[HP Doujin] 1943

Volume [-]: Winter Light

VolumeThree. WinterLight

1946 ~ 1948

"Do you know why I wanted you to save me?"

"Not."

"Isn't it obvious?"

"No, it isn't."

"Because I love you."

She said it bravely, with chin upraised, and she blinked rapidly as she spoke, dazzled by the momentous she had revealed.

——Ian McEwan, Atonement

"Do you know why I want you to save me?"

"do not know."

"Isn't that obvious?"

"can not tell."

"Because I love you."

She said it bravely, raising her chin.She blinked rapidly as she said this, dizzy at the momentous revelation she had made.

— Ian McEwan, Atonement [24]

[24] Selected from Atonement ("Atonement"), Ian McEwan (Ian McEwan), First Anchor Books Edition, 2003. Chinese is the translated version of Yueming Heqi.

--------------------------------

After graduating from Hogwarts, I have lived a reclusive life by myself.The days of more than half a year, short but not short, with just such a person suffering, gradually passed.

One morning in October 1946, I stood in the bathroom looking at myself in the mirror.When a person is not sleeping well, his eyes can't even light up.This is how I am.My figure looked so strange: I was wearing a beige polyester shirt, a black professional skirt, my hair was cut short, and my dark chestnut hair curled around my ears, against a pale and thin face.I mechanically dusted my face with a powder puff to make myself look less like a ghost.

I put on my makeup, put the powder in my handbag, and head out of the bathroom.

I put on a pair of very old black high heels and pulled out a black robe from the closet and put it on.I picked up the cigarette on the dining table and took a puff, then looked up at the window.The sky in Edinburgh in the early morning is a light lake blue, as clean and refreshing as if someone had just watered it.

I looked at the clear sky outside the window, exhaled a puff of cigarette, then bent down and put the cigarette out in the ashtray.I walked to the fireplace, grabbed a handful of floo powder and sprinkled it in, and said clearly: "St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Injuries, Department of Potions and Plant Poisoning."

Seconds later, I crawled out of the fireplace in the cluttered office of a dozen or so intern therapists, flicked the ashes off myself, and hurried to the locker room.

Because it was still early, the corridor was empty, and the huge crystal bubbles filled with candles were suspended above my head, illuminating the corridor brightly and cheerfully.Most of the portraits of famous therapists on both sides are still lying on the frame, with their eyes closed, saliva dripping on the skirt of their clothes, and they are snoring loudly.

Several people who just came to work like me walked past me, and they all changed into work clothes and went to the ward.The doors of the wards on both sides opened from time to time, and the therapist who was on duty all night came out yawning, ready to leave work.

I went to the dressing room at the end of the corridor, opened my locker, took off my black robe and hung it in. I changed into a light green one with the St. Mungo's coat of arms embroidered on the chest: a wand and a cross of bones.I put my wand in my pocket, took the slate and quill, closed the cupboard door, and turned back to the ward where I was on duty.

Working at St. Mungo's allowed me to live a life of calm and regularity for the first time.In the words of lead therapist Anthony Kahn, who led our group of trainee therapists, "Lizzie is a great communicator with patients and a gift for herbal blends."

It's an amazing thing, out of all this mess of my life, I've finally found something that I'm good at and love doing.

In the past half a year, I have been very busy every day, and it is this kind of busyness that has helped me find some kind of delicate balance in my heart.It is precisely because I am so busy that all my time is filled to the brim, and I fall asleep when I get home exhausted, so I have no time to think about it.

I remember every word Tom said when he broke up with me at graduation.Every night, when I lay exhausted on the bed and was about to fall asleep, I always thought of his calm face and his voice without emotion: "Graduated, live a good life alone."

Every time I think of what he said, my heart feels like a blunt ax cut my heart, and it hurts so badly, but neither blood nor tears come out.

I'm having a good time.Always good.

There is a tradition at St. Mungo's that master therapists like to date female trainee therapists, and male trainee therapists like to date female patients.I heard that from Gillian when I first started training, but my main therapist, Anthony Kahn, was a balding man in his fifties, and his three sons all worked at the Ministry of Magic.

Gillian Sullivan came to St. Mungo's with me. She was a Gryffindor student and graduated the same year as me.Like the rest of our class, she was a little afraid of me because I was around Tom Riddle.However, unlike Ida Woodson, she was a cheerful and open-minded girl. It didn't take long for her to dispel her doubts and become my good friend.She knew I didn't like to talk about Tom, so she didn't ask anything, just treated me as an ordinary good friend, and never looked at me strangely.This is what I like most about her.

Gillian's mentor is also Anthony Kahn. Every time she sees the young and handsome main therapists in the spell injury department and a group of chattering female intern therapists around them, she hates it.

