Chapter 25
ST Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
KIARA
I was so relieved she was taking me seriously that I did not hesitate, but jumped out of bed at once and pulled on my dressing gown, as did Beth and Kestrel. As this happened, Sian said to Chrissie, "Merida's with the boys. Tell them all to go down to the common room now."
"Of course, sister," Chrissie said, and she dashed for the door again. Professor Darbus watched this, clearly impressed with Sian's actions.
"Well, I must say, Miss Dawson, you certainly handle your emotions well," said Professor Darbus, her tone conveying surprise and pride.
"Well, someone has to keep a cool head in these situations," said Sian, "otherwise, people will panic, and when people panic that don't have their heads screwed on straight, and nothing productive ever gets done."
Darbus nodded, and said, "It's good to know that your family not only has a great sister to look up to, but also a great captain. Come on." We all headed to the door. As we went down to the common room, I heard Sian mutter, "Captain? No, that can't be right ..." but when I looked at her, I saw that she had a pleased little smile on her face.
When we reached the common room, we found Chris, Chrissie, Merida, Joe, Jack, Ben and Dave huddled around the portrait hole. When they saw Sian, they ran to her and started asking her questions - "What's going on?" "Who's hurt?" "Is someone dying?" - but Sian merely quieted them by saying, "We'll explain everything when we get to Ma's office." They stood aside and the Dawsons and I followed Professor Darbus out of the portrait hole and along the Fat Lord's moonlit corridor. I remember feeling as though the panic inside of me was going to spill over at any moment; I desperately wanted to run, to yell for Crighton; Mr Dawson was bleeding as we were walking along so sedately, and what if those fangs (I tried hard not to think "my fangs") has been poisonous? We passed Mrs Robbs, who turned her lamplike eyes upon us and hissed faintly, but Professor Darbus said, "Shoo!" Mrs Robbs sunk into the shadows, and in a few minutes we had reached the elevator that led to Crighton's office. Professor Darbus reached into a pocket of her dressing gown and pulled out twelve tokens for the slot. When we stepped inside the elevator expanded to let us all in, and once Professor Darbus told the voice inside the elevator to take us to Crighton's office, all of us except for Sian grabbed on to one of the hooks and we held on tight as we were flown around the school.
Once we were out of the elevator in front of Crighton's office, we heard voices coming from within, even though it was well past midnight, and there was a positive babble of them. It sounded as though Crighton was entertaining at least a dozen people.
Professor Darbus rapped three times with the griffin knocker and the voices ceased abruptly as though someone had switched them all off. The door opened of its own accord and Professor Darbus led myself and the Dawsons inside.
The room was in half-darkness; the strange silver instruments standing on tables were silent and still rather than whirring and emitting puffs of smoke as they usually did; the portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses covering the walls were all snoozing in their frames. Behind the door, a magnificent red and gold bird the size of a swan dozed on its perch with its head under its wing.
"Oh, it's you, Professor Darbus, and ... my children?"
Crighton sat in a high-backed chair behind her desk; she leaned forward into the pool of candlelight illuminating the papers that were laid out before her. She was wearing a magnificently embroidered emerald and silver dressing gown, that went well with her silver phoenix pendant that had emeralds on the chain and were used for the phoenix's eyes, which she wore under the dressing gown and over a snowy white night-gown. She seemed wide awake, considering her attire, and her penetrating light green eyes quickly switched from Sian's serious expression to Professor Darbus' equally serious one.
"Professor Crighton, Pride-Lander has had a ... well, a nightmare," said Professor Darbus. "She says ..."
"It wasn't a nightmare," I said quickly.
Professor Darbus looked round at me, frowning slightly.
"Very well then, Pride-Lander, you tell the Headmistress about it."
"I ... well, I was asleep ..." I said, and even in my terror and my desperation to make Crighton understand, I felt slightly irritated that the Headmistress did not look at me, but at Sian. "But it wasn't an ordinary dream ... it was real ... I saw it happen ..." I took a deep breath, "your husband, ma'am - Mr Dawson - has been attacked by a giant snake."
The words seemed to reverberate in the air after I had said them, sounding slightly ridiculous, even comical. There was a pause in which Crighton's face registered shock and the colour drained from her face as she continued to look at Sian, the serious expression still on her face, even as the colour drained from it. I heard Chris, Chrissie and the rest of the Dawsons behind me were muttering quietly in shock.
"How did you see this?" Crighton asked quietly, still choosing to look at Sian and not at me, and she spoke with a slight tremor in her voice.
"Well ... I don't know," I said rather angrily - after all, did it really matter (of course it did, I just didn't know why at the time)? "Inside my head, I suppose - "
"You misunderstand me," said Crighton, with the slight tremor still in her voice. "I mean ... can you remember - er - where you were positioned as you watched this attack happen? Were you perhaps standing beside the victim, or else looking down on the scene from above?"
This was such a curious question that I gaped at Crighton; it was almost as though she knew (of course she did, how couldn't she?) ...
"I was the snake," I said. "I saw it all from the snake's point of view."
Nobody else spoke for a moment, then Crighton, who was still looking at Sian's serious face, asked in a slightly stronger and sharper voice, "Is my husband seriously injured?"
"Yes," I said emphatically - why were they all so slow on the uptake? Did they not realise how much a person bled when fangs that long pierced their side? And I also wondered why Crighton could not do the courtesy of looking at me.
But Crighton stood up, so quickly that it made me jump, and she addressed one of the portraits that hung very near the ceiling. "Evelyn?" she said sharply. "And you too, Derwent?"
A sallow-faced witch with a short black fringe and an elderly wizard with thick, curly silver hair in the frame beside her, both of whom seemed to be in the deepest of sleeps, opened their eyes immediately.
"You were listening?" said Crighton.
The witch nodded; the wizard said, "Naturally."
