Healer Intern Kayla Flynn didn't lose control very often. Ever since she was a young girl, she had always been on top of things. She had her lists. She had her planners. She had control.
When her mother left her at a fire department when she was barely six years old, she took control.
When her third class bully first started tormenting her, she took control.
When her grandmother first got into touch with her at age seventeen, she took control.
When her boyfriend was imprisoned for robbery and petty theft, she took control.
It was safe to say that every tragic event that occurred in Kayla Flynn's life was to the fault of everyone but herself.
And she didn't lose control very often. But when she did, it was epic.
"Yes," Kayla said into her phone, not for the first time that day, "I remember. No, you do not need to remind me about the schedule, Dmitri."
"I just don't want to messing up your opportunity, Flynn. You don't need the wrath of Healer Malfoy on you."
"I'm not an idiot, trust me."
Kayla lifted the chart in her hands, examining it. On the clipboard was the chemotherapy schedule Draco and the oncologists had set up for Hermione.
The instructions were clear, to the point, and precise. The drugs were to be administered eight times a year; every sixty six days. If Draco's intern had calculated that properly, Hermione Granger was due for another session in two days.
Kayla, along with the rest of the staff, had been informed of Draco's spontaneous vacation. He and his young son had taken to the West for time off work, to celebrate his son's birthday. Like all his interns, she had been given a set number of patients to follow up with while he was away. One of the names she was assigned to was Hermione Granger, who was said to be dismissed from the hospital, and only to be approached for chemotherapy at her home in Wizarding London's suburbs. Kayla had been trusted by Draco Malfoy with the location of the home— with strong instructions to keep the address confidential. She made a note in her schedule to visit that very house and help Hermione through her second bout of chemo the following week.
Ever since she had helped pull Hermione through the internal bleeding incident, she had gained the most trust Healer Malfoy had ever been seen giving to an intern. He had given her access to his most critical— and most interesting— cases. She had been swamped from the moment he left to begin his vacation (of all interns, she was his most promising).
Her pager rang from the side of her belt as she turned a corner into the emergency room.
"Listen, Dmitri, I have to go— see you at home. I love you, babe... bye." She hung up and turned to her first patient: a twenty year old female with head lacerations. Cause: Quidditch accident. She looked mildly disorientated, and remained silent until the moment another gurney was taken past them. That was when she began crying.
On the gurney was a seventeen year old boy. After the girl's spell had collided with the tallest ring in the arena, this boy had been stuck under the totaled Quidditch ring. He didn't survive five minutes in the hospital. Because she had finished the stitches on the girl's forehead, Kayla was told to call and inform his parents. In the corner of her eye, she saw a ministry official approach the sobbing form.
The call was not easy. The mother had had her suspicions when her son's hand had fallen off their family clock, but the news still shocked her. Once she absorbed the news she broke down and their family was urged to come to the hospital.
Healer Flynn's next case was one of Draco's scheduled surgeries. He had insisted on the date months prior, and the patient had just arrived. She was still too inexperienced to perform surgically independently, and so she was teaming up with Healer and surgeon Terry Boot for the task. He was one if the most experienced surgeons in St. Mungo's, after training through his teen years with Madame Pomfrey in the hospital wing before, during, and after the Battle of Hogwarts. Healer Susan Bones was assisting as the healer from Ob/Gyn.
She met the patient, Penelope Weasley (née Clearwater) in the maternity ward. Beside her stood Percy — holding her hands— Molly, Arthur, a pregnant Ginny, Ron, and George Weasley. Kayla tried not to gush in the presence of the Hogwarts war heroes.
She went over the information with them once again, as she introduced Healer Boot to the case, "The baby's intestines have stuck themselves outside of the body, through a hole beside the belly button. Soon after the baby is born, surgery will be needed to place the organs inside the body and repair the wall. This was the part meant to be performed by Healer Malfoy. Healer Bones is here for the C-Section."
"Understood," Healer Boots said, smiling. He turned to Penelope— "Do you have any questions about the procedure?"
She nodded, sullen. "Will I be able to hold my baby before you take her away from me?" Percy beside her looked hopeful.
Bones looked to Boot, and they had their answer. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley, but we really can't let you. She has to be taken directly into another OR."
Penelope nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. "I understand." She said, and they prepared her for surgery.
The cesarean section went by with no complications. The baby was delivered and both parents were overjoyed at the sound of their newborn daughter crying. They named her Molly, after her beautiful grandmother— and hardly had a second with her before she was whipped away into another operating room.
The baby was proving to be quite difficult to operate on. It seemed that everything that possibly could have gone wrong, went wrong.
Three hours later Healer Boot was leaving, preparing to scrub out of his operating gown.
"A Perfect Storm," Boot muttered as he tucked away the last of the intestines, and stepped away to let Kayla close the small body. "That's what you call it when it all turns to shit."
She only nodded, and began closing the small body up. With no more words to exchange Boot left the OR, and left Kayla to inform the new parents on the state of their newborn child.
She knocked on the private room's door. "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," she called, and brought the attention of Percy and Penelope to herself. "Your daughter has just come out of surgery. She's doing well—"
The tension of the room visibly lessened. Percy had his head in his hands, thanking Merlin. Penelope broke down crying in her mother-in-law's strong arms.
"— but we'll need to hold her in the NICU for a few days for observation."
Ginny Weasley approached Kayla, taking her into her arms and hugging her tightly. "Thank you so much, Healer Flynn." she whispered into the intern's shoulder. "Send Malfoy our deepest thanks for saving her life."
"I-I will," Kayla said, smiling at the woman.
As she was taking her leave, Kayla's pager rang, calling on her to visit the labs of the hospital.
Another thing Kayla was assigned to do while Draco was away was to keep an eye on two things.
Such was a task he had given her in private, away from all the other interns: she was to keep a close watch on baby Athena in the NICU— recovering slowly but truly— and to keep tabs on Hermione's BRP case. The confiscated jumper, still in medical custody, was the subject of her visit to the laboratory.
"Healer Flynn," the technician behind the microscope greeted her, beckoning for her to near him. "Item 4478, BR Poisoning; take a look." He swiveled away to let her close to the machine.
Kayla looked through the eye piece. The particles of the jumper were beginning to crisp away. In her year of training under Healer Malfoy, she learned that this was something that happened exclusively when cloth had had a minimum of two weeks of exposure to a mixture two liquids of particular category: Muggle alcohol and Wizarding poison.
Kayla knew this. The technician knew this. They were both also aware that alcohol not used medically or officially authorized was prohibited from entering the hospital. The rule was solid with magical wards set in place to protect patients.
"What does this mean?" She asked, and immediately felt stupid for doing so.
The he technician was going through the same thought process. It was the only possible explanation, even though it was not what she was looking for. It was not what she was hoping for. It was not what she was planning for.
At first she could hardly make herself say it out loud. She'd met the man. She'd talked to him on the hallways. She'd liked him.
"Her friend— the Muggle who came to support her— he can be the only logical suspect."
And just like that, she found herself losing control.