Cakes and Wands

Chapter 2

I swiftly grabbed some of the papers that rested against my arms. "Patient 021 suffered from second-degree burns."

She grabbed the hidden pen behind her ear. "Status?"

My face tickled with the loosened strands. "Stable, but still being monitored."

My gaze shifted back to the pile of papers as I kept looking for the recent patient's report.

I scanned down numerous names that I didn't remember treating.

The patient's record came to view. I placed it in Ginny's gaze.

"Patient 045 has a cold, but-"

She tapped the pen numerous times against the counter. "Is that the old gentleman who insulted the healers?" She interrupted.

Memories clouded my mind.

A chill ran through my spine as the image of Kate Gong walking out of the patient's room soaked in an unknown substance that the previous healers had delivered him. She had stormed out of the room with curses coming out of her mouth.

I shook my head, trying to erase that image.

Ginny rolled her sleeves up. "I'll handle him."

She was the type of healer that no one tried to get on her bad side. Whenever she walked down the hall, others stepped away to avoid her gaze simply. She was a pretty knowledgeable healer and notable in the field.

However, she should call for assistance. For anything can happen in there, especially when the patient is not in a very pleasant mood, and going by my memory of Kate, it is not a good idea to go alone.

"Ginny, you should-"

She shoved her papers against my chest. "Listen, you take care of this patient and I'll handle the old one," she interrupted.

But before a word could leave my mouth, she already strolled away.

I swallowed a laugh, classic Ginny behavior.

I stacked the freshly new papers in order. "Let's see who this person is," I mumbled.

My hands grabbed a file to place this new patient's records.

My eager eyes skimmed through the pages, wanting to see what had brought this patient here.

---

My hands firmly held the patient's records as I attentively memorized every detail that was uttered from their mouth.

The pen scrapping against the paper was the only sound accompanied by the patient's voice.

I swiftly moved my gaze up from the paper and took a quick glance at the patient.

Even though they changed into the familiar robe, it was still quite decipherable the incident behind their fractured arm.

Dirt sat on their fingernails and the long hair looked similar to a bird's nest.

She didn't look older than sixteen. "You fell from your broom during a Quidditch match, correct?"

She reclined herself against the pillow. "Yeah, but at least we won." A smile made its way across her face and her eyes gleamed with what seemed to be a memory.

I remember those days; when we took pride in our houses, cheering for every victory and loss. Sitting in those bleachers early, wearing our colors and rooting for our friends.

How I miss those days.

But here I was now. A healer at St. Mungo's, a job that helped me make a living, and having a charity of my own to help those who couldn't afford medical attention. That was my daily life.