Chapter 36: St. Mungos

December 19, 2002 – Thursday

Dumbledore's Office

Dawn and Buffy passed Mrs. Norris, who turned her lamplike eyes upon them and hissed faintly, her back arching in displeasure. Buffy, unfazed, simply said, "Shoo!" Mrs. Norris, clearly recognizing the authority in Buffy's voice, slunk away into the shadows, her tail flicking in irritation. The sisters continued down the dimly lit corridor, their footsteps echoing softly off the stone walls.

In a few minutes, they reached the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office. "Fizzing Whizzbee," said Buffy firmly.

The gargoyle sprang to life and leapt aside; the wall behind it split in two to reveal a stone staircase that moved continuously upward like a spiral escalator. The rhythmic grinding of the stones added a sense of solemnity to their ascent. Buffy and Dawn stepped onto the moving stairs; the wall closed behind them with a resonant thud, and they were carried upward in tight circles. Dawn glanced at the enchanted walls, feeling a mix of awe and apprehension.

At the top, they reached a highly polished oak door with a brass knocker shaped like a griffin. The detail on the knocker was intricate, the griffin's eyes seeming to watch them as they approached. Buffy rapped three times with the griffin knocker, the sound echoing in the narrow stairwell. The door opened of its own accord, creaking slightly on its ancient hinges.

Buffy led Dawn inside, where Dumbledore, Harry, Ron, and McGonagall were waiting. The room was filled with a quiet tension, the air thick with the gravity of the situation. The flickering candles cast a warm but eerie glow, highlighting the concern etched on each face.

"Have a seat, Buffy," Dumbledore said, his voice calm and authoritative. "We were just about to learn what Harry and Hermione saw. Continue, Harry."

"I… well, I was asleep…" said Harry, his voice trembling slightly with the effort to convey the urgency of his vision. Even in his terror and desperation to make Dumbledore understand, he felt a flicker of irritation that the headmaster was not looking directly at him but examining his own interlocked fingers. "But it wasn't an ordinary dream… it was real… I saw it happen…" He took a deep breath, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Ron's dad—Mr. Weasley—has been attacked by a giant snake."

Dumbledore turned his piercing gaze to Hermione. "Is that what you saw?"

Hermione nodded, her face pale but composed. "Exactly as Harry described it." She looked between Dumbledore and Buffy, her eyes wide with the implications of their shared vision. "So it's possible for a Potential to get Slayer dreams?"

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, stroking his long, silver beard. "It is possible. It's a rare gift that only manifests itself in Potentials destined to be called as the next Slayer. Since the monks chose you to replace Buffy as the Slayer, it means you're next in line and it was possible you would get Slayer dreams while still being a Potential. Now, how did you two see this?" he asked quietly, his voice gentle but probing.

"Well... I don't know," said Harry, rather angrily — what did it matter? "Inside my head, I suppose —"

Hermione nodded in understanding, recognizing what Dumbledore was asking. "He meant how we were positioned in the dream when we watched the attack happen."

Harry glanced at Hermione, sharing a moment of silent communication, before looking back to Dumbledore. "I was the snake. I saw it all from the snake's point of view."

"So did I, Professor," Hermione added, her voice steady despite the gravity of her words.

A heavy silence enveloped the room, the tension palpable as everyone processed this revelation. Dumbledore's sharp eyes shifted from Harry to Hermione, then to Ron, who was still whey-faced, his freckles standing out starkly against his pale skin.

Breaking the silence, Dumbledore asked in a new and sharper voice, "Is Arthur seriously injured?"

"Yes," said Harry and Hermione emphatically, their voices united in urgency.

Dumbledore stood up, his movements decisive, and addressed one of the old portraits hanging very near the ceiling. "Everard?" he said sharply. "And you too, Dilys!"

The portraits in question depicted a sallow-faced wizard with a short black fringe and an elderly witch with long silver ringlets. Both seemed to have been in the deepest of sleeps, their eyes closed and postures relaxed. At Dumbledore's call, they opened their eyes immediately, alert and attentive.

"You were listening?" Dumbledore asked, his tone brisk and authoritative.

The wizard nodded; the witch said, "Naturally."

"The man has red hair and glasses," said Dumbledore, his voice carrying an urgency that brooked no delay. "Everard, you will need to raise the alarm, make sure he is found by the right people."

Both portraits nodded and moved sideways out of their frames, but instead of emerging in neighboring pictures (as usually happened at Hogwarts), neither reappeared.

"Everard and Dilys were two of Hogwarts' most celebrated Heads," Dumbledore explained, sweeping around Harry, Dawn, Buffy, Ron, Hermione, and Professor McGonagall to approach the phoenix on his 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. Weasley could be anywhere!" said Harry, his voice rising in panic.

"Please sit down, all five of you," Dumbledore instructed calmly. "Everard and Dilys may not be back for several minutes. Professor McGonagall, if you could draw up extra chairs."

