A/N: Alright, here we go with a Healer Ron fic! To give a little background on this AU, Hermione was in Ravenclaw at Hogwarts and as a result is not close friends with Harry and Ron. Their paths from there are hopefully discernable from the plot, but if you find yourself confused, just let me know. The wizarding world still had a war with Voldemort that culminated at the Battle of Hogwarts, though obviously Hermione wasn't involved in the same capacity. Yes, I realize that leaves HUGE holes (like how the hell would Ron and Harry have hunted horcruxes without her), and to those I say: leave the past in the past. This story isn't about the details of the war so much as the aftermath of it, and so it shouldn't affect the plot. Except for yeah, they were totally effed without her. :)

I want to take a moment more of your time to add a small disclaimer. Although this AU dives into integrating Muggle mental health principles with magical healing practices, I want to be clear that I am not a mental health expert. I am not a research expert, I am not a magical healing expert, I do not work in medicine in real life, I do not work in finance in real life. I am open to reviews that discuss the merit of the plot etc, but to be frank, I don't care about weird medical nuances that I may or may not have gotten perfectly, and those comments will just bum me out more than anything. My goal here is to touch on a topic lightly enough to get the point across, not to ACTUALLY be a doctor. I hope that makes sense!

Last thing! Yes this dives into mental health, but this fic will not get overly dark, I promise. I don't even think it requires trigger warnings, but I will try to be extremely sensitive of that as I post. This one touches on PTSD and anxiety.

Oh, and HUGE SHOUT OUT to cheesyficwriter, who has been the most gracious and helpful beta that a girl could ask for. :)

I hope you enjoy this read! Thanks for stopping by, and let me know if you like it!


"Healer Weasley!"

The shout echoed down the busy St Mungo's corridor, reaching Ron's ears over the low hum of the surrounding bustle. He turned, searching for the source, and found Beth, a broad nurse from his ward, struggling through the crowd and brandishing a file above her head. The immaculate, white hallway, being off of the main floor of the hospital, was the most common route used by patients, Healers, security, and visitors alike. The activity dispersed beyond the check in point, where the corridor diverged in several directions towards other halls and options for lifts and staircases.

Ron checked his watch, frowning as Beth approached him.

"There's no use in looking at me like that, Healer Weasley," she snapped, pushing the blue file at him and tucking her short blonde locks behind her ear. Beth was a young nurse, but Ron had found her to be competent and pushy. He liked her.

He opened the file and scanned its contents. "I have a patient waiting for me upstairs."

"I'm aware, Healer," she emphasized the word and tapped her pointer finger on the document he was inspecting. "But I've been trying to track you down to sign this for several hours, and it is now the only thing between me and the end of my shift." She handed Ron a quill, and he scrawled his name on the page, fighting the smile tugging at his lips.

"Please be sure the equipment used on this patient is checked in before you leave," he cautioned, handing the document back to her. "Otherwise you'll get an owl from an unhappy Russell later."

She snatched the file from him and spun on her heel, waving her hand to acknowledge his statement but leaving without another word.

Chuckling, Ron continued on the path towards his waiting patient. He ducked through the crowd then ascended four flights of stairs, cursing both the slowness of the lift and himself for feeling so winded at the top. Silently swearing to do more cardio, he navigated towards the nurses' station.

"Morning, Neville," he called as he approached, nodding at the man leaning against the counter. Neville had grown into a lanky height since their Hogwarts days, dropping his baby weight when he gained the inches. Although his face was less round, his teeth were still slightly buck toothed, and he seemed to sport a perpetual five o'clock shadow, which Ron was sure could be blamed on their long hours. The biggest change of the past decade was in Neville's demeanor. He was calmer and more confident in what he considered his expertise, even if socially he still sometimes blundered.

Neville pulled his gaze away from the papers he was studying and glanced over his shoulder with a tired smile. "Hey Ron."

"Good morning, Gerard," Ron greeted the sandy haired nurse manning the desk. "What have we got today?"

"Your first appointment is waiting for you in bed ten." Gerard handed him a file. "And yours is in bed fourteen, Healer Longbottom."

"Thanks Gerard," Neville said, closing the folder he'd been examining. "I hope you brought some in," he told Ron, gesturing to his takeaway coffee as he turned to look at him. "The machine on this floor is broken again."

Ron groaned. "I'm already running late." He opened the file and flipped through the pages. "Oh," he exclaimed before catching Neville's eye. "It's a survivor."

