Sunday
Sunday
06:00
Malfoy is once again in Harriet's bloody kitchen on Sunday morning, seated at her table, her copy of the Prophet spread open in front of him.
"Good morning," he says - all prim and proper - not a bloody hair out of place - somehow, despite the hour. He lifts the mug he's using - Harriet's - and jerks his pointy chin towards the stove. "I made tea."
The first time this happened - six months ago, around the time he and Ginny stopped pretending they were just having sex and then began to have sex all over the place, including in Harriet's bloody flat on Harriet's bloody furniture - Harriet had refused to drink the tea. And the second time. And the third time. Not because she'd thought Malfoy was trying to poison her or anything - because why would he? He's no longer licking Voldemort's boots thanks to her - she'd saved his life in the Room of Requirement - and she'd testified on his behalf in front of the Ministry - she certainly hadn't had to do those last two things, though she can't quite bring herself to regret them now - despite the fact that she keeps finding his bloody socks in her bloody dirty laundry. Really - she's happy to see Ginny happy - even if it is with bloody Malfoy. And also why would he try Harriet - given Harriet's the only one who hadn't pitched some kind of fit - mild or explosive or otherwise - when That Bloody Ferret, as the Weasley boys have started to refer to him as, had started trying to come around the Burrow as Ginny's boyfriend. If anything, if he wants to keep on with Ginny, Malfoy needs Harriet on his side, not cross with him because he put something in her tea, and she got the runs. No - she'd rejected the tea - three times - because she'd assumed, given how he grew up, that he'd be shit at brewing it.
Ginny'd drunk the tea all three of those times - and she'd never made a face, never complained - fuck, she'd even complimented Malfoy once on how well he'd doctored her cup, which - Ginny's not the type to lie to a man to keep him happy or anything like that. So -
Well, the fourth time. The fourth time, Harriet had felt a bit like a fool, as Malfoy is, in fact, quite good at brewing tea.
Still - Harriet glowers at him - mostly for using her mug - also for looking so put together when Harriet's hair is sticking up in about a thousand and one different directions, and she can't quite get the crust out of her eyes. It's always - every morning after he sleeps over - like this. And, as always, he ignores her foul morning mood. They're not quite living together - and, when he and Ginny finally decide to take that step, Harriet refuses to go with them - but he's spent enough time around her this early to know not to take it personally.
Of course, that doesn't stop him from trying to make bloody conversation:
"And how is Severus?"
And, naturally - despite his general maturity since he started visiting Harriet and Ginny's flat three to four times a week - he sometimes, apparently, cannot resist. And, this morning - he clearly wants to make her squirm.
It's - new. This - thing with Severus. Far newer than the Ginny-Malfoy connection. Still - Malfoy's made a point to it up each time he's seen her since she and Severus started - well, seeing each other - directly or indirectly - or rather, each time he's seen her since someone - they're still not quite sure who - leaked it to the Prophet two months ago. Luckily, it hadn't happened after their first date - it had been after their eighth. But still -
And sometimes, Malfoy's perfectly respectful when he asks - but other times -
"What, you don't know?" Harriet grouses. "I know he was over at the Manor just the other day - "
Malfoy waves a dismissive hand. "I wasn't there - he was having tea with Mother," his lips curl into the faintest smirk. "And anyway, I'm not his keeper. I'm certainly not sucking his cock - "
Harriet tries not to blush scarlet - fails - settles on hexing Malfoy mildly from under the table as recompense. He yelps - shoots out of his seat, his hands lifting to cover his new carrot nose.
This earns them a rather solid thud on the wall separating the kitchen from Ginny's bedroom - and, of course: knock it off, both of you! Long suffering. Whatever. Never let it be said that Harriet takes Malfoy's shit without giving it right back - even if he is properly shagging one of her best friends.
That Bloody Ferret glares at her, pink high in his cheeks, his palms still pressed to his nose. Harriet waits for just a moment - makes him squirm, grinning all the while - before lifting her wand above the tabletop and pointing it directly at his face.
A pause - then he drops his hands, his normal - pointy - nose restored. Harriet keeps grinning at him as he slumps back into his chair and buries his face in the Prophet once more.
--
09:00
"Hi," Harriet says - hovering in the doorway, though it's already swung shut behind her - as it always does.
Severus glances up from where he's - bent over something on his desk in the corner of his cluttered office. Some sort of sample - not blood but possibly - a body part? Maybe. Harriet restrains her grimace - barely - stops herself from looking at it head on for the moment. Not that she'd necessarily be able to see it in full - he's got protective charms over it, likely blocking - well, whatever he's examining it for - from escaping out into the wider room - the wider ward - and he's got protective gloves on, too. All those layers - her perception of it will be warped, whatever it is.
