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Fellow visitors were seated at rickety chairs destined to fall apart without the aid of magic and the tables filled with outdated issues of Witch Weekly and the Daily Prophet. All of these things caught Cedrella's eyes and she walked past them with Septimus by her side. Healers in lime green uniforms scurried in and out of the room, not meeting the eyes of any one person as they sought to do their jobs and get out quickly.

The couple approached the reception desk, where a witch with wispy, grey hair and violet eyes sat with a quill in hand. "Which one o' you'se is the patient, an' what's the matter wif ya?"

"I'm sick," Cedrella stated matter-of-factly. As if that wasn't clear enough by her sudden presence at the hospital, but Cedrella wouldn't make much of a fuss. These people were supposed to help her, and they wouldn't do much helping if she was unpleasant.

The witch gave her a withering look and she turned away for a moment to shout, "Jilly!" Almost immediately, a round-faced woman, perhaps around 30 years of age, popped around the corner. Especially excitable, this Jilly clasped Cedrella's hand in her own. "Don't you worry, dear," she gurgled, and Cedrella was reminded of a pleasantly-surprised baby. "We'll get you all sorted out. Step this way," she directed Cedrella and Septimus towards the elevator, and once inside pressed the button labelled '2.'

"While we're not sure what's the matter with you, we're almost positive it can't be anything more than a bug. I mean, you're walking about just fine!" Queue a cheerful giggle, which provoked Cedrella to glance wearily at Septimus. She was tired and ill, and this woman was beginning to grate on Cedrella's already-frazzled nerves, and yet she would have to play at pleasantries with this woman. Cedrella grasped Septimus by the hand and squeezed tightly--whether for comfort or to stop herself from strangling the overly-cheerful Healer, no one could tell.