Hermione walked down the hallway in confusion, muttering to herself and opening doors at random. "I don't know what he thinks he's talking about, this isn't at all like St. Mungo's," she grumbled, slamming shut a broom closet angrily. She finally located a staircase, followed it upwards, and emerged in the waiting room.

"Welcome!" said the Welcome Witch, so cheerily that Hermione decided she should be Avadaed as quickly as possible. "How may I be of service to you on this fine morning?"

Hermione stared with her mouth slightly open, decided that a disparaging comment to the Welcome Witch on her first day might appear as a black mark on her record, and blinked a few times. "I—uh—I'm looking for Spell Damage."

The Witch wheezed out a laugh. "Aren't we all, dearie? This is a hospital, you know. You're supposed to look for sick people." She flashed a happy, clueless grin.

Hermione blinked some more. "I mean the department."

"Excuse me?"

"The Spell Damage department," Hermione said loudly. "I've been assigned to work there. Could you tell me where it is, please?"

"Aaaah," the Witch said, a look of comprehension suddenly dawning on her face. "New, are you?"

"Could you please just direct me to the department?" Hermione said, resisting an urge to rip out all of the perfect blonde curls.

"I'd be delighted to," the Witch sang out, picking up a quill and beginning to scribble. "Spell Damage is on the third floor. You should have told me right away what you wanted, dear."

Hermione gaped at her a few moments more, then spun abruptly on her heel and stalked towards the stairs.

"Welcome Witches," she grumbled as she stomped up the spiraling staircase amidst a flurry of whispers from the hanging portraits. "Stupid, blonde, useless Welcome Witches!"

She continued past the first floor landing, still muttering to herself. A Healer passed by, giving her an odd look and clearly resisting the urge to ask if she was well. Under normal circumstances, Hermione would have laughed.

Hermione finally arrived at the third floor, expelled one final "Witches!", and stepped into a large waiting room. She looked around, feeling quite lost, and finally headed for the reception desk.

"I'm supposed to be working for Jenna," Hermione shot at the Healer behind the desk. The man blinked up at her dazedly.

"Good morning," he yawned. "Do you have a referral?"

"I—need—to—find—Jenna—Faye," Hermione enunciated slowly. "Could—you—please—direct—me—"

"Whozat?"

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. "Jerome Hutchins told me that I'm working for Jenna Faye, the Healer-in-Charge of Spell Damage. Where is she?"

"Aaah," the Healer said suddenly, reminiscently of the Welcome Witch. "Healer Faye. Her office is back through that door—" he pointed "—fifth room on the right." He grabbed for a mug and took a large swig of coffee.

Hermione stormed off, shoved open the door so hard that it banged against the wall, and thundered down the hallway, wondering what was wrong with everyone in the hospital. It was almost as if there was a giant Memory Charm over the whole place. . . .

She stopped abruptly outside said office and rapped harshly. "Come in, it's open," a cheery-sounding voice called. Hermione felt a surge of hope well up as she tentatively pushed open the door. Jenna Faye sounded like she could actually be a normal person.

Hermione stared at the witch behind the desk as she slowly shut the door behind herself. Jenna looked to be about thirty, the youngest Healer-in-Charge Hermione had ever seen; she was wearing square, studious-looking glasses with her long dark hair pulled back out of her face; and, Hermione noted happily, her desktop was organized.

"Can I help you?" Jenna asked politely, looking a bit confused as to who the strange witch staring at her was.

"Yes, sorry, I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione said, shaking the offered hand. "Mr. Hutchins told me that I'm supposed to work for you. . . ."

"Did he?" A faint look of surprise crossed Jenna's face. "That's weird. I told him I didn't need any more staff up here—not that I don't want you," she added quickly, seeing the crestfallen look on Hermione's face. "I'm sure you'll be wonderful. I read your application. Medicinal potions research, eh? Me too."

"So why're you in Spell Damage, then?" Hermione asked curiously.

Jenna sighed heavily. "This place," she said, waving her hand around vaguely, "has the worst organizational staff possible. There are virtually no connections between departments, files get lost, and no one knows where anything is."

"But it's the best hospital in our world!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Yup," Jenna nodded. "Once you figure out how everything works here—or rather, doesn't work—it's really not all that bad. It's actually nice being the head of a department . . . all sorts of paid vacations and things . . ." She motioned Hermione into a chair.

"I don't understand how that's possible," Hermione said heavily, her head spinning, feeling as if she were slightly in shock. "You'd think it would just fall apart."

Jenna shrugged. "As long as it doesn't, I won't complain. Now, let me see . . ." She pointed at a file cabinet with her wand, and several folders zoomed out and landed on her desk. Color-coded, Hermione thought happily.

"Like I told you, we're not exactly short of help," Jenna muttered, partly to herself, flipping through the folders. "I suppose that for now at least, you can just come around with me and help me out, see how the place works, you know."

"Fine with me," Hermione said quickly, not wanting to get sent back down to Jerome.

