"Christmas on the Dai Llwellyn Ward"
18 December 1995
Hippocrates Smethwyck hated the holiday season. Well, to be fair, he hated the holiday season outside the walls of Saint Mungo's. All the crazy people came running out of the woods, and family members liked to kill each other over Christmastime. Maybe it was the eggnog, or the stories, or Celestina Warbeck. Okay, he tolerated the holiday season and went through its motions. He wanted Celestina Warbeck, this so-called "Singing Sorceress" to be trapped in a cell with nothing else to listen to but her own vile voice singing her renditions of Christmas carols.
Yeah, that was right. He went there. He might be a Healer, but Hippocrates had his limits. First off, she was tone deaf, and she wasn't that attractive for another. Why did they have to play this horrible screeching stuff on every single wireless in the hospital? As Hippocrates headed over to the canteen for a bite to eat after signing off on his patient charts, he checked his watch. He was actually leaving this place at a reasonable hour. It was shortly after midnight.
"Sir, the EMPs are bringing in an interesting case," said Augustus Pye, an eager Trainee Healer assigned to Hippocrates's service last summer. He practically danced on the balls of his feet every time something as minor as a Bowtruckle bite arrived on the premises.
"Everything's interesting to you, Augustus." Hippocrates handed his work over to the plump matron, Ruthie. He liked her. "Hey, can you make sure Mary, the lady in bed three, actually drinks her potions instead of pouring them into the plants? Watch her like a hawk."
"I'm on it." Ruthie found Mary's chart in the stack and made a note. She ate a large bite of sandwich, nodding to the brown paper bag on the table. The canteen was dead at this hour. "Ham and cheese on rye, with a plain side salad and crisps. I asked the house-elf to slide in a toasty. The wife says you like them."
"Really?" Hippocrates checked the bag. Smiling, he spotted the cheese sandwiches wedged in the bag. It made him think of soup and bedtime stories. He grinned. "I am a kid again."
"Uh huh. Abbey said you'd say that." Ruthie put on her glasses and opened a copy of the Evening Prophet. "Speaking of kids, how many does this one make?"
Hippocrates, starting to walk away, threw up three fingers. The place didn't run the same without his wife there. Abigail had actually been one of his Trainee Healers years ago. He had offered her a cup of coffee nine years ago, thinking it would make her feel better after losing her first lycanthropy patient. She'd turned him down and actually tossed it in the wastebasket, though Hippocrates missed the hint. Abbey turned down the tea, too, when Hippocrates decided to change things up. She'd taken the caramel macchiato thing he bought her during a hellish marathon shift. He'd read that as a good sign and made his move.
Hippocrates was the Healer-in-Charge on the Dai Llwellyn ward. Now, ten years ago, he'd been a quiet, modest man. He'd would've thanked everyone from Magical Maintenance to his dead, inappropriate grandmother for the opportunity. (May she rest in peace.). When he'd actually got the position five years ago, he felt like it was long overdue.
When a man gets a long awaited position at forty, retirement gets placed on the back burner. He'd had a kid that year, too, which pretty much erased any ideas of actually enjoying his pension. He'd tried and tried to have children for years. When he'd finally accepted he would be childless, the equipment finally kicked in and started working.
"It's another girl," Ruthie called after him. There was a running bet on the gender of Hippocrates's and Abigail's third child. They had two little girls under six.
Hippocrates ignored her. When he finally reached the hospital entrance, he dropped his sandwich. Two EMPs, emergency medical personnel, had arrived on the scene. There was a man with red hair who was covered with a sheet as white as he was. The white turned to red and the sheet got changed. Hippocrates picked up the pace and ran bedside the trolley.
"What've we got, Jaime?" Hippocrates snapped on gloves Augustus offered him and replaced Jaime's hands over the chest wound. Jaime was one of his favorites; he was trying to win the kid over to joining ranks with St. Mungo's.
"Arthur Weasley, 45, attacked by a snake at the Ministry of Magic. I got him stable." Jaime handed the patient off and told his partner to go. They went up to the lifts to the First Floor.
