CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Summary: Hermione suffers a terrible attack and who should find her but one of Wizarding Britain's most eligible bachelors. The relationship that builds between them is one no one saw coming, but no one predicted the danger that would surely follow. Post-War. Rated M for a reason.
Disclaimer: I do not own canon events or characters, they belong to J.K Rowling. I am not making a profit from this fanfic, everything is purely for entertainment purposes.
AN
So, for any of you who don't read 'The Dark Lady', I made a note that I had started writing a Hermione/Fenrir pairing, and asked for your opinion if I should continue. Well, it was unanimous. Yes.
So, I don't want to give too much away, but, Fenrir won't be a monstrous savage – well, not within reason; he is still a werewolf. And it will begin when Hermione is young. Like six-years-old young, possibly. I'm unsure if someone has written something similar to what I will be writing, but if they have, it will be a complete coincidence. I had this weird, random thought and couldn't get it out of my head and that spawned Hermione/Fenrir. I won't be posting it until it is either complete or near to completion, so you may be waiting a while as I still have plenty of WIPs to finish and they take priority.
Q&A
CallaRose4ever – A jerk. Most definitely a jerk.
Kallanit – No comment. And no, the cottages won't be donated to the orphanage. I only included them because from what I know, there's plenty of rural residences that rent out properties to campers/hikers and that sort of thing.
Page count: 15
Muggle London - Wednesday 10th March 1999
"Knock, knock," said Hermione, peeking her head into the sterile room through the partially opened door as she wrapped her knuckles against it.
From her place lounging on the hospital bed, Mrs. Wood gave her a smile in greeting, gesturing for her to enter the room with a wave of her hand. She sat with her back propped up by the pillows and a thin blanket covered her lower body, Hermione being able to see the hospital gown she'd changed into. Her face was free of makeup, her hair pulled back into a neat French braid and despite looking tired, she appeared to be in high spirits.
An empty chair sat by the bed with a second chair being positioned by the window, the partially closed blinds limiting the filter of the afternoon sun. The walls were cream in colour with white marble flooring, a TV was mounted on the wall in the right corner and turned off, and a rolling tray-table was to the left of the bed, it sitting a number of magazines, a crossword puzzle book and a pen. Against the wall and beneath the TV sat a two-seater black leather couch, and a second door led to a private bathroom. By the feet of the chair was a small carry-on case, filled with the essentials Mrs. Wood would need during her stay at the hospital whilst she recovered.
Despite having magical healing, they weren't expecting her to be released from the private medical centre until the doctor gave Mrs. Wood the all-clear, and that could be anywhere between two and seven days depending on the outcome of the surgery and how well her body coped. In addition to that, it was expected that she wouldn't be fully recovered from the surgery until six to eight weeks after the operation. She and Thomas were hoping that with magic, they'd be able to half the recovery time.
"Come in, Dear," she encouraged, gesturing to the chair beside her bed. "Ye do know tha' ye dinnae have tae visit so soon."
Hermione scoffed. "As if I'd be anywhere else," she replied, taking a seat and leaning to the side against the armrest whilst she set her elbow on the wooden rest and clasped her hands together. "And I am not the only visitor. Oliver will be by shortly, he just has to finish up with practice. Coach is allowing the team to finish early today out of respect to you and Oliver. He should make it before you're taken into surgery."
"Ye are tae good tae mae," she smiled, her eyes crinkling.
"I don't think so," Hermione disagreed. "But I should tell you, Oliver was up most of the night making a tonne load of your favourite dishes so they might be frozen and later heated up during your recovery, and I may have woken especially early this morning to bake you a number of red velvet cakes to keep your sweet tooth satisfied."
Oliver's mother laughed lightly and shook her head. "A wouldn't expect anythin' less. Oliver always turned tae flyin' an' cookin' when somethin' was bothering him. Am happy tae see tha' has not changed since he left home."
"Well, between us we'll most likely be able to keep half the population of Wizarding Britain fed," Hermione remarked. "Have you met with Dr. Brett yet?"
"Not yet," she shook her head. "But a have had the pleasure af bein' poked an' prodded by a number af nurses."
Hermione smiled weakly. "It's just a formality," she assured her. "They just need to be certain there are no changes in your health that may cause problems during the surgery. How are you feeling?"
