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Christmas on the Closed Ward
A ficlet featuring Aisha Thomas
"Ainsley. Your name is Phineas Ainsley."
For what had to have been the seventh time already, Aisha Thomas was reminding the plump patient his name as she held onto his arm and led him down the hallway. Somehow Ainsley had again escaped and snuck down three floors to flirt with the receptionist, claiming that he was the Minister for Magic.
"Have you been hit with a Forgetfulness Charm, young lady? How can you not know the Minister for Magic when you see him? My face has been in all of the papers!"
A sigh quietly escaped her lips as she opened the door to the ward, deciding it wasn't worth correcting Phineas anymore. "Alright then, Minister, in you go. And please, for the love of Merlin, stay in here. You're making the Welcome Witch uncomfortable."
"Uncomfortable? What nonsense! The woman is just playing hard to get. Did you see the way she looked at me before we..."
The rest of Phineas' words were ignored as he stepped forward and hopped right back into bed. Aisha remained standing by the door after locking it, taking a moment to gather her wits before fully immersing herself back in the chaos that was the Janus Thickey Ward.
But, of course, her moment was interrupted by a brief bout of hysteria. Marjorie Fairbanks was laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, seemingly amused by something that wasn't actually there, as she fiddled with a bracelet her daughter had given her earlier that day.
At least someone is enjoying themselves, the practicum student thought as she made her way past bed after bed, patient after patient, and a slew of opened cardboard boxes and torn wrapping paper.
"Was he bothering Josephine again, Aisha?"
Her dark brown eyes locked with those of Rosemary McLaggen, who was trying to coerce Samuel Kelly to stop walking around the decorated pine tree in the middle of the room, slip under the comforter, and take some candy to help him sleep.
"... ten thousand, five hundred, sixty-seven. Ten thousand, five hundred, sixty-eight. Ten thousand, five hundred..."
"Yes, he went right back to her. I'm surprised he hasn't asked her to marry him at this point to be honest."
"I'm just surprised the old woman hasn't hexed him yet," responded Rosemary, nudging Samuel off his path around the tree and toward his bed finally with success.
"... ten thousand, five hundred, seventy-four..."
"What good it would do at this point though," Aisha responded, her tone somehow light-hearted even though her words rang true.
Rosemary let out a chuckle, though she quickly covered her mouth as if it was wrong of her to be amused by such a statement.
"... ten thousand, five hundred, seventy-five. Ten thousand, five hundred, seventy-six..."
"Mind helping me keep him from wandering? You know how he gets when it is time for b-e-d."
Without saying a word, Aisha quickened her pace to Samuel's bed and pulled back the covers. Then, with a flick of her wand, the required 'candy' and a glass came flying out of a cabinet from across the room.
"Oh, pour some of that milk for him instead of water. It was a gift from his nephew. I'm sure he'd like that with his candy tonight. Wouldn't you, Weston?"
"... ten thousand, five hundred, ninety-one..."
With another flick, the self-cooling jar of milk rose from the bedside table, the cap twisted off, and the white liquid poured into the levitating glass. The jar set itself down once the glass was full, and Aisha was standing next to the bed with a firm hand on Samuel's shoulder. The man was already incredibly anxious not being able to move around and count his steps.
"Here you go, darling," Rosemary said sweetly, grabbing the glass with one hand and handing over the red candy with the other. "Take these and drink up."
The man refused. More refusals and efforts to walk around were made for about a minute, but Aisha managed to keep him from fussing further and slipped the candy in his mouth. The glass of milk quickly followed, courtesy of Rosemary.
But the milk didn't go down. Instead it and the candy was spat right onto Rosemary's lime green robes.
"SAMUEL!" the woman cried.
Suddenly the scent of spoiled milk hit Aisha's nose as Rosemary ran to the cabinet to fetch herself a towel and Samuel shot out of bed, his counting starting right where he had left off as he headed for the tree.
Then a high-pitched cackle rang in her ears.
After spinning around, Aisha took in the sight of Majorie laughing up a storm once more, though her eyes weren't glued to some figment of her imagination up on the ceiling. This time the patient's arm was extended, a finger pointing at one of the beds that should not have been empty.
Her eyes then shifted over to the door, which was unlocked and cracked open. Phineas had escaped the ward yet again.
"Bloody hell."
Spending Christmas with her family rather than at the closed ward had never looked so good unil now.
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