Chapter 9 : Harvesting
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St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London, UK
25 June 2024
It seemed like a calm day at St Mungo’s. The only sound, besides some of the Medi-Witches footsteps, was the beeping of the devices connected to the patients. Behind the restricted doors was a like a scene from a horror movie. Hundreds of beds were occupied by ghostly white people, with IV’s attached to them. They all looked like they were having a peaceful dream. The Medi-Witches kept changing the blood-bags incessantly.
“As you can see Olivia, we will need your help,” said the St. Mungo’s Head Healer Roger Gray, with his voice muffled by the mask he was wearing over his nose and mouth. He and Olivia Stone, the Daily Prophet’s Editor-in-chief, who was also wearing a mask, were going through wings and wings of comatose patients. Each patient looked worse than the one before. “A patient dies every day. We are clueless about what to do to cure them. Nothing is working.”
The two made their way to the Head Healer’s office, where they could talk more comfortably.
“What can I do to help?” Olivia took off her mask. The Head Healer sat at his desk and Olivia drove her hovering chair to the other side of the desk, so she could be face to face with the Healer.
“I want to start a campaign,” the Healer Gray said. “Something that, oddly, in dozens of years of Muggles doing it, we never thought about doing ourselves.”
Olivia frowned, being a Muggleborn herself she never thought that the Muggles would be ahead of the Wizards in anyway. “What do you mean?”
“Donate blood,” the Head Healer leaned forward in his desk. “The Muggles have been doing it for years, and until now we never needed such a thing, but the time has come for it.”
“Where are you getting the blood you’re using now, then?” Olivia asked, taking out a quill and a parchment, ready to take notes for the next issue of the Daily Prophet. “Have you been stealing from the Muggles?”
“Stealing!” the Healer Gray laughed. “Merlin, no. I met with the Minister, who spoke with the Muggle Prime-Minister about it. It was enough to keep all these people alive, but we are running out of time,” he took the mask out and cleaned the sweat from over his upper lip. “The Muggles are starting to notice the blood disappearing. And in all honesty, it isn’t working at all.”
“So, you want to start a blood donation campaign?” Olivia scribbled something in her parchment, which vanished a couple of seconds later.
“Yes,” the Healer put his mask on again. “I just hope that people aren’t afraid of doing this.”
Granger-Weasley home, London, UK
25 June 2024
Hermione was sitting at her kitchen table, ignoring a movie that was on television. Her face was red and wet with tears. She had been crying non-stop ever since Ron had been admitted to St. Mungo’s. She had a parchment and a quill in front of her. The words “Dear Rose,” where written in it; she wanted to tell her daughter what was happening, but Hermione didn’t want Rose to comeback to this chaos. She had sent Hugo, her only son, to her parent’s house, so he would be protected, but this didn’t ease her worries.
There was a light tap on the window, an owl was waiting outside. It was carrying a big roll of parchment. Hermione opened the windows and let the owl in. It flew in through the open window and dropped The Evening Prophet in front of on the table. On the front page there were big bold letters spelling “Blood donation Campaign. Please do your part.”
Hermione flipped through the pages, until she found the article about the campaign. While reading it, she remembered the time she had donated blood on a Muggle hospital and how good she had felt about herself afterwards. Cleaning up her face, Hermione decided to do it again and flooded to St. Mungo’s.
When she got to St. Mungo’s reception, she noticed that a small blood harvesting station was being set up. There was only one Medi-Witch taking care of the station and Hermione realized she was also taking care of the reception and other work that she might be required. The Medi-Witch looked pale and tired.
“Escuse me,” Hermione intercepted the Medi-Witch as she was running towards the quarantined zone. “I’d like to donate my blood.”
“Just wait right next to the station, please,” the Medi-Witch said after taking a long breath. “And don’t forget to put a mask on; it’s required for all visitors.”
Hermione did as the Medi-with told and after a couple of minutes of waiting, she started reading The Evening Prophet again – she had stuffed it inside her hand-bag before flooding out of her house. The Prophet was thinner than usual, most of the celebrity gossip and entertainment columns were missing.
