Chapter Text
Albus took his tray from the cafeteria witch and weaved through the tables taking an empty one in the back next to the windows. The room was dotted here and there with hospital staff on break, but most of the other diners were visitors there to see friends or family.
Albus unwrapped the wax paper from the sandwich and grimaced. Ham, again? He sighed and took a small bite before setting it down and gazing out the window. He closed his eyes and let the warmth of the August sun spread over his face.
He was pulled from his reverie by the sound of another tray thudding on the table. A sandy-haired boy sat across from him and wordlessly swapped his apple for Albus’s salted crisps. Despite Albus’s near recovery for his eating disorder, he still struggled justifying having what his mother called “junk foods.” However, the cafeteria witch was a stickler for there being no substitutions allowed on the pre-made meals. Sam quickly picked up on Albus’s aversion and made the swaps, but never drew attention to it.
“Three-fifteen was asking for you today. I told her you’d give her treatment.”
Albus rolled his eyes. “Why me?”
The boy tore open the bag of crisps and popped one in his mouth. After he swallowed, he smirked, “Cantankerous old ladies just like you, Albus.”
“Part of my punishment,” he mumbled.
“Part of your charm,” he countered.
Albus shook his head. “I don’t see why. You’re the one who is an expert. I’m always having to ask for help. You know more than the nurses.”
The boy laughed. “I wouldn’t quite go that far.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “At least not where they could hear you.”
As the chief healer’s son, Sam Gardener had been volunteering in the hospital practically as soon as he could walk. He began following his father around as just a toddler pretending to give out medical advice. Now at fifteen, he had a steady, practiced hand when giving out treatments or checking vitals. He had a bedside manner that put everyone at ease. Even the most nervous patients lost their fear after Sam spoke to them with his cool confidence. Everyone expected he’d follow in his father’s footsteps and be a world class healer someday. Maybe even take over as chief.
But as he and Albus grew closer over the summer, he confided that he didn’t really want that for himself. “Healers don’t work with patients as much as you would think,” he had said. “It’s actually the nurses who see them the most. I feel that’s more what I’ve been training to do. But I’m sure it’d disappoint my dad.”
That was a feeling Albus knew all too well. He lived his life in a constant shadow of Harry Potter, the savior of the wizarding world. The expectations for excellence and bravery were some he felt he could never live up to. Maybe that was why Sam had told him about his secret dream. Somehow he knew that Albus would understand.
Sam unwrapped his sandwich and eyed it with suspicion before taking a bite. “You know, Mrs. Barrow isn’t the only one who asks for you,” he went on.
Albus raised his brows. “Oh?”
“Yeah. Whenever you aren’t here, the patients are always asking, ‘Where’s the little one with the soft hands?’”
Albus looked down at his hands and splayed them out. It was certainly not a descriptor he’d ever heard before.
Sam chuckled at the sight. “I don’t think it’s about the treatments or potions,” he explained. “The patients come to expect all that from the nurses and volunteers. But so many of them are lonely. The ones that have been in here a really long time…well, they’re just a number to the hospital staff. They get so few visitors. I think…they start to feel less human after a while.”
Albus shook his head. “That’s terrible.”
“I agree. But that’s where you’re different, Albus. You’re a new face. You haven’t heard all their stories yet. And what’s more, you take the time to listen. To really listen.”
Albus furrowed his brows. “I don’t–”
“I’ve watched you, Albus. You have a way with people. With understanding them. It’s a gift. You shouldn’t belittle it. It’s one thing to get all the potions and medical care, but that’s not enough sometimes. You make people feel alive again.”
Albus’s mouth twisted in disbelief. “Last week I gave Mr. Roberts a dose of invigoration draught instead of a sleeping potion. Kept him up all night.”
Sam nodded. “Yes, but then you stayed with him and listened to all his stories about how he met his wife and how they raised their children in Portugal before he retired back here. I’ll bet you can even name all his grandchildren.”
“Veera, Natalie, Benedick, Dalton, Katy, Jenna, Noah, and Myles,” Albus recited easily.
