~ Morgan Baker, Healer for Spell Damage ~
10:40 pm.
Morgan glanced at the clock as she browsed through the patient file of a man named Peter Willis – a twenty-seven year-old father who had led a normal life as a Ministry official under the Department of Mysteries up until yesterday.
The report read he was rushed into St. Mungo's by his wife after he was hit by a poorly done transfiguration spell conjured from a drunk wizard who attempted to pick a fight with him on the street.
She heaved a deep sigh, pity flowing through tired limbs. The man checked into their floor while she was on duty. After a trip to the emergency room, the trainee healers of spell damage had him admitted as a potential long-term resident.
Wonky transfiguration spells, especially when cast by an adult wizard with full magical potential, were often declared permanent.
That led to a particularly heart-wrenching conversation with the patient's family, a situation Morgan has gone through several times in her profession. Her chest ached with grief, but in her several years of experience, showing an empathetic yet professional face to wailing family members was a skill she had developed over time.
It didn't mean she was desensitized; in fact, Morgan could argue she felt even more grief the harder she tried to hide the pain. But healers needed to be strong in front of their patients, because they could never be the first to give up.
Bang!
The door to her office sprung open without a knock and slammed against the wall. Morgan jumped in her seat, nearly spilling the goblet of pumpkin juice on her desk.
It took her a second to register the sluggish form of Albus Potter dragging himself inside. With a pained look on his face, he croakily declared, "I'm quitting."
With misplaced determination, he plopped carelessly on his back on Morgan's pristine office sofa. The action snapped Morgan out of her initial surprise and she dropped her papers on the desk.
"What in Merlin's name are you on about now, Al?" she snapped while eyeing him dangerously.
"I said I'm quitting," he whined. Still wrapped in his lime-green healer robes and fiercely gripping his unruly black hair, he looked on the verge of a severe panic attack.
His movements were haphazardly shifting Morgan's sofa pillows in varying angles. She wrinkled her nose in distaste but tried to muster some patience for her best friend's sake.
"You're quitting," Morgan repeated, unamused in tone and eyebrows raised in clear doubt.
"Yes, I am," he said, voice muffled by his palms that were now intensely kneading at his face.
Morgan wasn't convinced.
"You said the same thing last week." She gestured to all of him and declared, "Yet, here you are."
He twisted his head to look at her from the couch, lifting his hands up to show her a deadpan expression.
"I'm serious this time," Al stated.
"Sure," Morgan muttered dismissively, lifting her patient's profile in an attempt to resume her work.
Al sat up, clearly frustrated from her lack of attention over the seriousness of his declaration. Regardless, Morgan wasn't in the mood to humor his announcement when she had a patient with a lizard's head in the next room.
"Morgan, listen to me," Al said, voice cracking and eyes damp.
Considering the number of times Al did this in a week, Morgan wasn't worried and didn't look up from her papers this time around.
"I can't do this anymore," he continued. "Do you remember Randy Prescott? The ten year-old boy who was bitten in Scotland?"
"How could I forget?" Morgan muttered under her breath.
"He's scheduled for transformation next week and he asked me if he should still drink his potions if there's no cure anyway!" Al exclaimed, hands returning to grip the ends of his hair.
Morgan was sure the healer would lose his hair before turning forty. Al was a healer for creature-induced injuries, subjecting him to patient issues surrounding werewolf cases. He wasn't the most emotionally secure, and this led to the weekly breakdowns that St. Mungo's was fairly used to by now.
Al made up for it with his superior intellect in the sub-specialized field of werewolf treatment and research, being the healer responsible for introducing the potion that limited the pain of monthly transformations.
On top of that, he was known to be the best healer for creature-injured injuries in Great Britain, patients even traveling cross country for his services.
But behind closed doors, Morgan knew him as her absurdly sensitive best friend who cried himself to sleep over petty arguments and raised voices. Dealing with Al could have been at the top of her list of perfectly developed life skills.
So with a heavy sigh, Morgan dropped her papers for the second time that night and decided it would be best to deal with him quickly. Al has since buried his dejected face in his hands.
"Al, you're being ridiculous," she said sternly. "You want to quit because a child doesn't want to take his potions? Part of the job is to reassure and encourage them to get proper treatment."
