Diagnosis

by sistersgrimmlover

Harry Potter is screwed. He had no idea that he would find a handsome man in his bed when he wakes up; already late for his first day at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies as a trainee. He had no idea that his mom's ex would have an axe to grind and that the handsome man in his bed that morning was his boss, Tom Riddle, Head of Spell Damage. Like I said, Harry is screwed.

21. Chapter 21

Pairing: HP/TR and an assortment of others

Disclaimer: I don't really own Harry Potter or Grey's Anatomy (which this was inspired by).

Note: Fairest was giving me a really hard time since it's always so dark and heavy. It's usually around this really plot heavy time that I hit writer's block, so here's a light-hearted medical dramedy.

Diagnosis

Chapter Twenty-One

Harry squirmed deeper into the familiar warmth, turning his face into hard muscle. Arms tightened around him. He let out a long sigh. He remembered those arms—those large, strong hands pressing him into the mattress. He remembered that body pressed against his back. He remembered being pounded into the mattress, screaming his voice hoarse, screaming Tom, Tom, TOM—

"Oh, fuck," Harry gasped, waking up in a sudden rush.

"Good morning to you too."

Tom's voice sounded low and gravelly. It was his tired voice, but it was also his 'I wanna fuck you until you cry' voice. Harry groaned, turning his face back into Tom's shoulder. He shuddered when he felt Tom's hands drag down from where they were splayed against his stomach to his thighs, squeezing hard.

"Tom…" Harry whispered.

"I'm feeling much better," Tom hissed into his ear, almost conversationally. His hands felt like hot brands on Harry's thighs. He could feel the heat of them through his sleep pants. "You're a very good Healer, Harry."

"I gave you potions, you git," Harry muttered. "Let me up."

Tom's hands tightened on his thighs, sliding inwards. Harry could feel the tips of Tom's hands on the seams of his sleep pants, attempting to pry his thighs open. Harry gasped and then promptly swallowed that sound. He pressed his lips together.

"Harry...I still make you hot, don't I?"

Harry's eyes narrowed and he grabbed the sides of the tubs. "Stop being a selfish git and get dressed," Harry snarled, and he pulled himself up, practically leaping out of the porcelain monstrosity. He turned to look at Tom, hands on his hips, and Merlin, did the man look ridiculous.

Tom Riddle was far too long for Harry's bathtub, his ridiculously long toes curling over the edge of the tub. He also looked far too smug for a man that was seemingly at death's door just the night before. His bare chest was always far too muscular for a man that was just a Healer. He had to work out, and when did he have time to do that when he was always eating poorly and never sleeping because he was working.

"How are you already healthy?" Harry hissed dangerously. "The Black Cat Flu takes three days of potions."

"What can I say? My immune system is extraordinary," Tom drawled. He went on his knees in the bathtub and leered. Fuck, this man had seen Harry naked. He was definitely thinking about Harry naked, and Harry...Harry hadn't seen a naked man in a long time.

And Tom was probably the best-naked man he'd ever seen in his life. But, Harry had just promised himself that he wouldn't pant after the man like a bitch in heat anymore.

"Merlin, take a shower. You're ridiculous," Harry snapped.

Tom hummed. "Wouldn't it save water if we showered together? You could wash my back and I'd...wash yours," Tom said.

"Stop flirting with me," Harry barked, clapping his hands to his face as he stumbled out of the bathroom, chased away by Tom's snarky chuckles. Harry threw the door shut behind him, attempting not to imagine a wet, glistening Tom Riddle. He'd probably jerk off that thick, perfect—"Hermione!"

Harry stumbled out of his bedroom, running down the hall to his destination. He didn't give a second thought to the fact that Hermione's door was closed despite it being probably time for her to get up. He threw the door open, shouting Hermione's name again—his shout devolved into a shriek of horror as he saw a flash of pale skin.

"HARRY!" Hermione snarled, attempting to sit up, one of her long brown legs thrown over Ron's shoulder as he thrust into her over and over again. Ron shuddered between her legs, coming to a stop, looking over his shoulder. He turned pale. So pale. And then, a bright, violent red.

Harry stood, shell-shocked, his jaw practically unhinged as he stared at the pale freckled arse of his friend who was balls-deep inside of his other friend.

"MY EYES!" he screamed, spinning into motion. He slapped his hands over his face and stumbled backward.

"GET OUT! GET OUT!"

Harry did just that. The door was thrown shut behind him and locked, magically. Harry swallowed, trying to forget what he'd just seen but the sight of Ron's pale arse and Hermione's leg thrown over Ron's shoulder was burned into the back of his eyelids. Harry fell back against Hermione's door and groaned.

Fucking disgusting.