Sam leaned back. “Like I said, you have a gift. They’re all going to miss you when you go back to school in a couple weeks.” He looked down. “Me, too. This was the best summer I’ve ever had. I hope you’ll still come back and volunteer on your holidays.”
Sam and his four siblings didn’t attend Hogwarts. They lived in the country where his mum stayed at home and taught them all. Sam wasn’t starving to be around people, as he had been coming with his father to the city to work in the hospital most of his life. But besides his siblings, he often didn’t get the opportunity to be around kids his own age. Perhaps being in the constant presence of adults was why he seemed so mature and sure of himself.
Albus shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.” His summertime spent in the hospital had not really been his choice. It was part of his punishment–or what the adults called his “learning opportunity”–after nearly killing his best friend with potions months before. Working in the Misuse of Potions Wing really did open Albus’s eyes to the devastating effects of addiction and withdrawal, of self-diagnosis and carelessness. It had been quite the experience, though Albus was never going to play healer and give unprescribed potions again anyway.
However, what had started as a punishment became what Albus looked forward to most. He spent four days a week at St. Mungo’s, and he started to wish he was there when he was home during the other three. The truth was he rather liked learning about how to provide proper care. He liked listening to all their stories. Even grumpy old Mrs. Barrow in room three-fifteen. In many ways, St. Mungo’s began to feel more like home than Hogwarts ever could.
Probably most of all, he liked spending time with Sam. It wasn’t all serious work in the hospital. They’d gotten up to their share of harmless trouble when things were slow. One afternoon, Sam dared him to push the supply cart “like they were in the Grand Prix” down the empty west corridor. They’d rounded the corner at full tilt only to skid to a stop in front of the Chief Healer himself. Without blinking, Sam had announced they were “testing the wheel alignment for safety compliance.” Albus had nearly choked trying not to laugh.
Then there’d been the day Sam bewitched Albus’s name tag to read “Chief Puddle-Jumper” instead of “Volunteer.” Albus retaliated by changing Sam’s to “Professional Flobberworm Wrangler.” The patients had thought it was hilarious, and the cafeteria witch still addressed Sam as “Wrangler” whenever she caught sight of him.
Of course, being the chief’s son probably meant Sam got away with more than he should have. But Sam was fun. And cool. And smart. He had a suavity that reminded Albus of Toph Allen, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain whose confidence earned him the respect from everyone around him. All the hospital staff knew Sam and adored him, even when he was switching labels on the nurses secret stash of biscuits. He was intelligent in a way that reminded Albus of Scorpius with his endless wealth of knowledge, only instead of history, Sam knew all there was to know about potions and medicine. And when he was with patients, the outgoing silliness melted away. His voice softened, his movements slowed, and his touch carried a gentleness that made even the most anxious patients unclench their fists. It was the same quiet steadiness that had drawn Albus to Dany Sa’id. It was that rare kind of calm that made people feel safe without a word of reassurance needing to be spoken.
Dany. Albus often thought of the shy Hufflepuff boy that he had grown feelings for despite how hard he had tried to suppress them. Just when Albus was starting to sift through his emotions and start to figure things out, the summer came and the separation brought back the confusion again.
Things hadn’t ended well, either. They had finally managed to agree to meet up alone at what might have been a date. But Albus never made it. Scorpius fell into a coma of Albus’s own doing, and he had been whisked away to the hospital. When Albus returned for the last couple weeks of school, he tried to explain to Dany, but things had been awkward and stilted after that. Dany seemed to understand, but there was no offer for a second chance. Dany had been too hurt. Albus was certain that in Dany’s eyes, he had stood him up. And then the summer came, giving no real time to patch things up. He had no idea where they stood. And school would be beginning soon. Albus didn’t know how he would approach him.
“Dad says there will always be a spot for you here, Albus,” Sam continued, brushing crumbs from his hands. “He’s really impressed with your progress. I think he’s hoping you’ll become a healer, too.”
Albus laughed darkly. “Well, your dad hasn’t seen my dismal grades.”
