~ Gracie Thompson, Healer for Artefact Accidents ~
Gracie woke up at fifteen past twelve in the morning to a blinding white light in her one-bedroom flat.
She sat up with a start, not a particularly heavy sleeper anyway, and found herself face to face with a silvery gazelle, floating gracefully on all fours.
"Healer Thompson!" The urgent voice of one of her trainee healers resounded heavily in the room. "Code Blue in AA! We need you here, stat!"
Gracie, all too used to sleep disturbances from the busiest department in St. Mungo's, transfigured her pyjamas into a clean collared shirt and trousers with a flick of her wand. She flung her hospital robes on, and quickly disapparated with a pop.
She reappeared in a bustling emergency room, staff witches and wizards walking briskly between curtained beds and the trainees standing out in lime green. She briefly wondered where the senior healers on night duty were, but urgent calls were answered regardless. There was no time for questions.
Immediately one of the male trainees approached her, sweating profusely with wide panicked eyes.
"Healer Thompson!"
"What's the situation?" Gracie questioned.
"It's Castor Wood! Professional Quidditch player for Puddlemere–"
"United, I know," Gracie snapped, patience running thin. "This is no time to get starstruck, Pollard. Give me the damn details of his condition!"
"Fell about twenty feet from midair during the thunderstorm," Pollard hastily explained.
Gracie frowned, not even noticing it was raining profusely outside.
"He didn't have his wand on him. He's bleeding like a fucking faucet through his skull and he's got several broken ribs from the impact. We managed to resuscitate him with healing charms but he's not stable, Healer Thompson!"
"Take me to him."
Gracie found out later – after a two hour long procedure to stabilize the infamous twenty-seven year old Quidditch Player – that the accident and emergency room had been much more hectic than a regular day because the hospital staff was attempting to keep the press and fans from bouldering in the room with the player.
The waiting room on the ground floor was unnecessarily packed and the staff had resorted to calling law enforcement officials from the Ministry to keep the crowd in order and force non-family members to leave the hospital.
It had been a particularly difficult procedure for Gracie, so she was glad to miss the commotion while she worked the healing magic on Castor Wood in the emergency room. With him losing a substantial amount of blood before reaching the hospital, it was much more difficult to keep him alive while his body ingested a large amount of magical power and potions.
It was a miracle his body and mental resolve were able to take it, especially given how weak he must have been upon arrival.
Castor was stable in a VIP room on Morgan's floor, far away from the nosy reporters and any fans attempting to visit. While he lay unconscious on the bed, Gracie stood outside the room with heavy bags under her eyes, gazing wordlessly at the large window in the hall.
Even after the procedure, she still hadn't gotten a wink of sleep. It was a quarter to six in the morning and the sun was starting to rise.
"Gracie?"
The healer for artefact accidents jolted in surprise, feeling particularly jumpy after yet another all-nighter. She found Morgan approaching her cautiously. Her blond hair looked clean and washed, tucked in her usual fishtail braid over her shoulder. Even her lime green robes were pressed to perfection.
It was a funny contrast to Gracie, whose brown curls puffed in odd angles and she was missing her hospital robes, left stained with blood in her office.
"G'morning," Gracie said, hoping she didn't sound too wearisome.
"I heard about the VIP patient," Morgan said, biting her lower lip in sympathy. "Have you eaten at all?"
"I'll get some breakfast in the cafeteria after I check on Wood," Gracie assured her.
Morgan eyed her cautiously. "You don't have your hospital robes."
"Too much blood on them," Gracie said with a shrug. "Don't think a simple tergeo can fix. I'll need to take them to the hospital cleaners."
"You can bring them over to me," Morgan insisted. "I can do cleaning spells in my sleep."
"Wouldn't doubt it," Gracie teased, showing a small smile. "Alright, I'll bring them over before breakfast."
"Here, for now…" Morgan swiftly removed her clean robes and shoved them towards her. "Take them. If Wood wakes up to you wearing that, he might think you're a fan who broke in."
"Good point," Gracie mumbled, accepting the robes and slipping them on with ease. "What about you then? You've got extras in your office, don't you?"