"A wee bit nervous, but tha's tae be expected," she answered honestly. "Such treatments are not available tae our world. A admit, a had never known it was possible. Muggles have proven themselves capable af extraordinary feats. A had heard tales af their barbaric ways an' inferiority growing up, an' whilst a never believed in such things, it was certainly a surprise tae see hoo much they have achieved. Their advances in medicine are brilliant an' our Healers would benefit from learning a thing or twa. It was a muggle-raised wizard tha' diagnosed me illness when no one else could."
Hermione nodded in agreement. "I agree, they could definitively benefit, but the majority of people fear or hate muggles and it would take some serious campaigning to even get the Wizengamot to consider allowing such practices amongst our kind. We may have advanced and perhaps superior healing, but our magic aids with such allowances, unlike the muggles who had to find other ways to treat their sick and injured. Anyway," Hermione shifted to get more comfortable, "I thought my mother was supposed to be here with you."
"Oh, she is," Mrs. Wood assured her. "She arrived befere a did," she chuckled with a slight shake of her head. "She jus' left fer a short while. She's grabbing a quick bite tae eat an' will be back soon. She dinnae wish tae leave an' it took some convincing," she smiled. "In fact, she left not long befere ye arrived."
"Well, I expect it won't be long before the doctor comes by," said Hermione, glancing up at the clock on the wall to see there was a little above an hour and a half before the surgery was scheduled to begin.
Her mother soon returned from getting something to eat and when she stepped into the room, Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing. She gave Oliver's mother a look of concern, one might associate with a parent worrying about their child, and honestly, she looked far more exhausted and concerned than Mrs. Woo did, and she wasn't even the one that was visiting the operating room. But her mother and Oliver's mother has struck up an instant friendship upon meeting for the first time, and it had grown quickly.
After hugging her daughter in greeting, she brought the second chair over to the bed and set it beside Hermione before taking a seat. She looked to be visibly restraining herself from fussing over the witch, something she and Mrs. Wood both noticed and they shared an amused smile.
As it neared three o'clock, a knock on the door sounded and they all turned towards it as it was pushed further open, revealing Oliver on the other side. He'd showered and changed at the stadium, being sure to wear appropriate muggle attire in the form of jeans, a t-shirt and a comfortable jacket.
Stepping into the room, she and her mother stood to greet him, her mother offering a smile and pulling him into a hug, and Hermione doing the same. She'd seen his worry despite his best efforts to hide it and the moment she folded her arms around him and pressed herself against him, she heard the rush of air leave his mouth and she felt some of the tension drain from him as he clung to her tightly. Drawing back, she pressed a kiss to his mouth and then offered him the chair she'd just vacated.
He approached his mother, bending to press a kiss to her cheek before he took a seat beside her mother and Hermione stood behind his chair, her hand on his shoulder to offer support and comfort. Oliver leaned forward and took his mother's hand, staring up at her reassuring smile.
"Hoo are ye feeling?"
"Hopeful," she responded. "Honestly, am fine," she promised when she felt his hand tighten on hers reflexively. "As expected, am a wee bit nervous but more than anythin', am grateful tae have this chance at recovering. Yer father should be by shortly, he jus' had a few things tae finish up at the office."
Oliver nodded slowly, his brow creased with worry. "Ye don' have tae do this, ye know tha', right?"
She arched an eyebrow. "An' what else would a do? This is the only treatment available."
"Ye could jus' stick with the chemotherapy, it seems tae be working," he countered.
"Aye," she nodded slightly in agreement, "But the surgery will remove most, if not all af the tumour in one sitting, an' hopefully, a won't need any more treatment afterwards. Chemotherapy's not pleasant an' a'd like this tae be over as soon as possible so a can get back tae me old self befere a was sick. Anno yer worried but am not, stop it," she chastised. "Ye need tae take care af yerself, tha's what worries mae the most, a can see yer've not been sleeping."
Oliver peered up at Hermione over his shoulder accusingly.
"I haven't told her anything," she defended.
"She doesn't have tae," Oliver's mother drew his eyes back to her and away from Hermione. "Yer me baby boy, anno when somethin's bothering ye."
"A wouldn't bother arguing with yer mother; when she's made her mind up nothin' can be done tae change it."
