Girl Who Survived: Book Two {Harry Potter: Order of Phoenix}

[Chapter Twenty Four: St. Mungo's]

     When Tonks and Mad-Eye turned up to escort us across London, they greeted us gleefully, laughing at the bowler hat Mad-Eye was wearing at an angle to conceal his magical eye and assuring him, truthfully, that Tonks, whose hair was short and bright pink again, would attract far less attention on the Underground.

     Tonks was very interested in the vision of the attack on Mr. Weasley, something I was not remotely interested in discussing. Don't get me wrong, I love Tonks, but her lack of a filter sure does test that affection.

     "I don't recall there being any Seer blood in Ivory family history. Perhaps on your dad's side?" she enquired curiously, as we sat side by side on a train rattling towards the heart of the city.

     "I don't…" I trailed off, unable to fully gather a thought that wasn't 'dear god, what is happening?' "I don't believe so, Tonks."

     "No," said Tonks musingly, ignoring how distant I was, "no, I suppose it's not really prophecy you're doing, is it? I mean, you're not seeing the future, you're seeing the present… it's odd, isn't it? Useful, though…"

     I didn't answer; she then tried Harry, but didn't get much out of him either. Fortunately, we got out at the next stop, a station in the very heart of London, and in the bustle of leaving the train, I was able to allow Fred and George to get between myself and Tonks, who was leading the way. We all followed her up the escalator, Moody clunking along at the back of the group, his bowler tilted low and one gnarled hand stuck in between the buttons of his coat, clutching his wand.

     "So where is St. Mungo's hidden?" Harry asked, directing his question at Moody. He didn't seem at all enthusiastic, and I realized he probably felt the same as me, if not worse.

     "Not far from here," grunted Moody as we stepped out into the wintry air on a broad store-lined street packed with Christmas shoppers. He pushed Harry a little ahead of him and stumped along just behind; I bumped into him on accident.

     "Watch where you're going," Moody growled at me.

     I scowled at him, returning to that same relationship I'd always had with Moody, "Not my fault you limp around like that, you old gaffer."

     I knew the eye was rolling in all directions under the tilted hat. It wasn't a far stretch of the imagination to tell that he was trying to restrain himself from hitting me. I know, he adores me.

     Instead, he busied himself with looking at Harry and continued on with his St. Mungo's story, "Wasn't easy to find a good location for a hospital. Nowhere in Diagon Alley was big enough and we couldn't have it underground like the Ministry— wouldn't be healthy. In the end they managed to get hold of a building up here. Theory was, sick wizards could come and go and just blend in with the crowd."

     Tonks grabbed the back of my shirt as I carried on behind Moody to prevent us from being separated by a gaggle of shoppers plainly intent on nothing but making it into a nearby shop full of electrical gadgets. It was hard to believe that I'd ever been a part of that sort of society. There were three different versions of me: the magical one, the muggle, and the stranger. There was still a lot about myself I didn't know. At times, it was like I was in a sort of vessel, if you will. Here, but not really all here like within blank spots in my memory.

      "Here we go," said Moody a moment later.

     We had arrived outside a large,  old-fashioned, red-brick department store called Purge & Dowse Ltd. The place had a shabby, miserable air; the window displays consisted of a few chipped dummies with their wigs askew, standing at random and modelling fashions at least ten years out of date. Large signs on all the dusty doors read: 'Closed for Refurbishment,' but I doubted it was ever open.