Some Princesses Need Heroines

Crack

Glass shattered, sprinkling like diamonds across the pavement as the taxi came to a screeching halt fifty feet away. Mira weightless for a moment as she flew through the air before gravity took hold and sent her into the ground with an audible thud. A whimper escaped her lips as the muggles began to run, forming a circle of shouting panic around the unmoving form, several calling an ambulance in order to feel like they were doing something, anything, to help the helpless situation.

Mira couldn’t move. The world was blurring around her as her head rang and broken bones screamed, turning frightened faces into mash potatoes and the taxi into a yellow smudge in the corner of her vision. People were talking to her, asking if she was okay, if she could hear them – she even felt relief when the sirens of the muggle ambulance tore through the air towards her.

- - -

There were hands touching her stomach, poking and prodding with intent, making her cry with pain when they brushed a sensitive area. Somewhere on the road a clear mask was put over her face that made the air she breathed taste strange. The muggles were doing odd things, pulling tools and shouting words that Mira had never heard before. Her vision had mostly cleared and though her thoughts were still cluttered and confused, she was able to follow what was happening to her. At some point the blonde reached up to touch aching head and when she pulled her hand away it was sticky and red. Every bump in the road was agony as her entire body wailed along with the sirens.

- - -

They pulled up to the emergency entrance and for the first time Mira was struck with the fear of where she was really being taken. The muggles had taken her to a muggle institution. Mira remembered talking to the muggleborns at Hogwarts who had relayed tales of their doctors office at home. The primacy of muggles terrified her and as they wheeled her in Mira would have given anything to be brought into St. Mungos instead. A trauma team met her at the door and continued the obscure babble of the doctors in the ambulance.

- - -

Several hours later the scene had calmed down and the drip that was stuck in Mira’s arm made her head fuzzy but stopped the panic. Glass cuts on her face and chest had been bandaged up and looked much more manageable now that the blood was gone. They had explained that she had broken her leg and had gotten several cracked ribs but it was only the bleeding that they couldn’t see that worried them. In her zoned-out state she had demanded they ‘just fix it’ before remembering, hours later, that there was no skelogrow in their world.

Mira’s wand had been hitched on her upper leg and had shattered with it’s holder during her fall. The nurse had been baffled as to why she had splinters of pure maple stuck in such a perfect line up her thigh. Her bloody dress had been replaced with hospital robes soon after arrival and her brand new, super cute shoes had disappeared too (Mira suspected that shady looking nurse of taking them). Overall, she was just glad there were no mirrors in her room because she was sure she looked bloody terrible.

When the muggles came asking questions, Mira was reluctant to talk. They kept pumping her full of the clear fluid that made her so woozy and she couldn’t risk being out of it for too long – who knew what mad thing they would do to her. All she needed was to call.. someone. Avery, Robin, Cael, Elijah. Anyone who could get her out of here and back to safety. But there were no phones near the bed, it was physically impossible for Mira to get up to go get one, and the doctors had refused to let her leave when she had asked.

She had almost been killed by a muggle car, now she would probably be killed by their hospital.

It was probably the hundredth time that day that the intercom had called out the name of a doctor or nurse needed somewhere around the crowded floors of Kingsway-Oxford Medical. The general chill of the office had the Head of Diagnostics reaching for her jacket and slipping it on as she stared at the scan in front of her. She and her team had hoped that they could find a reason for the paraphasia affecting the man in room 331, but the MRI didn’t show anything of interest. Sighing, she let her elbows rest on her knees, head supported in her hands. She couldn’t figure it out for the life of her, but they had time. He wasn’t dying, just unable to choose the right words when he spoke. It still didn’t explain why it was happening, though, and the question was driving her crazy. It always frustrated her when she couldn’t figure a solution or couldn’t understand someone, and this was clearly no exception.

If only they had a more complete family history. Then they could look into past medical histories instead of having to guess and run all of the time-consuming and expensive tests they were set to run. Luckily, however, they had recently gained many supporters who would ensure that all testing for the Diagnostics division could be completed, as well as surgeries to save their patients. I guess it’s good that we saved those businessmen… She thought vaguely, probably for the tenth time that week.

