Healer's Orders || Harper

Thursday, June 16, 1921
The corridor outside the apothecary
Around 3 PM

"Have it on my desk by the end of your shift. No--No--Yes--Alright."

Dorian exited the apothecary, blue eyes trained on the clipboard in hand. It wasn't often that he ventured into the depths of the hospital, and even less often that he had to make personal check-ins. That afternoon was a bit of an anomaly. After having received some conflicting reports on the supplies within the apothecary, the man had asked to have a report done up and sent to him. Potion ingredients didn't typically grow legs and walk yet those within his hospital seemed to have developed the habit.

The man pored over his notes as he made his way down the corridor. The number of patients and guests who'd come to collect their medication only to be turned away with requests that they wait was growing abysmally. Even one was too many, but Dorian had never been an idealist and knew these things happened from time to time.

Nearly weekly, though?

The staff had either grown too complacent and heavy-handed with their brews, or the hospital had found for itself a thief. The types of ingredients and potions that were perpetually sprouting wings and spiriting themselves elsewhere of late were the sort that, when put together, couldn't really be considered a coincidence, but he needed a fuller picture and was tired of waiting for a report that didn't seem it would ever come.

Dorian flipped the parchment at its edge, taking a peek at his next stop before heading back to his office. If he remembered correctly, there was a matter requiring his attention over in the morgue. He might as well, having already come so--

THUD!

"Merlin." His hand reached out automatically to steady the woman he'd so unceremoniously collided with before his mind could even register that that was what he'd done. In the small curfuffle, his clipboard hit the ground with a sharp clatter. His knees began to bend as he sought to pick it up, but the man straightened suddenly as if only just realising what he'd done.

Vague eyes sharpened as they took her in, looking her over with new concern. "Are you alright?"

He was ashamed to admit he hadn't been looking where he was going.

This was what they had house elves for.

Someone to spare them whatever hell this hospital was, to pick up her mother's potions and be back within the hour.

Usually this was exactly how it worked. Whatever elf her mother fancied that month would go and collect the silly nerve-calming droughts Mrs. Knightley insisted she couldn't live without and keep the woman from spiralling into her all too frequent dramatics. But as it turned out not one had been available for the task and instead of picking the stuff up herself, her mother had sent Harper.

Naturally.

She had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and promptly found herself sent off. Begrudgingly she had obliged, more out of necessity and the desire to get away from the theatrics her mother loved to put up to get what she wanted than actual care. She supposed it worked.

Never would she have though, had she known what a nightmare this would turn out to be. Twice had she been dismissed already, wasting away precious time she could be spending at work instead. But none of these people seemed to be able to give her an answer and leaving without the potions wasn't an option either, she could already hear her mother.

No, she needed it.

Determined footsteps carried her towards the incompetent apothecary once again, this time to demand she be given what she has come for.

But her mission was unceremoniously cut short as a wall of flesh and bone appeared out of nowhere, colliding into her and teetering her off balance before she knew what was happening. Weren't it for the hand grabbing under her arm, Harper might have very ungracefully found herself splayed against the floor.

The air pushed from her lungs and her briefcase went flying, thudding to the ground but her first concern was with staying upright which she thankfully managed. A bit shaken, Harper righted herself again, patting at her hair and clothes, looking around for her lost briefcase.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes," she replied on an exhale, brushing a strand of hair from her brow and finally looking at the man, taming the burst of irritation that had pushed up with the inconvenience. Did he look familiar?

"Nothing to worry about," she smiled amicably, pulling forth her wand and summoning her lost briefcase with a flick. "You don't happen to know how I can finally get my prescription handed out? It's very important." He looked important enough.

"You don't happen to know how I can finally get my prescription handed out?"

Another one.

Dorian flinched internally at the realisation he was headed for another of these conversations. If it wasn't resolved by next week, someone's head would have to roll. For now, the man smiled through his annoyance, his lips spreading into an easy, practised smile. It was one he often shared with those who passed through the hospital, light and breezy but with an air of authority they could feel comfortable placing their faith--and sometimes their lives--in.

"Why don't you let me have a look at the prescription, and we'll see if there's anything we can get done for you today?" he asked, leaning briskly to reclaim his clipboard from the floor.

"The apothecary is having a bit of an issue with ingredient supplies at the moment," to put it mildly, "But we can check the reserves as well."

Dorian gestured ahead, indicating for her to follow before he began walking. If it were generic enough, substitutions could be made. Many ingredients provided the same effects in differing quantities. Barring that, if it really was important, as she'd said, he'd have someone check the floors in case the healers had some to spare. It was only a temporary fix, and he wouldn't be able to give her much, but as Chief of Staff, he couldn't have a growing list of unmedicated people wandering London and the wider wizarding Britain.

The lawsuits waiting in the wings would bury him--bury the hospital.