She's fine when body parts are - well, attached to their bodies. Obviously - given her job. It's when they're unattached, well. That's Severus's realm - when body parts are removed, even temporarily - he doesn't interact with patients, but he does support diagnosing patients - probably diagnoses most of the nastiest shit that comes through their doors. From every ward. Which - honestly, St. Mungo's would probably collapse without him. Though, that's not a surprise. Severus is nothing if not extremely competent.
Even now, she's distracted by his hands - even now, when they're wrapped tightly in those black gloves. By how steady they are on the - fuck, it might be a fucking ear, which. No - thank you, but no. She looks up into his eyes instead.
"Hello," he says - and it's not short or irritable or anything even remotely negative. It's rather neutral, really - though there is the slightest undercurrent of warmth not-quite hiding beneath it - something she can hear now that they're -
Well, now that he's her boyfriend, and all that. For lack of a better word.
She - she’d had ideas about coming down here. To see him. Just to see him, which maybe - is a little ridiculous on a Sunday morning - it’s not even noon yet. And they're working. She’d had ideas - but nothing big. Nothing fully formed. Nothing she can explain away easily and without perhaps a bit of stuttering and blushing -
Someday, maybe, she'll be a little less awkward. Maybe.
“Did you need something?” he adds - a bit softer, eyeing her, taking his hands away from - the ear. It is an ear. Harriet rocks her weight - forward. Back. Keeps looking at him rather than at it.
"No," she blurts - because, yes, for some reason, she still gets nervous. He still gets her flustered. It would be horribly embarrassing - only Severus finds it charming, apparently, and has told her so, which - it’s a lot. In a good way. A very good way. But a lot, all the same. "I just wanted to say - well, hi."
Severus turns away from the ear entirely. Begins to shed his gloves from his hands. Murmurs a spell to clean them - the gloves and his hands - as is the habit of every Healer, Harriet included.
"Did you?" he murmurs - turns his spindly little stool to face her. Opens his legs and reaches to hold her hips at the same moment - tugs her forward to stand between his knees. She goes willingly - lifts both her hands to clutch his shoulders, curling her fingers into his lime green robes. It'd been odd, seeing him in a color so opposite of black - frankly, a horrible clash with his pale skin - her eyes had rejected it for weeks when he'd first been hired, back when she'd been just a trainee. Now, however -
"Er - yeah," she slides her arms over his shoulders - crooks her elbows and plays a little with his ponytail where it curls into the back of his neck. "'M not bothering you, am I?"
"Don't be absurd," Severus tips even closer - his breath ghosts across her mouth, and she barely stops the tiny noise in the back of her throat. He also doesn't make her wait - not truly - but then, she's learned, he never does. Hopefully never will. He closes the distance between them entirely - kisses her - lightly at first - the barest brush of lips - and then deeper. Tongue. Hands on her hips outside her own Healer robes - and then clever fingers slipping closer - sliding beneath layers of fabric - sliding beneath, even, her undershirt - and pressing very carefully against her bare skin -
A knock on the door. Because they're at work, and it's midmorning, and one would expect to find one's colleagues in a not compromising position at such a time and place. Harriet jumps - nearly out of her very skin - Severus does, too, his hands jerking against her waist - which makes her heart skip a beat for some reason - probably because he's got wards on his door that he's not supposed to have. Should - would when not preoccupied with other things - notice when someone's approaching said door as a result. Not that Harriet would ever rat him out on that. Not that Selwyn would ever do anything about it even if she did.
Speaking of -
They separate - reluctantly - Harriet tucks herself in the corner opposite his desk, amongst his clutter - feigning innocence, though she doubts it'll do either of them much good. Severus's office at Hogwarts had been bare but for his utterly creepy floating specimens - nothing personal and designed specifically to unsettle and even frighten students. It'd worked on Harriet more than once. Severus's office here is personal - possibly because no one but his colleagues ever come in here, and no one is allowed in without his permission. St. Mungo's has a mountain of old wards the same way Hogwarts does, but they're not quite as old, and they're not quite as powerful. And they certainly haven't developed their own personality the way the old castle has. Severus, therefore, can get away with more - and can do so with far more subtlety - and, really, even if Harriet thinks he goes overboard sometimes, she's also glad he feels safe enough to stack his bloody Potions journals everywhere - she's very glad he feels safe enough to stuff a bunch of personal books - all by Muggle writers - into the corner beneath the window, nudging against her ankles at that very moment - she's very, very glad he's got bloody knickknacks - little vials that can't be for any purpose other than to look at - scattered throughout. There's even a tiny, ceramic doe on a low shelf behind his desk chair - she smiles at it each time she sees it. Can't help herself.