“Experience is worth more than grades,” Sam said, with the same calm certainty he used on patients. “And I know Dad thinks the same. He’s still talking about that conversation you had with him…about there needing to be more mind healers. He’s been trying for years to convince the board to add a mental healing department. I think you re-lit the fire for him.”
Albus’s mouth curved faintly. “Well… I like hearing that.” He picked at the corner of his sandwich wrapper. “It’s sort of what caused this mess in the first place. I thought I could fix things. But I wasn’t the right person.”
Sam shook his head. “I think you were exactly the right person. Just not with the right tools or knowledge…yet.”
Albus let out a slow breath. Earlier in the summer, he’d told Sam everything about the draughts, about thinking he could treat Scorpius’s depression on his own. “I was stupid.”
“I think you were just trying to be a good friend,” Sam protested. “Scorpius knows that. And now you’re the perfect advocate for better mental health care. You may end up saving many people.”
Albus wrinkled his nose. “If I don’t send them to the hospital first.”
Sam’s mouth tipped into his cool, easy grin. “I wouldn’t be too hard on yourself.”
Albus cleared his throat and stood, gathering the sandwich paper and apple core onto his tray. “Well, I guess I better go check on Mrs. Barrow.”
“Good luck,” Sam said, tossing him a casual salute. “Accio courage.”
Albus froze with an incredulous look on his face. It was a phrase he and Scorpius often cheekily tossed back and forth to one another at school. His eyes flicked to Sam, searching for some sign that he knew, but Sam was already sipping his pumpkin juice, oblivious. “Er…thanks.”
“Meet up on the roof later?”
Albus nodded. “Yeah, my mum’s picking me up today, but not till after five.”
“See ya.”
Albus pocketed the package of biscuits, then tossed the contents of his tray into the bin before heading out of the cafeteria to the stairs at the end of the hall. At least the staircases at St. Mungo’s had the decency to stay where they were, unlike the ones at Hogwarts. It’s one thing to make students late to class, Albus thought, but it’s another thing entirely to keep a healer from a patient.
The Misuse of Potions Wing smelled faintly of antiseptic and stewed herbs, the ever-present perfume of brewed remedies. While he’d volunteered in nearly every part of the hospital over the summer, Chief Healer Fox Gardener had made this ward his primary post as part of his “learning experience” for his own dabbling with potions.
The mediwitch in the nurse’s station gave Albus a short wave. “Back so soon from lunch?” she asked.
Albus leaned an elbow on the counter. “Hey, Holly. I heard Mrs. Barrow was asking for me.”
She rolled her eyes. “She’s been a real handful this morning. Clancy brought her strawberry jelly, and she chucked it back at his head. Nearly got him, too. Says she hates strawberry jelly.”
Albus chuckled. “Yesterday she said it was her favorite.”
Holly sighed and pushed a small plate of orange gelatin toward Albus. “Well, this is what she says she wants today. None of us has been brave enough to go in there to give it to her.”
Albus cocked one eyebrow. “In other words, you were waiting for me to do it?”
Holly batted her eyelashes. “Pretty please, Albus. Afterall, that’s what volunteers are here for.”
“What? Abuse?” Albus teased good-naturedly. He picked up the dish of orange jelly. “All right. I’ll take care of it.”
Albus knocked on three-fifteen’s door before he carefully stepped into the room. An elderly witch with blue-tinted hair sat grumbling in the bed by the window. She was supposed to have a roommate, but none of them ever lasted more than two weeks.
“Hello, Mrs. Barrow,” Albus greeted cordially. “I see Sam toned your hair again. He did a good job.” Sam was the only one she would ever let touch her hair, yet she insisted on freshening it every two weeks.
Mrs. Barrow set down her magazine and looked over at Albus. Her expression immediately softened. “Ah, yes. The little one. I was hoping you were here.”
“Albus,” he reminded her gently. Mrs. Barrow had been admitted some years prior after a memory potion gone wrong. When she realized that she was suffering from dementia, she tried to brew the potion herself. She lost nearly all her short term memory and needed more consistent care. Chief Healer Gardener and his staff were working on a potion to reverse the effects, but so far they were unsuccessful.
