The night shift never failed to please. Even on a slow night, strange accidents wandered in for a quick fix. The queue slowed down here and there, but it picked up again in no time. Downtime didn’t come around in the hospital, especially during the holidays. Folks got into frequent catastrophes with ample leisure time on their hands. A few strange ones cropped up; they offered good stories for trainees later. The fifth one standing in line, a heavyset witch, had a large branch sprouting out of her nostrils. Another wizard’s ears whistled like a teapot. A couple Healers patrolled the area, walking down the aisle and addressing common ailments.
The curly-haired girl showed promise. She’d walked right through qualifications rounds, too, with recommendations and high marks. Penelope Clearwater was just like every other girl. Well, she wasn’t squeamish with the slight of blood or anything, but she felt encouraged when the boys threw her a nod. She walked through the sheer glass barrier wearing a red cocktail dress underneath a coat. She slipped off her heels, and they swung from her hand. As a rule of thumb, the staff never switched into their robes until they started their shifts; they dodged questions and worries from the patients and their families.
–You blend in well,†said Hippocrates, signing a clipboard and handing it over to the Welcome Witch.
–She looks like a-†said the Welcome Witch, breaking from her waiting queue.
–- a nice young woman,†Hippocrates cut in, handing over a quill. He’d been at the hospital for the past six hours, so he had already donned his lime-green robes. Penelope walked through the double doors as the Welcome Witch shouted, ‘Next!’ and beckoned the next person forward. –You play nice, Merry.â€
This holiday marked nothing special, for it was just another day at the hospital. He’d worked here for so many years that he’d lost count. As Healer-in-Charge this meant he was –experiencedâ€, which he supposed was better than ancient. True, he’d seen many things pass through those doors, some of which he’d prefer to forget. The lines on his face and his slightly failing eyesight, not to mention the greying hair, marked his age. In spite of this, the surprises kept him on his feet, kept him sharpening his skills.
–Don’t you hate her?†asked Penelope. After she slipped into the changing room, Penelope started up the stairs with him. She’d pulled her hair back in a ponytail, but had kept the fancy earrings on.
–No.†Hippocrates pulled his spectacles out of his pocket and put them on. –You should pick your friends and your enemies wisely. You’re going to be stuck on the playground for a long time. Where’s your boyfriend?â€
Penelope blushed. –He’s not my boyfriend.â€
–Yeah, right, same old story,†Hippocrates sighed, checking his watch. –He’s playing with you, girl.â€
They climbed the first flight of stairs, and Penelope rested her hand on the banister. Someone called from above. A plump woman leaned over the banister. Her dark hair was held back with a barrette, and she wore a knit turtleneck over some grey slacks. A thick winter coat covered over the ensemble, but it did little to hide her figure. It may have done some good if she stood sideways. It was easy to tell from a distance. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the banister and waited for Hippocrates to speak. He faltered, clueless, and shrugged. He almost stepped into his ward; it proved the wrong move when the woman shook her head. The stairwells were empty.
–I missed something,†he muttered, filling in the awkward silence.
Penelope laughed at his panicked expression. –Yes, sir, you promised to show up at the holiday party.â€
–I did? Damn.†He snapped his fingers and raised his voice. –I got caught up with -with the lady, dear.â€
–She hasn’t told you a thing, and you know it! You can’t even remember her name.†She crossed her arms and rested her foot on the stair. –You’re lying.â€
–You look lovely, Abby,†he said softly, throwing out a save. He missed. She turned on her heel and consulted her clipboards. Hippocrates rounded on Penelope, hoping for an ally. –Women.â€
Penelope didn’t bother pointing out the obvious. She simply waved her wand and caught a stack of clipboards. She hurried after his wife; the Spell Damage ward recruited her for their services before any of the other Healers had an opportunity to snatch her away. As a Healer Trainee, she took the first year after qualifications to explore her options. Hippocrates remembered her name, which meant that he liked her, or so the other Healers believed.
–She’s going on leave and I get landed with Augustus.†It wasn’t a fair trade in Hippocrates’s eyes.