Professor McGonagall pulled her wand from the pocket of her dressing gown and waved it; four chairs appeared out of thin air, straight-backed and wooden. They each took a seat, the tension palpable in the room as they watched Dumbledore.

Dumbledore, now stroking Fawkes's plumed golden head with one finger, seemed lost in thought. The phoenix stretched his beautiful head high, observing Dumbledore through bright, dark eyes, their bond of trust and understanding clear.

"We will need," Dumbledore said very quietly to the bird, "a warning."

With a flash of fire, the phoenix vanished, leaving a lingering warmth and a sense of impending action in the room.

Dumbledore swooped down upon one of the fragile silver instruments, his long, sweeping robes rustling like whispers in the stillness of the room. He carried it over to his ornate, mahogany desk, its surface cluttered with ancient tomes and mysterious artifacts. Sitting down, he faced them again, his blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles. With a delicate precision, he tapped the instrument gently with the tip of his wand.

The instrument tinkled into life at once, producing rhythmic clinking noises that resonated with an almost musical quality. Tiny puffs of pale green smoke issued from the minuscule silver tube at the top, curling upwards like ethereal tendrils. Dumbledore watched the smoke closely, his brow furrowed in concentration, his expression a mask of deep contemplation. After a few seconds, the tiny puffs grew into a steady stream of smoke that thickened and coiled in the air, taking on a more substantial form.

A serpent's head materialized out of the end of the smoke stream, its mouth opening wide as if to hiss. The serpentine form undulated and twisted in the dim light, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

"Naturally, naturally," murmured Dumbledore apparently to himself, his voice a soft murmur of understanding. He observed the stream of smoke without the slightest sign of surprise, his eyes keen and penetrating. "But in essence divided?"

In response to his words, the smoke serpent split itself instantly into two identical snakes, both coiling and undulating in the dark air, their movements sinuous and hypnotic. With a look of grim satisfaction, Dumbledore gave the instrument another gentle tap with his wand. The clinking noise slowed and eventually ceased, and the smoke serpents grew faint, their once vivid forms becoming a formless haze before vanishing completely.

Dumbledore replaced the instrument upon its spindly little table, its delicate legs trembling slightly under the weight.

Just then, a shout pierced the silence from the top of the wall to their right; the wizard called Everard had reappeared in his portrait, his face flushed and panting slightly. "Dumbledore!"

"What news?" said Dumbledore at once, his tone sharp and attentive.

"I yelled until someone came running," said the wizard, his words tumbling out in a rush. "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 Elfrida Cragg's portrait to get a good view as they left —"

"Good," said Dumbledore as Ron made a convulsive movement, his face paling. "I take it Dilys will have seen him arrive, then —"

Moments later, the silver-ringleted witch reappeared in her picture, her form materializing with a soft shimmer. She sank, coughing, into her armchair and said, "Yes, they've taken him to St Mungo's, Dumbledore... they carried him past my portrait... he looks bad..." Her voice trembled with concern, the weight of her words heavy in the air.

"Thank you," said Dumbledore, his voice calm yet laden with urgency. He looked round at Professor McGonagall and Buffy, his gaze steady and reassuring.

"Buffy, Minerva, I need you two to go and wake the other Weasley children."

"Of course…" Buffy and McGonagall said in unison. They got up, their movements swift and efficient, and headed toward the door, their robes trailing behind them like dark shadows.

"And Dumbledore — what about Molly?" said Professor McGonagall, pausing at the door. Her face was etched with concern, her brows knit tightly together.

"That will be a job for Fawkes when he has finished keeping a lookout for anybody approaching," said Dumbledore, his tone measured. "But she may already know... that excellent clock of hers..." His eyes flickered with a brief, knowing smile at the thought of Mrs. Weasley's magical clock, always attuned to the whereabouts and well-being of her family.

Buffy and McGonagall nodded, understanding the importance of their task, and swiftly exited the room, their footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Dumbledore raised his wand and pointed it at a kettle on his desk. With a murmur of "Portus," the kettle glowed blue for a moment, transforming into a portkey.

Without wasting a moment, Dumbledore marched over to another portrait hanging on the wall. His eyes fixed on the painted figure, he called out, "Phineas. Phineas. Phineas! Phineas! PHINEAS!" His voice grew progressively louder, his patience wearing thin.

Finally, the figure in the portrait stirred, and Phineas Nigellus Black, with his characteristic air of disdain, responded, "Did someone call?"

"I need you to visit your other portrait again, Phineas," said Dumbledore, his tone brooking no argument. "I've got another message." His eyes were sharp, reflecting the urgency of the situation.

"Visit my other portrait?" said Phineas in a reedy voice, his tone dripping with reluctance. "Oh, no, Dumbledore, I am too tired tonight."

"Insubordination, sir!" roared a corpulent, red-nosed wizard, his jowls shaking with indignation as he brandished his fists. "Dereliction of duty!"

"We are honor-bound to give service to the present Headmaster of Hogwarts!" cried a frail-looking old wizard, his voice quivering with a mixture of outrage and desperation. "Shame on you, Phineas!"