DIAGNOSIS

Hermione watched Harry's back carefully, her chin resting on carefully folded fingers. Everything about this was careful. Too careful. Ron's ears were still pink from earlier that morning. Neville was watching was a careful balance of amusement and nervousness. Tom hadn't seemed to notice anything amiss at all. The tension was as thick as a brick.

It was a familiar tension. The type of tension that had always characterized the breakfasts after Tom slept over. It was a familiar tension. Too familiar.

And everyone was far, far too careful.

"What's for breakfast, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Eggs."

Tom looked pleased. Harry slid the pile of too crunchy and, still, too runny eggs into the platter and slammed it on the table next to the toast. He slid into his seat next to Tom, and carefully watched Hermione as the others helped themselves. They had long gotten used to his shitty eggs.

"Interesting," Hermione drawled. There was a long silence and she shook her head, leaning forward. "Why is he here?"

"Why does it matter?" Harry threw back. Almost violently, he stabbed his eggs and shoved them into his mouth. They didn't taste as bad as usual. Harry took that as a mark of steady improvement.

"You had rules."

"Rules that were followed," Harry retorted.

Ron snorted. "We noticed. You were in the bathtub."

"Harry—" Hermione warned.

"I just saw Ron inside of you. So, let's not throw stones at glass houses, yeah?" Harry said, good-natured but a hint of warning in his voice. He grimaced, shaking his head as he realized what he'd just said. "Merlin, I just saw Ron's pale freckled arse."

Tom sneered. "Disgusting."

There was a long moment of tense silence with Hermione and Harry staring at one another, a challenge in both of their eyes. Finally, Hermione relented and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Ron and I are dating," Hermione said.

Harry looked surprised for a split-second before his lips curled into a shit-eating grin.

"Ooooh," he cooed, teasingly. "So, I was right. You do want to kiss him and hug him. You want him to have your babies."

Hermione snorted, rolling her eyes. Ron flushed.

"That's not really how that works, mate. You see, my penis is inside of—"

"Too much," Neville grunted through a mouthful of eggs and toast. "Too. Too. Much."

Tom was already scraping his plate clean, helping himself to another serving. Harry watched, his lips curling in amusement despite himself. Tom looked up from his plate, his fork halfway to his mouth. Lips pressed together, Tom snorted as he swallowed his laughter. Very deliberately, he continued to eat and Harry threw his head back, erupting with laughter. He ignored the bizarre looks his friends sent him.

"What's so funny?" Ron demanded.

"Your flat, naked arse," Harry snapped back.

Ron pouted. "My arse is not flat. Your arse is flat."

"No, it's not."

Harry winced as he looked over at Tom. Tom looked surprised by the words that they had both spoken at the same time too. And then, he grinned, vicious and charming and flirtatious and Harry had to smother his laughter all over again.

Hermione shook her head. "You two are disgusting," she muttered under her breath. "Have some decorum."

"Learn how to use a lock," Harry retorted.

"Learn how to knock," Hermione hissed as she stood, dumping her plate into the sink and storming out of the kitchen. Harry grinned at her, laughing to himself.

"She's embarrassed," Harry announced to the table.

"I walked in on them too, you know. In a broom closet. At work. I was traumatized," Neville said conversationally. Harry's eyes widened and he leaned forward.

"So, you knew? Did everyone know before me? Why didn't she tell me the moment you two decided?" Harry demanded.

Ron shrugged. "We were...keeping it private. If it helps, we hadn't told Neville. Like he said. He walked in on us."

"Her bra was coming off. I've seen too much of Hermione than I'm comfortable with," Neville said sharply

Tom rolled his eyes. "You're all children."

"Fuck off," Harry said, good-naturedly.

Tom pulled his wand then and waved it. Harry watched in surprise as all of his notes came whizzing through the air, passing through the swinging kitchen door and settled next to Tom's plate as he finished off his second helping of breakfast. It was quite honestly the neatest Summoning Spell Harry had ever seen and he was instantly struck with jealousy.

"In the throes of my illness—" Tom began.

"I thought you didn't get sick," Harry said mockingly.

Tom ignored him. "I had an idea," he said and then paused, glancing at Ron and Neville. "Get out."

"This is our kitchen!" Ron squawked.

"We're about to discuss a confidential case. You need to leave," Tom said shortly.

Neville whined, "Harry…"

"I mean...he's not wrong," Harry said sheepishly. Both Ron and Neville glared at him. "Ugh, don't pretend that breakfast was good. Look. I'll do the dishes and clean up. He won't stop being a prat until you move."

Ron glowered at Tom but stood up, clutching his last piece of toast as he stormed out of the kitchen. Neville followed, much quieter.

