This will probably be the last chapter for a while as I start school back soon but I'll try to update as often as I can!
"Get me the best Healer you have," she was saying to another nurse. "Money is no object."
"And here she is," the obviously frustrated nurse said as I approached Mrs. Malfoy.
Mrs. Malfoy gave me an appraising sort of look, staring at my old maroon jumper with a yellow 'C' adorning the front and my haphazardly braided light strawberry blonde curls pulled over to one side of my face.
"Healer Shannon," I introduced, extending a hand. "I'm the Healer-in-Charge for this floor. What can I do for you?"
She hesitantly took my hand and shook it. "My son, Draco….they said they were preparing him for surgery?"
I looked at the nurse. "And no one told me this?"
"You were eating lunch…."
"Get out of my way," I said, pushing past her and rushing to the operating room, where I saw an unconscious and bloody Draco Malfoy laying on a table, surrounded by nurses and a few trainee Healers.
"Next time someone doesn't immediately tell me about a surgery, you'll all be out of a job! Got it?" I hissed, making my way to the table and assessing his injuries.
"I tried to tell them," Ted said, obviously telling a half-truth. "I knew we couldn't do it without you."
"You're bloody right you couldn't have! You could've killed him!" I scolded. "What are you all standing here for? Get to work!" I commanded as a nurse put my robe around my shoulders and I began sterilizing my hands and wand.
A while later, I stepped out of the operating room, my robe completely bloodied. A lot of Draco's wounds were from evil curses, and I'd had to resort to a few Muggle methods I'd picked up, stitching all his wounds by hand and even reattaching a bit of his thumb without my wand. Whoever had harmed Draco had used some of the darkest, most despicable magic I had ever seen.
"He lost a lot of blood, but he'll be alright," I told Mrs. Malfoy after removing my robe, figuring the actual sight of her son's blood might give her an unnecessary scare.
"Can I see him?"
"No ma'am. He's still sleeping, and he probably will be for quite a while. I gave him the Draught of Living Death. His wounds will heal better if he rests. Most of his wounds were caused by very dark magic, and I had to use some, er, unconventional methods to patch him up, but he's essentially good as new, and he should have no long-term damage. Do you have any idea who would want to hurt your son?"
"I thought he fell off his broom into some trees!" Mrs. Malfoy reasoned. "That's what he told me when he came stumbling into our house, a bloody mess."
"Well, his wounds say otherwise," I said gently. "I have to report this to the Ministry of Magic."
"Alright," she agreed. "But I have no idea who would want to hurt him. I really don't."
I would normally question her words, but the confused, tormented look on her face and her actions during the Battle of Hogwarts convinced me that she was really telling the truth.
"We'll get to the bottom of things when he wakes up," I assured her. "You may want to get him a change of clothes, some toiletries, a toothbrush…I'm going to be keeping him several nights for observation."
She simply nodded, heading towards the exit to presumably gather her and Draco's things.
I then got back to work, racking my brain. Those rumors of Death Eaters were still rubbish. They had to be….Draco had probably just ended up on the wrong side of town, or maybe he'd been attacked in self-defense….
Either way, I immediately drafted a letter to Shacklebolt, detailing Draco's wounds and warning him of the seriously dark magic that had caused such grave injury. The aurors would find whoever this was and it would be taken care of by dinnertime, I reasoned. It was all probably just a fluke, anyway. Draco had never been the easiest lad to get along with….
After sending off my letter and doing a few more menial tasks, I finally clocked out, deciding to take a quick shower at work before I went to the doctor.
I tried to put the afternoon's events out of my mind as the almost scalding hot water ran over me, attempting to calm my aching muscles.
Fifteen minutes later, I was reasonably calmer, getting dressed in the spare clothes I always kept in my office. I put my damp hair up on top of my head, examining my appearance as I put my watch back on and delicately placed a pair of stunning diamond earrings – a gift from my parents – on my ears.
At a quarter till five, I apparated into the wizarding general health clinic to find George there, already waiting on me.
"Go home," I told him after getting checked in.
"I want to see what's wrong," he replied, moving his coat out of the seat next to him and inviting me to sit down.
I gave him a frustrated look, sitting down next to him somewhat reluctantly.
He put an around me, pulling me in closer to him. "Looks like you did save a life," he commented, noticing my change of outfit. "Whose blood stains are we going to spend a month washing out now?"
"You know I can't break Healer/patient confidentiality except for in extreme cases," I reminded him. "And I don't think your curiosity qualifies as 'extreme.'"
