonham says we may have to cut jobs, maybe even get rid of the entire trainee program."
In the sudden silence that enveloped the area around their table, the clock in the corner of the cafeteria struck one in the afternoon.
Diane pushed her chair back, and collected her paperwork, trying to keep her hands steady. "Come on, Watson," she said quietly. "We need to get back to work."
As he followed her out, she heard the soft murmur of conversation resuming, overshadowed by a single question.
"Why?"
"So, Boss." Watson appeared, smiling, at her elbow as she turned away from a patient. "With these budget cuts…"
"Everything will be fine, Watson," she said distractedly, heading to her small office.
He followed. "What do you think a young trainee like me has to do to keep his job safe?" She ignored him, thumbing through some files behind her desk. "How about if I sleep with you? Would that help secure my position here?"
She turned quickly on her heel. Watson was standing in the doorway, the door pulled halfway in front of him as if to protect him from a hex or a blow, a crooked, mischievous smile on his face. She glared at him.
"Don't think I've forgotten what you pulled this morning," she warned. "You better get back to work if you value your job. You're just a little trainee, and you're going to have to pull your own weight if you don't want your Healer-in-Charge to get rid of you. I'm the one with the power to decide if you should go, you know."
"Which means you also have the power to decide if I stay, right?" For once, Watson's face was serious.
Diane felt her expression soften. "Yes, Jack. Nothing's going to happen to you unless I give permission." His smile returned. "But sleeping with me would not help you, and that was offensive and inappropriate. Now, go do your job and help the patients."
"How about dinner, then?" laughed Watson, closing the door rather quickly behind him.
Diane shook her head. One day, that kid would have to realize that he needed to grow up and act like a professional. He was always teasing her like that. Despite herself, she felt the beginnings of a smile creep across her face. Even if she disliked Jack Watson's work ethic, he certainly was bright, and she had found him to be useful around the ward. His bedside manner was better than hers, too: he had handled beautifully the case of that poor little girl who had been attacked by a Red Cap last month.
She sighed. If only she could get him to stop acting like such a child, he would have the makings of a great Healer…
He's not that much younger than you, she suddenly found herself thinking. It was a strange thought, to be sure. But she wasn't even thirty yet, and Watson had started his training later than normal…
She shook herself out of her reflections. Regardless of their actual age difference, Jack Watson would have to do a lot more growing up before he so much as joked about taking her to dinner.
"Did you walk here?" exclaimed Diane in disbelief as she faced her next patient.
Elderly Mister Rosencrantz squirmed a bit under her gaze. "Well…I didn't see nothin' wrong with it."
"Sir, your leg is made of stone. Now, I've treated plenty of Medusa Worm bites, and it's easy enough to stop it from spreading to the rest of your body, and only a bit more difficult to make a Mandrake draught to get you back to normal, but what if you had chipped your leg on the way here? Or broken it off? If you had somehow shattered it walking over, there would be nothing I could do for you!"
"No need to get so angry, young lady," the old man grumbled. "And besides, I needed to get to the hospital quickly!" He paused, a little choked up. "Peaches got bit too!"
"Peaches?" Diane could feel a headache coming on.
Mister Rosencrantz nodded anxiously, reaching over to his bedside table where a large cardboard box sat. He undid the bit of twine tying the box closed, and then dug through endless packing peanuts and at least five pillows before encountering what he was after.
"Here she is!" he exclaimed, and Diane bent over to look, dreading what she might see. Cradled in the old man's hands was a little statue of a cat, made completely of stone except for a tiny tuft of orange fur at the end of its tail.
Diane rubbed her temples. "You took the time to make sure your cat was protected from breaking, but didn't bother to do the same for your leg? No, don't answer. It's fine now, I suppose. Stay in the bed while I go see if we have any Mandrake draught on hand for you and…Peaches."
Diane left Watson in charge of the ward while she headed up to Potions and Plants. After striding past a row of administrative offices, she opened a door into a small, smoky room.
"Diane!" exclaimed a female voice from somewhere within a cloud of foul-smelling yellow mist. "Hold on, let me just add this one last porcupine quill…"
A tall, thin witch emerged from behind a large cauldron, curls of black hair plastered to her high forehead and pale skin shining beneath a sheen of perspiration. Protective goggles were pushed up on her forehead, but they had left marks across the bridge of her nose and around her intelligent brown eyes.
"Hi Liz." Diane waved to her friend, maneuvering around a shelf of multicolored glass vials. She and Elizabeth Blackwell had been in the same year at Hogwarts, and although being in different houses had made it difficult to be more than friendly acquaintances during school, they had grown much closer when they both started to work at St. Mungo's after graduation. "Do we have any Mandrake draught?"
"Nope," Liz replied after pausing to think for a moment. "We do have mature Mandrake roots, though. Unfortunately, you'll have to make the draught yourself. They're having a bit of a dragon pox epidemic on the second floor. I've been making Dragon Syrup since I got here this morning. Even Anna's getting pretty frazzled."
Diane let out a low whistle. Anna Gray, a pragmatic, silver-haired witch, was one of the oldest and most talented Healers at St. Mungo's. The folks down in Common Maladies must have it pretty bad.