"But it's not just that, Morgan," Al insisted. "It's exhausting! Randy's ten years old, for Merlin's sake. He should be looking forward to getting his Hogwarts letter; not asking whether or not he should take potions for his incurable condition!"
It was a speech Morgan has heard in various forms. Even if it was quite repetitive, she could see where he was coming from. Young children with ailments were Al's weakness after all.
She was almost grateful to be in spell damage, where she typically dealt with adults. Not to mention most of her long-term residents were delirious enough to not be fully aware of their condition, so it saved her the trouble of the constant reassurance of their health.
Healing magic wasn't an easy thing to adapt as an expertise, and graduates fresh out of Hogwarts were subjected to four more years of training at the hospital before they were even allowed to take on their own patients and conduct official research.
That was the reminder Al always needed to pull him out of his episodes, and Morgan didn't hesitate to explain every time.
"If you quit, how do you think your patients will fare? Hm?" she asked him. "You're the best healer for werewolf treatment around, Al. And we're short of healers for CNI regardless. Merlin knows I'm not getting called up to treat a chimaera scratch."
"Why not?" Al snorted. "We've all done our rotations during training. I'm sure you can close a chimaera wound in a second."
"Because I have to look after thirty people who are so far out of their minds, they can't even remember their names," Morgan said in a resigned tone. "Rose brews enough antidotes to cure a battalion of soldiers daily. Gracie barely has time to take a trip home because the emergency room is more packed than a muggle pub on a Saturday. And Scorpius…"
Morgan hesitated to remember what exactly kept their blond friend busy these days. Al was beginning to look amused.
"Scorp isn't busy at all, is he?" Al said when Morgan's silence drew out too long. "Maybe I'll get him to replace me in CNI."
"He wouldn't touch your department with a ten foot pole," Morgan deadpanned.
"True," Al agreed, dejected. "He can hardly get along with his own patients and they don't even interact face-to-face. What more a crying child with lycanthropy."
"Maybe you could replace him in Magical Bugs," Morgan said jokingly.
"And work with contagious diseases?" Al said incredulously. "I'll pass on MB."
"Join Rose in Potion and Plant Poisoning?" Morgan suggested.
Al vehemently shook his head. "No way. Mandrakes freak me out."
Morgan was ready with another suggestion, but Al beat her to the punch.
"No to Artefact Accidents either. Gracie barely even has time to take a shower!"
"Spell Damage then," Morgan said with an impatient click of her tongue. "Fairly sure we can find you an opening somewhere."
"Don't your patients stay admitted practically their entire lives?" he croaked. "That's just depressing!"
Morgan huffed and crossed her arms. "Well, there's your answer, innit? You love CNI, Al. And you won't be a healer for anything else. Hard as it may be, these are your patients and you're the best person who can help them. You're better than this."
When Al slouched forward in resignation, Morgan knew she was successful once again. In less than ten minutes time too, which she could consider a personal record. It had once taken nearly two hours and an enraged Rose Weasley to get Al out of an episode like this.
"It just keeps getting harder and harder," Al moaned, leaning back on the couch in one jerked movement. "After all this time and even with the developments in the magical world, we still haven't found a werewolf cure!"
"Cures don't just manifest out of thin air, Al," Morgan sighed, spinning around her office chair and all focus from her actual work gone. "There's still a ton of research to be done. Aren't you halfway through creating a healing procedure to extract werewolf saliva from the victim's blood within twenty-four hours after contact?"
"Halfway is being generous," Al grumbled. "I still can't figure out the magical theory of it all."
"But you're making progress and doing your part," Morgan said, abruptly stopping her chair in place to look at him with a stern eye. "Now will you please stop doubting yourself? I don't want to hear any of that quitting nonsense again until tomorrow. Haven't we agreed on a one per day basis?"
"I agreed with Scorpius because he promised he'd hex me the next time I cried in his office," Al said pointedly. "You're not Scorpius and you didn't ban me from your office."
"I'm not far from considering it, Potter," Morgan snapped. She disdainfully eyed the mess he created with her throw pillows on the sofa once again.