"You never let me have any fun," he complained, taking a second to pinch my nose, fully aware of how much I loved that simple action.
"Hey, Georgie," I began, laying my head on his shoulder, "do you know what you and Lewis have in common?"
Before he could even answer, a nurse came out, holding a chart in her hand. "Caroline?"
I got up slowly, George in tow.
"Is he family?" the nurse asked.
"I sure hope not," I answered, laughing and exchanging glances with George.
The nurse remained unamused, however, until I finally said, "He's my partner."
"Is that what they're calling it these days?" George whispered to me as the nurse led us down a hall. "I prefer the term 'love slave' myself."
"Shut up," I snickered, thankful that George had come along after all. I wasn't expecting the news to be bad per se, but as a Healer, I knew firsthand how wrong things could go.
After answering all the usual questions and being weighed and measured and poked and prodded, the nurse left and I grabbed George's hand, squeezing it.
"Can we get Chinese after this?" I wondered aloud, looking over at him.
"It's already on the table, waiting to be warmed up," he answered. "Face it, Shannon, I know you better than you know yourself."
"Okay…what do I want after that then?" I quizzed.
"You're going to get in your fluffiest pajamas and use me as your own personal pillow," he continued, "and then you'll probably fall asleep on me while we're watching old Muggle TV shows."
"You make us sound like an old married couple," I complained.
"I didn't say I minded any of that," he smiled, getting up and approaching me as I sat on the examining table. "And trust me, things haven't even begun to cool down for me," he purred in my ear, his strong arms enveloping me. "Unless they have they for you?"
I quickly shook my head back and forth, entranced by the bright brown eyes I loved so much.
Just then, we heard the door crack open and George swiftly got back in his seat, clearing his throat and giving me a wink before the doctor entered and I braced myself for whatever bad news I would hear. I went over my family medical history again and again in my head, trying to remember…high blood pressure and heart problems on Dad's side, anemia on my Mum's side….
"Miss Shannon?" I heard the healer ask, and I snapped my head up to see a kindly older gentleman looking at me. He had sad yet striking blue eyes that looked almost empty.
I looked at his name tag, finally making the connection. Healer Brown. He was Lavender Brown's father. We'd never met before but I knew of him and it felt like he knew me, the one to pronounce his only child dead.
"I was just telling your partner that your bloodwork was completely normal and you are perfectly healthy. But there is one curious thing…" he began, looking at his charts. "You have very high levels of the hormone progesterone."
My eyes grew wide. "Do you mean….?"
"Yes," Healer Brown confirmed.
I put a hand up to my mouth, smiling a bit but very much in shock.
"What?" George asked, feeling left out.
"Miss Shannon, Mr. Weasley, congratulations. You are indeed expecting, about ten weeks along. The tiredness you're feeling is completely normal. Just eat right, rest, and get a bit of exercise, and it'll pass. I'll leave you two alone now," he said, noticing George's dazed expression and deftly stepping out of the room.
George immediately jumped out of his chair, walking over to me and staring a bit, an exuberant grin slowly forming on his face.
"I'm gonna be a dad?"
"Yeah, you're gonna be a dad," I nodded as he hugged me tightly, holding me against him.
"Merlin," he said, breathless. "I know we've talked about it, but having it actually happen…I mean, it's better than I thought. Not that I thought it would be bad…it's just…this is actually happening," he stammered. "We need to find a midwife and I'm gonna need some paternity leave and I'm gonna have to actually learn how to put together a crib and change a diaper, not to mention all the dad jokes…."
"Calm down," I laughed, pulling him in and giving him a deep kiss. "We still have quite a long time until the baby comes. You heard the Healer."
"I'm not stupid! Ten weeks isn't very long at all!" he countered, looking at me seriously before cracking up with laughter.
"I'm going to humor you and pretend like that was actually funny," I replied, taking his hand and leading him out of the room towards the exit.
"I sure hope this child gets my sweet temperament," he retorted with a smile.
"Me too," I replied, leaning up and kissing him on the cheek.
"We've got to tell your parents now," I reminded him. "A secret relationship and a secret baby…."
"Right after the wedding," he agreed. "We'd never hear the end of it if we stole the spotlight from Percy and Penelope. Course we may never hear the end of this, either."
"But it's completely worth it. I'd pay to see McGonagall's face when she sees our kid in the Great Hall for the first time," I laughed.
"I don't want to kill the woman," he said as we exited the building, intent on just walking the few kilometers home.
"Speaking of murder," I began, laughing nervously, "hypothetically, if Molly takes all of this news badly, she can't really harm me now."
