St Mungo's Hospital

"Are you a doctor? Why am I here?" Lockhart asked, guessing from Madam Pomfrey's attire.

"Poor Professor Lockhart," Madam Pomfrey clicked her tongue, prying open his eyelids to examine his pupils.

"Oh, you call me Professor Lockhart." Lockhart let her fingers play with him. "A professor? Good heavens, I never thought I'd amount to much!"

"Merlin's beard," said Madam Pomfrey, shaking her head and asking softly, "Gilderoy Lockhart, do you remember what year it is and how old you are?"

"Which year?" Lockhart opened his mouth in confusion, staring blankly as he tried to recall, but after thinking for a long time, he still couldn't come up with an answer.

Madam Pomfrey interrupted his thoughts, "Get up, we're leaving for St Mungo's Sanatorium."

Although he didn't know what St Mungo's Sanatorium was, Lockhart got out of bed quickly, put on his shoes, and obediently stayed by Madam Pomfrey's side.

"Thank goodness Headmaster Dumbledore opened a back door for us..." Madam Pomfrey muttered as she pulled a silver syringe from the cabinet where medical equipment was stored.

Loren and Lockhart stared curiously at the silver syringe, a key to St Mungo's's Portkey, though the slender needles gleamed with a sharp, cold light, suggesting it was more than just decorative.

Whether it was created by Dumbledore or by Madam Pomfrey herself, Madam Pomfrey, as the resident Healer, had close ties with St Mungo's. If it weren't for Hogwarts ' special magic, she would definitely have applied to open Floo Network between Hogwarts and St Mungo's.

"Come closer, gentlemen," Madam Pomfrey beckoned, gesturing for the two men to place their hands on the silver syringe.

"Okay, I'll count to three, one—two—three—"

A hook caught a spot slightly behind the navel, and with a sudden tug, the solid feeling of footing on the ground vanished. Hands were firmly stuck to the silver syringe, and the feeling of weightlessness indicated that they were moving forward amidst swirling colors and whistling wind, pulled along by the syringe.

With a sudden thud, my feet slammed into the ground, jolting my knees. Madam Pomfrey's voice rang in my ears. "We've arrived."

It was a cramped, narrow red telephone booth. The three of them were squeezed in, making it a bit crowded. Madam Pomfrey pushed open the door and went out first, with Lockhart following behind Madam Pomfrey with light steps.

Loren emerged last and found themselves in a deserted alley. One end of the alley was blocked by a red brick wall, leaving only one entrance. The neat brick walls on both sides and the graffiti on them clearly showcased Muggle characteristics.

It seems this isn't St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries yet. Loren asked with some curiosity, "Madam Pomfrey, why doesn't the Portkey lead directly to the inside of St Mungo's Hospital?"

"To protect the safety of patients, anything that enters St Mungo's's, whether it's a person or an object, must be inspected." Madam Pomfrey walked briskly, leading the two out of the exit and into another alley with a complex network of paths.

"There have been many incidents in history where dangerous items have entered the hospital, resulting in patient injuries or deaths. During the last Wizarding War, there were malicious individuals who attempted to attack the hospital, and since then, security measures at St Mungo's's have become even stricter."

"The hospital was originally planned to be located in Diagon Alley, but there wasn't enough land there, and the Untraceable Extension Charm would affect other spells. Also, it couldn't be completely hidden underground like the Ministry of Magic, as many patients need to be exposed to the sun. In the end, they set up a place here, which is also convenient for treating some Muggle injuries."

Loren asked in confusion, "The Muggle's injuries?"

"Yes, many of St Mungo's's patients are Muggle."

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Magical items always seem to mysteriously end up in Muggle society. People get their fingers bitten off by doorknobs, or their limbs broken by Quaffle that appear out of nowhere. Unlucky Muggle are often brought here to receive emergency treatment for bone regeneration and memory modification."

Loren: "..."

So what exactly is the purpose of the Ministry of Magic?

As they approached St Mungo's's, a smile crept onto Madam Pomfrey's lips. Led by Madam Pomfrey, the three of them wandered around for a while before emerging from an inconspicuous passageway into a bright and open space.

Unlike the deserted alleyway just now, this wide street was bustling with Muggle pedestrians, and the shops on both sides were packed with Christmas customers.

Lockhart looked around the street with great interest, while pedestrians occasionally glanced at them with strange looks.

"I forgot to change into Muggle clothes," Madam Pomfrey realized belatedly, slapping her forehead. "Luckily, Christmas is coming soon, so we won't be too conspicuous."