"The man has dark brown hair that is slowly turning grey and freckles," said Crighton. "Evelyn, you will need to raise the alarm, make sure he is found by the right people - "
Both nodded and moved sideways out of their frames, but instead of emerging in neighbouring pictures (as usually happened at Dragon Mort) neither reappeared. One frame contained nothing but a backdrop of dark curtain, the other a handsome leather armchair. I then noticed that many of the other headmasters and mistresses on the walls, though snoring and drooling most convincingly, kept sneaking peeks at me from under their eyelids, and I suddenly understood who had been talking when we had knocked.
"Evelyn and Derwent were two of Dragon Mort's most celebrated Heads," Crighton said, as she swept around myself, Professor Darbus and the Dawsons to approach the magnificent sleeping bird on her perch beside the door. "Their renown is such that both have portraits hanging in other important wizarding institutions. As they are free to move between their own portraits, they can tell us what may be happening elsewhere ..."
"But Mr Dawson could be anywhere!" I said.
"Please sit down, the twelve of you," said Crighton, as though I had not spoken, "Evelyn and Derwent may not be back for several minutes. Professor Darbus, if you could draw up extra chairs."
Professor Darbus pulled her wand from the pocket of her dressing gown and waved it; twelve chairs appeared out of thin air in two lines of six in front of Crighton's desk, straight-backed and wooden, quite unlike the comfortable chintz armchairs that Crighton had conjured up at my hearing. I sat down, watching Crighton over my shoulder. Crighton stroked Kenna's plumed golden head with one finger. The phoenix awoke immediately. She stretched her beautiful head high and observed Crighton through bright, dark eyes.
"We will need," Crighton said very quietly to the bird, "a warning."
There was a flash of fire and the phoenix had gone.
Crighton then swooped down upon one of the fragile silver instruments whose functions I had never known, carried it over to her desk, sat down facing us again and tapped it gently with the tip of her wand.
The instrument tinkled into life at once with rhythmic clinking noises. Tiny puffs of pale green smoke issued from the miniscule silver tube at the top. Crighton watched the smoke closely, her brow furrowed. After a few seconds, the tiny puffs became a steady stream of smoke that thickened and coiled in the air ... a serpent's head grew out of the end of it, opening its mouth wide. I wondered whether the instrument was confirming my story; I looked eagerly at Crighton for a sign that I was right, but Crighton did not look up.
"Naturally, naturally," murmured Crighton apparently to herself, still observing the stream of smoke without the slightest sign of surprise. "But in essence divided?"
I could make neither head nor tail of that question. The smoke serpent, however, split itself instantly into two snakes, both coiling and undulating in the dark air. With a look of grim satisfaction, Crighton gave the instrument another gentle tap with her wand: the clinking noise slowed and died and the snake serpents grew faint, became a formless haze and vanished.
Crighton replaced the instrument on its spindly little table. I saw many of the old headmistresses in the portraits follow her with their eyes, then, realising that I was watching them, they hastily pretended to sleep again. I wanted to ask what the strange silver instrument was for, but before I could do so, there was a shout from the top of the wall to our right; the witch called Evelyn had reappeared in her portrait, panting slightly.
"Crighton!"
"What news?" said Crighton at once.
"I yelled until someone came running," said the witch, who mopped her brow on the curtain behind her, "said I'd heard something moving downstairs - they weren't sure whether to believe me but went down to check - you know there are no portraits down there to watch from. Anyway, they carried him up a few minutes later. He doesn't look good, he's covered in blood, I ran along to Edward Cunning's portrait to get a good view as they left - "
"Good," said Crighton, as Sian sat up straighter in her chair. "I take it Derwent will have seen him arrive, then - "
And moments later, the curly-haired, silver wizard reappeared in his picture, too; he sank, coughing, into his armchair and said, "Yes, they've taken him to St Mungo's, Crighton ... they carried him past my portrait ... he looks bad ..."
"Thank you," said Crighton. She looked round at Professor Darbus as soon as she heard her voice.
"Shall I go and wake the Fangs for you, Susan?"
"No, let them sleep. I shall speak with them in the morning. It's best if they stay here until term officially ends. That goes for you as well, Sian."
Sian jumped and looked just as surprised as the rest of us felt at her mother's words. "But why, Mother?"
"I know it looks suspicious for you to stay behind, Sian, when your brothers and sisters are going, but with you being here, it will convince some people here that you have no idea of what has passed this night. Therefore, you must "put on a show" (so to speak) and come here with Tanya and Geri tomorrow morning when I call for you. I know you want to be there for you father, Sian," Crighton continued, "but you must trust in my judgement, do you understand?"
Sian slowly nodded her head. Crighton nodded back at her before turning back to Professor Darbus. "Deidre, would I be asking too much of you and some of the staff if you were to keep a close eye on Sian, making sure that she doesn't get questioned, for it will not do for my eldest child to get ambushed at this time, no matter how strong she is."
"Of course, Susan," Professor Darbus said without hesitation. "We'll do what we can."
Crighton nodded at her and turned away. I looked around at the Dawsons, who all looked pale and terrified, but Sian's reaction I did not expect: she was sat up straight and she still had a serious expression etched on her face, but she was breathing deeply and her eyes were shining, though no tears fell.
"And Susan - what about Sarabi? Will she be informed of this situation?" said Professor Darbus.
"That will be a job for Kenna when she has finished keeping a lookout for anybody approaching," said Crighton.
When Crighton mentioned Grandmother Sarabi, I was suddenly reminded of her Boggart turning into Mr Dawson's lifeless body, blood running down his face ... but Mr Dawson wasn't going to die ... he couldn't ...
Crighton rummaged in a cupboard behind myself, Professor Darbus and the Dawsons. She emerged from it carrying a blackened old kettle, which she placed carefully on her desk. She raised her wand and murmured, "Portus!" For a moment, the kettle trembled and glowing with an odd blue light; then it quivered to rest, as solidly black as ever.
Crighton marched over to another portrait, this time of a clever-looking witch, with her raven-black hair pinned back, who had been painted wearing the Snake-Eyes colours of green and silver and was apparently sleeping so deeply that she could not hear Crighton's voice when she attempted to rouse her.
"Philomena. Philomena."
The subjects of the portraits lining the room were no longer pretending to be asleep; they were shifting around in their frames, the better to watch what was happening. When the clever-looking witch continued to feign sleep, some of them shouted her name, too.