"I have five that just got back from the cleaners," Morgan said happily.
Gracie chuckled softly. Only Morgan would store five extra robes in her office.
"Good luck," she said with a comforting pat on Gracie's shoulder. "The entire Quidditch community is apparently banking on your skills to make sure he can play again."
"Since when did you know anything about Quidditch?" Gracie replied with good-natured humor.
"Since the bloody press tried to ambush me about his condition in the lobby," Morgan said bitterly. "Think they were trying to get a statement from any healer coming in and out."
"And I don't suppose you told them to shove off?"
"I don't hang around Scorpius enough to say that to reporters with Quick Quotes Quills." She raised a palm to wave farewell. "I'll be at my office. Let me know if you need anything, yeah?"
"Will do." Gracie smiled back and watched the blond walk the opposite direction to her office.
Gracie let out a deep sigh, clearing her mind of anything but her patient's condition before finally opening the door and stepping inside.
The VIP room was well-lit and large, resembling a decently sized studio flat with an open kitchenette, a small table set with a vase and fresh flowers, and a large sofa across the hospital bed.
Gracie stepped deeper inside, getting a full view of the famous Quidditch player lying on his back with his hands resting behind his head.
He's awake, was Gracie's first thought. His hazel eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling. His breathing was steady with no outward signs that would indicate anything out of the ordinary.
His head was wrapped in a white bandage to protect the continuous healing of the wound from his fall, but Gracie had given him pain relieving potions about an hour ago so the magic could do its work on his head wound while he recovered. Thick clumps of dark brown hair popped out of the edges of the bandage, framing his blank eyes.
"Mr. Wood," Gracie called, standing close to the foot of his bed.
Castor looked surprised to see her, shifting himself to sit up and the white bedsheet slipped down to his torso at the sudden movement. He was much leaner than the average Quidditch player, but Gracie knew he played as a Seeker so she wasn't too surprised.
"Hullo," he replied, but corrected himself swiftly. "I mean, good morning, Healer… Er…"
"My name is Gracie Thompson," she jumped in to help. "I was the healer who conducted the healing procedure for your condition. You gave Great Britain quite a scare."
Castor looked rather embarrassed by the remark, so Gracie plowed on with the usual routine so she could leave him to ruminate about what had happened by himself.
"It's a miracle we were able to stabilize you, to be frank," Gracie said. "But you should heal just fine after I prescribe you your potions. You'll need to stay at the hospital for three days at most so I can properly monitor your progress, but we can discharge you afterwards."
"How long till I can play Quidditch again?" Castor asked with a deep frown.
Gracie decided to rip the bandaid off quick and clean.
"A month. And that's assuming there aren't any complications with the potions. That was a nasty fall you had, Mr. Wood. I wouldn't take any chances being up in the air again anytime soon."
Castor groaned a frustrated, "Fuck…" and burried his face into his palms.
Gracie felt a wave of pity, knowing all too well the feeling of a near career-ending injury. The memory triggered an uncomfortable twist in her stomach that she pushed to the most unattended part of her brain. She needed to focus.
"What am I supposed to do?" Castor muttered mostly to himself.
Gracie felt terribly out of place while he wallowed in grief. Between Scorpius' near complete detachment with human beings and Al's overwhelming sympathy, Gracie always found herself in the middle of the two polar opposites.
But Castor's case tugged her an odd way, and it strangely brought her closer to Al's side of the sentiment spectrum.
"You should focus on your recovery," Gracie said, tone level and professional despite the heaviness in the room. "You'll be back on the pitch in no time, Mr. Wood."
"Castor," he suddenly said, catching her eye sharply. He followed with a grumbling, "Mr. Wood is my dad."
Gracie showed a stiff nod. "Your mother and father are here too. I'll need to inform them you're awake."
"How are they taking it?" Castor asked, looking much younger with the wide-eyed look on his face as he eagerly waited for an answer.
"Nevermind the reporters that potentially lost an eye after ambushing Mr. Wood at his arrival, they seemed rather calm." Gracie's lips twitched up as Castor chuckled. "They understood your situation and were adamant to stay in the hospital until you woke up."
