|
||||||||
|
||||||||
Author: TheGov Story: Defining the Relationship Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: Completed Reviews: 23 Words: 162,112
A/N: First off, Happy Thanksgiving, to all those on my side of the Pond, and to the rest of the world as well, even though it may not be a holiday where you are, it never hurts to give thanks. I give thanks for my prebeta, DancinginMagic, who rounds up all my “Ls” and my “Us”, and make sure I say sofa and not couch. I give thanks for my beta Arnel, who changes “its” to “it’s” or vice versa. And most importantly, I give thanks for my wife, who is my inspiration, and who gets to read everything first, and tell me, “You left out something here. The sentence doesn’t read right, did a word fall out your elbow?” And virtual house points to someone who spots a subtle reference to a popular TV show. ;-) -- -- -- -- “No sign of a struggle,” the patrolman told him. “No sign of forced entry. Pretty mysterious if you ask me, Chief Inspector, which is why we called you.” Chris nodded. Somehow, in recent days, he’d acquired a reputation for working the tough cases. There was a reason for that. His interest in unexplained phenomena was subject for whispering in the halls of New Scotland Yard, but since he solved most of his cases, it was simply chalked up to a mild eccentricity rather than a point of ridicule. This new case, while it had its interesting points, really wasn’t the kind of unexplained phenomena he was interested in. “A very professional job, I’d say, Inspector.” Another uniformed patrolman walked into the dingy room. “Yes,” Chris agreed. “The two bullet holes in the back of the head seem to indicate that,” he said, rather sarcastically. The two patrolmen were new to the East End, and rather oblivious to the way things could operate down here in London’s rougher districts. “He knew his killer. He must have, he let him in,” the first patrolman insisted. “Well, first, find out who he is. Best guess is that he owed somebody money,” Chris said, turning around and heading for the door. “Get the forensics folks in here to turn the place upside down,” he instructed. “And don’t touch anything!” he said, startling the young patrolman who had reached to pick up a piece of paper clutched in the victim’s hand. He pulled his hand away as if burned. “Let the professionals go after it first. Make yourself useful and find out if anyone else in the building heard anything.” “Yesssir.” Chris made his way back down to his car, its blue light still rotating, idling in a no parking zone. “Inspector Collins?” a voice called to him. Chris turned, and saw a tall, muscular, dark skinned man stepping toward him. “Yes?” he said, looking the man up and down and gripping his cane tightly. His service weapon was in the car, and the neighbourhood made him nervous. In a pinch, the cane would do nicely. “I’m Kingsley Shacklebolt. I work with Ron,” the tall man said, and Chris immediately relaxed. “What can I do for you?” Chris asked. “There have been some developments. Do you mind if I ride with you while we talk?” “Not at all,” Chris said. “Hop in.” -- -- -- -- “That should do it, Mr. Potter,” the Healer said, putting the finishing touches on the spells. “Please flex your shoulder for me?” Harry twisted his arm experimentally. He had full range of motion, thank goodness. “Any pain?” the man asked. “No, none at all. A marvellous job, thank you Healer,” Harry was truly impressed. “It’s quite all right,” the Healer said. Just then the door opened and a female Healer put her head in. “Mr. Potter has a visitor,” she said. “Just one?” Harry chuckled. “It’s all right, you can send them in now,” the Healer said. Harry looked up in surprise as Minister Weasley walked in. “Minister! What do I owe this honour?” Harry asked as the older man approached Harry’s bedside. Minister Weasley hung his head, and sighed. He touched Harry’s hand. “Harry, I can’t thank you enough for saving Hermione. Losing her would have destroyed Ron, you know that.” “I know, Mr. Weasley, but it was just as much for my sake as well,” Harry admitted. Mr. Weasley was correct that losing Hermione would destroy Ron but Harry wasn’t sure he would make it through the loss of his adopted sister either. Mr. Weasley managed a small smile, which faded quickly. He cleared his throat. “Harry, there’s something you should know,” he began slowly. Harry froze. He didn’t like the look