Forget Me Not (Draco/Hermione)

Chapter Four- My Favourite Patient

Brief warning that this chapter mentions a little bit about "womanly business" but not in too much graphic detail I hope. Just a quick pre-warning :)

Healer McCarthy cursed her weekend (and hangover) as she rolled out of bed on the dismal Monday morning.

Tucking a strand of hair behind the ear, she decided to start the day with rounds. This way she could avoid her supervisor for at least another hour. This certain supervisor, a foul-tempered man in his middle ages, hated lateness above all things and McCarthy had apparated in exactly twenty three minutes later than when she had supposed to. Healer Thompson had declared on McCarthy's first day that "it was better to be three hours early, than one minute late". Well, she was twenty-three minutes late and still hungover from an improntu night out. In this business, it could mean being fired and she had a flat and bills to support.

The first room she entered contained a cursed wizard, screaming Christmas carols at the top of his voice. Clutching her banging head, she handed his notes over to her colleague, muttering something about a migraine. In the corridor, she crept over to the coffee machine and poured herself an expresso. Clutching the warm cup to her hands. she sipped it, the magically sharp taste racing down her throat. 

"Doreen?" McCarthy's ears pricked up with horror as she heard the voice of her supervisor, barely around the corner. "Have you seen McCarthy anywhere? She checked in thirty three minutes late this morning and I need a word with her."

Fighting the urge to correct him, McCarthy gulped down the rest of her coffee, burning the top of her mouth in the process, before binning the evidence. As the familiar squeak of footsteps grew louder, she stumbled into the closest private room she could find.

It was Ms Granger's.

The room looked as perfect as it had done on the Friday evening before she left. The curtains were open with sunlight streaming onto the pale figure in the bed. Hermione's hair was tangled and she was in a new hospital gown but other than that, she looked as frozen as she had done before the weekend. Tranquil and perfect, McCarthy thought, lucky cow. 

The man in the chair however was anything but. His hair was a mess and his chin was covered in stubble. He wore the identical outfit as he had done on Friday but it was crumpled and stained. Heavy bags rested under his bloodshot eyes which scanned McCarthy critically as she entered.

"Good morning," she smiled, trying to be bright. "How's my favourite patient doing today?"

"What do you think?" he hissed, his eyes returning back to the solitary figure on the bed.

"Now, now," McCarthy clucked, attempting and failing at the motherly tact that only a healer as aged and experienced as Doreen could wield. She walked over to the bed and placed her wand at the patient's temple. "Stats are regular," she mumbled as the figures spun out of her wand and landed on the blank sheet at the base of her bed. "Her heart rate is healthy and her oxygen concentration is fine."

At that moment, Healer Thompson barged into the room.

"McCarthy!" he roared. "Apologies, sir," he hastily added to the man in the chair. "McCarthy, a word?"

"Can I finish my examination?" she whispered, gesturing to the patient. Though this examination was not fully necessary, it gave her an extra few minutes to think of a good excuse.

"Now, McCarthy!"

"But, sir-"

"Healer... Thompson?" The man in the chair rose from it and turned towards him. "Whatever this matter is, say it now. My wife is seriously ill and I want her examined... now!"

"I'm sorry, sir," Thompson mumbled before turning to McCarthy. "McCarthy, you were a good deal late this morning. Explain yourself!"

"Erm... I- I was... I had... I had a...."

"She was with me." The healers turned their attention back to the man hovering by the bed. He looked at McCarthy briefly before turning back to Thompson. "She apparated into this room directly rather than through reception. She wanted to check Hermione first and foremost."

"Is this true, McCarthy?"

"Yes. sir."

"Very well but next time, play it by the book." With an impatient huff, he spun around and stormed from the room.

"Thank you," McCarthy grinned, her knees almost buckling from beneath her. 

"Finish the examination please." He once again collapsed into the chair and returned to silently watching. 

Flicking her wand lazily over the woman's abdomen suddenly caused an idea to spring to McCarthy's head. 

"When did Ms Granger go to Australia?" she asked, pretending to make notes.

"Two weeks ago. Her adopted sister had a baby and she wanted to see it." 

"How was your relationship before you left?"

"Fine. I mean, we argued the night before but that's natural, right? I mean, we kissed and made up that night as well."

"When was Ms Granger's last.... period?"

"How do I know? She was always discreet about that," his face paled. "I mean, I found a used... thingy... on the toilet lid where she had forgotten to discard of it but that was like a fortnight before she left and she was busy with preparations... Look, why does this matter? I know she's due around now but it's not my job to clean it up."

"Of course not." McCarthy rolled her eyes. Even the most lovestruck, tormented soul of a husband could not deal with simple, womanly issues. She scanned the notes but there was no mention of menstruating. Holding her wand, she placed it at the base of Hermione's abdomen and whispered a quick charm. 

From the tip of the wand came a gold ribbon. It flowed around the room as it unravelled from the wand until the tip was a good ten foot away from McCarthy. From there, it formed one word:

Positive.

"Well, congratulations are in order," she turned. "Your wife's pregnant."