"Philomena! Philomena! PHILOMENA!"
She could not pretend any longer after that; she gave a theatrical jerk and opened her eyes wide.
"Did someone call?"
"I need you to visit your other portrait, Philomena," said Crighton. "I've got another message."
"My other portrait?" said Philomena in a reedy voice, giving a long, fake yawn (her eyes travelled all around the room before they came to land and focus upon me). "Oh, no, Crighton, I am much too tired tonight."
Something about Philomena's voice was familiar to me, and I wondered where I had heard it before. But before I could think, the portraits on the surrounding walls broke into a storm of protest.
"Insubordination, madam!" roared a corpulent, red-nosed witch, brandishing her fists. "Dereliction of duty!"
"We are honour-bound to give service to the present Headmistress of Dragon Mort!" cried a frail-looking old witch whom I recognised as Crighton's predecessor, Amanda Dipper. "Shame on you, Philomena!"
"Shall I persuade her, Crighton?" cried a gauntlet-eyed wizard, raising an unusually thick wand that looked not unlike a birch rod.
"Oh, very well," said the witch called Philomena, eyeing the wand with mild apprehension, "though he may well have destroyed my picture by now, he's done away with most of the family - "
"Pumbaa knows not to destroy your portrait," said Crighton, and I realised immediately where I had heard Philomena's voice before: issuing from the apparently empty frame in my bedroom in Pumbaa's house. "You are to give him the message that Matthew Dawson has been gravely injured and that most of his children, Sarabi and Kiara Pride-Lander will be arriving at his house shortly. Do you understand?"
"Matthew Dawson injured, children, Sarabi and Kiara Pride-Lander coming to stay," repeated Philomena in a bored voice. "Yes, yes ... very well ..."
She sloped away into the frame of the portrait and disappeared from view. Crighton then turned to face us.
"My children, your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Centaur," she said. "He has been taken to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. "I am sending most of you to Pumbaa's house, which is much more convenient for the hospital than Dawson Manor. You will meet Sarabi there, as well as Simba and Nala."
"How're we going?" asked Chris, looking shaken. "Floo powder?"
"No," said Crighton, "Floo powder is not safe at the moment, the Network is being watched. You will be taking a Portkey." She indicated the old kettle that lay innocently on her desk. "We are just waiting for Philomena Naenia to report back ... and I want to make sure that the coast is clear before sending you - "
There was a flash of flame in the very middle of the office, leaving behind a single golden feather that floated gently to the floor.
"It is Kenna's warning," said Crighton, catching the feather as it fell. "Professor Umber must know you're out of your beds ... Deidre, go and head him off - tell him any story - "
Professor Darbus leapt out of her chair and was out the door in a flash of tartan.
"He says he'll be delighted," said a bored voice behind Crighton; the witch named Philomena had reappeared in front of her Snake-Eyes banner. "My great-great-grandson has always had an odd taste in house-guests."
"Come here, then," Crighton said to myself and the Dawsons, "but not before you've all said farewell to Sian first - but be quick about it, before anyone else joins us."
The Dawsons and I all hugged Sian individually. After she hugged me (I was the last person), she said to us, "I'll be with you in a few days. Be strong for me ... and our father." We all nodded and shared a smile with her before we gathered around Crighton's desk. Chrissie, Beth, Kestrel, Merida, Chris, Joe, Jack, Ben, Dave and I each touched some part of the kettle.
"After three, then," said Crighton. "One ... two ..."
It happened in a fraction of a second: in the infinitesimal pause before Crighton said "three", I looked up at her - we were very close together - and Crighton's clear green gaze moved from the Portkey to my face.
At once, my scar burned white-hot, as though the old wound had burst open again - and unbidden, unwanted, but terrifyingly strong, there rose within me a hatred so powerful that I felt, in that instant, that I would like nothing better than to strike - to bite - to sink my fangs into the woman in front of me -
" ... three."
I felt a powerful jerk behind my navel; the ground vanished from beneath my feet and my hand was glued to the kettle; I banged into the others as we all sped forwards in a swirl of colours and a rush of wind, with the kettle pulling us onwards ... until my feet hit the ground so hard that my knees buckled, the kettle clattered to the ground, and somewhere close at hand a voice said:
"Back again, the blood-traitor brats. Is it true their father's dying?"
"OUT!" roared a second voice.
I scrambled to my feet and looked around; we had arrived in the gloomy basement kitchen in Pumbaa's house. The only sources of light were the fire and one guttering candle, which illuminated the remains of three suppers. Kleaner disappeared through the door to the hall, but looked back at us malevolently as she hitched up her tea-towel skirt; my parents and Pumbaa hurried towards us, all of them looking anxious. Pumbaa looked well-groomed, but my father looked like he hadn't shaved for days and my mother's hair was a mess.
"What's going on?" Pumbaa said, as he stretched out a hand to help Merida up. "Philomena Naenia said Matt's been attacked - "
"Ask Kiara. She knows what happened," said Chrissie.
"Yeah, I want to hear this for myself," said Chris.
He, Chrissie, Joe, Jack, Ben and Dave all stared at me. Kleaner's footsteps stopped on the stairs outside.
"It was - " I began; this was even worse than telling Darbus, Crighton and Sian. "I had a - a kind of - vision ..."
And I told them all that I had seen, though I altered the story so it sounded as though I had watched from the sidelines as the snake attacked, rather than from behind the snake's own eyes. When I had finished, Chris, Chrissie, Joe, Jack, Ben and Dave all continued to stare at me for a moment. I do not know if I imagined it or not, but I could have sworn that there was something accusatory in there looks. Well, if they were going to blame me just for seeing the attack, I was glad that I had not told them that I had been inside the snake at the time (God, I really hope none of them blame me for that; after all, their father is alive and well, and in some way I did help to save his life that night).
I then noticed that my mother was looking at us, and she noticed that one of us was missing from our group.
"Where's Sian?" she asked. "I thought she would have been with you."
