Chapter Text
Platform nine and three quarters was the usual zoo. Birds squawked, kids shouted across the station at their friends, magical parents somehow braved the insanity with smiles on their faces. Sighing, I scanned the platform for an empty luggage cart. Most were taken by muggle raised students. Most of whom were already heading through the portal eager to see their families waiting on the other side. I wasn't so lucky. The Dursleys likely waited outside, sniffing with disdain at all the abnormal wizards like Mr. Weasley traipsing through King's Cross like they were on a muggle sight seeing trip instead of merely picking their children up from the train station.
I smiled sadly. The Weasleys were the price I paid for not playing Dumbledore's games. A steep price, almost too steep. Had Ron stuck by my side would I have let everything Dumbledore did to me go just to keep them? Yes. Undoubtedly. For three years, I thought of them as family. Mr. Weasley was the crazy uncle everyone loves. Mrs. Weasley the doting mother. Her sons were my brothers. Her daughter…In another life, I would've married Ginny. I doubted I'd ever fall in love with her, not romantically. Lasting romantic love requires a deep, abiding trust. Dumbledore and Petunia both ensured I am not and will never be capable of trusting anyone like that. Regardless of the consequences, I would've happily married into the Weasleys. Made them my family. Chosen them. Protected them. Done anything and everything they asked of me because they let me in. Simple really.
But Ronald picked his schoolboy reputation over me. His parents accepted his choice and downgraded me to Christmas card acquaintance. No matter how much I wanted them they were his family, not mine.
"Harry!"
I turned and spotted a green bowler hat weaving through the crowd. A headache built behind my eyes. Fudge. Why won't he just leave me in peace? First, he says I lied. Then I didn't lie. Dumbledore lied, but I was still being influenced by a dangerous subversive. True, but Fudge didn't know that. Then…ugh, I wished he'd make up his bloody mind and stick to a story.
"I'm so glad I caught you," he said, huffing.
I plastered a smile on my face. "Sorry, but I can't talk, minister. My uncle's waiting for me and…" I trailed off, hoping my silence implied Vernon would worry.
"Not to worry, dear boy," he said, waving a formidable looking wizard with short grey hair over. "Dawlish, let the others know I found him and meet us at the apparition point." Fudge's eyes hardened and swept the station. "I want a full complement at St. Mungo's. No one enters or exits with my authorization. Understood?"
"Yes, minister."
My eyes narrowed as I regarded the unusually sober minister. "Is there a problem, sir?"
With a huff, Fudge reached into his robes and pulled out a scroll. He thrust it into my hands. "Here. Read quickly. We need to leave as soon as possible."
I unrolled it and skimmed the document. An Emergency Protection Order. Damn it! Thomas swore he'd wait. He didn't like the Dursley situation, but agreed spending a few weeks with the muggles was preferable to spending them with Dumbledore. Why…Never mind. A better question was why did I believe him. Stupid family magics. My magic lashed out, forcing Fudge back a few steps.
Then I spotted a check mark and Dumbledore's name. I almost smiled. An exclusion order for Dumbledore. At least they managed to get that part correct. At the bottom of the form, I spied the applicant's name neatly printed on a single line. Wide-eyed, I stared at him. "You applied. Why did…" My mind spun with questions and half-baked plans. My escape-from-Dumbledore plans all involved legal strategies, prolonged court cases, and utilized the Chief Warlock's Speech to the Wizengamot 1972, in which Dumbledore swore he wouldn't rest until he'd "removed the last dregs of the deranged line of Salazar Slytherin from our good society" to my advantage. The ministry's own Department of Family and Children's Magical Lineage Office researched my mother's family. Arguably, the ministry knew they granted the same man who swore to eradicate my entire family custody of me. Even I acknowledged it was just rhetoric. Dumbledore probably thought Thomas was the only surviving member of the family. It didn't matter. No sane judge would send me back to Dumbledore once they learned Dumbledore swore to kill everyone in my family. Getting in front of the judge was the difficult part.
Fudge's involvement changed everything. I made a quick mental list of people to contact. Norton, Thomas, Silas, Rita Skeeter. I didn't want Hermione and Neville involved, but I'd rather they hear the story from me than Dumbledore. Barty was out of boomslang skin, which meant he needed at least twenty-four hours to finish his last batch of polyjuice potion. If I couldn't reach Thomas, perhaps I should try Mr. Malfoy. He wasn't my favorite person, but he was family and named in the codicil. Better him than Snape or Andromeda Tonks, whose Daily Prophet wedding photo included a beaming Albus Dumbledore standing in for the absent father of the bride.