"Better get going then." Neville's voice was soft as he returned Ron's troubled expression.

Ron saluted and strode towards his patient. Coffee-less and knowing he was starting the day on a difficult note, he took several steadying breaths as he approached the closed hangings of bed ten. He paused outside for a moment, then moved them aside and ducked through.

"Anthony, how are you doing?"

Anthony Goldstein, who was perched against the bed, jumped to a standing position at the sound of Ron's voice. He was as blonde and burly as ever, still wrapped in his heavy winter coat and fidgeting. "Ron! I- I didn't know that you were a Healer."

"Yeah," Ron affirmed. "Although I took an odd route to get here." He smiled and surveyed his patient, who appeared to be growing more uncomfortable, before he fished his wand out of his bright green Healer robe's pocket. "Why don't we sit instead of using the examination bed?" Ron suggested, conjuring two simple wooden chairs. He sat and gestured to the empty one.

Anthony edged over and lowered himself. Trying to ease his tension, Ron placed the papers on the ground and leaned back, adopting an informal tone. "So what brings you in today, Anthony? You don't have any symptoms reported in your file."

"Really?" Anthony blinked at him, shrugging. "I dunno. I told them… when I got here…" He looked around as though realizing where he was for the first time. "I'm not sure why they directed me to this ward. It's for spell damage, right?"

"It is. Although, I think I know why they sent you here," Ron answered. "Would it be ok if you told me what you said at the front desk when you checked in?"

Anthony fidgeted with the zipper on his coat. "I just- I haven't been sleeping well. I wake up every night covered in sweat." He dragged his gaze from the floor, expression miserable.

"Nightmares?"

"Yeah," he paused, his voice dropping lower. "Always about the war. Everything I saw- everything I did- at the…the battle."

"Anything else?" Ron coaxed.

"I feel," he held his hands in front of him, and closed them into fists. "Tight. Agitated. But just sometimes." Anthony stared at his meaty fists. "It comes and goes. I dunno." He shook his head. "I'm not even sure why I came here today. I know it's not spell damage. I know it's not. But I…I didn't know what else to do."

Ron leaned forward in his chair, putting his arms on his legs. "It's not spell damage, Anthony, but it is very real. It sounds like you have anxiety."

"What," Anthony frowned, "like a Muggle?"

"Yup," Ron affirmed. "Exactly like a Muggle." He stood, sweeping the file off the floor and walking over to the Healer station in the corner. He scribbled on a prescription pad, then ripped the sheet off and turned around to gaze at his patient. "I can give you a potion to help with sleep, and hopefully you'll see some alleviation of your tenseness as well."

"You can help me?" Anthony asked, looking disbelieving.

"Yes," Ron gave him a small smile. "I can help you. But," he tapped the paper against the table, rubbing his bearded chin. "It's a bandaid."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," he leaned against the table and crossed his arms. "I mean that this potion won't solve the root problem. It won't cure the anxiety itself; it will only cover up some of the symptoms. I do not recommend it as a long term course of action."

"How do I fix it then?" Anthony asked. "Is it a spell? What should I do?"

"No," Ron shook his head. "Not a spell. The wizarding world does not have solutions for mental health issues like that." He paused, examining Anthony. "Often, after experiencing traumatic events- and the Battle of Hogwarts definitely qualifies- we, as human beings, tend to misremember details and cast blame on ourselves." He scribbled on the prescription pad, and ripped off another sheet. "The first is for the potion, and I hope it makes you feel better. I really do." Ron handed both pages to his patient. "The second one has a time and place for a support group that I run. It's for survivors of the war, and we meet every Tuesday. If you want to address the root of your problem instead of covering it with a bandaid, I think this would be a good start."

Anthony clutched the papers in his fist, nodding fervently. "Thank you, Ron."

Ron signed the discharge documents and exited the examination area, his thoughts lost in an old memory.


A year after the war, Ron and Neville found themselves nestled in a booth at the very back of The Leaky Cauldron. The pub was dark and grimy, but their table was well hidden and Tom levitated their drinks to them so they wouldn't have to stand to go to the bar. They weren't recognized as often as they were when Harry was with them, but it was better safe than sorry.

Ron purchased the first three rounds, making sure Neville was several beers deep before he felt ready to broach the subject he'd been waiting to discuss. "Have you given any more thought to my suggestion?"

"What suggestion?" Neville inquired, lounging in the booth.

"The university."

"The Muggle school thing?" Neville snorted. "You can't be serious. That was a real idea?"