“Even if we do succeed,” he warned, “we cannot reverse the dementia that has happened naturally. At least, not yet.” Whenever he’d say “not yet,” he’d look directly into the eyes of Sam or Albus as if he were telling them it was their challenge to solve all of the world’s medical woes.
Albus set down the dish of orange gelatin on the table beside Mrs. Barrow. “I brought your orange jelly. I heard there was a little mix-up in the kitchen.”
Mrs. Barrow’s eyes narrowed. “That ridiculous squib brought me strawberry. STRAWBERRY! The nerve!”
Albus suppressed a smile. “Mrs. Barrow, I believe that’s what you requested yesterday. Poor Clancy probably got confused.”
“I’ve never liked strawberry in all my life! I think that squib was trying to murder me. I think it was poisoned.” She smiled smugly. “But I didn’t fall for that. No sir.”
“Yes, I heard you threw it at him. Now that wasn’t very nice,” Albus softly lectured. “Clancy works very hard for this hospital.”
Mrs. Barrow crossed her arms. “Why should I be nice to someone trying to kill me?”
Albus blinked slowly, taking a different approach. “I’m pretty sure no one is trying to kill you, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll put my dad on the case. He’s the head of magical law enforcement at the Ministry, you know.”
Mrs. Barrow’s shoulders relaxed as she reached out to pat Albus’s hand. “That’s a good boy.” She picked up her orange jelly and continued, “Did I ever tell you about my granddaughter, Beatrice?”
Albus picked up Mrs. Barrow’s chart and waved his wand to check her stats. “Tell me about her,” he prompted, while he set down his recordings.
Not only had Mrs. Barrow told him numerous times about her granddaughter, but Albus had met her on three occasions. Sadly, Mrs. Barrow did not recognize her, but it was partly due to the fact that she still imagined her as sixteen years old and not fifty-seven with three grown children of her own.
“Last week she won the county art contest. Created a beautiful painting of the constellations with a charm that changes to always match the night sky. No matter where you take the painting.”
“That sounds enchanting, Mrs. Barrow,” Albus soothed.
“Oh, it was. Hogwarts really should add an art program, don’t you think?”
Albus set down his final notes and peeked up over the chart. “Oh yes. I have a friend who is a brilliant artist. I’m sure he would love it.”
“You go to Hogwarts don’t you, Albus?”
Albus nodded as checked his watch to record the date and time on the chart. “I do.”
“Have you met my granddaughter?”
Albus carefully considered his answer. “Well…yes, I have.”
Mrs. Barrow grinned. “Oh that’s nice. I think you would be perfect for my Beatrice. But then again, you don’t like girls, do you Albus?”
Albus cleared his throat awkwardly as he set her chart back. “Er…not yet, Mrs. Barrow.”
Mrs. Barrow’s eyes twinkled playfully. “You don’t have to pretend with me. My late Wintson’s brother was like you. Except it was illegal then. You should count your blessings.”
Albus gave her a tight smile. “I think maybe your invigoration draught dosage is too high. I’ll have Holly check on you.”
Mrs. Barrow’s face darkened. “How dare you, you nasty boy! There is nothing wrong with me at all. Get out! I don’t want to see you ever again!”
Albus, unfazed, shook his head. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Barrow. I’ll leave you alone.”
He was heading toward the door when she called out to him. “Wait! Wait!”
He turned around with a sweet smile plastered on his face. “Yes?”
“Could you tell someone to bring me some chocolate biscuits? You know the ones I like. This jelly was horrid!” She pushed the dish of gelatin away from her.
Albus crossed the room and stood before her bedside. He made a flourish with his hands and with an exaggerated waggle of his fingers, drew the biscuits out of his volunteer robes like he was a Muggle magician. “You mean these?” he asked with a smirk.
Her eyes grew wide as she reached for them.
Albus started to hand them over, but held them just out of reach for a second. “But you have to promise me that you won’t throw anything at Clancy again. And you won’t call him ‘squib.’”