"Muffliato," Tom cast on the door. He followed up with a few choice locking spells and another privacy spell. He glanced over at Harry's unimpressed expression. "Your friends are known eavesdroppers."

Harry scoffed. "Whatever. Now, what's this brilliant plan you have?" Harry asked.

"All my plans are brilliant," Tom snapped.

"Tell that to the patients that died," Harry retorted, his voice grave.

Tom's eyes narrowed but he didn't respond cruelly. Instead, he said, "I had an idea…"

"Tom, you sound hesitant. You're making me think you're going to say something insane," Harry said, a smile playing on his lips already.

Tom didn't smile back.

"All strains of Vanishing Disease are different. This is known," Tom began.

Harry scoffed. "Well, yes, but she doesn't have Vanishing Disease. She's been hit with a Withering Curse."

"But, we have to treat it like it's a disease. Diseases are caused by bacteria. Viruses. We have to treat it for how it's acting," Tom said gravely.

"Okay?"

"Bacteria are alive, Harry," Tom said quietly. He was staring at his notes now and looked nearly appreciative of everything that Harry had written down. "They...you've disproved all of my other theories."

"Someone had to," Harry said softly.

Tom hummed to himself. "Bacteria are alive. So, we have to kill it."

"Treat it," Harry said.

"No. Like you said. It's a Withering Curse. We treat it as a Vanishing Disease. Which mean, it's alive. But, it's a curse. It adapts. It moves. Like a virus. So, no. We have to kill it."

Harry's eyes widened.

"You are not suggesting what I think you're suggesting."

"I can do it," Tom drawled.

Harry's lips curled back into a sneer. "How do you know how to do it? It goes against our very nature. We're Healers, Tom. You can't really be suggesting that we use...that...that spell. And you won't get it right on the first time."

"They're very simple, Harry. The Unforgiveables," Tom said quietly. "You have to mean it."

"You're mad," Harry hissed. "The Department of Mysteries will never sanction it. She will never sanction it. You're suggesting the fucking Killing Curse."

Tom leaned back in his chair.

"I'm suggesting we curse a woman's curse. I'm suggesting we kill something that isn't alive but is alive, an absolute conundrum. And impossibility. No, I'm suggesting extreme measures."

Madness.

DIAGNOSIS

Lily led the two men down the Potions & Poisonings Floor, practically walking backward. "This is where we keep patients for Potions & Poisonings. Offices are also on this floor. Largely, the potions labs can be found in the basement, closer to the pharmacy."

"And where are the greenhouses?" Zabini asked curiously.

Lily hummed. "We have a few greenhouses in the back courtyard, but we're looking towards expansion."

"In what way?"

Lily's eyes narrowed. Zabini asked too many fucking questions.

"We're hoping to create a dark greenhouse in the basement as a more hospitable environment for plants such as fluxweed and Devil's Snare. With your generosity, we'll be able to achieve that sooner than later. This way," Lily snapped, turning on her heel as she led them towards the lift. She wouldn't tolerate any more questions. Lily pulled out her pocket watch and glanced at it—Lavender would be done with physical therapy soon.

"Healer Evans," said a tall young blonde man with a rounded face. Longbottom, if Lily remembered correctly. He was one of Harry's friend.

"Hello, Longbottom," she said carefully and nearly beamed when he swooned at his name coming out of her mouth. Good. She got that one right then.

"Do you know most Healers here?" Diggory asked.

"Only the ones that matter," Lily allowed.

Then, she condemned her words. She was supposed to be projecting warmth. She entered the lift and the two men followed after her. There was just barely room in the lift, full of matrons, a pair of Mind Healers that would be going to the top floor, and Draco.

"Bonjour," Lily said, softly.

"Bonjour, Guėrriseur. Oh. Blaise," Draco said, looking pleasantly surprised by Zabini. Lily raised an eyebrow.

"Do you know one another?" Lily asked.

"Yes. Our mothers are old friends," Zabini said. He beamed at Draco, reaching forward to clap Lily's student on the shoulder. "How are you, old friend?"

"Well. I am working in the Mind Healing Ward now," Draco said, his voice stilted.

Lily's eyes widened. That was news to her.

"A noble profession," Zabini said with a smile. "Have you spoken with Theo, lately?"

Lily's eyes narrowed. Theo. Harry had known a Theo, hadn't he?

"No. I have not. We should get drinks soon. Astoria is here too," Draco said. He looked over at Lily, a strange look in his eyes. "It was good to see you, Guérriseur."

Lily nodded. The lift doors opened and she slowly turned away from her student.