"Yeah," Ron said, picking at an imperfection in the grainy wooden table. "Why not?"

"We're both rubbish at school," Neville took a long pull from his pint glass. "Why would we go back for more?"

Ron scratched at the scruffy stubble on chin, considering his answer. "We're lost. Directionless." He gestured at their surroundings. "I mean, look at us right now."

"We like Leaky," Neville said, though he glanced around the bar.

"It's Tuesday," Ron chuckled. "Early afternoon, no less."

"We do this every Tuesday!"

"Healthy habits is what I'd call it," Ron grinned. They sat in companionable silence, Ron weighing his options. He knew he was pushing the issue, but he couldn't let it go yet. He cleared his throat. "Seriously, Neville, you live with your gran."

"And?" Neville looked uncomfortable. "You're still living with your mum."

"Exactly." Ron felt sour, leaning his head back against the hard wood of the booth with a dull thud. "That's my point. Don't you want to do more? The war is over, but here we are... I dunno... stuck."

Neville, who seemed to be trying to stall the conversation, waved his hand towards the bar. Two more frothy pints floated towards their table. "Harry isn't stuck," he pointed out.

"I know," Ron admitted. "I know he isn't. His life has never been easy, but he's lucky now in that he's found what makes him happy. He's found work that fulfills him. But we…we're different." He paused. "And we're not unique. Half the people we know from school seem to be just as lost as us."

Neville meticulously finished his first mug and set it down, picking up the second and spinning it in his hands. "It's just…the war," he said in a small voice. "Everything else feels…"

"Unimportant," Ron supplied, "small."

Neville nodded, still swirling his drink around and around. "How am I supposed to move on?"

Ron slammed his mug down, making Neville jump. "I'm sorry, but that's why we have to do this," he exclaimed. "The Ministry has no support for people like us. I think we could help fix a problem that no one else seems to notice."

"I don't know what you mean, people like us," Neville countered, but he gazed into space.

"We saved the world," Ron shrugged. "So what? The world is packed full of people with scars that can't be seen, both of us included, and I think we could help them."

"By going to a Muggle school?"

"Muggles do a lot of wonky stuff, mate," Ron allowed, responding to Neville's incredulous expression. "But you have to admit, they are way better at this kind of thing. They have Healers, or Doctums, whatever you call them, just for brains."

"We can't be Doctums," Neville said, voice squeaking. "They go to school for years and years."

"I agree." Ron took another swig. "But I think we can get certificates or something. I think we can learn a little bit about what Muggles know about medicine and apply magic to it."

Neville seemed to steel himself before he asked, through gritted teeth, "could we learn about…about severe mental degradation?"

Ron examined him before answering, "you know, Neville, I reckon we could."

Neville jerked his head, tense, and they sat in silence for a long time, each lost in his own thoughts.

"We'd have to get Healer training too." Ron bolted upright at the sound of Neville's voice, beamining. "And think of all the magical herbs with unknown potential."

"That's the spirit," Ron exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder. "We can live with Harry at Grimmauld Place, I already asked him, and go to this university I found in London. We'll have to fib a bit on our applications," he lowered his voice. "Since we went to Hogwarts and not a Muggle secondary school, but I say we try."

There was a long, pregnant pause. "It's absolutely barmy," Neville said, his voice shaking. "Let's do it."


"Lumos."

Neville held his wand up to Marissa's face, examining her eyes. "Just look straight ahead, please."

"Well," the woman behind him trilled, "is she ok?"

Neville leaned back, keeping his eyes on Marissa. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Sure," she said. "I was playing Griffons and Dragons with my nephew, and we were having a grand time. Next thing I know, Kate was dragging me here for no good reason." She peered around Neville's shoulder to glare at the other woman.

"What my dear sister doesn't remember," Kate responded, "is the problem."

"I remember everything!" Marissa exclaimed.

"Ok, ok," Neville interjected, before turning to Kate, who was wringing her hands, despite her hot temper. "Can you help me fill in the gaps?"

"It was my son, Richard," she answered, eyes watering with unshed tears. "He's only four, and I think he might have picked up her wand by accident, because I heard this loud popping noise, and when I ran into the living room, Marissa was laying on the floor, and when I woke her, she didn't remember any of it, and he's a really good boy, I swear, he's just so small and he can't control his magic-"

"I know," Neville soothed, conjuring a handkerchief and handing it to her. "I nearly bounced down the road the first time I did magic. I'm not blaming your son, and he's not in trouble." Kate dabbed at her eyes.