in Mr. Weasley’s eyes. Oh God...what happened? Ginny was here...she’s okay...Charlie? Molly? Who was it? “I was on my way to a lunch meeting today in Diagon Alley, Remus was with me,” Mr. Weasley continued, hesitating a little. “What happened?” Harry demanded softly, his throat suddenly dry. Not Remus...he’s the only connection I have left. The prospect of being orphaned again was threatening to send Harry into a dark panic, and he took deep breaths to control himself, like Doctor Berger had instructed. “We were walking and a man came out of the crowd. Marcus,” Mr. Weasley waved at the doorway, indicating one of his security men, “Stunned him, but not before he’d grazed Remus with a silver knife.” Harry squeezed his eyes shut. Silver was poison to those infected with lycanthropy. “Who was it?” he demanded. Control, Harry, control, he told himself. “We’ve identified him as a member of a radical terrorist group that opposes recognition of werewolves, vampires, and other magical creatures. They have him in custody at the Ministry now,” Mr. Weasley explained. “Is he all right?” Harry asked softly, referring to Remus. “The Healers think that they can help him, Harry. They’ve had a lot more experience working with werewolves in the past few years, Harry. They’re coming up with new cures every day. They’re doing their best. We’re lucky that he was only grazed.” Mr. Weasley patted Harry’s hand. Harry nodded. “Can I see him?” he asked. Mr. Weasley nodded. “Everyone else is already up there. Assuming the Healers think you can get up, you can see him.” Harry turned to the Healer who had let Mr. Weasley in. “I have to go see him,” he begged. She nodded. “You’re free to go, Mr. Potter. We have some check out paper work that needs to be filed before you leave the hospital, but you’re free to go on over.” Harry got up off the bed and began to stride towards the door. “Harry,” Mr. Weasley called to him. Harry turned. Mr. Weasley handed him his wand, and then pointed his own at Harry’s robes. “Scourgify.” The dark angry bloodstain that had covered the entire right side of Harry’s robes lifted away, and Harry managed a weak smile. “Can’t have you showing up like that, Harry, or they’ll throw you back in a bed.” Mr. Weasley said, giving him an encouraging smile. Harry nodded. “Where is he?” he asked. “About four doors down the corridor. Emergency Care Room 7.” Harry rushed down the corridor, and spotted Ron standing outside one of the room. “Ron, how is he?” “Unconscious, Harry.” Ron said. Ron put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “Harry...” Ron was unable to continue. Harry nodded, and pulled Ron into an embrace. When Harry released him, Ron had unshed tears brimming in his eyes. He sniffed and wiped his face on his sleeve. “I’ve got to go back to work,” he said. “I just wanted to wait till you got out, so I could...” Ron trailed off again. He swallowed. “Thanks, mate.” Harry nodded. “I understand, Ron. You go. Go catch the bastard so we don’t have to do this again.” Ron nodded eagerly. “He’s got no idea what he’s in for now,” Ron agreed. “Take care of Remus. If he wakes up, let him know I was here, and that we’re all pulling for him.” “I will,” Harry answered. Ron nodded and clapped Harry on the shoulder once more, before Disapparating. Harry entered the room. There were Healers talking softy in one corner, and Hermione and Ginny were standing on either side of the bed, each holding one of Remus’s hands. He was pale and drawn, eyes closed. “Harry,” Ginny called softly, and he went to her. “How is he?” he said, slipping a hand around her waist and standing next to her, brushing the hair out of Remus’s eyes with the other. “The same as when they brought him in, Harry,” Hermione answered. “They say that’s a good sign.” She smiled at him. “How’s your shoulder?” she asked. “Fine, like new,” he responded. “What can they do for him?” Ginny asked. “I don’t know that much about it,” she admitted. “I’m not exactly sure I know myself,” Harry said. “Hermione?” “For reasons I’m not sure of, silver interacts with the cells in Remus’s body that have been infected with lycanthropy. It kills them. I can cause burns on the exterior, but when he’s cut, the silver can actually get into his system, causing poisoning, unconsciousness, a coma, even death.” Ginny gave a little shudder, and Harry pulled her closer to him. She and Hermione continued to hold Remus’s hands, while Harry