"Shall I persuade him, Dumbledore?" called a gimlet-eyed witch, her eyes glinting with a steely resolve.

"Oh, very well," said Phineas, his voice heavy with resignation. "Though he may well have destroyed my picture by now, he's done away with most of the family —"

"Sirius knows not to destroy your portrait," said Dumbledore, his voice firm and steady. "You are to give him the message that Arthur Weasley has been gravely injured and that his wife, children, Harry Potter, and the Summers' family will be arriving at his house shortly. Do you understand?"

"Arthur Weasley, injured, wife and children, Harry Potter, and Summers' family coming to stay," repeated Phineas, his tone mechanical as he committed the message to memory. "Yes, yes... very well..." He sloped away into the frame of the portrait, his figure fading as he disappeared from view.

At that moment, Fred, George, and Ginny were ushered inside by Buffy and Professor McGonagall, their faces pale and anxious.

"Harry, Hermione — what's going on?" asked Ginny, her eyes wide with fear. "Professor McGonagall and Professor Summers said you two saw Dad get hurt —"

"Your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix," said Dumbledore, his voice gentle yet authoritative. "He has been taken to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am sending you back to Sirius's house, which is much more convenient for the hospital than The Burrow. You will meet your mother there."

"How're we going?" asked Fred, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of apprehension. "Floo powder?"

"No," said Dumbledore, shaking his head. "Floo powder is not safe at the moment; the Network is being watched. You will be taking a Portkey." He indicated the old kettle lying innocently on his desk, its worn surface glinting faintly in the dim light. "We are just waiting for Phineas Nigellus to report back... I want to be sure that the coast is clear before sending you."

There was a sudden, brilliant flash of flame in the very middle of the office, illuminating the room with a brief, fiery glow. From the flame emerged a single golden feather that floated gently to the floor, shimmering as it descended.

"It is Fawkes's warning," said Dumbledore, catching the feather delicately as it fell. "Professor Umbridge must know you're out of your beds... Minerva, go and head her off — tell her any story. If she asks about Buffy, tell her Hermione had taken ill and she took both her sisters home to Sunnydale early."

Professor McGonagall was gone in a swish of tartan, her determined stride carrying her swiftly out of the room.

"He said he'll be delighted," said Phineas, reappearing in his portrait with a smug expression. "My great-great-grandson has always had an odd taste in house-guests."

"Come here, then," Dumbledore said, his tone brisk. "And quickly, before anyone else joins us."

Everyone gathered around Dumbledore's desk, their expressions a mix of anxiety and anticipation.

"You have all used a Portkey before?" asked Dumbledore, his eyes scanning the group. Everyone indicated they had and reached out to touch the kettle, their fingers brushing its cold surface. "Good. On the count of three, then... one... two..."

Hermione, Buffy, and Dawn felt the powerful jerk behind their navels, a sensation that was both familiar and unsettling. The ground vanished from beneath their feet, and they were suddenly airborne, their hands glued to the kettle. They banged into one another as they all sped forwards in a dizzying swirl of colors and a rush of wind, the kettle pulling them onwards with relentless force... until, with a sudden jolt, their feet hit the ground once more.

#12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London

Hermione and Dawn scrambled to their feet, their eyes wide as they took in their surroundings. They had arrived in the gloomy basement kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The room was dimly lit, its stone walls and low ceiling adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Pots and pans hung from hooks above a large wooden table, and the faint smell of dust and damp lingered in the air.

Sirius was hurrying towards them all, his expression anxious and strained. "What's going on? Phineas Nigellus said Arthur's been badly injured —"

"Ask Harry and Hermione," said Fred, his voice tense with worry.

"Yeah, I want to hear this for myself," said George, his eyes fixed on Harry.

The Weasley twins and Ginny stared at Harry and Hermione, their faces pale with concern and curiosity.

"It was—" Harry began, glancing at Hermione for support. "We had a — a kind of vision…"

And Harry recounted everything that he and Hermione had seen. As he spoke, the room seemed to grow colder, the gravity of his words hanging heavy in the air. When Harry had finished, Fred, George, and Ginny continued to stare at him and Hermione for a moment, their faces reflecting a mixture of shock and disbelief.

"Is Mum here?" said Fred, turning to Sirius, his voice laced with urgency.

"She probably doesn't even know what's happened yet," said Sirius, his brow furrowing with worry. "The important thing was to get you away before Umbridge could interfere. Dumbledore's letting Molly know now," Buffy added, her tone firm and reassuring.

"We've got to go to St Mungos," said Ginny urgently, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and determination. She looked around at her brothers, her eyes pleading. "Sirius, can you lend us cloaks or anything?"

"Hang on, you can't go tearing off to St Mungo's!" said Sirius, his tone a mix of exasperation and concern.

"Course we can go to St Mungo's if we want," said Fred, his expression mulish, his jaw set stubbornly. "He's our dad!"

"And how are you going to explain how you knew Arthur was attacked before the hospital even let his wife know?" Sirius countered, his eyes flashing with frustration.