On the day when I was patrolling the ward, a three-year-old girl was brought in who had passed out after accidentally ingesting poisonous herbs.Lying unconscious on a stretcher, she was pushed into the emergency room by the nurse trotting all the way, and several chief therapists hurriedly followed into the ward.Jillian and I stood in the corridor to watch the excitement. She tiptoed curiously into the ward, checked a piece of patient information in her hand, breathed in and said, "Merlin's beard, this little girl is Melinda Stu Art, daughter of Transport Secretary Francis Stuart."

"What?" I said in surprise, looking around curiously.

There was chaos in the corridor, and many Ministry of Magic officials were crowded together, arguing so loudly that the therapist had to raise the volume to shoo them away from the door of the ward.I narrowed my eyes slightly and tried to search among the group of people, but I didn't see the shadow of Francis Stuart.I didn't expect to actually recognize him, since the last time I saw him was two years ago in Monte Carlo.

"Jonathan, Jonathan! For Merlin's sake, wait for me!" A blond witch yelled anxiously, and ran over along the corridor, "Where is Mr. Stuart? People from the Department of Legal Enforcement are looking everywhere. He, several British wizards were arrested for flying carpet smuggling, and the Greek Ministry of Magic believed that this was the responsibility of the British Department of Transport, so they insisted on sending them away—"

The wizard named Jonathan interrupted her.He has fair hair and freckles all over his face.He was tall, but his body was very stiff. His overly long hands and feet looked uncoordinated. He looked like a gibbon with a serious expression and difficulty maintaining his balance.

"Meredith, how many times do I have to tell you? Cancel all of Mr. Stuart's schedules for today!" He said angrily, "His daughter is in danger, and you still want to use some smuggled flying carpets scum to bother him?"

Meredith lowered her head and muttered something, then turned and walked away, her high-heeled shoes clicking loudly on the clean ground, and the two intern therapists gave her a very dissatisfied look, with very clear A voice behind her said: "Never marry a woman who works for the Ministry of Magic!"

"You all go back too, don't crowd here," Jonathan ordered the gang of officials in black robes in a very crisp tone, "Lena, you stay, and everyone else can go!"

Gillian and I took two steps back to let the officials pass.After the group of people left, the hallway became much cleaner. There was only a tall, capable witch standing with Jonathan.

At this time the door of the ward opened and Mr. Kahn came out.He was wearing a green robe, holding a clipboard in his hand, and frowning tightly.

"Lizzie," he saw me, showed a sigh of relief, and pulled me aside, "I'm just going to find you."

"How is the patient?"

"Not very good," Mr. Kahn said to me in a low voice. "She has eaten a very poisonous herb. If it is delivered ten minutes later, the child will die."

"Why aren't her parents here?" Gillian asked, her face paled a little. "Why are all the people here from the Ministry of Magic?"

"Don't you know that this child is the only daughter of the Stuart family. Her mother died two years ago, and her father is a high-ranking official of the Ministry of Magic. No one is in the country now." Mr. Kahn was a little irritable Say, "Poor little guy."

"At a time like this, there are only a group of flattering lackeys crowded outside the ward, but the parents are nowhere to be seen," I said sarcastically, "this is the life of a big family."

"I'd rather be poor than be born into this kind of family," Gillian said angrily, "what if the status is high?"

"Okay, I don't have time to talk to you now, I have to rescue this child." Mr. Kahn looked at his watch, "Gillian, you continue to patrol the recovery ward, Lizzie, you stay here with that child." A bunch of Ministry guys."

"Okay, Mr. Kahn," I said.

******

Francis Stuart himself appeared at St Mungo's Hospital 12 hours later.Judging by his appearance, he must have come back in a hurry.In his traveling cloak, he was pale and looked haggard and distraught.It wasn't until Mr. Kahn told him that Melinda was out of danger, but she was still in a coma, that he sat down on the chair and buried his face in his hands.

"Lizzie," Mr. Kahn gave me a wink, "go get Mr. Stuart a cup of strong tea."

I did.When I handed him a cup of steaming strong tea, he raised his head and thanked him politely.

He looked less than 30 years old, wearing a neat black robe, a crisp white shirt with a collar that was ironed without any wrinkles, and a dark blue poplin tie of high quality.His eyes are gray-blue, and he looks very serious, with no sense of humor.The lines on his face are handsome and stern, making people daunting.

"Would you like milk and sugar cubes, Mr. Stuart?" I asked.

"A sugar cube, thanks," he said.

He doesn't recognize me, I thought, turning to look for the sugar bowl in the office.But just as I handed him the sugar cube, his eyes met mine, and he immediately showed a look of surprise.

"Miss Bradley?" he asked, seeing the plaque with my name on my chest, "Tony's sister, isn't she?"

I smiled and nodded: "Yes, we met in France two years ago."

"I barely recognized you." He dropped the sugar cube into the teacup and stirred it with a teaspoon. "You look very different from before."

"I cut my hair." I shrugged, smiled again, and exited Mr. Kahn's office.