"So," Jenna told her, levitating the files back into the cabinet, "I'll find someone to give you a tour of the place. I would do it myself, but there's a difficult case in the Pittiman ward . . . I'll try to get Janis, she does tours all the time, but I'm not sure if Dory can handle Scrimgeour all by herself . . . but don't worry," she added, seeing the bewildered look on Hermione's face, "once you get used to the place it's easy to find your way around." She gave an encouraging smile, and flicked her wand and muttered something unintelligible. "Janis?"

"Yeah?" The responding voice sounded as though it were coming from directly behind Hermione, but when she turned to look, there was no one there.

"Can you find someone to cover for you?" Jenna asked, crossing her fingers. "I need you to give a tour."

"Oh, Dory's fine here," Janis replied, "there's only two patients." Hermione watched Jenna in fascination; she had never encountered this kind of magical intercom before.

"So that's settled, then," Jenna sighed, laying her wand down on her desk. "Janis'll be here in a minute or two. Come to the Pittiman ward when you're all done. I'll see you later, Hermione," she said with a friendly smile, standing up. "Hope you like working here."

"Thank you," Hermione grinned, but as soon as the door was closed behind her new boss she allowed the smile to fade. Unless she was very wrong, and she was hardly ever wrong, nobody in the entire building, with the exception of Jenna Faye, had any clue how a hospital was supposed to work. She didn't understand how it could be considered the best hospital in the wizarding world if no one on staff could even tell a new employee how to navigate the place.

Hermione was examining a photograph on the wall when the doorknob turned with a squeak. She jumped back quickly, trying not to appear as if she had just been spying, and smiled broadly at the Healer who stepped in.

"Hi, Janis Murtlap," said the gray-haired woman in a business-like way. She stuck out her hand and Hermione took it.

"Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you."

Over the next two and a half hours, Janis led a very lost Hermione all over the huge building. Hermione only caught snippets of descriptions like ". . . this is Potion and Plant Poisoning, we have a special ward for children under five, you know how they always get into the ingredients cabinets . . . up those stairs—no, we're not going up—that's where we put some of the more dangerous patients . . ." Her sentence was punctuated by a distant crashing. "Moving on. . . ."

By the time they arrived back on the third floor, Hermione was completely turned around and bewildered. Janis left her with a gruff, "See you around," and retreated down another hallway. Hermione, trying to sort out her bearings with her muddled mind, realized that she had absolutely no idea where Jenna and the Pittiman ward were. With a heavy sigh, she headed for the reception desk again.

"Where's the Pittiman ward?" she asked the man, who looked slightly more awake than he had two and a half hours ago.

"Through that door—" he pointed at a doorway opposite "—down the hallway. All the way on the end."

"Thank you," Hermione said politely, amazed at the transformation affected by a mug of coffee. She weaved through the rows of chairs, some containing severely hexed patients, and started down the hallway, scanning the plaques on the doors as she went. The door at the end, her destination, had the largest plaque of all:

DOUGLAS A. PITTIMAN WARD

Experimental Charms

Spell Damage Department

Healer-in-Charge: Jenna Faye

Hermione took a deep breath and pushed open the door. She glanced around warily. There appeared to be only one patient—only one bed had curtains pulled around it, and all the rest were empty. Jenna was sitting next to the bed with two other Healers; all three looked slightly disheveled.

"Excuse me?" Hermione said timidly. Jenna whipped around, her finger to her lips to indicate silence, and the other Healers, a man and a woman, started in fright. I'm sorry, Hermione mouthed, shutting the door carefully behind her and beginning to tiptoe towards them. Jenna shook her head in dismissal and handed Hermione a file, motioning for her to open it. Hermione looked carefully at the patient information sheet, and after a few moments, glanced up in confusion. Jenna motioned to the Healers that she would be back in a moment, took Hermione by the arm, and led her out into the hallway.

"He's noise-sensitive," she said by way of explanation. "Every time he hears a loud sound, something triggers, and . . . well, he becomes very—difficult to control."

"What's wrong with him?" Hermione asked in a hushed voice.

Jenna sighed heavily. "We don't know yet. It's not a standard charm that was placed on him. It was an accident—his wife says that his four-year old daughter got a hold of his wand. . . ."

Hermione winced. Jenna nodded in solemn agreement.

"I thought you should help with this," she continued, "even though it's not medicinal potions; at least it's something to do. I mean, it is a sort of research thing—you know, what are the symptoms, is there a possibility the daughter knew any real magic, etcetera."

"Of course," Hermione said quickly. "I'll do anything."

"Good," said Jenna wearily, "because no one else is available to." She gave a wry grin. "Healers Danko and Watts in there—" she gestured with her thumb back at the ward "—must be getting back to their own departments, quote as they have much more pressing matters to attend to unquote."

"Ugh," Hermione said sympathetically. Jenna opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by a loud roaring.

