Moonlit Wanderings

CHAPTER SIX

St Mungo's Hospital, London.

Rated PG for life-and-death situations.

Ariadne did not understand why she had not died.

When she first awoke she was certain she must be dead. As soon as she had ascertained that she was not racing towards the falling bairns, but was lying motionless on a white-sheeted bed, she remembered that she could not have reached the children, no matter how fast she had run, because there was a barrier of death between her and them. That made sense of why Remus had been screaming – but he had been abruptly silenced.

So she had not saved the bairns – she could not in any case have run fast enough to reach them before they hit the earth – and now she was dead.

She felt very, very daft.

She replayed her last minutes. Veleta had not recognised her or Kingsley, had looked at them like strangers. But she had been so desperate to escape whatever horrors surrounded her in Macnair Castle that she had taken the risk of trusting Kingsley. Remus had made a Portkey to St Mungo's and thrown it across the barrier, Kingsley had caught it and picked up the little girl, and Veleta had been carrying the boy. Then Kingsley and Veleta had vanished without the children. And the children had been falling through the air.

And she had raced off on the fool's errand to catch them – both of them at once? Evidently there was no limit to her density. And Remus had been screaming, but all she had known was that she had to catch them, otherwise... what? They would break their necks? Possibly. More likely, falling onto damp grass from a height of four feet, they would suffer a few bruises. And she had hit the barrier, and of course she had died instantly.

No wonder Remus had screamed. A lump swelled in her throat when she realised what her death would mean to him; it had been extremely self-centred of her to run off and die, especially just before his exams.

She wondered what had happened to the children. They had probably struck the ground even before she had hit the barrier. And she had died before she had had the chance to know if they were hurt.

She sat up in the bed, wondering what dead people were supposed to do after they, well, arrived. There were several other beds lined up against whitewashed walls, some of them occupied, and a person in lime-coloured robes was bending over one of the other occupants, almost like a Healer in a hospital.

A hospital? Was this a hospital?

It was only after she had established to herself that the lime-coloured witch was indeed a Healer that she allowed herself to play with the possibility that she might have survived after all.

She did not doubt that the Macnairs had the power to set up an invincible barrier of death around their castle; but it was possible that Veleta had not understood exactly how the spell worked. What if it had not killed her after all?

That would be a great relief to Remus. But, if she were alive, where was he?

Someone had placed a huge display of red roses on her bedside table. A drawn curtain suggested that it must be dark outside the window; the light in the room – the ward? – came from a chandelier. Two of the other beds were empty; another was occupied by a man whose head was slowly revolving on his shoulders. He didn't seem distressed, but it would have been rude to stare, so she looked in the other direction. The Healer was just standing up from tending to the other patient. She wrote something on the chart at the end of the bed, then walked quietly over to Ariadne.

"Mrs Lupin, you're awake."

"Am I dead, Healer?" It was a stupid question, but today was a very stupid day.

"No, but you've been unconscious for half the day. Try to relax, everything is all right now."

"Where's Veleta?" The Healer looked blank. "My friend. We were trying to bring her to the Spell Damage department. How can I find out if she's there?"

"This is the Spell Damage department. Hush, don't worry about your friend. You're the one suffering spell damage."

Ariadne tried not to be agitated at the voice of the professional soother. "Healer, my friend was damaged worse than I am. What do I do to find out...?" But she saw at once that the Healer had no intention of discussing anything. She drew a deep breath and changed her question to, "When can I see my husband?"

"I'll bring him in," said the Healer. "The poor man's had a terrible day; he'll be so relieved to see you awake."

For a moment she was almost not wanting to see Remus; was not wanting to look at his face and recognise the appalling thing she had done to him today. The Healer brought him into the ward in a very few seconds, saying, "... careful not to excite her, Mr Lupin," which meant that he had been waiting in the corridor all day. She made herself look at the taut lines on his face, the dark circles under his eyes, and knew at once that he'd been far too troubled by anxiety to bother with being angry. That made it worse; she felt she deserved his anger.

He sat on the edge of her bed, and she said, "I'm sorry," but he was obviously too happy that she was speaking at all to hear what she said. She held his hand, then changed her mind and put her arms around his neck, and let him hold her. It seemed so unfair that ever since their marriage he had made so much effort to accommodate her, yet all she had ever given him in return was more problems. But he hadn't noticed what a burden she was to him; the only question presently on his mind was whether she would recover.

