After I was transported to St Mungo's, my mum was almost hysterical. Well, to be exact, she was hysterical. And Harry was just sat in one of the cots, dozing off, completely unaware of his surroundings. And, after what seemed like a year, a amiable-looking lady came over to me with a large of quantity of tubes draping over her shoulders like a tail.
Dad had his head in his hands. It was hard to tell who was sadder, Mum or Dad. Nor could I tell if he was crying, or just too immersed in his thoughts, thinking about the worst consequences. Mum was scarlet red, explaining how the car had almost hit me.
Little by little, Mum finally explained to the Healer what had happened. When the Healer decided to give me a little test, I was almost relieved. I wouldn't have to endure Mum sobbing her heart out over me, who was still alive; no, not when I could prove to her I could speak, and brighten her day.
As it turned out, the test took longer than I thought it should. I didn't have enough time to show Mum. I saw a funny tube with a little rubber pad on it slowly come to my chest, and felt a gently tickling sensation. At first I enjoyed it, but after I while it got extremely violent. I was so ticklish, that had I been conscious, I would twitch as hard as I could, for I could not move even though I could burst out in uncontrollable giggles.
Then the tube retreated to my back, and after five tests or so, on a variety of different lethal looking mechanics, each one looking more ominous, the Healer pronounced that I was unconscious. This was too much for Mum, who burst into tears again.
I felt grateful for the Healer, because she had suddenly cleared her throat to interrupt a drenched-in-tears-and-sweat Mum. 'Well, ' she said consolingly, 'don't worry, Madam. She'll be here for about a month and then she should be fine. Don't you worry.'
Someone appeared out of thin air, undoubtedly another Healer and carted Mum and Dad off to a 'quiet place', to take a 'well-deserved break'. Well, I can't say more than that. They do deserve a calming down.
11 years have passed after that fateful day when things took a turn for the worst. Yet, my life hasn't changed one bit, except that Mum's not here, and nor is Dad, nor Harry. Everyday I hear Healers and other visitors of patients in my ward having a fresh gossip of the latest Daily Prophet news, and that is how I have retrieved these memories from my mind. I don't even know how I got to hospital, or what I did in St Mungo's. Everything I know is from the friendly Healer I met, which turned out to be called Clara, and her colleagues at St Mungo's.
There's another change too. Poor Clara doesn't know. Sometimes I don't either. Sometimes I come back to my bed but I think that is is occupied. I feel as light as a ghost, yet I am not dead. Why is there another Grace Potter on my bed? I can't figure out why. Then, before that, I find myself in a strange place, with a emaciated man and a long white wand in his hand. But I think I'm starting to know why I exist somewhere else.