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Simplicity by The_Passionate_Sun
Chapter 1 : Of Lack of Sleep, Wrong Names, and Flirting.
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 17

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A/N: Helloo! I'm editing Chapter 1, so if you're here thinking there's a new chapter, I'm sorry. ): This was originally supposed to go into the queue before chapter 2, but i think I messed up somehow. 


Anywho, I hope you guys enjoy this story, and please review! All translations will be at the end of each chapter. 

Disclaimer: I don't own. 


What. A crappy. Day.

When you’re young and you tell your parents that you want to be a Healer, they smile at you, pat your head, and say “Good job, beta. We are so proud of you!”

No one ever tells you how you’re going to be working thirty hour shifts, get addicted to caffeine, and have a social life limited to the hospital cafeteria and your fellow Healers.

In short, Healing was not all it’s cracked up to be. Sure, you get to save lives, but in the process, you start to lose your own.

When you start to have no idea what’s going on through the haze of time, you get very irritated at the little things. Like people getting your name wrong.

“Healer Shaw! Healer Shaw!” A male voice rang out around me. I stopped briefly, then kept walking once I realized that the guy wasn’t calling for me.

Wow, what an idiot. The guy wasn’t calling for anyone. As far as I knew, and I knew pretty far, there wasn’t a ‘Healer Shaw’ even at St. Mungo’s.

“Healer Shaw,” the same male voice rasped from right behind me, obviously out of breath. “Can you stop for a moment, please?” Suddenly, there was a hand on my shoulder, locking it in a firm grip. Now, I had to stop walking.

“Er, excuse me,” I turned around irratedly. “Who the hell is Healer Shaw?”

Lack of sleep plus lack of caffeine puts me in a bad mood.

Dark, green eyes blinked back at me in confusion. “You are...?”

So do people who get my name wrong, no matter how attractive at first glance they may be.

“No,” I said shortly. I flashed him a very obviously fake smile, then decided against it, shaking my head lightly. “No, I’m not. Actually, no one at this hospital is called Healer Shaw.”

“Really?” the dark-haired man replied. “Because one of the nurses in my niece's room, she said to come find you.”

“And she told you my name was Healer Shaw?” I asked condescendingly. “Look, Green-Eyes, I have work to do, patients to see, so if you could excuse me...” I gingerly took his arm off my shoulder and let it hang limply next to his body. He stared in disbelief as I shot him one last (fake) smile and then started walking again. Unfortunately, he followed me.

What was it with this guy?

“Hey, wait, I recognize you,” he said, covering the distance between us in long strides. “You went to Hogwarts with me.”

“I did?” I asked, trying hard to curb the snark. “Wow. That’s...interesting.”

Actually, it’s not. Because most of us were born in the decade following the Second Wizarding War, there were a lot of us.

Apparently, our parents got busy.

Even the ones you don’t want to think about.

But anyways, Hogwarts, during my 4th year, had about a thousand students. Basically, if you’re a witch or a wizard whose anywhere from 18 to 30, you went to Hogwarts with me at some point. So Green-Eyes, thanks for pointing out the obvious, but you’re really not interesting at all.

Now get out of my way so I can go see my last patient and then go home and sleep.

It’s been so long since I’ve slept that the idea of closing my eyes almost makes me drool.

Green-Eyes let out a laugh, “Yeah. You were in Ravenclaw, weren’t you? You lot had the best parties I remember going to.”

This was true. By the time I got to Hogwarts, most of the Ravenclaws had decided that they were sick of being known as the hardworking and bookworm type. At the end of my first winter term, we threw an inter-House Christmas party that pretty much knocked everyone’s socks off. Thus, an annual tradition was started, and Ravenclaw became known for throwing some of the maddest parties around. In my later years, I even helped plan the party, going so far as to sneak Firewhisky into the common room.

Yeah, I was a wild one.

My father, the current Minister of Magic of Great Britain, was the first non-British Minister of Magic in...well, a really, really long time. Due to this, he’d had a really stressful term, not that anyone could tell. On the outside, all these anti-prejudice laws had been passed, measures taken to prevent another Wizarding War, something that everyone knew we would not survive. There were daily meetings with other government officials, yearly check-ups on anyone who had been related to Death Eater activity, and, most importantly, an increase of funding to Wizarding orphanages. My mother had also done a little research, involving countless hours spent pouring over Voldemort’s history, most notably with Hermione Weasley at her side. They had eventually come up with the idea to create a Muggle account in the name of Harry Potter’s Muggle cousin, I forget his name, who would donate to a different Muggle orphanage each year.

All of these things had been passed very early into my father’s term. Unfortunately, I had lost sight of what my father did while in office these days, since I spent so little time at my parents’ house. Dad had been elected two months into my fifth year of Hogwarts, after I had already turned fifteen. After that, summer nights were spent listening to Dad’s Senior Undersecretary recite the list of things that had been done that day and how much more there was to do tomorrow. The War had been, at that point, 23 years in the past, and there was still so much to do to rebuild the magical world.

It got tiring, honestly. My older brother, Samir, was already 25 and married by the time Dad was elected, and he was working in the Ministry, accelerating through the ranks like nobody’s business (on his own merit). He was unaffected.

I, on the other hand, was a fifteen year old schoolgirl who liked to worry about how much she’d procrastinated on summer homework rather than how much money it was going to take to rebuild Gringott’s underground, since all of the charms seemed to be malfunctioning.

