The first four books happened exactly and most of OotF happened with difference at the end. But HBP and DH never happened.
Main Couples: HG/RW, SB/RL, SS/DM, NL/LL, GW/BZ, OW/AG, LJ/KB, BW/OC, CW/AS, PW/PC, GW/FW, SF/JF-F, DT/HA, PP/TB, TN/SB
A/N: So this is part two, when Harry gets diagnosed. It starts off the same as the original story then turns slowly into mine. This is Unbetad. Read if you dare.
Prologue- part two
Nearly five years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their nephew on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys´ front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed.
Five years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-coloured bonnets but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign at all that another boy lived in the house, too.
Yet Harry Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. His aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.
"Up! Get up! Now!"
Harry woke with a start. His aunt rapped on the door again.
"Up!" she screeched. Harry heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. He rolled onto his back and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it.
He had a funny feeling he´d had the same dream before.
His aunt was back outside the door.
"Are you up yet?" she demanded.
"Nearly," said Harry.
"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don´t you dare let it burn. "
Harry groaned, which turned into a hacking cough.
"What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door.
"Nothing, nothing…"
Harry got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his bed, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Harry was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where he slept.
When he was dressed he went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath a load of present that Harry knew were for his cousin to "Reward him for his excellent school grades and good behaviour." It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dudley´s favourite punching bag was Harry, but he couldn´t often catch him. Harry didn´t look it, but he was very fast.
Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age. He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he had to wear were old clothes of Dudley´s, and Dudley was about four times bigger than he was. Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose. The only thing Harry liked about his own appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. He had had it as long as he could remember, and the first question he could ever remember asking his aunt Petunia was how he had gotten it.
"In the car crash when your parents died," she said. "And don´t ask questions."
Don´t ask questions - that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.
Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon.
"Comb your hair!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting.
About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry needed a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way- all over the place.
Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel- Harry often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.
Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn´t much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell. "twenty-five," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That´s less than my birthday."
"Darling, you haven´t counted Auntie Marge´s present, see, it´s here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy."
"All right, twenty-six then," said Dudley, going red in the face. Harry, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over.
Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we´ll buy you another two presents while we´re out today. How´s that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right?"
Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work.
Finally he said slowly, "So I´ll have twenty… twenty …"
"Twenty-eight, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.
"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."
Uncle Vernon chuckled.
"Little tyke wants his money´s worth, just like his father. ´Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley´s hair.
At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.
"That was the doctor's surgery," she said. "They've got his," She jerked her head in Harry´s direction, "test results back. They told me that they need to see us as soon as possible. I made an appointment for this afternoon."
Dudley´s mouth fell open in horror and Harry´s heart gave a leap. Harry had been sick almost constantly for three months now. It had started nearly a year ago actually, with him having on and off chest infections. He was persistent coughing and wheezing and usually coughed up mucus. The first doctor, after his sixth visit in a year last month, had decided to do some tests.
Now the tests had come back he was both nervous and relieved. Nervous because of how quickly they had to see the results and relieved because he would, hopefully, find out what was wrong.
"Why would they want to talk to us so urgently?" asked Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he´d planned this.
"Don't know. We'll find out later."
"More importantly, what are we going to do about today? I don't want to ruin Dudley's day. We had it all planed out."
"We could phone Marge and she could take him," Uncle Vernon suggested.
"Don´t be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy."
The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn´t there or rather, as thought he was something very nasty that couldn´t understand them, like a slug.
"What about what´s –her-name, your friend Yvonne?"
"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.
"I suppose you could take him while I and Dudley split off for afternoon tea, then dump him back at Mrs Figg's and join us afterward."
"I suppose I'll have to." Aunt Petunia looked as though she´d just swallowed a lemon.
Dudley began to cry loudly. "Dinky Duddydums, don´t cry. Mummy won´t let him spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.
"I… don´t… want… you… t-t-to go… w-with him!" Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "He always sp-spoils everything!"
"I'm sorry, Dinky Duddydums, if there was any way to get out of it I would."
After ten minutes, a lot of tears and Aunt Petunia reassuring Dudley, things finely quietened down and Harry was rushed over to Mrs Figg's house.
A few hours later Harry was waiting in the doctors surgery waiting room, enviously watching some other children played in the play area. Aunt Petunia had forbidden him from going and joining in. They were just about to start a new game when Harry's name was called and Aunt Petunia pulled him from the room.
Doctor Frank was a nice doctor, who always gave Harry a sweet and a smile whenever he saw him. Now though he was not smiling. He looked grave as he asked them to sit. "Mrs Dursley, your son's-"
"Nephew," his Aunt corrected. "And can we make this quick, I had plans today."
"Your nephew's results came back positive on two counts," the man continued. "The first count was for a developing virus than can be taken care of with a simple vaccine."
"That's good," his Aunt cut in. "Just give him the vaccine, then we can be gone." She turned to Harry. "Role up your sleeve so he can give you the injection." Harry did so and Doctor Frank motioned for his nurse to get the vaccine.
"I'm afraid it will not be that simple. Harry also test positive for cystic fibrosis." Seeing her confused he went on to explain about the decease and what it entailed. "It will also shorten his life span. He would be lucky to reach the age of 30," he concluded.
"Will this treatment cost much? Is there any way to get rid of it?" Petunia fired off question after question, only waiting long enough for the doctor to answer before asking another. Meanwhile, the nurse had come in and vaccinated Harry and he sat watching the proceedings through curios eyes.
Finally, when his Aunt had exhausted her questions, he asked, "What wrong with me, Mr Frank?"