"Marissa, do you remember any of that?" He turned back to his patient.

"No," she said, beaming. "I'm not convinced that she's not just having a go."

Kate burst out, angry, "why would I-"

"Please," Neville said, gritting his teeth. "Stay focused." Kate looked abashed. "Marissa," he commanded her attention again. "What happens when you try to remember playing with your nephew? What do you feel? I know," he held up a hand, cutting her off. "Just humor me here, what happens when you try?"

Marissa looked amused, but closed her eyes and sat still. Her expression began to lose its buoyancy as concentration and concern laced her features. "I feel… like there's something nagging at me. Something I've forgotten to do." Her eyes snapped open. "What's wrong with me?"

"I think that whatever accidental magic your nephew performed did, in fact, affect your memory. Your eyes are glazed and you're exhibiting small amounts of euphoria," Neville explained as Kate reached over to hold her sister's hand. "It's a very good thing you came in, since this instance is not as simple as an intentional Obliviate."

"Can you fix her?" Kate asked.

"Yes," Neville smiled. "Memories are tricky things, and minds are even more complex. However, in this case," he flipped through the file in his hands. "It looks like you have no prior conditions, and the nurse who examined you does not think you've lost more than a few hours of disjointed time, all very recent. Most likely, only parts of today." Neville flipped the chart closed and stood. "I can return those memories to you now, if you like. Or we don't have to do it at all. You may not ever remember what you forgot, but unless you've done something very important, it may not matter in the grand scheme of things."

Marissa licked her lips. "I'd like my memories back, if that's okay." She glanced at her sister. "I know I spent a lot of time with my family today, and I don't want to miss out on that."

"Very well," Neville nodded. "I'll just have you lay on the bed, please." Marissa swung her feet up and leaned back. Neville stood on the other side from Kate, continuing his instructions. "This won't hurt, although you may have a headache afterwards for a couple hours. It'll take a minute to perform, but it is an immensely complicated spell, even for simple memories. Please try not to distract me, and never attempt this kind of thing yourself." The women, both with wide eyes at his serious tone, nodded.

Neville took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He steadied his mind, taking another deep breath. Opening his eyes, he moved his wand in a deliberate figure eight over Marissa's prone form, muttering multiple incantations under his breath. He waited a long moment, then touched her arm. "Did it work?"

She blinked a couple of times and grinned. "Yeah! Richard and I broke Kate's vase in the bedroom, but I mended it before she noticed."

"You did what?" Kate's previous concern melted away, and Neville had to turn to hide his smile. He crossed to the desk, leaving the sisters bickering behind him, and signed the release forms.

"Take this to the front desk to check out," he told Marissa, pushing the paper into her hand. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Thank you, Healer Longbottom," she called after him. He waved and slipped out from behind the privacy curtains.

The hours flew by as Neville continued his examinations, so it was well past his usual breaking time when he approached the nurses' station on the fourth floor and knocked on the counter to get Gerard's attention. "I'm taking my lunch."

"So late?" Gerard asked, pushing back the sleeve of his maroon robes and checking his watch. "It's nearly quitting time."

"It's the only chance I've had today."

Gerard nodded, sympathetic. "Your next patient is in thirty minutes."

"Noted," Neville said. "Call if you need me."

He swung by his office, also situated on the fourth floor, and grabbed the modest sandwich and apple that served as his meal before leaving again. He navigated to the ward for long term patients in the back, smiling as he approached a corner with two beds pushed close together.

"Hey Mum," he said, settling himself into an armchair for visitors. Alice Longbottom's short cropped hair was neatly combed, and she graced him with a small smile, her kind eyes overflowing with warmth. Neville turned to examine his father, from whom he'd inherited his round face, and was pleased to see that Frank was of a similar disposition.

"What's for lunch today, Dad?" Neville asked, opening his brown sack. To answer, his father picked up an empty salad container on the bedside table, smiling as he puffed out his chest.

"Healthy!" Neville praised, impressed. "What's gotten into you? You used to be all Cauldron Cakes for meals."

Alice made a noise of disapproval and Neville swiveled to look at her, amused. "Did you have a say in that, Mum?" She showed him her salad container as well, beaming.

He chatted with his family while he ate, happy to be in their company. When he was finished, Neville stood and extracted a small tube of lotion from his pocket. "Here, Mum," he said, holding out his hand. She eagerly put her tiny fingers in his, and Neville opened the tube to rub the salve on her arms. "It's a new kind," he explained. "Infused with gingko biloba and rosemary." He moved over to his father and repeated the process. "Ron helped me with a kind of therapeutic spell we've been working on." He recapped the tube and slipped it back into his pocket. His parents beamed at him.

