"Attack him?" Fan Lin looked stunned, and then returned to normal.

"That's right......" Harry said with a shudder, his face looking a little gray.

He could only see part of Sirius' face, and the rest of his face was hidden in the darkness.

"Yes, the dream is still affecting you," Sirius said. "You're still thinking about those dreams or whatever—"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head, "it was like something was sticking up inside me, and there was a snake in my body. ”

"You need sleep," Sirius said firmly.

"You should have breakfast, then go upstairs to bed, and after lunch, go with everyone to see Arthur. You've been stimulated Harry, and you've blamed yourself for witnessing that you couldn't help, but you're lucky to be there, otherwise Arthur might have died, but don't worry. Sirius patted Harry on the shoulder and left the pantry, while Van Lin watched him silently, blue eyes staring at Harry in the dark, as if to see Harry through.

"What the hell am I ...... What's wrong?" asked Harry, trembling slightly.

"You don't have much," Van Lin shook his head, "maybe there's a solution, but not now, we have to go get some sleep, do we?"

In fact, everyone except Harry was sleeping in the morning, and Van Lin had already returned to Hogwarts early in the morning, and he was going to take Hermione over, and at the same time he had to go back to London after seeing Mr. Weasley.

After a moment's hesitation, Harry made his way to the bedroom he and Ron shared in the last few weeks of the year, Ron climbed into bed and quickly fell asleep within minutes, Harry sitting on the bed with his back against the cold metal bedpost, visibly uncomfortable.

He decided not to doze off, afraid that he would turn into a snake again while he fell asleep and wake up to attack Ron, or one by one the other people walking around the house.

When Ron woke up, Harry pretended to sleep soundly. When they had lunch, their large crates arrived from Hogwarts, so they could pack for St. Mungo's magical resource trip.

They changed out of their robes and put on jeans and crewneck long-sleeved sweatshirts, and everyone except Harry was so pleasant and talkative.

They happily greet Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody, who will escort them through London, laughing at the corner of the bowler hat that Mad-Eye wears hides his magic eye.

Tonks' head turns short and pink again, not attracting attention on the subway.

Tonks was intrigued by Harry's sights of Mr. Weasley being attacked, something Harry didn't want to talk about.

"Your family doesn't have prophetic blood, do you?" she asked curiously, as they sat side by side on a rattling train heading toward the city center.

"No," Harry said, remembering Professor Trawney and feeling humiliated.

"No," Tonks mused, "no, I don't think it's a prophecy, do I? I mean you don't see the future, you see the present." It's weird, isn't it? But it's useful. ”

Harry didn't answer. Luckily, when they got off the train at their next stop, Central London Station, and hurriedly left the train, he separated himself from Tonks with Fred and George.

Tonks led the way, and they followed her up the escalator, Moody at the back of the line, his hat pressed low, a bony hand between the buttons of his coat and his wand.

Harry felt the hidden eye staring at him.

Trying to dodge more questions about his dreams, he asks where the Mad-Eye St. Mungo's Hospital for Magic is located.

"It's not far from here," muttered Moody, breathing in the winter air, as they walked down a wide shopping street full of people shopping for Christmas gifts.

He let Harry walk in front of him and behind himself. Harry knew those eyes were looking in all directions under his slanted hat. "It's not easy to find a good location for the hospital. The elongated strip between the one-way and two-way streets of London Street wasn't large enough to be built underground like the Ministry of Magic, which was bad for health. Eventually, they managed to build a building here, on the grounds that sick wizards could get along naturally with the crowd. ”

He grabbed Harry to prevent them from being swept away by a crowd of customers rushing to the small appliance store.

"Let's go this way," Moody said after a while.

They were standing in front of a huge, old-fashioned red-brick shop with a sign that read: purge6zdose Co., Ltd.

There was an old air in the air, and the windows were littered with torn dolls, their fake crookedness, and their clothes were still in the outdated style of ten years ago. On the dusty door was written a huge notice: closed during the renovation.

Harry distinctly heard a large woman passing by them with a plastic shopping bag saying to her friend, "That place was never open. ”

"Yes," Tonks said, nodding to them as he pointed to a particularly ugly doll in the window. Its false eyelashes hung down, and it wore a green nylon ambergris dress. "Are you ready?"

They nodded and hugged her tightly.

Moody pushed Harry forward with all his might, and Tonks leaned back against the glass to look at the very ugly doll's mouth, the vapor spraying onto the glass.

"Open," Tonks said, "let's see Arthur Weasley." ”

Harry thought it was ridiculous for Tonks to expect the doll to hear her whispers through a layer of glass, rumbling buses behind her, and streets full of customers.

The next second, when he saw the doll nodding slightly and gesturing with his hand, his mouth closed in surprise.

Tonks elbowed Ginny and Mrs. Weasley through the glass and vanished. Fred, George, and Ron walked behind them.

Harry glanced at the crowd of pushers, no one paying attention to the ugly window displays of Purge&Dose Ltd., and no one noticing that the six men had just disappeared in front of them.

"Hurry up," Moody roared, nudging Harry's back. They walked forward together, feeling through a layer of cool water to a warm, dry place.

There was no indication of an ugly doll or a place where she stood. They appeared to be in a crowded reception area, with rows of witches and wizards sitting in rickety wooden chairs, some of them looking perfectly normal, reading expired Wizarding Weekly, and others looking horrible, like ivory wounds, or having a hand on their chest.

The room was not quiet compared to the street outside, for most of the patients were making very distinctive noises: a wizard sitting in the middle of the front row, sweating profusely, fanning hard with a Daily Prophet and whistling as steam poured out of her mouth; Witches and wizards in orange-green robes walked around asking questions and taking notes on a notepad like Umbridge.