"Oh, thank Merlin," Castor breathed with a lopsided smile. "I was afraid my dad would've gone ballistic."
"He seemed more worried than angry," Gracie assured him. "I'll go get them and explain the next steps for your healing with all of you, shall I?"
"Alright, let's get this over with," Castor said, a poor attempt at a cheerful tone because it didn't reach the dull dread in his eyes.
Gracie stood still for a second, unsure what made her hesitate. That strange beat of silence made Castor tilt his head to the side, expecting her to speak again. But the healer forced herself to give a short nod and briskly fled the room.
Keeping her mind focused on one thing had never been an issue. But she wished the other senior healers didn't simply decide she was the best person to take Castor in just because she had a similar experience, and therefore would be able to handle the case better.
If anything, it was especially distracting to treat someone so high profile. How on earth was she going to show her face in public once word got out about the infamous Quidditch player's healer? They were already nosy enough to harass anyone in lime green robes coming in and out of the hospital.
Gracie briefly considered wearing a wig, but then came the vague reminder that sounded suspiciously like Rose, mocking her that magic existed. She was never particularly good at transfiguration though, and she very well wasn't about to risk having pink hair forever after one disastrous attempt.
Morgan reminded her enough times how terribly transfiguration spells could backfire when cast incorrectly.
A shiver running down her spine, Gracie once again forced to set her mind to the only thing she should be thinking about – finding Castor's parents.
~ Morgan Baker, Healer for Spell Damage ~
Morgan had seen a wide variety of strange things that day.
She had seen a furious Oliver Wood, often regarded as the best Puddlemere Keeper of all time, go berserk over a group of reporters blocking his way to the entrance of St. Mungo's that morning. She had seen Gracie barge in her office at half past nine, dropping off her blood-stained robes, looking uncharacteristically distracted.
But the strangest sight that took the cake were four individuals huddled together in the corner of the reception area close to the hospital's exit. Morgan was on her way to take a walk to the Starbucks nearby, and did a double take at the group with a prick of recognition.
One of them was definitely Rose, with her bushy red hair tied back in a tight bun as always, but next to her was a taller freckled boy with hair of the exact same shade. The other person she recognized was Al, who was also standing next to a boy of the same height, with whom he shared an uncanny resemblance save for the fact that the other boy wore browline glasses.
Morgan had her fair share of brief encounters with the Potter-Weasleys, but seeing Rose and Al in the hospital with their siblings was hardly an everyday sight. James Potter was always busy with auror business, and while she couldn't recall what Hugo did for a living, he certainly wasn't a regular visitor at St. Mungo's.
She was almost worried they had a family member checked in, but seeing the wide smiles on their faces rid her of the thought. Before she could really think about it, her legs took her straight to their direction and Rose noticed her approach before anyone else.
"Morgan!" She greeted her happily. "You off somewhere?"
"Coffee," Morgan replied as she joined their little huddle.
"Oh, could you get one for me too? A venti Americano please," Al asked hastily, as if Morgan was about to make a beeline for the door before he could finish saying his order.
"Alright, keep your pants on," she said, eyeing him cautiously. Al must have been on duty last night because his eyes looked much too big, panicked, and bloodshot for someone who had a healthy amount of sleep.
"A venti what?" The bespectacled James Potter said in visible confusion.
"It's a muggle thing," Al explained with a sigh, clearly not in the mood to entertain his brother at that moment. His green eyes settled on Morgan again. "What time are you leaving? Are you apparating there? You shouldn't walk. The reporters outside will slow you down and the coffee will get cold before it gets here."
"Comforting to know you're more concerned over the state of your coffee than my well-being from a potential ambush," Morgan said dryly.
"This is no time for jokes, Morgan," Al said, looking substantially more insane with sleep deprivation by each passing second. "I tried the free coffee in the cafeteria and Scorpius was right – it's deplorable. I'm running on zero hours of sleep without a single drop of decent coffee in my body."
"Alright, alright, I'll get right on it then," Morgan said snippily.
"Don't be rude, Al," Rose huffed, eyeing him disapprovingly. "Morgan's just got here. Give her a quick introduction first, why don't you?"
