A/N: No trigger warnings required.

Thanks to cheesyficwriter for being a great beta and the world's best cheer reader!

"Ms. Granger."

Hermione jumped, surprised to hear that familiar nasally tone in the halls of St Mungo's. She wheeled about, flustered. "Mallory?"

Crowder's tall form approached her in great strides, causing the other people bustling through the corridor to shrink towards the walls and allow her free passage. She barely slowed her pace as she passed Hermione, gesturing. "Walk with me."

"Erm, sure." Hermione stumbled over her feet as she jogged to catch up to the older woman. "Where are we going?"

"I want to see what all the fuss is about." The crowd parted as they walked, and even the lift seemed to know that Mallory was a force to be reckoned with, because it opened for them immediately upon pressing the call button.

"Fourth floor," Mallory barked, and the lift chimed its consent as the doors began to shut behind them. A hand thrust through the breach right before it closed, forcing the entry to reopen. A sandy haired nurse, who Hermione recognized from Ron's floor, stepped one foot into the lift. He looked up from his clipboard, freezing as he realized who the other occupants were, his face draining of color. He backed away swiftly, the doors closing on his terrified eyes, which were riveted on Mallory.

"That's odd," Hermione frowned. "Why is that nurse acting so strange?"

"Hmm? Oh, I'm not sure. I have that effect on people. Fourth floor!" The lift jumped into action and they began to move towards their destination.

Hermione glanced at the older woman out of the corner of her eye, taking in her stern demeanor and firm stance. She was certainly intimidating, and seemed to be on a special kind of tear today. "Sorry- can I ask again, what is it that brought you to visit, Ms. Crowder?"

"I told you, I want to meet these Healers who keep coming up in your reports." The doors opened with a merry ding, and she strode out of the lift, beelining for the nurses' station.

An older man with salt-n-pepper hair was sitting behind the counter when she arrived. "Weasley."

He jumped, casting his gaze about in confusion before focusing on the imposing woman in front of him. "Wha'?"

"Weasley," she repeated. "And Longbottom. Where are they?"

"It's alright," Hermione said, clutching at her side as she panted from the sprint across the ward. "This is Mallory Crowder, from our Board of Trustees."

"Healer Weasley is with a patient right now," the man said. "I'm sure he'll be happy to see you when he's done."

"Thank you, Russell." Hermione didn't need to turn around to know who's voice it was. "I've got a moment now."

Ron stopped beside Hermione, bringing with him a sense of comfort. She caught his eye and spurred herself to introductions. "Mallory, this is Ron Weasley, the Healer you've been asking to see. Ron, this-"

"I heard." His eyes did the barest of flicks over the older woman before his face was contorted to bear the semblance of a smile. "It's nice to meet you, Ms. Crowder."

She ignored his proffered hand. "So you are the one who's been filling our Hermione's head with ideas of Muggle medicine."

His jaw clenched, working so that a muscle jumped in his cheek.

"Oh now, Mallory," Hermione interjected, hoping to save Ron the trouble of answering. "I don't mean to be immodest, but I've built what I consider to be a competent business case proving the validity of these techniques with measurable, data-driven evidence."

The woman's dark eyes snapped to hers, flashing dangerously. "Debatable."

"I'd love to show you around, Ms. Crowder, if you're interested in learning more." Hermione was relieved to see that Ron looked as though he'd gained his composure. The smile on his face now was more genuine, albeit in a defiant sort of way. "Hermione has made some astronomical changes to our on-hand inventory processes; you won't even recognize it now." He stepped behind the desk, opening the storage room door and gesturing for her to enter.

She paused, but took him up on the offer. He winked at Hermione before he turned back to Crowder, disappearing through the door frame.

Hermione slumped against the desk, pressing her fingers against her temples as she screwed her eyes shut.

"I take it you didn't know she was coming?"

When she opened her eyes, the nurse was gazing at her sympathetically, offering a paper cup full of water. She accepted it, sighing. "I did not, Russell. I did not.