"Come again?" That didn't sound right.
Certain he'd heard wrong, given he'd just come off a forty-eight hour shift, Hippocrates asked to hear about the incident again. Who got attacked by a massive snake on government premises? Hippocrates jerked his head towards Augustus, indicating the clipboard should be handed off to him.
"I'm sayin'," said Jaime, keeping his hands on the trolley. Augustus confirmed the story.
"Blood Replenishing Potion?" Hippocrates shot at him as they raced towaards the ward. The packed wound had lost its hold and blood leaked out of Mr. Weasley like water through a tap. Blood covered Hippocrates's trainers.
"I'm out. He was losing it faster than I can put it in," said Jaime. Jaime actually screamed when Hippocrates touched Arthur Weasley's soaked robes. His gloves had been eaten through like acid.
"Hands off!" Hippocrates, ignoring his own call for the moment, tore open Arthur's Weasley's robes. Another Healer stepped in for Jaime as Hippocrates gloved himself again.
"He needs platelets," said Jaime, not sounding confident, shuffling his feet. When the others looked at him, he blushed. He told the floor platelets were the clogging factor in blood.
Jaime was right! Hippocrates turned to Augustus, speaking slowly but firmly. "I need you to listen to me, all right?"
"Yeah, boss." Augustus tore off his own gloves and tossed them in a wastebasket.
"Go back to the canteen. Ask Ruthie to please send an owl to Abbey telling her I'm not coming home. Her mum can watch over the girls. Find out if her contractions have stopped. If not, I want my wife here once they've started every five minutes."
Augustus grinned from ear to ear. "She's having the baby?"
"I-I don't ...can you focus, please? Thank you. " Hippocrates switched to damage control and repacked the wound before switching to dragon hide gloves. Jaime laughed at Augustus; they were good friends, but they called each other out on their mistakes. It took less than a minute for Hippocrates to gain control. Augustus shrugged, still smiling. "After you do that, I want you to run, not walk, to fetch a clogging agent in my locker. It's in a green bottle. Go!"
Augustus tore from the ward at top speed. Once Arthur Weasley was stable again, Hippocrates forced another vial of Blood Replenishing Potion down his throat, praying that it would take effect in minutes. They were doing a number on this man's heart. There had to be a break between the potion and the clotting agent, and Hippocrates had no idea if this was going to work or not.
There was a wedding band on the man's left hand.
"He has a family. Damn it." Hippocrates tossed the empty vial into the wastebasket. They had to wait.
"I know his son. Charlie." Jaime leaned against the wall. "He's got like, seven kids. Why aren't you doing anything?"
"I'm waiting..." Hippocrates counted time off slowly in his head. "The potion needs to react first. Are you off shift?"
"Yeah." Jaime knelt onto the floor. He sounded beat. So far, Jaime held a perfect record with getting patients to the hospital in stable condition. "If he dies, this is on me. I gave him too much potion."
"Wait and see." Hippocrates sighed when Augustus returned and slapped the vial in his hand. Hippocrates unscrewed it and sprinkled it liberally over the wound. The effect was immediate. The puncture wounds sealed themselves and color returned to Mr. Weasley's face. Hippocrates, relieved as anyone else, started breathing evenly again. "Gentlemen, I think we saved a life here. Thanks to Jaime's quick thinking."
The other Healer and the matron congratulated the EMP. Hippocrates, after cleaning himself up, offered Jaime a clean hand and embraced him like a brother. Jaime, surprised at his own dumb luck, slapped him on the back. A matron came into the ward, announcing the man's wife had arrived. Hippocrates wanted Jaime to break the good news to her. At the moment, Arthur Weasley was in the clear.
19 December 1995
Their victory, their stroke of good fortune, was short-lived. The venom was something Hippocrates had never seen before. Honestly, that's why he loved his job. Things never got boring. The stubborn wound kept reopening, or perhaps it never quite closed. What he needed was an anti-venom, and it was hiding from him. Hippocrates sometimes got obsessed with finding answers. He raced against the clock, and time never seemed to be on his side. When he'd walked into the ward the following morning, he dashed over to Arthur Weasley and Augustus Pye. His patient was bleeding to death again.
