Getaway Car

Christmas on the Closed Ward.

The journey to St Mungo's was quite quick, as there was very little traffic on the roads. A small trickle of witches and wizards were creeping furtively up the otherwise deserted street to visit the hospital. The group got out of the car and Mundungus drove off around the corner to wait for them; 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: 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. Harry found himself shunted aside by a walnut jammed up her left nostril.

"Family argument, eh?" smirked the blonde witch behind the desk. "You're the third I've seen today... Spell damage, fourth floor..."

They found Arthur propped up in bed with the remains of his turkey on a tray in his lap and a rather sheepish expression on his face.

"Everything all right, Arthur?" Molly asked after they had all greeted Arthur and handed over their presents.

"Fine, fine," said Arthur a little too heartily. "You— er— haven't seen Healer Smethwyck, have you?"

"Nop," said Molly suspiciously, "why?"

"Nothing, nothing," said Arthur airily, starting to unwrap his pile of gifts. "Well, everyone had a godo day? What did you all get for Christmas? Oh, Harry— this is absolutely wonderful—"
For he had just opened Harry's gift of fuse-wire and screwdrivers. Molly did not seem entirely satisfied with Arthur's answer. As her husband leaned over to shake Harry's hand, she peered at the bandaging under his nightshirt.

"Arthur," Molly said with a snap in her voice like a mousetrap, "you've had your bandages changed. Why have you had your bandages changed a day early, Arthur? They told me they wouldn't need doing until tomorrow."

"What?" Arthur said, looking rather frightened and pulling the bed covers higher up his chest. "No, no— it's nothing— it's— I—" He seemed to deflate under Molly's piercing gaze.
"Well— now don't get upset, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea... He's the Trainee Healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in... um... complementary medicine... I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies... well, they're called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on— on Muggle wounds—"
(Y/n) stifled a laugh, turning her head away as she tried not to smile. Molly let out an ominous noise somewhere between a shriek and a snarl. Remus strolled away from the bed and over to the werewolf, who had no visitors and was looking rather wistfully at the crowd around Arthur; Bill muttered something about getting himself a cup of tea and Fred, George, and (Y/n) leapt up to accompany him, grinning. The three lingered by the door to hear what they could.

"Do you mean to tell me," said Molly, her voice growing louder with every word and apparently unaware that her fellow visitors were scurrying for cover, "that you have been messing about with Muggle remedies."

"Not messing around, Molly, dear," said Arthur imploringly. "It was just— just something Pye and I thought we'd try— only, most unfortunately— well, with these particular kinds of wounds— it doesn't seem to work as well as we'd hoped—"

"Meaning?"

"Well... well, I don't know whether you know what— what stitches are?"

"It sounds as though you've been trying to sew your skin back together," said Molly with a snort of mirthless laughter, "but even you, Arthur, wouldn't be that stupid—"

"I fancy a cup of tea too," said Harry, jumping to his feet. Hermione, Ron, and Ginny sprinted to the door with him.

As it swung closed behind them, they heard Molly shriek, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT'S THE GENERAL IDEA?"