"And finally, the Spell Damage floor," Lily said as she backed out of the lift. She had long dropped her smile—it had become too hard to maintain. Diggory looked put off by her sudden coldness, but Zabini seemed like he appreciated it. Good. Lily wouldn't be smiling again any time soon. Except, then, she was smiling. "And there he is now. My son."

Harry was looking up at Riddle, his brow furrowed.

"—don't even know how to use the Killing—"

"I do," Riddle retorted.

Harry snorted. "Tom, you're being stupid. You're so—Mum!"

"Harry, my love," Lily said, her voice warming as she walked up to him. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to his temple. Harry looked surprised but he leaned into, smiling gently. Lily pulled back. Her eyes narrowed on Riddle. "Riddle."

"Evans," Riddle sneered back.

There was a long moment of silence before Lily gathered her wits.

"This is Healer Tom Marvolo Riddle, Head of Spell Damage, and my son, Harry Potter, his student," Lily said, unable to keep the smug pride out of her voice. Harry's cheeks turned pink but he held up his tiny smile. "These are the two newest members of the Board: Amos Diggory and Blaise Zabini."

Zabini was staring at Harry, a hungry look in his eyes. "Enchanted."

Harry raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down, and that smile of his turned into something far more wicked. Riddle's lips curled into a sneer and he took a step forward, holding out his hand to Zabini. Zabini didn't hesitate to take it, pumping it once, though his eyes remained on Harry.

"Healer Riddle, I've been meaning to speak with you," Diggory began, his chest pumping up.

Riddle raised an eyebrow. "About what, exactly? I'm afraid we're very busy with my current trial—"

"It's about your trial!" Diggory blurted out. "My son—handsome chap, just turned 24—has elected to join your trial. He's filled out the application and has had a copy sent out to the Department of Mysteries as well as you. We want to know when we can expect treatment."

Lily winced. That wasn't going to go well.

Riddle looked unimpressed.

"I haven't had the chance to look at any incoming applications as of yet. And forgive me, but you said your son is...24," Riddle said.

"Yes," Diggory said, nodding like a bobblehead.

Riddle already looked finished with the conversation. "Then, this isn't something we should be discussing. If you'll excuse us—"

"You are far too lovely to be a Healer. You must be incredibly talented," Zabini said to Harry.

Harry laughed quietly. "I didn't know being lovely and talented were mutually exclusive."

"Well, you prove that theory quite wrong, don't you?" Zabini retorted.

Riddle rolled his eyes. "Enough. Harry—"

"I am a member of the Board. I have a right to know about projects that my money is being invested in—" Diggory began, puffing his chest up.

"Forgive me, Mr. Diggory, but you weren't a part of the Board when the Gorsemoor Grant was awarded to me. Now, that is quite enough. Harry, let's go," Riddle said coldly. He stalked past Harry and Zabini. Lily raised an eyebrow at her only son, and he winked at her—so he was well-aware of the reaction that his actions caused. How very calculated of him.

"I hope we will speak again soon," Zabini said, his Italian voice thickening.

Loftily, Harry lifted his chin. "I suppose. It depends on whether I decide that you're worth speaking to again. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do," Harry drawled. He nodded at Diggory and wiggled his fingers in farewell at Lily as he followed after his teacher.

Zabini couldn't look away.

DIAGNOSIS

"This is my favorite plant."

Neville jumped at the voice, spinning around in the soil to see Astoria Greengrass, kneeling in the dirt. She didn't seem to care about the fact that her robes were tracking compost or the fact that she was getting dirt under her pristine nails. That might have been something Malfoy cared about, but Astoria didn't even seem to notice.

"What's your favorite plant?" Neville asked, uncomfortable.

Astoria didn't look up from the bulbous plant that she was kneeling in front of. "The mimbulus mimbletonia," she said as she absently reached out.

"Don't touch—"

Very deliberately, Astoria ran her finger over one of the bulbous boil-like spines, gently. The mimbulus mimbletonia shuddered, making an odd crooning sound. Neville looked at her, impressed and surprised and he slowly settled.

"It has a purpose. It serves a purpose and it helps people. Stinksap can be used to Heal injured animals. I thought I would be a...what is it? An animal Healer?" Astoria asked, her brow furrowed.

Neville's lips curled into a smile despite himself. "A veterinarian?"

"This is a strange word. 'Vet-er-in-ar-ian'," she said, drawing out the word slowly. She grinned at him, suddenly, that terrifying weird grin. "I am hiding from Luna and Hannah. And Draco."

"Why?" Neville asked curiously.