"What the hell are you doing?" Hippocrates resisted the urge to shove the Trainee Healer aside and take the reins, yet he reminded himself this was a teaching hospital. Deciding to let Augustus learn from his mistakes, Hippocrates cleaned the wound and instructed Augustus on his wrapping technique. Pale and tired, Arthur didn't say much and didn't utter a single complaint. "Pack the wound."
"Yes, sir." Augustus followed his instructions, overcorrecting way too much. Hippocrates, patient, asked him to start over twice. It took fifteen minutes. A stack of bloody bandages got tossed in the wastebasket. "Still with us, Mr. Weasley?"
Mr. Weasley gave them a thumbs-up when Hippocrates helped him back in bed after changing the bed things. An orderly assisted them and took the bloody things off to the laundry. Hippocrates waved his wand and caught a goblet of Blood Replenishing Potion.
"All right, we're not doing that again." said Hippocrates, checking Augustus's handwork after washing up. He spoke conversationally, though he felt that he played a game against an unknown opponent. He'd ruined his second pair of trainers in two days, although he might be able to save these. He'd tossed last night's in the dumpster because they were too far gone. He hadn't even left the hospital because he feared killing Molly Weasley's husband.
Luckily, his own wife had had a false alarm. You'd think with this being her third pregnancy, she'd know the signs. Abbey really wanted to have this baby already. As she was more than a week overdue, she'd grown impatient. She'd returned to work the following morning. Some Healer on the Board of Directors flagged her for not complying with the dress code and gave her what he referred to as a warning. Abbey, in true fashion, ripped up the pink slip right in front of him before she headed off to rounds.
Hippocrates hadn't been there, but he wished that he had because he needed a laugh. Abigail was bold, which is why he guessed he'd fallen in love with her in the first place. She was a pretty girl with a hidden ferocity inside her. The woman was short in patience as well as stature, although Abigail had a big heart. Before they'd married, she'd chosen lycanthropy as her specialty. As he watched her approach her newest patient, Hippocrates admired her.
"She's pretty," said Mr. Weasley, following his gaze. Abbey had donned a simple red maternity dress this morning, and wore tinsel in her dark hair. Augustus had left to take a break. Arthur Weasley frowned, probably making a snap judgment on her condition.
"She's taken," said Hippocrates, flashing his left hand as he filled out his paperwork. "We've been married for seven years. She wears the ring around her neck."
"Oh, that's nice," said Arthur, who clearly hadn't expected the answer. When Hippocrates didn't elaborate, he picked up a newspaper and started reading through it.
Hippocrates excused himself to continue checking on his other patients. There were two. As the woman with the bandaged leg was sleeping, he decided to visit the werewolf first. The man hadn't even given them a name. His face was green and sweaty, and he certainly looked ill. The crew had carried him in when Hippocrates had dozed off in the sleeping quarters.
Abbey had walked away from the werewolf patient for a moment. Hippocrates had heard raised voices, and she needed to cool off.
"How was last night?" Hippocrates led her over to one of the empty beds. They sat down.
"I want to kill your daughter," she said, taking a sip of the coffee he'd conjured and handing it back to him.
"Maisie?" Hippocrates guessed it was the one going through her terrible twos. He threw his favorite under the bus.
"No. You know what's not fun to do when you think you're in labor?" Abigail took off her shoes and checked her ripped sheer tights. She mended them with a tap of her wand. This was one of those questions where Hippocrates was supposed to wait for the answer. So he did. "Chasing your five year old who is going on fifteen because she doesn't want to go to bed."
"Where was your mother?" Hippocrates knew this answer before it left his lips.
"She left." Abigail shrugged. "At least she's consistent. She never was much of a mum. Lisa stayed. She got Cecilia to bed and ran me a bath."