A hand grabbed my elbow. "This way," Fudge said, pulling me away from the flow of traffic. "Harry, do you remember me visiting you in the hospital wing?"
I shook my head.
"I visited twice. Are you sure you don't remember?"
"Positive."
He eyed a clock on the wall and grimaced. "We're on borrowed time as it is, Harry, so I'll be blunt. Madame Pomfrey is a mediwitch, not a healer.* Her job is to treat minor injuries and illnesses and transfer the serious cases to St. Mungo's. Neither she nor Hogwarts is equipped to treat an acromantula bite."
"But I'm fine. See?" I started to roll up my sleeve, but he stopped me.
"Harry, without a thorough checkup by a healer with access to the correct facilities, we don't know. If she patched you up perfectly, great. If not, you could die before school starts." He reached for Hedwig's cage. I resisted. "I'll explain everything to the best of my ability later. Right now, we need to get you somewhere safe."
"Where?"
"A private room at St. Mungo's."
"And after?" I asked, afraid he'd either send me back to Dumbledore or make the Dursleys pick me up from a magical hospital.
"I don't know. There are family magics and magical laws at play here in addition to possible fraud, perhaps even kidnapping. Before we can decide anything, we need to make sure you're healthy." Fudge inclined his head towards a middle-aged woman, waiting beside Dawlish and a younger man, who tried to look as serious and forbidding as Dawlish, but failed. He guided me over to the small group. When he reached for Hedwig's cage this time, I let him take it.
Ever since I broke my arm as a child and Petunia told them our religious beliefs didn't allow sedation, I've hated doctors and hospitals. Of course, a completely failed sedation—muggle sedatives don't work on wizards and witches—would raise more eyebrows than the religion excuse. In a twisted way, she did it to protect me. But I never forgot how she glared at me like gum on the bottom of her shoe when I screamed when they set my arm. I was four.
I had few options: cause a scene, run, or go quietly. Fudge implied Dumbledore didn't know about the EPO, yet. If I caused a scene, I might draw Dumbledore's attention. I didn't swear the traditional familial oaths, but decades before I was born, Thomas did. He had full access to the family magics. According to the library books, the most basic and common element of family magic is the ability to locate heirs, both apparent and presumptive. If I ran, Thomas could and likely would hunt me down. Either way, I'd still end up at St. Mungo's.
I bowed my head. "Let's get this over with."
The younger man took my trunk. Dawlish clapped a hand on my shoulder. His magic passed through me steady and calm like plow horse. More powerful than I expected. Pressure surrounded me. Suddenly, I felt like ice cream sucked through a coffee straw. The world spun, coalesced into a typical hospital reception room of white walls, glass, and steel.
Bile rose in my throat. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, trying to suppress the nausea. Failed. I turned and retched, narrowly missing the woman's shoes.
I dangled my legs over the edge of the bed, staring at my bare feet. For most of my life, I dreamed of being rescued from the Dursleys. I always imagined Hagrid or Dumbledore as my rescuer, never Fudge. I made the same mistake with him most people make with me. When I looked at Fudge, I saw a bumbling fool too wrapped up in his own importance to accomplish anything. In other words, I saw exactly what Fudge wanted me to see.
It never occurred to me that you don't obtain the highest office in the ministry by being a fool until I was sitting on a bed in a warded ritual chamber normally reserved for surgery with two aurors, Enid Barlow—a social worker—a healer, and the minister of magic. I eyed Fudge thoughtfully. What was his game? While I had little political power, I was famous. Given the current rift between him and Dumbledore, having me removed from Dumbledore's custody and examined by a healer made sense. Even if the healer found nothing, the fact that a court ordered me removed from Dumbledore's custody for a short period of time would hurt Dumbledore's reputation.
The healer, an older man with kind blue eyes and neatly trimmed grey hair, produced a glass vial from his pocket and pointed his wand at my arm. "Just a little blood, Mr. Potter."