Mrs. Barrow pouted slightly. “You drive a hard bargain, little one.”
“Albus,” he reminded with a smile. “I know. But I believe in you.”
Mrs. Barrow nodded her head. “I promise.”
Albus handed her the biscuits. “I’ll see you on Monday, Mrs. Barrow.” He walked out of the room and exhaled. The nurses standing at the station eyed him questioningly.
“She’s good for now. Might want to check her potion doses.”
Holly sighed in relief. “You’re a lifesaver, Albus. We’re going to miss you around here.”
He blushed. “Thanks. Er…I’ll go check on Mr. Roberts.”
Holly nodded. “That’ll be great. And then check in with the instrument clerk. We have a tub of tools waiting to be sterilized.”
“On it,” Albus replied.
He went down the hall to check on Mr. Roberts. Most patients in the Potion Misuse wing were only there temporarily to receive treatments or to detox from dependency. However, there were the few like Mrs. Barrow and Mr. Roberts whose potions mishaps had gone so badly that they became almost semi-permanent residents.
After a brief knock, Albus entered. “Boa tarde, Sr. Roberts. Como você está se sentindo hoje?”
The grey haired wizard looked up from his book. “Boa tarde, Albus. Your Portuguese is getting really good.”
“Well, you’re a good teacher, Mr. Roberts,” Albus answered. “Do you mind if I check the progress on your feet?”
“De jeito nenhum.”
“Thank you, sir.” Albus drew the comforter back and waved his wand over the older man’s shrunken feet and legs. He was the victim of a shrinking potion mishap in which he tried to shrink a mole, but managed to diminish both his legs almost entirely. The regrowing potions had to be administered slowly so as not to damage his nerves. Nearly six weeks later, Chief Gardener was optimistic for a full recovery. “It’s looking good,” Albus noted. “Almost another two centimeters since yesterday. It’s going much quicker now. I think it won’t be too much longer.”
“That’s what they said last week,” Mr. Roberts replied with a wry twist of his mouth.
“A esperança é a última que morre,” said Albus softly.
Mr. Roberts nodded. “Very true. I really am impressed with how much you’ve picked up. You must be good with languages.”
Albus shrugged. “I learned a little Latin and French in my Muggle school. I did all right, I guess.”
“Too bad you couldn’t continue those at Hogwarts.” The man shook his head. “Languages are so useful. Of course, I didn’t really learn until I was fully immersed in one.”
Albus nodded. “Probably is the best way. I take Ancient Runes now which is a bit like learning a foreign language.”
Roberts laughed. “Runes? They still teach that? Not much use for it.”
Albus smiled. “Probably not for me. But my friend wants to be a historian. It’s perfect for him.”
“What about you, Albus? What are your plans for after Hogwarts?”
Albus shrugged again. “No clue, sir.”
Roberts clucked his tongue. “You’re…what? Fifteen? Sixteen? You should have a plan by now.”
“Fourteen. I’ll be fifteen next month,” Albus said as he set the chart back in place. “And you’re starting to sound like my dad.”
“Ah,” Roberts raised his brows, “so not going to be a dark wizard hunter like the old man. eh?”
Albus snorted. “No. I’ll leave the brave stuff to him. And my brother.”
Roberts smiled softly. “Well, you have other gifts. In fact, I was hoping to ask you a favor?”
“Mmm? What’s that?”
“You see, my grandson is about to start his first year at Hogwarts. I was going to ask you to keep an eye on him. Help him fit in. He’s a bit…timid, I’m afraid. I don’t want to really speak ill of my daughter’s husband, but…he has been a bit overprotective of the boy. And now he’s…well…he needs to come out of his shell. And I know my son-in-law will continue to hover.” He leaned forward. “He’s a professor at Hogwarts, you see. With his influence, poor Noah will probably still never get to spread his wings. You’ll look out for him, though?”
“I’ll certainly try, Mr. Roberts. His name’s Noah?”
Roberts nodded. “Yes. Noah. Noah Archibald.”
