Chapter 4

"Absolutely not," Draco said, for what felt like the hundredth time. It was too early and he was too exhausted to be having this conversation.

He'd arrived at work at six o'clock that morning in order to review Michael's report of the previous night's events. She had done an excellent job of it. But now it fell to him to relay the full account to his boss, Chief Healer Hippocrates Smethwyck.

The meeting was not going well.

"Come now, Malfoy. Be reasonable," the corpulent old wizard said. "This could be a real boon for the hospital. You know as well as I do that the Ministry has cut way back on our funding, and this…this miracle cure of yours could create exactly the kind of publicity we need right now."

A compassionate and capable healer in his day, Smethwyck had become increasingly irascible over the years, stubbornly clinging to outmoded ideas and healing techniques, especially since his elevation to the position of Chief Hospital Administrator of St. Mungo's. His focus had shifted away from patient care and centered more on finances and efficiency. He and Draco often found themselves at loggerheads.

"How many times do I have to tell you? There was no miracle cure. She just woke up…all on her own. I had nothing to do with it."

"Of course you did! Don't be so modest, my boy. You sat with her for hours everyday, talking to her, reading her the bloody newspaper for Merlin's sake! A highly innovative muggle technique, you said so yourself."

It was true. Draco had told him, and anyone else who hassled him about the amount of time he was spending on Hermione's case, that talking to a comatose patient was a common and highly effective muggle method of stimulating brain activity. So what if it wasn't exactly true and it was merely something muggle doctors told their patient's families to make them feel better? It got Draco's boss off his back and allowed him to resume his daily chats with Granger in peace. It seemed like such a harmless lie at the time, but now it was coming back to bite him.

"It was only a theory, sir. There's not one shred of evidence to prove my talking to Ms. Granger made any difference whatsoever."

"Says you," Smethwyck insisted. "It's all in how you spin it! As far as the public has to know, your use of an experimental treatment resulted in the miraculous recovery of a terminally ill patient."

Draco was nearing his breaking point.

"Sir, am I still the head of my ward?"

"Well, yes of course you are, but-"

"Then Ms. Granger is my patient and the decision is mine. No one sees her without my permission, especially not a whole room full of reporters. I will not subject her to that kind of scrutiny. She's not ready."

"But she wouldn't have to say anything. She could simply stand there and smile, maybe give them a little wave…" Smethwyck suggested.

"Sir, I don't even know if Ms. Granger can walk yet. Last night she could barely hold herself up without assistance, and when she became over excited she had a seizure, which you would know if you had bothered to read the report."

"Of course I read it! I just thought that perhaps there might be some potion that could… calm things down a bit."

"No, sir. There is no potion or spell to treat her present condition. I expect her muscles will have atrophied. It will take months of physical therapy for her to get her strength back," Draco explained, "and that's not taking into account the psychological ramifications."

"Psycho what now?"

Draco sighed. He was one of only a few healers at St. Mungo's who had bothered to study complimentary medicine. It certainly wasn't a part of the standard healer-training curriculum. Draco had to go out of his way to research muggle methods on his own time, often against the expressed wishes of the qualified healers supervising his education. He had even taken time away from his training program to attend a few terms at a muggle medical school. With that knowledge, he often had difficulty hiding his frustration with his superior's ignorance.

"The bottom line is that Ms. Granger is too weak to be seen by anyone except close friends or family. As we've never been able to locate her family, I took the liberty of informing Potter last night."

"Excellent! So Harry Potter will be at the press conference, then?"

"He and Weasley, both," Draco replied.

"Well that's a start, I suppose. But it really would be something to have the Golden Trio reunited right here in St. Mungo's. What if we levitated her? Or wheeled her out in one those rolling muggle chairs you ordered?" Smethwyck asked, hope and determination far outweighing any concern he might have for the patient.

"For the last time, the answer is-"

"I need you work with me, Draco," Chief Smethwyck interrupted, albeit in a fatherly tone. "Your dedication to your patients is admirable. It really is. But the kind of treatments you want to provide cost galleons, and it's my job to make sure St. Mungo's see its share of those galleons. I think allowing select members of the press to see Ms. Granger wide awake – even from her hospital bed – could go a long way to help us toward that end. You understand, don't you?"