It's all very - it's lovely, really. To see him relax so much - and it is really so very much, however small it might seem to others. It's lovely.
Selwyn swans in like he owns the place when Severus snaps at the door - he doesn't, but he does run it, which is close enough. He's also a Slytherin who'd learned Potions under Severus - and so loves him. Which - no matter how irritating he is at times, what with his big head, Harriet can't fault him for that, at least. He also likes to think he's responsible for Harriet and Severus's relationship - because he'd taken a shot on hiring Severus despite the misgivings from the Board and the Ministry. And - well, Harriet's not sure she can truly argue with that, either. Maybe.
She'll never admit it out loud, though.
"Hello, you two," Selwyn says - doesn't smile at either of them. He's absurdly tall - somehow, it strikes Harriet each time she sees him - which is surprisingly rarely, given he's her boss. She swears, in some rooms, his blonde hair - close cropped - must brush the ceiling. The corners of his mouth are pulled down - as they always are. He has his stupid clipboard full of notes about efficiency or whatever - clutched to his chest, as always. "Severus, I have need of your eyes - second floor."
Harriet blanches - if it's bad enough they can't remove a body part for examination, then it's quite bad - especially on the second floor. Severus doesn't protest - doesn't discard the ear, either - of course not - he murmurs a stasis charm before he rises, tucking his wand into his sleeve.
"I'll join you shortly," he says. Selwyn almost rolls his eyes - catches himself before he completes a full rotation.
"Yes, fine," a quick glance between them, though he doesn't make a scene. Doesn't comment at all, really - and that must be for Severus's benefit, as he rows with Harriet often enough. "Room Twelve, if you please."
Severus nods shortly - Selwyn sees himself out without complaint. Harriet tugs herself out from where she's tucked herself among Severus's mess of things - and he turns around to meet her as she does. Leans down to kiss her one more time, his hands sliding against her neck this time, coming to a rest cradling her head just below her ears - which, that'll never not be a thrill. It simply won't.
"You busy tonight?" she asks as they part - as she turns for the door. Yes - they have plans in two days - but those are in two days, and now that she’s got him, Harriet’s fully willing to admit she’s a bit selfish about him - and those are rather public plans, besides, even as they are sort of private. She'd like something a bit more private, maybe. A dinner - just them - before the party.
Severus is silent for just a moment - long enough that her steps hitch, though she doesn't have time to turn back to him before he speaks again:
"I am," he says - his hand presses to her lower back, steady. "The - Headmaster - has invited me to have dinner. Tonight. With him."
Harriet stops dead - he runs into her, catching himself - and her - his hands landing back on her waist and pulling her back into his chest. To steady them both where they sway - for just a moment.
"Really?" she asks - strained - rather than what she wants to say - or rather, squawk - which is - What? And she turns back to face him entirely - or maybe he turns her into him, his hands still firm against her hips.
"Yes," he confirms - stiff - as if he's heard loud and clear the word she didn't say and the tone she didn't use. Harriet realizes her mouth is hanging open stupidly - snaps it shut again.
They're - of different mind of this. Before they started seeing each other, even, they'd rowed about it a few times - not quite to the point of estrangement, though once, they'd gone an entire week without acknowledging each other over it. Albus Dumbledore and the - things - he'd done during the war. The choices he'd made - without consulting anyone. Harriet - she can't quite be angry at him for it. Perhaps she should be - perhaps it says something about her that she's not furious with him. For the dishonesty. For allowing her to stumble around with half-knowledge and half-truths. For letting her walk straight to her death without more than an hour's warning. That's certainly part of the reason Severus is angry with Albus - the other part being, and even when they'd been rowing about it, it had made her heart speed up - Severus thinks Albus should have found another way to remove the horcrux. Believes, in fact, he could have had he not been restricting himself to the Light. Severus - he could easily be angry with Albus for his own suffering - and if Harriet is cross with Albus about anything, it's that - but no.
He's angry at Albus for Harriet's sake.
"That's - good," she says - pauses only the slightest bit. Aims for neutral - manages it. Severus isn't glaring at her - his expression is quite neutral, still, though his hands squeeze into her the slightest bit.