Buffy knew Sirius was right. But she also agreed with Fred—they needed to see their father as quickly as possible. Her mind raced, trying to find a way to bridge the gap between urgency and caution.

"What does that matter?" said George hotly, his fists clenching at his sides.

"It matters because we don't want to draw attention to the fact that Harry and Hermione are having visions of things that are happening hundreds of miles away!" said Sirius angrily, his voice rising. "Have you any idea what the Ministry would make of that information? Worse yet what would happen if they learned Hermione was a Potential."

Ginny's face flushed with frustration as she said, "Somebody else could have told us... we could have heard it somewhere other than Harry or Hermione."

"Like who?" said Sirius impatiently, his eyes narrowing. "Listen, your dad'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 —"

"We don't care about the dumb Order!" shouted Fred, his face red with anger. The tension in the room was palpable, every word laced with the intensity of their emotions.

"It's our dad dying we're talking about!" yelled George, his voice raw with desperation.

"Your father knew what he was getting into, and he won't thank you for messing things up for the Order!" Sirius shot back, equally 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!"

Buffy frowned, stepping between Sirius and the Weasley siblings. "Sirius, enough. Fred, George, Ginny. Think about this. If people learned you had found out from Hermione, she would instantly be targeted for slander by the Daily Prophet, just as Dawn and Harry have been all year. 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 your mother, all right?"

Fred and George still looked mutinous, their jaws clenched and fists tight. Ginny, however, took a few steps over to the nearest chair and sank into it, her shoulders slumped in defeat. Hermione and Dawn walked over to Ginny, each placing a comforting hand on her shoulders.

The Weasley twins finally sat down as well, their defiance giving way to the overwhelming worry for their father.

"That's right," said Sirius encouragingly, trying to ease the tension. "Come on, let's all... let's all have a drink while we're waiting. Accio Butterbeer!" He raised his wand as he spoke, and several bottles came flying towards them out of the pantry.

They all drank, the warm liquid providing a small measure of comfort. For a while, the only sounds were the crackling of the kitchen fire and the soft thud of their bottles on the table. The room felt heavy with unspoken fears and anxieties.

Buffy looked at her sisters and nodded, motioning for Hermione to follow her. They and Dawn walked out into the hall and then into another room. "I'm proud of you, Hermione, for letting someone know what you saw," Buffy said gently.

Hermione sighed, her eyes reflecting a mixture of weariness and sorrow. "I wish I hadn't seen it."

Buffy nodded in understanding, placing a reassuring hand on Hermione's shoulder. "That's the thing with being a Slayer. We get things we wish we didn't have." Her voice was soft, filled with a sense of shared burden and unspoken strength.

Hermione nodded, her eyes full of understanding. "What do you wish...?"

"A normal childhood," Buffy said, her voice heavy with a sadness that seemed to echo through the dimly lit room. "I was 15 when I was called. From then on, my life was changed without my consent." She sighed deeply, her gaze distant. "I wish sometimes I could go back and change it all."

"But then I wouldn't have been sent to you. And Hermione may have ended up never knowing she was adopted," Dawn said, her tone soft but firm, anchoring them all to the present.

Buffy nodded, a small, grateful smile tugging at her lips. "I know. That's why I'm happy with the way things are. I have the two of you." She paused, her eyes meeting Hermione's and Dawn's. "You want to know why I'm working for the Order?" she asked, watching as Hermione and Dawn nodded eagerly. "It's so I could protect the two of you. Hermione, Dawn knows that I don't deal with humans. Killing a human is a line I will never cross. Even spying on Umbridge has been hard because of the things I know she does or have witnessed myself. I will be glad when the Order finally has the information they need so I can stop pretending to like that woman."

Hermione and Dawn looked at her, their eyes wide with a mix of admiration and concern. The weight of Buffy's words hung in the air, a testament to the sacrifices she had made and continued to make for them. The room was quiet, the only sound the faint crackling of the distant kitchen fire.

Hermione reached out, her hand covering Buffy's. "We're grateful, Buffy. We know how much you've given up for us."

Dawn nodded, her expression earnest. "And we'll help you however we can. We're in this together."

Buffy's smile grew a little wider, warmth filling her eyes. "Thank you. Both of you. It means everything to me." She squeezed their hands, drawing strength from their support.

"Fawkes!" said Sirius from the other room. Buffy, Hermione, and Dawn ran back into the kitchen, their hearts pounding with urgency. "That's not Dumbledore's writing — it must be a message from your mother — here —"

Sirius thrust the letter into George's hand, who ripped it open with trembling fingers and read aloud: "Dad is still alive. I am setting out for St Mungo's now. Stay where you are. I will send news as soon as I can. Mum."

George looked around the table, his eyes wide and anxious. "Still alive... But that makes it sound…"

Buffy and Dawn exchanged a look of understanding. They knew how George felt, having experienced the same dread when they found out about Joyce's tumor, fearing she might not make it.