"Draco is needy. And he doesn't understand why I like what I do. Hannah doesn't understand. She doubts me. Because I am cold. Luna tries to understand. I think she is the closest to doing so," Astoria said, and she finally stood up, going towards the more tame flowers. She beamed as she petted the velvet petals of a lily, and for the first time, Neville wasn't completely freaked out by her smile. It filled him with warmth—the same sort warmth that Neville felt when Ron clapped him on the shoulder and said 'well done' or when Hermione nudged the takeaway menus towards him even on her nights if he'd had a rough day.

"Why do you what you do?" Neville asked.

Astoria's eyes narrowed but her odd smile never faltered. "You are the first to ask me besides Dumbly-dore. Dumbledore. I am sorry. His name is difficult."

Neville snorted out a laugh. "I guess."

Astoria was silent for a long time and then, she looked up.

"If you want to work in the Children's Ward, you can't get emotional," Astoria began.

Neville looked up at her, surprised.

"Isn't that part of the job? Caring? Hannah cares a lot," Neville said.

"And that makes her good. But, she gets emotional. There is a difference between advocating for tiny humans and berating terrified parents—she hasn't learned that. We have got great hands. Great instincts. These are tiny humans who hope and makes wishes and that makes them more resilient than adults. They believe. In the Children's Ward, we have miracles and anything is possible," Astoria said, her eyes wide. "Do you understand?"

Neville let out a surprised laugh. "Yeah. That's hardcore."

"Hard...core?" Astoria asked and then she shook her head. "Yes, hardcore!"

DIAGNOSIS

Severus leaned back in his chair, sinking into the overstuffed seat, as he attempted to eat his salad. Albus didn't seem too worried by Severus' increasing discomfort as he dug at the very bottom of his bag of lemon drops. Albus leaned back in his seat, pouting as he popped his very last lemon drop into his mouth.

"How is young Healer Malfoy fairing?" Severus asked.

"Well. He has taken to the subtlety of the Mind Arts like a kelpie to water," Albus said pleasantly. He leaned forward, staring at Severus curiously. "He is a gifted Legilimens and Occlumens. Did you know?"

"Why would I?" Severus asked coldly.

Albus' eyes shuttered for a moment before he resumed his genial smile. There was a long moment of silence between the pair of them. Then, Albus leaned forward. "I suppose you'd like to know about Healer Greengrass' progress as well?"

Severus hadn't remembered the strange girl.

"Yes," he said through his teeth. "I thought it strange when she opted for the Children's Ward. She seemed better suited to Mind Healing than Mr. Malfoy. She wouldn't get attached."

Albus hummed.

"I think you don't know her quite as well as you believe, my boy," Albus said, side-stepping Severus' words carefully. "Luna says that she is a delightful addition to the Children's War. A few of the long-term patients have taken quite a shine to her. I am not surprised. Healer Greengrass calls them tiny humans."

Albus' lips curled into a smile. Severus' lips curled into a sneer.

"This is a gifted class of Healers," Severus admitted grudgingly.

Albus' smile seemed more genuine. "It is. Gifted in the way that very few are. Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Padma Patil, Ronald Weasley, Harry Potter."

Severus couldn't help the utter distaste that spread across his face.

"Harry Potter," he repeated softly.

Albus gave a boyish grin. "Come now, Severus. We cannot pretend that the boy is not gifted. He was gifted enough to grab Tom's attention."

"I don't think it was his 'gift' at Healing that caught Riddle's attention," Severus retorted.

Albus frowned then. It always startled Severus how quickly Albus' emotions could shift. It made Severus question whether Albus was feeling so many different things at once that he could present the emotion in a split-second or if he felt nothing at all and only pretended. He was strange like Lily, in that way.

"Do not be disparaging, Severus."

"He is rewarded for sleeping with a superior. He does not follow the rules. He rides the coattails of his mother. He is arrogant," Severus said, full of venom and spite. He ignored the disappointment on Albus' face, pushing on to say, "There is quite a bit of young talent. I hesitate to count him as part of it."

"You are blinded by your own prejudices," Albus said.

"Perhaps," Severus allowed. He waved his wand, Vanishing his empty plate and folded his hands in his lap. "It seems that you are bringing Draco up as a successor of sorts. Have you thought further on retirement?"

Albus hummed, carefully not making eye contact. "Perhaps," he returned.

"And my standing. Do I still stand first in line to become Head Healer?" Severus asked. He pushed on. "I have done as you've asked of me. I have taken on students of my own, and continue to mentor Longbottom. I am looking to pursue one of my own projects in the future. Of course, I do not have a grant the size of the Gorsemoor Grant at my disposal, but there are excess funds in the Plants & Poisonings department."

Albus looked interested. "A project, you say? Do explain."