They all looked behind them to the door, seeing Mr. Wood step inside, forgoing robes and wearing a simple button-down shirt, v-neck jumper and trousers. They smiled in greeting, Hermione and her mother receiving a kiss to the cheek and Oliver a shoulder squeeze. Her mother offered him the chair she occupied but he declined, moving to stand beside his wife's hospital bed, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her cheek as she smiled up at him lovingly.
It was adorable.
Hermione wondered if she and Oliver would look at each other in such a way after being married for over two decades. She felt her cheeks tint pink and cleared her throat. It was too early to be thinking about marriage.
Seeing Oliver's arched eyebrow of question, she simply shook her head, refusing to explain the reason for her sudden flaming cheeks. His mouth twitched in amusement, his dark gaze examining her expression closely before he turned his eyes back to his parents, a smile tugging at his mouth as they whispered between one another and then his father pressed a gentle kiss to his mother's hand and then her forehead.
A knock on the door sounded, breaking the tender moment shared between the man and wife and as one, they all turned towards the door, blinking in surprise at the six men that had piled into the room, blocking the doorway. They all thankfully wore jeans and t-shirts, allowing them to blend in. Bishop and Thompson both held a basket hamper each, one filled with fruit and bottled juice and the other magazines and puzzle books. Kings and Wilks were both grasping a bouquet of flowers, one of pale pink and soft lilac gerbera daisies, and the other of daffodils and orange roses. And finally, Malloy held an adorable white teddy bear with a pink stomach, dark eyes and a soft pink ribbon tied into a bow around the neck, and Pallie held a folded, oversized Puddlemere Quidditch jersey whilst his other hand grasped an array of 'get well soon' balloons knotted together and tied to a weight to keep them from hitting the ceiling.
Oh, her boys really were sweet, weren't they?
"Oh, ye silly boys," Mrs. Wood shook her head, a smile tugging at her mouth and her eyes shining as she forced back tears. "Ye dinnae have tae come all this way tae see mae, or bring mae such thoughtful gifts."
"Of course we did," Thompson disagreed. "You're our favourite Quidditch Mum."
"There's nowhere else we'd rather be," Pallie agreed.
Hermione saw her mother sniffle and wipe at her cheek subtly and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Her mother had always been easily made to cry.
"How are you feeling?" Malloy asked, giving her a look of concern.
"There's nothin' fer ye tae worry 'boot," she promised. "Now, are ye gonna stop blocking the doorway an' bein' a safety hazard?"
Hermione sniggered when they all appeared sheepish and they huddled closer, each taking a moment to press a kiss to the witch's cheek before they set their gifts on the couch and stood at the foot of the bed.
"Boys, this is my mother, Jean Granger," Hermione introduced.
"Really?" Bishop arched an eyebrow whilst the others shared wicked grins.
"Yes," she narrowed her eyes in warning.
"I can see you get your beauty from your mother," said Pallie. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Mrs. Granger, it's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Jack Pallie," he introduced himself, stepping closer to her mother, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it.
Hermione fake retched and the others sniggered at her.
"The pleasure's all mine, young man," her mother responded, his teammates coughing and spluttering as they attempted to muffle their laughter. "I confess, I know exactly who each of you are. Hermione can't help but gush proudly after your team's claimed a victory, and she's always certain to provide a newspaper detailing the win."
"Mum!" Hermione whined in embarrassment. "They're bad enough to deal with as it is, even magic can't aid in fitting someone's overly large ego through a door."'
"That wasn't very nice," Pallie scowled at her.
Hermione shrugged and folded her arms over her chest. "It's my job to keep you humble. I don't want another Lockhart wandering around."
Oliver winced. "Aye, the man was nuttier than Trelawney an' a dinnae think tha' was possible."
"Lockhart?" Malloy questioned, looking between Hermione and Oliver in intrigue. There was a story; they wouldn't have that reaction if there wasn't.
"Yeah, you know that guy that 'wrote' all those books regarding werewolves, vampires, banshees, hags, trolls, ghouls and household pests?"
"Wasn't he a big deal like ten years ago?" Kings scratched at his chin thoughtfully. "Whatever happened to him anyway?"
"Wow," Hermione muttered with a slight shake of her head. "It's been nearly ten years? God, I feel old."