"I know everyone doesn't want to," Buffy began gently, her voice filled with empathy. "But you should try and get some sleep. It's going to be a long few days until your father is able to go home."

The Weasleys looked at Buffy with expressions of disbelief and disgust at the suggestion, their faces etched with the strain of worry and fear.

From then on, everyone mostly sat in silence around the table, the oppressive quiet only broken by the occasional clink of bottles or the soft murmur of reassurances. The candle's wick sank lower and lower into the pool of liquid wax, casting flickering shadows that seemed to dance with the tension in the room. They spoke only to check the time, wonder aloud what was happening at St Mungo's, and reassure each other that if there was bad news, they would know straight away, for Mrs. Weasley must long since have arrived at the hospital.

Harry, Dawn, Hermione, and Sirius shared glances every so often, feeling like intruders upon the Weasley's grief, each moment stretching into an eternity of waiting.

At ten past five in the morning by Ron's watch, the kitchen door swung open, and Mrs. Weasley entered. She was extremely pale, her face drawn with exhaustion, but when they all turned to look at her, Fred, Ron, and Harry half rising from their chairs, she managed a warm, albeit tired, smile.

Buffy was the first one to reach Mrs. Weasley, her eyes filled with concern. "How is he, Molly?"

"He's going to be all right," Mrs. Weasley said, her voice weak with tiredness but carrying a note of relief. "He's sleeping. We can all go and see him later. Bill's sitting with him now; he's going to take the morning off work."

A collective sigh of relief swept through the room. The Weasleys' faces softened from their tense expressions, and some even managed small smiles. Buffy hugged Mrs. Weasley gently, the weight of the night's worries lifting slightly.

"We're so glad he's okay," Dawn said softly, her voice trembling with emotion.

Fred fell back into his chair with his hands over his face, his shoulders shaking as he tried to control his emotions. George and Ginny got up and walked swiftly over to their mother, enveloping her in a tight hug. Ron gave a very shaky laugh and downed the rest of his Butterbeer in one gulp, the relief palpable in his voice.

"Breakfast!" said Sirius loudly and joyfully, jumping to his feet with newfound energy. "Where's that accursed house-elf? Kreacher! KREACHER!"

When there was no immediate response, Sirius muttered, "Oh, forget it, then," and began counting the people in front of him. "So, it's breakfast for — let's see — ten... bacon and eggs, I think, and some tea, and toast —"

Harry and Dawn hurried over to the stove to help, eager to channel their anxiety into something productive. Hermione went over to the dresser and began taking plates out, but Mrs. Weasley gently lifted them out of her hands and pulled her into a warm, motherly hug. Then, she turned to Harry and hugged him as well, her gratitude and relief evident in her embrace.

"I don't know what would have happened if it hadn't been for you two, Harry, Hermione," Mrs. Weasley said, her voice trembling with emotion. "They might not have found Arthur for hours, and then it would have been too late. But thanks to you two, he's alive, and Dumbledore's been able to think up a good cover story for Arthur being where he was. You've no idea what trouble he would have been in otherwise — look at poor Sturgis…"

Hermione smiled, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Think nothing of it, Mrs. Weasley. I'm sure any of your boys or Ginny would have done the same for us."

Sirius said he was very pleased to have been able to help, and hoped they would all stay with him as long as Mr Weasley was in hospital.

"Oh, Sirius, I'm so grateful... they think he'll be there for a little while, and it would be wonderful to be nearer... of course, that might mean we're here for Christmas," Mrs. Weasley said, her voice softening with the thought.

"The more, the merrier!" Sirius exclaimed with such obvious sincerity that Mrs. Weasley beamed at him, her eyes glistening with gratitude. She threw on an apron and began to help with breakfast, the act bringing a sense of normalcy back to the tense atmosphere.

Buffy shook her head and gently stopped her. "Sit down," she said firmly as Mrs. Weasley began to object. "Dawn, Hermione, and I have it covered. Right now, you need to be with your children."

Mrs. Weasley smiled at Buffy, her eyes softening with appreciation. "Bless you, Buffy. You are a good soul."

Everyone but Harry and Buffy spent the rest of the morning sleeping. The quiet of Grimmauld Place was broken only by the occasional creak of old floorboards and the distant murmur of conversation from the portraits. Buffy sighed as she watched Harry, who was staring into the fireplace, lost in thought.

"Harry, come here," she said gently. Harry looked up at her, his eyes tired but attentive, and walked over. "Harry, you know you can come to me for anything, right?"

Harry nodded, though his expression remained guarded. "Of course, Professor."

Buffy rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips. "We're not in school at the moment, Harry. You can call me Buffy. Did Hermione tell you where her dream came from?"

Harry shrugged, shifting uncomfortably. "I remember something in Dumbledore's office about Slayer dreams. Why?"

