We got out at the next stop, a station in the very heart of London, and followed Tonks up the escalator, Moody clunking along at the back of the group, his bowler tilted low and one gnarled hand stuck in between the buttons of his coat, clutching his wand.
"Not far from here," grunted Moody as we stepped out into the wintry air on a broad store-lined street packed with Christmas shoppers. He pushed Harry a little ahead of him and stumped along just behind; I knew the eye was rolling in all directions under the tilted hat. "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 — unhealthy. 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.
He needn't have said all that as we'd seen Purge and Dowse from the moment we left the station. He seized Harry's shoulder to prevent them being separated by a gaggle of shoppers plainly intent on nothing but making it into a nearby shop full of electrical gadgets.
"Here we go," said Moody a moment later, again unnecessarily.
The reception area was much more crowded this time, with it being mid afternoon. Rows of witches and wizards sat upon rickety wooden chairs, some looking perfectly normal and perusing out-of-date copies of Witch Weekly, others sporting gruesome disfigurements such as elephant trunks or extra hands sticking out of their chests. The room was scarcely less quiet than the street outside, for many of the patients were making very peculiar noises. A sweaty faced witch in the center of the front row, who was fanning herself vigorously with a copy of the Daily Prophet, kept letting off a high-pitched whistle as steam came pouring out of her mouth, and a grubby-looking warlock in the corner clanged like a bell every time he moved, and with each clang his head vibrated horribly, so that he had to seize himself by the ears and hold it steady. Healers were walking up and down the rows, asking questions and making notes on clipboards like Umbridge's.
"Over here!" called Mum over the renewed clanging of the warlock in the corner, and we followed her to the queue in front of the welcome witch, who this time was a plump blonde woman. She didn't look any more welcoming than her colleague of the previous night. At the front of the queue, a young wizard was performing an odd on-the-spot jig and trying, in between yelps of pain, to explain his predicament.
"It's these — ouch — shoes my brother 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 —" He hopped from one foot to the other as though dancing on hot coals.
"The shoes don't prevent you reading, do they?" said the blonde witch irritably, pointing at the sign on the left of her desk "You want Spell Damage, fourth floor. Just like it says on the floor guide. Next!"
The wizard hobbled and pranced sideways out of the way and our party moved forward a few steps. A very old, stooped wizard with a hearing trumpet had shuffled to the front of the queue now.
"I'm here to see Broderick Bode!" he wheezed.
"Ward forty-nine, but I'm afraid you're wasting your time," said the witch dismissively "He's completely addled, you know, still thinks he's a teapot. … Next!
A harassed-looking wizard was holding his small daughter tightly by the ankle while she flapped around his head using the immensely large, feathery wings that had sprouted right out the back of her romper suit.
"Fourth floor," said the witch in a bored voice, without asking, and the man disappeared through the double doors beside the desk, holding his daughter like an oddly shaped balloon. "Next!"
It was at this point that I realised that the wizarding world could be an extremely strange place sometimes.
Mum moved forward to the desk.
"Hello," she said. "My husband, Arthur Weasley, was supposed to be moved to a different ward this morning, could you tell us — ?"
"Arthur Weasley?" said the witch, 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 Mum "Come on, you lot."
We returned to the same floor we had been on the previous night, but entered a different door this time. It 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: Augustus Pye.
"We'll wait outside, Molly," Tonks said. "Arthur won't want too many visitors at once. … It ought to be just the family first." Mad-Eye growled his approval of this idea and set himself with his back against the corridor wall, his magical eye spinning in all directions. Harry drew back too, but Mum reached out a hand and pushed him through the door, saying, "Don't be silly, Harry, Arthur wants to thank you. …"
"You're family" I said firmly as we went inside.
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 rather vicious-looking wizard on the wall, captioned URQUHART RACKHARROW, 1612– 1697, INVENTOR OF THE ENTRAIL-EXPELLING CURSE.
There were only three patients. Dad 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 reading the Daily Prophet by the solitary ray of sunlight falling onto his bed. He looked around as we walked toward him and, seeing whom it was, beamed.
"Hello!" he called, throwing the Prophet aside. "Bill just left, Molly, had to get back to work, but he says he'll drop in on you later. …"
"How are you, Arthur?" asked Mum bending down to kiss his cheek and looking anxiously into his face. "You're still looking a bit peaky. …"
"I feel absolutely fine," said Dad brightly, holding out his good arm to give Ginny a hug. It was the most amazing feeling one of his hugs had given me in my entire life, and in that moment, the sheer relief that I was still able to get them really sunk in...