Harry Potter 05 - Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Next!’
    A harassed-looking wizard was holding his small daughter tightly by the ankle while she flapped around his head using the immensely large, feathery wings that had sprouted right out through the back of her romper suit.
    ‘Fourth floor,’ said the witch, in a bored voice, without asking, and the man disappeared through the double doors beside the desk, holding his daughter like an oddly shaped balloon. ‘Next!’
    Mrs Weasley moved forward to the desk.
    ‘Hello,’ she said, ‘my husband, Arthur Weasley, was supposed to be moved to a different ward this morning, could you tell us –?’
    ‘Arthur Weasley?’ said the witch, running her finger down a long list in front of her. ‘Yes, first floor, second door on the right, Dai Llewellyn Ward.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Mrs Weasley. ‘Come on, you lot.’
    They followed her through the double doors and along the narrow corridor beyond, which was lined with more portraits of famous Healers and lit by crystal bubbles full of candles that floated up on the ceiling, looking like giant soapsuds. More witches and wizards in lime-green robes walked in and out of the doors they passed; a foul-smelling yellow gas wafted into the passageway as they passed one door, and every now and then they heard distant wailing. They climbed a flight of stairs and entered the Creature-Induced Injuries corridor, where the second door on the right bore the words: ‘Dangerous’ Dai Llewellyn Ward: Serious Bites. Underneath this was a card in a brass holder on which had been handwritten: Healer-in-Charge: Hippocrates Smethwyck. Trainee Healer: Augustus Pye.
    ‘We’ll wait outside, Molly,’ Tonks said. ‘Arthur won’t want too many visitors at once … it ought to be just the family first.’
    Mad-Eye growled his approval of this idea and set himself with his back against the corridor wall, his magical eye spinning in all directions. Harry drew back, too, but Mrs Weasley reached out a hand and pushed him through the door, saying, ‘Don’t be silly, Harry, Arthur wants to thank you.’
    The ward was small and rather dingy, as the only window was narrow and set high in the wall facing the door. Most of the light came from more shining crystal bubbles clustered in the middle of the ceiling. The walls were of panelled oak and there was a portrait of a rather vicious-looking wizard on the wall, captioned: Urquhart Rackharrow, 1612–1697, Inventor of the Entrail-expelling Curse.
    There were only three patients. Mr Weasley was occupying the bed at the far end of the ward beside the tiny window. Harry was pleased and relieved to see that he was propped up on several pillows and reading the Daily Prophet by the solitary ray of sunlight falling on to his bed. He looked up as they walked towards him and, seeing who it was, beamed.
    ‘Hello!’ he called, throwing the Prophet aside. ‘Bill just left, Molly, had to get back to work, but he says he’ll drop in on you later.’
    ‘How are you, Arthur?’ asked Mrs Weasley, bending down to kiss his cheek and looking anxiously into his face. ‘You’re still looking a bit peaky.’
    ‘I feel absolutely fine,’ said Mr Weasley brightly, holding out his good arm to give Ginny a hug. ‘If they could only take the bandages off, I’d be fit to go home.’
    ‘Why can’t they take them off, Dad?’ asked Fred.
    ‘Well, I start bleeding like mad every time they try,’ said Mr Weasley cheerfully, reaching across for his wand, which lay on his bedside cabinet, and waving it so that six extra chairs appeared at his bedside to seat them all. ‘It seems there was some rather unusual kind of poison in that snake’s fangs that keeps wounds open. They’re sure they’ll find an antidote, though; they say they’ve had much worse cases than mine, and in the meantime I just have to keep taking a Blood-Replenishing Potion every hour. But that fellow over there,’ he said, dropping his voice and nodding towards the bed opposite in which a man lay looking green and sickly and staring at the ceiling. ‘Bitten by a werewolf, poor chap. No cure at all.’
    ‘A werewolf?’ whispered Mrs Weasley, looking alarmed. ‘Is he safe in a public ward? Shouldn’t he be in a private room?’
    ‘It’s two weeks till full moon,’ Mr Weasley reminded her quietly. ‘They’ve been talking to him this morning, the Healers, you know, trying to persuade him he’ll be able to lead an almost normal life. I said to him – didn’t mention names, of course