Hippocrates opened the door to the –Dangerous†public ward and nodded at a young black man sitting on a bed. Augustus swallowed a large cheese and onion pasty whole. A silent woman lay in the bed nearest to the door. She hadn’t said much ever since she’d arrived here, but they had admitted her without any clear answers because nobody got turned away. Some creature had taken a good chunk out of her leg, and yet she’d refused to give any indication of what type of creature.
Hippocrates scowled at his trainee. –I hope you choke.â€
–She’s not happy, your wife,†said Augustus, wiping his hands on a napkin and rolling up the sleeves of his black dress robes. He conjured a crystal goblet out of midair and swirled his wand inside it. A thick dark red liquid poured from its tip. He got up and handed the Blood-Replenishing Potion to Mr. Weasley. He handed the man a pasty and checked the clipboard on the bedside cabinet. –You sleeping here tonight instead of her sofa?â€
–I didn’t do anything wrong,†said Hippocrates, walking over to Mr. Weasley.
–Got her pregnant,†Augustus disagreed quietly, shrugging. Bill Weasley snorted behind an edition of the Evening Prophet. Hippocrates rolled his eyes and started peeling back Mr. Weasley’s bandages. He had made the wrong move; the man started bleeding. Mr. Weasley’s half empty goblet clattered to the floor. Augustus snapped on a pair of gloves after washing his hands in the sink and rushed to his aid. –You can’t win for losing.â€
–He’s fine,†said Hippocrates, feigning calm
He slipped on gloves as the white sheets turned red. He waved the man’s son away and pointed his wand at a set of curtains. They zoomed over and Hippocrates yanked them shut. In the early hours of the morning, around midnight, this man had been carried into the hospital, and he had looked a mess. Hippocrates conjured a kit, trying and failing to pack the wounds. He tossed the soaked rags in the wastebasket and racked his brains, searching for answer.
–He’s bleeding out,†Augustus warned him. He nodded at Mr. Weasley, who was turning white at an alarming rate. –You’re all right, we’ve got this. Seriously, sir, either you force feed him the potion or -â€
–-or you shut up and give me a bloody minute to think.†Nothing came to him. Hippocrates took a deep breath and threw the last of his soaked rags away. He cleaned the wound, picked up his wand, and muttered, –Ferula.â€
Bandages shot out of the end of his wand and wrapped themselves around the man’s torso. Augustus, a muscular man, scooped the thin patient up like a small child and carried him over to the furthest bed by the window. Hippocrates changed the dirtied bed sheets and cleared the mess. He hadn’t peeled the patient’s bandages an inch from his skin before the wound ripped open.
–Bill,†he called, steadying his voice. He waved his wand at the curtains and they vanished. Hippocrates walked over to the sink to wash up and waited until Bill took a seat by his father’s bed.
–You don’t get out of drinking this brew,†said Augustus, filling another goblet and putting it in the patient’s shaky hands. He covered Mr. Weasley with an extra blanket that he got out of the linens cupboard. –This is nothing. My dad fell out of a tree with a chainsaw.â€
–What was he doing?†asked Bill.
–Cutting down the dead oak,†said Augustus, shrugging. He thanked Hippocrates for handing him the pastry box as he drew up a chair. –Got his arm instead. The doctors set him straight.â€
–Muggle healers?†Pale and drained, Mr. Weasley perked up upon hearing this.
–Dad,†said Bill sleepily.
–What’s a chainsaw? I want one!†said Mr. Weasley.
–No, you don’t,†said Hippocrates and Augustus in unison.
–What did your father do?†Augustus asked Hippocrates. Hippocrates had wandered over to his second patient, a woman with a bandaged leg. She was out cold.