Hermione was exhausted. She had no idea that Crowder was going to want to stay for so long. She'd been showing the woman around the hospital for several hours. Ron had only been able to help for so long before he had to leave for his appointment with McGonagall. Something about the way the older woman spoke to her...it was borderline degrading. She knew that Mallory had the hospital's best intentions at heart, but Hermione could testify that she was not accustomed to being spoken to as though she were anything less than intelligent. In fact, it was usually quite the opposite.

She frowned as she watched Neville stutter over explaining the magical IV, his nervousness setting her even further on edge. Neville might have been unconfident in his abilities as a teen, but her relationship with him as an adult professional had proven him to be more than capable of holding his own. The fact that Crowder seemed to unnerve him enough that he was reverting to old habits made her nearly dislike the Head of the Board, which is not an opinion she'd previously associated with the woman.

It was safe to say it was going to take much more convincing to win Mallory over.

"Are you satisfied with your tour, Ms. Crowder?" She asked, hoping to drive a polite point. "Anything else you would like to see before you take your leave?"

"Quite right," she said, checking a silver watch connected on a chain to an inner pocket of her coat. "I should be going back now."

"Let me walk you out," Hermione exclaimed, already moving towards the door.

"Not necessary, Ms. Granger." Mallory swept across the room, pausing for a moment with her hand on the door knob. She hesitated, then glanced over her shoulder at Hermione. "I am surprised that you allowed your head to be turned by a pretty face. Weasley might be charming, but I expected more out of you."

She left Hermione sputtering behind her.

"Pawn to D4."

"Pawn to C6."

"Bishop to F4."

"Pawn to B5."

"Bishop to B8." The chess piece did as instructed, barrelling straight across the board into the ranks of the black pieces and winning her knight.

McGonagall raised her eyebrows. "Starting off aggressively, aren't we, Mr. Weasley?"

He grinned. "I like to keep you on your toes."

"Careless," she tutted. "If you're willing to give them away…" She waved her finger at her rook, which turned one square and claimed Ron's bishop.

He shrugged, leaning back in his seat and surveying the board. "Knight to D2."

She paused. "Pawn to H6."

They played in relative silence, speaking only to instruct the movements of their respective pieces. After a particularly brutal exchange, in which he took her other knight as a swap for a pawn and his second bishop, he broke the silence. "How is the phonics program going so far? Knight to C4."

She examined the board, sitting so straight in her chair he wondered how it didn't hurt her back. "Are you trying to discuss business, Mr. Weasley? Rook to A8."

"Promised the new boss that I would. Not that I don't love playing with you. Rook to C1."

She pulled her eyes away from their game, instead studying him with great interest. He met her gaze, determined to resist the urge to squirm beneath it. Without looking down, she uttered, "pawn to A6."

He glanced at the board. "Rook to C3." His castle struck her opposing bishop over the head and the captured piece limped off the board.

She regarded the spectacle before peering at Ron over her glasses. "I'll admit- you there, Queen to C7- I'll admit that I am impressed with how seamlessly the phonics curriculum integrates into the tutoring program we already had in place."

"That was the idea," Ron said, scanning the board. "To maintain as low of overhead as possible for the school." He was struggling to split his mind between conversing and planning his next steps.

"It is appreciated." The play alternated quickly, with Ron taking two more of her pawns and a rook while she claimed his knight.

McGonagall sat with her elbows on her desk, fingertips pressed together. "I do have one complaint. And I'm going to castle the king's side rook." The two pieces in question swapped, settling next to each other on the back row.

"What's that, then? Bishop to A6."

She tapped her fingers together. "Queen to A7."

He rubbed at his beard. "Rook to C3."

"Bishop to A6." Her piece seized his own bishop, though he conquered hers two moves later with his knight.

She let a disapproving tut escape her lips, then pressed said lips into a tell-tale thin line. "I'd like to have more access to a specialist. Queen to B7."

"What do you mean?" In his surprise, Ron abandoned his position leaning towards the board and settled back into his chair. "Are you not happy with the nurses who've been coming to help on the weekends? Rook to B6."

