Chapter 5
Susan set the coffee cup down in front of Millie, who was bent over a chart, scribbling notes. She did a double take, nearly spilling the peace offering when she realized who stood in front of her.
“What’s this?” Millie eyed the cup, and Susan raised her own.
“An apology.”
“For?”
“Snapping at you and then avoiding you.” Millie actually looked surprised at that. Susan pushed it slightly closer. “So I’m sorry for being a touchy bitch. I know you meant well.”
Tilting her head, Millie examined her, but finally took the cup, and after taking an experimental sip, nodded. “I’ll never say no to coffee, but you didn’t need to apologize.”
“Well I did anyway.” Susan offered her a small smile, and slipped away. She was working on the long term ward today, and she sighed as she passed the Janus Thickey plaque in the hall. It wasn’t that she didn’t like it here, it just reminded her of how much they’d all lost in the Wizarding War.
She rounded on the patients quickly, all familiar faces. The most uncomfortable was her previous professor, and the saddest were Frank and Alice Longbottom. But her favorite was a gentleman named Hector, who never spoke, but was never without his copy of Homer’s Iliad.
She didn’t know if he read it, or simply carried the well worn book, but she’d never seen him without it. Today he was in his preferred chair by an enchanted window, looking out over a meadow with a blank expression. His fingers traced over the cover, and Susan let him be, moving her attention to a distressed Frank Longbottom.
The day passed quickly, and she only had a moment to sit beside Hector after she’d handed off to the next healer. He acknowledged her with a fleeting glance before turning his attention back to the window, where the enchantment was showing the meadow darkening with the falling evening.
They sat together in companionable silence as Susan completed her charting, and when she sat them aside, he looked at her, eyes expectant.
She gave him a wry smile. “Nothing to report, I’m afraid.” He shook his head, his dark hair that was beginning to grey at the temples quivering slightly with his movements. “As soon as I hear about a residency, I’ll let you know.”
He nodded, and turned back to the window.
It felt as if a fist was squeezing her heart. She’d had a residency. Her dream job.
Megan had convinced her to turn it down, insisting she’d be better off at St Mungo’s.
For over two years now she regretted not taking the opportunity, and the regret had been building every moment since she’d turned in new applications. It had been weeks with nothing to show for her efforts, and every day without an acceptance felt like another closer to a denial.
“I’ll see you soon,” she told the man, patting his hand gently. As she moved away, he grabbed her wrist. She could feel the fine tremors that were omnipresent in his hands, but his grip was firm.
He lifted the book, offering it to her silently. “I can’t,” she whispered, but he nodded solemnly. “I’ll bring it back to you,” she finally said, accepting the book. He looked at her for a long moment, but nodded and released her wrist.
In the locker rooms, she slid the book in her bag, and hurried to change, eager to get out for the evening. She’d gotten an owl that morning from Pansy, and she stepped through the floo to find Pansy, Daphne, and Hermione waiting for her in the spacious Potter home.
“This looks like trouble.” Harry laughed, but kissed Daphne tenderly. “If you need bail money, you’ll have to call Draco,” he joked, giving Hermione a quick hug and waved at Pansy and Susan as he stepped through the floo, calling out for the DMLE.
“Do you three often need bail money when you get together?” Susan arched an eyebrow at the three women, and Pansy grinned deviously.
“The only handcuffs I’ve been in are Neville’s.” Daphne snickered, and Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Can you imagine? Heads would roll if any of the aurors tried with either of these two,” Hermione waved at the wives of the two highest ranking officers.
Daphne cackled. “As if they wouldn’t if you were involved either, Ms Senior Undersecretary.” Hermione scowled, but Susan was laughing now too.
“I wouldn’t want to be the one standing between Draco Malfoy and his witch, either,” Susan laughed, and Hermione’s expression bordered on smug. “But I get it. You three are safe so I better watch my back.”
Daphne caught her eye and raised an eyebrow, and Susan flushed. News traveled fast in their circle, apparently. She shook her head minutely. It wasn’t like that. It had been one night to escape their bad habits. That was all.