Madam Pomfrey wore a swallowtail cap and a neat white smock, looking like a waiter's uniform from a fine restaurant. Lockhart wore a well-fitting suit, but Loren's robe was a bit odd.

The streets were also decorated with all sorts of quirky ornaments during the Christmas holidays, and some shops even had shop assistants dressed as Santa Claus in front of them. Pedestrians hurried by, and although they were somewhat unique, they didn't attract much attention.

Madam Pomfrey would occasionally tug at the slightly eccentric Lockhart to prevent them from being separated by a group of shoppers who just wanted to squeeze into the appliance store next door—the Christmas discounts were very tempting.

After a while, Madam Pomfrey said, "We've arrived."

Before me stood an old-fashioned red-brick department store, its dusty doors adorned with large signs reading "Closed for Renovation." The name of Tale of the Grand Emporium. was barely discernible from the worn sign.

It looked dilapidated and deserted. Several old and cracked plastic mannequins were displayed in the window, wearing crooked wigs in various poses and dressed in clothes from at least ten years ago. The ugliest one in the center wore a green, ugly-looking dress made of cheap-looking nylon that had oxidized and discolored.

However, these things seemed to be full of unusual mysteries. Loren examined the transparent glass window and the plastic mannequins inside. Everything here was filled with mottled Magic Power light of various colors: Muggle-Repelling Charm, Untraceable Extension Charm, Protego, Anti-Space Magic...

There were dozens of spells whose effects he could identify, and inside the display case were various alchemical arrays. He even felt a sense of familiarity with them, as if Nicolas Flamel had also participated in the design and construction of St Mungo's's.

Within St Mungo's's magical range, the surrounding Muggle pedestrians seemed to completely ignore them, hurrying past them.

While Madam Pomfrey wasn't looking, Loren wiped the glass, dusting off a fingertip of dust. He silently thought to himself, "This place must have never been open for business before."

Madam Pomfrey spoke to the ugliest plastic mannequin, her breath creating a hazy mist on the clear glass. "A patient with magical injuries needs treatment."

The plastic mannequin's eyes blinked, it nodded slightly to them, and beckoned with stiff fingers. Madam Pomfrey grabbed their arms and disappeared through the glass.

They arrived at a crowded waiting room. Loren looked around with interest, taking in everything in this magical hospital. The walls were covered with notices and announcements: cleaning the cauldron prevents Potions from turning into poison; antidotes require the approval of a qualified Healer ...

Loren suddenly felt a scrutinizing gaze. Looking in the direction of the gaze, he saw a large portrait of Witch with long, flowing silver hair next to the banner, with the caption:

Dilys de Winter

St Mungo's's Healer (1722-1741)

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (1741-1768)

There was also a portrait of her on the wall of Dumbledore's Headmaster's office, though the frame wasn't this large. Dilys met Loren's gaze, blinked slightly, smiled at him, and disappeared from the frame.

Loren guessed that she might have gone back to Dumbledore to report the news.

Rows of Witch patients sat on wobbly wooden chairs. Some of them looked quite normal, passing the time with expired copies of "Witch Weekly" and "The Daily Prophet".

If it weren't for the sharp, rapid bird-like cries coming from the mouth of a Witch in the front row as she read the newspaper, Loren would have thought they were normal people.

There are also some people with strange appearances, such as faces covered with eyes, mouths and noses on their foreheads, or an extra hand growing from their chests... In short, you can tell at a glance that they need treatment.

Several Healer walked among the waiting patients, asking about their conditions and occasionally jotting down notes on a whiteboard. They wore identical green robes, with badges on their chests embroidered with a wand and a bone crossed.

To the left of the waiting room was the information desk, where a plump blonde Witch sat, answering a middle-aged male witch's questions with a look of utter despair.

The middle-aged wizard tilted his head, raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, and excitedly introduced his situation, "Yesterday I found a mask at Borgin and Burkes. It disappeared as soon as I put it on my face, and after that I could move my facial features at will, like a jigsaw puzzle! But it stopped working this morning, and I have to put them back in their original positions."

The blonde Witch stared at the terrifying face before her, her eyes twitching uncontrollably. She was determined to cast a few Memory Charm on herself later to erase that face from her mind.

The wizard's face was reduced to just his ears; his mouth was now in the center of his face, his nose was on his Adam's apple, and his hands were raised because his eyes were now in his palms, blinking incessantly.

"Does your current appearance prevent you from reading?" the blonde Witch managed to squeeze out of her throat.