Al, not looking guilty with his attitude in the slightest, exhaled with visible impatience. Morgan was far used to becoming the butt of his rare instances of terrible moods. As calm and amiable as he was, Al didn't cope well with physical exhaustion – a side he only usually displayed with his closest friends.
"Right, well, you know James," Al said dismissively. His older brother showed a charming grin.
"This is Hugo," Rose said, gesturing to the smiling redhead next to her.
"Wotcher!" he cheered.
"We've met a few times," Morgan said politely. "I was at last year's Potter-Weasley Christmas dinner, I think."
"I do recall you trying to argue with Uncle George that Muggle footy's a bigger sport than Quidditch," James said thoughtfully.
"Which it is!" Morgan exclaimed heatedly. The World Cup alone was a globally celebrated event that a Quidditch match could only dream of. She had some of her best memories with her brothers attending the World Cup in Brazil.
"Here she goes," Rose sighed fondly.
"Footy's entertaining though, innit?" Hugo said with a wide smile. "One of the muggleborns in the team took me to a match in London a few years ago. The fans were absolutely mental. It was wicked."
Morgan put two and two together, remembering Hugo was indeed a professional Quidditch player. He stood about six feet tall with broad shoulders – how could she forget?
She couldn't recall which team he played for, but Castor Wood's accident and Hugo's unusual visit in the hospital didn't make it hard to draw a factually sound conclusion.
"You're visiting Wood, aren't you?" Morgan asked.
Hugo nodded. "I heard they're not accepting visitors yet though. The entire team is here waiting. Think they grabbed a bite at the cafeteria and we saw Al and Rose here."
"Reckon the coach is still beating him blue for training under a thunderstorm?" James said with a dark snort.
"I certainly hope not!" Hugo cried. "We need him back on the pitch earlier than later."
"He wouldn't lay a hand on him, but can't say I don't worry about Castor's mental state," James pointed out. "Coach as a father and manager… He's not letting Castor off with a slap on the wrist."
"What was he even thinking?" Rose muttered, adding to the heavy conversation. "Training under a thunderstorm. It's like he wanted to get thrown off his own broom."
"Castor's never been rational under pressure," James explained while Hugo nodded solemnly. "We've got a huge match against the Tornadoes in a week and as Puddlemere's poster boy, all eyes are on him."
"Can't convince you to get out of retirement, can I?" Hugo teased, showing James a weak smile.
Morgan did a double take, gaping at the now grinning James Potter at Hugo's remark.
"You played professional Quidditch?!" she exclaimed.
Al rolled his eyes. Rose snorted in disbelief. Hugo was staring at her like she spontaneously grew a second head.
"I did till like five years ago," James said conversationally, the only one who seemed to react like a normal person.
"But you're an auror," Morgan dumbly responded.
"He was the youngest Seeker promoted to the first team at Puddlemere!" Hugo gushed. "Ever! Of all time!"
"She gets it, Hugo," Rose snapped.
"I became an auror after I retired," James added.
Hugo seemed personally affronted at his words, freckled face twisting in clear displeasure.
"At twenty-seven years old," Hugo spat. "I told you, mate. You still had at least ten years of your peak ahead of you. Nobody at your level would've considered retiring so early!"
James' eyes flicked exhaustively in his direction, like he had to deal with Hugo provoking a row about his early retirement on the daily.
"If I hadn't retired, Castor would've missed his good years playing second fiddle to me," James simply stated without an ounce of arrogance.
"Castor knew what he was getting into joining Puddlemere," was Hugo's weak retort.
Morgan had the feeling there was more to the story, but James seemed adamant to end it at that. He shot Hugo with a knowing look which promptly shut him up. She couldn't put a cap on her growing curiosity, but Al's whining made its reappearance, closing the door shut on the Quidditch conversation.
"What do I have to do to get a decent bloody cup of coffee this morning?"
"Ever think of getting it yourself, ungrateful brat?" Rose said.
"My patient's still under observation!" Al was practically close to tears at this point. Morgan decided it was time to put him out of his misery.
"I'm off, you big baby," she said, good-natured in tone.