"There's no need for that…" Al pouted then his eyes met the thin stack of parchment on her desk. "You're working on a case right now?"
"No, I just fancied a bit of light reading," Morgan said, feeling the lightheadedness from the lack of sleep getting to her.
"Sorry," he replied sheepishly, but at least he didn't look on the verge of tears anymore.
Morgan reminded herself to keep her tone calm or he might just start bawling again.
"The patient is twenty-seven and might just live the rest of his life in St. Mungo's if I don't figure out this spell malfunction," she explained, feeling more at ease to get the stress out of her chest.
"What's his condition?" Al asked.
"Drunk wizard hit him with a poor transfiguration spell," Morgan summarized. "He's got a lizard's head on his body. Can't speak but made a meal of the bloody flies around St. Mungo's."
"Does he fancy a trip to my floor? We've got a bit of an infestation over there."
"Not a joking matter, Al," Morgan said stiffly, attempting to finish reading the patient's report for the third time since he came.
"Who said I was kidding? They've been buzzing in my ears for weeks."
"Why don't you have a go and eat them yourself then if they bother you so much?"
"I haven't got the appetite for that!" Al exclaimed in full offense.
"And neither does my patient," Morgan countered. "He's still conscious, which is a start. He can understand and follow commands. But transfiguration spells are dangerous when casted incorrectly, especially when you're hit by an adult with fully developed magical power. If I don't figure this out, he could become a long-term resident in no time."
"Have you ever considered a wand malfunction?" Al suggested. "If you can get ahold of the wand that casted it, you could find out."
"Artefact Accidents is already looking over it," Morgan replied.
"If it were the wand, you could just get it fixed by a wandmaker and cast a simple counter," Al recited. "Magic can be fairly simple that way."
"Because magical source is the first step to finding counteractive solutions." Morgan nodded but somberly added, "You're forgetting though. The attacker was an intoxicated adult and he wouldn't have been in the right mind to cast such a complicated spell. Even if the wand were the issue, he poorly casted a spell with full magical power. If he were a child, then it would be easier to reverse since the magic would probably be too weak to outlast our countermeasures."
Al wrinkled his nose in distaste, deep frown on his face as he pondered on Morgan's difficult case.
"So best case scenario," Morgan continued. "The attacker had a wonky wand and he purposely cast the spell with weaker magical power. But I ran the tests, and the magic was strong. Even if there were an issue with the wand, the magic is too mutated and powerful to counter it under normal measures."
"So you've screwed then?"
Morgan showed him a smile. "I never lose hope, Al. Even with the long-term residents."
"Sounds exhausting," he mumbled.
"If anything, it's what keeps me going," Morgan said happily. "If I moped around like you, I'd have quit ages ago."
Al childishly stuck his tongue out.
Morgan laughed lightly and she glanced at the clock once more. It was five minutes to ten in the evening.
"You're not on duty tonight, are you?" she asked Al curiously.
"I'm not," Al confirmed. "Rose and Scorp are, though."
"Reckon Gracie hasn't gone home yet either," Morgan mumbled.
"You think they'd be up for some dinner? The chinese place close by is probably still open."
Morgan immediately reached for her quill and parchment.
"The best thing you've said today, Al. But we're meeting in the cafeteria. You've already soiled my sofa and I'll have to clean it all over again."
~ Rose Weasley, Healer for Potions and Plant Poisoning ~
"Wiggenbush."
"Yes, Healer Weasley."
"Prepare the pomegranate juice too."
"Yes, Healer Weasley. How many vials?"
"Two vials, Briggs. I expect you should know that given how many love potion antidotes we've brewed today."
"Right. My apologies, Healer Weasley."
Rose was passed the two vials of pomegranate juice and she swiftly poured the contents into the cauldron. The potions lab was dark and dingy, so she missed the ashamed expression on her trainee healer's face at her scolding.
With a wave of her wand, the batch of antidote was completed and Rose sighed in relief. She watched the cauldron bubble happily as the liquid brewed and she would need it to sit for thirty minutes before her trainee could begin packing them in vials. She was proud to note she made enough for at least twenty, and hopefully that would suffice them the rest of the night.
It was the day before Valentine's after all. The thought left a sour taste in her tongue.