Since he'd begun treatment plans on his parents, Neville thought they'd shown significant improvement. He was cautiously optimistic about their eventual recovery, which was more than he could say when he was visiting ten years ago. They were still mute, and seemed dazed more often than not, but he could keep their attention and seemed to elicit relevant responses from them when he spoke.

"I have to go back to my shift now," he said, giving them both hugs. His mum grunted something that almost sounded like "bye," and he squeezed her hand before leaving.


A few hours later, Neville stood in the doorframe of Ron's office, checking the watch on his wrist and looking tired. "Are you ready? Hugh is waiting for us."

Ron stood from behind his desk, weary himself. "Long day?"

"Four memory reversals," Neville affirmed. "They are short procedures, but require such specific concentration that it's draining."

"Yeah," Ron grabbed his green Healer robe from where it hung in the corner and swung it over his shoulders. "You always were better at those than me."

"There's more at stake for me, isn't there?" Neville waved his hand, dismissing the praise. "Come on, we're going to be late."

"Do you reckon we'll get approval?" Ron speculated as he fell into step with his colleague. "It's the fifth time we've submitted our application."

"I dunno," Neville sighed. "It doesn't bode well though does it? I mean, if we haven't been approved by now…"

"I know mate," Ron said as they descended the stairs. "We have to keep trying though. This is everything we've been dreaming of."

They rounded a corner of the dark building, the day shift having long since ended. At the end of the hall, a single door stood ajar, bright light visible behind it. Quiet permeated the space as they walked, their footsteps seeming disproportionately loud in the deserted corridor. With every step, Ron felt his gut tightening. Despite what he told Neville, he wasn't sure how many more times they could submit for such a big ask. At some point, they would be shut down. Was this it? Was this the moment everything ended?

Ron grimaced as they came to a halt. He and Neville exchanged looks, then he pushed the door wide open. "Hey Hugh."

They stepped into the office, maneuvering around piles of robes and other assorted items, and sat at the chairs in front of the desk. Behind the desk was a tall, thin man. Shaped like a green bean, he had wispy greying hair and thick, gold rimmed glasses. His desk was as disordered as the rest of the office, stacked high with misaligned files and loose sheets of paper. Several open ink bottles littered the space and Ron could see smudges on all the documentation.

Hugh grinned at them as they sat, though Ron's insides felt like they were stretched to a breaking point. "Did we get it?"

"Aye, lads." Ron stared at Hugh in disbelief and the latter rustled through one of the piles and extracted a wrinkled paper before handing it to Ron. "I'm going to have to move some money around and reduce the number of beds in the long term ward, but if you do your jobs properly, then we won't need those anymore, will we?" Hugh grinned at the two Healers, who continued to sit in a shocked silence.

"What?" Neville asked, eyes wide. "We actually did it? You're telling me that-"

"I got funding approval for a new ward here at St Mungo's," Hugh affirmed. "A new ward that is solely focused on the study and application of Muggle psychology infused with magic, in order to assess- what was it?"

Ron didn't need to look at the paper. "In order to assess the feasibility of better care for mental health and the reversal of long term magical damage, to be led by Healers Longbottom and Weasley." Ron's hands were shaking as he jumped out of his chair. "Are you bloody serious, Hugh? We did it?"

"Aye, lads," Hugh beamed. "You did it." Neville jumped up too, whooping, all former exhaustion forgotten.

"This is bloody amazing." Ron couldn't believe their good fortune. "When do we get started?"

Hugh laughed. "I did tell the Board you'd both be very hard working, and that was a big selling point, I think. Come by my office after your shifts tomorrow, and we'll discuss next steps."

Ron and Neville exchanged jubilant looks, and thanked the hospital director as they retreated into the corridor. They were no more than a few steps away when Ron sent a joyful terrier patronus sprinting down the hall. "Time to celebrate," he told Neville. "I'll have Harry meet us at Leaky."

As the two men loudly and exuberantly exited the hospital, they didn't notice the small movements hidden away in the shadows. The disturbance made its slow, careful way through the various wards and up the stairs, until it arrived in the Janus Thickey Ward for Permanent Spell Damage. A long shadow crept through the curtained beds, coming to rest in the far corner, where it cast a lingering watch over the two sleeping forms of Frank and Alice Longbottom.