"I'm sorry sir, but there's nothing you can say that's going to change my mind. If you'll excuse me, I have to go check on my patient now." Draco said, rising from his chair.

"Fine," Smethwyck snapped, all traces of his earlier affability and enthusiasm gone. "You are dismissed, Healer Malfoy. I'll see you at the press conference."

It wasn't a question.

"Yes, sir," Draco replied, too tersely to be considered respectful, and burst through the office door, letting it slam shut behind him.

oooOOOooo

His temper cooled by the time he reached the fifth floor, where he found a thoroughly exhausted Trainee Michaels fast asleep in a rickety old wooden chair positioned directly in front of Hermione's door.

"She passed out about an hour ago," said a voice behind him. "I didn't have the heart to wake her, the poor dear. I think it was her first night shift."

"Not bad," Draco mused, turning to face the kindly Mediwitch Thompson. "On my first graveyard they found me dead asleep in a broom cupboard by two-thirty."

"Oh, I know. I was there, remember?" the elder witch responded with a smile.

"How's Ms. Granger?" Draco asked.

"I was just coming to check on her again. She was still asleep when I last checked about twenty minutes ago. Vitals are strong."

"Good. Any trouble last night?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. The vultures didn't start circling until around five o'clock this morning."

"Took them long enough," Draco scoffed.

"Well, we were lucky she woke up after visiting hours were over," Mediwitch Thompson replied. "Or it could have been much worse."

"Yes, I suppose it was only a matter of time before some well-meaning member of the staff told his wife who told her sister who told her husband who happens to be friends with a reporter at Witch Weekly… You know how these things go."

"I do indeed," she said. "Well, what should we do with our young charge here?" she asked, gesturing to the sleeping witch before them.

"Michaels," he said softly.

She shifted in her chair, but didn't wake.

"Michaels," he repeated, jostling her shoulder until she sprang into consciousness.

"Wh- what? Oh my goodness! I must have fallen asleep. I'm so sorry, sir! Is everything alright?" Isadora Michaels asked, jumping to her feet.

"Calm down, Michaels. Everything's fine. You did very well. Louise tells me this was your first night shift?"

"Yes sir," the younger witch replied, colouring with embarrassment.

"Well I can tell you from experience that this was one for the history books. Most graveyard shifts are spent administering Pepper-Up potion to drunks."

"That's what Mediwitch Thompson said," Michaels replied, her shy smile creeping back onto her face.

"Go home, Michaels. You look positively knackered."

"Oh, I'm fine now, sir," she said with such enthusiasm that Draco couldn't help returning her smile. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Yes. You can go home and get some proper rest. You're no good to me tired."

"Yes sir," she replied, somewhat crestfallen.

"Come along, dear," Mediwitch Thompson bade, wrapping a motherly arm around her shoulders, "it's been a long night for all of us." Turning to Draco she added, "Good luck with the vultures."

"Thanks," Draco replied, watching the older witch lead the reluctant trainee down the corridor. He was struck with a sudden idea.

"Michaels!" Draco called after her, stopping her in her tracks. "Whose service are you on this week?"

"I'm scheduled to work with Healer Pye down in Creature-Induced Injuries."

"I want you with me on this case. Tell Gus he'll have to find someone else to help him stitch up dog bites for a while, okay?"

"Okay! I will! I mean…thank you, sir," Michaels stammered, before flashing him a brilliant grin and disappearing around the corner.

Gus wasn't going to be happy about this. Poaching a trainee from another healer's service was akin to a cardinal sin, but Draco knew how rare it was to have an attentive apprentice working by his side. Most of the recent Hogwarts grads enrolled in the training program were lazy, useless tits for whom Draco had little time and less patience. Michaels seemed different. She was a little high-strung perhaps, with an obvious eagerness to please, but she wasn't totally brainless. And Draco suspected that what she lacked in confidence, she would more than make up for in enthusiasm and unquestioning obedience, which is exactly what he needed.


A/N: Thanks to Aidenk77 for being a great beta! And thanks to everyone who reviewed/faved/alerted/etc. I'm going to try to keep to my chapter-a-week, every Friday publishing schedule, but I'm not making any promises. I am a notoriously slow writer, but that's only because I want each chapter to be perfect. Hope you are enjoying the story!