Hippocrates usually stepped up to any challenge, but nothing worked for any of them. He felt like a failure. Abigail treated her charges, yet she spent most of her time on the first floor. Whenever she caught a break, she came back to Mr. Finch’s bedside and pulled up a chair. Shortly after five o’clock in the morning, all of the patients had fallen asleep. The woman snorted like a freight train, and Mr. Finch had nodded off after taking a few sips of a sleeping draught. Because the Blood Replenishing Potion demanded a strict schedule, Hippocrates doubted if Arthur Weasley got any sleep. An interrupted slumber gave him no rest.
Hippocrates crossed his legs and picked up another thick volume. A stack of them lay at his feet; he’d asked Augustus to plough through the research archives for any lead on snake venom. He’d tackle Mr. Weasley’s ailment first because he thought he lacked a simple clue. The missing piece nagged him more than anything. As he turned a page, he glanced over at Mr. Weasley and watched him drink yet another goblet.
–We’ll get there,†Hippocrates said. He sliced his finger on a page and yanked back his hand. Mr. Weasley set the empty crystal goblet on the bedside cabinet and rested his head on his pillows. Hippocrates examined his cut thoughtfully as he brought his thumb and index finger together and applied pressure. After a few moments, the blood stopped trickling from the cut. –Platelets.â€
–I’m sorry?†Mr. Weasley broke the silence after a moment. He’d guessed that Hippocrates was holding a private conversation for an audience of one.
–Clotting agents in the blood,†said Hippocrates, speaking a little louder. Why hadn’t it occurred to him sooner? He apologised for talking to himself. He gave Mr. Weasley a reassuring smile and hoped the man didn’t take him as a lunatic. He raised his hand. In the dim candlelight, Mr. Weasley only saw blood on his hand. Hippocrates hastily wiped his hand on his robes and turned to Mr. Finch’s bed and hissed in a carrying whisper. –Psst, woman, wake up.â€
Mr. Finch didn’t move a muscle, and Abigail didn’t stir. Hippocrates took a wrapped bandage out of his robes and tossed it at her. Mr. Weasley chuckled.
–No,†sighed Abigail, waving her hand. When Hippocrates aimed a second one at her and it bounced off her chest, she dropped Mr. Finch’s head and cleared her throat. –I will kill you, Hippocrates.â€
–I found it!†Hippocrates got off the floor and held the burning taper aloft. He handed her the book and pointed at the passage. –You see that?â€
Abigail passed a hand over her eyes and grabbed his wrist. She checked the time. –I hate you.â€
He pecked her on the cheek and squeezed her shoulder. –Finally, a step in the right direction. It dissolves the clotting agent, attacks them and dissolves them.â€
–Meaning?†she asked, opening her eyes. Her brain lagged behind, so she waited for his explanation.
–I don’t know,†he said thoughtfully, scratching his chin. He walked over to Mr. Weasley’s bed and notated the timetable on his clipboard. Mr. Weasley waited for him to pull some solution together, but he’d have to hold on. –We’ll get you home soon.â€
–I’m glad I’m not on your service anymore,†said Abigail softly, brushing Mr. Finch’s face with her fingers. –It’s a headache, running around as your research rat.â€
–Yeah, and I’ll let this bit about you spending the night with another man slide.†Hippocrates tapped his quill on the clipboard. Abigail smiled. Hippocrates looked at Mr. Weasley, seeking an ally. –She’s never held my hand. Not once. What’s this?â€
Mr. Weasley said nothing.
–Stop it,†Abigail warned him lightly as he passed her. They joked about their marriage for it eased the eased the tension with some patients. Fifteen minutes passed and Hippocrates scanned entries in the book. –I smell a rat.â€
The men glanced up at Augustus, who had just opened the door.
–Oh, good,†said Hippocrates, grinning at the confusion on Augustus’s face. He walked towards the door and checked the time. –Five o’clock means five o’clock, but better late than never, I suppose.â€
Augustus muttered a hurried excuse.
–This is my gift to you,†said Hippocrates, slamming the book hard into his chest. Abigail got up and followed him. –Happy hunting and Merry Christmas.â€
Augustus gave a groan, but he took his punishment for tardiness well. He set the book on an empty bed and checked Mr. Weasley’s bandages as the door closed itself behind them. Hippocrates had promised, and he’d sworn to follow through with it this time, to spend Christmas morning with his father. No excuses. When he turned to step into a nearby ward, Abigail passed the case over to a fledgling Healer, a nobody fresh off his qualifications, and steered her husband towards the door.
–You don’t live here,†she reminded him as they stopped on the stairwell.
Hippocrates opened his mouth, closed it, and swallowed his defence. They needed him here. Abigail was on bed rest, and when she’d chosen to ignore these orders, Miriam Strout had taken matters into her own hands and locked her from the Spell Damage ward. Abigail had only been granted permission to visit the long-term residents ward, and to add insult to injury, she needed an escort to get there. She checked on her special charges, for she couldn’t leave it alone. Miriam, a cherry woman who was optimistic to the point of being ridiculous, one of those glass half full types, rarely put her foot down, yet she held her ground with this order.
