Sandy had come before. When he heard. Fruit basket. Card. His deepest sympathies. A promise he would keep an eye on her deputy editor. By Christmas Eve the hospital was sure. It had a name. They were isolated to wards.

"I know it is not ideal." Sandy began. Sharing a ward with others was hellish. Sneezing. Coughing. The talking. Gen did a lot of talking. Not as much now she was sick. "I was this close to securing you a room on the second floor. Magical bugs and diseases." Sandy shook his head. "But they have a patient with something more infectious and disasterous. To let that out right now... we would have to shut the hospital." More too.

He had used magic to make sure nobody could hear them. Sandy was wearing his Healer's uniform. He worked on the fourth floor most of the time. Spell damage. Andy and Sandy had meetings. The heads of floors too. They confirmed it. Gen had been very unlucky to catch it.

"Has it been simply hideous?" Sandy asked Gen.

Today was day four of being in St Mungo’s. For three nights, Genevieve had lain awake listening to the cacophony of coughs, splutters, sneezes, cries, whines and farts. She wasn’t sure that she would have been able to sleep because her own throat felt like she’d swallowed an entire beach full of sand, and her chest had the heaviness of a large hippo having rested its rear on her lungs. Potion after potion had been tried. Orange juice and water. Toast with a meagre scraping of tasteless butter (not that she’d be able to taste anything, anyway) had been delivered to her bed several times a day.

When Sandy found her, Gen was sat up in the hospital bed, a cup of tea in hand. This was a new development; up until this morning, she’d been unable to stomach tea. She looked worse than she had in years. Usually tanned, healthy and glowing skin was pale and dull. Her eyes were sort of sunken, with dark lines beneath evidencing the lack of sleep suffered. Usually perfectly styled hair was scraped back into a scruffy bun, and she wore a pair of navy cotton pyjamas. A makeup free, pyjama clad Queen G was reserved for only a few people in her life, yet now she felt on public display in all of her misery.

Needless to say, when Sandy arrived, Gen was beyond grumpy.

Now, to hear that she’d almost had a room to herself? That was painful; a cruel jab from a wizard she respected. The pyjama clad, tea sipping editor pouted, disappointed.

“It’s a type of hell I didn’t know existed.” Gen confirmed, her voice hoarse and croaky. She took another sip of tea. “Trevor, there,” a hand waved to the old wizard in the bed a couple of feet from her own, “his stomach doesn’t do well when he eats bread. But he’s been eating bread 3 times a day.” She gave her boss a look; he knew exactly what she meant by that. “Mabel over there,” another gesture, this time towards a witch in the bed opposite, “she cries every time she sneezes. Not a soft cry, she bawls. Best bit is, she isn’t picky about when she does it, Sandy, early morning, lunch time, 3AM.”

She hadn’t even mentioned that it was Christmas Eve and her son was currently with his recently released convict father. Nope, that didn’t even need brining up.

“I need to go home.”

"I am sure you do." Sandy said. He looked at Gen with great sympathy. "Even though I am the Deputy Head Healer I would not wish a stay here on any friend." He put his teacup and saucer on his knee. He patted Gen's wrist. She had such a lot going on in her life. Her job kept her going. Now she could not do that. "Do you think you could cope?" He asked. "At home. Recovering. Without magic?" It was a serious question. She was resting here. Even if it was interrupted.

Of course, she couldn’t cope. Magic, to a witch or wizard, was essential. It was their life’s blood. Gen used it to make a simple cup of tea. She relied on potions to stave off the worst of a hangover. She waved her wand to get her hair silky smooth, her makeup flawless, and her clothes creaseless. Genevieve García-Gamp would not look as good as she did on a daily basis without magic. So, cope? Nope, not at all. Survive? Perhaps. She’d survive as long as she didn’t have to leave the house and face the public.

“Of course, I could cope.” The witch croaked with a dramatic roll of her eyes. She took a sip of tea and rested her head back against the pillow. “Dante’s home.” Sort of, he’d been with his father since she’d been checked in here. “And, if you haven’t noticed, my husband is back. Isn’t it a husband’s job to care for his sick wife?” Perhaps if they were conventional spouses. Gen still wasn’t even certain if her husband was a murderer or not. That wasn’t your usual marital dispute, for sure.

Gen did not look well. She did not sound well either. But she was not dying. Dante was her little boy. Sandy had met him. More than once. Not so little now. At Hogwarts. Sandy had not met Leo. But he had read all about him in Gen's book. They had hired her because of it!

"It is." Agreed Sandy. He had been a husband once. "But can he live up to that?" Asked Sandy. "Do I need to ask Koko to tail him?" Koko was excellent at stalking subjects. She was truly dedicated to her craft. Sandy trusted her more now.

"But can he live up to that?" Sandy asked, and Gen let out an awkward laugh which only turned into another horse and phlegmy cough. Fortunately, she didn’t spill her tea. Leo wouldn’t live up to it; at the moment, Gen wasn’t sure if she could put smothering her with a pillow in her sleep past him. Well, something more magical and dastardly, perhaps. Kurby had set wards on the flat after the mysterious shoe thief, but who was to say an auror turned accused Death Eater couldn’t get through those in the night when he fancied taking revenge for all of those stolen years as a father?

“He was an auror, Sandy. He’s going to notice someone trailing him.” Gen waved a hand, shaking her head. Another sip of tea.

“Anyhow, Sandy, as wonderful as it is to get a personalised visit from the Deputy Head Healer himself, you should be at home enjoying Christmas eve, not here worrying about me and my broom crash personal life.” The cup of tea was placed on the table by the bed and Gen flung the covers off to reveal a very comfortable set of blue silk pyjamas. “So, little signature for discharge and Queen G out, yeah?”

"Worth a try." Said Sandy. He had only wanted to cheer her up.

"You are transformed!" He said. She seemed much better. Funny that. It was not lost on him. Not at all. "Let me sort those discharge papers, Madam Gamp."

END.