Chapter 1: St. Mungo's
Sitting patiently in a very uncomfortable wooden sitting chair, Phil sat in the waiting room in the lobby of St. Mungo's. His father sat next to him. There was an utter silence between the two. Phil had no questions for his father at this point. Only the worry of his mother lingered. She had been brought in to the Healers, the minute she arrived. She obviously was badly injured, for it had been hours of waiting.
Phil had a strange feeling. His mother had been hurt in such a strange way, and he had no idea what had happened from when he got home to this point. And there he sat, in some strange hospital, having arrived by stepping into a fire. The burning thoughts of what might happen to his mother suddenly subsided. It was time for some questions.
"Dad." Phil turned to his father. "Can you explain to me what happened? Who was that man? Why did he attack Mum?"
There was an awkward silence.
"Son…" His father seemed to hesitate. "This may come as quite a shock to you, but, your mother…"
He stopped.
"Yes?"
"Your mother…Well, your mother is a…a witch."
"…A what?" Phil asked, very puzzled. He knew that he must be dreaming. He was asleep on the hill near home, that was it. Only a dream.
"She was born a witch. Her parents were non-witches, but…she was, just…born a witch. I'm not quite sure how it works." His father explained.
"A witch?" Phil was still very confused. "What exactly does that mean?"
"Well, that means that she can, well, she can do magic. She went to a magic-learning school when she was younger. Something like that. She got a job in some magic field as well, but she never explained that to me. She kind of kept it a secret though, being a witch, after she met me. She didn't know any other witches or wizards after she stopped working, so she stopped using magic. I have seen her do it many times, but since you were born she really hasn't."
"Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"We just decided not to. There wasn't much of a chance that you would turn out to be a magic as well, so we thought you'd be better off if we never told you..." his father replied. "I'm sorry."
"Oh…" Phil looked away. Why wouldn't his parents tell him something so important like this? "So what does all of this have to do with that man that attacked you?"
"He was a wizard. A dark wizard I assume. You see there are different kinds of witches and wizards. Some care profoundly of the purity of witches and wizards, and others don't. That man that attacked wanted something from your mother. I wish I knew what…" his father explained. "I had just come down the stairs when I saw him come through the door. She was in the next room, when she heard it, but she had gotten up… She didn't have the change to scream. He was gone as quickly as he had come…"
Phil felt horrible. Was his mother okay? Where was she?
Phil looked at his father with a very worried expression on his face. He spread out his arms, and leaned over to hug him. They embraced for a few seconds, and then Phil turned away. It was a lot for him to take. He was still too young to predict how this might turn out. His mother lie dying on some other floor being helped by these magic doctors, who he knew nothing about.
"Where is she?" Phil turned back, questioning his father once again.
The waiting room was on the ground floor of the entire hospital. It was a large open area with many old wooden chairs, some empty, and some with tired witches or wizards staring blankly through the air. A guide on the edge of the room gave a detailed list of all the wards and treatment areas, and what floor they were on. Phil hadn't seen much of the building other than the waiting room, for he was ushered straight inside as soon as he arrived, by his father. His mother had been brought straight to a healer, who seemed to wear lime green robes, with a peculiar bone and wand crossed patch.
The scene had been too hectic to take in, when Phil arrived, especially when the day was reaching the late hours of the night, and the fact that his mother was apparently in a horrible condition.
"Why don't we check where she was put. They should have her settled by now." said Phil's father, as he quickly stood up, eager to see his wife.
Standing up, Phil took the educated guess that this place was not new to his father. He knew his way around. They walked along a row of chairs, and came to the desk at the end. A corpulent old witch sat in a tall chair, on the other side of the desk.
"May I help you?" the women asked in a scratchy voice.
"Yes, um, I was told to wait here for news of my wife being moved into one of the wards. Do you know if they have they given her a room yet?" Mr. Ellis asked.
"What is her name?"
"Catherine Ellis."
"Oh, yes, she was put in the Jonathon Materine Ward on the fourth floor only about a half an hour ago. It's the third door on the left."
"Thank you."
Phil followed his father as he turned and walked toward the exit of the waiting room. As they exited the room, they came into what seemed like a large open reception area. Phil had passed through from the other side a few hours ago, when he arrived in the St. Mungo's fireplace.
His father led him through a set of double doors to the left, and they headed through a narrow corridor, which ended at a flight of stairs. The first floor was the "Creature-Induced Injuries", as stated the corridor sign on the side of the stairs. They turned to the next flight, a few steps from the top of the first, and walked quickly up to the second third then fourth floors. Upon reaching the fourth floor, Phil followed his father down the corridor. It led them to the third door on the left, which bore the words "Jonathon Materine Ward: Long Term Spell Damage".
Inside was a small narrow room, with three windows; It was very dark. There lay three recovering witches and wizards in parallel white beds. Two Healers roamed the room, checking on each of the patients, clipboards in hand. Chairs were scattered around the room. Phil's mother was lying in the first bed, closest to the door. The two approached her side slowly, and sat themselves in two of the chairs nearby. One of the two Healers in the room approached the two. He was a tall man, with long brown hair, wearing the lime green robes sported by the Healers.
"Relatives?" the man asked in a depressed sort of tone.
"Yes…" Mr. Ellis replied, heavy hearted. "She's my wife."
"I think I'll need a minute to talk with you then. My name is Thomas Porden, and I am the head Healer of this ward. If you could follow me out into the hall, I can give you the insights on your wife's condition." Thomas said, as he turned for the doorway.
Phil and his father both stood up.
He turned back. "I'm sorry son, but you'll have to excuse your father for a minute. You can wait right here." Porden said. Mr. Ellis turned to Phil, giving him a sorry look. He then followed Porden out into the corridor.
Phil sat back into his chair. It suddenly occurred to him that his mother lie almost lifeless, with her blue eyes wide open. They stared blankly at the ceiling. Her long brown hair was spread about her pillow, in a most messy fashion. the white sheets were up to her shoulders, and her arms were tightly tucked inside the covers.
Phil just sat. He looked at his mother, wondering if she was awake. He knew she wasn't. She must be in a coma. Or something like it.
There were three windows on the opposite wall from where Phil sat. The moon hung in the sky, giving off little light. there were a few candles lit here and there along the walls of the ward. It gave him a very eerie feeling. It seemed surreal.
How could someone he thought he knew so well turn out to be someone, or something completely different. How could his mother be a witch? Did that mean that she was entirely different from him? No. He has her eyes. He has her hair. So many years the same, never changing what he thought of her. But that could all be coming to an end. To a lifeless end.
Phil thought of all the years they had spent together. He and his mother and father. They were all he had. And they are still all he has. A tear rolled down Phil's cheek. He outstretched his hand, and rested it on his mother's. It was cold.
A minute came and went. Mr. Ellis and Thomas Porden came back through the door. Phil's father came back to where he sat. Phil stood up. In the darkness, Phil could just make out his fathers scrunched face. He had been crying too. Phil hugged him once more.
He didn't have to tell him what it was. He already knew. She was going to die. And judging by the way his father acted, she wasn't going to die soon. But she would die.