–You’re one to talk,†he said incredulously. Hippocrates changed his clothes and draped a coat over his arm. He groaned when Abigail punched him in the arm as they passed the reception desk. For the first time in days, Merry smiled. They walked past Miriam, who was talking to Penelope Clearwater as she gathered her clipboards. Miriam wished them a Merry Christmas, and Abigail held her tongue. –I can’t believe she kicked you out. Are you not talking to her? Seriously?â€
Abigail walked through the brick barrier and pretended that she hadn’t heard him.
–She’ll get over it,†Hippocrates whispered to Penelope and Miriam; he gave Miriam a quick hug. –Merry Christmas. I’ll be back tonight, so save some of the fun.â€
He walked through the invisible barrier and hurried to catch up with his wife. He caved. –All right. What’s wrong?â€
–Nothing.†She draped her scarf over her shoulders.
–Nothing translates into something, and judging by the way you’re walking, you’re angry, really angry.â€
–Nothing,†she said stiffly. Abigail changed her mind when they turned on the corner. They passed a small group of carollers setting up their collection tins. –No. You know what? I’m sick of you going behind my back and dropping hints that I can’t keep up anymore.â€
–I’m sorry?†Hippocrates back tracked, completely lost.
–You suggested to Miriam that I can’t keep pace with the hospital.†She rolled her eyes at his pitiful expression. –Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine.â€
–Yeah, expect you’re out of breath just getting upstairs,†he pointed out. –You don’t think your charges notice?â€
–Really?†She countered him, taking this as a sick joke and crossing her arms.
–Not Alice, or Frank or Agnes,†he sighed, clearing up the misunderstanding. –There are a lot of other patients you help, too, and what if one of them fell down a flight of stairs. Going to stand there till help comes along? Look at you! You can’t even see your feet. Miriam insisted you take leave. She’s worried about you. Let her.â€
Abigail shared his feelings about the hospital. She felt guilty not being there when people suffered and called out for help. On the one hand, this made the dedicated Healers unbearably stubborn and deadly competitive. She stayed up with Mr. Finch, a man who had insulted her countless times, because it gave her a sense of purpose. Hippocrates took her hand and nodded at a caroller before he turned on his heel, and the two of them vanished.
Hippocrates returned to the hospital shortly after lunch. He’d put in some extra hours because he got bored sitting at home. They’d shared a quiet Christmas morning with his father, and they’d taken the opportunity to rest for a while and get away from the chaos. Abigail wore a plain red dress and pulled her hair back. She’d left her robes behind and claimed to be here for the sole purpose of spending time with the long-term residents. They entered the ward when Mrs. Longbottom and her grandson had turned to leave. Mrs. Longbottom nodded curtly at Abigail and whispered to Miriam. They left the patients alone; there were no other visitors.
–What did she say?†asked Hippocrates, watching old Mrs. Longbottom head down the ward.
–Oh, she was just wondering when you’re finally going to have that kid,†said Miriam, nodding at Abigail. –You’ve no figure, she says, and it’s none too flattering.â€
–Lovely woman,†said Abigail sarcastically. Mrs. Longbottom stopped in every few weeks. She smiled, and Miriam returned it, glad to see her anger had quickly evaporated. She tossed her travelling cloak over a chair. –One day, she’ll love me.â€
–Any day now,†said Hippocrates, crossing his fingers. Agnes barked energetically when she spotted her favourite Healer and Abigail wandered over to chat with her. She looked as though she’d rather to nothing else than share her day wrapped up in her patients’ stories. He shrugged at Miriam. –We stayed with my father for eight hours. I told her to stay.â€
–We tried,†said Miriam, busying herself with Mr. Bode’s potted plant. –How’s your father?â€
–The usual. He thinks I ‘m his postman,†said Hippocrates, shrugging it off. –I don’t care. He knows Abby, so that’s enough for me. Keeps asking who fathered her child; I laugh when he says it. You should see Abby’s face. He thinks she left me, thinks it’s a good move, too.â€
Miriam patted his arm. –You’ll get each other through this.â€
Hippocrates nodded. He felt so relieved that Miriam knew about their family secret because she offered them comforting words. She’d never met Phillip, of course, but she’d worked in Spell Damage long enough to grasp any experience on memory loss. His father, an old man in his late seventies, saw his son as a failure and remembered a time shortly after Hippocrates and Abigail had gotten married. The old man’s mind lapsed back to this time often these days. A tear fell down his cheek.
