Chapter 7
“I’m telling you, Hermione, his alibi was solid. We confirmed it ourselves. Draco Malfoy was definitely not one of the masked Death Eaters,” Harry explained.
“I don’t understand why you can’t show me the evidence, Harry!”
“You know you don’t actually work for the DMLE, right? You have your fancy shmancy job at St. Mungo’s, remember?” Ron pointed out, waving his fork in a circle for emphasis.
Hermione rolled her eyes. She had stopped at Grimmauld Place on her way to work, demanding answers for the raid on Malfoy’s place before the boys had been fully awake. Ron had slept on their couch rather than returning to his own lodgings.
Ginny had stumbled down the stairs after Harry, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and chugging a Hangover Relief Draught before throwing herself into a chair and hiding her head in her arms.
Harry rubbed her back soothingly, setting a large cup of tea in front of her, which she sipped before retreating back into the darkness of her arms.
“As if Kingsley has ever cared about that before,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.
“Hermione, believe me, I’m usually the first to suspect Malfoy, but he really is clean on this one.” Harry sighed.
“So maybe he wasn’t one of the ones in Masks. That doesn’t mean he didn’t help plan it,” she pointed out.
“What did Theo say about it?” Ron asked around a mouthful of kippers.
Hermione sighed. “He insisted Malfoy was innocent.”
“Well there’s your answer,” Ron said breezily.
Hermione checked her watch and jumped up. “Oh, I’m running behind, I’ve got to go. It’s Orientation Day for the new Interns and I’m meant to be there to greet them. Oh, bollocks!” She rushed around, dropping kisses on the boys heads and offering a soft, “Hope you feel better, Gin,” towards Ginny’s lifeless form. Ginny groaned in response.
Hermione apparated to work, slipping through the false window shop and dashing up to the newest addition to St. Mungo’s; the fifth floor, which housed the Magical and Muggle Maladies Ward. It was a recent addition, like Hermione had the distinct pleasure of running.
The floor hosted patients that required intensive care that neither magical or muggle remedies alone could cure. As most of the cases were new and unique, it allowed for several seminal research projects and case studies. Additionally, with so few Healers trained as Muggle Doctors, it served as a Teaching Hospital as well.
Hermione relished the challenge that was running the Ward, completing her own research trials and attempting to publish them, and assisting with teaching and training the mixed specialities of muggle medicine and magical healing.
This would be the third set of new interns, and she would be meeting them for the first time. She’d also hired a new Resident this year, Anton Igor. He had attended Durmstrang around the same time she had attended Hogwarts, graduating a year ahead of her.
He studied Medicine at Cambridge and finished top of his class, while simultaneously pursuing a Healing Mastery. Hermione had been impressed by his ability to complete both courses at the same time; that, and his additional Mastery in Potions made him her first choice for Chief Resident. The Head of the Magical and Muggle Maladies Ward at Lozenetz, in Bulgaria, had written him a glowing letter of recommendation.
“An unparalleled intern. Igor is exceedingly detail oriented, without being hesitant. He takes initiative and is deliberate in the pursuit of perfection,” Velizar Sotirov had written.
Hermione had been impressed with him during his interview. Handsome and approachable, he had a way of making whomever he was speaking with feel as if they were the only person in the room, even amongst a crowd. He had a lighthearted, easygoing personality that reminded her of Harry or Theo. He was clearly young, and yet his face held the earliest traces of wrinkles at the edges of his eyes and cheeks; they became prominent when he smiled or laughed. It made her like him even more. Her father had always said laugh lines were the mark of a good man.
She’d completed a few cases with him since he started, and found herself drawn in by his charisma. His dark hair and blue eyes were distracting, and her heart fluttered every time he said her name. Unlike Viktor Krum, who had also been born and raised in Bulgaria, Anton had spent several years in Britain, his Bulgarian accent growing softer over time so that he did not stumble over her name.
He greeted her at the lifts, winking at the matronly old secretary that sat at the secretarial desk. Marge giggled and Hermione smiled to herself; she’d likely giggle too if he chose to wink at her.
“Happy New Year, Hermione,” he said, the rich baritone of his voice enveloping her like a hug. The kind that made her spine pop, the breath whooshing out of her. It was slightly unnerving, but not entirely unwelcome.
“Happy New Year, Anton. Did you have a nice evening?” Hermione asked as he fell instep beside her, walking with her towards her office.
