[HP Doujin] 1943

Now I write long memoirs alone in the deep winter nights, and I still laugh softly when I think back to my 18-year-old St. Mungo's past.But the years will never stop the ruthless footsteps anywhere, the happiness is like a soft feather leaping over my heart, and then disappeared in the storm of fate.

It was dusk at the end of November, and after touring the recovery ward, I was about to go to the locker room to change out of my green robe and go home from get off work.But before I reached the door of the office, I heard a rush of footsteps chasing after me.

"Can't get off work right now," Gillian told me, looking very unhappy, "on short notice."

"Is someone critically ill?"

"No," said Gillian, "it's Mr. Stuart's gang, and a friend of his, who seems to be a Randall, who is also an official of the Ministry of Magic."

"What?" There was a hint of panic in my tone.If Tony comes too...then I'd better stay away, I don't want Gillian and the others to know my background.

"Mr. Kahn sent us both over there," Gillian said. "He and the other therapists are reporting to Mr. Stuart about a new treatment plan that will hopefully help Melinda get her hearing back."

"Why do I have to go?" I said through gritted teeth.

"Because this is Mr. Kahn's order." Gillian said briskly, and gave me a hand. "Let's go, finish early, we can get off work early."

We went to the conference room together.The meeting room was already full of people, and Gillian and I sat down in two inconspicuous seats at the end of the long table, listening to Mr. Kahn's medical report absently.

"—This is Mr. Ian Sloan, an expert from the Department of Strange Bacteria Infection." Mr. Kahn introduced, "Through our joint research between the Department of Pharmacy and Phytotoxicosis and the Department of Strange Bacteria Infection, we came up with the initial The diagnosis and the safest and most reliable treatment so far—”

"Lizzie," said Gillian, turning her head suddenly to me, "why is that friend of Mr. Stuart's been looking at you?"

I frowned, and looked up, and Tony was sitting next to Francis and winking at me cheerfully.

I let out a long sigh, pretended not to see him, and turned to Gillian and said, "Maybe he's mentally handicapped and can't control his behavior."

"He's handsome," said Gillian quite justly.

"You'd rather marry a good-looking retard?" I hissed her.

Gillian's eyes were full of a dreamy look.

"It depends," she said, "if he's so handsome...then I think I would."

"You're hopeless." I said angrily.

More than one person has noticed that Tony is winking at me, and Rosemary frowns at me from time to time, with a hint of dissatisfaction in her expression.More than half an hour later, Mr. Kahn finally announced that we can end the meeting. I quickly stood up and planned to leave, but Tony had already yelled loudly behind me: "Hey, Lizzie! Wait for us, Francis tonight Invite us to dinner!"

Everyone in the conference room heard his call, and everyone was silent for a few seconds, and then, a burst of whispering quickly spread around me like a hissing flame, and many different kinds of eyes flocked fell upon me—

"You're fucked," I said savagely to Tony as he walked up to me. "I swear I'm going to kill you."

Rosemary walked past me and deliberately bumped me hard on the shoulder.

I turned my head to meet Gillian's bewildered gaze.

"I'll explain it to you tomorrow." I whispered to her, "I'm sorry."

"Okay," she smiled at me, then took one look at Tony, turned and left.

It was 07:30 when we left St. Mungo's, and Francis' personal driver was waiting for us at the junction in a very low-key black car.

Francis was walking on my right, wearing a black English wool coat over his robes and a gray wool men's scarf, and he smelled of cigars and cologne.He was so busy explaining various matters to his assistant, Jonathan Fries, that he didn't notice me until we got into the car.He opened the car door for me in a gentlemanly manner, put his hands on the roof of the car, smiled slightly, and motioned for me to get in the car.

"Nice to see you again, Lizzie," he said quietly, sitting down beside me, his clear gray-blue eyes falling on my face.

It didn't occur to me that he would call me "Lizzie" directly.I was stunned for a few seconds before I came back to my senses, and said politely, "I'm glad to meet you too, Mr. Stuart."