"Watch your language," her mother chastised with Oliver's parents sharing an amused smile.
"Sorry, Mum, you don't look a day over thirty."
"Flattery will get you everywhere," she responded, the room filling with laughter.
"Anyway, Lockhart was a fraud. A useless, no good fraud. The man couldn't even handle a cage of Cornish pixies and left a class of second years to fend for ourselves after he released them and realised he didn't know how to contain them. Bloody idiot! Harry and Ron discovered that Lockhart had spoken to researchers and explorers regarding their work and adventures and then the prat Obliviate'd them, stole their work and took credit for their achievements."
"Morgana's left tit!"
"Grady Thompson!"
"Sorry, Mrs. Wood," he apologised sheepishly, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck and shuffling on his feet, sending a glare to his sniggering teammates. "What happened to him?"
"He tried to memory wipe Harry and Ron but he was using Ron's broken wand. The spell backfired and he's been on the Janus Thickey ward at St. Mungo's since. Not only does he have no idea of who he is but his brain can't properly function. It's too dangerous for him to be un-chaperoned in public."
"Serves him right," her mother muttered. "To try to harm two innocent children," she shook her head angrily.
A knock on the door sounded and they all turned to it, seeing a middle-aged blonde dressed in nurse's scrubs as she popped her head into the room, darting a curious glance to the occupants before she looked to the patient.
"Just checking in, Mrs. Wood."
"Ev'rything's fine, thank you," answered Oliver's mother.
"Dr. Brett has asked me to inform you that he will be by shortly."
"Thank ye," she smiled.
Nodding, the nurse gave a final glance to the many occupants and took her leave.
"I think that's our cue to give them some room, boys," remarked Hermione's mother as she stood to her feet and readjusted her handbag on her shoulder.
"Thank ye fer staying with mae, Jean."
"Don't be daft, Hun. You're my best friend, you can't get rid of me that easily," she responded, Hermione feeling a tug on her heartstrings at how adorable the two of them were considering they hadn't been friends for more than a few weeks and it seemed as though they'd known each other for years. "Just ask my dear daughter; she memory wiped me and I'm still here."
"Mum!" Hermione cried in horror.
"Oh, hush, Love," she rolled her eyes. "If we can't make jokes by this point, then we're a bunch of grumps. I never saw myself as the grumpy old lady that shouts at kids and scares away the pigeons so they don't eat the food she's put out to feed the stray cats. I'll see you soon."
She hugged and kissed the cheek of both Oliver and Hermione and then closed the distance between her and the hospital bed, doing the same to Oliver's parents.
"I won't be far."
"Ye don' have tae stay," said Oliver's mother.
"I'm going to be here when you wake up," she promised before looking to the gathered teammates. "Are you boys hungry?"
"Starving," Wilks nodded.
"You're always starving," Hermione pointed out. "I swear, between the eating habits and appearance, you could be mistaken as a Weasley."
"It's the freckles, isn't it?"
"It's 'coz yer ginger, ye muppet," Oliver rolled his eyes.
"An' the witches love it," he sniffed, lifting his chin.
"Calm down, Casanova," her mother interrupted amusedly.
"Who?" Was mouthed between the players with confused expressions.
"Let's get you boys fed. There's a lovely little cafe nearby that does a wonderful afternoon tea."
She slipped her arm through Wilks' and tugged him towards the door, his teammates following behind them after giving their best wishes to Oliver's mother.
"See? The women love me!" He said smugly over his shoulder. "OW!" He cried out in surprise, his eyes wide as he stared down at her mother at his side. "Did you just pinch me?"
"Dear, I would never do such a thing, perhaps you imagined it," she replied innocently.
Oliver's mouth twitched into a smirk and Hermione laughed. Oh, they had no idea what they had just gotten themselves into.
"So, Mrs. Granger," they heard Pallie say as they stepped into the corridor. "Tell us, what was an eight-year-old Hermione Granger like?"
Hermione groaned and buried her face in her hands, hoping that her mother wouldn't reveal anything too embarrassing but she wasn't going to hold her breath. Hearing a snort, she blindly whacked Oliver on the shoulder before taking the seat beside him when his father simply perched on the edge of the hospital bed beside his wife.