"She's staying behind at the school, for some reason or other," said Chrissie. "She'll be coming here with Tanya and Geri once term officially ends."
Mum looked surprised, but quickly shrugged it off. Chris turned to my father.
"Is your mum here yet?"
"She probably doesn't even know what's happened yet," my father said. "The important thing was to get you away before Umber could interfere. I expect Crighton's letting my mother know now."
"We've got to go to St Mungo's," said Chrissie urgently. She looked at her brothers and sisters, who were of course still in their pyjamas. "Pumbaa, can you lend us cloaks or anything?"
"Hold your horses, kids! You can't all go tearing off to St Mungo's!" said Pumbaa.
"Course we can go to St Mungo's if we want!" said Beth, with a mulish expression. "He's our dad!"
"And how are you going to explain how you knew Matt was attacked before the hospital even let his wife know?" my father asked them.
"What does that matter?" said Merida hotly.
"It matters because we don't want to draw attention to the fact that Kiara is having visions of things that are happening hundreds of miles away!" my father said angrily. "Have you any idea what the Ministry would make of that information?"
Chris, Chrissie, Beth and Merida looked as though they could not care less what the Ministry made of anything. Kestrel, Joe, Jack, Ben and Dave all looked angry but thought it wise to remain silent.
Chris said, "Somebody else could have told us ... we could have heard it from someone other than Kiara."
"Like who?" said Mum impatiently. "Listen, your father's been hurt while on duty for the Order and the circumstances are fishy enough without his children knowing about it seconds after it happened, you could seriously damage the Order's - "
"Oh, we don't care about the Order!" shouted Chris.
"It's our dad dying we're talking about!" yelled Merida.
"Your father knew what he was getting into and he won't thank you for messing things up for the Order!" said Mum, just as angry. "This is how it is - this is why you're not in the Order - you don't understand - there are things worth dying for!"
"Easy for you to say, stuck here!" bellowed Chris. "I don't see you or Simba out there risking your necks, Nala!"
"Hey!" I shouted, and everyone looked at me, stunned. I was glaring at Chris. How dare he yell at my parents that way? "That's enough from all of you! Look, Chris, Chrissie and the rest of you Dawsons here, I get why you're angry, and you have every right to be, but that does not mean that you can take that anger out on others! What's done is done, and all this arguing is not going to change anything, nor will it be helping us in any way!"
Everyone stared at me like they had never seen me before, and I could see why, for I sounded just like Sian. Looking around, I saw the Dawsons' expressions all change rapidly from anger to shock and then to shame. I then turned to Pumbaa, whose eyes were twinkling and he seemed to be stifling laughter. My eyes then turned to my parents, who were gazing at me with gratefulness and love, but my father's eyes had something more in them, something that made me feel taller in that moment than I had ever felt before: pride.
"Kiara, we're - " Chris began, but I stopped him.
"It's not me you need to apologise to," I snapped, my eyes flickering to my parents. Chris nodded and he, Chrissie, Beth and Merida turned to my parents and mumbled their apologies.
"It's quite all right," my father said, his tone and expression gentle. "Look, I know it's hard, but we've all got to act as though we don't know anything yet. We've got to stay put, at least until we hear from my mother or yours, all right?"
We all nodded, some of us reluctantly. Chris then took a few steps over to the nearest chair and sank into it. I looked at Chrissie, who made a funny movement somewhere between a nod and a shrug, and we sat down, too. Beth, Kestrel, Merida, Joe, Jack, Ben and Dave quickly followed suit.
"That's right," said my father encouragingly, "let's all ... let's all have a drink while we're waiting. Accio Butterbeer!"
He raised his wand as he spoke and thirteen bottles came flying towards us out of the pantry, skidded along the table, scattering the debris of my parents' and Pumbaa's meals, and stopped neatly in front of the thirteen of us. We all drank, and for a while the only sounds were those of the crackling of the kitchen fire and the soft thud of our bottles on the table.
The only reason I drank was because it gave me something to do with my hands. I remember very clearly the feeling of my stomach being full of horrible hot, bubbling guilt. We wouldn't have been there if it wasn't for me; we would have all been asleep in bed. And it was no good telling myself that by raising the alarm I had ensured the Mr Dawson was found, because there was also the inescapable business of who had attacked Mr Dawson in the first place.
Don't be stupid, you haven't got fangs, I told myself, trying to keep calm, though the hand on my Butterbeer bottle was shaking, you were lying in bed, you weren't attacking anyone ...
But then, what just happened in Crighton's office? I asked myself. I felt like I wanted to attack Crighton, too ...
I put the bottle down a little harder than I meant to, and it slopped over on to the table. No one took any notice. Then a burst of fire in midair illuminated the dirty plates in front of us and, as we gave cries of shock, a scroll of parchment fell with a thud on to the table, accompanied by a single golden phoenix tail feather.
"Kenna!" said Mum at once, snatching up the parchment. "That's not Crighton's writing - it must be a message from your mother, Simba - here - "
She gave it to my father, who took it at once, ripped it open and read aloud: "Matt is still alive. I'm setting out for St Mungo's now, and I will meet Crighton there. Stay where you are. I will send news as soon as I can. Sarabi."
Merida looked around the table.
"Still alive ..." she said slowly. "But that makes it sound ..."
She did not need to finish the sentence. It sounded to me, too, as though Mr Dawson was hovering somewhere between life and death. Kestrel stared at the back of Grandmother Sarabi's letter as though hoping it would speak some words of comfort to her. Beth pulled it out of my father's hands and read it for herself, then she, as well as Merida, Joe, Jack, Ben and Dave looked at me. I felt my hand shaking on my Butterbeer bottle again, and I jumped when I felt a warm hand squeezing mine. I turned to who the hand belonged to and found that it was Chris, who squeezed my fingers and smiled at me gently. I smiled and squeezed his fingers just as gently back, grateful for this small piece of comfort.
