AU!
WRITTEN FOR QLFC, SEASON 9
Book Club
Prompt:
6. (word) determined
"Healer Longbottom, you're needed in Room Seven," a Mediwitch said, hurrying past. The man on the stretcher whimpered in pain as he belched out flames that could rival a dragon's.
Heart pounding, Neville nodded and strode down the hallway, his face calm and stoic. He had practised his expression so many times earlier that morning that it slipped onto his face like a mask.
After completing an arduous four-years-long internship as a Mediwizard, it was his first day at St Mungo's as a qualified Healer, and he was determined to make his mark on the wizarding world. He just hoped his parents would be proud of him—not that he'd ever know because they'd both died two years ago, a few days apart from each other.
But when he entered the room, the woman's shrieks caused him to falter. The Mediwitches tried to hold the flailing woman down but failed. One of them hurried over to his side with a blue file in hand.
"The patient seems to be suffering from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus, but there are no torture signs on her body. All the signs point to a mental disorder. She's been sedated twice before you arrived, but nothing seems to be working." She handed the file to him to look through, but Neville didn't need it.
He knew not only the history of the curse but also the woman screaming her heart out on the bed. Hermione.
He hadn't seen her since she had gone off to look for her parents three years ago, but all those thoughts vanished from his mind in a trace. He didn't know what had happened to her, but his job was to calm her down.
Though he was aware there could be a slight conflict of interest, he hastened to Hermione's side and directed the Mediwitches to bring him some eucalyptus-scented essential oil. His colleagues looked at him as though he'd lost his mind, but when Hermione continued to scream herself hoarse, they hurried to do what he had told them.
Crouching down next to Hermione, Neville took her hands not just to stop her from lashing out but also to anchor her. He'd studied many alternative Muggle treatments for post-traumatic stress disorder, and his heart pained at having to use them on his friend.
"Shh… I've got you, Hermione. You're safe here. No one's going to hurt you, I promise," he repeated to her as a Mediwitch handed him the oil.
Neville knew it was her favourite, which was why he'd asked for it. As he told her how good it was to see her, how he'd missed her, the scent wafted through the air, already working its magic.
He whispered encouraging phrases to her—some she'd used for him back at Hogwarts—and noticed her heartbeat lowering. Motivated by her response, he kissed her knuckles and continued talking.
Finally, an hour later, Hermione's eyes fluttered shut. Neville stood up and let out a soft sigh of relief. Mission accomplished. For now.