"Alright, that's done," Rose said, clapping her hands together with a proud smile. She ripped the protective mask off her face and strode towards the exit, her trainee healer following briskly behind her.
Rose sighed in content as she walked into the brightly lit hallway of their floor, severely missing the fresh air after nearly eight hours of her day cooped up in the lab. She passed the staff witch manning their floor's reception area, who immediately perked up at the sight of her.
"Healer Weasley! You're on duty tonight, aren't you?"
"Are night duties even scheduled anymore? Feels like I am everyday." Rose snorted, stopping by the plump middle-aged woman's desk. Leaning forward, she whispered, "Marley, I don't totally smell like crap right now, do I?"
"Just a bit smokey," Marley replied cheerfully. "I think you and Healer Briggs should worry more about your hair though."
Rose frowned and turned towards her trainee healer for the first time since they left the room. Nico Briggs was a young man in his early-twenties just about the same height as her. As Marley conveniently pointed out, his wild brown curls frizzed up in odd angles.
Briggs stiffened under Rose's calculating stare. She brought a hand up to feel her own neatly tied bun, wondering just how much worse her own red hair would look like if she removed her hair tie.
"I think your hair looks fine, Healer Weasley," Briggs said confidently, showing her a thumbs up with a plain expression.
"It looks like a rat's nest and you know it," Rose retorted. "Anyway, why are you out here? The antidote needs to rest for half an hour and I need you to monitor and fill the vials once it's complete."
"Of course, Healer Weasley," Briggs said, straightening his back. "I'll be on it right away!"
He skittered back into the potions lab and Rose vaguely heard the staff witch snickering behind the palm of her hand. She turned back towards her to confirm her suspicions.
"He really needs to loosen up, doesn't he?" Marley said with wide-eyed amusement.
"He's on the younger side," Rose said, grinning with her. "You know how eager the kids are nowadays."
"Like you're one to talk," Marley teased. "You had a bigger stick up your arse when you were a trainee."
"Thanks for the reminder." Rose rolled her eyes fondly. "Do you remember when Healer Bailey used to rile me up with pop quizzes in front of your desk?"
"Oh, he loved doing that just to make me laugh." Marley chuckled at the memory. "The constipated look on your face was priceless. But you always got the answers right, so I don't consider it a particularly embarrassing moment for you."
"I always work better under pressure," Rose said with a silky tone.
"More like under attention, you self-centered little brat," Marley responded with no malice. "Always living up to the name of the perfect and confident Rose Weasley. I'll be happy to retire under your leadership in this department when you become Healer-In-Charge."
"You're not exactly helping to reduce my ego." Rose smirked.
"That's what I'm here for, aren't I?" Marley said with a comforting smile. "All our PPP healers need to get encouragement from somewhere. There's hardly an opportunity to receive compliments when you're cooped up in the lab all day."
"Then save the compliments for my trainee, will you?" Rose said, eyes narrowing at the potions lab door. "Maybe that'll help him loosen up a bit."
"Oi, Rose!"
The potions and plant poisoning healer spun around at the call of her name, finding a tall man making his way down the hall from the elevators with a haughty expression.
Thin lips downturned and platinum blond hair pushed back rather haphazardly – two defining physical traits of none other than Scorpius Malfoy.
Rose could have sworn she saw a ghost of a knowing smile on her staff witch's face, but her friend reached her before she could question it.
"Duty tonight?" Scorpius asked in a swift, uncaring tone.
"Yes, and aren't you too?" Rose replied with suspicion.
"So what if I am?" he snapped with unprovoked aggression. Then he turned to Marley's direction. "I'll have to steal Rose for a bit."
Rose perked up and shot him a glare. "Steal me for a bit? Are you daft? I'm on night shift and I've got a ton of paperwork to finish in my office. So should you, now that I think of it!"
"Morgan and Al ordered chinese for dinner," Scorpius said in a low drawl, waving a piece of parchment in his hand – presumably a letter from Morgan based on the green ink Rose caught a glimpse of.
"Healer Weasley, don't tell me you haven't eaten dinner yet?!" Marley gasped. "It's near midnight!"
"I can't exactly snack on a Valerian root in the potions lab, can I?" Rose said snippily, but sighed in resignation.