She absorbed the guilty pleasure of being held and cosseted for a long time, until Remus's mouth moved beside her ear, and he said, "You haven't asked anything about your illness."

"I'm not feeling ill. We can go home, can we not?"

He loosened his hold so that he could look at her. "Not for a while. The Healer told me, as a rule of thumb, that every hour you spent unconscious would be a day you'd have to remain in hospital. That means you'll be here for about a week."

She nodded, knowing that Professor Jigger would never give her permission to be ill for that long, but she could not argue with Remus any more. She was itching to ask him about Veleta, but he wanted to talk about herself, and she owed him the indulgence.

"Ariadne, you're suffering from quite serious spell damage. Whatever the Macnairs put on their boundary ought to have killed you."

"What was it – a kind of wall of Avada Kedavra?"

"That isn't possible, but it was certainly a fairly serious hurling hex. The way it threw you ought to have broken your neck. But, granted that I was lucky enough to catch you in time, the Healers found something else... You were penetrated by some spell that ought to have halted your heartbeat. They don't understand why it didn't."

Ariadne did not much care why the spell had failed, but she hoped that talking about it would bring the conversation back to Veleta. "Remus, what happened? I know I was daft, but what happened this morning?"

"When the Portkey vanished, you started running off. I ran after you, but I wasn't quick enough, and you hit the barrier. That seemed to set off some kind of alarm, because a swarm of house-elves appeared in the same moment. They looked so hostile that I Disapparated us. And by the time we'd landed at St Mungo's, I'd worked out that you didn't seem to be dead after all... So I took you to Spell Damage..." His voice trailed off. She knew he must have been moving like a zombie from the minute she fell.

He could not tell her what had happened to Veleta's bairns because he had not been able to see them, but she ventured, "And Veleta... Is she here in Spell Damage too?"

"Kingsley was taking care of Veleta; I've been occupied with you. I promised I'd owl him when you became conscious."

His evasion meant that something had gone wrong. "Remus, is Veleta going to be all right?"

"It would be better if you heard that part of the story first-hand from Kingsley." Veleta was very definitely not all right. "He's had to go back to Training Headquarters, but he said he'd come to visit you tomorrow."

She wanted to scream that they were hiding something important from her, but she knew the Healer would send Remus away if she became agitated. So she reminded herself that Remus had had enough trouble for one day, and let him carry on hushing her apologies.

* * * * * * *

A Mediwitch forced Remus out of the ward so that Ariadne could be dosed with six kinds of potion. Then she slept for a while. She awoke in the middle of the night with a middle-of-the-morning alertness that no invalid has any business experiencing, which could only mean that her Circadian rhythm was completely disrupted. She lit her wand, but realised at once that there were no books on her bedside table... only that huge vase of roses.

She wriggled in the bed for a while, trying to re-settle, but her mind was screaming that it must be occupied somehow. She wondered what she had to do to procure herself a book. At one end of the ward, the Mediwitch on duty was almost asleep over her desk. Ariadne inched herself out of bed, and had walked half way to the desk before she had time to ask herself if she were supposed to be well enough to walk.

"Excuse me..."

The Mediwitch startled, raised her head, and opened bleary eyes. She had harassed lines of overwork all over her face.

"Excuse me, is there a patients' library in this hospital?"

"The bathroom is first on the left outside the ward," recited the Mediwitch. It was clear she did not know which patient had asked the question that she had not really heard.

Ariadne took this reply as permission to leave the ward. The floor was cold under her bare feet, but the thick flannel of the hospital nightgown covered her well enough for a ten-minute excursion. She hoped it would only be ten minutes. She considered opening the other doors in the corridor so that she could find where Veleta was lying. But there was no real point – if Veleta were not asleep, then she ought to be; Ariadne knew she must restrain her curiosity until tomorrow.

At the end of the corridor, a placard next to the stairs indicated that she was on the fourth floor and the shop and tea-room were on the fifth. That seemed as likely a place as any to find a library, so Ariadne climbed the stairs. She found herself slightly breathless, and had to clutch the banister half way up, which warned her that she might be somewhat sick after all, but she kept climbing slowly, until another placard welcomed her to the fifth floor, with arrows directing her to ladies, gentlemen, tea-room or shop.