Buffy took a deep breath, her gaze steady on Harry's. "I get dreams; they're usually prophetic in that I see the future," she said softly. "It has always been a curse for me because they're often vague and cryptic. I know what it's like to be shown something and then have to worry if I'm going to get there in time to alter what I saw. I remember the first time I had one of those dreams. Did Dawn tell you I drowned when I was 16?" she asked, watching as Harry nodded.

"I started having dreams leading up to that event half a year before. All of them warned me without explicitly saying I was going to drown if I faced this Master Vampire. All you can do, Harry, is try to determine how best to interpret what you see so you can make the right decisions. You interpreted the dream, and it led you to saving Arthur's life. That's all you could do. Don't think there was anything you could have done differently."

Harry sighed, a weight seeming to lift slightly from his shoulders. He nodded, looking more at ease. "Thank you, Buffy. I will think on what you said. If I may ask, how come Hermione saw what I did?"

Buffy sighed, her expression growing serious. "Hermione is a Potential. A Potential is someone who has the potential to become the next Slayer. When the monks created Dawn, they made it so should I fall, another Slayer would take my place and protect her. Hermione is my successor should I ever fall in battle. She will be a Slayer."

Harry's eyes widened, and he looked over at the sleeping figures of his friends. The weight of Buffy's words settled on him, and he nodded slowly. "I understand," he said quietly. "Thank you for telling me."

Buffy reached out and squeezed his shoulder, offering him a reassuring smile. "Remember, Harry, you're not alone in this. We're all here to support each other. That's what makes us strong."

Everyone's trunks, including those of Buffy, Hermione, and Dawn, arrived from Hogwarts while they were eating lunch. The arrival was a welcome distraction, and soon the room was filled with the sounds of zippers and clasps as they rifled through their belongings to dress as Muggles for the trip to St Mungo's. Dawn found a pair of jeans and a sweater, Hermione opted for a simple dress, and Buffy chose a comfortable yet stylish outfit that allowed for easy movement.

St. Mungo's

Later, Moody and Tonks joined them, their presence adding a sense of urgency and protection. The group clustered together, feeling a mixture of excitement and trepidation as they prepared to leave. "Not far from here," grunted Moody as they set off. "Wasn't easy to find a good location for a hospital. Nowhere in Diagon Alley was big enough, and we couldn't have it underground like the Ministry — wouldn't be healthy. In the end, they managed to get hold of a building up here. Theory was, sick wizards could come and go and just blend in with the crowd."

As they walked, the bustling city seemed indifferent to their presence, the Muggle crowds unaware of the magical purpose of their journey. The street was lined with shops and cafes, the scent of fresh bread wafting from a nearby bakery mingling with the crisp air. The group moved in a tight formation, with Moody's electric blue eye constantly scanning their surroundings.

"Here we go," said Moody a moment later. They had arrived outside a large, old-fashioned, red-brick department store called Purge & Dowse Ltd. The building was unassuming, its windows dusty and displays outdated, making it the perfect cover for the magical hospital.

"Everybody ready?" Tonks asked. They nodded, clustering around her with a mix of anxiety and determination. She leaned close to the glass, her breath fogging up the pane. "Wotcher," she said, her voice steady despite the nerves she must have felt. "We're here to see Arthur Weasley."

With a swift, fluid motion, Tonks seized Ginny and Mrs. Weasley by the elbows, and they stepped right through the glass and vanished. The Weasley twins followed immediately, their expressions set with resolve. Harry glanced around at the jostling crowd, feeling a momentary pang of worry before Moody's growl brought him back to focus.

"C'mon," growled Moody, his tone brooking no argument.

Buffy nodded, "We'll follow you in."

Harry nodded in agreement, taking a deep breath before he and Moody stepped through the window.

Buffy, Hermione, and Dawn followed Harry and Moody through the enchanted window hand in hand. The sensation was peculiar, like passing through a cool mist, and the cacophony of the bustling street outside was instantly replaced by the quieter, more controlled environment of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

They found themselves in what seemed to be a crowded reception area. Rows of witches and wizards sat upon rickety wooden chairs. Some looked perfectly normal, perusing out-of-date copies of Witch Weekly, while others sported gruesome disfigurements such as elephant trunks or extra hands sticking out of their chests. The atmosphere was a strange mix of mundane and bizarre, the oddities of the magical world blending seamlessly with the everyday concerns of its inhabitants.

Witches and wizards in lime-green robes moved up and down the rows, asking questions and making notes on clipboards reminiscent of Umbridge's officious demeanor. The Healers, as Ron would later explain, were busy diagnosing and treating a variety of magical maladies.

"Are they doctors?" Harry asked Ron quietly, eyeing a particularly stern-looking Healer who was scribbling furiously on a clipboard.

"Doctors?" said Ron, looking startled. "Those Muggle nutters that cut people up? Nah, they're Healers."

"Over here!" called Mrs. Weasley, her voice cutting through the murmur of the reception area. They followed her to the queue in front of a plump blonde witch seated at a desk marked Enquiries. The witch's desk was cluttered with parchment and quills, giving it a slightly chaotic appearance.