She gestured for Scorpius to lead the way and waved a quick goodbye to the seething staff witch. Their relationship had gone far beyond simple pleasantries between healer and staff witch, and while it was a good thing in general, Rose couldn't quite stand it when she mothered her over her terrible eating habits.
Hardly any healer could keep good track of their time to eat three meals a day.
"So why is it that you had to pick me up from the floor above?" Rose asked as the pair of them stepped into the elevator. "Morgan could've sent me her own note."
"Hm, let's see," Scorpius said, feigning curiosity as he unfolded the parchment in his hand. He began to read aloud, "P.S. – Pick up Rose. My last note was burnt in the potions lab before it could get to her."
"Ah," Rose said begrudgingly.
"We sort of just assume you're in the potions lab every time we try to reach you," Scorpius said, leaning against the elevator wall with a dismissive look. "Based on the smell of your robes and the state of your hair, I'm going to make a guess that you just got out."
Self-consciously, Rose pulled her lime green robes up to her nose for a sniff. Definitely quite smokey.
Scorpius snorted, eyeing her with judgment.
"Don't worry, we're all used to it. Not even a bad case of exploding pustules can ruin my appetite at this point. The smell of a potions lab is hardly off putting."
"Can't imagine anything is off putting to someone who has to endure treating spattergroit," Rose reminded him. "Besides, it's not you I worry about. Morgan's terribly aggravating with hygiene. One sniff from her and she'll send me straight to the changing rooms."
"You're on duty," Scorpius said. "How could you possibly have time to change out of your robes for a thirty-minute dinner break?"
Rose opened her mouth to agree with him completely, but the elevator dinged and the doors split open to reveal a petite, curly-haired brunette holding a clipboard. She held silent eye contact with the two before sighing and stepping inside without a single word.
"What are you doing on my floor?" Scorpius asked incredulously, verbalizing Rose's own question as she glanced to check if the witch really had come from the third floor of the Magical Bugs department.
Rose almost felt the need to feel her shoulder to double confirm that it was indeed their friend in the flesh – Gracie Thompson of the Artefact Accidents department.
"I had to discuss a case with one of the MB healers," Gracie replied easily, eyes roaming over the parchment on her clipboard.
She settled between Rose and Scorpius who were both looking at her like she had grown a second head. Gracie only noticed a few seconds later, shifting her gaze slowly between the two with blank hesitation.
"Are you both alright?" she asked when neither of the two made the move to break their intense staring.
"You're not diagnosed with anything contagious, are you?" Scorpius grumbled suspiciously, just as put off that Gracie was on a floor other than her own.
"Don't be ridiculous," Gracie said dryly. "My patient caught something contagious from a magical object in someone's home. Had to get an expert to identify the disease and move the patient to their floor."
Scorpius' expression turned thoughtful. "Good move. What were the symptoms manifested by… Hold on, why didn't you ask me?"
His tone turned sour at the realization and Rose raised both eyebrows at Gracie, who only continued to look unbothered despite his clear offense. She merely looked up from her clipboard and returned his glare with a vacant look.
"Because I don't like working with you. You're lazy and you would've said no to an extra case anyway."
While Scorpius spluttered an enraged response, Rose was practically breathless with sardonic laughter by the time the elevator dinged for the second time. Gracie stepped out swiftly before them and expertly navigated her way through the hospital's cafeteria.
Following behind her, Rose was beginning to look too happy for someone working the night shift while Scorpius muttered insults at the healer for artefact accidents' back.
The cafeteria was practically empty at this time of night, save for two occupied tables – one taken by a couple in traveling robes (possibly family members of a patient) and the other occupied by an all too familiar pair.
Rose tried to stifle her laughter as she approached the table following Gracie. She wondered how her friend was able to navigate her surroundings so well considering she didn't look up from her clipboard once as she walked. But it was typical of Gracie to be fully invested in work despite the break.
Wait a minute, Rose thought and her snickers died with the realization. This woman wasn't even supposed to be on duty tonight!
"There you are!" came Al's excited greeting once the three of them reached their table.