"It could be," he replies - low. Harriet smiles - small but - she doesn't have to force it - lifts both her hands to hold his face - kisses him once more.
--
14:00
Little Frankie stares up at Harriet, her big eyes and green-tinted face warped by the protective charms wrapped around Harriet's own head.
"Hello, Healer Potter," she recites dutifully, as she has every morning for the past ten days - the length of her stay at St. Mungo's for a severe case of dragon pox. Her hair is braided messily this morning - she'd probably done it herself, as she's trying to learn - it's cleaner when a Healer does it, but poor Frankie's been going stir-crazy in this little room, and she's grown tired of reading books, and it makes sense she'd turn her attention on her hair - it is, of course, attached to her.
"Hello, Frankie," Harriet smiles - knows it's also twisting and off behind the protective charms. Offers - tries - all the same. "How are we feeling this morning?"
Frankie's mum and dad aren't allowed in the room - neither of them have had dragon pox before. Harriet hasn't, either - but she's the Healer here, and she's got protective charms besides, and - well. Policy. They're hovering outside the door now - just as they always are, waiting to clutch at Harriet's arms for news on their only daughter. Still - it strikes Harriet - as it always does - how very alone - how very small - Frankie looks in this big bed - in this rather tiny room - all alone as she is.
"Better," Frankie offers - sounding a tad hopeful for Harriet's tastes, given the lingering depths of the greenish hue to her skin - the hint of purple creeping up from beneath her jumper at her throat. "Do I look better?"
Harriet supposes she does - but, really, given how ill she was just four days ago - completely unable to even lift her head off of her pillow - there was nowhere to go but up. Still - Harriet smiles again - nods. It is true, after all. She does look - marginally - better.
"Have you sneezed today?"
"Twice," Frankie's face falls a bit. "There were still sparks."
Yes. That makes sense, despite the slight decrease in green. There's still a bit of sweat gathered at her brows, after all. Frankie sneezes again - perfect timing - sprays a tiny handful of bright lights onto the bedding spread over her lap. Sighs - and her lungs are a bit crackly, still. Harriet flicks her wand - casts a quick diagnostic - though they, too, have improved the slightest bit.
"We talked about this," she reminds Frankie gently. "It'll be a few more days."
"I know," Frankie picks at her blankets. "I just - wanna see my mum and dad, is all."
A twist to her heart - maybe she's imprinted a little on Frankie - naturally - a little girl, stuck alone. The most obvious thing in the world. Harriet sighs herself - catches herself lifting her gloved hand to touch Frankie's shoulder - stops at the last second.
"Soon," she says firmly instead. "I promise."
Frankie lifts her head again. Manages a watery smile - one single tear cuts its way down her cheek, darkening skin the color of rich summer leaves. She scrubs it away quickly, allowing for a great view of her fingers - her knuckles - her skinny wrists. Harriet swears the pockmarks have receded from her hand - even if only the slightest bit.
"Thanks," Frankie whispers.
Harriet finishes her check up - pronounces herself very satisfied, making Frankie's purple spots crawl further up her neck when she blushes, pleased. When she leaves the room - when Frankie's mum and dad descend on her - she notices over their shoulders a handful of her colleagues rushing up the corridor for the lifts, their robes flapping wildly behind them. She frowns after them for only a moment before turning her attention to Frankie's worried parents, lifting the protection charm around her head so they can properly see her smile.
--
20:00
Her feet hurt.
She ignores it. It happens most days - she's only twenty-two, but maybe she's putting herself under too much strain. She could take a pain potion - though it seems an awful waste, so she tries to resist each time she can. Especially when she can go home and take a nice, hot bath - given tonight, Ginny and Malfoy will be at the Manor, so she won't be interrupted.
She changes out of her uniform in her own office - sheds the lime green, tugs a jumper on over her t-shirt. Drags jeans up her legs.
It’d been the kind of day that - doesn’t drag and doesn’t fly by - simply is. She’d seen some new patients - Mrs. Thistle and her cursed red belching standing out - and she’d seen her favorites - including little Frankie and her dragon pox. Dozens of them - luckily, she's not to the point they all start to blur together. At that point, she knows from the older Healers, it might be time to consider retirement.
A long day today, certainly - but worthwhile, as they all feel. Still.
The windows in her office - enchanted - offer views of twilight tonight. Not the city - she'd asked for - and gotten - windows that show rolling hills similar to the landscape surrounding Hogwarts. The smallest bit of extravagance - she can't bring herself to regret it, frivolous though it is. She looks through them for a moment before she leaves - breathes of the deeply sanitized St. Mungo's air and convinces herself, for just a moment, it's the wild air she'd breathed in Scotland.