"She can still harm me," he mumbled. "You know how she feels about these things, living together, getting pregnant before you're married…."
"What is this, the Stone Age?" I cut in. "What happens in our home is our business, and I'm not going to be one of those people who gets married just because they're knocked –"
"You were saying?" George asked, bending down and getting on one knee in the middle of the street as I covered my mouth, smiling in spite of myself.
"Caroline Shannon, I'd be the happiest man alive if," he started, looking at me very seriously, "you would please help me tie my shoe?" With that, he gestured down to his feet and looked at me expectantly.
"You bloody git!" I exclaimed, smacking him lightly on the back of the head as he bent over, indeed tying his shoe.
"I was saying," I continued as we began walking once more, "that if – that's a very big 'if' now, by the way – we do get married, I don't want it to be because of some stupid, outdated societal rule that your mother thinks we should follow. I want to get married for love. And when I find it, I'll be sure to let you know," I kidded, elbowing him as we walked along.
"Whatever. You were totally gonna say 'yes,'" he teased.
"I'm pregnant. I don't know the consequences of my actions. I'm a big hormonal mess, really," I shrugged. "I would've said 'yes' to anyone."
"You know you love me," he retorted, leading me through the already-closed shop and up to our flat.
"Yeah, I do," I agreed, stopping him and kissing him on the lips once more. "And the little nipper does, too," I added as he pulled away, patting my stomach a bit.
"It better," he replied. "One day that child will know the terrible, terrible things I had to do and all the sacrifices I had to make to give it life, namely shagging you in a men's bathroom stall at some seedy nightclub and then accidentally falling into the toilet."
I began to laugh almost uncontrollably at the memory, noting, "Thanks for taking one for the team, Georgie."
"It was a very low point in my life," he laughed, finally unlocking our flat and stepping inside, holding the door open for me. "It's tough sleeping with a beautiful, successful woman and having to watch her carry my child for nine months. Exhausting, even. I need a beer," he said, faking a dramatic sigh. "You coming?"
"Yeah," I answered after a moment, having been distracted by a dark shadow in the corner of my eye, completely missing everything he had just said.
"What were you looking at?" he wondered, shutting the door behind us.
"Nothing," I said absentmindedly. "It was probably nothing."
"Why don't you sit down and I'll take care of dinner, yeah?" he suggested and I nodded in reply, my brows crinkled in concentration.
While he went to the kitchen to heat up our dinner, I walked back over to the door, peeping outside only to see nothing but the usual wooden staircase and tiny wallpapered hallway exactly as they had been moments before, not a soul in sight.
"Oi, do you want an egg roll?" George called from the kitchen.
"Yes, please," I replied, shutting the door and locking it, then checking it twice more before I was satisfied.
I heard the phone ring, knowing it was my parents but letting George pick it up while I sat on the couch, thinking about work, wondering if Shacklebolt had indeed gotten my letter and taken care of the problem….
"Love, which button do I press again?" George asked, stepping into the room with the ringing pphone in his hand.
"Green," I reminded him, giving him a bit of a smile and trying to forget this strange feeling that had just come over me.
I heard a button press and then heard George greet, "Bob! Are we still on for…golf...Sunday?"
"Bless him," I thought, admiring George's efforts to get to know my father.
"How's Caroline? Still as disagreeable as ever," George said, giving me a mocking smile.
"Hi, Daddy," I called loudly enough so my father could hear on the other line.
"Hi, pumpkin!" I heard my father greet before proceeding to engage George in another long talk about Muggle politics.
"Tony Blair?" George mouthed at me as my father rattled on.
"Muggle Prime Minister," I answered, giving him a thumbs up as I went to go finish heating up our dinner. George followed me, propping the phone between his shoulder and his ear before wrapping his arms around me from behind, holding me while he listened intently to my father, occasionally adding in an "Mhm," or an "Ah," which probably thrilled my father to no end just because someone was finally listening to his babbling.
Soon, George's hands were on top of mine, our fingers laced together as I flicked my wand at various little containers of food, not saying a word, even when he bent down a bit and put my father on speakerphone, kissing my neck very quietly and almost chastely, still throwing in an "Uh-huh," every once in a while. He eventually let go of my hands, his fingers coming up and brushing my hair to one side as he gently removed my earrings, the tips of his thumbs grazing my earlobes before his hands dropped down to my shoulders, kneading into them as he began to nibble my ear and softly whisper to me, and I didn't think a single thought for the rest of the night.