I'm pretty sure that that was the longest night that I have ever sat through in my entire life so far. My parents and Pumbaa had suggested once, without any real conviction, that we all go to bed, but the Dawsons' looks of disgust were answer enough. We mostly sat in silence around the table, watching the candle wick sinking lower and lower into liquid wax, occasionally raising a bottle to our lips, speaking only to check the time, to wonder aloud what was happening, and to reassure each other that if there was bad news, we would know straightaway, for Grandmother Sarabi and Crighton must have long since arrived at St Mungo's.
Merida fell into a doze, her head resting on Dave's shoulder, who stroked her hair. Chris had his head on the table, his eyes open, our hands still touching. Chrissie had her head in her hands, whether awake or asleep, I knew not; the rest of the Dawsons had their heads on the table. Pumbaa had his head thrown back in his chair, snoring deeply. My parents and I looked at each other every so often, intruders upon the family grief, waiting ... waiting ...
At ten past five in the morning by Chrissie's watch, the kitchen door swung open and Grandmother Sarabi entered the kitchen. She looked extremely tired, but when we all turned to look at her, Chris, Chrissie and I half-rising from our chairs, she gave a wan smile.
"He's going to be all right," she said, her voice weak with tiredness. "He's sleeping. We can all go and see him later. Sam's sitting with him now; she's going to take the morning off work."
The Dawsons all looked at each other, relief slowly spreading over their faces as the truth set in: their father was going to be fine. They all held hands, silently reassuring each other, as tears of pure joy and relief trickled down their faces. I got up and embraced Grandmother Sarabi, who gently hugged me back.
"Breakfast!" said Pumbaa loudly and joyfully, jumping to his feet. "Where's that accursed house-elf of mine? Kleaner! KLEANER!"
But Kleaner did not answer the summons.
"Oh, forget it, then," muttered Pumbaa, counting the people in front of him. "So it's breakfast for - let's see - fourteen ... bacon and eggs, I think, and some tea, and toast - "
I hurried over to the stove to help. I did not want to intrude on the Dawsons' happiness and I dreaded the moment when Grandmother Sarabi would ask me to recount my vision. However, I had barely taken plates from the dresser when Grandmother Sarabi lifted them out of my arms and pulled me in for another hug.
"I don't know what would have happened if it hadn't been for you, Kiara, and nor does Crighton," she said in a muffled voice. "They might not have found Matt for hours, and then it would have been too late, but thanks to you he's alive and Crighton's been able to think up a good cover story for Matt being where he was - and not just for him, either; Crighton also helped Sian with her cover story for why she's not here; she'll tell you when she arrives, I'm sure - anyway, you have no idea how much trouble he would have been in otherwise, look at poor Simone ... oh, and Crighton asked me to hug her for you, just so you know ..."
I could hardly bear her gratitude, but fortunately she soon released me to turn to Pumbaa and thank him for looking after the Dawsons and I through the night (I know my parents were there, too, but this is Pumbaa's house, so ...). Pumbaa said he was very pleased to have been able to help, and hoped we would all stay with him so long as Mr Dawson was in hospital.
"Oh, Pumbaa, I'm so grateful ... they think he'll be there a little while and it would be wonderful to be nearer ... of course, that might mean we're here for Christmas."
"The more the merrier!" said Pumbaa, with such obvious sincerity that Grandmother Sarabi beamed at him, threw on an apron and began to help with breakfast. "That is, of course, if you don't mind putting up with boring, fat old me for a time?" Pumbaa cracked, with the hint of a smile.
"Oh, come now, Pumbaa, you're not so bad," Mum said, chuckling. "Besides," she said, her gaze softening as she turned to look at me, "it gives Simba and I something extra to celebrate this year, doesn't it, dear?"
"That's right," my father said, smiling at me. He and Mum then both walked over to me and held me tight. "Our first Christmas together as a family since you were a baby, Kiara," he mumbled into my hair.
For a moment, a surge of happiness thrilled me at this thought, thinking of all the activities (limited, given the situation) we could do together. But then the guilt came back, and I knew that I had to talk about it. So I pulled back to look at my parents, who both looked shocked and surprised by what I'd just done, and I said to them, "Can I have a word with you two? Er - now?"
I walked into the dark pantry and my parents followed. As soon as Mum shut the door, I told my parents every detail of the vision I had had, including the fact that I myself had been inside the snake who had attacked Mr Dawson.
When I paused for breath, my father said, "Did you tell Crighton this?"
"Yes," I said impatiently, "but she didn't tell me what it meant. Well, she doesn't tell me anything anymore."
"I'm sure she would have told you if it was anything to worry about," said Mum steadily.
"But that's not all," I said, in a voice only a little above a whisper. "Daddy, Mum, I ... I think I'm going mad. Back in Crighton's office, just before we took the Portkey ... for a couple of seconds there I thought I was a snake - I felt like one - my scar really hurt when I was looking at her - Daddy, I wanted to attack her!"
My mother strode towards me, wrapped me in her arms and kissed her forehead. When she pulled back, she looked me straight in the eye. She looked at me seriously, but there was something in her eyes that made me think she was worried or scared.
"It must have been the aftermath of the vision, that's all," she said steadily. "You were still thinking of the dream or whatever it was and - "
"It wasn't like that, Mum," I said, shaking my head, "it was like something rose up inside me, like there's a snake inside me."
My father stepped out of the shadows then and touched my cheek. "You need to sleep," he said firmly. "You're going to have breakfast, then go upstairs to bed, and after lunch you can go and see Matt with the others. You're in shock, Kiara; you're blaming yourself for something you witnessed, and it's lucky you did witness it or Matt might have died. You did nothing wrong, Kiara, so stop worrying, will you?"
"Your father's right, Kiara," said Mum. "Like you said before, what's done is done, and worrying about this is not going to change anything. What you should be focusing on now is breakfast, that's all."
She then kissed my forehead again and my father pinched my cheek gently before they both left the pantry, leaving me alone in the dark.
0000
Everyone but myself spent the rest of the morning sleeping. I went up to the bedroom Chrissie and I shared over the last few weeks of summer, but while Chrissie crawled into bed and was asleep within minutes, I sat fully clothed, hunched against the cold metal bars of my bedstead, keeping myself deliberately uncomfortable, determined not to fall into a doze, terrified that I would become the snake again in my sleep and wake to find that I had attacked Chrissie, or else slithered through the house after one of the others ...
