Chapter 291: St Mungo's and Worried Little Harry
Everyone was so consumed with Arthur's condition that they failed to notice Kreacher's conspicuous absence from the house. The ancient house-elf had slipped away under cover of darkness, making his way to the imposing gates of Malfoy Manor. Though bound by magical contracts that prevented him from revealing the Order's deepest secrets, he managed to share one particularly damaging piece of information with another branch of the Black family tree: Narcissa Malfoy now knew about the close father-son bond that had developed between Harry Potter and Sirius Black.
The following morning arrived grey and drizzling, with London's characteristic winter gloom settling over the city like a heavy blanket. Everyone changed into their best Muggle clothes, the unfamiliar fabrics feeling strange against skin accustomed to wizarding robes. They navigated the Underground system with varying degrees of success, the metallic screech of train wheels and the musty smell of the tunnels creating an oddly surreal backdrop to their mission.
Moody and Tonks accompanied the group, their constant vigilance evident in every scanning glance and subtle wand movement. Tonks showed particular interest in Harry's prophetic dream about Arthur's attack, her hair shifting from bubble-gum pink to concerned purple as she peppered him with questions.
"That's some serious magical connection you've got there, Harry," she observed, but Harry's shoulders hunched defensively, clearly unwilling to discuss the disturbing implications.
"Kid, you don't happen to have Seer blood running through those veins, do you?" Moody speculated, his magical eye whirring as it focused intently on Harry's face.
"Absolutely not," Harry replied with perhaps more vehemence than necessary. The memory of Professor Trelawney shivering pathetically in the cold wind outside Hogwarts made him feel somehow insulted by the very suggestion.
Their destination proved to be a deliberately unremarkable building tucked between thriving shops in one of London's busiest districts. The abandoned Purge and Dowse Ltd department store stood like a decaying tooth among gleaming shopfronts, its boarded windows and peeling paint creating an almost aggressive atmosphere of neglect.
They pushed through the heavy glass doors, and the familiar scents of antiseptic and healing potions immediately replaced London's exhaust fumes and rain-soaked concrete. The magical hospital's interior buzzed with controlled activity, with Welcome Witches directing visitors while various magical maladies wandered past in varying states of treatment.
On the second floor, in a cheerfully lit ward of the Creature-Induced Injuries department, Arthur lay propped up against white pillows, looking remarkably well considering his supposed ordeal.
"Dad!" Ron, Ginny, and the twins chorused, rushing forward in a tangle of red hair and relieved embraces.
"Alright, alright, I'm perfectly fine, aren't I?" Arthur laughed, though he winced slightly as Fred squeezed him a bit too enthusiastically. "It takes more than a snake bite to keep a Weasley down."
Aiden moved to follow the family reunion, but an iron grip suddenly clamped down on his collar, dragging him unceremoniously out of the ward with surprising stealth.
"Now then," Mrs Weasley's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper once they were safely in the corridor, "explain clearly what you two have been plotting behind everyone's backs!"
"What plotting? Is there something more to Uncle's injury than we've been told?" Aiden adopted an expression of such innocent bewilderment that it would have made angels weep.
Mrs Weasley fixed him with a stare that could have melted steel, slowly raising one threatening fist.
"Cough, well..." The dragon's resolve crumbled immediately under that maternal glare, and he quickly spilt the entire elaborate deception.
"Sigh, Percy..." Molly's shoulders sagged with exhaustion and worry. Clearly, she had no idea how to handle her third son's consuming ambition for power and status.
"By the way, how did you figure out that Uncle and I staged the whole thing?" Aiden asked with genuine curiosity.
"Who do you think taught you potions in the first place? And knowing Arthur's character, what are the chances he'd just happen to be carrying pain-relieving potions in his pocket?" Mrs Weasley rolled her eyes with exasperated fondness.
"Ah, oversight. I didn't think that detail through properly."
Aiden smacked his forehead in realisation, the gesture perfectly synchronised with Mrs Weasley's knuckles rapping him smartly on the head.
"Don't you dare pull something like this again! Do you have any idea how terrified I was when I received that message?" Molly's tone shifted from anger to worry as she switched from fist to palm, gently ruffling Aiden's silver hair.
"Should we tell the others?" Aiden gestured toward where the twins, Ron, and Ginny were still clustered around their father's bed.
"Absolutely not. Better they don't know about these dangerous games we're playing. The more they understand, the easier it becomes for them to get pulled into something they can't handle," Molly said, fixing Aiden with another meaningful stare.
"Understood completely. My lips are sealed," Aiden raised both hands in theatrical surrender.
Back in the ward, Arthur had struck up a conversation with his unfortunate roommate, his natural curiosity overriding any sense of privacy.
"So, friend, what exactly bit you?" Arthur asked with the cheerful interest of someone who collected such information as a hobby.
"Werewolf..." the wizard in the neighbouring bed replied, his voice hollow with despair.
"A werewolf, you said? Well, cheer up, my friend! I actually know a werewolf personally, and he's doing quite well for himself these days. Besides, you've got perfect timing. My nephew developed a cure for lycanthropy and made it freely available to everyone," Arthur boasted with obvious pride.