My eyes widened. Like hell I was giving the Ministry of Magic a blood sample. At best, Fudge and I were temporary allies, and I didn't know the others from Merlin. If a few drops of willingly given blood could resurrect a man who was nearly dead, who knew what the ministry could do with a few vials. "I understand why you believe a ritual is necessary, sir." Translation, Fudge hoped the barely legal ritual would provide sufficient evidence to irreparably damage Dumbledore's reputation and permanently remove me from his care. "However, I'm just not comfortable with providing a blood sample." I held up my hand when he opened his mouth to argue. "Please understand. Providing blood without any guarantee it will only be used for a single ritual and will all be destroyed afterward endangers both myself and the few family members I have left. It is not permissible."
Tapping his index finger against his lips, Fudge studied me. Several minutes passed in silence before he nodded once. "Perhaps we can resolve this situation in another way. Did you by chance contact any of your magical relatives?" A slight smile spread across his lips when I nodded. "Does magical law grant anyone precedence over Dumbledore, who instigated the EPO when he refused to turn over your medical records?" Another nod. "I understand following the passing of Arcturus Black a few years ago the Black paterfamilias is regarded as defunct until the death of Sirius Black. Therefore, all matters regarding the house of Black are handled by a regent appointed by the Wizengamot. As the house of Potter is a minor house, the house of Black holds dominion. Therefore even though the Black family magic is presently inactive, the Black regent has sufficient authority to stand in place of a guardian."
The idiot! I took back everything I thought about him wearing a mask and being smarter than he let on. Of course he skimmed my mother's codicil and family tree, saw the Malfoys, and promptly forgot about everyone else. "Sir, would you please cast a privacy spell?"
"If it's relevant to the case," Ms. Barlow began.
"If the minister feels it's relevant, I'm confident he will share the information with you. However, it's extremely sensitive family information that I really shouldn't reveal to anyone."
A speculative gleam entered Fudge's eyes. With a swish of his wand, he erected one of the most powerful anti-eveasdropping spells I'd ever seen. I stretched out my fingertips and brushed them across the opaque mist surrounding us. Confusion swept through me. I dropped my hand. The feeling disappeared. I whistled under my breath. "Nice."
"One doesn't reach my level without knowing a thing or two," he said with a smile. "Now will you please tell me what this is about? I understand you and Lucius don't get along well, but you are family. I assure you he will do right by you."
"It's a bit more complicated, sir. House Black doesn't hold dominion over House Potter. If you will let me finish, sir," I said when he started to interrupt. "House Potter is the cadet branch of House Peverell**, which has precedence over the Blacks."
His mouth formed a soundless 'O'. "Is there anything else?"
I almost said no. Then I realized what a perfect opportunity I had. At some point, Dumbledore will accuse Thomas of being Voldemort, which was true. For me, returning to Dumbledore's care was a death sentence. While I didn't trust Thomas, I was confident that between the unbreakable vow, magical contract, and familial magic he had ample incentive to keep me alive and healthy. But a well-orchestrated smear campaign and sympathetic judge could land me right back where I started. Not good. "I have a confession," I whispered.
"Please tell me this isn't about that You-Know-Who nonsense!"
"Sort of." I schooled my features into an earnest expression. "You know I'm a parselmouth, right?" He nodded warily. "I've always been able to talk to snakes, but I didn't know what it was called until second year." Fudge looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I didn't have much time, but towards the end of year I started doing a little research. I wanted to know if there was anyone else like me." The color drained out of Fudge's face. "One of my school mates mentioned Cousin Thomas. I think their grandparents went to school with him. I found an old picture of him. We looked a little alike and we're both parselmouths so I asked Professor Dumbledore about him. Professor Dumbledore told me he was Voldemort." A Slytherin truth no one would expect from a Gryffindor.
Fudge's face turned red. He sputtered. "Enough of this nonsense, Mr. Potter!"
"Sir, I was only twelve. I didn't know what to do and everyone trusted Dumbledore, so I sort of believed him. But after this past year…Anyhow, after you sent me the codicil everything fell into place. I think Dumbledore lied to me about Thomas because he didn't want anyone investigating how he obtained guardianship."
"Sounds likely. I have to ask, Harry. As far-fetched as it sounds, do you have any reason to believe Dumbledore told you the truth?"
"No, sir. Dumbledore testified before the Wizengamot that Voldemort died. He also described Voldemort as being, quote, deformed by Dark Magic. I've met Thomas. Other than being a little tall, he looks perfectly normal. He's also very much alive, and he swore an unbreakable vow to protect me as my paterfamilias. If he was Voldemort, don't you think he would've killed me instead of swearing a vow?"