When Chrissie woke, I pretended to have enjoyed a refreshing nap too. Our trunks had arrived from Dragon Mort as we ate lunch, so we could dress as Muggles for the trip to St Mungo's. Everybody except for me was riotously talkative and happy as we changed out of our robes into jeans and sweatshirts. When Todd and Crazy-Head turned up to escort us to London, we greeted them gleefully, laughing at the cap Grumpy had, which covered her head scarf, through which you could see her four magical eyes move, and assuring her, truthfully, that Todd, whose hair was short and bright pink again, would attract far less attention in the centre of London.
As it happened, Crighton had called Joey and his driving partner to drive us to London, so Grumpy took Joey's car with Beth, Joe, Jack, Ben and Dave, and Grandmother Sarabi and Todd took the other car with Chris, Chrissie, Kestrel, Merida and I.
On our way to St Mungo's, Todd was very interested in my vision of the attack on Mr Dawson, something that not only was I not interested in discussing, but also something that made everyone in the car very uncomfortable.
"There isn't any Seer blood in your family, is there?" she enquired casually, as we drove to London.
"No," I said, thinking of Professor Crystals and feeling irritated.
"No," said Todd musingly, "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 chose not to answer, and no one looked at me or talked to me for the rest of the journey, which I found very disconcerting. I was grateful when we got to London and we were able to get out of the car, for I felt the sharp wind rejuvenated my spirits a little. Once we had all stepped out of the cars, Grandmother Sarabi told Joey that we would all be about an hour. Joey said he'd wait for us, and so we walked down the street with Todd leading us. Grumpy clunked along at the back of the group, her cap tilted low and one gnarled hand stuck in between the buttons on her coat, clutching her wand. I thought I sensed one of her concealed eyes staring at me. Trying to avoid any more questions about my dream, I asked Crazy-Head about where St Mungo's was hidden (never having got anything serious as a child, there was no need for me to know about - or visit - the hospital).
"Not far from here," grunted Grumpy, as we kept walking down the broad store-lined street that was packed with Christmas shoppers. She pushed me a little ahead of her and slumped along just behind; I knew the eyes were rolling in all direction beneath her headscarf and cap. "Wasn't easy to find a good location for a hospital. Nowhere in Brickabon Alley was big enough and we couldn't have it underground like the Ministry - wouldn't be healthy. In the end we managed to get hold of a building up here. Theory was, sick wizards could come and go and just blend in with the crowd."
She seized my shoulder to prevent us from being separated by a gaggle of shoppers who were plainly intent on nothing but making it into a nearby shop full of the latest winter fashions.
"Here we go," said Grumpy 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 about it; the window displays consisted of a few chipped dummies with their wigs askew, standing at random and modelling fashions that were at least thirty years old. Large signs on all the dusty doors read: "Closed for Refurbishment". I distinctly heard a large woman with plastic shopping bags say to her friend as they passed, "It's never open, that place ..."
"Right," said Todd, beckoning us towards a window that displayed nothing but a particularly ugly female dummy. Its fales eyelashes were hanging off and it was modelling a green nylon pinafore dress. "Everybody ready?"
We nodded, clustering around her. Grumpy gave me another shove between the shoulder blades to urge me forwards and Todd leaned close to the glass, looking up at the very ugly dummy, her breath steaming up the glass. "Wotcher," she said, "we're here to see Matthew Dawson."
I thought how absurd it was for Todd to expect the dummy to hear her talking so quietly through a sheet of glass, with buses rumbling along behind her and all the racket of a street full of shoppers. Then I reminded myself that dummies couldn't hear anyway. Next second, my mouth opened in shock as the dummy gave a tiny nod and beckoned with its jointed finger, and Todd led Beth, Kestrel, Merida, Ben and Dave through the glass and vanished.
Grandmother Sarabi, Chris, Chrissie, Joe and Jack stepped after them. I glanced around at the jostling crowd; not one of them seemed to have a glance to spare for window displays as ugly as those of Purge & Dowse Ltd.; nor did any of them seem to have noticed that eleven people had just melted into thin air in front of them.
"C'mon," growled Grumpy, giving me yet another poke in the back, and together we stepped through what felt like a sheet of cool water, and we emerged quite warm and dry on the other side.
There was no sign of the ugly dummy or the space where she had stood. We were in what seemed to be a crowded reception area where rows of witches and wizards sat upon rickety wooden chairs, some looking perfectly normal and perusing out-of-date copies of Wizard Weekly, others sporting gruesome disfigurements such as anteater tongues or extra feet sticking out of their legs. The room was scarcely less quiet than the street outside, for many of the patients made very peculiar noises; a sweaty-faced wizard in the centre of the front row, who was fanning himself vigorously with a copy of the Daily Squabbler, kept breathing fire every few minutes or so; a grubby-looking witch in the corner made a rattle noise every time she moved and, with each rattle, her head vibrated so horribly that she had to seize herself by the ears to hold it steady.
Witches and wizards in lime-green robes walked up and down rows, asking questions and making notes on clipboards like Umber's. I noticed the emblem embroidered on their chests: a wand and bone, crossed.
"Are they doctors?" I asked Chrissie quietly.
"Doctors?" said Chrissie, looking startled. "Those Muggle nutters that cut people up? Nah, they're Healers."
"Over here!" called Grandmother Sarabi, above the renewed rattling of the witch in the corner, and we followed her to queue in front of a blond, thin, pimpled wizard, seated at a desk marked Enquiries. The wall behind him was covered in notices and posters saying things like: A CLEAN CAULDRON KEEPS POTIONS FROM BECOMING POISONS and ANTIDOTES ARE ANTI-DON'TS UNLESS APPROVED BY A Qualified HEALER. There were also two large portraits, one of which was empty, but the second portrait was of a wizard with curly silver hair, which was labelled:
Derwnt Dobster
St Mungo's Healer 1732 - 1751
Headmaster of Dragon Mort Magical Academy
1751 - 1778
Derwent eyed the Dawson party closely as though he was counting us; when I caught his eye, he gave a tiny wink, walked sideways out of his portrait and vanished.