“It was a rather quiet evening. I had no one to share my Banitsa with, besides St. Mary. Naturally, that meant I had to eat one very large piece. It also meant I got a lot of lucky charms…and a stomach ache.”
Hermione laughed. “Why didn’t you bake it in a smaller pan, so that you had a normal sized piece?”
“What, and leave St. Mary with a piece fit for a mouse? I could never!” He laughed loudly, the sound infectious.
“Well, your evening was quiet compared to mine. A Death Eater Revivalist group crashed the New Year’s Eve party I was attending.”
“Ahh, that is much more action packed than my night! I’m sure that caused quite a panic. Wasn’t the ten year anniversary of the Final Battle last year?”
“It was, and it felt like such a monument; a decade of peace. Last night’s demonstration felt like an ill omen for the year to come,” she admitted.
“Well, let us hope that it does not impact the first day with the new interns. Are you excited to meet them?”
“I am,” Hermione said, gladly latching on to the new topic. “This is the first group we’ve selected through a blind interview process. Applicants' names were removed from their documents, and they were ranked based on a point system. Today is the first time we’ll learn who the interns really are. I’m excited to see if there is any correlation between the blind selection and their perceived mastery of their intern year. I’d like to determine potential barriers and facilitators to their transition as well.”
Anton stared at her, amused. She blushed lightly. “I thoroughly enjoy research,” she said sheepishly.
“An amiable quality,” he said, grinning.
Hermione stepped into her office and grabbed the orientation folders that had been carefully filled with hospital protocols, maps, recommended readings, and case studies. Anton stepped forward and smoothly took them from her arms, despite the featherlight charm she’d placed on the stack.
“Allow me,” he said smoothly. Hermione nodded, switching her travelling cloak for her Healing robes. She pulled her hair out from where it had become trapped under her collar, and Anton leaned forward and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. He was always doing things like that; casually completing intimate gestures as if they were romantic partners, rather than professional peers. She took a steadying breath and picked up a clipboard, if only to give her hands something to do.
“Right then, shall we greet them?” she asked, pretending she was not at all affected by the casual brush of his fingertips across her skin.
“After you,” he said affably, his face still stretched into a smile.
She nodded and led them towards one of the lecture halls she’d requested Marge direct the interns to. The hall was abuzz with nervous chatter, interns conversing with one another quietly under their breath. Hermione glanced around the room, counting their heads. Ten of the twelve interns were present, with two left unaccounted for. The room went silent as she and Anton climbed up the stairs that led to the stage, her heels clicking against it as she strode towards the podium in the centre.
Anton followed a few steps behind her, and stood back a few paces when she reached the podium.
“Welcome,” Hermione said warmly, her voice amplified by the voiceless Sonorus charm she’d cast just before she spoke. “We are honoured that you applied to complete an internship here at St. Mungos. Of the hundreds of applicants, you were the dozen selected in a blind application process, determined by a review panel to be the best and brightest of your peers. I look forward to sitting down with each of you later to learn more about who you are as a person, to learn of your hopes and dreams of this program, as well as your goals and ambitions beyond it. We will have three Resident positions available next year; only one of them will be available to you. The other two positions will be filled by Healers outside of St. Mungo’s. One is reserved for an applicant residing outside of Britain, to allow for collaboration and unity amongst the Healing community at large. The other will be reserved for an outside applicant; someone who completed their intern year outside of St. Mungos.”
Hermione stared out at them, their faces ranging from excited to nervous. One intern sat in the back of the room, recessed in the shadows. She wasn’t sure if she’d simply missed them in the darkness during her initial headcount, or if they’d come in after she started speaking.
“I tell you this not to cause strife or tension between you, but to let you know what it is you should be striving for. St. Mungo’s is the premiere hospital for Magical and Muggle Maladies; we lit the torch, we led the charge. We are the flaming arrow, shot into the darkness to light the path for others to follow. It is a privilege and an honour to study here. Do not waste this year. Learn everything you can. Push the boundaries, explore the unknown. Together, we are creating greatness.”
An intern clapped tentatively, the sound echoing through the hallway, until a few more joined in, until the hall was filled with their cheers. Hermione smiled at them, raising a hand in acknowledgement, but also in request.