They had come in thinking they had come down with food poisoning, the two brothers. However, they had both managed to pick up parasites of sorts – worms, really – and Holland’s team had been the ones to figure it out and heal them. It wasn’t the first time that she saved someone’s life and then found out how very important they were. She hardly minded, obviously, when it gave the hospital and floor donors, and made her the well-known (in truth, nearly famous – though she wouldn’t ever claim it herself) doctor that she was.

Strange, she mused, that the man they were trying to help now had some invisible problem that she was having trouble finding. Even her assistant, Dr. Singer, had failed to figure what it could be, regardless of his having nearly as much experience as she did.

The door opened, the sound drawing her attention to the blonde walking through the door. “Singer,” she greeted, slightly surprised to see him. He had wanted to spend the morning talking to Mr. Murphy and seeing what the man reacted to. They couldn’t very well expect him to correct them when he couldn’t find the words he wanted, instead choosing the closest thing in his personal dictionary. “Did anything change?”

“Ah, no,” Jonathon replied, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand and looking fairly uncomfortable. Holland lifted an eyebrow in confusion; he was rarely nervous, and almost always at ease with himself. “There’s a new patient, and she refuses to talk to us. I figured you might be interested in her case.”

“Why’s that?” She questioned, sitting up straighter and watching him.

“See, she was hit by a car a couple blocks away, and the people who saw her brought her in. I think she said something about how she wasn’t supposed to be at this hospital. That’s what Witten was saying. That she wanted to leave.” Jonathon replied, leaning against Holland’s desk.

“Hmm,” she mused quietly, tilting her head to the side ass he considered. Shrugging, she stood and took up her clipboard and a couple forms she could fill out regarding the woman’s condition. “May as well.”

Jonathon nodded, eyeing the MRI scan that was still pinned to the lit whiteboard on the wall, hands stuffed in his pockets and brow furrowed. As Holland gathered her things, he continued to look it over, expecting to see what she had hoped to find. “There’s nothing there.” She told him finally, standing by the door and wrapping her arms around the clipboard. “Give him a CT scan, would you? A 3D imaging if need be. I’ll check in after I see to this woman.”

“Ms. Anderson,” Singer provided belatedly, silently agreeing to do as she asked for Mr. Murphy.

Holland nodded gratefully, pulling open the office door and heading into the hallway. Her feet carried her past the elevators, around the central desk for the floor, and up to the rest of her Diagnostics team. Sara, the youngest and thus the one with the most desire to prove herself, immediately walked up to her employer and pursed her lips. “Not a fan, then?” Holland teased, tilting her head to the side.

“She’s just mad that the blonde in there had after her.” Andy remarked from behind, walking over with Mark and abandoning their position by the patient’s door.

“You don’t like her ‘cause she’s blonde?” Mark asked, eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I thought it was just because she was pretty.”

“What, I can’t dislike someone if they’re pretty?” Sara snapped, red hair falling over her shoulder as she turned to look at him. Mark rolled his eyes but said nothing, instead turning to see what Holland wanted them to do.

“I’ve asked Singer to run Mr. Murphy a CT scan since nothing showed up on the MRI, if a couple of you want to get on that.” Andy and Sara nodded, disappointed though they seemed about the MRI results, turning to head down the hall. They didn’t need her plans for the blonde in the room down the hall, since Holland could easily page them if something went wrong, so they left without asking.

“Alright, then, Lloyd. Let’s figure out what’s going on before Carmichael has our heads.” Holland said, voice bright regardless of her words. Passing Mark a sarcastic smile, she passed the clipboard into her right hand, pushing the sliding door open with her left.

A blonde woman lay in the bed, looking highly worse for wear and fairly put out. Yes, she had clearly been in an accident. The anger wasn’t surprising – who wouldn’t be mad when they were hit by a car? It was the desire to talk to someone besides Blake and Witten that surprised her. Giving her a once-over, Holland had a feeling that this woman wasn’t the normal person that she seemed, but kept the curiosity to herself. If she had to, she could make Lloyd leave so she could talk to the blonde alone.

“Hello, Ms. Anderson,” she greeted, pulling up a stool to sit beside the bed, crossing her legs at the knee and setting the clipboard on her lap. “My name is Holland Fox – yes, like the country, though I’m not sure they have foxes there… I’m the supervising doctor on your case. I’m told you wanted to speak with me?”