"Not at all," she said, her eyebrows very nearly conjoined as she pondered the game. "I'm very happy with them, and with the access we have to Healers at St Mungo's on Saturdays. Bishop to B4." She jutted her chin out, gazing at him over her fingertips. "Check."

"Queen to B4," he said without hesitation, not bothering to watch as his queen captured the offending bishop. "Then what's the problem?"

She placed her palms flat on the desk, surveying the board with distaste. "It's difficult to convince students to volunteer to study on the weekends, so I think we have potential of more engagement if we could offer lunch time or late afternoon sessions. Queen to D7."

They exchanged several more moves in which Ron took her pawn and a rook while she snagged a knight from him he hadn't been able to save.

"Rook to C2. The thing is," Ron rubbed his hands over his hair, thinking hard. "We can't spare more people to help you out at the moment. I'm so sorry, Minerva, but we hardly have enough staff to keep the hospital running as it is."

"Oh, posh." She dismissed his answer with an impatient wave of her hand. "Queen to E8. I'm not asking for more of your people."

"Er, okay." He cocked his head to the side, unsure of what she was asking for. "I guess in that case, rook to B8." He had her queen on the run now, and they both knew it, yet somehow, she was making him feel cornered.

She glared at the chessboard. "Queen to B8." She took his rook, but he smirked.

"Queen to B8." His queen seized hers, and he felt a surge of victory. Her most dangerous piece was out of play. "Check."

"King to F7." Her voice was flat as she moved her king out of harm's way, but when she looked at him, he thought he saw a flash of pride in her eyes. "The point is, I'm not asking for Healers, Ron, I want teachers."

"Teachers?" Surely she wasn't expecting him to provide her with teachers.

"Yes." She nodded. "Teachers trained in your brand of mental health and learning disorders."

"I- well...that's brilliant." He gaped at her, lowering his voice to a whisper as he simultaneously reeled over her idea and ordered his next move. "Pawn to F4."

"I know." It was her turn to smirk. "King to G7."

Over the course of the next string of moves, he put her in check a couple more times and they each took a handful of pawns from the other. It wasn't until he advanced a pawn to the far side of the board and reclaimed a rook that he recognized the familiar surge of confidence he always felt towards the end of a chess match.

"Pawn to H3." McGonagall's posture hadn't changed, her spine ramrod straight in her seat. "So, we're agreed, then?" Her pawn knocked his across the face with a spear.

"Rook to H3." Ron was so caught up in watching gleefully as his pawn returned the favor that it took him a moment to register what she'd said. "Wait, what?"

She spoke with the same tone she'd used almost perpetually during his OWLs. "I'll find it in my budget to hire a new teacher who can specialize in this subject matter, and you will assist me in training them." He reeled over this suggestion as she assessed the board. "King to F5."

"Rook to H4," he said, capturing another pawn. "You never said anything about training."

"Don't be ridiculous, Weasley. Who else is going to do it? Pawn to D3."

His head spun, caught between the flush of certain victory and the unexpected subject they were discussing. "Rook to A5, and check."

Her nostrils flared. "King to F6."

"Rook to H6, check again."

He'd never seen her lips so thin as she forced out the next words. "King to E7."

"Rook to A7." He beamed, flashing her the cockiest of grins. "Checkmate."

"Yes, quite," she agreed, then opened her desk drawer and pulled out a pile of resumes. "Do you want to help pick the new teacher since you're going to be working directly with them?"

Her jaw was set stubbornly. He cleared his throat. "Guess we've both had a win today, then, haven't we?" He gathered the stack, rifling through it without seeing. "This does not mean I'll do it, by the way."

"Understood."

"I'm just going to take these back to look at, and potentially talk to my boss about."

"I get it."

They stared at each other. "Good game, Professor."

The outside of her lip twitched. "You as well, Weasley."

"I feel like I can breathe easier, now that she's left." Hermione sat heavily in the armchair next to Neville's mum's bed, lifting her hair off of her neck.