"Think I could do some coffee too," James said, fondly placing a palm on the disgruntled head of his brother. "Where are you headed, Morgan?"
"Just the Starbucks down the street," she replied. "I'll have to apparate to the alley next to it though. I could get you a cup too, if you like."
"I'll come with you," he said, taking a step forward and standing next to her. Morgan looked up at him in bemusement. He smirked down at her. "You only have two hands, after all."
Without warning, he grabbed ahold of her arm and Morgan felt her feet leave the hospital's ground floor. She thought she heard Rose berate Al for his nasty mood before she was sucked in the sensation of apparition.
Barely a second later, she exhaled a long breath as her feet connected with solid ground again. The grip on her arm let go and she faced the familiar alleyway next to the Starbucks corner she meant to visit.
Muggles in spring clothes marched on the main street with umbrellas over their heads, unaware of the two magical folk that appeared out of thin air. Morgan just established it was drizzling, drops of water pitter pattering on her hair and robes.
"Oh, dear Merlin," she cursed under her breath, rummaging through her bag for her traveling umbrella.
"What are you doing?" James asked with a tiny snort. "The shop is five steps away."
Too frazzled by her attempts to find her umbrella, she merely blinked at the auror with a confused, "What?"
He laughed and took hold of her arm again, forcing her with him as he briskly walked out of the alleyway and entered through the glass door past a pair of muggles who were just exiting.
The familiar smell of freshly ground coffee and sweet syrup filled her nostrils and only then did she sigh in content.
"You would've gotten even more wet if we waited for your umbrella," James said pointedly, falling into place at the back of the cashier line.
"The rain surprised me, is all," Morgan grumbled, an embarrassed churn in her stomach as she followed him to line up.
James shot her a strange look, lips upturned as if he found her very disgruntlement over a bit of water amusing. He didn't mention anything about it, instead focusing his gaze on her lime green robes. A wave of panic washed over her, her brain running worst case scenarios.
"What's wrong?" she demanded, head circling around her robes like a dog. "Have I got a stain of mud on the fabric?"
"What–No, none of that." James openly laughed this time. "Just think you should probably take them off. It's not exactly… Starbucks-appropriate attire."
Morgan dumbly gaped at him, for a second wondering if Starbucks had implemented appropriate clothing regulations in their branches. Then she realized she was wearing stupidly bright lime green robes that hugged her body like an oversized blanket in the winter.
But it was the middle of spring. And she was in a muggle coffee shop where people were wearing tees, jeans, and other fairly normal clothing that made her stick out like a sore thumb.
Her hospital robes were tucked neatly into her satchel five seconds later, leaving her in a loose shirt and black trousers. James was discreetly looking around, eyes dancing with amusement.
"Thanks," Morgan grumbled.
She chanced a glance at the muggles around her but no one seemed to spare her a second thought. At least nobody around her was looking at her like a freakshow. It wasn't her first experience accidentally traipsing around the muggle world in her hospital robes.
"That's what St. Mungo's gets for dressing their healers like that," James said mockingly, finger twitching towards her now closed satchel. "At least the Ministry's got style."
He gestured to his sleek black robes, able to pass with corporate muggle attire on a regular day. She wrinkled her nose in envy.
"Merlin knows how many times Rose has tried to submit design ideas for our uniforms," Morgan said.
"Rose has done that?" James exclaimed in incredulity. "That woman can't dress for the life of her either! She'd probably make you wear something orange or a color equally as repulsive to the eye."
"She can't be that bad," Morgan said, smiling despite the rude jab at her best friend. "Granted I see her in hospital robes more often than not."
"And thank Merlin for that," James said. "Now you know why she hasn't gotten a date in a million years."
Morgan playfully slapped his arm, mustering the most intimidating stare even as her lips twitched up to a smile.
"Oi, watch yourself," Morgan warned. "She may be your cousin but she's still my best friend. No quips on her dating life unless she's there to hear it."
James rapidly shook his head from side to side. "And risk a punch to the face? I don't think so."
"Leave it to Rose to scare even her own family members," Morgan said, watching him stiffen in alarm. "How do you know she hasn't mellowed down? I get the feeling you don't see her very often considering she's practically moved into our hospital's potions lab."