Eventually, it was their turn at the desk. "Hello, my husband, Arthur Weasley, was supposed to be moved to a different ward this morning. Could you tell us where he is, please?" Mrs. Weasley asked, her voice edged with a mix of hope and anxiety.

"Arthur Weasley?" the witch repeated, running her finger down a long list in front of her. "Yes, first floor, second door on the right, Dai Llewellyn Ward."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Weasley, a note of relief in her voice. "Come on, you lot."

Buffy rolled her eyes affectionately as she and her sisters followed behind the Weasleys through the double doors and along the narrow corridor beyond. The corridor was lined with portraits of famous Healers, their eyes following the group as they walked past. The atmosphere was thick with the combined scents of healing potions and antiseptic, adding to the surreal feeling of the place.

Finally, they reached Arthur's room. The door was slightly ajar, and inside, the faint sound of magical beeps and whirs could be heard, indicating the presence of enchanted medical equipment.

"We'll wait outside, Molly," Tonks said gently, placing a reassuring hand on Mrs. Weasley's shoulder. "Arthur won't want too many visitors at once... it ought to be just the family first."

Buffy nodded, her expression serious. "I have to agree."

Harry drew back and stood between Buffy and Moody, but Mrs. Weasley reached out a hand and gently pushed him through the door, saying, "Don't be silly, Harry. Arthur wants to thank you." She then nudged Hermione through the door. "And you as well, Hermione." She turned to Buffy and Dawn with a warm smile. "You both are more than welcome to come in also."

Buffy shook her head, her gaze softening. "Thank you, Molly. But I will wait out here. I'll see Arthur later after you and your family have had a chance to visit. Dawn can go in if she likes."

Mrs. Weasley nodded and led Dawn into the room. Buffy watched them go, her heart heavy with the weight of her own memories and the relief that the Weasleys had received good news.

Inside the ward, there were only three patients. Mr. Weasley was occupying the bed at the far end, beside the tiny window that let in a sliver of pale daylight.

"Hello!" Mr. Weasley called out cheerfully as they entered. "Bill just left, Molly. He had to get back to work, but he said he'll drop in on you later."

"How are you, Arthur?" asked Mrs. Weasley, bending down to kiss his cheek and looking anxiously into his face. "You're still looking a bit peaky."

"I feel absolutely fine," said Mr. Weasley brightly, holding out his good arm to give Ginny a hug. "If they could only take the bandages off, I'd be fit to go home."

"Why can't they take them off, Dad?" asked Fred, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Well, I start bleeding like mad every time they try," said Mr. Weasley cheerfully, reaching across for his wand, which lay on his bedside cabinet. With a quick wave, seven extra chairs appeared at his bedside to seat them all. "It seems there was some rather unusual kind of poison in that snake's fangs that keeps the wounds open. They're sure they'll find an antidote, though; they say they've had much worse cases than mine. In the meantime, I just have to keep taking a Blood-Replenishing Potion every hour. But that fellow over there," he added, nodding toward another patient. "Bitten by a werewolf, poor chap. No cure at all."

"A werewolf?" whispered Mrs. Weasley, her voice trembling with alarm. "Is he safe in a public ward? Shouldn't he be in a private room?"

"It's two weeks till full moon," Mr. Weasley reminded her quietly, his voice calm and reassuring. "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 George, leaning in with curiosity.

"Said he'd give me another bite if I didn't shut up," said Mr. Weasley sadly, his eyes reflecting a mixture of pity and frustration. "And that woman over there," he added, glancing towards a distant bed, "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."

Mrs. Weasley's face twisted in concern and horror, but before she could comment, Fred interjected. "So, you going to tell us what happened, Dad?"

"Well, you already know, don't you?" Mr. Weasley said with a significant smile at Hermione and Harry. "It's very simple — I'd had a very long day, dozed off, got sneaked up on and bitten."

"Is it in the Prophet, you being attacked?" asked Fred, his voice tinged with a mixture of apprehension and anger.

"No, of course not," said Mr. Weasley, his tone becoming more serious. "The Ministry wouldn't want everyone to know a dirty great serpent got —"

"Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley warned him sharply, her eyes wide with caution.

"— got — er — me," Mr. Weasley said hastily, casting an apologetic glance at his wife. The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on everyone.

"So where were you when it happened, Dad?" asked George, his curiosity piqued as he leaned forward, eyes gleaming with interest.

"That's my business," said Mr. Weasley, though a small, mischievous smile tugged at his lips. "I was just reading about Willy Widdershins's arrest when you arrived. You know, Willy turned out to be behind those regurgitating toilets back in the summer? One of his jinxes backfired, the toilet exploded, and they found him lying unconscious in the wreckage covered from head to foot in —"

"When you say you were 'on duty'," Fred interrupted in a low voice, his tone insistent and edged with curiosity, "what were you doing?"

Hermione glanced at her sister and rolled her eyes in mild exasperation. In many ways, the Weasley twins mirrored her and Dawn; their bond was unbreakable, yet their personalities clashed like night and day. She vividly recalled the day Dawn first arrived at Hogwarts. For the initial few days, before they had stitched the first initial of their names onto their robes, they enjoyed watching the professors struggle to distinguish between them, their laughter ringing through the hallways.

