┌───── ･☆☽･ ─────┐ 𝕕𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝟙 𝟡 𝟡 𝟝 ━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━ "did you want to come with me to the hospital?"
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Rosalie and Margaret wandered along the snow-covered cobblestone streets of London that early Christmas morning. Margaret being a Healer at St. Mungo's, was called in to observe the status of the long-term residents; Rosalie offered to accompany her.
The journey to St. Mungo's was quite quick, as there was very little traffic on the roads and footpaths. A small trickle of witches and wizards were creeping furtively up the otherwise deserted street to visit the hospital.
Margaret glanced down at her niece, clutching the flowers she'd brought for each of the patients tightly. They strolled casually toward the window where the dummy in green nylon stood, then, one by one, stepped through the glass.
The reception area looked pleasantly festive that early Christmas morning: the crystal orbs that illuminated St. Mungo's had been turned to red and gold so that they became gigantic, glowing Christmas baubles; holly hung around every doorway, and shining white Christmas trees covered in magical snow and icicles glittered in every corner, each topped with a gleaming gold star.
It was less crowded than the last time Rosalie had accompanied her Aunt there. Only a few witches and wizards in lime-green robes were walking up and down the rows, asking questions and making notes on clipboards like Umbridge's.
Although halfway across the room she found herself shunted aside by a witch with a walnut jammed up her left nostril. Clearly taken aback by the sight before her, Rosalie barely registered Margaret change into her own lime green hospital robes. Rosalie gazed drifted towards the emblem embroidered on their chests: a wand and bone, crossed. Fitting, she thought.
"Let's go, Rosie," Margaret remarked, levitating a cardboard box of presents beside her whilst holding the metal clipboard under her arm tightly.
They walked along the corridor through a set of double doors and found a rickety staircase lined with more portraits of brutal-looking Healers.
As they climbed it, the various Healers called out to them, diagnosing odd complaints and suggesting horrible remedies. Margaret seemed to smirk at their complaints, continuing on as though they weren't there.
But as Rosalie stepped onto the landing she came to an abrupt halt, staring at the small window set into the double doors that marked the start of a corridor signposted spell damage.
"This is our long-term resident ward, my main ward," Margaret informed Rosalie, in a low voice. "For permanent spell damage, you know. Of course, with intensive remedial potions and charms and a bit of luck, we can produce some improvement."