Rose noticed two plastic bags of chinese takeout on the table and a seated Morgan Baker, dirty blond hair twisted together in a fishtail braid over her shoulder and tired eyes too noticeable even behind her pair of round spectacles.
A wave of irritation washed over her body, and Rose didn't hesitate to take the seat next to the clearly overworked healer for spell damage.
"Are you supposed to be on duty tonight?" Rose immediately grilled, making Morgan jump almost violently enough to knock over the contents of the plastic bag in front of her.
"N–No," Morgan stuttered, wide-eyed.
"Give her a break, Rose," Gracie mumbled, taking the seat across the redhead and eyes still glued to her clipboard. Rose felt her left eye twitch at the audacious intervention.
"Don't even get me started on you!" Rose exclaimed, pointing a finger in her direction. Gracie looked up and blinked innocently.
On Rose's left, Scorpius plopped down the empty seat and heaved a heavy sigh.
"Here she goes."
Al, the human manifestation of a deer in headlights, raised his palms with an attempt to calm his cousin.
"Morgan's just got a lot on her plate right now!"
"So do I," Gracie added.
"No excuse to look like a pair of inferi in hospital robes!" Rose snapped. "Have you two even gotten a wink of sleep in the last twenty-four hours? How are you supposed to treat your patients properly if you're not in the right state of mind?"
Morgan at least had the sense to look ashamed at the question. While Rose didn't particularly enjoy having to resort to being the bad cop (usually), her stubborn friends often needed the harsh reminder of reality.
It totally didn't have anything to do with the one time Rose fell asleep in the middle of tending to the hospital's plant farm, nearly getting herself strangled by a Devil's Snare.
"Why isn't Al getting a beating from you tonight?" Gracie asked with a tinge of annoyance. "He's not on duty either."
"She knows he's just out late 'cause he was crying about quitting to Morgan in her office," Scorpius answered for Rose.
Al looked at him in fearful shock. "How'd you know that?"
"Because you're you," Scorpius deadpanned.
"Can we please just eat?" Morgan begged, lethargic in her movements as she began distributing the take out boxes. "All your yelling's giving me a headache. And what on earth is that smell?"
Rose blanched, suddenly regretting bringing so much energy to the table. She should've kept a low profile to keep Morgan from noticing her potions lab scented robes, but the blond's insanely sensitive sense of smell would've been her downfall either way.
"Let's eat then!" Rose squeaked while Scorpius snickered next to her.
She dug in her chinese take out — her first real meal since lunch. All five of them heaved a collective sigh at the flavor of Yang Chao rice, and Rose suspected she wasn't the only healer in the group with the drastic delay of their third meal of the day.
She would've been a hypocrite to give them an earful for it, so she kept her mouth shut this time around and allowed herself and her friends to enjoy the hot meal.
As expected, Scorpius finished first — slamming the empty take out box on the table with a satisfied grin. Morgan finished shortly after, sighing in content as she leaned back in her seat with a full stomach.
Rose glanced at her own takeout box that was half full. Gracie and Al's looked barely even touched. She cast a wary eye at both blonds on the table but proceeded to finish her food at a respectable pace.
"Can't go wrong with Chinese take out, can you?" Scorpius groaned. "This place is open 24/7, Al?"
Al nodded excitedly as he chewed. After one big swallow, he cheered, "Figured you lot would be hungry!"
"Good boy, you are!" Scorpius replied with feigned enthusiasm.
"Don't be childish," Rose berated him as Al pouted at his sarcasm. "You wouldn't know how to order from a muggle restaurant if your life were on the line. So don't give him shit for doing something nice."
Scorpius shot her an irate glare but didn't respond, knowing she was completely right.
"There's a new restaurant opening nearby actually. It's a chicken place just across the street and the ambiance looks quite nice," Morgan said, being the muggle-born witch of the group who was updated in anything trendy in the muggle world or had something to do with good food.
"What about coffee shops?" Al asked. "I'm getting tired of the Starbucks down the street. All the muggle healers from the hospital nearby tend to go there in the morning and it's always too packed for my taste."
"They're called doctors, Al," Morgan corrected him. "And no. Haven't heard of any new coffee shops opening close by."
"St. Mungo's should just invest in better coffee," Scorpius said critically. "Magical coffee stations are useful and all, but the beans they use are ghastly."