Meanwhile, at the front of the queue, a young witch was performing an odd on-the-spot jig and trying, in between yelps of pain, to explain her predicament to the wizard behind the desk.
"It's these - ouch - shoes my sister gave me - ow - they're eating my - OUCH - feet - look at them, there must be some kind of - AARGH - jinx on them and I can't - AAAAARGH - get them off." She hopped from one foot to the other as though dancing on hot coals.
"The shoes don't prevent you from reading, do they?" said the blond wizard, irritably pointing at a large sign to the left of his desk. "You want spell damage, fourth floor. Just like it says on the floor guide. Next!"
As the witch hobbled and pranced sideways out of the way, the Dawson party moved forward a few steps and I read the floor guide:
ARTEFACT ACCIDENTS ... Ground Floor
Cauldron explosion, wand backfiring, broom crashes, etc.
CREATURE-INDUCED INCIDENTS ... First Floor
Bites, stings, burns, embedded spines, etc.
MAGICAL BUGS ... Second Floor
Contagious maladies, e.g. dragon pox, vanishing sickness, scrofungulus, etc.
POTION AND PLANT POISONING ... Third Floor
Rashes, regurgitation, uncontrollable giggling, etc.
SPELL DAMAGE ... Fourth Floor
Unliftable jinxes, hexes, incorrectly applied charms, etc.
VISITORS TEAROOM / HOSPITAL SHOP ... Fifth Floor
IF YOU ARE UNSURE WHERE TO GO, INCAPABLE OF NORMAL SPEECH OR UNABLE TO REMEMBER WHY YOU ARE HERE, OUR WELCOME WITCH / WIZARD WILL BE ABLE TO HELP.
A very old, stooped witch with a hearing trumpet shuffled to the front of the queue. "I'm here to see Briana Bass!" she wheezed.
"Ward forty-nine, but I'm afraid you're wasting your time," said the wizard dismissively. "She's completely addled, you know - still thinks she's an iron. Next!"
A harassed-looking witch held her small son tightly by the ankle while he flapped around her head using the immensely large, feathery wings that had sprouted right out through the back of his romper suit.
"Fourth floor," said the wizard in a bored voice, without asking, and the woman disappeared through the double doors behind the desk, holding her son like an oddly shaped balloon. "Next!"
Grandmother Sarabi moved forward to the desk.
"Hello," she said, "I'm here with the Dawson children. Their father, Matthew Dawson, was supposed to be moved to a different ward this morning, could you tell us - ?"
"Matthew Dawson?" said the wizard, running his finger down a long list in front of him. "Yes, first floor, second door on the right, Dai Llewellyn ward."
"Thank you," said Grandmother Sarabi. "Come on, you lot."
We followed her through the double doors and along the narrow corridor beyond, which was lined with more portraits of famous Healers and lit by crystal bubbles full of candles that floated up on the ceiling, looking like giant soapsuds. More witches and wizards in lime-green robes walked in and out of doors we passed; a foul-smelling yellow gas wafted into the passageway as we passed one door, and every now and then we heard distant wailing. We climbed a flight of stairs and entered the Creature-Induced Injuries corridor, where the second door on the right bore the words: "Dangerous" Dai Llewellyn Ward: Serious Bites. Underneath this was a card in a brass holder on which had been handwritten: Healer-in-Charge: Hippocrates Smethwyck. Trainee Healer: Alane Pyke.
"We'll wait outside, Sarabi," Todd said. "Matt won't want us in there ... it ought to be just the family first."
Crazy-Head growled her approval of this idea and set herself with her back against the wall, her magical eyes spinning in all directions beneath her headscarf. I drew back, too, but Grandmother Sarabi reached out a hand and pushed me through the door, saying, "Don't be silly, Kiara, Matt wants to thank you."
The ward was small and rather dingy, as the only window was narrow and set high in the wall facing the door. Most of the light came from more shining crystal bubbles clustered in the middle of the ceiling. The walls were of panelled oak and there was a portrait of a vicious-looking wizard on the wall, captioned: Urquhart Rackharrow, 1612 - 1697, Inventor of the Entrail-expelling Curse.
If I remember rightly, there were only three patients there. Mr Dawson was occupying the bed at the far end of the ward beside the tiny window. I was pleased and relieved to see that he was propped up on several pillows and was reading the Daily Squabbler by the solitary ray of sunlight that fell on to his bed. He looked up as we walked towards him and, seeing who it was, beamed. I saw a quick flash of disappointment flash across his eyes, and I immediately knew why: he wanted to see Sian, but he quickly got over it, pleased to see the rest of his family.
"Hello!" he called, throwing the Squabbler aside. "Sam and me mam just left, Sarabi. She had to drop me mam off home before heading to work, but she says she'll drop in on you later."
"How are you, Matt?" asked Grandmother Sarabi, looking anxiously at his face. "You're still looking a bit peaky."
"I feel absolutely fine," said Mr Dawson, beckoning his children to him, which they obliged without a moment's hesitation; they crowded around him eagerly, each child wanting to touch their father, to truly make sure he was real and alive and with them. Once they had all gotten their fill of their father, the Dawsons all pulled back, some wiping tears from their eyes, but all of them beaming just as widely as their father, who turned back to Sarabi and said, "If they could only take the bandages off, I'd be fit to go home."
"Why can't they take them off, Dad?" Merida asked.
"Well, I start bleeding like mad every time they try," said Mr Dawson cheerfully, reaching across for his wand, which lay on his bedside cabinet, and waving it so that eleven extra chairs appeared at his bedside to seat us all. "It seems there was some rather unusual kind of poison in that snake's fangs that keeps wounds open. They're sure they'll find an antidote, though; they said they've had much worse cases than mine, and in the meantime I just have to keep taking a Blood-Replenishing Potion every hour. But that fellow over there," he said, dropping his voice and nodding toward the bed opposite in which a man lay looking green and sickly and staring at the ceiling. "Bitten by a werewolf, poor chap. No cure at all."