He smiled, turned his head away, reached out and tapped on the car window, signaling to the driver that he could drive.

"Don't worry, Francis," Tony said lazily from my left, "no matter how polite you are now, Lizzie will never forget the way you teased her in Monte Carlo two years ago."

I pinched Tony hard on the leg and signaled him to shut up.But not only did he not understand, but he started to scream.

"Lizzie!" he yelled. "You talked badly about me in the hospital and now you're choking me. What have I done to treat me like this?"

I looked at him with a "speechless" expression, and finally just said two words: "Shut up."

Sitting next to Francis, I felt uncomfortable all over after Tony's messing around.Fortunately, he didn't say anything, just leaned back on the seat with his eyes closed, which greatly reduced my embarrassment.

The place to eat was chosen by Francis. It was a wizarding restaurant that I had never heard of. It was hidden on the top floor of a tall building with floor-to-ceiling glass on all sides, overlooking the brightly lit Thames, the Houses of Parliament and Westminster. Sturt Church.The floor in the dining room is dark black marble, as smooth and bright as a mirror.The golden fountain glowed warmly and sprayed sparkling water, and a black jazz band was playing in the orchestra pit.

A messenger in a tuxedo came forward and took the coat for me respectfully.I looked around and said to Tony, "This is a place of luxury."

Tony told me: "This is a private club, and only members can come here to eat. The people who dine with you are celebrities from the wizarding world."

I stuck out my tongue and shrugged disapprovingly.

Our seats are next to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Sitting here overlooking the night view of London below is worth it even if you don't eat.

Without even looking at the menu, Francis skillfully asked the waiter for a bottle of 1865 Gallon Lyon Fairy Cellar white wine, a serving of Russian caviar and arctic prawns.Tony ordered a French truffle foie gras and onion soup, while I was still holding the menu and staring at the prices on it, dumbfounded.

"Haven't you thought about it yet?" Francis looked at me, "The caviar here is not bad, how about a sturgeon caviar and a Bouillabaisse?"

Before I answered, the waiter on the side had already written down the name of the dish he had reported, and left after bowing.

"It's Melinda's favorite food," he told me.

I slammed the menu shut and said, somewhat annoyedly, "I'm not a kid, Mr. Stuart."

Francis relaxed on the seat behind him, lit a Cuban cigar, smiled, and looked at Tony: "Kids are like this, they like to pretend to be adults. Last time, because I refused to admit that Andy was her fiance, Melinda hasn't spoken to me for a week."

"If you are willing to spend more time on your daughter, maybe she won't be so ignorant and accidentally eat poisonous herbs!" I countered sharply.

"Lizzie!" Tony frowned at me.

At this time, the waiter brought an ice bucket and white wine, and poured everyone a glass.Then he tucked the silver tray under his arm and said to us with a smile, "Have a nice meal."

"It's all right, Tony," Francis said once the waiter had gone.He leaned over, flicked a cigarette ash on the ashtray on the table, looked at me with interesting eyes, and looked not angry at all.

"It seems that your temper is still exactly the same as when you were a child." He said.

"How did you know what my temper was when I was a child?" I spread out a cream napkin embroidered with delicate rosebuds on my knees.

"I witnessed your feat of pushing Margaret into the stables. I swear it was the most interesting wedding I have ever seen in my life." Francis raised the glass in his hand to me.

I took a sip from the wine glass and ignored him.The white wine with ice cubes tasted cool and refreshing, with a hint of sweetness. It was so delicious that I couldn't help but take another big sip.

"Believe me," Tony said with a laugh, "Lizzie will always be Lizzie, no matter how dainty she pretends to be."

For the rest of the meal, Tony and Francis kept talking about the Department of Transportation's embargo bill, which made my head spin and I was bored.I drank two glasses of wine that night. I didn't expect that although this wine was easy to drink, it had a lot of stamina. After we went downstairs, I already felt a slight drunkenness hit my forehead.

I sprained on the stairs and Tony held me up so I didn't fall headfirst.

