Ride or Die

Chekhov's Gun

TW: mention of character death.

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Chapter 10: Chekhov's Gun

"You know, green really isn't the most flattering color for you," Gilderoy commented with a sigh, frowning at her as she studied his chart. "I think a nice lilac would really bring out your eyes, don't you?"

"Gilderoy, as I've said," Hermione sighed, tapping her nails against the clipboard, "I really cannot dress any differently than this."

"It's just such a waste!" Gilderoy crowed, flailing as he gestured to her. "I realize in the past I've been unfairly dismissive of the" - he paused, treading hesitantly - "diminutive scale, shall we say, of your northern mountains - "

"Gilderoy, I don't understand why I have to keep saying this, but you really must stop talking about my breasts," Hermione reminded him firmly just as Padma opened the door, peeking her head inside.

"Dr Granger, if you have a moment?" she called, glancing over. "Oh, good afternoon, Gilderoy," she added, smiling, though she carefully crossed her arms over her chest and he, in a surprising twist, only nodded respectfully, toasting her with his half-eaten cup of strawberry jello.

"You need something, Dr Patil?" Hermione asked, replacing Gilderoy's chart at the foot of his bed and meeting Padma at the door. "What's up?"

"Can you check on one of my patients for me?" Padma asked, giving her a quiet, desperate look of pleading. "The smoker, you know, with the heart problems - "

"Right," Hermione said, recalling him and nodding. "Anything you want me to look for?"

"No, just checking in," Padma replied. "Parvati apparently is having some sort of crisis," she muttered unhappily by way of explanation, "and I just need to run out and take care of something - and I wouldn't ask," she sighed, which Hermione knew was almost certainly true, considering how much more she loved her job than anything else in her life, "but my sister's sort of a" - she paused, glancing up at Gilderoy and lowering her voice - "see you next Tuesday, if you know what I mean, so - "

"It's not a problem," Hermione said quickly. "I'm about done here, anyway, so I'll head down the hall now."

Padma sighed in obvious relief. "Thank you," she said, clasping her hands in gratitude. "Shouldn't be anything too important - "

"You're good," Hermione assured her. "I'm the best in my year, after all," she added, nudging her and smiling, and Padma made a face, sticking out her tongue before waving to Gilderoy and making a quick exit. Hermione followed shortly after, bidding Gilderoy farewell - "think about it, Dr Granger," he shouted, "a new color palette can do wonders for the complexion! Think of the beautiful now!" - and slipping out the door, heading swiftly down the hall.

Hermione entered the room and was surprised to find that Padma's patient was the only occupant; it was a small hospital, of course, and not excessively plagued by overcrowding, but it was still rare to come across a room that was not shared by at least one other bedmate. The man in the bed was certainly advanced in age; either in his fifties or sixties, though he looked considerably worse, the black ink that covered his skin seeming to have faded and yawned loosely as he'd aged, draping over him with time.

Ink, she thought, unwillingly let her eyes travel to his wrist and finding what she'd suspected; a snake and a skull. She shut the door gently behind her and wandered to his chart, trying not to stare.

"Scared?" he asked gruffly, as she made a point to avert her eyes. Nott, Theodore Sr, she read on the clipboard, and suddenly remembered the man in the pub who had been with Draco; a younger, more beguiling, and slenderer version of the man in the hospital bed before her. Theo Nott, she heard Harry say, upper echelon in the club as far as I can tell -