Holland offered a polite smile, glancing between the blonde and her clipboard, making notes as she went. They had to keep track of her injuries, in case something else was wrong, or something went wrong in the future. Bruising.. she mused silently as she wrote, making a point to show that she was listening to what the woman was saying as well. Her braid fell over her shoulder before Holland could stop it, a hand reaching up to push it away again. “We might need to run a test to check for internal bleeding, just so you know. Is there anything I should know about you before we do that? It’s essentially like an ultrasound, except we’re obviously not looking for a child in this case.”

The door opened and another new doctor was revealed. The woman was so pretty and young that Mira mistook her for a nurse until she made a point to introduce herself while settling in to the chair beside the bed. It took the blonde a moment to register the joke, promoting the slightest raising of her eyebrows as she wondered if this was typical muggle behavior.

"I’m told you wanted to speak with me?" Mira shook her head, exasperated that her message hadn't been passed down from the two other doctors she had already barked her orders at. "I don't need to speak to anyone. I'm fine, just got a couple scratches." Mira motioned towards herself but the action proved the opposite point as she gave a visible wince of pain at the movement. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Mira opened her eyes again to stare at the Doctor. Tests. Tests were bad.

She spoke as calmly as possible, her heart beating out of her chest.

"What do I need to do to get out of here?"

There was a powerful undertone in her words. Mira was more than willing to pay if that's what was required. With her voluntary removal from the Anderson family she had lost all right to feel superior or suggest that she was capable of offering a suitable bribe but the habit remained. Her time sharing a flat with Avery had helped to calm the sense of righteousness that she carried with her but her current desperation seemed to have brought it back to the surface. Being powerless had a way of reminding you what it felt like to have power.

Truthfully, she was terrified. Mira was sure she would have been safer on the glass-covered pavement than here in this hospital bed. The Slytherin had never felt more isolated - no one to help, no one who understood. "I just need to go home. It's fine." she insisted.

Holland’s pleasant expression became somewhat strained, but she glanced back and forth between Ms. Anderson’s eyes, trying to gauge the extent of the woman’s injuries. She had seen people become infuriated due to many different things, but something told her this wasn’t quite right. Looking down at her chart, she scanned over the reports that her team had written for her. Coming across one point in particular, Holland frowned.

“One second, Ms. Anderson,” she replied, intending to answer the question once she had been able to ask one of her own. “Lloyd, what sort of wood?” She asked, gesturing to the clipboard.

“Someone guessed Maple,” he answered immediately, leaning on the end of the patient’s bed and furrowing his brow. “I’m assuming that’s significant.”

“It might be,” Holland confirmed, giving him instructions to find out where the shards had been kept and put them in her office before he went to help Sara and Andy. Mark nodded, regardless of how confused he was, before opening the sliding door and leaving the room. The door closed behind him as Holland stood to close the blinds.

“It’s definitely not fine, Ms. Anderson.” She returned for Mira’s belated comment, crossing her arms and standing a few feet away from the bed. “I need for you to explain to me why you had wood in your leg, when you were hit by a car and not a boat.” Holland clearly had her theories, but she wasn’t about to go spilling them. Her wand felt heavier in her pants leg, reminding her that wand wood was far more versatile than something the woman might have run into on the street. Narrowing her eyes just enough to hopefully persuade the woman to explain, Holland waited, tilting her head to the side.

The doctor was staring at her clipboard and the longer Mira waited the more she panicked. “Lloyd, what sort of wood?” The blonde watched the doctors talk but her mind was keen on distraction. Every time something beeped on her bed or a name was called over the intercom her attention was pulled away as she tried to understand her foreign environment. One of the doctors left and Mira's eyes followed him to the door. Moments later the window shades were shut and she felt her heart began to pick up speed again as the woman doctor began to speak.

“I need for you to explain to me why you had wood in your leg, when you were hit by a car and not a boat.”

This was beyond ridiculous. Being hit by the taxi would be considered bad luck but losing her wand felt like a piece of her had been torn away. Being interrogated about it by a muggle was just insult to injury, quite literally. There was no way for her to explain and there was seemingly no way to make this Holland Fox go away so Mira snapped, "You tell me, you're the doctor." Of course that really didn't make much sense and the Slytherin felt the slightest twinge of embarrassment at her comment.