laid his hand on Remus’s shoulder. One of the healers came over join them. “Mr. Potter?” “Yes?” Harry looked up at the woman with the apologetic smile. “We need to get your permission to proceed,” the Healer said. “Me? Why?” Harry asked. “You’re listed as Deputy Minister Lupin’s next of kin, and we need permission to proceed with the experimental treatment,” the woman explained. “Experimental?” Harry asked dubiously. “Well,” she said, looking a little shamefaced. “There never was a lot of research done on healing werewolves,” she admitted. “So many of the cures and healing techniques were never approved for use, although we do have many documented cases of the techniques being successful. They were simply used by unofficial healers, or healers using unauthorized practices. Until we get more study, we can’t have any of these procedures authorized as routine. So we need your permission.” Harry nodded. “What are you planning to do?” “There is a procedure that we can use that used the item that wounded him,” the Healer explained. “We charm it so that it calls back to itself all pieces of itself. Holding it over the open wound, it will draw out any of the silver that has infiltrated his body. Once the silver is removed, his body can start replacing the cells he has lost, and he will come out of his shock state.” “This has been done before?” Harry asked. The woman he had been speaking to looked to one of the Healers for support. One of them stepped forward. “The technique for drawing all parts of a whole together is well documented, Mr. Potter. But I’ll be honest with you, there is only fragmentary evidence the technique has ever been used on a werewolf for this purpose,” the man said. “You sound like you don’t agree with the treatment,” Harry said. The man sighed. “To be honest with you Mr. Potter, I don’t. Deputy Minister Lupin’s cells are replacing at a rate that is currently comparable to those being destroyed, which is why he’s not getting worse, but he won’t get better either. Not until we find someway to get the silver out of his body, and I’m not sure this is the best way.” “What’s the concern?” Harry asked. “Well, drawing the silver out this way might draw it directly out, rather than through the cut. The passage of silver through sensitive portions of his body, say, the heart and lungs, might cause permanent damage.” The other Healers were glaring at him. “What? He has a right to know!” “You’re damn right I do,” Harry said angrily. “Are there any other options?” The man shrugged. “I’m sorry Mr. Potter, there just hasn’t been a lot of research on how to save a werewolf. We have hundreds of years of research on how to kill them, and about half a century’s worth of study on the Wolfsbane potion, but very little on how to keep them from dying from a silver wound. While I don’t like the risks, there aren’t many options to begin with.” “Well, at least you’re being honest with me, Healer…?” “Woodville, Mr. Potter, sir.” “And I appreciate the honesty. What do you recommend as the best course of action?” Harry asked. “Me, sir?” he looked around. “I’m fairly junior here…” “I can fix that,” Harry said casually, waving a hand. “And I’ve just asked you to be Remus’s primary care specialist. What do you recommend?” “Well,” Healer Woodville swallowed. “There is something. We’ve been tossing this idea around the Department of Lycanthropy for a year or so now, but we think that we can neutralize the effect of the silver by changing its chemical properties.” “This is Muggle science, boy, what do they know?” one of the older Healers scoffed. “They would surprise you, Healer,” Harry said, voice low and dangerous. “The Muggles have wiped out entire populations with their ingenuity. They even have a bomb that could wipe this city and everyone in it off the face of the Earth in a matter of seconds. To ignore their since simply because it isn’t magical isn’t just ignorant, it’s stupid.” Harry tried to take a few deep breaths to stay in control of his emotions. Easy, boy, he told himself -- -- -- -- Ginny, from where she was standing, could feel the tension radiating off Harry’s body. His arms were solid as a rock, and his knuckles were white where they gripped Remus’s bedrail. She could see he was fighting with every breath to remain in control. She reached up and began to rub his back slowly. He seemed to relax a little at her touch, but not by much. “We think that if we apply