A few minutes later, Dr. Clay arrived in tow with a second man, this one taller and despite the salt and pepper hair and a wrinkle or two around the eyes and mouth, he looked surprisingly young for someone who had been in the medical field for over thirty years. Hermione knew; she'd done her homework on the man, wanting to know exactly who would be treating Oliver's mother.
"Afternoon all," Dr. Clay greeted with a kind smile, coming to stand at the foot of the bed and reaching for the medical notes, giving them the quick once over and looking for anything being amiss. Though if there was, Hermione supposed a nurse would've told him so beforehand. "How are you feeling, Mrs. Wood?"
"Like am ready tae be cancer-free."
He chuckled softly. "That is the outcome we are all hoping for. Now, before we continue any further, I'd like to introduce Dr. Brett. As I told you the last time we saw one another, he is one of the best oncologist surgeons in the country. He will be taking the lead but I will be present in the operating theatre as I am more familiar with your medical history. But not to worry, I'm certain you're in the best care possible."
"Thank ye, it's wonderful tae meet ye, Dr. Brett," said Mrs. Wood, giving the taller doctor a smile that despite her best attempt, showed her nerves. "This is me husband, Henry, me son, Oliver, an' me daughter-in-law, Hermione."
Hermione went red in the face and she almost choked, having been mid-way through taking a large breath. Looking to Oliver, the only reaction she saw from him was an indecipherable glance he sent to his mother, but despite that, he by no means looked uncomfortable or annoyed with his mother's introduction. In fact, Oliver's hand slipped around her smaller one and he gave her a comforting squeeze. Hermione felt her stomach flutter and her head swim. Okay, maybe she was getting a little head of herself. She was only nineteen for Merlin's sake!
"Thank ye fer agreeing tae take me case."
"It's not a problem," he smiled, his apple-green eyes crinkling slightly. "From what I've seen of your records and witnessed on the x-rays, you've been taking exceptionally well to the chemotherapy. And after seeing the reduction of the mass, I am confident that the surgery will show some improvement but I can't be certain on the level of success until we get you out of theatre and into recovery."
"Have you read the information pack I gave you?" Asked Dr. Clay.
"Aye, more times than a'd like tae admit," she nodded.
"And can I just confirm that you have signed all the appropriate paperwork?"
"A have, one af the nurses took them when a first arrived."
"Lovely, that's the administration tasks settled. Now, I can see on your chart that you have not eaten for twenty-four hours. Is that still correct?"
"It is, but a must admit, a did have a close call with a biscuit this mornin', luckily Henry was there tae stop mae," she admitted as Oliver, Hermione and Mr. Wood chuckled at her.
"I understand that it is a bit of an inconvenience and that it's difficult to remember not to eat or drink when you are hungry or thirsty, but it is for your safety. So, before the nurse returns and prepares you for surgery, are there any questions you would like to ask."
"A believe a know ev'rything a need or want tae."
"Is it safe?" Oliver injected, giving both doctors a fierce stare, daring them to either lie to him or gloss over the subject.
"I am not going to lie to you," began Dr. Brett, his tone calm and certain, "No matter the surgery or operation performed, there are always risks involved and no matter the possibility or probability of complications occurring, we take every precaution possible. If it will help to ease your concerns, I have been a surgeon for twenty-three years, I have led hundreds of surgeries similar to your mother's and I do have a high success rate."
"But not one hundred percent, is what yer sayin'?"
"Oliver," his mother scolded and Hermione tightened her grip on his hand.
"No, it would be impossible to have a success rate that high," the doctor confirmed. "But during the surgery, your mother will have some of the best trained and most experienced medical staff at hand. She will receive the best care possible, of that, I can promise."
"A apologise, Dr. Brett. He's always been a wee bit overprotective."
"No need to apologise, I understand; I am the same with my own mother," he smiled kindly.
"How long will the surgery take?" Hermione asked.
"I can't give a definitive answer, but as we will be performing open surgery, I will say anywhere between two and six hours. Do you have any more questions?" He asked, looking to all four of them before nodding when he received no response. "Very well, Dr. Clay and I must leave now if we wish to get you into theatre as scheduled, and a nurse will be by shortly to help get you settled."
~000~000~000~
It had been three hours.