"An unbreakable vow? Let me make a few calls and verify some things. If all goes well, I'll contact him."
"The floo address is Thomas Riddle at Woodwalton Hall."
"In the meantime," he continued like I hadn't interrupted him, "I'll ask the healer to administer a basic phsyical. I doubt they'll find anything, but it will stall for time. Unfortunately, I expect Dumbledore's associates to call an emergency Wizengamot session to overturn the EPO within the next two hours."
I grimaced.
"Harry, I hesitate to ask, but when I first met you I received the impression your home life might be less than ideal. Is there anything you're willing to tell me that might assist our investigation?"
The Dursleys were my dirty little secret. I didn't want anyone to know, but Fudge's interference left me little choice. In a few hours, everyone will know I was removed from Dumbledore's custody. The best way for Dumbledore to salvage his reputation was to publically move me into his home and ensure everyone knew how happy I was under his care. I had a choice: keep everything secret or retain my mind. I picked my mind and once again leaped into the abyss. "My relatives live at Number Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. My first Hogwarts letter was addressed to the cupboard under the stairs, which was my room for the first ten years of my life. They only moved me into Dudley's second bedroom because they were afraid wizards were watching the house. According to Alastor Moody, my babysitter Arabella Figg is a squib and member of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. Is that sufficient?" I asked.
With a flick of his wand, Fudge disabled his charm. "I'll return as soon as possible. Harry, please cooperate with the healer. Dawlish, there is a good chance certain parties will try to remove Mr. Potter from the hospital prior to my return. Should this happen, you will transfer Mr. Potter to the secure ward reserved for the Department of Mysteries and remain with him until said parties are apprehended."
After a whispered conversation with the healer and Savage, Fudge swept out of the room with Savage on his heels.
The healer raised his wand. "Ready, Mr. Potter?"
When the healer paused mid-spell and recast a diagnostic charm, I feared something was wrong. When he ordered a house elf to fetch six vials of potions and prepare a bed in the pediatric ward, my fears were confirmed. I cast longing glances at the changing screen where I left my wand and lock box, which I kept on me just in case Vernon locked all my things away again. Dyfi had enough food and water for a few days, but I promised I'd let her out as soon as we arrived. And Hedwig was still locked in her cage in the corner with my trunk. Fully awake, she watched with a gimlet-eyed glare, but remained quiet.
The door opened. Fudge entered with Thomas and an older man about Dumbledore's age. His conservative brown robes and neatly trimmed beard gave him a dignified air Dumbledore always lacked. I tilted my head. With a full-head of black hair, Thomas looked almost ageless. If I didn't know he was nearly seventy, I'd guess late twenties/early thirties. Once again, I wondered how wizards aged. Norton and Hagrid were a few years younger than Thomas, but Norton appeared to be in his late-fifties while Hagrid looked about early-forties. Odd.
Thomas raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at my scar. I minutely shook my head. No pain, exactly as predicted. When I gave Thomas my blood, I recognized him as a blood relative. Since the bond of blood charm was intended to help blood relatives protect orphaned children from outsiders, when I acknowledged him as blood-kin of the sacrificed I made Dumbledore's intent and the charm's purpose contradict each other, which canceled the charm. It helped that I hadn't considered Privet Drive home since first year. At least that was Thomas's theory before the ritual. As much as I respected my mother for her sacrifice, I was glad the charm was gone. Incapacitating pain whenever I was near a certain person didn't protect me. It increased the odds I would be killed. Who cared if that person couldn't touch me! You don't need to touch someone to kill them with a killing curse.
"I'd like to conduct the fabula sanitatis ritual before we discuss the diagnosis as my findings may change the recommended treatment," the healer said.
"With your permission of course, Earl Wychwood," Fudge said. "Harry, next time you enlighten someone as to your family situtation, you should disclose your status as it may change how certain matters are handled."
"My apologies, minister," Thomas said. "I directed Harry to be slightly vague regarding family matters." Liar. "Harry, this is my barrister Felix Matson. Norton is at the ministry monitoring the Wizengamot and assisting the aurors with their investigation."
"What do you mean assisting?"
"Providing evidence," he said bluntly. "Account statements, the memories you left with him, those sorts of things."