"A werewolf?" whispered Grandmother Sarabi, looking alarmed. "Is he safe in a public ward? Shouldn't he be in a private room?"
"It's two weeks 'til full moon," Mr Dawson reminded her quietly. "They've been talking to him this morning, the Healers, you know, trying to persuade him he'll be able to lead an almost normal life. I said to him - didn't mention names, of course - but I said I knew a werewolf personally, very nice man, who finds the condition quite easy to manage."
"What did he say?" asked Chrissie.
"Said he'd give me another bite if I didn't shut up," said Mr Dawson sadly. "And that woman over there," he indicated the only other bed, which was right beside the door, "won't tell the Healers what bit her, which makes us all think it must have been something she was handling illegally. Whatever it was took a real chunk out of her leg, very nasty smell when they take off the dressings."
"Have you had any word from Ma about how Sian is, Dad?" asked Chris.
Mr Dawson sighed and said, "Yes, I have. Distraught, Sian was, your mother told me. Said that as soon as you lot had gone, she ran to her mother and sobbed convulsively. She calmed down, though, as soon as she learned I was going to be fine. Professor Darbus stayed with her when your mother came to see me. Once your mother had calmed Sian down, she then asked her if she wanted the day off, but your sister firmly stood her ground and said no, for not only would it make Umber suspicious, but school would also take her mind off what had happened to me. Your mother's talked with Tanya and Geri, who're looking after Sian over the next few days. I know all this because your mother sent me a message a few minutes before me mam and Sam left," he finished, pointing at a large scroll lying next to a phoenix feather.
I felt sorry for Sian, not just for the fact that she could have lost her father, but also for having to stay away from her family when they needed her most. After some time, Chrissie asked her father, "So, are you going to tell us what happened, Dad?"
"Well, you already know, don't you?" said Mr Dawson, with a significant smile at me. "It's very simple, really - I'd had a very long day, dozed off, got sneaked up on and bitten."
"Is it in the Squabbler, you being attacked?" asked Chris, indicating the newspaper Mr Dawson had cast aside.
"No, of course not," said Mr Dawson, with a slightly bitter smile, "the Ministry wouldn't want everyone to know a great serpent got - "
"Matthew!" said Grandmother Sarabi warningly.
" - got - er - me," Mr Dawson said hastily, though I was quite sure this was not what he had meant to say.
"So, where were you when it happened, Dad?" asked Chrissie.
"That's my business," said Mr Dawson, though with a small smile. He snatched up the Daily Squabbler, shook it open again and said, "I was just reading about Whitney Wallace's arrest when you arrived. Apparently, last summer she was responsible for enchanting toasters to keep firing bread out of them. One of her jinxes backfired, the toaster exploded, and they found her lying unconscious in the wreckage covered in - "
"When you say you were "on duty"," Chris interrupted in a low voice, "what were you doing?"
"You heard your father," whispered Grandmother Sarabi, "we are not discussing this here! Go on about Whitney Wallace, Matt."
"Well, don't ask me how, but she actually got off the toilet charge," said Mr Dawson grimly. "I can only suppose gold changed hands - "
"You were guarding it, weren't you?" said Chrissie quietly. "The weapon? The thing She-You-Know's after?"
"Chrissie, be quiet!" snapped Grandmother Sarabi.
"Anyway," said Mr Dawson, in a raised voice, "this time Whitney's been caught selling biting teacups to Muggles and I don't think she'll be able to worm her way out of it because, according to this article, two Muggles have lost two fingers and are now in St Mungo's for emergency bone re-growth and memory modification. Just think of it, Muggles in St Mungo's! Wonder which ward they're in?"
And he looked eagerly around as though hoping to see a signpost.
"Didn't you say She-You-Know's got a snake, Kiara?" asked Chris, looking at his father for a reaction. "A massive one? You saw it the night she returned, didn't you?"
"That's enough," said Grandmother Sarabi crossly. "Crazy-Head and Todd are outside, Matt, they want to come and see you. And you lot can wait outside," she added to myself and Mr Dawson's children. "You can come and say goodbye afterwards. Go on."
We trooped back into the corridor. Crazy-Head and Todd went in and closed the door of the ward behind them. Chrissie raised her eyebrows.
"Fine," she said coolly, as the Tweebs rummaged in their pockets, "be like that. Don't tell us anything."
"Here," Jack said, handing out hearing aids, as Joe pulled out a small transmitter. I hesitated to take one.
"Go on, Kiara, take it! You saved Dad's life! If anyone's got the right to eavesdrop on him, it's you!"
Grinning in spite of myself, I took one of the hearing aids and inserted it into my ear. Jack placed the transmitter on the floor.
"OK, go!" Chris whispered.
Joe turned the transmitter on and the hearing aids immediately switched on. At first, I heard nothing, then I jumped as I heard Todd's whispering as clearly as though she was standing right beside me.
" ... they searched the whole area but couldn't find the snake anywhere. It just seems to have vanished after it attacked you, Matt ... but, She-You-Know can't have expected a snake to get in, can she?"
"I reckon she sent it as a lookout," growled Grumpy, "'cause she's not had any luck so far, has she? No, I reckon she's trying to get a clear picture of what she's facing and if Matt hadn't been there the beast would've had a lot more time to look around. So, Pride-Lander says she saw it all happen?"
"Yes," said Grandmother Sarabi. She sounded rather uneasy. "You know, Crighton seems almost to have been waiting for Kiara to see something like this."
"Yeah, well," said Grumpy, "there's something funny about the Pride-Lander kid, we all know that."
"Crighton seemed worried about Kiara when I spoke to her this morning," whispered Grandmother Sarabi.
"Course she's worried," growled Grumpy. "Your granddaughter's seeing things from inside She-You-Know's snake. Obviously, Pride-Lander doesn't realise what this means, but if She-You-Know's possessing her - "
I pulled the hearing aid out of my ear, my heart hammering in my chest as the blood rushed to my cheeks. I looked around at the others. They were all staring at me, the hearing aids still in their ears, looking suddenly fearful.