nitric acid to the wound, we should be able to convert the silver present in the wound into silver nitrate, which we would then flush from the wound. And any particles left over, Minister Lupin would then be able to process naturally,” Healer Woodville was explaining. “Isn’t nitric acid poisonous?” Hermione asked. “In high concentrations, yes,” the Healer admitted. “But we’re talking about a dilute solution that would be less than 1%.” “How would we tell if it’s working?” Harry asked. “We should be able to tell right away,” Woodville said. “We can charm the solution so that it changes colour once the reaction begins taking place.” “If it doesn’t work?” Ginny found herself asking. “We can always go back to plan A.” Woodville shrugged. “There’s nothing preventing us from trying both if this doesn’t work.” “We’ll go ahead and do it your way, Healer Woodville,” Harry said. The Healer nodded, and walked out of the room to prepare the treatment, ignoring the glares of the other Healers. Harry watched him stop in the hallway and consult briefly with an older Healer who leaned heavily on a cane and walked with a pronounced limp. “Mr. Potter, you really should reconsider,” the Healer who had originally spoken to him said. “Healer Woodville has only been on staff a short time…” “How many of you work in the Lycanthropy department?” Harry asked. The wizards looked around. Not a one of them answered. “That’s what I thought,” Harry said. “Healer Woodville has obviously put in time and effort to this solution, and it’s no more proven than yours. If he’s wrong, then we can try your solution,” Harry told them in a voice that brooked no further argument. Healer Woodville returned a few moments later, carrying a beaker of solution, trailed by a pair of colleagues. “Mrs. Weasley, if you would excuse us?” Woodville asked Hermione, who stepped out of the way. They moved Remus’s robes and exposed the wound, a small gash. Harry had done far worse to himself playing Quidditch, he was sure. Using an eyedropper, Healer Woodville dropped a few drops of the solution onto the open wound. The liquid pooled for a moment and then began to colour a bright green. “It’s working!” Healer Woodville said excitedly. “If our calculations are correct, it will be drawing out the silver, and changing it into silver nitrate.” “How do we tell when it has an effect on him?” Ginny asked. “We’re not quite sure, Miss Weasley. But if the silver is removed, his body will no longer have to fight it, so we should see some improvement in his condition soon. We’re not exactly sure how long that will take.” They nodded. “So we wait,” Hermione said. -- -- -- -- In the end, they actually did not have to wait very long. Within the hour, Remus’s colour began to improve, and he woke up about an hour and a half after they’d administered the treatment. “I can’t begin to thank you enough, young man,” Remus was telling Healer Woodville. “Harry tells me you were instrumental in my successful treatment.” “Honestly, Minister Lupin, it was nothing. Just the fact that you’ll walk out of here healthy is thanks enough,” Healer Woodville said. “How long have you worked in the Lycanthropy Department?” Remus asked. “Since it was created a year ago. Before that I worked in the Magical Creatures department.” Harry played a hunch. “Did you know someone…?” “My father,” the Healer admitted sheepishly. “I could never stomach the treatment he was given. I worked hard to change attitudes, and I jumped at the chance to work here, working to help deal with it, and maybe, someday, find a cure.” “Well, I wish you all the best, Healer Woodville.” “Thank you Minister, we’re working hard. We’re all ecstatic your treatment went so well. We’re going to write up the procedure and get it out to all the other hospitals as quickly as possible.” “Well, I think you’ll go far,” Remus pronounced. “You sure you want us to go?” Harry asked, again. The Healers wanted to keep him overnight for observation. Remus was insisting Harry and Ginny go home. Hermione, at the mercy of a one and a half month old baby, had left sometime earlier. “Yes, I’m sure, now go, children, be gone. Let the old man sleep in peace,” he smiled at them. “Okay, Uncle Moony,” Harry said. He turned to Ginny, “I’ve got to stop and fill out some paperwork on my way out.” “Okay, love,” she sighed, leaning into him. “If they let you out, are you going to come by for the start of term feast