"Oh, no," Jenna said frantically, grabbing for the doorknob, "I never should have left them in there alone, Jerome'll kill me if anything happens—" Hermione, rushing in on her heels, saw the two Healers cowering in a corner, and the patient advancing towards them. Hermione had every intention to help, and even had her wand out, but at the first sight of Mr. Berriman, she froze in her tracks. He was barely recognizable as a human being: huge wings sprouted from his back; he had three-inch long retractable claws, which were very much in view at the moment; and he was covered in fur. Hermione stood staring as Jenna directed spells at him; eventually he seemed to calm down. He retreated to his bed, and appeared to fall asleep.

Jenna cast a silencing spell over his bed and drew the curtains, and then advanced on the two Healers, shaking with suppressed rage.

"Did I not tell you, many times, not to talk near him when I took off the silencing charm?" she demanded, appearing much larger than usual in her anger. "Did I not tell you, repeatedly, that he is highly dangerous? Do you know that you could have been killed?!"

Hermione watched in amusement as the Healers, both of whom were much older than Jenna, babbled unintelligible apologies. She watched her boss visibly collect herself.

"Please," Jenna said calmly, the only sign of her anger betrayed by the clenching of her fists, "remove yourselves from my department before I maul you myself." Hermione stepped aside to let them pass, lowering her head so they wouldn't see the trembling of her lips. She heard the door close and looked up at Jenna, a smile threatening.

"Er—where do they work, exactly?"

"Creature-Induced Injuries," Jenna muttered, glaring daggers at the door. "Jerome thought that they might be able to quote identify exactly what the dangerous creature appears to be unquote. Of course they can't. It's probably something that the little girl had nightmares about." She kicked a chair and it tipped over, one of the legs breaking off. "I can't keep a silencing charm on all the time because he gets disoriented," she explained. "It's not good for him; all he can hear are his own noises, and he gets confused."

"Ah," Hermione said intelligently.

Jenna heaved a sigh. "Well, come on," she said, magically repairing the broken chair. "We won't do any good standing around in here. Make sure you lock the door whenever you leave," she added, using her wand to lock it behind them. She removed the silencing charm and began down the hallway, heels clacking. "You can just work in my office for now, I suppose. Come on."

*     *     *

It was a very exhausted Hermione who tottered down the spiral staircase, along the staff hallway, through the entrance hall, and into a fireplace. She stumbled out into her apartment in a puff of soot and collapsed onto the sofa with a groan.

"Draco?" she called. "Where are you?"

She was answered by silence.

"Come on, Draco," Hermione whined, standing up. "Where are you? I need to talk to you!"

She headed for the kitchen, looking around for any signs of life, and spotted a scrap of parchment lying on the kitchen table. She picked it up and recognized his slanted handwriting:

My dearest Mya,

I can't express how frustrated I am not to be here waiting for you to come home from work. We've gotten this far together, and now I am forced to desert you at the last minute. I wanted (laugh away) to be waiting with tea and biscuits, like we always have, but I'm afraid you're going to have to get them yourself. At five o'clock—Hermione glanced up to see that it was four thirty—I will have a cup of peppermint tea in your honor. She smiled.

A few minutes ago—it's one thirty now—I received an urgent note from my boss. I am needed back in England immediately—something's come up at work, and he needs my help. I took a Portkey back, so don't worry about my colliding with someone in midair and . . . how did you term it? Exchanging body parts?

Anyways . . . I just wanted to tell you that I would be waiting if I could.

And that I love you.

I'll come visit on Saturday, after the body-part crisis is over.

Yours,

Draco

*     *     *

First off, an apology is in order:

I know that I haven't updated for a really, really long time. I'm sorry. I haven't been in a writing mood since—I can't even think when. Just trust me that if I had forced myself to churn out this chapter, it would have been horrible and nothing at all would have happened. I needed time to process this in my mind, I needed time to create what the hospital and Jenna would be like, and I needed time where I didn't have anything due and wasn't sick. That time was today. I'm very sorry if I'm losing readers this way, but this is how I work. I'm a procrastinator by nature. All I can say is I promise I will see this story through until it's finished. Don't give up on me, please.

I don't want to make a habit of replying to every single person who reads this, but I will occasionally have something to say:

Priah: It's really interesting that you say that, because awhile ago, my biggest problem was that nothing really happened plot-wise in my stories. This is probably the first time in my life that I've ever put my characters through hell without feeling guilty about it or taking it easy on them. Nothing bad ever happened. Their lives were perfect. I'm really, really, really glad you noticed what you did, because even though it may sound weird, I've been wanting to make more bad things happen. I feel almost hypocritical writing this because I still don't feel like they're entirely realistic; but I don't know. I'm glad that you think they are. Thank you.

beachLEMON: Actually, I'm from Massachusetts, have never been to New York, and am only using it because I needed a big city and Boston is boring. :-) I get kind of hazy myself sometimes; I would LOVE a Draco kind of friend with benefits. He he he.

All other reviewers: Thank you so incredibly much for reading it! And for actually reviewing.

Oh yeah, one more note: people who put themselves on my author alert list and then don't even bother to review the story—heh. Please? Just say something. I would rather have a short review than no review. C'mon. It takes 30 seconds, and then you will have my eternal gratitude.