"Your very ill, Harry," he explained, kneeling down to look him in the eye. "You have some horrid gunk in your lungs, which are here" he pointed to Harry's chest "and you use them to breathe. This gunk makes it hard to breathe and give you coughs a lot. It also means you can ill more easily and that you will have to see a special doctor once a week to make you feel better. He will explain it better than me, okay?" Harry nodded. Doctor Frank turned to his Aunt and gave her some pieces of paper before he they left.
Just as he was leaving the building he felt his chest tighten and began to cough bringing up horrid gunk. His Aunt watched this without comment before pulling him up and along to the house, all the while muttering about no good freaks who couldn't even use their freakiness to stay healthy.
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It was nearly a month later when they actually found the time or the effort to take Harry to see the specialist. This time his uncle dropped them off at a big, white building with a big sign announcing the name of the hospital, Redhill. His Aunt dragged him inside and along endless corridors before she pushed him down into a chair, told him if he moved an inch she would flay him alive and went to give his name to the receptionist.
Looking around Harry noticed there where several other children but a lot more grown-ups. A small wail caught his attention and he turned to see a small room with the door open. Shifting a little, he saw a woman trying to calm a small baby while a little girl watched. He was about to look away when the girl turned and spotted him watching. She smiled, which grew wider when he returned the smile.
His aunt returned just then and he switched his focus to her as she pulled him off the chair and told him to follow her. He looked back in time to see the small girl wave and happily waved back. He turned around and scuttled after his Aunt as she walked down the corridor.
She stopped outside a black door with the number 11 in bold above. "Get in!" she barked as she opened the door. Harry scampered inside. "Sit," she pointed to a chair against the wall as she walked in. the doctor, a pretty, black haired, black skinned woman, looked shocked at the way she addressed him but soon recovered her composure. Aunt petunia sat in the chair opposite her.
"Mr Potter, Mrs Potter-" she began, only to be cut off by petunia's clipped voice.
"Mrs Dursley," she corrected. Seeing the doctor's blank look, she explained, "My name is Mrs Dursley. The boy is my nephew; his parents died and left him in my care. Horrid boy," she added as an afterthought.
"Mrs Dursley," she corrected, and then seemed to forget that Harry was there. "My name is doctor Riddlesonge. I'm to be Mr Potter's paediatrician specialist on his case. I have to admit, however, that it is unique. The test came back positive, leading to an automatic referral, but barley any of his symptoms match those of cystic fibrosis. I would like to run the test again and in the meantime start his treatment."
What followed was one of the most boring conversations Harry had ever listened to and most of the language went way over his head. Within minutes he was bored and the conversation was over an hour long before the doctor seemed to remember he was there.
"Mr Potter, can I call you Harry?" she asked. When Harry nodded she continued to say, "Harry, did Doctor Frank explain what's wrong with you?" again he shook his head. "You have a condition called cystic fibrosis. That means that you have all this horrible gunk in you lung's called mucus that builds up, making it hard for you to breath. You have to take medicine to keep it from building up too much and come in to the hospital from time to time to have it taken away. Do you understand?" he nodded. A strange look graced her face and she asked, "Harry, can you talk?"
She watched him glance at his Aunt before whispering, "Yes, but I'm not allowed to talk unless Aunt Petunia say's I can."
Doctor Riddlesonge nodded to show she understood. "Do you have any questions, Harry?"
With another glance at his Aunt he asked, fumbling over the words, "How did I get cystrick fibbrosis?"
"Do you know what genetic disorders are?"
"He's six and a half, how's he supposed to know that?" his Aunt snapped.
"Okay, every person is made up of lots of little things called cells. Inside every cell of each living thing are sets of instructions called genes. The genes provide the instructions on what is the plant or animal, what it looks like, how it is to survive, and how it will interact with its surrounding environment. The genes are strung together in long stands of material called DNA and these long strands are called chromosomes. Most living things have pairs of chromosomes, one from each parent.
"In your case, Harry, each of your parents gave you a bed gene that didn't do what it was supposed to. Neither of your parents needs to have the gene, although if you look back in both family trees you will find that they have had a blood relative with the disorder. This creates the wrong gene and passes it on until a matching gene is introduced in the baby. They could have four kids, however, and odds are that only one of them would have the decease. We say this is a one in four chance of a child who's both parents carry the gene of getting the disease. Okay? Do you understand?"
Harry nodded, smiling. "If that is all, we must be going. I have other appointments and my own son to get home to," his Aunt interrupted.
"Yes, of course, sorry," Doctor Riddlesonge said, flustered. "I just need a nurse to take a test sample and to write out Harry's prescriptions, then you can go." She picked up the phone on the desk next to her and without dialling said, "Could you send in nurse D'Lacey with the test kit please? Thank you." She replaced the receiver and turned her chair into the desk. She pulled out several green pieces of paper and began to write on each one. A moment later and a nice looking woman with blue highlighted hair came in.
Harry stared. "Your hair," he blurted, causing his Aunt's lips to thin and the nurse to laugh.
"Don't worry dearie, it's meant to look like this. I coloured it this colour. Now then open your shirt for me so I can get some sweat on this pad." Harry did so and she swiped a cotton pad across his chest. "All done!" she chirped, placing the pad into a container. She then tottered out of the room at the same time as Doctor Riddlesonge turned around and handed his Aunt the papers she had been writing on.
"These need to be administered three times a day," she said, pointing to two pieces. "This one needs to be administered once a month and this one once every fortnight. The packets will contain further instructions. I'll see you in two months, Mrs Dursley, Harry."