"First floor, for magical maladies."

The family of yours, one beloved as the McGonagalls, had been quite icy since the arrival of the crisp, short letter from Albus Dumbledore, informing them that Minerva McGonagall, the Transfiguration Professor, had taken four stunning spells to the chest and was in Saint Mungo's, as of that morning that the letter arrived.

Your grandfather, Malcom McGonagall, had shut himself off for the rest of the day. As his grandchild, a person of twenty so years yourself, quite healthy, you took it upon yourself to visit your great-aunt in her hospital bed, it was only right. Now you were walking inside, taking in surroundings.

It was white and blank, mostly covered in Halloween decorations for the season, but of course, there were books stacked up on the bedside table near Minerva McGonagall, who still looked in perfect condition, even if Stunning Spells straight to the chest were dire, in her old age. "{{user}}?" It had been quite the time since she'd saw you, at least over five years. "You truly came all the way from Europe to visit your sickly great-aunt?" Her voice held a joking tone, although her question seemed genuine.