They took a step forward, moving up in line. James showed her a thoroughly unimpressed look.
"Because Rose is Rose, and I grew up with her. I'd bet my left kidney that she hasn't changed one bit."
"Fair enough," Morgan mused. "But am I right then? You Potter-Weasleys ever get to gather together like you used to?"
James thought about it for a second, tilting his head to the side and his glasses slid down his nose at the movement.
"We do, occasionally." He finally responded, but he seemed unsure. "Can't recall the last time Al and Rose have been able to attend spontaneous plans though. Me and a couple of cousins at the Ministry drink out on Fridays when we feel like it."
Morgan didn't know why she was so shocked with their idea of a spontaneous plan. Perhaps she was holed up in the hospital much more than she realized if a Friday night out was such a foreign concept to her.
"I expected more family-esque plans like lunch or dinner with your husbands and wives," Morgan teased.
James' lips spread in a thin line, looking at her with boggled eyes.
"None of us are married. Except maybe two of my older cousins. Another one might be engaged? She lives in France though so I'm hazy on the details."
Again, Morgan was temporarily silent in vague surprise. James was older than Al, so she had expected at least him to at least have tied the knot with a bird his age. Though it was strangely comforting that the auror wasn't married either.
Perhaps it was true that their generation had inevitably skewed the average age for marriage. That was at least another excuse she could give her parents the next time they badgered her on her dating life.
"You're surprised," James said with a raised eyebrow.
Morgan blinked, snapping out of her brief stupor. She cleared her throat and turned away from the growing smirk on his face.
"You're older than Al so I just assumed," she replied, hoping she sounded offhand.
"Well, you're not completely wrong so I'll give you some credit," James said with a deep sigh. "I used to be engaged. Dunno if Al ever told you that."
Morgan sharply turned back to look at his face, taking all her mental strength to push her curiosity down.
"No, he didn't." She managed a simple reply.
She and James weren't particularly close, so probing on a sensitive topic about his personal life didn't sit right with her. To his credit, he didn't look put out. His knowing smirk remained intact, complimenting his handsome features to exude the cocky confidence he often showed in public.
Their brief time in line together indulged Morgan in the obvious nuances between him and his brother. Al was a ridiculously open book, unafraid to show his emotions so that anyone within his circle would be able to tell his thoughts and predict his actions. James, on the other hand, left many things about him to assumptions, and he seemed to enjoy doing it.
Morgan was fairly sure she preferred having Al around on a daily basis, feeling she would waste time playing guessing games around his presence if he was more like James. It was convenient, as a friend and a coworker, to know Al and his tendencies so well.
But James was interesting, and it was absurdly tempting to her natural curiosity to try and figure him out.
~ Albus Potter, Healer for Creature-Induced Injuries ~
By the time Morgan returned with his coffee, he had succumbed to drinking two shots of the disgusting espresso in the hospital's cafeteria. Taking his first sip of the muggle-brewed drink was practically heaven to his taste buds.
He wondered how the Second Wizarding War could have started. How could they have hated muggles when they made coffee so damn good? Scorpius would've said something similar, and he was a Malfoy.
It was near twelve in the afternoon when he managed to leave his floor without urgent worry for his patients. The difficult case this morning that concerned a delusional patient from a poisonous serpent bite was finally stabilized and Lisa was taking tabs on his recovery, allowing him to slip away and take a much needed trip to Morgan's office.
He much preferred taking naps on her couch, especially since his office was basically a storage room for mounds of patient files that he hadn't bothered to tuck into his drawers. He kept his door locked at all times because of that, knowing Morgan would take the first opportunity to organize the room the way she saw fit.
A long night shift and a couple of hours overtime with an emergency case was no joke to his physical ability to stay positive and jovial, so when he nearly snapped at a mother demanding for an explanation for her child's long recovery process, he realized he should get at least a few hours of sleep before showing his face to his patients and their families again.
But apparently, the day wasn't over for him yet. When Al finally reached Morgan's office, unbothered to knock as usual, he found her couch occupied by a familiar brunette, coils of hair spread haphazardly on the armrest while she snored facedown.
