Potter's Twin Sister || Draco Malfoy

151

April 19, 1997

Seated in his office, Dumbledore found himself immersed in profound contemplation, his thoughts swirling like a tempest within his mind.

The ambient light, dimly filtering through the room's windows, cast a gentle glow upon his weathered face, accentuating the wisdom etched into his features.

After what seemed like an eternity spent pondering, the venerable wizard summoned the strength to embark on the arduous journey he knew he must undertake.

He was a cunning strategist, devoid of hubris. For a manipulator, pride was an unnecessary indulgence.

With determined resolve burning in his eyes, he forced his chair backwards, rising gracefully from his seat as if propelled by an unseen force.

Closing the distance to the fireplace in purposeful strides, Dumbledore retrieved a small pouch of Floo powder from within his robe's pocket.

Holding it delicately in his palm, he stood at the threshold of the hearth, his anticipation mounting. The enchanting spectacle of his half-moon spectacles mirrored the meagre light that danced upon them, amplifying his mystique.

Taking a resolute step forward, Dumbledore stepped into the fireplace's intimate confines, enveloping himself in the swirling, emerald flames.

In an instant, he was transported into the vibrant network of interconnected hearths, the searing heat of the magical fire encompassing him.

A sensation of weightlessness accompanied his journey through the ethereal inferno, mere moments passing before he emerged into a vastly contrasting realm—the cool, sterile environment of St. Mungo's Hospital.

Standing amidst the hushed corridors, Dumbledore advanced purposefully towards the reception desk, his robes flowing behind him like a billowing cape.

His presence commanded attention, and the receptionist, recognising his authority, swiftly asked him what she could do for him.

"I am here to visit Amelia Potter." Dumbledore replied in his deep, measured voice.

The receptionist looked up from her work, her eyes widening in surprise. "Amelia Potter?" she repeated, clearly taken aback.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, Amelia Potter. Is there a problem?"

The receptionist hesitated for a moment before answering. "I'm sorry, Mr Dumbledore, but Miss Potter is currently still in a Somnusinertis."

Healer Morgenstern, an experienced and empathetic figure, overheard the conversation and approached the reception desk with a calm and reassuring demeanour. Her long white coat billowed as she moved gracefully, her eyes radiating both wisdom and compassion.

"Excuse me." She interjected in a mild voice. "It's all right. I'm aware of Mr Dumbledore's visit. He has my permission to see Miss Potter."

The receptionist glanced between Dumbledore and Healer Morgenstern, her scepticism giving way to deference.

Dumbledore acknowledged Healer Morgenstern with a nod of gratitude before proceeding down the hushed corridors together with the witch.

The sterile atmosphere seemed to amplify the weight of the situation, reminding him of the fragile line between life and death.

As they walked, Healer Morgenstern spoke in a low, empathetic tone. "As I declared in my letter to you, Amelia was put in a Somnusinertis, a deep coma-like state, the second she arrived here, and there has been much progress in her recovery."

Dumbledore listened attentively to Healer Morgenstern's words, his eyes fixed on her as they walked through the sterile corridors.

"And how long do you anticipate Amelia will need to remain in this state?" Dumbledore enquired, his voice calm yet tinged with a sense of urgency.