The man wasn't prepared to lose his life's work for the sake of a few workers with sticky fingers and was prepared to get law enforcement involved if it came to it.

Only after glancing back did everything finally click into place. From the moment the woman had straightened, the wheels in his head began to turn. It had been a long shift of seeing many people, but his brain refused to release the thought that he knew her. Then it hit him. She sat on the council with him, a fellow Wizengamot. The two had never exchanged words, sitting in their own seats through meetings on legislation and crime, but Dorian did remember the fire in her hair and the freckles.

Busy, often busy. Not one to linger, and neither was he.

"How are things, Ms....?" His voice trailed to an end as he realised he'd forgotten, or perhaps he'd never known it. The council had quite a few members, all there to carry out their responsibilities, not to socialise and make friends.

"Everything alright?"

Dorian nodded toward the prescription, indicating what he meant.

"Why don't you let me have a look at the prescription, and we'll see if there's anything we can get done for you today?"

Relieved, Harper loosened the breath she'd sucked in in preparation for another argument, stiffly nodding once. Finally someone willing to do their job and hopefully well enough to get her out of here. Eager to get this handled she brusquely riffled through her bag's contents.

"The apothecary is having a bit of an issue with ingredient supplies at the moment--" No shit. "--But we can check the reserves as well."

She was still searching for that blasted prescription when he gestured ahead, moving to lead her down the hallway. Harper hurried to follow, one hand in her bag while the other held it open, gaze darting up and down to make sure their collision didn't repeat itself.

Where the hell had it gone? She swore to God, if she had lost the thing she might just break into their storage and steal the stuff. Be done with it. Her eyes got stuck on the back of his head though, frustration creasing a line between her brows.

Why did he look so familiar? Something about the way he walked, so...energetic.

It hit her like a brick wall.

Montreaux, Wizengamot, St. Mungo's.

She knew he looked important in some way. Lucky she had walked into him out of all the people.

Harper scolded herself inwardly but ignored the blistering feeling of failure and imperfection pooling within her guts. She should have recognized him right away.

"How are things, Ms....?"

"Knightley," she seamlessly filled the gap. At least he seemed to have had the same issue. She didn't feel offended -- he'd know her name well enough in no time. "Busy. Can't seem to get out of the legislation avalanche." Or Merrow's bullshit.

At long last the hospital's logo stamped onto the slip of paper detailing her mother's potions flashed up from within one of the many work files cramped into her bag. Harper pulled it free with a shake of her head, directed at herself more than anything.

Holding it out to Dorian, she explained, "Nerve-calming draught." Drama queen tonic, if Harper were to put a name on it. She was halfway sure her mother dumped her nightly vial down the drain, needing them only to satiate her constant thirst for attention, to have something to complain about to her friends. How terribly hard her life was. "A whole month's supply."

As the man read over the prescription, Harper let her gaze wander. "Quite inconvenient," she commented offhandedly, and let her gaze swerve back to regard Dorian. "Supply issues. What's the trouble?"

Knightley.

Knightley...

His brows creased, though she couldn't see. The woman who rummaged through her bag had grown all the more familiar with the offering of her name, but it wasn't until her mention of legislation that the final pieces fit themselves into place. The minister's office, of course. Dorian didn't make a regular of himself over at the Ministry of Magic, but he was there often enough for duties related to his position as a Wizengamot. That was where he'd seen her and why she looked so familiar. Despite not having shared words, they already shared several meetings.

"I've heard a few rumours here and there, nothing concrete, but they certainly make the minister appear...busy." Busy was a good word to describe the whispers that painted the picture of a haunted man doing what he thought was right for the wizarding world.

He hadn't risen with popularity, and that made his road a lot longer.

"Nerve-calming draught. A whole month's supply."

...Huh.

Dorian took the prescription, looking it over before turning those blue eyes back to the woman who already looked calm enough. It wasn't, by any means, a medical assessment, and the chief of staff was well aware that a myriad of reasons could contribute to the near passivity he saw now.

Still...

"A months...?" he scanned the parchment again, looking for any such instructions being paired with this potent brand of anxiety relief. When his gaze returned to her, it was full of professional concern. "Everything alright? There are...lifestyle changes that could have you reducing these doses."

A slight frame, innocuous signs of fatigue--likely from overwork--it was a wonder she functioned on such doses at all.

"Quite inconvenient."

An understatement, as he was sure she was aware.

"Supply issues. What's the trouble?"

"No trouble," he said, automatically moving into PR before realising it was harder to deny when Ms. Knightley herself now fell victim to this shortage. "At least, nothing you need to worry about. It might be an issue with inventory documentation, or something further down with the supplier." He ended with a tighter smile before turning to lead them through the doors of the apothecary.

"In the meantime, I'm sure we'll be able to provide you with an adequate substitute, should you be interested."