"It is an improvement on the Wolfsbane Potion. Lily told me that though her child wasn't bitten, she has found some adverse effects of her attack. A heightened appetite for bloody meat, aggressive behaviors during the full moon, and a penchant for sleepwalking," Severus said carefully. Albus raised an eyebrow. "After further research, this is typical behavior for true werewolves during the new moon. I would like to improve the potion to subdue all of these behaviors."

Albus hummed. "So, Lily put you up to this."

"No," Severus snarled. Albus didn't look like he believed him. "I have done all that you've asked. I have put in the work and paid my dues. Would you pass me over for what is mine?"

Albus' eyes grew cold and furious.

"It is not yours, Severus Snape. Until I have decided, I am Head Healer."

"This is about Riddle, isn't it?" Severus accused. "Just as Potter, you would reward him for poor behavior. I am older, more seasoned, and trained. I am willing to build a rapport with the Board and further involve myself in the education of trainees. But, you cannot give this to Riddle. You have always favored Riddle even after what he did to you—"

"That is not your concern," Albus said, silencing Severus almost immediately. Slowly, Albus stood to his feet and Severus was reminded of how tall the older man was. "Tom Riddle has been teaching—not because he wants the position of Head Healer. He teaches because he is good at it and it's his job. He doesn't need to be asked. He is pursuing ways to improve and revolutionize Healing—not to placate an unrequited love. You would do well to recognize that Healer Riddle is talented and just as qualified for the position, and you do not 'get' it because you think it is what you deserve. Now. Get out."

DIAGNOSIS

"Ron," said Emmeline.

Her voice was soft. She sounded surprised by his presence. Ron's lips curled into a small smile. He hadn't quite realized how much he had missed her. Emmeline took an aborted step towards him and then pulled back.

"Hey, Em," he said.

Emmeline lifted her chin. "Can I help you?"

Ron winced.

"I...yeah. We can talk?" Ron asked, rubbing the back of his neck. Emmeline watched him for a long moment before she nodded, slowly opening the door to her study. She waited for him to walk through before closing the door behind them. Ron took in the state of the room. "Wow. You've got a lot happening in here."

It was a mess, in short. In length, there were piles and piles of books on the floor, cluttered around a strange winding pathway that diverged to the couch and to Emmeline's desk. Large pieces of parchment were stuck to the wall, both Emmeline and Hermione's handwriting cluttered on every inch of the paper. Finally, at the centerpiece of it all was a rather pristine roll of parchment on the desk, untouched but by Emmeline's hand.

"We're doing the finishing touches on our paper," Emmeline said carefully. "This is the third draft."

Ron hummed. "Impressive."

He walked along the path, peering at the phrases that shot out at him: 'hair is most effective when fresh', 'pervasiveness of Dark—', 'methodology'. He pulled away and looked over at Emmeline. She looked exhausted, more so than Hermione, and it was the first time that Ron recognized Emmeline as someone that was older than him. She was at least half a decade older than him. He wasn't sure why that hadn't hit him before. After all, she was Head of Magical Creature-Induced Injuries. Of course, that was a rather new title, but she was an accomplished Healer. She'd been shortlisted for the Gorsemoor Grant once before.

Emmeline had lived. Emmeline was gorgeous and she had wanted him. Tall, skinny, freckled youngest-of-the-Weasley-brothers 'Ron'. He knew if Fred or George knew they'd want to know how he was getting all of these gorgeous women to want him.

"Your sparkling wit," Emmeline drawled.

"What?" Ron squawked.

Emmeline rolled her eyes. "You're thinking out loud, Ron," she muttered. She sighed, leaning back into her desk. "What do you want, Ron? Your girlfriend, clearly, isn't here."

"I—" Ron stammered. "She's...yeah, she's my girlfriend. How did you know?"

"I may not be an Auror, but I'm not an idiot, Ron," Emmeline scoffed. "You two are besotted with one another."

Ron cringed. "Are you angry? Are you going to hex me?"

"I'm not a child, Ron," Emmeline said snippily. "I'm...I'm hurt. The guy I liked doesn't return my feelings. So, yes, I'm hurt, but I'm not going to resort to violence. Grow the hell up. You're not that awesome."

Ron held up his hands.

"You're right," he acknowledged quickly. "I'm sorry."

Emmeline deflated. "Ugh, this fucking sucks, Ron. I know that I shouldn't treat you as a prize. I know that, logically, but I can't help but think I did everything right. And she didn't. She's literally insane, Ron. Like, actually. But, you picked her, and not me, and I just have to get over that, but I work with her and I see how insane she is, and it sucks, because I'm starting to like her."

Ron snorted.

"Yeah. She's like that. She's...she's Hermione," Ron said, and he smiled thinking about the way her hair smelled like coconut oil, and how passionate she got when she ranted.