“You’re safe with us,” Hermione assured her, and Pansy nodded.
“Just don’t let Granger into the champagne.” Pansy looped her arm through Susan’s and led her through the house to a bright kitchen. “She gets awfully excited about the dullest things.”
“Hey!” Hermione objected. “That bill was so important and I got three quarters of the Wizengamot to vote in favor!”
“Only because it was so long half of them would have died of old age before they could read all of it,” Daphne needled, pouring glasses of wine as Hermione pouted. Pansy returned to a cutting board where she’d obviously already started.
“What bill?” Susan took the wineglass Daphne offered as Pansy made a disgruntled sound, but Hermione perked up.
Despite their teasing, both Daphne and Pansy chimed in during Hermione’s explanation, adding relevant details and expressing their support, and Susan listened intently, intrigued by their responses.
“So you actually got the Wizengamot to provide protections to not just victims of werewolf attacks, but you laid the groundwork for future additions to provide support to them as well,” Susan summed up when they were finished, and Hermione grinned.
“She’s wonderful, we know,” Pansy sighed, stirring something on the hob that was making Susan’s mouth water. ”Stick around and you’ll find she doesn’t let anyone forget it.”
They laughed, though Hermione’s cheeks tinged pink. “It’s not just me,” she protested. “Daphne is out there with her own clothing line, and Pansy turns everything she touches to gold.”
Both women waved her off, and Susan dropped her eyes to the wine in her glass. She felt wildly outpaced by the three women, and she wished they wouldn’t ask, but predictably, Hermione did.
“What about you? I know you’re at St Mungo’s, but that’s the extent of what I know about healing.” She was so ernest and kind that Susan couldn’t even brush off her question. She shrugged. “I haven’t specialized, so I bounce around a lot, filling in where I’m needed.”
Daphne’s eyes got wide. “So you have to know everything?”
Susan laughed. “I guess so? But it sounds more impressive than it is. A lot of the job is the same no matter where you’re at.”
Pansy waved a spoon at her from across the kitchen. “Don’t downplay it! You have to be brilliant to keep everything straight.” Hermione and Daphne murmured their agreement, but Susan shrugged, not wanting to explore the “why” behind it. Instead she turned the conversation back towards Daphne’s fashion line, and the other women let it go.
After dinner, they gathered in the lounge with more wine, and chatted about various subjects from ministry gossip to the new bakery in Diagon Alley. “Mariana is the sweetest,” Pansy was saying. “Her husband Matteo was Nev’s partner for ages, and she still sends her new cakes for us to try. I’d been telling her she needed a shop for ages. Now all her kids are in Hogwarts, she finally made the jump!”
“Best move ever for her, worst move ever for my waist,” Daphne grumbled, and Susan rolled her eyes.
“We’ll have to take you and introduce you to Mariana,” Hermione told Susan, eyes sparkling. “You’ll love her.”
Susan nodded. “I’d like that.”
They were interrupted a while later when Harry stepped back through the floo, with Neville in tow. They kissed their respective witches, greeted the others, and disappeared down the hallway.
Daphne made a face after them, and Hermione shared a look with Susan.
“I should be going,” Susan offered, and Hermione immediately joined.
“Me too. I have court tomorrow.”
They said their goodbyes, and Susan was still smiling when she dropped her bag on the kitchen table and put the kettle on.
A tap on her window made her jump, but the unfamiliar owl just blinked at her, waiting patiently to be let in. She opened the window just wide enough to let the bird in, who dropped a letter on the table and left in a hurry.
The whistle of the kettle distracted her, and she left the envelope where it fell as she made her tea and sat back and the table to open it.
Cracking the seal with her nail, her eyes skated over the lines, and her eyes filled with tears as the words sunk in. The joy she’d felt that evening seemed to evaporate, and sadness gripped her. Fishing the battered copy of The Iliad from her bag, she wondered if Hector had known it would be the last time he’d see her. She hadn’t, and she wished she could go back.