Still - she can't linger. Not if she wants to catch him. Harriet makes a beeline to Severus’s office in an effort to see him off - but is too late to catch him in his actual office and meets him in the corridor instead, clad in his customary black once more. And - since they’ve nothing to hide - she loops her arm in his when they meet. Leans into his shoulder when he tips slightly into her space. They don't make scenes in public - don't kiss let alone snog - but this little bit of contact - it's enough, most of the time. It's warm, always.
“Are you going to Hogwarts tonight?” she asks as they walk - a question that captures what she’s actually asked as well as - how are you feeling about it? Not - are you okay? That would be patronizing - and it's not what she means, anyway. Harriet knows full well - from both their rows and their talks - that Severus knows what he can and cannot handle from Albus. That he’s said yes at all means he’s getting there. To a place where maybe - just maybe - the two of them can - understand each other again.
“No,” Severus murmurs. His hand squeezes hers where it's tucked into in the crook of his elbow. “He is coming here. To London.”
Harriet nods - doesn’t comment. It makes perfect sense, after all. And it tells her enough - his space. Not Albus's. Getting there - but not quite there yet.
They walk quietly for a time. Quietly - thoughtfully. Harriet squeezes Severus's hand - he squeezes back again. Laces their fingers together. Even - when they step into the lifts - tugs her palm up to his mouth to press a kiss there - and she blushes furiously, and he smirks the slightest bit -
There are no signs at first. Perhaps - likely, really - because Harriet's office is on the fifth floor, and Severus's is on the fourth - and the commotion isn't there. They also bypass the second floor with the lifts - though, later, they'll learn they wouldn't have been able to access it if they'd tried. And when they come to the first floor, their lift spits them out into such chaos - Harriet wonders if maybe she missed something. The pack of bodies - the shoving - the wide, panicked eyes, and the shrill, wild voices - she must have missed something. Somewhere. Because it can't be that the top floors are so calm, and the first floor is -
They go unnoticed - possibly because they're both out of uniform - possibly because everyone Harriet makes eye contact with seems frightened, perhaps, beyond all reason. She hates when she can see the whites of people's eyes - hates when sweat is gathering on their faces not because of any illness but out of such sickly fear. She sees that everywhere she turns for a moment when Severus shoves his way forward to get them out of the lift - reaches behind himself to tangle their hands together again. Tightens his grip to keep them from being separated in the flood of bodies, all of them pushing at each other - all of them seeking somewhere to go and finding, apparently, nowhere -
Harriet blinks rapidly - clears her vision - uses her elbows alongside Severus - shoves forward. At the front of the crowd, the reason for the gridlock becomes - somewhat clear - though, of course, it doesn't quite make sense - Selwyn is blocking access to the Apparition point, flanked by -
Aurors?
There’s such a confusion of voices - too many to properly follow, all of them complaining - and Harriet, though she knows it's impossible - that it simply cannot be true - sees none of their colleagues but for Severus and Selwyn in the chaos. They have blended in, somehow, the other Healers - have lost their heads, possibly, as much as the general public around them have? Still - some, at least, have kept their wits - and when Selwyn spots Harriet and Severus pushing forward through the crowd, he jerks his head, signaling them to get closer.
“What’s happening?” Harriet asks breathlessly when they're in his space - someone jostles her from behind, and Severus catches her when she trips against him - sends a scathing glare off somewhere over her head.
“The patient you examined earlier,” Selwyn says to Severus - shakes his head. “Something’s - gone quite wrong, I’m afraid.”
Severus’s lips pinch. “Wrong in what way?” he asks - a bit sharply - Harriet catches herself clutching at his sleeve. Doesn't stop herself.
"We've confirmed it was poison," Selwyn says softly - drops his voice further, his eyes darting in the direction of the nearest Auror - a burly man of middling age, his black hair retreating from his forehead - his jaw a bit too tight - his hand a bit too ready on his wand. The man either can't hear them or doesn't care at all what they're saying - doesn't so much as glance in their direction. "But - I'm afraid it's behaving abnormally, Severus - "
"Abnormally how?"
Severus loops his arm around Harriet's waist as he asks - his fingers curl into her jumper and tighten there, likely strangling themselves. Selwyn swallows so hard, Harriet swears she hears it even over the shouting all around them.
"It seems - contagious," he says quietly. "It's jumped to three Healers in the last four hours. And, I'm afraid - well, the Ministry has put us in lockdown. No one in or out until we make it stop."