–Fireman,†said Hippocrates. He didn’t want to tempt fate and mess with another patient’s wound. –You met him tonight at the party? Stocky man with a beard?â€
–Yeah, nice man,†said Augustus. –Watched over Healer Smethwyck like a hawk.â€
–I don’t doubt that, not at all,†said Hippocrates, signing off on both clipboards. –He’s been asking for grandchildren forever. Last year, his doctor finally diagnosed him with Alzheimer’s; his memory’s dismal, so this is his Christmas. A puppy might have been a smarter choice.â€
He announced this in a matter-of-fact tone. They’d dreaded the truth for the longest time; Hippocrates knew medicine like nobody’s business, magical and Muggle. Honestly, he probably wouldn’t pass for more than a matron amongst the Muggles, yet he’d get by. After leaving school, reality hit him and it dawned on him; he had two paths he could take. He was stuck in the middle of the road, and he had a choice: would he go left, or would he go right? Of course, he went with Healer qualifications later that summer and put the indecisiveness to rest. Abigail, who worked in Spell Damage, read the signs all along, dropping hints about the old man here and there, yet Hippocrates denied it.
–He still volunteers, but it’s really nothing,†said Hippocrates, impassive to the surprised look on the trainee’s face. He smiled sadly, not comfortable discussing personal matters. –He’s a good man who got dealt a shitty hand in the end. Loves her like a daughter.â€
He left them in the ward. An invisible line divided a man’s professional and personal life. If one took precedence over the other, this balance hopefully shifted for the right reasons. When Hippocrates walked through those double doors, he set his mind on a narrow track. His sole purpose, no matter what took place in the outside world, was to save lives. Healers defied death. Any moment, Augustus would join him in the corridor and play the sympathy card. He hadn’t the slightest idea about Hippocrates’s father, and, he, Hippocrates preferred to keep it that way; nobody told him anything. Hippocrates started upstairs, headed nowhere.
–Oh, hi,†said Penelope, meeting him on the third floor. She carried a plastic container full of plastic bedpans and potion bottles. –I’m sterilising during downtime. What’re you doing? No cases?â€
–Avoiding your boyfriend,†he said, sliding past her. Penelope stopped mid-step and he feigned surprise, glancing over his shoulder like a gossiping teenage girl caught in the act. –How’d he know that? Damn.â€
–You’re so evil.†Penelope shook with laughter and continued on her way.
Hippocrates stopped on the fourth floor and closed the double doors behind him. He almost walked into Gilderoy Lockhart. The man ignored all personal space and leaned in so close that Hippocrates instinctively checked himself and backed up a few paces. The man wore his dressing gown and fished a battered quill out of his pocket. Like the other patients on this ward, he paid no attention to the hour. Time didn’t exist to him, however, signatures remained in vogue.
–Wanted to sneak in early for a signing?†asked Lockhart enthusiastically.
–No, Gilderoy, not really, not tonight, but thanks,†said Hippocrates, taking him by the hand and steering him towards his ward. The door had been left open. –Looking for someone?â€
–No,†he said brightly. –You look familiar, sir.â€
They went through this at least three times a week. Hippocrates had fallen into the habit of giving his middle name. –I’m Isaiah, remember? Isaiah?â€
–No.†A stranger didn’t deter Gilderoy’s optimism. He looked up when Abby poked her head out of a nearby door. –Abby, hurry, Isaiah wants an autograph. Do you have any parchment? Anything will do.â€
–Isaiah?†Abigail looked lost for a moment, then comprehension dawned on her. She nodded at Hippocrates and ripped a blank page off of her clipboard and handed it to Gilderoy. He took her hand and she spoke to him as if he were a child. –All right, but he can’t stay long because you need to get some rest. You’re going to help me decorate Miriam’s office tomorrow, remember?â€
She walked the man over to his bed, wished him good night, and placed his quill on the bedside cabinet.
–He remembers you?†Hippocrates whispered as they walked past a woman who whimpered in her sleep. –That’s a good sign.â€
Abigail shrugged. –He only trusts me and Miriam.â€
Hippocrates nodded, thinking this explained why she felt shaky about taking her leave. A door to a small office stood ajar and light leaked into the ward. Miriam had taken the morning shift; they alternated shifts on the floor. There were other Healers, too, of course, but they worked better than most of the crew. Hippocrates had to hold back his laughter seeing her so friendly with Lockhart, so absorbed into giving him her full attention. Three years ago, she’d laughed at the very thought of this man becoming a professor.