They'd been sat in the private waiting room for three hours and the small, intimate room was almost fully occupied. When Mrs. Wood had been prepared for surgery by the nurse, just before leaving, she, Oliver and his father had been there to see her off before they were directed to the waiting area, none of them wishing to leave until she was out of surgery, no matter how long they had to wait or how late it got.
Almost half an hour later, her mother returned with the six Puddlemere players following behind her, the team refusing to leave until they heard the good news. She'd smiled thankfully at her mother when she set a boxed up selection of sandwiches on the coffee table and three teas.
Oliver had taken the tea but refused the food, both upsetting and worrying Hermione. He hadn't been eating as much food as his body required the last couple of days and he'd barely touched his breakfast and lunch that day. He hadn't been sleeping either, Hermione being the only one that knew of the bags under his eyes, the ones he'd hidden beneath a Glamour. He'd been distracted at the stadium and had visited her office more than once for a non-faked injury. But she'd been sure to remain strong for him, knowing that she was the only thing getting him through the days that led up to the surgery and once it was over, he'd be back to normal.
Her mother had taken a seat beside Oliver's father, giving him a comforting smile and distracting him by pulling him into conversation. The team had spread out in the room, taking seats at the table in the corner, on the armchairs or the couch, the teasing about what her mother had revealed about her childhood tales being almost instantaneous. She rolled her eyes, scoffed and glared, feeling Oliver's lack of response from beside her. When the team finally ran out of steam and got bored of teasing her, they'd turned their efforts towards her mother, quickly redirecting their attention elsewhere under her terrifying glare.
And now, they were locked in separate conversations with some of them flipping through the magazines and newspapers offered in the room, Oliver's father and her mother conversed and Hermione sat on the couch with Oliver. He'd barely spoken. As she was sat comfortably with her back sunk into the leather cushion, Oliver lay with his head in her lap, his back to everyone and his head pillowed by a throw cushion. The exhaustion had finally gotten to him a half-hour before and as she propped her head up with the palm of her hand and her elbow resting on the armrest, the other hand swept his hair back from his closed eyes and lightly scratched at his scalp.
She'd seen the concerned glances his teammates had directed towards him, none of them having seen him this way before, but there was little anyone could do. The only thing that would help was his mother safely coming out of surgery and making a full, cancer-free recovery. It was what they were all hoping for.
It was a little after seven o'clock in the evening when the only door in the room opened, all eyes being drawn to it and their posture straightening, only for them to slump into their seats when they saw it wasn't either of the two doctors, rather, it was her father.
"Dad?" Hermione blinked her tired eyes.
"I'd have been by sooner but I had a late appointment at the clinic," he explained, closing the door behind him as he balanced the items in his arms. His eyes moved to Oliver, his eyes narrowing and lips pursing unhappily before he released a soft sigh. "How's he doing?" He gestured towards him with a tip of his head.
She shrugged her shoulders in response.
"What do you have there?"
"Your mother texted me and asked that I pick something up for dinner, so, pizza," he pulled the edge of the plastic bag back to show the red, white and blue design of the pizza boxes. She counted six. Most likely five with one being garlic bread. Her father never could resist.
"Thanks, Dad," she smiled tiredly. "Boys, this is my dad," she raised her voice, introducing her father to the curiously staring players. "Dad, the team," she gave a slight wave of her hand before propping her head up once more. He tipped his head in greeting. "He's brought pizza for dinner."
"What's pizza?" Kings' brow creased.
Her father looked horrified.
"Muggle food, you'll love it," she promised.
After her father removed the pizza boxes from the bag, he set them on the table and opened the lids, Hermione biting her lip to keep from laughing with the team crowded the area, inhaling deeply and staring down at the contents of the boxes in intrigue.
"What's this?" Bishop gestured to one of the pizzas.
"Pepperoni."
"What's that?"
"Eat it and find out," she shrugged.
He eyed it warily as he reached for a slice, pulling it from the box with melted cheese forming strings before he cautiously took a bite, his eyes widening comically.
"Muggles are geniuses," he grumbled.
The team, after seeing the Bishop hadn't died or been poisoned, each selected their own slice and had their first try of the muggle dish. After that, the arguments over the food started.
"Aren't you going to wake him for some food?" Her father asked her, sending the squabbling teammates a strange glance over his shoulder before looking back to her.