The shop was disappointing; not only was it closed, but it seemed to be primarily a florist's, with sidelines in exotic stone fruits and boxed chocolate. There was a single stand of newspapers, postcards and magazines, but nothing that she would call a book. Ariadne decided at once that she was not going to give up; her mind was racing with alertness, while her legs were beginning to ache with exertion, and it would be miserable to drag herself back downstairs with no reward for the effort. There were more stairs leading up to a sixth storey, so she began to haul herself up.

She knew before she reached the top that patients were not supposed to be here – the lighting was a great deal dimmer, and there were no signposts – but she calculated that the worst anybody could do was to send her back downstairs. The doors on this corridor apparently led to offices and other quarters for the hospital staff. She felt entirely justified in her quest when, half way along, she found a door left ajar that was labelled LIBRARY. The lighting was brighter here, as if in welcome, and the couple of lime-green figures that were leafing through books were a long way down the room. Ariadne walked in and picked up a book.

She realised at once that this was not a patients' library – the book was Ye Origines of Dragon Poxe by Gunhilda of Gorsemoor, and every book on the shelf was about magical bacteria. So many thoughts were crowding into her head as she walked to the next aisle that she did not know whether she wanted to look up memory charms, serious bites, hurling hexes or potions. She wondered whether the Mediwitch would be very distressed if she stayed here all night. But before she had to decide, the right book was winking at her, inviting her to the feast. It was a bound copy of the last five years of the Western Journal of Apothecarism. Every article in every edition for every year! She need not waste any more time on appetite suppressants and shampoos. She could read the interesting articles, the ones about sleeping draughts and body rhythm allergies, with no need to justify herself. It would be a whole week before she again needed to read to Professor Jigger's orders. She was so excited that she could hardly pronounce the Summoning Charm.

The heavy book landed in her arms, and she swayed then toppled to the floor with an alarming crash. She was more surprised than hurt, but it proved that she was not really as healthy as she felt. Before she could find her feet, strong arms were lifting her, and she found herself staring into the face of a lime-robed stranger. She was startled to find that this stranger had touched her, was about to discover her illicitly sneaking Healers' books. But the stranger, she quickly realised, was even more astonished – was staring into her face as if they were not strangers.

He had a kindly, rather solemn face, neatly bearded, and she supposed he was about ninety, old enough to be retired had he wished it. The badge on his lime robes bore the unfamiliar name Hippocrates Smethwyck. Obviously, he was a Healer, and he had a right and duty to read the books in the staff library. But she knew she had never seen him before.

"I'm sorry..." she began, for it did seem a terrible intrusion to be borrowing journals when her Healer wanted her to be in bed.

But her apology was drowned out by his. "I beg your pardon, young lady. I thought for a moment that I knew you." He bent over to retrieve the book. "Yours, I believe."

"I'm afraid not, Healer Smethwyck. I was only hoping... to borrow... but I should not really..."

He frowned at the title. "Are you an apothecary, young lady?"

"I'm yet apprenticed. I'm here as a patient... I'm expecting I should not have come..." She had not been thinking clearly since the moment she had woken up believing herself dead; but suddenly her head had snapped into complete clarity, and she realised what an impertinent thing it had been to prowl private corridors looking for other people's books.

Healer Smethwyck was clearly trying to assess the situation. "A sick apprentice is sentenced to hospital... and her choice of light reading... is the complete journal? I'm impressed." He still sounded faintly embarrassed to have mistaken her for someone else. "What is your field of research?"

She was mortified to admit that she was supposed to be researching appetite suppressants and shampoos. To admit to such a trivial use of Potions was far more humiliating than to admit that she had been gate-crashing the library. She found herself saying, "I'm very interested in sleeping draughts. I've always wanted to develop one that will cause dream-sleep but suppress the other kind."

"I'm glad someone cares. You'll find a very interesting article on sleeping draughts published in October four years ago. It was never followed up. If you wanted to take it the next step, Ankarad – " He broke off, embarrassed again. "Let's just say, young lady, that when you've finished your apprenticeship, setting up shop isn't your only option. St Mungo's sponsors research fellowships that replace the journeywork quite well."

She had been going to ask what his research field was, but her curiosity was more piqued by his mistake. "You called me Ankarad. Did you know Madam Murray?"

The Healer was electrified. "Yes... yes, as a matter of fact, I did meet her." They must have done more than meet; Ariadne saw that they had been dear friends. "She was the greatest brewster in Europe; seventy years ago, every Healer as well as every apothecary knew her name. But she would have died long before you were born, young lady. You've done your homework well to know about Ankarad Murray."