Melinda is getting better day by day.Three weeks later, her health had fully recovered, but her throat was damaged by the drug, and she has been unable to speak.A group of master therapists have been researching for a long time but are at a loss, because Melinda's case has never been seen before, and no one dares to adopt a new treatment rashly.Suggestions were put forward one after another, and rejected again. Until Halloween came and passed, she still couldn't speak.

Melinda's bad temper soon became notorious in our department, and no one wanted to serve this young lady who threw things easily.The Stuart servants were with her in the ward every day, but her father came only once or twice in person, and each time he was in a hurry.

During lunch breaks and other breaks, other trainee therapists liked to gossip about Francis Stuart.Neither Gillian nor I are judgmental people, so every time we ate lunch, we ate and left quickly without stopping at the restaurant.However, there are still a few words that came into my ears. For example, I heard that the Stuarts are a big family from Scotland. They are very rich, but they are not pure-blood families in the traditional sense, because their ancestors are Scottish. A branch of the Stuart dynasty, Muggle-born.

"Some families in England who are proud of pure blood, such as Black and Malfoy, all have a repulsive and alienated attitude towards the Stuart family. Old Mr. Black once publicly called old Stuart 'mud kind of upstarts', so the two families have remained openly hostile throughout the last century." Rosemary tirelessly spread these rumors in the restaurant, with a tiresome sense of superiority in her voice, "My mother's family Cousin to the Stuart family, I used to go to the Stuart Manor in Scotland for Christmas dinner as a kid - yes their Christmas dinner is unbeatable and we get invited every year - I remember that when--"

"Merlin's panties, Lizzie, let's go to lunch on the sixth floor," Gillian said to me.

"I think so too."

So the two of us grabbed our sandwiches and sodas, got up and left.We joked about Rosemary and laughed loudly as we headed to the tea room on the sixth floor.

People like Rosemary are not uncommon.At our hospital, many trainee therapists and staff like to brag about their kinship with important people, lest their background be known.

Unlike Rosemary, what annoys me the most is people talking about my relationship with the Randalls.Once upon a time at Hogwarts, I was fed up with people in our house talking behind my back about how my mother married Mr. Randall, and how I lived on Mr. Randall's handouts, and now in this new environment, I was relieved to live a life where no one noticed me-this is what I wished for.What I hate most is being the object of finger-pointing and the center of rumors and gossip.

I never told any of my co-workers about my family, not even Jillian.She is my good friend, but I don't need to tell her these unhappy things.I hate women who cry and complain, and I certainly don't like doing it myself.

One night, as I was getting off work, I heard a horrible splattering sound coming from Melinda's hospital room, and I stopped in my tracks and turned to look at Gillian.She shrugged and said with a gloating expression, "It must be Melinda again. No one in our department wants to take care of her now, except Rosemary."

"Why?" I asked in surprise. "Is she out of her mind?"

"Isn't that obvious? She's trying to get Melinda's father's attention," said Gillian sarcastically, making no secret of her distaste for Rosemary. "It's a pity that Mr. Stuart only comes about once a week." , and don't notice her every time."

"Mel, can you drink the medicine?" Through the half-open ward, I heard Rosemary's desperate cry, "This is already the eighth cup of medicine you broke! This medicine costs ten plus dollars per cup." Long!"

With a puff, I couldn't help laughing out loud.

It was a stupid mistake, because Rosemary heard my laughter, angrily opened the door of the ward and came out, with her hands on her hips, glaring at me viciously.

She had fiery red hair pulled back unnecessarily into an elegant chignon, adorned with a cream pearl tiara.Now, her gray eyes were looking at me angrily.

"You think it's funny, don't you, Bradley?" she said.

"I didn't mean to quarrel with you, Rose," I said with a smile. "Why didn't you wait until the Stuarts' nanny came to give her medicine? You know, Melinda only listens to her nanny. "

"You won't understand," Rosemary raised her chin slightly, and said arrogantly, "Melinda is my cousin, and I love her so much that I worry about her so much."

I heard Gillian laughing behind me, but she turned it into a dry cough just in time.

"It's just—" Gillian's voice sounded very strange, and I knew she was trying her best not to laugh, "Does Mr. Stuart know that he has a cousin who is as far away as you?"

"Sullivan, don't go too far!" Rosemary said angrily, "You don't have to worry about our family's affairs!"

There was another horrible, glass-shattering sound from the ward, which sounded like—

"Rosemary!" a trainee therapist called through the door. "Melinda threw your bag out the window!"

Jillian and I couldn't take it anymore, we ran away in a hurry, and we didn't laugh until we got back to the dressing room.According to another trainee therapist the next day, when he was passing outside, he thought that "some patient in the psychiatric unit who thought he was a locomotive escaped from the intensive care unit and came to the locker room on the fourth floor."

"You and Gillian laughed like that sick man," he pointed out gravely, "who thought he had to practice the steam engine's whine seriously every day, simulating the train changing tracks, in preparation for the day when he would replace the mechanical locomotive."