tomorrow?” Harry asked Remus. “We’ll see,” Remus said. “Probably. I haven’t missed one yet.” “I’ll see you there, then.” Harry and Ginny walked down to the office where Harry spent the next forty-five minutes filling out paperwork, both for himself and for Remus. Ginny was half a sleep when Harry finally came back out to the waiting room. It was getting late in the day. “Ginny, love,” he shook her awake gently. “Can we go home now?” she said sleepily. “Yes. Your place or mine?” he asked. “We’ll start at my place,” she yawned. “We can Apparate there.” Harry nodded and a few blinks later they were standing in Ginny’s living room. “Busy day tomorrow,” Harry set, giving Ginny a kiss on the forehead. “You should get some rest,” Harry told her. “Mmmm,” she sighed, settling onto her sofa. “You at least get one more day of rest. You won’t have to deal with students until after the Express arrives. My little cherubs will be there first thing in the morning.” “All the more reason for you to get a good night’s sleep.” “Stay here with me, tonight?” she asked. “I know you can’t tomorrow, but since you don’t have to be up anywhere in the morning?” “Sure,” he said, settling on the sofa with her. “It’s been a busy day,” she said. “I know.” “Were you scared?” she asked softly. “When?” “When you found Malfoy?” “No. I didn’t even think. I just did what I do. I was scared after it was over. I was scared that he’d left us to go after you, before someone could warn you,” he said. “And then I was petrified for Remus. I couldn’t even begin to imagine…” Harry squeezed his eyes tightly shut. “I couldn’t loose all of them.” “Harry,” Ginny asked quietly. “Have you ever gone…up there…to see…him?” Harry froze. Ginny could only be referring to Wormtail, locked up in Azkaban, still awaiting the end of his appeals process and his eventual execution. Harry knew which cell, even; he could probably sketch it from memory, as it was designed specifically with the Animagi in mind. He shook his head. “I can’t. The Dementors, you know,” he said by way of an excuse. By now the Dementors had such an effect on Harry that he couldn’t even approach them. “I thought about asking to have him brought down to Headquarters for further questioning, but now that I’m out, I can’t do that anymore. Ron would probably do it, if I asked, but I’m not sure I want to, you know?” Ginny nodded. “It’s probably something I should talk to Dr. Berger about,” he sighed. “Maybe he’d tell me it was good for closure, or something.” Ginny rolled her eyes at him. “You know, I’m starting to catch on to this babble. Is this a good thing, or a bad thing?” she asked. Harry shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I appreciate how supportive you’ve been.” He opened his mouth, thinking to ask her to come with him, but he chickened out. Coward, he told himself. “If it’s helping Harry, I’m all for it, you know that. I may not understand it, but I want you to get better,” Ginny told him. The clock over Ginny’s mantle began to chime. “It’s late,” Harry said, patting Ginny on the knee. “Let’s head for bed.” -- -- -- -- Harry lay awake, staring at the ceiling, while Ginny snored lightly, her head curled onto his chest. He couldn’t sleep. Every sound made him jump, every moving shadow brought him to wakefulness, wand gripped tightly in his hand. Malfoy was still out there, and Harry knew he’d come for Ginny. He’d tried for Hermione, he would most definitely try for Ginny. He knew it. How could he keep her safe? He couldn’t very well lock her in a Gringotts Vault until Malfoy was captured. It was too late to push her away, and he doubted he could even if he had remotely wanted to. He had to keep her safe, though, but how? -- -- -- -- “I was so scared Ron,” Hermione whispered, clinging to him in their darkened bedroom at the Burrow. Tears were running down her face. “I thought he was going to kill me. I couldn’t bear the thought of what that would do to you. And Charlie. I was so scared,” she gave a little sob. Ron stroked her hair, and kissed the top of her head. “But it’s all right now,” he assured her. “You’re safe. Charlie’s safe. I’m here. Harry and Remus are going to be okay. Ginny’s safe,” he told her. “I’m going to catch him,” Ron promised. “And then we won’t have to worry again. Okay?” She nodded, sniffing, still clinging tightly to the Chudley Cannons t-shirt he slept in. “I love you, Ron.” “I love you too, Hermione.”
|