"She is no joke," Neville agreed, checking on his dad's vitals spells. "Is that who you report to?"

"In a way," Hermione replied. "Mallory Crowder is the Head of the Board of Trustees, which is the entity that holds the whole hospital accountable. It's kind of a dotted line though, to be honest. In terms of supervision, technically my direct supervisor is still within the Finance divis-"

She was interrupted by a loud beep which had begun to emanate from Frank's monitoring spells. Neville started, spinning about and reaching for his father's arm. The pulse raced beneath his fingertips.

"What is it, Dad?" His father's eyes were moving in a frantic pattern as he sat bolt upright in his bed, shaking his head and moaning. Neville repressed a shudder. "What's wrong?"

Frank continued to tremble, gripping his son's fingers with an unnatural strength. He gestured with his free hand, movements urgent if not refined.

"I think he's miming something." Hermione's voice floated from behind Neville, and with a jolt he realized that she was right.

"Looks like he's trying to write," Neville guessed. "Do you have a quill?"

He kept his eyes glued to his dad, but heard rustling noises before a pen and notebook were thrust onto Frank's lap. His father seized them with fury and began to scribble. Neville took a few steps back to stand next to Hermione, watching Frank's movements with a critical eye.

"Been hanging with Ron?" Neville asked in a soft voice, more to fill the nervous silence than anything. "He loves his pens." With a quick glance, he saw one corner of her mouth tug up before returning his attention to the markings that Frank was imbuing all over the notebook.

"I am Muggle-born, you know," she said by way of an answer, and he gave a quiet snort.

Without further warning, Frank laid back on his bed and closed his eyes, dropping the pen on the ground. Neville surged forward, checking his father's pulse as he listened to the shallow breathing. It took him several minutes to situate his father and stabilize the monitoring spells so that he was comfortable with his dad's level of care.

"I wonder what had him so upset?" He mused aloud, running his fingers over his father's wrinkled forehead. "What do you think could have set him off? Hermione?"

Hermione had resumed her seat in the armchair and was studying the notebook, brow furrowed. She was concentrating so hard, she didn't seem to notice when Neville stepped behind her to take a look.

"What is it?" He asked.

"I don't know."

He screwed up his eyes. "Looks kind of like a castle, maybe?"

"Maybe." She looked at him. "Do you mind if I take this, Neville?"

He'd been planning to keep it with his other treasures, so Neville was surprised by the request. "Why?"

"I- I'm not sure," she said, staring at the notebook on her lap again. "There's just been a lot to think about today."

"If you say so," Neville shrugged. He eyed the paper enviously, but forced himself to nod. If anyone could help solve the mystery of his parents, it was Hermione. "Go on, then."

"Thanks. I should probably be getting back to my office. Mallory took much more time today than expected." She stood, stowing the notebook into her bag as she turned to leave. "Neville?" She bit her lip, and he felt apprehension build in his chest.

"Yeah?"

"You know that blonde, male nurse who works on your floor?"

He wrinkled his nose in confusion. "Gerard?"

"Yes," she whispered, "that's it." She raised her voice. "Don't let Gerard work on your parents for a while."

He stared at her. Whatever he'd been expecting her to say, this wasn't it. "What? Why?"

She shook her head. "I don't know yet, exactly. But...just use another nurse for Frank and Alice, okay? Can you do that?"

Hermione had never been great at hiding her emotions, and Neville saw the plea on her face as plainly as he saw the light of day. He couldn't understand the connection, but if she thought it would help, he would trust her. "Alright, Hermione," he managed, though he felt the pangs of indecision. "If it means so much to you...I'll remove Gerard from the long term ward shifts, for now."

She breathed a sigh, face clearing. "Thanks, Neville." She moved to the door. "See you around?"

"Yeah," he murmured, turning to his sleeping father, more confused than ever. "See you."

"Don't be ridiculous Taddes, just do it."

The overbearing tone of his patient's mother made Neville wince, so he felt lucky that she hadn't been looking in his direction when she said it. Taddes stood, face pale and drawn, staring with horror at the golden ring laying on the ground a few feet in front of him.

