Author's Note: I do not and never will own Harry Potter.
Written for the Occasion-a-Day Competition/Challenge. September 27 Prompt: Write about someone traveling to a new place.
Warning for self harm/hospitalisation
There was a spot of blood on the toe of her shoe.
Morag stared at it as intently as she could. It was ragged and splotchy, a testament to the evil still drying on her arms. Her mother was arguing with the receptionist, but she didn't bother tuning in. It was meaningless noise, buzzing over her head.
They didn't want to accept her at St. Mungo's. Her "troubles" (in her mum's delicate phrasing) were not magical in nature.
"Try a Muggle hospital," was the receptionist's parting shot. Morag's mother swore and stomped away, jerking her head for Morag to follow her. She did quietly, shoulders slumped in.
"A Muggle hospital," Katrina MacDougal scoffed. "My daughter- the nerve-"
"Could we try it please, mum?" Morag asked, still staring at the bloodstain on her shoe. The edges looked malevolent.
"Fine," Katrina acquiesced with a sniff, grabbing Morag's hand like she was a child again and tugging her down the road.
If it wasn't for the reason they were walking, Morag might have found the trip pleasant. Summer wasn't done yet, and the sunlight was warm and brilliant gold, spilling onto the sidewalk. The streets were crowded, but not so much that they found themselves jostled about or sworn at. Trees left speckled shadows on the pavement ahead of them. Someone's dog sniffed at her shoe, and Morag bit the inside of her lip.
It took several minutes and questioning more than one hapless Muggle for her mum to finally tow her through the automatic doors of the nearest A&E. Morag wrinkled her nose. It had smelled like summer outside, but it smelled like antiseptic in here. Even St. Mungo's had not felt so sterile and cold.
"Well, this could get tricky," Katrina muttered under her breath, her wand up her sleeve. Morag just sat down in a plastic chair, touching her toes together. She could feel blood flaking off inside her jumper, and it made her shudder. She still wasn't sure why she'd done it. A knife had been on the table, then suddenly, it was in her hand, and her arm was dripping. It had been terrible luck her mum had walked in right then, when she was still transfixed by the blood smeared across her skin.
"You're registered, whatever that means," her mum said, making her jump. "Come on."
"Thanks," Morag murmured. Katrina peered into her eyes in surprise, before a sad-tinged smile creased her mouth.
"You're welcome, honey," her mum said, giving her a brisk hug.