"And it sucks. Because we were friends, and I miss my friend," Emmeline confessed.

Ron took a step forward, nodding. "I miss my friend too. No one will go to shitty bars with me or drink cheap whiskey. No one laughs at my jokes. I told Hermione the joke about the hag, the Healer, and the mimbulus mimbletonia and she just said she didn't get it!"

Emmeline snorted.

"I'm not going to laugh at your jokes anymore. You're not funny."

"What? I totally am!" Ron debated.

Emmeline shook her head. "No, you're not. Ron, don't you know anything about girls? Girls laugh at the guy they like even if he tells the worst jokes," Emmeline sighed, shaking her head. She looked up, her smile dying. "No one eats greasy fish and chips with me. You were one of my best friends."

"And you're mine."

"Are?" Emmeline asked.

Ron nodded. "That didn't change, you know."

"How was I supposed to know? You left me at my flat after yelling at me, and ran away to Hermione Granger," Emmeline snapped.

Ron shook his head. "No. I went home. And she stalked me across England to find me. Because she didn't know where I was and she was terrified," Ron said softly.

Emmeline's eyes widened. "What?"

"I didn't go home. And she found me. She's my family. And she's crazy and a hag and a bossy know-it-all and obsessed with being the best, and I like her anyway. I like her a lot. And Neville doesn't want to hear about it anymore," Ron said, trailing off. "You probably don't want to hear it either."

He made to go towards the door. Just when his hand wrapped around the doorknob, he heard Emmeline say, "She's something."

Ron grinned and looked over his shoulder. "She is."

Emmeline bit her bottom lip. "Let's go to the pub on Friday."

Ron's grin widened. "You pick. The grimiest, dirtiest pub you can think of."

DIAGNOSIS

"The Killing Curse. So, we're really going with that," Harry muttered under his breath. He looked over at Tom, his lips pursed. "We're really going with that?"

"We're really going with that," Tom repeated. He looked quite stern. The only other people in the theatre was Mafalda Hopkirk, lying on the table—sans all hair and most of the muscle mass of her arms and legs—and Miriam Strout. "You really need to sign that contract, Matron Strout."

"You really need to Summon to do that, Healer Riddle," Miriam said, just as stern. Tom's lips twitched in amusement and he said nothing else as he approached Mafalda's very still body.

"How are you even targeting the bacteria, Tom?" Harry demanded.

"This isn't exactly the well thought out plan, Harry. I never said it was," Tom muttered under his breath. Before Harry could open his mouth to complain again, he continued, "It's what's necessary, however."

"Can't you reverse it? Instead of Vanishing, you Conjure," Harry snapped.

"I can't just Conjure her muscles back, Harry," Tom retorted. "First: that's stupid. Second: I can't just Conjure back something that I didn't Vanish. I don't know where it was Vanished to."

"That's not how Vanishing Spells work, Tom," Harry snarled. "You can Conjure something back. That's why we Vanish living things at Hogwarts and then our professors can Conjure them back!"

"Don't shout magical theory at me," Tom retorted. "Do you know how complex a single muscle is, let alone all of her muscles from her arms and legs? Do you know how intimately I would need to understand her tissue? The curse is in her fucking spine now. I can't Summon her spine back, Harry! So, if we're going to cast the Killing Curse on this woman's spine, rendering her disabled but alive, I'm going to do it. Now."

It suddenly struck Harry that they were screaming at each back and forth over a woman that was, for all intents and purposes, about to be murdered.

"Wait. Are you casting the Killing Curse? But only on her spine? Really, Healer Riddle? How does that work?" Miriam asked in disbelief.

"Right?" Harry squawked. "He's insane! I can't believe—"

"QUIET!" Tom roared and Harry fell silent, eyes wide. Tom pinched the bridge of his nose, looking between the two of them. "She asked for extreme measures. I am performing extreme measures. And I know...I know it won't work. I know."

"Then, why, Tom?" Harry demanded.

Tom took a deep breath. "Because we have done all we can. And now, it's our job to make sure she's comfortable. She is in an immense amount of pain, Harry. Just like Katie Bell was in. Do you want her to die in pain? Or in an instant of bliss?"

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it again.

"And if it works, you've found a way to make the Killing Curse do something good," Harry whispered softly. Tom looked back at him with a heavy frown.

"It won't work."

"But, it could. If anyone could do it. You could," Harry said softly.

Tom frowned down at Mafalda. "You have far too much faith in my abilities."

"You usually do too," Harry challenged. "You wanted to conquer death. Conquer death with death."

"It's not going to work."

Harry resisted saying the words he wanted to. I know.

"Okay," Harry said instead. "You really think you can do it on your first go?"