‘I’m sorry.†Hippocrates pretended to scrutinise one of the Lockhart’s many paintings.
Abigail had slipped into the office and read through a clipboard.
Hippocrates cleared his throat loudly and gave it another shot. –I’m sorry. I didn’t clear my schedule because I didn’t want to deal with Dad’s old disappointment lectures. I worked straight through the party.â€
–You forgot,†she said coldly. –He was lucid, if you want to know, and he asked for you. He painted a tree on the blank wall in the nursery.â€
–Oh.†Guilty knots tied themselves tighter in his stomach.
–Another day lost.†She signed the clipboard in a flourish. –Don’t apologise to me.â€
–Abby, come on.†He threw up his hands. –Look, if I wasn’t here tonight, Arthur Weasley would have bled out and died. It’s a party, all right? You hate those get-togethers.â€
–I love Phillip,†she said, raising her voice. She took a deep breath and controlled her emotions. Everything brought her to tears nowadays, and Hippocrates prayed for this to pass. –I love your father, and if he asked me to go food shopping one afternoon, I’d drop everything without a second thought.â€
Hippocrates bowed his head.
–I didn’t ask for this.†She sat on the edge of an empty bed and slipped off one of her shoes. They’d been down this road, too, and sparked their fair share of rows from it. She covered her face with her hands. –I don’t want this. I hate this child and it’s not even here yet. Phillip’s thrilled. I’m selfish and evil.â€
–I lied to Dad all the time, still do,†said Hippocrates. He sat beside her and put an arm over her shoulder. She’d told him this countless times, and he’d turned a deaf ear. Secretly, he waited over the years for her to settle into her career. Maybe, just maybe, she’d change her mind.
Someone stopped outside the door.
–Miss Clearwater?†Abigail wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
–Yes, madam, I’m sorry -†Penelope swallowed her apology when they turned towards her. She handed over a clipboard and gave a hurried explanation. –Merry, the Welcome Witch, told me to give this to you immediately. I told her you were on duty in Spell Damage, of course, and had no business -â€
–Friendly word of advice?†Hippocrates cleared his throat and checked to see that the coast was clear because the receptionist had an uncanny habit of popping up at awkward times. –Never ever tell Merry she has no hand in any affair. She’ll eat you alive.â€
–-and you’d do well to keep your mouth shut,†Abigail cut across him.
She reached out to Hippocrates and he pulled her to her feet. She flipped through the clipboard and asked Penelope to watch over the long-term residents. Penelope rightly interpreted this as an order and not as a request. She asked no questions and let them pass. Hippocrates followed his wife down three flights of staircases.
–Lycanthropy, found an hour ago in the city,†Abigail reeled off, flipping through the patient history. –In the city?â€
–They grow restless and sense the panic,†muttered Hippocrates darkly.
He rushed into the ward, the same one he had been minutes before, and nodded at the new occupant. The man looked young, not yet thirty. At first glance, it appeared as though he’d merely bruised his arm in an accident. He was a thin man who wore stained robes. A greenish tint blended with the paleness, for all the blood had drained from his face. Augustus bandaged his arm gingerly because there was little else they could do for this patient. He handed over a goblet.
–For the shock,†he said, steadying the man’s shaky hands. –Healer Smethwyck, I-I didn’t know.â€
–You’re all right,†said Hippocrates kindly.
He conjured up a chair for his wife. Augustus stepped back and busied himself with the woman lying in the other bed. A year in the programme had made a world of difference. Unlike Penelope, Augustus knew to go where he was needed instead of hanging around with questions. Abigail sat down in the chair and placed the clipboard on the bedside cabinet. She waited. The patient didn’t drink the potion. He merely stared at the ceiling.
–Mr. Finch.†Abigail took a deep breath.