"The nanny stayed overnight? She's a keeper." Hippocrates, impressed, gave his wife a high five. "Give her a handsome Christmas bonus."
Hippocrates decided to tag team this case with his wife. After all, this was his ward, and he'd ultimately be responsible for this man whenever he left the hospital. This was going to be difficult. Hippocrates had been through this countless times before. In all cases but one, anger reared its ugly head first. On that occasion, an eight year old boy and his parents had been paralyzed by fear. That boy had bled to death. After finishing his coffee, he threw the cup away and helped his wife to her feet.
"Sir," said Hippocrates kindly. "I am Healer Smethwyck."
"Oh, so you're married to the wet nurse? She's a bitch. My condolences." The man connected the dots easily because both Hippocrates and Abigail gave the same name.
Abbey, affronted, raised her eyebrows and handed over the clipboard. She said nothing as Hippocrates read through the useless information on their John Doe. Abbey had hardened a lot over the years, so she had pretty thick skin. When people got angry at the hospital, the Healers were their outlet. Hippocrates waved his wand and two chairs zoomed over to John Doe's bedside. Abbey sat down. Presenting themselves as a married couple at work sometimes worked like a double-edged sword. Some people loved it; other patients asked for competent counsel.
Hippocrates went for the nice bloke approach. "Abbey and I have worked with werewolves for twenty years. I know it seems bleak, I do, but it gets easier."
"Oh, really? You get it. You've got gold, a steady career, and a family, and she's going to pop any day now." The man nodded at Abbey. "It must be so hard with your lovely house and your family."
Abbey pressed her arms on the chair and heaved herself out of it. Someone had spared this man for a reason. He doubted the EMPs who had delivered this man onto the premises had known the remedy; powdered silver and a touch of dittany sealed a werewolf bite. She walked over to the man, held his face in her hand and stroked it. Hippocrates, who had expected another shouting match, gripped the back of his chair.
"I'm sorry this happened to you," she said, her voice suddenly soft and caring. "You're a handsome man. You're a pain, it's true, but you deserve to be treated like a human being. You are a human being."
She wiped a tear from the man's face.
"You're still a bitch," John Doe assured her.
"Yeah, well ..." Abbey trailed off, not really caring.
"Can I get your name, please?" Hippocrates found quill and ink in the bedside cabinet.
"Michael Gallagher," he said, taking some Kleenex Abbey offered him. When she moved her hair over to the side, he saw the slashes on her neck. "What happened to you?"
"Same thing that happened to you, I expect, except I met a man and not a wolf." Abbey let her hair fall. She'd gone alone to meet Fenrir Greyback and saved a child. It was a foolish thing, as Abbey was by nature a pacifist. As she'd worked in lycanthropy for years, she'd always been a marked target. She took her handbag off her shoulder and opened her wallet and showed him some photographs. "This is my second daughter, Maisie. This girl? That's Cecelia."
Hippocrates slipped into this trap far too often these days. He knew his eldest daughter would give him hell for it in future. "Cecelia, you're breaking my heart. You're shaking my confidence daily. Oh, Cecelia, I'm down on my knees. I'm begging you, please, to come home."
"Simon and Garfunkel," said Michael, recognizing the lyrics. Hippocrates beamed at him.
"You're a Muggleborn,"Abbey guessed. Michael corrected her, saying he was half and half. She said, "Hippocrates's father was a Muggle postman. He's glad someone finally caught the reference. Michael, you are at the top of my list, even though I have my girls and this fool here. You have my word. If you need help with finding a job or you're struggling to pay rent, I can help you."
"With three kids?" He sounded doubtful.
"We'll manage." Hippocrates rested his hand on the back of the chair. He cleared his throat and checked his watch. He didn't know how they made ends meet sometimes, and he often felt they were quite lucky as a small family. "We've helped others along the way. Think about it."