Albus’s face froze. Archibald? Professor Archibald had a son coming to Hogwarts? Not the same Professor Archibald that made it his mission to make Scorpius’s life miserable. But I thought his wife died. Unless…unless he got remarried. That would make sense of course. It would explain why he was so overprotective.
“I…I'll do my best, Mr. Roberts.” He cleared his throat. “I’m going to have the nurse double check my measurements and give you a better estimate on your discharge.”
“Thank you, young man. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Albus shook his head. “No, tomorrow’s Friday. But I’ll be back on Monday.”
“When does school start again?”
“Two weeks. But you’ll be home by then. I’m sure of it.”
“Se Deus quiser,” Roberts murmured.
Albus left Mr. Roberts’s room and made his way to the instrument clerk, who slid a heavy tub across the counter toward him. “For me? You shouldn’t have,” Albus trilled sarcastically.
Inside, glass test tubes clinked against bedpans and enamel potion basins. Some items he cleaned with a quick Scourgify charm, watching the residue vanish in a shimmer of magic. Others had to be scrubbed by hand in the sink. The sharp scent of disinfectant stinging his nose felt like a penance, burning away the memory of his carelessness with every harsh scrub. “Living the dream,” he muttered to himself, as he scrubbed a stubborn sticky substance off a glass potion vial.
When the last basin gleamed like new, he dried his hands and checked his watch. The rooftop seemed like heaven now.
All summer he and Sam snuck away during tea time to the roof. Sometimes they snacked or played a game of exploding snap. But mostly they just talked. None of the hospital staff gave them trouble for it. Perhaps because both boys worked so hard during the day.
When Albus pushed open the rooftop door, warm air rushed past him along with the faint hum of the city below. Sam was already stretched out on one of the thin, hospital-issued blankets, his volunteer robes folded neatly to the side. In shorts and a tank top, he basked in the August sun like a cat. Albus dropped his robes in a crumpled heap and flopped down on his back beside him.
Sam, keeping his eyes closed, mumbled, “How was Mrs. Barrow?”
“Oh, the usual. Complaining about Clancy and the food.”
“Poor Clance. He never catches a break. Dad’s trying to get the board to approve of a raise for him.”
Albus chuckled. “Well, he deserves one after today. Apparently she tried to nail him in the head with a dish of strawberry jelly.”
Sam whistled. “Merlin’s pants. I thought she liked strawberry jelly.”
“Well, today it’s orange.” Albus rolled over and propped himself up on his elbow. “How much you want to bet tomorrow is lime?”
Sam popped open one eye. “I’ll take that bet. Loser has laundry duty next week.”
Albus shook his head. “Except I’m not here tomorrow.”
“What? You don’t trust me? I’ll give an honest report.” His eyes shone as he grinned wide, creating little wrinkles around them just like the chief healer albeit far less pronounced. In the sun’s glow, his eyes reminded Albus of a melting chocolate bar, a sudden unexpected warmth Albus found himself craving amidst his own uncertainties.
Albus smiled back, “No, I trust you. Okay, you’re on!”
Sam closed his eyes again and tilted his chin up further taking in the sun’s rays.
“You go to the children’s wing after lunch?” Albus asked as he rolled to his back again. Sam liked working with the kids best. Likely because of taking care of his younger brother and sisters. He did have an older sister, but she was ten years his senior and had moved to the States when he was just a kid. Sam was practically like the oldest in his family when it came to caring for his other siblings. He had a real gentle way with kids.
“No, I hung around the cafeteria too long. Got roped into cleaning all the dishes.”
“Could be worse. I got bedpans.”
Sam grimaced. “Oof. Okay. You win today.”
The silence grew for several minutes. But not an awkward silence. It was the sort of peaceful calm that came after an exhausting day of work. It was the sort of serenity that one could share with someone close where no one felt compelled to talk. They could just be.
Close to ten minutes passed before Sam spoke again. “You excited about school?”
Albus sighed. “No, not really. Sort of hate school. The only thing I like about it is Scorpius.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Mmm. Okay, I guess. He sounded fine in his last letter. But, he would never tell me if he wasn’t.”