They were in one of the ground floor offices that'd been repurposed as a consultation room, though today Neville had pushed aside the table and chairs. He'd worked with Hermione to temporarily lift the anti-apparition wards within this room, in preparation for his young patient.

The young man shook his head, and his mum sighed with loud and bitter disappointment. Neville, knowing he had to balance both the emotions of his patient and the overbearing nature of his mother, tried to keep his voice soft as he approached, holding his clipboard of notes.

"I think I've seen enough, though I have a few additional questions." Taddes looked relieved as he shifted his weight, turning away from the golden hoop eagerly. "It's very clear to me that you're experiencing an extreme fear response to the idea of apparition."

"Well that's obvious, isn't it?" Taddes' mother didn't bother to hide her derision, smacking her lips from where she sat at one of the conference tables in the corner. "Glad we're paying for the likes of you."

Neville willed himself to keep his face even as he glanced at the woman. "Thea, is it?" She barely acknowledged his question. "Well, Thea, I'm merely stating that it's a very good thing you've come for help." He focused his attention again on Taddes. "While fear is a very natural, even healthy, emotion to feel in an appropriate situation, this, in my opinion, does not qualify as a typical response."

"He's been batty about it ever since he splinched himself," Thea said, raising her voice to be heard across the room. Facing away from his mother, Taddes squeezed his eyes shut. "He's already licensed and everything, but I'm still stuck Floo-ing him around all day because he just won't apparate."

"Often, avoidance of a fear can make that fear stronger." Neville scribbled in his notes, pausing to assess his patient, whose round face was downcast. "Can you tell me about your splinching?"

He flinched. "Do I have to?"

"No," Neville responded, rather more forcefully than he meant to. He backed off his volume. "I mean, of course not. You never have to talk until you are ready." Taddes smiled. "But...you should know that talking about the subject of your fear will be the first, and probably most important, step in overcoming it. We unfortunately do not have a licensed therapist on staff to lead you in conversation, but at the end of our time today I can provide you with a list of curated questions to help address some of the root issues of your fear."

"Oh." He understood how Taddes felt, having spent most of his adolescent days in such a state, but Neville willed himself to push past the disappointment so evident on his young patient's face.

"It would be helpful if you found a trustworthy person with whom you could talk through the questions. I would be more than happy to offer my own services in that department, if you so desire."

The boy looked at his feet before he spoke. "It was just a normal, run of the mill apparition. I did everything the same way I always do, and next thing I know...I've left an entire arm halfway across the city." His voice broke. "There was so much pain...so much blood. I didn't know what to do. I just managed to call for help. Next thing I remember, I'm here." He gestured to the room at large. "At the hospital." He cast his gaze above Neville's right shoulder, eyes unfocused. "I haven't been able to work up the nerve to try apparition again since."

"How long ago was that?"

He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. "Almost a year."

"That's a long time," Neville sympathized. He half expected another cutting remark from Thea, but in the telling of her son's story, her hitherto icy demeanor seemed to have thawed. She simply grunted.

"Can you help me?" Taddes' wide eyes tore straight to Neville's heart.

"I can recommend a number of treatment options that have potential to help, yes." The young man's eyes lit up. "I do want to set realistic expectations for this process," Neville warned. "It will take time to overcome such a fear, and you'll need to be patient and hardworking for the entirety of it." Though his words were directed at Taddes, it was Thea who Neville watched as he delivered his news. She caught his eye and, after a moment of surprise, looked away quickly, licking her lips as she jerked her head.

Taddes set his jaw. "What do I need to do?"

"Talk." Neville repeated. "Talking about your fear will be your first homework assignment. I'll send you today with the questions we discussed previously." Neville wrote on his notepad. "For next steps, we'll try exploring various relaxation techniques, like meditation, journaling, and thinking exercises. I know," he said, holding a hand up at Taddes' incredulous expression. "I know, it sounds intangible, but we'll need to try a little bit of everything until we know which techniques resonate with you."