Unexpectedly, the revelation made the injured wizard's head drop even lower toward his chest. "Perfect timing? How about offering that 'perfect timing' to someone who can actually use it?"
He turned his face to the wall and refused to speak another word.
"What's gotten into him?" Arthur asked when Aiden and Molly returned, genuinely puzzled by the hostile reaction.
"Well, the werewolf cure requires genuine phoenix tears as a primary ingredient, and we haven't found any adequate substitutes yet. The treatment cost is so astronomically high that ordinary werewolves simply can't afford it," Aiden explained with visible regret.
Upon hearing the phrase "astronomically high", Arthur cast a deeply sympathetic look toward the wizard in the neighbouring bed, finally understanding the man's bitter response.
After a while, several adults wanted to discuss more sensitive matters and politely shooed the younger generation away from Arthur's bedside. Since they were in St Mungo's and couldn't risk casting eavesdropping spells on the doors, George and Fred resourcefully deployed their Extendable Ears through the gap under the door.
"Dumbledore suspects that Harry has been possessed by You-Know-Who..." Moody's gravelly voice filtered through the magical listening device with crystal clarity.
Several people immediately turned to stare at Harry with expressions ranging from concern to poorly concealed alarm, and Harry felt his heart plummet into his stomach like a stone dropping into deep water.
He felt completely unworthy of staying with these people who cared about him, afraid that his very presence might endanger them. Without a word, he turned and walked purposefully toward the higher floors of the hospital.
Ron, Ginny, and Aiden quickly followed, their footsteps echoing in the sterile corridors as they tried to catch up with Harry's increasingly frantic pace.
After several false starts and wrong turns, they finally cornered Harry on the fifth floor, near a window overlooking London's sprawling cityscape.
"Come on, Harry, you heard what they said. Dumbledore is only suspicious, nothing more. Don't let it consume you like this," Ron said, placing a comforting hand on his best friend's shoulder.
"No, you don't understand what it feels like," Harry's voice cracked with suppressed panic. "I think Dumbledore's instincts are absolutely correct. That night, it felt exactly like I had physically transformed into that massive snake to attack Mr Weasley. What if I really am that snake? What if I'm transforming at night and Voldemort is sending me out to attack innocent people?"
Harry's greatest fear was losing control completely and hurting someone he cared about.
"Pfft," Aiden couldn't suppress a snort of laughter.
"What exactly are you laughing at?" Ron elbowed him sharply in the ribs.
"Harry, look carefully at this," Aiden raised his hand with theatrical flair, and a miniature silver dragon began weaving gracefully between his fingers like liquid mercury.
"That's... a Patronus?" Harry watched the ethereal creature with fascination.
"This also happens to be my Animagus form."
Aiden reluctantly draped his arm around Harry's tense shoulders and continued his explanation with patient understanding.
"Uncle's wounds were clearly caused by a magical creature with very specific characteristics. If Sister Tom possessed the power to help you skip years of intensive training and leap directly past ordinary Animagus transformation to become a full magical creature, then she wouldn't deserve the title 'Dark Lord'. She should be called 'The Greatest Magical Pioneer in History'," Aiden concluded with an exaggerated wink.
"Exactly right, Harry. You need to relax," Ron added his own reassurance.
"Relax? Why should anyone here be feeling particularly tense?" A melodious voice interrupted from behind them.
A blonde, blue-eyed wizard in elegant lilac robes flashed them a dazzling smile that seemed to light up the entire corridor.
"Gilderoy Lockhart?" They all recognised the famous face immediately.
"Oh, who is this Gilderoy Lockhart fellow? Never mind that trivial question. Here are some lovely autographed photographs for each of you wonderful young people."
Lockhart beamed and handed each of them a glossy promotional photo, though the signature read simply "Tutu" in shaky handwriting.
'Well played, Dumbledore,' Aiden thought silently, giving the absent headmaster mental applause for this perfectly executed memory modification.
Leaving St Mungo's behind, they discovered that Mundungus had somehow procured a remarkably ordinary-looking car that had been secretly enhanced with an Undetectable Extension Charm. The interior proved spacious enough to transport the entire Weasley family back to Grimmauld Place in unexpected comfort.
During the journey through London's twisting streets, Harry kept anxiously touching the back of his head, consumed by the terrifying worry that he might suddenly transform into a second Quirrell and sprout Voldemort's face from his skull.
Even after arriving safely at Grimmauld Place, Harry's paranoia had reached such heights that he packed his belongings and prepared to leave immediately, convinced that he might transform into that giant serpent again and harm everyone he cared about.
It seemed that Aiden's careful reassurances at the hospital had completely failed to penetrate Harry's spiral of self-doubt.
The deeply worried Harry was carrying his hastily packed trunk down the stairs when he found himself immediately intercepted by Aiden, who had been strategically positioned near the front entrance like a patient guardian.
"Let me go, Aiden. I'll end up getting you all killed," Harry's voice overflowed with crushing self-blame and desperate fear.
"My dear boy, try breaking free from my grip first," Aiden replied with a gentle smile that somehow managed to be both reassuring and utterly immovable. "And while you're under my protection and control, who exactly do you imagine you could possibly harm?"