tampered with the past

Elsa kindly accompanied me to the school hospital.

This is not the first time I have visited the school hospital. On the second day of school, Uncle Weasley took me to the school hospital—for my eyes.

"You should have taken the boy to St. Mungo's," said Ms. Spinnet displeased.

"I think, I'm pretty sure the therapists at St. Mungo's couldn't do anything about this... this kind of case." Uncle Weasley hesitated.

"Since St. Mungo's therapists are powerless, what's the use of coming to me?" Ms. Spinnet's tone had a strange twist, as if she had heard some disrespectful words.

Uncle Weasley hesitated, I don't know why he hesitated, I remembered him as very different from my hesitant grandfather, Ron Weasley.

Ms. Spinnet sneered: "So, do you want me to avoid it? Or do you want the kid to avoid it?"

I was gently asked by Uncle Weasley to wait outside the school hospital, and I obediently left, but my ears refused to obediently leave, he insisted on sticking to the door to understand.

In the school hospital, Uncle Weasley's voice was filled with boundless darkness: "You can see it, right?"

Then came Ms Spinnet's moody reply: "So what?"

"So what?" Uncle Weasley looked a little anxious: "So what? He's still a child, a child...he shouldn't spend the rest of his life in the dark."

"Nobody deserves to live in the dark for the rest of their lives. But I've noticed that he can be just as fine without seeing it."

"Stop joking, he can't rely on magic sonar for a lifetime. You know very well that it's not suitable for long-term use, and it will cause irreparable damage to the ears."

Ms. Spinnet was silent.

Uncle Weasley went on: "As we all know, healing Dark Arts wounds has always been your forte. I hope you can..."

"I can't!" Ms. Spinnet interrupted Uncle Weasley roughly. "Spells like that are beyond my ability to remove, unless I can get the formula from the caster."

"formula?"

"Obviously, isn't it?" Ms. Spinnet smiled contemptuously. "A failed spell, a healing potion, but unfortunately the wrong recipe was used. It's so wrong, the child's eyes are so useless. Unless you get the wrong formula, even Merlin can't help him."

This time Uncle Weasley was silent.

"You can't get it, can you?" Ms. Spinnet assured.

"I'm afraid the caster is no longer alive."

Ms. Spinnet snorted. "So what my mother told me was true...Harry Potter and..."

"Some things need to be kept a secret."

"Of course, secrets, everyone needs secrets, Muggles need them, wizards need them, even though secrets hurt people the most." Ms. Spinnet sniffed, "I'm glad you are willing to believe me, even though I can't help you, But I can assure you, I will keep my mouth shut."

I have always wondered what kind of a secret Ms. Spinnet promised to keep. Now, sitting on the hospital bed in the school hospital, I couldn't help thinking again.

My broken nose had been reattached, but Ms. Spinnett would not let me go. She insisted on having my inner ear repaired. By the time I was finally freed, I had been buried all morning.

Elsa and I meet at the lunch table.

"You missed a terrible scene," she said in a misty voice. "Principal McGonagall was attacked in Transfiguration."

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