A Magical Roleplaying Experience 

Stories taking place in mainland Europe and Russia west of the Ural Mountains. Some countries include France, Norway, Bulgaria, and Poland.
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 #39760  by Harry Potter
It was clear that the latest Ministry led raid did not go as planned when the ragtag crew of Aurors limped into the hospital in need of critical care. Harry hung back and watched as the emergency personnel triaged his colleagues in order of minor to life threatening injuries.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement received an anonymous tip to the whereabouts of Seabury the Pickpocket; a squib with a reputation of placing explosives into the pockets of unsuspecting witches and wizards. He was reported to be hiding in the Asylum Chapel in Peckham, but all they found was an abandoned building rigged with an explosive trap that sent shards of scrap metal soaring through the air. Thankfully, there were no casualties.

“I’m fine,” Harry insisted, holding tight to the black traveling cloak wrapped around his body; underneath his Auror's uniform was ripped to shreds, soaked in his own blood, bits of metallic embedded into the wounds marring his chest, arms, and legs. “See to the others first.”

Harry dropped into a chair in the waiting lobby that had about as much cushion as a piece of cardboard and let his head fall back onto the cushion behind him.
 #39765  by Elaine Howell
They'd been tipped off that there were a team of Aurors coming in, so Elaine and her team were prepared as they came through the doors. She was in charge this evening, so Elaine directed her team of staff towards each of the casualties. Whilst some led the new patients to beds, others began to work methodically through the Aurors, taking stock of injuries and checking vital signs.

Elaine rolled her eyes at Potter's words. She admired his concern for his colleagues, but she had no time for martyrs today. A round-faced enthusiastic witch approached Mr Potter with a warm smile. "Healer Howell can see you now." The witch held a clipboard tight to her chest as she guided Potter to an empty bay. Elaine followed, snapping on a pair of gloves.

"Can you confirm your name for me please?" Of course, Elaine knew full well who it was she would be treating, but she couldn't let certain formalities fall by the wayside.
 #39793  by Harry Potter
Less than a minute had passed from the time his head came into contact with the cushion to the time he was approached by Healer Howell, and it was with reluctance that he followed her to the treatment bay.

“Potter,” said Harry, warily eyeing the gloves she snapped onto her dainty wrists. “Harry Potter.” He was unable to mask his discomfort as he slowly lowered himself into a sitting position onto the padded exam table that had as much comfort to it as the cardboard chairs in the lobby.

“I’m fine. Really. Just a minor flesh wound. It’s nothing some antibiotics and dressing can’t patch up. Whoa...” He suddenly withdrew a hand from underneath his cloak and slapped a bloody palm to the table to stabilize himself.

“The room is spinning. Why is the room spinning?”
Last edited by Harry Potter on 12 Nov 2020, 21:13, edited 1 time in total.
 #39813  by Elaine Howell
"Let me be the judge of whether it's just a flesh wound," the healer replied, eyebrow raised. "Let me help you lie down." Elaine held out a hand to him and gently guided him into a seating position on the table first of all. As she did, she glanced over him, noticing the debris embedded into the wounds. The blood wasn't gushing exactly, but it wasn't hard to see why Harry felt woozy, and the bits of metal shrapnel would certainly require some care as they were removed.

"You've lost an awful lot of blood, Mr Potter," she informed him, answering his question about the room spinning. "I'm going to just perform a scanning spell to see how deep the shrapnel is, okay?"
 #39816  by Ginny Weasley
"I'm sorry. The patient in question is receiving treatment and currently unavailable for visitors at this time," the old mannequin said in a calm, flat voice.

"Oh, are you kidding me?" Ginny said hotly, slapping a hand against the glass. "You let me in right now, you overstuffed dummy, or I'll --"

Ginny hastily transformed her threat into a cough, catching sight of an approaching pair of middle-aged Muggle women laden with bags of shopping. She smiled innocently at the two women, who exchanged a discomfited look and quickly skirted by. Ginny, who on some level found it hilarious she'd be the crazy pregnant lady at the center of the day's gossip, laid one hand on her protruding stomach, pointed her other accusingly at the other side of the glass, and resumed her conversation with the mannequin.

"You let me in or I will knock that frumpy getup smack off you," she whispered.

"Violent threats to the welcome mannequin are against St. Mungo's policy," the mannequin responded emotionlessly.

Ginny pursed her lips together and bit back another insult. She paced (more waddled, thanks to one Harry Potter) up and down the dingy storefront in frustration, rubbing her head in frustration.

"You can't not let me in," she said, returning to the mannequin. "It's a hospital, for Pete's sake."

"Please confine your stay to the lobby unless you are scheduled for visitation or are seeking treatment. Welcome. As a reminder of St. Mungo's current health advisory on Flesh-Eating Slug Burns..."

"Yeah, yeah," Ginny said, stepping forward through the glass as soon as the mannequin's finger beckoned. Within a second, she found herself inside.

Ginny took a deep breath and looked around. The momentary frustration of entry had provided a necessary outlet for the knot of concern twisting deep in her chest; now that she was through, it twinged painfully. Ginny quickly recognized some members of Harry's Auror team inside the lobby. They were sporting grazes and clutching wounds; some of the less badly injured were speaking to healers directly in the lobby, while others were being helped toward a line of treatment bays: beds sheltered by curtains at the far end of the room. And just vanishing beyond one of the curtains --

"Harry," Ginny breathed, beginning a purposeful waddle toward the treatment bays. Before she could get very far, however, a plump welcome witch with a cheerful smile cut her off.

"Ma'am, I'm going to need to ask you to remain in the lobby," she said.

"I want to see Harry Potter," she said loudly.

"Don't we all," the witch chirped, still blocking Ginny's path of escape.

"I'm his wife," Ginny said hawkishly. The witch still wore a (now rather forced) smile, but clearly meant business about keeping people out. Ginny stopped trying to step around the witch and let out a pressured breath. "Can you -- can you at least tell me if he's all right?"

"Certainly." The witch waved her wand over her clipboard; squiggling lines of ink jumped over the parchment. "I'm sorry, but there is no determination at this time. He is with Healer Howell in bay five."

"Oh, for Merlin's -- if he dies on me, I'll kill him!" Ginny huffed.

"I hardly think it will come to that, dear. As soon as he's out of treatment and ready for visitors, I will let you know," the witch said firmly, indicating the line of lobby chairs nearby.

Ginny did not like this one bit. After a moment of tense eye contact with the welcome witch, she lowered herself into the chair, crossed her legs very tightly, and prepared herself for a nice bout of glowering - only to feel the baby kick against her stomach. Ginny brought her hand to her stomach, rubbing nervously. She had never been one for anxiety like this before she'd gotten pregnant. Maybe it was the hormones... or the fact that there was now quite a bit more at stake than there used to be if Harry got himself cut into a million pieces by Dark wizards...

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