"You've got to be kidding me," Al groaned, considering ambushing Rose's office instead, but he didn't particularly fancy leaving her room smelling like a freshly brewed potion.
He also considered shaking Gracie awake, but his soft side would never allow it. Regardless if he felt like passing out on Morgan's doorstep, he knew Gracie had a terribly long night too. And she wasn't even supposed to be on duty.
"If you wake her up, I'll petrify you."
Al jumped out of his skin at Rose's sudden appearance behind him, cool eyes peeking into Morgan's office while Gracie slept on.
"Bloody hell, Rose," Al breathed, clutching his chest. "Don't creep up on me like that."
"What are you doing here anyway?" Rose asked, an accusatory stare focused on his alarmed expression.
"I could ask you the same thing!" Al said defensively.
Gracie murmured softly in her sleep at his raised tone, shifting to her side to face away from their direction.
"I'm dropping off some reports on the potion we're trying to create for one of Morgan's long-term residents, Peter Willis," Rose said, voice significantly lower as she waved a parchment in her hand.
"The one who got hit by the wonky transfiguration spell?" Al said. "How come you're part of the case?"
"Morgan thinks there's a way to forcefully remove the remnants of the spell and bring him back to normal," Rose explained. "It's a mad idea, but I could use some time to do research on producing new potion remedies again. I think I'm going mad brewing the same antidotes over and over."
"And Morgan didn't want to pursue the idea herself?" Al asked curiously.
"Well, I dabble on potions research much more than her," Rose said with a nonchalant shrug. "Said we could both take the credit if we figured it out."
Al took a moment to think about it, but it was mostly out of awe.
"You know if you guys pull this off, this could potentially heal a ton of our long-term residents," Al said. "Poorly done transfiguration spells are the third most common cause for long-term damage."
"Poorly done transfiguration spells cast by powerful wizards with full magical power, you mean," Rose corrected him. "But yes, that's our goal. It would be a breakthrough in healing magic. Can't have you stealing all the headlines with your werewolf research, can we?"
Al laughed uncomfortably at the remark, never the type to take comments on his achievements easily.
Just as he opened his mouth to respond, another familiar healer popped up by the open door. From the way his mouth curled at the sight of them, Al could be sure what exactly he was here for.
"You've got to be kidding me," Scorpius spat, then took no time in pushing himself between them to step deeper into the room. "Whatever, I call the couch 'cause you can't even imagine what kind of morning–"
His eyes fell on the snoring Gracie, now sprawled on her back across the entire couch.
"Let her rest, Scorp," Al sighed, pulling at his shoulder. "She's exhausted."
"So am I!" Scorpius whined, but it was half-hearted. Al knew he'd heard of the high profile patient Gracie dealt with on her supposed night off.
"Why don't you boys ever sleep in your own offices, hm?" Rose asked, eyebrows raised. "Or the breakroom for that matter. We've got bunk beds there and everything."
Scorpius' face twisted in disdain. "And risk running into my trainees? Thanks for the brilliant suggestion, Rose. Have any more?"
Rose rolled her eyes, apparently too tired to be provoked by the snippy Malfoy. She lazily turned to Al.
"What about you? What's your excuse?"
Al was robbed yet another response when a loud crack echoed in the room and a fifth healer appeared. He gripped his chest in manic surprise at the sound. Rose merely flinched. Scorpius screamed so loud that the staff witches down the hall must have been scrambling to see if a patient was in pain. And Gracie woke up with a violent start.
The four healers gaped blankly at Morgan, who had apparated directly into her office. The healer for spell damage took one look at her occupied room and her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
Scorpius' demented squawk beat her questioning to the punch.
"What the hell, Baker? Ever heard of a warning before scaring us shitless?!"
"I was just – Hold on, this is my office!" Morgan retorted sharply. "What on earth are you all doing here?!"
Scorpius turned away with his lips pursed, opened his mouth after a second to respond, then seemed to think better of it and merely disapparated with another pop.
Al would have laughed if Morgan didn't look so furious at his audacity.
Perhaps he would have to opt for a nap in the breakroom that afternoon.