"No. He hasn't been eating but he hasn't been sleeping either, and right now, I think he needs rest more than anything. When his mother's out of surgery, I'll try and get something into him when we get home."
"Any news yet?"
"No," she sighed, brushing her hair back from her face.
"They say no news is good news," he smiled, but it appeared more like a grimace. "Did they say how long a wait it'd be?"
"Between two and six hours. We're approaching three and a half."
"I'm sure everything's fine. You keep an eye on him," he tipped his head towards Oliver, "And I'll see to your mother and Henry."
Turning away from her, he gave the players a disapproving stare until they reluctantly stepped back from the table, allowing him to select two slices of pizza and using the napkins he'd brought with him to take them over to her mother and Mr. Wood, taking a seat beside his wife.
Oliver shifted in his sleep and Hermione glanced down at him, resuming with running her fingers through his hair until he settled, his face burying against her t-shirt and his arm burrowing between her and the back of the couch, folding around her and keeping her against him.
~000~000~000~
They were approaching hour number five and it had grown dark outside.
The team had all dozed off; Bishop and Malloy on the armchairs with their heads tilted back, Kings and Wilks were slumped over at the table, their faces buried in their folded arms, Thompson was sprawled across the couch and Pallie had made himself comfortable on the floor, using a throw cushion as a pillow.
She'd seen it coming.
Despite training having finished early that day, they were still required to put in the maximum effort and they'd been exhausted. Actually, she was surprised they hadn't fallen asleep sooner.
Her mother was quietly dozing with her head resting against her husband's shoulder, the man also being asleep with his arms folded over his chest, his legs stretched out and folded at the ankles and his head tilted down as his chin pressed against his sternum. Oliver was still sleeping; he'd shifted to get more comfortable several times but he'd yet to wake.
The room was silent except for the occasional snore or sleep muttered word, (who'd have thought Pallie and Thompson were sleep talkers?) and the rustle of pages being turned in a magazine. Only she and Mr. Wood remained awake. She hadn't been able to drift off as the others had, being too wired and unable to get herself comfortable.
"She's fine." Her voice, quietly spoken, pierced the silence.
"Ye don' know tha'," he replied with an exhausted sigh.
"I do," she disagreed. "She'd never leave you or Oliver. She's too stubborn to let anything get in her way of being with her family."
"Aye, she is," he agreed with a fond smile and a light laugh.
Finally, the door opened and the head of Dr. Brett peered around the edge of the door, his eyes taking in the sleeping occupants of the room.
Mr. Wood bolted to his feet, the magazine in his hand rustling as his grip tightened. Hermione would've done the same had Oliver not been weighing her down.
"Oliver," she gently shook his shoulder. "Knight, wake up."
His eyelids fluttered open, peering up at her through bleary eyesight.
"Dr. Brett's here."
He sprung to his feet, impressively doing so without losing his balance and Hermione followed at a slower pace, wincing for the cramp she felt in her arse. Darting her eyes to the others, she saw them all awake and stood anxiously, looking to the doctor expectantly.
He closed the door behind him and stepped further into the room, folding his hands together. Despite it being evident he was tired, he gave an easy smile.
"The operation was a success."
There was a thunder of relieved sighs, Hermione seeing Oliver's shoulder's slump, her mother lighting patting Mr. Wood on the arm and the team giving each other claps on the shoulder.
"The reason it took so long was that we wanted to be certain that we had removed as much of the mass as possible, and in doing so, we were able to remove all of it in its entirety with little required to be removed from the lung itself."
"She's cancer-free?" Oliver said in little above a whisper.
"I cannot give a definitive answer. Firstly, your mother must be given time to recover and then she will need to undergo a number of tests to be sure. But the prognosis is looking good."
"When will she be released?" Asked Mr. Wood.
"We need to keep your wife under observations for a couple of days, and should we have no concerns, she will be discharged. If not, she will have to stay under our care until we're satisfied she is healing as she should be."
"Is she awake? Can we see her?"
"She is awake and you may see her," he nodded. "However, I ask that you do not overwhelm her, no more than four visitors, and we'll be closing to the public within the hour. She may still be under the influence of the anaesthetic, so don't be alarmed; it can take up to an hour to properly wear off."