Michael nodded, although Hippocrates doubted they had actually gotten through to him. He held his daily consultation with the woman by the door; they'd been doing this for four days now. After checking on the lady with the thing on her leg and getting nowhere fast, Hippocrates updated the patient's records. He'd give it another shot later on. Whilst they wouldn't judge her, and he'd assured her of this already, for he really didn't care about the details, Hippocrates needed to know how to treat her. Abbey stood back as he changed the patients bandages with sure hands.
"You know, Mary, you could just make it easier on us and simply tell us what happened. I'm going to find out anyway." He lowered her legs and covered her with a light blanket. Mary pulled the blanket up higher. Hippocrates made light of the whole thing, yet he found this game a bit wearing. He had better things to do like laundry, or God forbid, Christmas shopping. "There'll be this thing, which will lead to another thing when the battery of tests come out my Trainee Healer will resent me for wasting his time. And then we'll know. I'll have to question you again, and you'll cry. I don't like the crying thing. Don't you want to spend the holidays at home? I make house calls."
Abbey, tapping her foot and clicking her tongue, rested her hand on her stomach.
"Scratch that. I'm rather on hiatus with the house calls," said Hippocrates, quickly editing the last part as his wife stared him down dangerously. He lowered his voice, milking an advantage that wasn't even there. "I've got this wife with a baby on the way, see ..."
Abbey tossed a pillow at him and hit him in the back of the head. Arthur Weasley, despite the fact that he couldn't possibly hear anything from across the room, laughed. Mary shook her head vigorously.
"Want her to talk? Scare her. Tell her you've got to amputate the leg if she won't budge. No answers? No leg." Abbey steered her husband towards the fifth floor.
"Abigail," he sighed, scolding her. "Not funny, Short Stuff."
They stopped inside the canteen to enjoy free time. This was the calm before the storm before the holidays hit. She asked the house-elf behind the station for a thick milkshake. The house-elf, a little surprised, stopped as he cleaned this station after the breakfast rush. She resorted to pleading like a little girl. "Come on."
"You don't need one," said Hippocrates. "It's winter, Abbey? It's cold outside."
"Yes, but I want one." She pouted, reminding him remarkably of their daughter, Maisie.
Hippocrates caved, throwing up two fingers. He reached inside the pocket of his lime-green robes and placed two Galleons on the counter to sweeten the deal. He was not above bribery, but he was fully aware the house-elf wouldn't take it. He spoiled the nanny better than he spoiled his own wife, and this was truly saying something. The house-elf, his eyes darting left and right, pretended the coins simply weren't there. The house-elf, grinning toothily at them, placed a tray with two tall glasses on the belt minutes later. There was also two large breakfast plates.
"Got any coffee?" Hippocrates, pushing it, decided he might as well ask. Three house-elves, leaving their respected stations, returned with an assortment, including sugar, cream, and milk on the side. He choose a caramel macchiato. They headed off the table by the Christmas tree. "They give good service here."
Abbey cast a Freezing Charm on their milkshakes and set them aside by the napkin holder and salt and pepper shakers. She squeezed into the booth before dishing out the food.
"That is good food. I haven't sat down to an actual meal in ages." Hippocrates tapped one of the milkshake glasses. "These don't count as breakfast. Don't tell the girls."
"This never happened. I needed something to calm my nerves before the Acromantula sting."Abbey worked as a specialist, but she took general stuff on the side. As a senior Healer, she got to pick and choose whatever she wanted. Abbey and Hippocrates both enjoyed this freedom.
"No way. The patient survived?" Hippocrates took the clipboard she magicked out of thin air and read through the file. He loved the photographs. "Talk about your Christmas present! Oooh, I want one."
"It was a baby spider," said Abbey proudly, taking it back as she sucked down her milkshake. She smiled, enjoying his humorless laugh. "You're getting a baby for Christmas. This is mine."
Hippocrates pondered this as he ate his breakfast. He gestured with his fork, waving it over their food. "Who sends a spider to someone over Christmas?"
Abbey chuckled darkly, no doubt imagining it in her head. "Picture someone with arachnophobia."
