On the outskirts of a large, old-fashioned, red brick department store named, Purge and Dowse Ltd., there is a shabby, miserable, closed-down shop. The window displays consisted of a few chipped dummies with their wigs askew, standing at random and modeling fashion at least ten years out of date. Large signs on all the dusty doors read, CLOSED FOR REFURBISHMENT, and had always read like as far as anyone knew.
Hidden inside past the dusty glass is St. Mungo's reception area bustling with loud voices The crowd is noisy trying to locate loved ones. There are rows filled with wizards and witches impatiently waiting. The healers in lime-green robes and emblems on their chests of crossed wands and glistening white bone rushed about.
There is a long line in front of the inquiry desk. The wall behind the inquiry desk is covered in notices and posters that read, "A CLEAN CAULDRON KEEPS POTIONS FROM BECOMING POSIONS and ANTIDOTES ARE ANTI-DON'T'S UNLESS APPROVED BY A QUALIFIED HEALER! The WEREWOLF CURE DOES NOT CURE OTHER MALADIES NOR DOES IT GRANT ETERNAL LIFE!"
Still, the most eye-catching item is not the notices but rather the empty portrait of a witch with long silver ringlets that is usually there. The label for her empty portrait reads as follows,
"DILYS DERWENT
ST. MUNGO'S HEALER 1722-1741
HEADMISTRESS OF HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDY, 1741-1768."
Nearby hangs the floor guide that reads,
ARTIFICAT ACCIDENTS...…. .... GROUND FLOOR,
(Cauldron explosion, wand backfiring, broom crashes, etc.)
CREATURE-INDUCED INJURIES.... FIRST FLOOR (Bites, stings, burns, embedded spins, etc.)
MAGICAL BUGS......…...SECOND FLOOR (Contagious maladies, e.g., dragon pox, vanishing sickness, scrofungulus)
POTION AND PLANT POISONING.... THIRD FLOOR (Rashes, regurgitation, uncontrollable giggling, etc.)
SPELL DAMAGE.......... FOURTH FLOOR (Unliftable jinxes, hexes, and incorrectly applied charms, etc.)
VISTOR'S TEA ROOM AND HOSPITAL SHOP…FIFTH FLOOR
If you are unsure where to go, incapable of normal speech, or unable to remember why you are here, our Welcome Witch will be pleased to help.
Up the lift on the fourth floor is a hall filled with famous portraits of healers lit by crystal bubbles. The halls are bustling with healers in lime-green robes closely followed by their apprentices. In the ward that reads, "DANGEROUS" Perry Winkle Ward: SERIOUS CURSES, there is a brass holder which holds a handwritten card, Healer-in-charge: Lancelot Prewett, Trainee Healer: Simone Dard. The name of the apprentice healer is simply too small to be read.
The ward is rather small and 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 paneled oak and there was a portrait of a rather vicious wizard on the wall, captioned URQUHART RACHARROW, 1612-1967, INVENTOR OF THE ENTRAIL-EXPELLING CURSE.
The usual empty ward is filled nearly to the brim with patients. Almost every single bed is filled with an injured patient. There are moans of pain, restless shuffling, and family members quietly whispering or sobbing. The majority of the patients are in an induced enchanted slumber to prevent any further injury to themselves.
Sitting at the bedside of Sirius Black sits the petite, strawberry-blond, Tiffany Topsy. Her eyes are filled with worry as she fidgets every few minutes causing her bobbed hair to sway each time. She sits alone for the time being as Regulus is accompany Bethanie, while her future father-in-law, Orion Black temporarily stepped out to visit the fifth floor for a cup of tea.
Not wanting to leave Sirius alone, Tiffany remained behind. She quietly studies her sleeping betrothed, but more importantly, the boy who had slithered into her heart and cleverly stolen it. Sirius appeared more like a sleeping prince waiting to be awoken by a kiss. His lustrous black hair is spread out on the pillow, his features are fair and handsome. A heartbreaker, all in all.
A loud sigh escapes from Tiffany's mouth. She sometimes wondered what Sirius saw in her. It wasn't that she didn't believe herself to be pretty or lacking a good family name, but many believed that is all she amounted to. Yet, she knew Sirius saw that much more in her. He had told her in as much in a clumsy, tongue-tied manner. Anyone else, she may have doubted, but not Sirius. He was far too honest to tell a lie. (Not to mention, Sirius couldn't tell a lie to save his life.)