"Thank ye," he said gratefully.
He simply smiled in response. "Dr. Clay is with your wife now but it is no reason for concern. We just like to closely observe our patients for the first hour after surgery," and with that, he took his leave.
Looking around the room, the atmosphere quickly morphed from sullen and tense to one of relief and joy, and hugs were shared. It was quickly and easily decided that Mr. Wood, Oliver, Hermione and her mother be the ones to pay a visit to the patient, with the team making them promise to pass on their well-wishes before they finally took their leave from the hospital and headed home.
Her father patiently waited by himself in the waiting room and they made the small journey to Oliver's mother's private room, knocking on the door and stepping inside to the sight of Dr. Clay conversing with the patient who seemed to be surprisingly wide awake considering she'd just had open surgery.
She smiled at them and they were all gentle in their hugs of greeting and love, and they turned to the doctor when Oliver asked him the same question he had Dr. Brett. He'd received the same response, almost word for word.
"But I am hopeful and there is a very good chance that you will be in remission," he added, looking to the witch on the bed. "I know that your recovery time will likely be less than what it expected given the facilities and resources you have at your disposal, and I would like for your family doctor to keep me informed on your progress. Once you have recovered, we'll run the tests. Worst case scenario, you may have to undergo Chemotherapy treatment to neutralize any cancerous cells and prevent them from forming into anything dangerous. But, I am confident we removed the mass. An x-ray will confirm it, of course, but that will be done after your recovery."
"Thank ye, Dr. Clay."
"You are most welcome," he smiled. "Now, I best take my leave. Remember, the clinic is closed to the public after ten o'clock," he reminded before he shook their hands and left out the door.
~000~000~000~
Wood Estate
"A cannae believe it!" Oliver muttered staring down at the marble flooring of the living room.
"I told you so," she replied softly. "Muggle medicine can be just as powerful as wizarding."
He turned to her, his no longer Glamoured eyes were happy and bright despite the dark bruises that sat beneath and his smile was disbelieving and soft. He reached out, his arms folding around her and pulling her against him, his face burying in her neck as she looped her arms around his neck.
"Thank ye," he muttered against her skin, his breath warm and gentle. "If it wisnae fer ye, we'd have never known 'boot the muggle treatments. Me ma wouldn't be on the mend with a strong chance af bein' cured, af living long enough tae see mae grow up with me own family. A dunno what a'd do if me kids never had a Gran tae spoil them as she did mae."
"You don't have to thank me. After what I've witnessed regarding your mother's illness, both Thomas and I plan on writing to St. Mungo's and the Wizengamot. It's time we change our approach to medicine, and more people can be diagnosed and treated. The earlier it's caught, the better. Now, I know you're exhausted but I really want to get some food into you. You've barely eaten in days. What do you want? I'll make anything you wish."
"Damsel, yer can only cook bolognese an' pancakes, an' a think it's a bit late tae be cooking the former," he chuckled.
"Says who?" She challenged. "It's not as if we have neighbours we have to be mindful of, who may complain about the smell of garlic wafting for miles or the swear words that leave my mouth when I burn myself on the pan," she pointed out and he laughed. "But I'll concede that it is getting late. So, pancakes, let's go."
She drew back from him, pulled him to the kitchen by his hand and filled the dark room with balls of light so she might properly see what she was doing. The entire time, he perched on the counter, his eyes never leaving her as he watched her make the batter and then pour it into the pan. Topping it off with their favourite toppings, they silently ate before depositing the dishes in the sink to be washed in the morning.
Heading to bed, they stripped off their clothing, Hermione pulling on one of Oliver's jerseys before they climbed into bed, huddling together. Merlin shifted to get more comfortable at the foot of the large bed, him being sound asleep the only reason he hadn't come to greet them upon their arrival home.
"A dunno what a'd do withoot ye," Oliver muttered, his hand buried in her hair as she was tucked into his side, her head lying atop his chest.
"No, neither do I," she responded, being jostled when he laughed loudly.
"Am glad tae see yer still so humble."
"What? I know you're useless without me."
"Aye, a am," he agreed. "A love ye, Damsel."
"I know. I love you, too, Knight."
She smiled, drifting off to sleep as he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.
She would very happily live this way for the rest of her life.
She hoped she did.