"You're twisted." Hippocrates liked that about her. He pulled a straight face, nudging his milkshake towards her for later. "Seriously, Short Stuff, I want in."
"No, we promised the girls a regular Christmas before the baby arrives. The tree needs decorating, and Maisie wants to make practice biscuits for Father Christmas." Abigail patted him sympathetically on the arm. When Hippocrates rolled his eyes, she dropped the sympathy for seriousness, blinking her eyes furiously. "Yes, that's a thing. She's two, Hippocrates, come on! We're gonna have this baby, and she's going to think we've forgotten her. If we make excuses for one thing... this small thing ... it'll get easier to fall into a pattern. Next thing you know, I'm my mother. Ooops, we're screwed."
"Whoa, whoa." Hippocrates held up a hand to stop this spiel from snowballing out of control. "I'll make biscuits."
He snatched a few napkins and handed them to her, waiting patiently for her to halt the sudden wave of water works. Abbey composed herself. He nibbled his toast before he set it aside, deciding he didn't want it, and got up to toss their stuff in the wastebasket. He returned the tray to the converter belt wishing the house-elves a Happy Christmas. When he returned to the table, he flicked his wand and the milkshake glass disappeared, replaced by a tall, paper cup, complete with a coffee sleeve with a crossed bone and wand emblem.
He handed it to Abbey, after extracting her from the booth with difficulty. "Happy Christmas."
"A milkshake for a baby?" She shrugged, taking the trade as they headed back into the hustle and bustle of the hospital. She sniffed the aroma coming from the tiny hole in the lid. "Peppermint. What the hell? I'm as big as a house, anyway."
"You enjoy Christmas, Short Stuff," he said, looping her arm through his and patting it. "Cecelia, Maisie, and this one are going to be so confused about Christmastide. They're getting mixed signals. Thought of a name yet?"
"Merry." She smiled serenely, spelling it out for him. Hippocrates scoffed. He should've expected this. Abbey frowned. "Well, she's biding her time. It's short for Meredith. Why not?"
"I dunno!" Hippocrates thought this answer was an obvious one. When he headed down the corridor, he spotted Augustus and Jaime walked ahead of them reading some magazine and giggling like schoolgirls. Hippocrates snatched the magazine from Jaime with ease. It flew into his hand with a simple spell, so he flipped through it, holding it out of their reach. Abbey glanced at it, raising an eyebrow. It contained pictures of scantily clad Muggle girls. "Really, fellas, really?"
Augustus shrugged, blaming his friend for snatching it out of the wastebasket. Hippocrates smacked him in the back of the head with the September edition. "Ouch! What was that for?"
"What are you? Fifteen? I used to hoard these in my father's attic. And secondly, you're supposed to be sleeping! When I tell you leave, you do these things." Hippocrates counted suggestions off on his fingers. "You eat. You sleep. You shower, you dirty rat. You run errands. Do laundry. You study. There's a novel idea, eh? Run laps around this establishment, for all I care! Ride with Jaime, if you need to, Augustus. Not this. You're better than this, man!"
He tossed the magazine in the wastebasket; it got gobbled up. Abbey kept glancing at Jaime. Jaime, usually a happy fellow, slumped his shoulders. Hippocrates usually didn't bother with the medical personnel. This kid showed promise. Abbey conjured a chair.
"Jaime." Abbey patted the back of the chair and placed her hands on his shoulders when he finally sat down. "What's wrong, honey?"
"His patient died en route today," said Augustus. He sat on the floor. He said the rest in a rush, like he feared they wouldn't let him finish. "I rode with him, and I know I'm not supposed to do that without written approval, or permission, or whatever, Healer Smethwyck, hear me out. It was a kid."
Jaime had needed his best mate.
"Jaime Burke." Hippocrates equated this to ripping off a bandage, wrapping a wound again, and letting it heal. He offered his hand, shaking his head at Abbey when she started to accompany them, and pulling Jaime to his feet. After reminding Augustus to give Mr. Weasley his potion every hour, he steered Jaime through the emergency exit. They walked over to the ambulances. Hippocrates opened the passenger side door, getting ready to climb in the cab. "You coming? I can't drive this damn thing."