Mira looked up to really meet Dr. Fox's eyes for the first time. She was staring at her in an odd way - not like she was the drugged up idiot that she was currently behaving like but like she was expecting something from her. Her eyes were narrowed in calculation and Mira felt as if she was under a microscope as Holland looked for something she already knew to be there.

"I don't know." Mira backtracked, trying to keep her voice calmer. Someone had told her once that to really get through to muggles you needed to talk to them slowly and gently. "It could really be anything. I'm sure this sort of thing happens all the time."

Mira was mentally cursing herself for not having put more work into learning wandless magic while she was at Hogwarts. The social butterfly had never been an exceptional witch with her wand so what did that make her without? Useless. It made her completely and utterly useless. Mira's hand brushed her leg where splinters had made a semi-permanent home in her skin. The maple might have been unusual but it was explainable. What would Lloyd say when he found the traces of dragon heartstring, an animal that was, as far as he was concerned, nonexistent.

The doctor, for all her attempts at being polite to patients, was not really feeling it when it came to this woman. Either she was being purposefully dense and knew exactly why there was maple wood of all things in her leg, or she really was a Muggle who just got splinters of - what? a cane? - in her leg when the car hit and things went flying. Her tone and impatience led Holland to believe that the blonde was fully aware of what had happened, but thought Holland to be an ignorant Muggle. It made sense for their situation, where Holland worked and with whom she worked.

The shades had been drawn, so if Holland was going to risk anything, now was the time. Mira was on fluids that most people wouldn't actually know the point of, so if nothing else, the brunette could blame any confusion on the accident or the medication. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her leg and pulled back the slacks to show the blonde her hiding spot.

"I think you know exactly what I'm asking. Now, are you going to be honest so I can help you get out of here? Or are you going to continue to deny it and force me to hold you here for 'observation'?" Holland asked, lifting an eyebrow and dropping her pants leg to make air quotes around the last word.

She paused, then quickly put in, "For some added incentive, I'll ensure that no one on my team looks into that wood any further." Taking out her pager, she typed out the message and showed it to Mira. "You know, provided you decide to tell the truth."

Mira stared at the thin piece of wood that paralleled Holland's leg. She was suddenly feeling a little woozy and more than a little confused as she began to slowly re-assess the situation she was in. The female doctor was.. a witch? It made absolutely no sense and yet the evidence was right before her eyes, daring her to dispute it. "You're.." Mira began, almost on the verge of stuttering as she blatantly stared at the woman who stood before her. She had no words right now and wasn't entirely sure if that was a product of shock or medication.

There was a long pause as Mira sorted herself out. These moments of indecision were rare for the blonde and she now found herself faltering.

"You're going to help me?" she practically whispered, feeling almost as pathetic as she looked. Mira was all too aware at how far she had fallen by being here. Yesterday, the Slytherin wouldn't have given this doctor a second glance. It had only taken a broken leg and a few cracked ribs to shred Mira of all her dignity and reduce her to a whimpering puddle on the bed. Her hair had gone first, then her clothes, now her mind. The girl who lay in this hospital was not truly Mira Anderson.

"I.. I don't know what you want me to do." Mira was looking around, nervous for reasons she couldn't quite pinpoint. "I got hit, brought here. I can't go anywhere without.." she paused and sucked in a breath before finally continuing, "Without my wand." Someone had finally said it and the word hung limply in the air between them. Mira certainly didn't feel better. She was half convinced Dr. Holland Fox would be locking her up or the Ministry would arrive and do the same.

She wanted to go home but didn't quite know where that was. Avery's apartment was technically home but, then again, she still called it Avery's. The Anderson home in Bulgaria? She had grown up there, known every secret of it, but Alice's ghost had poisoned the walls and Mira had never truly felt safe there. Even though she had only stayed at Krum Manor a short while the house had been popping into her head more and more. She had been in love there, had a family there, and felt safe there. But the manor was no longer an option and Elijah was ever less of one.

Mira had to grow up and deal with this disaster on her own.