Here with me today is Healer Anton Igor. He completed his internship at Lozenetz, in Bulgaria before applying for a Residency position here. Healer Igor was the most qualified candidate out of all the applicants, even those who completed their internship here.” Hermione gestured to Anton, who moved forward to join her at the podium. “That is why I am pleased to introduce him as the Chief Resident. He will be in charge of pairing you with your Resident and ensuring a successful transition for you. I will be in charge of overseeing your case loads. I will determine when you assist on a case, and when you will be allowed to take the lead on one. Who amongst you will have the honour of leading a case first? I eagerly await your efforts.” She grinned at the gleam of hunger in their eyes, of the nervous knee bobbing and tight grips on their armrests.
“After your first month of internship, you will have the opportunity to complete an anonymous survey; a relative mastery scale that will be given to you at two other times during your intern year. This will allow me to understand what factors you perceive as facilitating or inhibiting your perceived mastery over your internship. Your participation is, of course, entirely voluntary, but it will help me assess the program and determine areas we might improve for future cohorts' success. Anton will now distribute an Informed Consent form, outlined the details of the research and the potential risks and benefits of participation.”
Anton moved away from her, stepping forward to send the forms out to the interns with a flick of his wand. He returned to her, placing the final survey on the podium. She glanced at it warily. It had been a rigorous application and selection process; she was surprised someone was missing.
“Can you go ensure with Marge that all the applicants confirmed their acceptance of the intern position offered to them?” Hermione asked him, her voice dropping into a whisper, the Sonorus charm temporarily cancelled. Anton nodded, striding up the soft incline of the lecture hall, his robes fluttering softly behind him as he walked. Informed Consent forms whizzed towards the podium, stacking themselves neatly in alphabetical order.
Hermione glanced around the room again, watching as interns read and signed the forms. The intern in the back of the room had pulled out a muggle medical journal and was lazily turning the pages, the journal propped against their knee. The other interns that had already completed their form began to talk quietly amongst themselves, smiling and laughing softly. Every now and then one voice would ring out above the others, quickly followed by silence as they realised their mistake and tried to blend into the flow of the noise once more.
Anton walked back into the room, loping down the carpeted floors, his knees bent slightly as he navigated the slight decline, and then he was bounding up the stairs and back to her side.
“There was apparently some trouble with their international portkey; some Ministry official bungled something up. Might be a week or two before they get here,” he explained quietly, leaning in close to whisper the words in her ear. His breath washed over her skin, her hair brushing against her neck in a soft, tickling sort of way. She shivered slightly and nodded.
“A pity for them, one week feels like one year during the intern year,” Hermione murmured. Anton chuckled quietly, nodding his head in agreement. “I missed a few days during mine - had to quarantine after dragon pox exposure, and we’d already covered several complex surgeries and wound debridement. I felt behind for weeks!”
Hermione clicked her tongue in understanding, a small laugh huffing out of her. The eleventh form slid back onto the podium, tucking itself neatly into its rightful place.
Anton stepped forward once again and handed out the Orientation packets, the thick folders flying into outstretched hands with a thunk.
“Let us begin,” Hermione beamed, flipping to the first page of an extra packet, the ruffle of papers and rustle of quills filling the air as the interns settled into place, eagerly awaiting their first lecture.
When she’d finished reviewing the protocols and recommended reading lists, she indicated to the stack of case studies. “Consider this your first assignment; read these case studies and present your diagnostic reports, as well as a prognosis and three plans of care. One magical, one muggle, and one that is both. Each week you will be presented with new case studies; I, along with Anton and the other Resident and Attending Healers will review them blindly, and assign you points. These points, along with points garnered from other assignments, staff acknowledgements, and practical demonstrations will assist me with selecting the intern most qualified to lead a case before any of their peers. Are there any questions?”
“How do you plan to account for personal bias and negate it for the points provided from acknowledgements and demonstrations?” a voice drawled from the far corner of the room. Hermione looked towards the intern sheathed in shadows, squinting her eyes against the spotlights trained on her, adding to her struggle to put a face to the voice.
Anton chuckled. “Healer Granger is renowned for her neutrality; I assure you, personal bias will not be an issue.”
The figure rose, stepping into the aisle and gliding forward into the light. Hermione froze, her stomach feeling as if it wanted to redesign its natural orientation and trade places with her throat. Draco Malfoy smiled, a cruel, beautiful smile. “I assure you, Anton, that you do not know Granger as well as I do. Forgive me if I do not have as much faith in her ability to remain impersonal when it comes to me as you do.”