Purple Rain.

Chapter Forty-Seven.

Mundungus drove off to wait around the corner once everyone had gotten out of the car. They stopped in front of a dummy in green nylon. Hermione was thoroughly confused, trying to see if (Y/n) shared her confusion. (Y/n) had been to St. Mungo's twice in the same year due to Anastasia bringing her along to serve food for the patients, though travelling through a window was still an interesting journey for (Y/n).

"Here for Arthur Weasley," Mad-Eye said shortly. The dummy gave a tiny nod and beckoned them forward with a wave of its finger. (Y/n) and Hermione lingered back as the others stepped through the glass one by one.

"Go ahead," Bill advised, opting to let the girls go before he and Charlie did. (Y/n) offered her hand to Hermione and together they stepped through the glass, feeling a sheet of cool water before emerging quite warm and dry on the other side.

The reception was quite empty and filled with rickety wooden chairs and out-of-date copies of Witch Weekly. There was a plump blonde witch at the desk marked INQUIRIES. The wall behind her was covered in notices and posters saying things like A CLEAN CAULDRON KEEPS POTIONS FROM BECOMING POISONS and ANTIDOTES ARE ANTI-DON'TS UNLESS APPROVED BY A QUALIFIED HEALER.
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 had been shunted aside by a witch with a walnut jammed up her left nostril.

"Family argument, eh?" smirked the blonde witch. "You're the third I've seen today... Spell Damage, fourth floor..."
They found Arthur Weasley propped up in bed with the remains of his turkey dinner on a tray in his lap and a rather sheepish expression on his face.

"Everything all right, Arthur?" asked Molly 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?"

"No," said Molly suspiciously, "why?"

"Nothing, nothing," said Arthur airily, starting to unwrap his pile of gifts. "Well, everyone had a good day? What did you all get for Christmas? Oh, Harry— this is absolutely wonderful—"
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?" said Arthur, 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 one— on Muggle wounds—"
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 and Charlie muttered something about getting himself a cup of tea and Fred and George leapt up to accompany them, grinning. (Y/n) pressed her fingers to her mouth before following their lead.

"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?"