Tom looked at him for a long moment. Slowly, he pulled his long, pale wand. "Matron Strout. Healer Potter. Please turn Ms. Hopkirk onto her front."

Harry swallowed and nodded. He turned to Miriam and they both lifted their wands, slowly Levitating Mafalda Hopkirk and turning her onto her stomach. Harry pulled his wand down, slowly slicing open her hospital ropes to reveal her back. He winced where he saw her back caving in at different intervals, different vertebrae that had Vanished from her.

"Tom?" Harry asked softly. "It...it takes a few times...my father had to use it once and he couldn't—"

"Avada Kedavra."

Harry gasped as he saw the flash of green light. It momentarily blinded him and he nearly fell back as suddenly Mafalda Hopkirk fell to the table, a dead weight. Her corpse had fallen, like her puppet strings had been sliced. Harry looked over at Tom, trembling. Tom stared at the body and then looked up at Harry. He didn't say anything.

"I…she's dead," Harry whispered.

"We have to tell the family," Tom said. And then, he really looked at Harry. "I'll tell the family. Go home, sweetheart."

Harry turned on his heel, fleeing the theatre. Matron Strout was still stiff as a board. Slowly, she looked at Tom.

"Healer?" Matron Strout asked.

"It's not the first time I used it," Tom said quietly.

"Healer Riddle—" Matron Strout warned.

"It does take a few times," Tom continued as if he hadn't heard her. "He was in a lot of pain. Too much pain. I couldn't save him."

"There is no shame in giving someone's death a little bit of dignity," Matron Strout said after a long moment.

Tom frowned. "I know."

Still, Miriam wondered if he did.

DIAGNOSIS

Bellatrix hated herself. She looked so fucking stupid, hovering in front of Tom's office. Everyone was watching her while they walked past. A pair of matrons had looked at her, eyes wide as dinner plates until they walked past her, and immediately erupted into giggles. She wondered why people were still talking about her and Tom and Harry fucking Potter. Didn't anyone have anything better to talk about than their sordid affairs?

Bellatrix tugged nervously on the ends of her hair and she straightened when she saw Tom exiting the lift. He looked exhausted in a way that she'd never quite seen him. Tom liked to pretend that he was invincible, and yet now, he only looked defeated. As he approached her, he didn't put on his mask.

Bellatrix felt a thrill rush through her. She was allowed to see this.

Tom's face twisted with annoyance.

"What do you want?" he hissed. "I don't have time for you, Bellatrix."

"I wanted to know...well...I missed you," Bellatrix blurted out.

There was a long moment of silence. Bellatrix didn't take back her words. Tom stared at her as if she were an idiot.

"I really don't have time for you," he said, his voice flat. He pushed past her, nearly shoving her as he stalked into his office. He swung the door shut behind her, but Bellatrix caught it with the very pointed toe of her boot.

She slid inside, leaning back against the door as she watched him pack up for the night. Agitated, he threw a few case files into his satchel, stowing it away with a few scrolls. He gathered two crystal wells of ink that Bellatrix recognized. Rodolphus had bought them for Tom's birthday a few years ago. She wondered why he hadn't thrown them out. Slowly, she realized that Tom had caught her staring—not that she was trying to hide it. Very deliberately, he pressed the wells into his bag with a few quills.

Bellatrix opened her mouth to say something, then stopped. Tom was still watching her. He was hesitating. And then, the irritation and annoyance fell away from his face, and his burgundy eyes burned.

"Why did you cheat on me?"

That wasn't the question that she had anticipated.

"What?" she whispered.

"Why did you cheat on me?"

"You know why…"

"Why did you cheat on me?" he roared at her.

"DON'T PRETEND YOU CARE! WHY DO YOU CARE?" she roared back, her own piercing shriek making her wince.

Tom hadn't flinched. He lifted his chin and stalked past her, nearly shoving her again in his rush to get out of the door. He stopped in the doorway.

"You were my best friend. You were my best friends and you betrayed me," he said, his voice low. "I always cared."

:::

A/N: Hey, y'all. Here's another chapter for you. I hope you enjoyed it. It's a little short, but that's because it's kinda a transition chapter. I'm really starting to lay the foundation for the climax and tying up all the loose plot holes. This means that relationships are now determined. I know where they're going and you won't be able to change my mind.

OUR LORD AND SAVIOR, QUEEN CARDI B RECENTLY DROPPED AN ALBUM. IT IS AN ALBUM OF BANGER AFTER BANGER. THERE WERE NO SKIPS. MY QWEEN.

Finally, I won't be updating again until late-May (but you never know. Sometimes, I surprise myself). My semester is winding down, and I'll be studying super hard for my finals and finishing up a few research papers. See you again soon!