"The Mandrake roots are in that cabinet over there." Liz gestured towards an imposing oak cabinet with many drawers of various sizes. "I think that they're in the bottom left-hand drawer. If not, then try the opposite corner." Diane bent down to look. "What are you doing looking for a Mandrake draught, anyway? Aren't the boys in the Petrification and Paralyzation Ward supposed to handle stuff like that?"
"The guy's leg is the only thing that's turned to stone," Diane replied, "So they shunted him over to me. His cat, on the other hand, is completely petrified, but I don't think he would appreciate it if I put them in separate wards. He seemed very attached."
"A cat? Really? Wow." Liz had her goggles back on, making her eyes seem many times their normal size. Peering out of her cloud of smoke, she looked more than a little crazy. "I do wish I could help you out more, but I'm just completely swamped."
"It's not a problem. Potion brewing can be pretty relaxing, and it's nice to get out of the ward." She found the shredded Mandrake and brought it over to a spare counter to begin work. Liz eyed her shrewdly as Diane set up her cauldron.
"So you left that Jack in charge?"
"This is what he's training to do. I think he can handle himself."
"He's quite the looker, isn't he?"
Diane's hand slipped on the knife she was using to dice some rat tails. "Excuse me? He's a child. And your coworker. And my student."
"He's not that young." Liz shrugged, and the yellow cloud surrounding her rose and fell with her shoulders. "I mean, he started pretty late, didn't he? I think he's turning twenty-four soon."
"And I'm turning twenty-nine soon. That's a pretty big difference. Beside, he acts like a teenager." She stirred the thickening potion a little more vigorously.
"C'mon, Diane. When's the last time you went on a date, anyway? Probably not since you were with Jason Clearwater back in school – am I right?"
"For a bookworm Ravenclaw, you sure seem overly concerned about my social life."
"What can I say?" Liz laughed. "We knowledge-seekers can be pretty nosy."
"Besides," Diane gingerly added the shredded Mandrake root into the cauldron. "I think we all have more important things to worry about than some cute trainee."
Liz's face darkened. "Yeah. I can't believe what happened. I mean, we've had some budget cuts before, but if Mark Abbott's telling the truth, it's never been on this scale. I can't believe Mama Theresa would let this happen."
"She doesn't like it when we call her that," Diane remarked dryly.
"Well, Theresa Bonham's a great chief-of-staff. Usually, she really sticks up for us when the Ministry starts complaining about something – like a mama bear. We don't mean it offensively. I just don't see how she could let this happen."
"It sounds like she didn't have a choice. Maybe there's even a good reason for it."
"For someone who's usually pretty damn cynical, you really are willing to forgive a lot of those in authority."
"No, but we don't know what's going on. It hardly seems fair to condemn them before we hear the whole story." Diane bent down to sniff her bubbling concoction. Perfect. She started to spoon some of it into a glass beaker.
"Maybe you should have used that logic when Jack came in late this morning. From what I hear, he had quite a tale to tell." Liz ducked the handful of jellied slug parts that Diane chucked at her, laughing.
"Excuse me, but I have a cat to cure." Gathering up her beakers of Mandrake draught, Diane swept out the door, chin held high as Liz's giggles faded away behind her.
Galen hooted softly from his perch on the counter to welcome her home that evening, apparently having already forgiven her for waking him early that morning.
"Hello to you, too," Diane replied wearily, laying her keys down on the kitchen table on top of a small pile of paperwork. She stood in the center of the kitchen for a moment with her eyes closed, breathing deeply. Galen fluttered over to her and landed gently on her shoulder, leaning affectionately against her ear.
"I guess I'm starting to feel a bit ground down, buddy," she confessed to him, grabbing a glass out of the cupboard. When she turned on the tap, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the small window above the sink. She let the water run for a moment, running a hand over her face.
She looked as tired and worn as she felt. Her washed-out blonde hair was pulled back into a plain, tight ponytail, which only accentuated the sharp, high angle of her chin and the dark circles below her hazel eyes. The lime-colored robes hung limply across her too-broad shoulders and too-flat chest. Diane had always been muscular and leanly built, but now, for the first time she could remember, she looked thin, severe. She tried to draw herself up, to make the most of her average height and present herself as determined and business-like.
Galen clicked his beak at her.
"I agree," she conceded. "It's really no use tonight."
Sipping her water, she turned on the radio and headed towards her bedroom. Maybe tonight she would actually work on that paper she had planned to write for The Practical Potioneer. Being published could do wonders for a wizard's or witch's reputation, and if the situation at Mungo's was as bad as it seemed, this might make the difference between keeping her job and spending the next year poring over The Daily Prophet's classifieds…
When she opened the door, her eyes widened. The glass of water hit the ground with a thud, flooding the carpet as she drew her wand. Her lamp was lit; the cabinet where she kept potion ingredients and medical supplies was thrown open and looked as though it had been rummaged through, and many of her books were strewn across the floor. But what caused Diane to stand gaping in the doorway to her own bedroom as she tried to puzzle out just what was going on was the man.
There was a red-headed man in her apartment. On her bed.
"Don't!" he gasped as she narrowed her eyes and raised her wand. "Please don't attack!" He raised his arms feebly. "I'm not armed!"
He was bleeding heavily from a gash that ran across his shoulder and upper arm, and his brown eyes seemed to be having trouble focusing on anything for more than a moment at a time. There was something familiar about that freckled face…
Diane lowered her wand.
"Charlie Weasley!"