"But—"
"—you are a minor in my care. I agreed to wait solely because I felt that forcing you to give evidence would further deteriorate your mental health. Had I known you gave Norton a bloody case of certified memories Dumbledore would no longer be an issue."
"Those were for emergencies only!"
Our audience flinched. Thomas sighed and switched to English. "Harry, your entire school year was an emergency. What possessed you to give Norton evidence you wouldn't let him review?"
"When I gave him the memories, I didn't know about the codicil. I certainly didn't know I had any living relations in the wizarding world. I thought the Dursleys and Dumbledore were my only options. Plus with the press eating me alive about the tournament, which I did not enter," I said pointedly to Fudge, "I couldn't take the risk."
"We will finish this discussion later," Thomas said before turning to the healer. "When you are prepared for the ritual, I will draw and dispose of his blood."
The healer flicked his wand and my bed began sinking into the floor. A slate circle appeared around me. The healer removed a piece of chalk from his pocket and knelt. With swift strokes, he wrote a series of runes in three concentric circles with me at the center. Then he handed me a potion. "Take this and lay down. Don't be nervous, Mr. Potter. You won't feel a thing."
With one last glance at Thomas, I settled myself on the floor, adjusting the white gown they made me change into when I arrived to keep everything covered. I took a deep breath, raised the vial to my lips, and swallowed. It tasted like oranges and strawberries, not the rotten eggs stewed with Dudley's gym socks flavor I expected.
I lay down and relaxed against the cushioning charm. Magic crawled over my skin. Time slowed. I was vaguely aware of Thomas pressing his wand to my forearm. Chanting. The ceiling lit up in a constellation of runes unlike anything I'd ever seen. I smiled when I recognized a repeating pattern of parsel runes. Why did they have mother written on the ceiling? I closed my eyes and drifted off.
Fingers pressed something sticky against my forearm, a whispered incantation followed by a prick, liquid fire poured into my veins. My eyes flew open. A hand grabbed mine before I could yank the green sticker off my right arm.
"Leave it," Thomas ordered.
My fingers twitched, but I still obeyed. Fudge and Ms. Barlow both deferred to him about the ritual, which implied he had custody. For now. I didn't know much about such things, but I remembered a foster kid from primary school talking about one family who decided they didn't want him anymore. I didn't like Thomas. In all honesty, I'd prefer we weren't in the same country, much less the same room. However, I preferred him to the alternatives. For now.
Across the room, Fudge, Barlow, and Dawlish were clustered around a small table, examining a sheaf of parchment. A blue dicta quill stood at attention beside them. Dawlish gave me a tight smile. "Welcome back, Potter. From this point on, I will be recording the conversation for use in our on-going investigation. Okay?"
I nodded.
The healer pressed an empty potion's vial into a spot on the wall. After it disappeared, he turned to me. "Just one more," he said and tapped a green dot on the top of a potion's vial with his wand. Cool liquid trickled into my veins. The burning subsided. He placed three unused vials on a table someone must've conjured while I slept. "While we wait for Healer Greengrass, I have a few questions for my patient." He conjured a stool and sat down. "Mr. Potter, please describe how you felt after you were released from the hospital wing."
"All things considered not bad. I tired easily, but otherwise fine."
"Short of breath?"
Recalling my last trip to the library with Hermione, I pursed my lips. "A few times. Mostly when I was walking up stairs. I was fine after I sat down for a few minutes."
"Pain from the bite?"
"No."
"Muscle cramps?"
"Yeah, but nothing more than I'd expect after fighting multiple creatures."
The room stilled. "What creatures?" he asked.
"The acromantula, a boggart, and a blast-ended skrewt."
"A blast-ended what?"
"Skrewt," I supplied, wondering what the problem was. "At the beginning of the year, we took care of them in Care of Magical Creatures."
"What type of creature is a skrewt?"
"They're a cross between a manticore and a fire-crab."
Gnashing his teeth and muttering about the Ban on Experimental Breeding, the healer summoned the stack of parchment and began leafing through it. "To your knowledge are skrewts poisonous?"
I opened my mouth to say no. Then the image of a massive stinger swinging towards me in the maze hit me. "I don't know," I answered, suspecting I just got Hagrid in serious trouble. Momentarily hating myself, I glanced around the room, noting how everyone was staring at me. "As long as you weren't standing behind them, the little ones were safe enough. I only saw one full-grown," I whispered.