Hermione skimmed the only news that weren’t about the “White Disease” and disregarded the rest, until she found something that wasn’t featured often – the Editor-in-chief column. Knowing that her friend Olivia was a very busy person and when she wrote a column for the Prophet it was always something important, she decided to read it.
Today I went across the country, to all the Medical Centers in the Wizard Community; forty Hospitals and Medical Centers, from Cornwall to Scotland. All of them had at least one patient suffering from the ‘White Disease’.
For all of you who remember the Wars against Voldemort all those years ago, remember the desperation and the suffering that you could find in St. Mundo’s, for example. I was one of the injured from the Final Battle, having lost the use of my legs by a curse, so I can clearly recall all of the faces, injuries, casualties, everything. It was horrifying and I hope that no one gets to see something like that again.
Today I saw a whole new dimension of suffering and horror. The St. Mungo’s Head Healer has advised people to not go to any of the centers unless it is a life or death situation and for two good reasons; one being so no more people will get infected and the other so no one has to see that picture of despair.
The screams fro the victims of the wars echoed in my mind, as I visited these places, contrasting with the deafening silence of this new reality. Restless victims now gave room to the infected people that are in a coma induced state. It’s a horrifying sight, deeply disturbing.
I met with Roger Gray
, the St. Mungo’s Head Healer. He has plans to start a new blood donation campaign - something that, to him, should have been done dozens of years ago. I’m sure we all agree, now that we think about it.
A temporary blood harvesting station has been set at St. Mungo’s, until a more permanent one is set at the Ministry of Magic.
I urge you to do your part and save someone’s life. Even if you don’t know that person, we have to stand together during these desperate times.
I already did.
Hermione thought about what Olivia had written. Like her friend, she always thought that Wizards had the answer for most things, medical or not. There was always a potion, or incantation that could repair just about anything. Even for such situations like losing blood, as was the case of the ‘White Disease’, there was the Blood Replenishing Potion. Why that didn’t work with this malady was astounding to her.
The Medi-Witch finally came back to the station. Sweat was running down her face and she was breathless from having to run around.
Hermione put the Prophet back into her purse again and put her arm over the desk. The Medi-witch did the usual work of harvesting blood. Needles didn’t disturb Hermione, so she didn’t even think about it. Instead she was thinking about her husband, behind that doors marked ‘Quarantine’.
“I’m curious,” Hermione started, breaking the awkward silence between her and the Medi-Witch. “Do you get any Muggle Medical training?”
“Of course,” the Medi-Witch smiled, she seemed happy to be able to be talking to someone. “After all we are all humans and our bodies work in the same way, the only difference is the Magic.”
“Do you have any idea about what is causing this?”
“No,” the Medi-Witch took out the needle from Hermione’s arm and tagged her blood bag. She put a drop of Hermione’s blood on a stick, which instantly turned green. She did the same thing again, with another stick, which turned violet. “The good news is that you aren’t infected. And the even better news is that your blood type is O negative. Your blood can help anyone.”
“That is great news,” Hermione smiled. “ But, what I don’t understand is that I’ve been exposed to the disease, how come am I not infected? Don’t get me wrong, I’m really happy that I’m not, but I just want to know.”
“Are you a Muggleborn?” the Medi-wtich poured a bit of Blood Replenishing potion into a cup and handed it to Hermione.
“Yes, why is that relevant?” Hermione drank the potion in one gulp and threw the cup into the rubbish bin, next to the desk.
“From what we know, there aren’t any reports of Muggleborn being infected,” the Medi-Witch got up and ran again to the quarantined zone, with the bag containing Hermione’s blood in her hand.
For some reason, that Hermione didn’t know why and how, a light bulb went off in her head.
A/N: I'm so so so very sorry for making you wait so long for a new chapter. And after all this time, posting a very short one. Although it is short, this is a very important chapter. Hope you liked it. Also, I'm now a Trusted Author, so hopefully this will help me get some inspiration and update quicker. Don't forget to read my other 2 new stories and to review ^_^
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