"Of course, I feel my vision has broadened!" The middle-aged wizard seemed very proud, waving his hands incessantly.

The blonde Witch's eyelids twitched, and she pointed to the large sign on the left side of the table. "You need to go to the Department of Spell Damage on the fifth floor."

The sign reads:

First Floor - Artefact Accidents (responsible for treating accidents caused by artifacts, including crucible explosions, wand misfires, broom collisions, etc.)

Second Floor - Department of Magical Creatures (responsible for treating stings, burns, puncture wounds, etc.)

Third Floor - Department of Magical Diseases and Curses (responsible for treating infectious diseases Dragon Pox, Vanishing Sickness, Lymphatic Fungitis).

Fourth Floor - Department of Potion and Herbology Poisoning (responsible for treating rashes, nausea, uncontrollable laughter, etc.)

Fifth Floor - Department of Spell Damage (responsible for healing inescapable poison curses, evil curses, and incorrectly applied spells, etc.)

Sixth floor - Tea Room and Shops ( )

"Oh, I thought this was the Artefact Accidents!" The middle-aged wizard walked away happily.

The male witch patient with an extra hand on his chest squeezed to the information desk. The hand was waving almost constantly in front of the Witch's eyes. He said embarrassedly, "I also bought this from Borgin and Burkes."

The blonde Witch took a deep breath, finally losing her temper, and turned to shout into the room behind her, "Jessica! Write to the Ministry of Magic and report that Borgin and Burkes is selling Dark Arts items again!"

The lively sounds from the waiting room continued...

"Let's go, we need to go to the fifth floor." Madam Pomfrey was very familiar with the place. She led Loren and Lockhart through double doors and down a narrow corridor. Candles were encased in crystal bubbles and floated on the ceiling. On either side were portraits of famous Healer.

Loren noticed that Mungo Bonham (1560–1659) was listed at the very end. The Mungo in St Mungo's refers to this Healer who founded the Hospital for Magical Injuries.

They climbed the crooked stairs to the fifth floor and entered a room in the Department of Spell Damage.

The room was small and simply furnished with only a cabinet, a table, and two chairs.

A female Healer, dressed in a green robe and wearing a gold and silver floral wreath, who was about the same age as Pomfrey, happily stood up and rushed forward to give Madam Pomfrey a warm and affectionate hug. "Poppy! Long time no see!"

"Long time no see, Myrtle," Madam Pomfrey replied just as happily.

Releasing her embrace, she grabbed Madam Pomfrey's hand and shook it vigorously, teasingly saying with a smile, "When will Poppy become the Headmaster of Hogwarts? I'm waiting to hear your good news!"

Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes at her. "Don't joke around, I'm here with a patient."

When the topic turned to the patient, Myrtle became serious. They pulled Lockhart down to sit and conducted a series of examinations on him, asking all sorts of strange and unusual questions.

Myrtle gave Lockhart a warm, motherly smile, "Hello, poor little lamb, do you remember your name?"

Lockhart tilted his head, frowned, and stammered for a long time before finally managing to utter a single word, "Gi, Gilderoy."

Upon uttering the word, Lockhart's face lit up with a bright smile, and he raised his hands in a triumphant shout, "Gilderoy! Oh yes, Gilderoy!"

"Very good, what comes after Gilderoy, do you remember?" Myrtle continued to ask.

Lockhart pondered for a long time but still couldn't come up with an answer. He became so anxious he started gesticulating wildly, his face turning bright red. Suddenly, as he thought about it, Lockhart's eyes widened. "Why are you asking my name? Do you want my autograph?"

Driven by some kind of muscle memory, he grabbed the quill pen on the table, intending to write his name in the notebook, but stopped just before he could put pen to paper.

"I... I can't write my name..." Lockhart murmured, stunned and frozen in place for a moment.

He had practiced countless times and his instincts drove him to do this, but Lockhart could no longer remember how to write when the ink on the quill pen tip smeared on the paper.

An immense, incomprehensible sorrow enveloped him.

Myrtle took the pen and paper from him, scribbled in the notebook, and then whispered to Pomfrey, "Permanent spell damage, he can't even remember who he is. Merlin, please help him. Only with enhanced treatment and a bit of luck can his condition improve."

Loren heard every word. He looked at Lockhart, who looked like a child, and smiled gently. He read in a voice only he could hear, "Headmaster Dumbledore, is this what you wanted me to see?"

Thinking of the detailed information about Bates in those manuscripts, Loren silently vowed to himself, "I have no regrets whatsoever..."