"What did it look like?" Dawlish asked.
"Well, everyone saw the maze so…"
"Harry, we saw the outside of the maze and a spell projected select battles for the audience and the judges. I watched you confront the sphinx and a boggart. Nice patronus by the way," Fudge said, "but I didn't see you again until you grabbed the cup. I never saw any champion confront a creature I didn't recognize."
Interesting. I wondered if it was just luck that Hagrid's experiment went unobserved or if someone tweaked the spell. "I'd rather not answer."
"Please understand, Mr. Potter, the Ban on Experimental Breeding exists for a reason," Dawlish said. "Even if we discover a permit issued for breeding blast-ended skrewts, fire crabs are fifth year material, not fourth. The sting of a manticore is instantly fatal, meaning anyone who showed a group of students a manticore would be arrested for child endangerment. The same applies to acromantula."
"Experimental creatures are unpredictable," the healer said. "Without knowing the specifics, we don't know if the creature was venomous, but I believe this combination would be extremely dangerous, possibly lethal. If others were exposed, and from your statement I assume the other three champions and your entire Care of Magical Creatures class were, we will need to extract a sample of the venom and begin testing anyone exposed to the creature for possible envenomation. I assure you I don't want my ward filled with children, but I also don't want anyone to die because of a venom I might be able to cure if I'm given the chance."
I glanced at Thomas. "You need to tell them, Harry." My guts clenched. I wanted to shout at him for framing Hagrid. Maybe if Hagrid had his wand rights and Care of Magical Creatures NEWT, he'd know the risks. "How many of your friends handled these creatures?" he asked softly. "What about your muggleborn friend? If anything happens, do you think her parents will know a muggle hospital can't help her?"
I bowed my head. As much as I hated admitting it, he was right. "Full grown, they're about ten feet long. They have legs, but use propulsion for most of their movement. A bit like a rocket."
"Think about hovering on a broom and using a blasting curse to move," Thomas said when everyone else appeared puzzled.
"Sorry, muggle thing," I mumbled. "The one I killed had a stinger furled on its back like a scorpion. I don't know if it's poisonous, but most of my spells bounced off."
"How did you kill it?" Dawlish asked.
"Confringo to the underbelly."
He grimaced. "So basically a manticore with a fire crab's armored shell. Lovely," Dawlish drawled sarcastically. "Minimum we'll need a squad of aurors and some dragon tamers who specialize in iron bellies. Maybe some wards and poisons."
"You're going to kill them," I said. A simple statement of fact. As much as Hagrid loved them, I agreed with Dawlish. They were simply too dangerous to release.
"Unless someone gives me a damn good reason not to, yes."
"We need one alive in case the venom deteriorates at an unexpected rate," the healer said.
Dawlish grimaced, but Fudge inclined his head towards the healer. "I'll see what we can do."
"Back to the matter at hand," the healer said, "did you report any of your symptoms to Madame Pomfrey?"
"Yes, she said it was a side effect from the potions."
"Okay." He handed the sheaf of parchment back to Fudge. "While tiredness can be a side effect, in your case it indicated you required another dose of antivenom potion. Depending on the size of the spider and amount of venom injected, you may need up to six doses. Do you recall the size?"
"A little bigger than the bed," I whispered.
The healer's eyes widened. With a shaking hand, he summoned a sheet of parchment and quill. After jotting something down, he turned to Thomas. "I've already given him the second dose. We'll administer the next in forty-eight hours, but he will most likely require the full six doses, perhaps even a seventh. Given his condition, I'm not comfortable administering these as outpatient. He'll need to be admitted each time."
"What?! It didn't even scar." My magic crackled around me, igniting the permanent runes etched into the walls and ceiling.
"Calm down." Thomas voice cut through my outburst like a hot knife through butter. Eying his twitching wand hand warily, I shrank back. "Harry, protecting you includes protecting you from yourself. Now, you need to control your magic and calm down so we can finish this discussion. Alternatively, I will invoke the family magics and order you to act as I see fit instead of letting you offer input when applicable. Do you understand?"
My face heated. "Yes, sir," I whispered as I closed my eyes and focused on the magic racing through me. Several minutes passed before I wrestled it back under control. "Sorry."
"Please continue," he said to the healer.
Someone rapped on the door. Everyone tensed. Dawlish moved into position beside it, wand raised. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Thomas aim his at the door.
