The night proceeded without a similar incident, so I assumed that the attacker was working alone. After scouring the second and third floors without a hint of Hippocrates, I arrived on the fourth floor, which was marked Spell Damage. I expected all the patients to be in bed asleep, so imagine my surprise when I heard a great racket coming from Ward 45, across from the Janus Thickey ward. I knew the Thickey ward was for long-term residents - such as Longbottoms' parents, unfortunately, and none other than Gilderoy Lockhart. So I assumed the ward across from it was short-term. Knowing I would have to explore both wards eventually, I allowed curiosity to get the better of me and went to see what all the noise was about. What I found was nothing short of, well...
Odd.
About a dozen or so residents were wandering the corridors, some twirling the robes about like a dress, others proclaiming to really be dwarves and demanding to know where Snow White was, while another hopped about like a frog and demanded me to kiss him so he could turn back into a handsome prince.
At that very moment I knew my life had taken a very sour turn indeed.
I located the very harassed looking healer and asked what the hell was going on.
"Freak accident inside the Committee of Experimental Charms," the healer explained. "That's Gilbert Wimple over there." He pointed to the frog-hopping fellow. "He's head of the department. His whole team's down here. Their charm backfired and they think they're all people from fairy tales."
I decided not to bother asking why in the world someone would want to charm themselves to be a dwarf or a frog.
"Can't for the life of me figure out the counter-charm. And they're no help. They keep talking in riddles and acting like their characters," the healer groaned.
"I'm terribly sorry for your predicament," I said, not actually caring.
The healer went back to feeling sorry for himself, and I watched Gilbert Wimple and his caravan with amusement. I found one elderly patient asking a door if he was the fairest of them all to be particularly entertaining.
After I awhile the novelty began to ware off, and I began my search of the ward. A half an hour later I found nothing that would point me in the right direction, so I made to leave and check the surrounding areas. I was just about to push open the doors into the corridor, when I heard one of the afflicted patients say to the hopping Wimple:
"I cannot kiss you, dear frog, for I am already to be married to a handsome prince. But, there is tell of a kind, ghostly man trapped in an odd sort of mirror around these parts that may be able to help you find your true love."
What?
Kind, ghostly man? Odd sort of mirror? Could they possibly be talking about Hippocrates?
"Excuse me," I began, walking toward the patient - a middle aged woman - who had addressed Wimple the Frog. "But I couldn't help over hearing-"
"How dare you address me so informally!" she screeched. "I am a Princess, sir, and you will kindly remember it."
Bloody hell. It looked like I was going to have to play along if I was to gather any sort of information.
"A thousand pardons, Your Highness," I said, bowing low. "I am but a humble servant, and was not aware of your royal status."
The would-be princess sniffed and held her head high. "Yes, I suppose someone of your lowly stature would not know better."
I could see this was going to be very difficult to stomach.
"As I was saying before you rightfully corrected me on my manners, I heard you tell this... frog... that there is a, er, man trapped in a mirror around these parts?"
"Yes. I hear that he is not far from here, and many pilgrimage to this place to partake of his wisdom. The fairy godmother told me so. Of course, she's not my fairy godmother," the woman said, suddenly angry. "She's Cinderella's, and she's not very inclined to share. To think that it was her at the royal ball..."
"Yes, she is obviously not worthy to wipe the dirt from your shoes," I said, impatiently. "Where, pray tell, may I find this fairy godmother?"
The woman pointed dismissively toward a plump man wearing a bathrobe, waving a tooth brush around trying to enchant things. I bowed once again, uttering my gratitude, and waded my way through the patients who were convinced that they were dwarves and that I had kidnaped Snow White, toward the 'fairy godmother'.
Praying that this patient would not be as... diva-ish as the last one, I simply walked up and introduced myself, saying that I was on a pilgrimage to find the man trapped in the mirror.
"Ah, yes," the plump man said, waving his tooth brush enthusiastically. "You are not far, my son, not far. But are you sure that your troubles are something that I cannot help you with? I am the fairy godmother you know. With just a wave of my wand, I could take care of that nose for you. I may even be able to spruce up that hair a bit. We'll have you looking like a prince in no time!"
It never ends. I asked Albus once, years ago, whether it would.
"When will what end?" he had asked me.
"The miserable existence that I call life," I had answered. After that I think he was too offended to respond, but I knew what he was thinking - my life isn't miserable. It was fulfilling. I worked as a spy, I was part of the Order that tried to bring down the Dark Lord, I was one of the most accomplished potion makers in Britain. I had a great life. A life that most would die for.
Of course, Albus was never around for moments like these, when a grown man was twirling about his bathrobe trying to shrink my nose with a toothbrush.
"That will not be necessary, thank you," I said, pushing the toothbrush away. "I seek him because my companion has fallen very ill, and I need his guidance in how to cure him."
"Poor dear," the man said, patting my head like I was some sort of dog. "The man you seek lies across the white river of stone."
And with that, he twirled away.
Oh, what a big help. So, apparently, Hippocrates' portrait would appear somewhere quite close, probably on this floor. And he was located across the white river of stone, whatever that was. I was pondering exactly what the man meant when I was poked hard in the chest.
"You've got her. I know you've got her!"
Merlin's beard, the dwarf ones were not going to give up.
I glared at the skinny, youthful patient who had been brave enough to shove at me. "I haven't got your bloody Snow White, so go back to your mining or whatever it is that the bloody tale says that you do."
The young man blinked in surprise at my harshness, but he quickly regained his aggressive attitude. "Well, if you don't got her, then who does? That stepmother witch of hers is after her, you know, and we told her not to leave the cottage. You must have taken her."
"For the last time, you annoying brat, I haven't taken anyone, now let me be! I'm trying to think!" I snapped.
"It's either you or that smiling, no good blond guy!" the youth stated.
"Smiling blond?" I repeated.
"Yeah! Proclaiming to be some sort of great famous magician, but he couldn't remember his own name half the bloomin' time, and he couldn't remember what he was famous for. But he was braggin' about the man in the mirror when he heard the fairy godmother talking about it. Says he talks to him all the time. Then Snow White came and told him off for being out of his room and took him away back across the great river of stone. She hasn't been back since. So, maybe he does got her. Or, maybe you're in league with him." He looked at me suspiciously.
If the smiling blond man was who I thought he was - and I prayed to whoever would listen that he wasn't - then Snow White wasn't one of the patients at all, but a healer. A healer who had the unfortunate job of looking after one of the most revolting people on the face of the planet. And if these two things were true, then the great river of stone was nothing more then the tile floor that separated Ward 45 from Janus Thickey's.
Which meant that Hippocrates' portrait was just across the hall.
Which also meant that he was as well. And, it would seem, he was also the only person who may be able to lead me to Hippocrates.
However, he was known for boasting things that were not true when his memory was intact, and though the dwarf patient said he claimed to speak to Hippocrates all the time, this could just be as untrue as when he said he knew the location of the Chamber of Secrets. But it was the only lead I had.
And so, with the air of one marching to their impending doom, I walked out of Ward 45 and into the corridor. I stared at the doors to the Janus Thickey ward with a feeling of dread. This was, beyond a doubt, the worst thing that I have ever been, and ever will be, subjected to. And that included facing the Dark Lord and teaching James Potter's son.
I was going to have to come face to face with, and rely on, the most incompetent, moronic, bumbling buffoon that nature had ever dared to spit into existence.
The one, the only... Gilderoy Lockhart.