Jaime shook his head and crossed his arms. He'd walked over the wall and slammed his hand against it at set intervals. Hippocrates got out of the vehicle when he'd guessed Jaime had finally broken through the skin because he certainly wasn't dropping that tick. Taking his hand carefully, accessing the damage, Hippocrates, a little surprised, froze when the kid sobbed onto his shoulder.
24 December 1995, Christmas Eve
Jaime got back on the streets a couple days later. Hippocrates kept an eye out for the young man because he wasn't going to settle for defeat. Jaime was simply too good to walk away. The ride was under investigation, though the medical personnel officials had allowed Jaime to continue his shifts with a pending investigation. Things would probably stalled until next year. Hippocrates waited for Jaime to return to the hospital every night. Of course, word got around and Jaime got landed with the graveyard shift.
Hippocrates held his sleeping daughter, Maisie, in his arms as he paced the waiting room. After seven o'clock in the evening, the Welcome Witch shut down the desk and everything got directly routed to emergency room.
"Daddy, I wanna go home," said Maisie, a little later on, enjoying her half-eaten peppermint stick.
"I know." Hippocrates had had the sense to change into Muggle clothing after shift. He wore his favorite Manchester United football jumper over some old jeans. It was the only clean outfit in his locker. He checked his watch and draped the green gift bag over his arm, speaking to himself. "Don't stand me up, Remus."
"Mr. Jaime?" Half-listening, Maisie laid her head his shoulder and wrapped her hands around his neck.
"No, not Jaime. Well, yeah, we're waiting for Jaime. Daddy's waiting for someone else." Searching the gathering crowd, Hippocrates regretted not leaving her at home with Abbey and Cecilia. She was a little girl, yet she asked good questions even when she was dead tired. He jumped out of his skin when someone tapped him on the other shoulder minutes later.
"You weren't sleeping?" Abbey ducked a little, dodging a potentially bad accident. Hippocrates swung his arm back. She stood on her tiptoes or at least tried to, catching herself when she nearly toppled over trying to kiss Maisie. She shook with laughter and took off her broken shoe. The heel had snapped. "That would've been a story to tell after a drunken night out."
"Look, Maisie, Mum shrunk about four inches." Hippocrates didn't budge when Abbey slapped him with the broken shoe. "That's not magic, Short Stuff, that's an unfortunate accident ... because you're short, in case you were wondering."
He actually tacked on that part on at the end to anger her any time he got a chance.
"Oh, ha, ha," Abbey said dryly, rolling her eyes. She led him back up to the ward as she fed him one of his favorites. "And I don't have far to fall..."
"... because you're short. Yes, I'm glad you've finally decided to see the light." Hippocrates stopped dead. He'd been about to ask if she'd heard from Remus Lupin, and why she had bothered coming back to the hospital at this late hour.
Both questions died on his lips as he stared at Fenrir Greyback. He'd never met the man before, though he knew him by reputation. Frightened, scared out of his mind, Hippocrates held Maisie closer. "What is he doing here?"
"Don't panic, Hippocrates." Abbey placed a hand on Greyback's shoulder as she approached him. Greyback nodded, letting her lift his robes and reveal the exposed bone in his leg. "Remember we help anyone. We are neutral. Switzerland."
Switzerland would eradicate a monster, he thought dully.
They didn't take sides. Hippocrates himself had warned her of this when she'd joined the hospital staff years ago, and he felt rather insulted having his advice thrown back in his face. He wasn't going to allow this man onto his ward. He patted Maisie's head, not wanting her to make eye contact with the werewolf.
"Do it." Hippocrates stood up straighter.
"He doesn't like me, this one," sneered Greyback, addressing Abbey, who knelt down awkwardly to access the damage. Abbey said nothing. She mended the leg in no time after setting it. Greyback offered her a dirty hand when she'd finished her task. Abbey took it, hesitating. "It's been a while since we've last met."