"Maybe you should give the hospital director a crash course on being a coffee snob," Rose suggested offhandedly.
Gracie snorted softly into her take out box. Al and Morgan hid smiles behind their palms.
"Laughing now, are you?" Scorpius snapped at the snickering Gracie.
"Rose is funny," was Gracie's simple reply.
"So when are we going to try the new chicken place?" Morgan asked.
Rose gave her an exasperated look, eyeing her empty take out box.
"You can't already be thinking of more food right after devouring your dinner in less than five minutes."
"I'm off early tomorrow," Scorpius responded, ignoring Rose completely.
Morgan eagerly leaned forward, keen to ignore her as well apparently.
"Shall we order the chicken set with a side of mash?"
"Chips too," Scorpius said. "Have they got sizes?"
"They've got a bucket. We can get an order each."
"Blimey, have you memorized the menu already?" Al exclaimed. "I thought they hadn't even opened yet!"
"They posted a teaser on Instagram," Morgan said hurriedly.
Rose couldn't for the life of her recall what in Merlin's name Instagram was, and based on the blank look on Al's face, he didn't either.
"I think I might be off early tomorrow too," Gracie said with a thoughtful look.
All four healers snapped heads in her direction with matching incredulity in their eyes.
"What?" they exclaimed all at once.
"You? Off early?" Al said.
"Are you calling in sick or something?" Morgan added in disbelief.
Gracie gave a lazy shrug. "All four of my trainees just finished up. They're qualified healers as of today. I also got two new trainees last week."
Scorpius groaned, eyes filled with envy. "How does your department get so many trainees outside of graduation season? I'd kill for some extra hands right now."
"Are you kidding?" Rose snorted. "AA needs as many trainees as they can get. Of course the director's going to assign rotations there first."
"You barely even see the five patients you have on your plate," Morgan said pointedly, nodding along with Rose.
"I fail to recall when you got a hold of my schedule," Scorpius snapped.
"Well, if Gracie's free tomorrow, I think I can make time too," Al said with a smile. "We haven't eaten out together in a while, have we?"
"We ate at Maccies last weekend," Gracie drawled.
"Oh, we did, didn't we..."
Rose sighed, giving in despite the mountain of unfinished paperwork on her desk as they spoke.
"I can make some time tomorrow," she said.
"Brilliant!" Morgan cheered, pulling out a small, rectangular contraption from the pocket of her robes. She eagerly tapped a finger on the screen that lit up. "I'll make the reservation at eight. It's opening night so our best chances will come from booking after peak time."
Scorpius looked satisfied, Al watched Morgan with open-mouthed awe (probably speechless at the muggle gadget in her hand), and Gracie continued to eat, chopsticks clicking against the silence.
A tantalizing thought suddenly came across Rose.
"I'm surprised we're all free tomorrow," she said slowly.
Al responded first, blinking blankly in her direction. "Why?"
Rose's shoulders slouched forward and she couldn't help the pitying stare.
"Tomorrow is Valentine's Day."
The table erupted with staggered 'What's and defensive exclaims of denial. Even Gracie looked up with genuine surprise.
Rose almost laughed at the absurdity of it all, wondering if her friends really were all that shocked that they were spending their third year of Valentine's day together in a row.
Scorpius seemed to go through all five stages of grief at the new information – currently stuck at anger and muttering profanities at the 'ridiculous hours of the healership' getting in the way of his nonexistent love life.
Al merely pouted as he ruminated on the thought.
Morgan was by far the most entertaining, reciting potential responses to her nosy family members, being the only girl in her thirties who was yet to get hitched.
"–so how could I possibly find a boyfriend when my patient can't even tell a spoon from a fork, Mum? … Right, that's perfect. She wouldn't dare nag me after hearing a tragedy like that."
As the clock struck twelve, neither of the five greeted the other for the 'most useless holiday of all time' – as Scorpius kindly put it while he transitioned into begrudging acceptance.
Rose felt a wave of affection for her best friends in the world, deciding a third year with no date was well compensated by the company of the four most barmy people in her life.
Later on, they'll find the muggle restaurant was already fully booked for their opening night.