“He seemed a lot better when he came in for his final treatment last month,” Sam pointed out.
Albus nodded. “Yeah. And he and his dad went away on a trip to Italy and Switzerland, I think. Maybe a few other places that I don’t remember.”
“Well that sounds like fun.”
“Yeah, they both really needed it.”
Sam nodded. He held his arms out in front of his face to inspect them. “We better move to the shade. If I get one more freckle, my dad will have my arse for not using anti-sun elixir.”
Albus smirked as he sat up. “‘The sun is not your friend!’” he recited as he dragged the blanket to the shaded half of the roof.
Sam laughed. “You do almost a better impression of him than my brother Max.”
“Well,” Albus replied, “he only says it every other day.”
“Imagine hearing it for fifteen years,” Sam complained good-naturedly as they sat back down on the blanket. Using a summoning charm with his wand, he called a box of cards from his robe pockets. “Exploding Snap?”
“Only if you are prepared to lose again,” Albus said with a mischievous grin.
“Oh, you are so going down now, Potter!” Sam retorted.
As Sam counted out the cards, Albus piped up, “Speaking of your dad, when are you going to tell him about the whole nursing thing?”
Sam let out a long breath. “Not sure. But I can’t even start officially interning until I’m seventeen. I won’t even be sixteen till the end of February, so I have some time to break it to him.”
“But doesn’t it impact your studies? Aren’t you starting NEWT levels soon?”
Sam shrugged. “There’s a lot of overlap with healing and nursing. I can put off that conversation a little while longer.”
“Think he’ll be mad?”
Sam inclined his head to the side. “Mad? No. Disappointed, maybe. He respects all the nurses but…” Sam hesitated. “I guess there’s still always that superiority thinking that healing is…somehow better. A more prestigious profession.”
“You don’t think so?”
Sam shook his head. “Not at all.” He shuffled the cards in his hand as he spoke. “Nothing could be more honorable than helping people. I’ll do that more by cleaning bedpans than sitting in board meetings.”
Albus gazed at him in admiration. Sam’s humility always shone through. He didn’t need fancy titles or esteem. He just wanted to help people. I wish I could be that certain of myself, Albus thought. Here I have no idea what I’m supposed to do or what I want to be.
Albus looked back at his cards, rearranging the ones in his hand. Yet all the while he thought of how he wished he could be more like his friend. Selfless. Humble. Honest.
“You ready?” Sam asked.
Albus nodded. “Ready to lose?”
“We’ll see about that,” Sam chuckled. “Okay. Go!”
They played several rounds and ended up tying their wins. Albus looked at his watch. “My mum will be here soon. I guess I better head down.”
“I’ll walk with you.” Sam flourished his wand and all the playing cards returned neatly to the box. He did the same to fold the hospital blanket after they stood up. Both boys gathered their volunteer robes and went back inside.
Sam suggested a race down the stairs, so both arrived in the lobby red faced and out of breath.
Ginny stood near the floo entrance dressed in the smart business suits she wore when she had to go into the newspaper office. She shook her head and smiled. “Looks like you’re ready to go, Albus.” She nodded to Sam. “Nice to see you again, Sam.”
“Hullo, Mrs. Potter. Nice to see you, too.”
Ginny patted Albus’s back. “Let’s head out. I have a surprise waiting for you at home.”
Albus’s heart leapt. “What is it?”
Ginny’s brown eyes shone. “It’s a surprise.” She guided him over to the floo corner.
Albus stopped. “Wait! I have to put back my robe.”
“I’ll put it back for you,” Sam offered.
Albus tossed it to him. “Thanks, Sam. Owe you one.”
“See you Monday, Chief Puddle-Jumper.”
Albus smirked. “Later, Flobberworm Wrangler.”
He followed his mum to the unlit fireplace. “So…c’mon. What is the something waiting at home?” he pleaded.
Ginny put her arm around him as she drew out a small box of floo powder. “It’s not something,” she said, her voice warm with mischief. “It’s someone.”