Taddes' expression didn't change, but to his credit, he nodded anyway. "I'm not sure what I'm getting into here...but you have my word, Healer Longbottom, that I'm willing to try."

Neville smiled, hoping it came across as encouraging. "When your head's more right, and you are ready, we'll begin attempting apparition again, here in this room. For very short distances, and in very controlled settings." His patient's breathing hitched, and Neville rushed to be soothing. "Not until you are ready, I assure you. For today, just the question sheet. Find someone you trust. Talk."

Taddes, expression mingled between confidence and skepticism, nodded.

Ron leaned in the doorway of Hermione's office, watching as she straightened the files on her desk.

"How was McGonagall?"

"Oh, you know her," Ron sauntered to her desk, grinning. "Same as always. Sends her love."

"Her love?" Hermione stopped fussing with documents, her expression a mixture of shock and amusement. "When has she ever done that?"

"Loose interpretation," Ron amended, pulling the visitor chair away from her desk so he could sit in it. "She's quite touchy after losing at chess, that woman."

"You want me to believe that you beat her?" Hermione quirked an eyebrow.

"Believe what you want," Ron opened his arms wide. "I don't have anything to prove."

"Ah, but you do owe me an update on the programs we have at Hogwarts."

He smirked at her, feeling cheeky. "I'll need a couple of days before I can deliver that."

He returned her glare with the best puppy dog eyes he could muster. "Tuesday," she finally said, failing to look severe. "No later."

"Aye, cap'n," he said, saluting. His gaze was caught by a haphazard sketch, laying on the corner of her desk. "Maybe I have chess on the brain, but why do you have a drawing of a rook?"

"What? A rook? Where?" He tapped the notebook, and she picked it up slowly, as though enchanted. "Oh...well, Frank drew that. Neville and I thought it looked rather like a castle."

"That is what a rook is," Ron agreed. "But see the checkered pattern under here? I think he may have been trying to draw the chess piece."

"Hmm. " She held it closer to her face, so close her breath disturbed the pages. "Interesting."

Ron wasn't as invested in the mystery, but her commitment to this riddle intrigued him. "Why did Frank want to draw at all?"

"It was odd, really." Hermione furrowed her brow, lowering the page from her eyes. "Neville and I were talking, and everything was fine. Then Frank just started to sort of...panic. When we gave him paper, he drew until he passed out."

"Poor Neville." Ron rubbed his hands over his hair. "He worries about them enough as it is. I hope it wasn't anything too serious." He closed his eyes, thinking through the situation. "Sometimes the Longbottoms are more lucid than at other times. Maybe Frank was reacting to stimulation around him. What were you talking about when he reacted?" When Ron opened his eyes, he thought he caught the barest glimpse of something close to tenderness in Hermione's expression, but in the flash of a moment, it was gone.

"Oh, nothing," she said, moving documents around her desk. "You know that Mallory was here today, so I think we were discussing…" Her eyes glassed over as she ran her fingers through her hair, before she gazed down at the scratches on the notebook again. "A rook, you say?"

Ron was, by now, used to the breaks in Hermione's thought process when her brilliant mind was at work, so he just smiled and nodded. "Yes, that'd be my guess."

"Hmm." She spun the notepad in her fingers, around and around as she stared out the window. He knew what was coming next, but even the advantage of foresight didn't stop the way his body reacted when she bit her lip, lost in thought.

He tore his gaze away from her plump bottom lip. "Alright, I can see you're caught in your own world." Ron stood, stretching. "'Bout time I head home anyway. See you tomorrow, Mione. Don't work too late." He hesitated, then stretched a hand to her. She took it and he squeezed her fingers. "I'm serious. You need sleep too."

"Yes, I will, I promise." She managed to meet his eye for a moment, then sunk at once back into her thoughtful trance.

Ron wanted nothing more than to rip the notebook from her fingers and drag her to eat dinner, but that wasn't his place, was it? He flexed his fingers, indecisive, before turning on his heel to leave.