"Ankarad Murray was my grandmother."

Healer Smethwyck looked almost relieved. "No wonder I felt I was looking at a ghost! It seems you have inherited her mantle, Miss... you're not Miss Murray, are you? You wouldn't even be a Miss Macnair." He spoke the Macnair name with a stony edge, as if he were aware of their Death Eater connections.

She told him her name, and he raised his eyebrows in mild surprise – almost another recognition. But that made no sense. Remus was only a second-generation wizard; the Lupin name would not mean anything to a man as old as Smethwyck.

"Mrs Lupin, I don't know what malady brings you to St Mungo's, but I'm fairly certain you ought to be in bed. If you can't sleep, by all means take the book back to your ward; I'll check it out under my name." He walked over to some kind of register on a desk and picked up a quill. "Show me the spine. When you bring the book back, leave it on this desk, and sign in this column here." He tapped his wand on the book and muttered a Disarming Charm.

Of all the extraordinary things that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, Healer Smethwyck's kindness in allowing her to take the book suddenly seemed the most overwhelming. "Thank you very much, sir," she said. "It's... I'm extremely grateful that you're letting me read it. I've a great deal to learn, and this will help me enormously."

* * * * * * *

"I've identified the spell, Mrs Lupin," said Healer Strout. "There is a definite trace of Animum Quiesco that we need to annihilate. Not many people survive that hex – by the time someone else has realised that what's needed is to re-animate the heartbeat, it's usually too late. But in your case... young lady, I'd be very interested to know what you did. I found more than a trace of the counter-charm that repelled the hex."

"I did nothing, Healer. What was the counter-charm?"

"It was in your blood. I couldn't identify it, which is peculiar... When I have that much trouble identifying a spell, it's usually some kind of illicit Dark Magic. But Dark spells don't usually lurk in your blood waiting to save your life... Well, whatever it was, the world needs more of it."

"You're welcome to take a blood-sample for analysis, Healer."

"Thank you, I might just do that. Not that Animum Quiesco is much used nowadays, but it's good to know it has a counter. Now, did you drink all the potions that the Mediwitch left you?"

"She fed them to me by force," said Ariadne ruefully. Five of the six had tasted horrible.

"Then I'll admit your visitors. But you must keep very quiet and not let them excite you."

Ariadne thought guiltily of her midnight book-seeking expedition. It must have raised her heartbeat and circulation, and then she had fallen asleep reading five years' worth of research on sleeping draughts. If she let her visitors tire her out, Healer Strout would be angry with her in earnest.

Remus, looking much happier than yesterday, entered the ward. He was followed by Sarah, who was dressed in flamingo-coloured robes and carrying pale pink orchids, then by Kingsley, who was helping her cousin Mercy with a basket of peaches. Ariadne was embarrassed by the fuss; they radiated so much concern for her. But finally she had finished apologising, and her friends were all sitting on chairs around her bed, and she was able to ask her question.

"Kingsley – what happened yesterday?"

"The Portkey brought Veleta and me here to St Mungo's. But as soon as we arrived, we saw that it hadn't brought her children. Veleta kicked up a storm of protest, and even asked if I had tricked her deliberately. A Mediwizard had to cast a Calming Charm, and I managed to persuade Veleta to see a Healer, but she was crying the whole time. The Healer told us exactly what we already knew – that someone had removed her personal memories. She said Veleta would need to stay in hospital for several months if they were to restore the memories without destroying her whole mind."

He paused for so long that Ariadne nearly asked, "So is she here?" But she already knew the answer.

Kingsley finished his story. "Veleta wasn't willing to stay anywhere without her children. She was even sobbing that they might not be safe in Foss now that she had left them. All she could think about was going back to them. Ariadne, it wasn't an option to keep her away from her children any longer, and I've no idea how we're going to winkle them out of the castle. So I gave her back the Portkey."

Ariadne lay back on her pillows, trying not to be agitated by the news. "So... she's in Foss?"

"It's not as if she's wanting to be!" exclaimed Mercy eagerly. "Tell her, Kingsley. What did Veleta say to you the moment before she touched the Portkey?"

"She was crying so hard that I wasn't exactly certain," said Kingsley. "But it sounded like, 'Mr Shacklebolt, if you're my friend at all, try to find a way to rescue all of us from the Macnairs!'"