A LITTLE STRAY
William and Mairead Potter had resigned themselves to a life without a child, trying to lose their pain in their travels as a diplomatic couple. But one evening in Paris, their lives would change forever when they encountered a hurting little boy…
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of Harry Potter or its people, places and ideas.
Prologue
May 10, 1930:
17-year-old Mairead Maguire laughed and twirled around, her sparkling green eyes watching her dress twirl with her in the mirror. The day had finally arrived: she was finally getting married to the love of her life.
Her mother and father and brothers were still complaining about the fact William was English, and not Irish, like a good Irish Purist like her ought to have married. But they couldn't deny that William was a good man, even if he was English, and he would be well able to provide for Mairead and their children, when they came. She and William had decided long ago that they wanted children right away, while they were still young. To imagine, a year from now, she could be holding her first child…
May 10, 1932:
"Hush, darling," 24-year-old William Potter soothed softly, holding his wife close as she sobbed. "We'll just have to keep trying, Mairead. It'll happen. It'll happen."
"But it was supposed to work this time, William," 19-year-old Mairead cried, burying her face into his shoulder. "They told me it would work."
"Then we'll go back to the Healers. We'll have them run some more tests, darling. Maybe they missed something." William kissed her. "My love for you is not conditional upon your having a baby, Mairead."
"But I just want a child," Mairead cried. "I even took the potion, and you know I don't take potions at all. Why is it too much to ask for one little baby?"
"I know, darling, I know," William murmured.
May 10, 1933:
"Now, Mrs. Potter, just a few quick questions for you," Healer Delgado said. "How long have you been having these physical symptoms – the fatigue, the nausea, the dizziness?"
20-year-old Mairead bit her lip, one hand clinging tightly to her 25-year-old husband's. "About a year or two, I'd say, maybe even longer. Some days are worse than others."
"And you didn't report any of that to your first Healer?" Delgado asked.
"Well, no, I thought it was colds, flus, nothing serious," Mairead replied. "A couple of times, I thought it might be pregnancy…" she trailed off and William's hand tightened around hers.
"Have you experienced any sort of magical symptoms – loss of skills, loss of ability?"
Mairead thought for a moment. "It's been taking a little longer than usual to do anything magically," she offered.
"Mm-hmm," Delgado said, marking something down on the chart. "Mrs. Potter, you're of Irish descent, is that correct?"
"Yes, I was born and raised in Ayn's Cove," Mairead said. "Is that pertinent to something?"
"Is your family pureblood?"
"Yes, Irish Purists," Mairead replied. "What's this all about?"
"You don't happen to know if there's a history of Ceara's Malady in your family, do you?"
Mairead paled. "You don't think I have Ceara's?" she asked hoarsely.
"You're displaying textbook symptoms, Mrs. Potter. Ceara's Malady strikes primarily female Irish purebloods, and it usually surfaces around the late teens, early twenties. I'm sorry to have to tell you, but women who are stricken with Ceara's Malady…"
"Can't have children," Mairead finished dully. "Not to mention a reduced lifespan." She felt William's hand tighten around hers.
"Normally, that is the case. Can't explain why, but I've seen women live sixty years after being diagnosed and I've seen women who barely made sixty days after diagnosis. It's hard to say what determines your lifespan."