"Enter," the healer called after receiving a nod from Dawlish.
A middle-aged man dressed in healer green swept into the room with a scroll tucked under one arm and potions bottles rattling in his pockets. He did a double take when he saw Thomas, bowed his head in his direction, then smiled at me. "So this is my new patient. Pleased to meet you, Harry. Alexander Greengrass, please call me Alex. All my patients do," he said when I started to protest.
He raised his wand. A silvery shield appeared around my bed. I glanced at Thomas. He held up a finger in warning. "Alex, what did Marcus Avery do to you when he caught in the broom closet with his sister?"
"Which time?"
"Fifth year."
Alex's ears turned bright red. "An incontinence hex," he said primly. I snickered. "Only you would ask that in front of a patient."
"I had to make sure you weren't an imposter."
"And you couldn't think of a better question?" Thomas shrugged, but his lips quirked as if he was silently laughing. "My patients get into enough trouble. I don't need you giving them ideas."
"It wasn't my idea."
"That time," Alex grumbled as Thomas dispelled the shield. Staring at a space over my head, Alex began casting a series of charms. "Deep breath." His wand swept down my sternum. "Out." He flicked it right. His eyes narrowed. "Another breath. Hold." More flicks. "Out." A quick jab.
"Are you casting diagnostics?" I asked when I recognized a wand movement Madame Pomfrey used when Hermione was petrified.
"Muggle-raised, right?" When I nodded, he said, "fabula sanitatis provides similar information to what muggles acquire through various radiological tests."
"It's like an x-ray."
"And a CT scan, sonogram, MRI. It's all the basic tests rolled into one with readings taken once a month and every time you suffer a major injury or illness, but it doesn't always provide as much information as we need."
"Could it?"
"Galen created it in 164 A.D. In his writings, he discusses altering the ritual from it's base form, depending on his patient's needs. Unfortunately, he never documented how he altered the ritual."
"And you don't experiment with ritual magic if you can avoid it."
"Exactly. I thought rituals weren't discussed at Hogwarts."
"I studied under Moody."
"Ah," he said as if that explained it all. Perhaps it did. Barty did get away with showing all the lower years the unforgivable curses. Of course, that might be because Dumbledore doubted he'd find another teacher both willing and able to perform them safely in a classroom.
"What spells are you using?"
"Interested in healing?" He smiled when I nodded. "Let's discuss the diagnosis first. Remind me next time, and I'll walk you through everything. Okay?"
I smiled for the first time since I arrived. "I will. Thanks."
"Any time." He conjured a stool and swished his wand over my head. A holographic image of my heart appeared at the foot of the bed. "This," he said, using his wand as a pointer, "is mild myocarditis, possibly caused by the acromantula venom. At this stage, it's easily treatable with potions." He removed a vial from his pocket and tapped the green dot on the cap. Within seconds, I felt amazingly calm and relaxed. "Just a little calming draught before we talk about the more serious stuff," he said to me. Too calm to feel alarmed, I shrugged. "Harry, have you ever passed out before?"
"Only around dementors."
"Would it surprise you if I said that wasn't a normal reaction?" he asked.
"Dumbledore said it's because my memories are worse than anyone else's." I felt like an idiot the moment the words left my mouth. Dumbledore said. Dumbledore lied more like.
"Harry, I know for a fact that one of your house mates had both his parents tortured into insanity in front of him. I also know there's a girl a year younger than you whose mother died in front of her a few years ago. Would you say those are horrific memories?"
"Yes."
"Did anyone other than you pass out?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Dementors cause a psychosomatic reaction, meaning they affect more than just your mind. There are some people who cannot be around dementors at all due to a physical condition. For them, prolonged dementor exposure—even from a distance like you experienced at Hogwarts last year—can be fatal."
"But I was fine the fourth time."
"Which suggests you passed out the other three. It's not a guaranteed reaction, son. Other factors also play a role. Am I correct in assuming the fourth time the dementors weren't within ten meters of your person?"
"Yes, sir," I mumbled, thinking about the water separating me from Sirius.
"While the myocarditis and acromantula bite are concerning, we can easily treat both conditions with potions. I am more concerned about the dilated cardiomyopathy. Your heart muscle is weak," he said when I looked at him askance.
"The cause?" Thomas asked.