"I remember," she said tonelessly. She groaned when he pulled her close and held a blade to her throat. "What're you doing?"
"You're a problem, Abigail," he said, his tone gravelly and controlled. He smiled at Hippocrates, his sharp teeth showing. He shook his head at Hippocrates. "Do not raise your wand, sir. Your wife keeps getting in my way, giving werewolves false hope, making them think they don't need to join with their kind, so we're having a chat."
"A chat? You are harming her!" Hippocrates gripped his wand in his hand. He chose to rely on an old rule; violence wasn't allowed in this place. No security wizards guarded this place. He backed away, showing his open hand before he placed it on Maisie's back again. He dropped his wand onto the floor. "Sanctuary. This place is a sanctuary."
Abbey kept her gaze fixed on Greyback. "Please."
"Mummy. I want Mummy." Maisie turned her head, reaching out to Abbey. "I wanna go home."
"Hey, Healer Smethwyck, the night wasn't that bad," said Jaime, running up to give his report. He took in the scene. "What the hell is going on here?"
"Jaime, I want you to take my daughter," said Hippocrates, forcing himself to stay calm and collected. He argued with Maisie, who panicked, not understanding what was going on. "Maisie, I will be right with you. Maisie, please. Jaime, I need you to walk ... do not run ... to the matron station. Tell them we are on High Alert, and this is not a drill. Contact the authorities at the Ministry. You got that?"
"Yes." Jaime didn't hesitate.
Hippocrates nodded, silently praying for the first time in years and kissing Maisie on the cheek. He didn't know if there was a higher power. "Jaime, take this child from me. Now!"
"Yes, sir." Jaime scooped up Maisie and darted down the corridor.
"She treated you. You ... you may leave." Hippocrates kept his eyes on the werewolf. He shook with fear, desperate. "Good God, it's Christmastime!"
Greyback lowered his blade. He held Abbey close, resting a hand on her stomach and whispering in her ear. A moment later, he shoved her toward Hippocrates and escaped through the emergency exit door.
Hippocrates was too thankful that his wife lived to think about giving chase. Let the Aurors deal with Greyback. He rushed to Abbey and held her close.
Abbey gasped. "My water just broke!"
He lifted her into his arms and strode from the ward.
The maternity ward staff held at bay the Aurors who had wanted to interview them in the labor room. Hippocrates wanted to ask Abbey questions, too, but she was dilating so quickly he decided it was more important to encourage her through the contractions that were coming closer and closer together.
Abbey had other ideas. After a particularly hard contraction, she said through gritted teeth, "Fenrir Greyback will not keep me from helping patients!"
Hippocrates took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "He'll be officially banned from St. Mungo's."
Her fingers clenched his. "We'll have to be vigilant. Practice defensive spells, beef up security wards and hire a bodyguard for the children. Mother will pay for it. She'll want to boast to her social set that a monster is stalking her poor grandchildren."
"What?" Surely he hadn't heard her right. A monster stalking their children?
Abbey saved her breath to get through the next contraction. When the pain eased, she said, "He told me to stay away from his brethren or he'd add my children to their numbers. My girls. Our girls." Her eyes blazed with fury. "He likes kids."
The memory of Greyback pulling Abbey close and whispering in her ear caused Hippocrates to wish he hadn't taken a vow to do no harm. "The bastard will never touch them."
Abbey's eyes welled with tears. Did she doubt him? His question was answered by her wobbly smile. "Most men would tell me to think of the children and let the werewolves take care of themselves. I love you, Hippocrates Smethwyck."
"I love you, Short Stuff."
"Ahem. I hate to interrupt," the OBGYN Healer said as he walked in, followed by the labor and delivery mediwitch. "But I'm told your baby wants to be born."
Abbey nodded vigorously. "I feel the urge to push."
Hippocrates watched the miracle of birth, and for some crazed reason found himself humming God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs.
"Let nothing you dismay," Abbey whispered as she cradled their daughter, tiny and naked, in her loving arms.