I took it with a grain of salt, knowing they’d always only be an owl away. I’d gotten my own life by that time, and to me, my mom was the person who I could talk to for anything. I didn’t need her to make me pancakes. I had myself for that, even though she did, occasionally, make me pancakes. They were damn good, too. I threw parties and made friends, got drunk and good grades, somehow surviving school until I got to Healer training. Tough love was their motto for me.

On the other hand, they had completely overcompensated with Aisha. She was their youngest child, their baby. Their attention had made her a loud, confident, outgoing person in her teenage years. There was nothing she couldn’t do, nothing she couldn’t say. She kept up her grades and stayed out of trouble (well, she made sure she wasn’t caught), so they didn’t care about all the other stuff she did. She could do no wrong.

Until she graduated Hogwarts and found herself working for Witch Weekly. It wasn’t exactly a job stamped with parental approval, but she loved it so she stayed. Staying there, though, had sobered her up a little. She was just as confident but not as loud, not as sarcastic, not as fun. Now, things she said could hurt people. She was taken seriously and the consequences hurt. My little sister started growing up, knowing that she would be sheltered no longer.

I, on the other hand, switched roles with her. Now that I was a Healer who didn’t have much time to spend with the parentals, they wanted more of me.


And they would take me any way they’d get me.

You know, kind of. I still had to tone down the attitude.

But anyways, Aisha and I never stopped being studious, of course not. We wouldn’t be Ravenclaws if we had, but we definitely expanded our horizons and made lots of friends.

Ella Longbottom, for one. She was one of my best friends throughout school, though I had many more “fringe friends”. After all, everyone wanted a piece of the Minister’s daughter, on account of the fact that we were invited everywhere and got to do lots of things (or so they thought). My sister, on the other hand, managed to make a few more close friends while at school, all in varying years and Houses. Once we’d graduated, we’d somehow managed to form a group of close friends; my sister and I, Ella Longbottom, Scarlett Lopes, Louis Weasley, and Chandler Lewis. He claims that his parents loved a character from a famous Muggle television show and named him after that, but we know better. We’ve all met the Lewises, and they’re about as normal as Louis’ family. His weird name is just another product of their imagination.

That may have something to do with the similarities in their names. Hm.

Louis made it his mission, one Christmas, to introduce us all to every single member of his family. He was mainly successful in his claims, I’d like to think.

Al snapped his fingers in front of my face a few times before I blinked and realized he was still standing in front of.

“Oh, sorry,” I said hastily.

“No problem,” he responded cheerfully. “Figured I’d save you from your thoughts.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just nodded, trying to force a smile.

“I’ve always been taught to give credit where it’s due,” he continued. “And you guys did throw really great parties.”

“That’s really great,” I said, pretending to be enthusiastic. “Um, yeah.”

“Yeah,” he echoed, falling silent as well.

Look at that, this is awkward. Can this be more awkward?

“So what did you say your name was?” he stopped me again, stretching his arm out in front of me.

I turned towards him. “I didn’t, actually.”

Hey look at that, I curbed my sarcasm.

Go, me.

“Right, well, I’m Al.”

“Al,” I bit back a smile. “Al?”

He shuddered. “Trust me, it’s better than the alternative.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so, actually.” He was smiling by now, this half-smile that conveyed his amusement at the situation. I think he wanted to laugh at me but he wasn’t sure how I’d react.

“Do you come with a last name, Al?”

“Potter. And your name?” he looked at me expectantly.

Oh, bhagavaan. Potter. Well, Louis clearly failed, since I don’t recall having met Al.

“Sarina,” I told him reluctantly, not giving him any sign that I recognized who he was, though I had a feeling he knew anyways. Call it a hunch.  “Sarina Shah.”

“That’s what I said! Shaw!”



“I do believe you’re going to Azkaban, Al Potter,” I told him. “Because you just murdered my last name.”

He laughed loudly, “Good one.”

“Thank you, that was my intent actually. To make you laugh.”

I’m not sure what exactly happened, but maybe it was the smile and the eyes and the fact that he was taller than me. At 5’8”, finding a tall guy was a priority for me.

Not that I was looking at for anything other than...wait, why the hell was I talking to him?

Al Potter.

Al Potter.

One last time.

Say it with me now.

Al Potter.

“I think you’ll be joining me, Healer Shah,” he said amusedly. “Not knowing who I am? I think the legions of fangirls that the men in my family have acquired over the years will attest to that being a crime in a court of law, you know.”

“I’m best friends with your cousin, you know.”

“Yeah, well, half the people our age are best friends with one of my cousins.”

“You people breed like rabbits.”

“Want to test that?”

“No,” I answered lightly. “Not particularly.”

“Damn, I had my hopes up, too.”

I stopped again, this time in front of the Healer’s lounge. I lifted my hands up while shrugging, a ‘what can you do?’ expression on my face. “I have to go.”

“Right, yeah, of course.”

“But I’ll see you around.”

“Most definitely.”

“Okay then,” I said. Then, before we could get into an awkward battle of the goodbyes, I pushed open the door behind me and stepped into Healer’s lounge. Turning to the first person I saw, I said, “I think I just maybe flirted with Al Potter a little bit.”

What a good day.  

A/N: Translations:




dikra& beta- child. Often used as a title for kids in general. 








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