"Infection, congenital defects, blockages. Lots of things can cause it, but Harry's bone density indicates a prolonged period of undernutrition, followed by good Hogwarts meals, and then back to undernutrition."
"Can you say definitively his heart problem was caused by undernutrition?" Fudge asked with an expression on his face that reminded me of Fang begging Hagrid for a steak.
"We see similar heart problems sometimes in anorexia patients. However, I cannot say conclusively what caused the condition. I can testify the pattern of undernutrition and regular meals mimics the feeding patterns we see in recovering anorexics. I can also point to several cases where patients suffered similar conditions after their bodies became accustomed to regular meals at Hogwarts and they were subsequently returned to their previous environment. It is a reasonable assumption considering Harry also suffers from mild stunting."
"You mean I'll always be short."
"Considering the bone density in your spine and skull, you are taller than I expected. However, the ritual revealed your bones contain more magic than any other part of your body, which is indicative of an unusual form of accidental magic. Tell me, Harry, when you were little what did you want more than anything?"
When I didn't answer, he smiled kindly and flicked his wand, pulling up a picture of my skeleton. "I bet you wanted to grow. You wanted to be tall and strong, didn't you?"
"Maybe."
"Accidental magic is a funny thing. It always tries to fulfill your desires, but it doesn't always accomplish things in a conventional manner. You wanted to grow taller. Since your body didn't posses the nutrients, your magic stretched what little it had available. While your spine and skull are normal, the rest of your bones resemble a hunch-backed old lady's. Unlike her, you aren't reabsorbing bone at a greater rate than your body creates it. You simply never had it to begin with."
"So all my broken bones playing quidditch?"
"Exactly," he said with a small smile. "As for your height, don't worry. Once we heal your bones, a few potions taken during your next growth spurt will put you about where you should be."
"The treatment?" Thomas asked.
"For now, I want to try a potions regime for his heart. Sixty percent of patients experience complete recovery within six months."
"The other forty?"
"Spend a few weeks in St. Mungo's having their hearts regrown. In the end, ninety-five percent of patients experience a complete recovery. The other five percent remain on the potions regime and typically have only minor problems. All things considered, we caught this fairly early. With proper care, I doubt he'll experience any long-term problems."
"His bones?"
Alex took a deep breath and stood up. He paced around the room for a few minutes before stopping as far away from Thomas as he could get. Perhaps he thought the distance would help him dodge better. "We vanish them."
I stared at him in horror. Vanish my bones! I'd rather be bitten by a bassilisk again than voluntarily go through that.
"I know it sounds extreme," he said. "The alternative is small daily doses of skelegrow for two years. He'll hit his next growth spurt around mid-August. We can delay it up to six months, give the skelegrow a chance to work. But even if the skelegrow works, the magic will linger for years. There is a good chance they'll revert to their current form. The best solution is to remove any residual magic and start over."
"How long do we have to decide?" Thomas asked.
"If you decide to vanish them, we need to start before he hits his growth spurt."
"A month then."
"Bone vanishing isn't as dangerous as the other procedures. Although he should be hospitalized when we do his ribs and pelvis, the others can be done at home; provided, a healer or mediwitch stays overnight."
"Are you volunteering?"
"Let me check my calendar first."
* Based on her skill with healing, we infer Pomfrey is a healer, the wizarding equivalent of a doctor. However, the US editions repeatedly call her the school nurse. My french version of book 1 also calls her the school's infirmière, not médecin. This leads me to the conclusion that despite her apparent skill and whatever was later written on fansites or Pottermore, she is a nurse, not a doctor. Bit of a difference there...
** Canon fact, the Potters descended from the youngest Peverell brother. The eldest brother died without issue, which left any titles and entailed lands to the middle brother, not the younger. This is confirmed by both Morfin Guant in the Gaunt Shack scene in Half-Blood Prince and Albus Dumbledore in the King's Cross scene in Deathly Hallows. The Tales of Beadle the Bard are just that...tales. Regardless of how the 2nd brother died, he obviously left behind at least one legitimate heir, who inherited the stone. Yes, Rowling sort of contradicted herself. Then again, the contradiction is a book of children's fairy tales, which is hardly a decent source. I think everyone knows by now that I didn't start reading Harry Potter fanfiction until after I wrote WGM part 1. I swear if I read another fic where Harry inherits the Peverell fortune and titles based solely on James being descended from the younger brother without offering any other explanation, I will scream.