"Live in London tonight," Tony said to me. "You can't drink too well, it's like two drinks. If you transfer yourself, I reckon you'll go to Siberia."

"Good idea," said Francis, laughing, and turning to his driver, "Go to Knightsbridge first, and then back to the Strand."

The heat was on in the car, and I was already drunk, but the heat blowing on my face made me drowsy even more.As soon as the car drove, I fell asleep. In a trance, I seemed to be lying on a very comfortable cushion, with a faint smell of cigars and cologne.This feeling is vaguely familiar to me, like a memory from my previous life.

The next day I awoke at Randall House in the Street of Knights to find myself still in the clothes of the night before.I had a quick shower and someone had already left a clean suit in the bathroom.I dressed and went downstairs to have breakfast.Tony was already sitting at the breakfast table, reading the Daily Prophet and drinking black coffee.

"Morning," when he saw me, he raised his head and greeted, picked up a silver knife and spread a thick layer of mayonnaise on his sandwich, "are you sober?"

"How did I get back into my room last night?" I asked as I sat down across from him, pouring myself milk.

"You really don't remember?" There was a hint of teasing in Tony's eyes.

I frowned, feeling an ominous premonition in my heart.

Tony shook the newspaper in his hand, curled his mouth, and showed a smirk: "You fell asleep as soon as you got in the car last night, lying on Francis' body like a koala, hugging his neck, Ladu You couldn’t pull it down. In the end, Francis had to carry you upstairs and put you on the bed.”

I put my hand on my forehead, suddenly wanting to drown myself in the milk jug in front of me.

"Oh, by the way," Tony continued, "and you drool on his clothes."

I pushed the chair away and escaped from the dining room.

******

A week later, I saw Francis again in St. Mungo's.Wearing a black overcoat, he came out of Mr. Kahn's office with his thin bean sprout-like female assistant, Lena.Seeing me, he stopped and greeted with a smile, "Hello, Lizzie."

I stopped and said awkwardly, "Hello, Mr. Stuart."

He turned to an assistant and said, "Speak to Honeydukes, and next time you send Melinda candy, send a copy to Lizzie."

It seems that what happened last night didn't bother him much, and he still treats me with this attitude towards a three-year-old.I held back the unhappiness in my heart, said "thank you", turned around and walked away.

"What a bastard, every time you meet him, it's not a good thing." I muttered to myself.

Gillian popped out from behind me, looked at me with a meaningful look, and asked, "Why are you blushing?"

I've explained to her my relationship with Tony and Francis.

I prevaricated: "I just turned on the heater in the office."

"I think Stuart pays attention to you," Gillian said persistently. "When he saw you just now, his poker face turned into a sunny face."

"Since when did you gossip like Rosemary?" I said angrily.

"No, no, I'm concerned about the facts." Gillian said with a smile, "Seize the opportunity well. Although Stuart is not as handsome as your brother and is a little older, he is rich. The essential."

"Shut up!" I said angrily. Gillian jumped up and ran away. I chased her all the way to the door of the meeting room. When I saw Mr. Kahn, the two slowed down and suppressed their laughter.

Mr. Kahn was standing in the conference room with several therapists, talking to several witches and wizards in blue robes.Judging from the "official smile" on his face, I can tell that those blue robes are either from the Ministry of Magic or St. Mungo's high-level.

"What's going on?" Gillian asked, stopping a trainee therapist in the hallway.

"The two men are assistant deans, and the yellow-haired man is Luke Michelson, a reporter for the Daily Prophet. His column is called 'Who's Who's Unlucky,'" said the man on the face. The young man with freckles told us, with a look of contempt on his face, "It seems that our department is about to become the next victim of 'whoever gets in, who's unlucky'."

"Oh, I know that man." Gillian narrowed her eyes slightly, stood on tiptoe, and looked into the conference room. "I also know the assistant next to him. She used to be in the same grade as us."

"What's her name?" I asked casually.

"Woodson," said Gillian, turning her head, "Ida Woodson."