It happened the same way with every case. Small children and some adults escaped this fate and died shortly after the reaction. Those who lived shut down, a defence, and sank into a depression. After a while, they lashed out to those around them, as the truth finally sank in. The depression cycled around for another hit, often coming in waves, as these people went back into society and pieced their lives back together. The first shockwave, the one right after the attack, scared the hell out of any victim.
Years ago, in his first year, Hippocrates nearly walked away from the hospital and left his career behind. A young woman had finally dragged her little boy into the hospital. After an hour of confusing questions, for she spoke little English, the four year old lifted his infected arm out of a sling. He didn’t say a word, and he didn’t need to, either. The other Healers stood back for a moment, shocked, but Hippocrates, a trainee who knew nothing, scooped the kid up and carried him off into the ward. This was the moment Hippocrates decided to stay - he’d chosen his poison.
–Mr. Finch.†Abigail took the man’s freezing hand and squeezed his fingertips. Pink flooded over the white. –That’s good. Can you feel this?â€
Hippocrates read the man’s pained expression. –What’s it like? Sharp needles? It’ll pass.â€
Mr. Finch nodded. He yanked away as if she had licked his fingers with a burning flame. Sensation shifted immediately. Touch, sight, and smell all heightened themselves as the body adapted to the change. Werewolves only shifted form on the full moon, of course, but some carried stronger traits. Mr. Finch had two weeks before he’d transform, so they had a window of opportunity to speak with him and help him through the shock.
–We can help you, sir,†said Abigail softly. She didn’t dare touch him again.
Hippocrates left the clipboard on the bedside cabinet, noting everything in his head as he didn’t want to hover over the man and treat him like a freak.
–No. Leave me alone.â€
–Did you have any family?†The man shook his head. Hippocrates didn’t take this answer at face value. Something had happened earlier that evening and it was simply too early to ask him to relive the attack. –All right, well, you’re in good hands.â€
–I’m Abby,†Abigail said, realizing she’d skipped an introduction. She pointed to Hippocrates, –and this is my husband. If you need anything, anything at all, we’re here for you. I understand that this is a difficult and shocking time for you, but it isn’t the end of the world.â€
Mr. Finch suddenly jumped in the defensive. –What do you know? Spouting all of your potions and charms? You know nothing! Nothing!â€
Hippocrates held his tongue. He stepped in between them, just in case Mr. Finch lashed out. HeE couldn’t blame the man. When it all boiled down to it, he was right. If this man had known Damocles Belby, the potioneer who had crafted the Wolfsbane Potion, Mr. Finch would consider Abigail a saint. The man had managed to make life easier for a handful of shunned people, but he did it for the gold and the fame. Hippocrates had signed on to help the potioneer through his work, which had proved a long and tedious process. Damocles generally had little contact with the afflicted and kept his distance from people after staking his claim to fame.
Healers struggled through his hard work and cared little about recognition. Hippocrates, at any rate, stood as nothing else than a footnote with this accomplishment.
–We understand quite a bit,†he said quietly, hoping the man’s temper wouldn’t suddenly flare. –We worked together on the Wolfbane Potion trial. We’re still in on it.â€
–You’re good?†Mr. Finch shrugged and looked apologetically up at Abigail. –Right. How many cases?â€
–I came in later,†she admitted, nodding at Hippocrates. She radiated confidence, but she gave credit where it was due. –He’ll bore you to death with every development. Sixteen cases in all and fourteen have been successful.â€
Mr. Finch scoffed, unimpressed and uncertain. –Yeah, well.â€
–Tell you what, you get that second opinion, but they’ll just send you right back to me after giving you the run around. It’s your headache, sir,†said Abigail brightly, tapping his arm and getting to her feet. –Better safe than sorry. Good day.â€
She didn’t even get to the door before his defences broke.
–Wait. Come back.†Mr. Finch sat up and gestured at Hippocrates, asking him for help. –I want her.â€
Abigail sat back down and began what promised to be a lengthy conversation about taking the next step.
Sanctuary by Writ Encore
Chapter Endnotes: Thank you for reading. Reviews would be lovely.