"You heard your father," whispered Mrs. Weasley, her voice stern and eyes narrowing, "we are not discussing this here! Go on about Willy Widdershins, Arthur."

"Well, don't ask me how, but he actually got off the toilet charge," said Mr. Weasley grimly, his brow furrowing. "I can only suppose gold changed hands —"

"You were guarding it, weren't you?" said George quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "The weapon? The thing You-Know-Who's after?"

"George, be quiet!" snapped Mrs. Weasley, her eyes flashing with a mixture of fear and anger.

"Anyway," said Mr. Weasley, in a raised voice to drown out the tension, "this time Willy's been caught selling biting doorknobs to Muggles, and I don't think he'll be able to worm his way out of it because, according to this article, two Muggles have lost 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! I wonder which ward they're in?"

"Didn't you say You-Know-Who's got a snake, Harry?" asked Fred, his voice tinged with both curiosity and a hint of fear. "A massive one? You saw it the night he returned, didn't you?"

Hermione's eyes widened at the mention of the snake. She didn't remember Dawn saying anything about a snake that night, and the thought sent a shiver down her spine.

"That's enough," said Mrs. Weasley crossly, her stern expression silencing any further protest. "Mad-Eye, Tonks, and Buffy are outside, Arthur. They want to come and see you. And you lot can wait outside," she added, her tone softening slightly as she addressed her children, Harry, Dawn, and Hermione. "You can come and say goodbye afterwards. Go on."

The group trooped back into the dimly lit corridor, the sterile smell of antiseptic and faint, echoing sounds of the hospital surrounding them. Mad-Eye, Buffy, and Tonks entered the ward, closing the door firmly behind them, leaving the others in an uneasy silence.

Fred raised his eyebrows, his expression a mix of frustration and curiosity. "Fine, be like that. Don't tell us anything."

Hermione and Dawn exchanged exasperated glances, their synchronized eye rolls speaking volumes about their shared annoyance.

"Looking for these?" said George, suddenly holding out what looked like a tangle of flesh-colored string, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"You read my mind," said Fred, grinning widely. "Let's see if St. Mungo's puts Imperturbable Charms on its ward doors, shall we?"

With practiced ease, he and George disentangled the string and separated five Extendable Ears from each other. The magical eavesdropping devices dangled between them like a secret weapon.

Fred and George handed them around, their eyes sparkling with anticipation. Harry hesitated to take one, glancing uncertainly at Hermione.

"Go on, Harry, take it! You too, Hermione," Fred urged, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "You both saved Dad's life. If anyone's got the right to eavesdrop on him, it's you two."

Hermione rolled her eyes again but took one of the Extendable Ears as Harry followed suit, a mix of reluctance and curiosity on his face.

"OK, go!" Fred whispered, his excitement palpable.

In Mr. Weasley's room, the air was heavy with concern and unspoken fears. The dim lighting cast long shadows across the room, amplifying the tension that lay thick upon them all.

"...they searched the whole area but couldn't find the snake anywhere. It just seems to have vanished after it attacked you, Arthur... but You-Know-Who can't have expected a snake to get in, can he?" Mrs. Weasley said, her voice wavering with a mix of confusion and fear.

"I reckon he sent it as a lookout," growled Moody, his magical eye whizzing around the room, taking in every detail. "'Cause he's not had any luck so far, has he? No, I reckon he's trying to get a clearer picture of what he's facing, and if Arthur hadn't been there, the beast would've had a lot more time to look around. So, Potter and Summers said they saw it all happen?"

"Yes," said Buffy and Mrs. Weasley in unison, their faces pale but resolute.

"You know, Dumbledore seems almost to have been waiting for Harry to see something like this," Mrs. Weasley added, her voice tinged with a hint of suspicion and worry.

"Yeah, well," said Moody, his tone gruff and skeptical, "there's something funny about the Potter kid, we all know that. And no offense, Ms. Summers, but how could your sister see it also?"

Buffy sighed, the weight of her words pressing down on her shoulders. "Hermione is a Potential. She is next in line after me to become a Slayer."

There were gasps around the room, the shock palpable from all but Moody and Buffy, who remained calm and composed amidst the sudden revelation.

"Dumbledore seemed worried about Harry when I spoke to him this morning," whispered Mrs. Weasley, finally breaking the silence after Buffy's declaration, her voice barely above a murmur.

"Course he's worried," growled Moody. "The boy's seeing things from inside You-Know-Who's snake. Obviously, Potter doesn't realize what that means, but if You-Know-Who's possessing him —"

Buffy nodded, her expression grim. "Either way, something needs to be done. I'm going to start training Hermione as a Slayer. Maybe someone should be doing the same for Harry, especially if Voldemort—" Several of them flinched at the name. "—can see inside Harry's mind. He needs to learn to resist it."