–Are you all right?â€
Hippocrates nodded. iIt’d be pointless to pretend something got into his eye. She’d see right through him. Whenever he wasn’t tending to his patients, Hippocrates’s mind wandered over to his family. Fear often consumed him when he worried about his father. What if the old man got lost on his way home or accidentally slipped while on a rescue mission with the fire department? Perhaps having a child wasn’t the smartest decision. With Phillip, it was as though they expected a second child who fell into their lap.
–Who’s Michael?†she asked, grinning, She nodded at Abigail, who was sharing their Christmas morning with Agnes. The lady barked excitedly. –She keeps seeking off to see him. Her boyfriend?â€
–Who? Michael?†Dread washed over Hippocrates as he imagined his wife’s betrayal. He imagined for a horrible second that perhaps he wasn’t going to be a father. When she mentioned the –Dangerous†ward, his face relaxed. –Oh, Michael! Michael Finch, yeah, he’s my patient.â€
Abigail had wrapped up her conversation with Agnes and joined them. She read Hippocrates’s panicked expression. –What?â€
–Michael.†Hippocrates got to his feet and picked up her cloak. He draped it over her shoulders and waved good-bye to Miriam and the ward residents. Abigail followed him, and it was her turn to decipher a confusing message. –If you can break through Michael Finch, you’re welcome to it.â€
–Really? Why?†Abigail sounded sceptical. They walked down three flights of stairs and turned, once again, onto the Dai Llwellyn ward. –What’s the catch?â€
–No catch.†He spoke to soon, and added a stipulation. –Well, when you’re not here, I want you resting. Don’t worry about anything at the hospital; don’t worry about Phillip. I’ve got it.â€
–You’ve got it?†She beamed at him. –Michael’s my case?â€
He nodded and she kissed him.
–Hey, hey,†said Augustus, standing in the doorway in damp robes. He scolded them lightly and tapped his foot, feigning annoyance. –I don’t see mistletoe and that’s inappropriate behaviour.â€
–Give her Finch’s file,†said Hippocrates, nodding at the werewolf sitting on the edge of his bed.
–Bastard just threw a bedpan at me!†Augustus stepped aside and let them pass. –I gave him a shower and offered to help him, you know, and he threatens to bite me and says to keep my distance-â€
–-and the man is entitled to his privacy,†said Abigail, checking the clipboard and conjuring a chair out of midair. –You insisted on working with Creature-Induced Injuries. You’re lucky you’ve gotten this far without a retaliatory threat.â€
–Werewolves target little kids,†said Augustus evenly. He’d realised his mistake a moment too late. –I - I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it - it just came out.â€
Michael stared at them, white-faced and shocked. Hippocrates and Abigail both pointed at the open door. –Get the hell out.â€
Augustus left the book on an open bed and left without another word. Abigail cleared her throat and rested a hand on her belly; she griipped the armrest with the other. She took a moment to gather herself. Hippocrates bowed out and went to discuss another plan of action with Mr. Weasley. He returned a few minutes later, pleased they were able to have a light conversation. Hippocrates caught Remus Lupin’s name, but he held his tongue until Michael Finch invited him into the conversation.
–I don’t know much about him, met him this afternoon,†said Michael hoarsely. He sounded as though he hadn’t gotten the chance to speak in days. He nodded at Hippocrates. –He says he’s known you for ages, ever since he’s been ... bitten.â€
Hippocrates nodded. In spite of everything, he smiled encouragingly. –Glad you met, Mr. Finch.â€
–It’s Michael.â€
He dropped the formalities and looked him in the eye. Michael looked away and stared at the ceiling again. He’d polished off his Christmas dinner. Hippocrates sat on the edge of the bed and shook the young man’s hand. He’d have to remember to thank Remus. Part of him wondered whether Remus had realised his gesture by just pulling up a chair and spending some time with a lonely stranger.
–Lockdown drives me mad, and I understand the safety procedures, but I’m going mad in here.†Michael turned his head from Hippocrates to Abigail, nervous. He acted like a timid child testing the waters as he got the courage to ask for special treatment. –May I go for a walk? Stretch my legs?â€
–No problem.†Hippocrates shrugged off his travelling cloak and handed it over.
Michael got to his feet and pulled the long cloak over his pyjamas. He’d left the dressing gown hanging there and stepping into some shoes. After he tied the laces and pulled the cloak tighter, he offered Abigail a hand and pulled her to her feet. Hippocrates stepped aside and let them walk out into the corridor. He followed them onto the ground floor.
–My shift,†said Hippocrates apologetically, stopping by Merry to gather his paperwork as they walked to the other end of the waiting room. His trainee had escaped into the flooded waiting room to offer assistance. –Abby’s free.â€
Abigail held out her hand and Michael took it. As they disappeared through the barrier, Hippocrates heard the carollers in the distance. He waved Augustus over as Merry marshalled her queue. The trainee stood there, confused about his next move. The double doors opened and Hippocrates stopped and placed a foot on the first step.
–You coming? I don’t have all day.â€