Without realizing it, Tiffany abruptly came to only find her fingers gently running through Sirius's luscious locks. She flushed and hastily pulled her hands back as if scalded. How inappropriate of her to touch her unconscious betrothed without his express permission!
A soft groan startles Tiffany as she leans closer to Sirius only to see his eyelashes flutter open to reveal a pair of sluggish gray eyes. Sirius let out another loud groan and blinks in confusion at finding a heavy linen screen surrounding him.
"Ug," Sirius makes a face at tasting a foul taste in his mouth. He wildly glances about only to find Tiffany holding out a drink of water to him. "Mm," he groaned in gratitude greedily gulping down the water.
Sirius shivered again making a disgusted face. "Why does my mouth taste like arse?"
"It's probably a side-effect of the spelled potions," Tiffany replied taking the cup from Sirius's hand.
Sirius lays on the bed trying to regain his bearings. His brows furrow handsomely before his gray eyes flit about. "The Death Eaters! Hogsmeade!" He shouted sitting half up on his elbows in panic.
"Shh," Tiffany hissed glancing about hoping they didn't disturb others. "Hogsmeade is under the protection of the Aurors now, Sirius. You're safe."
"Phew," Sirius said in relief flopping back on his back. "That's good," before glancing about. "So, when is Madam Pomfrey going to pop in?"
Tiffany stiffens and carefully asks, "Sirius, what is the last thing you remember?"
"I was fighting rather gallantly," Sirius puffed out his chest with pride. His brow furrows with bewilderment. "And then, I can't remember. It's a blur after."
Tiffany bites her lips and soothes the sheet in front of her unable to look Sirius in the eye. "We're at St. Mungo's, Sirius."
"And," Sirius shrugged, "what about it?"
Tiffany doesn't know what to say and desperately wishes Mr. Black would return.
"Tiffany, what's wrong?" Sirius asked with a trace of worry in his gray eyes. "You haven't been able to look me in the eye since we've been here. Is there something wrong?"
"Wait, do I have a scar on my face?" Sirius sat up and hastily patted his face only to find the perfection unmarred. "Phew, I still have my dashing good looks."
An undignified snort escapes from Tiffany, who hastily covers her mouth in embarrassment causing Sirius to wink roguishly at Tiffany. Tiffany tries to cheer up but is unable to as she knows full well how much quidditch meant to Sirius. And now even that was gone.
"I-" Tiffany began to say only to be interrupted by Sirius, "Ug, I need a piss. Excuse me," he moved to the side and removed the linen sheet.
Sirius sat on the side of the bed and looked down only to find that one leg is shorter than the other. "Huh?" Sirius frowned moving his right leg with ease as his toes skid across the floor. There is a dull ache just below his left knee as though his leg is still there. Yet there is clearly nothing below his left knee.
The tips of Sirius's fingers begin to tremble as they slide down his left leg to just below his knee. He grasps nothing but air. There is nothing left, but a stump.
In a quiet voice, Tiffany says, "You were hit by a stray Death Eater curse. The Aurors arrived in time to cast the counter curse, but not before the curse destroyed your left foot. The medizwizards were forced to amputate below the knee. They said that curse had savaged the bone and tissue so badly that nothing else could be done to salvage your leg."
Something wet begins to drip down Sirius's cheeks to his own surprise. He raises his hand to his face and touches the dampness slipping down his cheeks. He hadn't cried since he was a small boy. He had forgotten what it felt like.
"Oh, Sirius, I am so sorry," Tiffany blurted out trying to keep herself from letting out a loud sniff. "I-, I should have never accepted your suit for betrothal. This is all my fault."
"What?" Sirius blinked wetly staring at Tiffany, whose shoulders shake with emotion.
"I should have never desired more," Tiffany guiltily whispered to herself. "A Bride of Death can never belong to another."
Sirius lets out a loud wet sniff and wipes his eyes and nose on his sleeve. "That's all poppycock and you know it, Tiff," Sirius mumbled. "I'd be dead otherwise and I'm clearly not."
Tiffany opens and closes her mouth, before dripping her head down to stare at her clenched hands in her lap. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."
"We're all a bit mad right now," Sirius sniffed as more dampness crept out of his eyes and down his face.
Tiffany weakly smiles at Sirius, before rising to sit at his side. The two of them sit side by side, shoulder to shoulder in silence as Sirius's shoulders shake silently as he weeps. He would never scream out his loss. He would instead quietly mourn for it. Thankful that Tiffany remained quietly at his side never pushing him to speak until he is ready.