Chapter 4 – The Tragic Fate Of Avid Parkinson

Albertsworth had fallen silent, something of an unusual thing. Lily waited patiently, wondering if her new career as a reporter was about to end before it started. After a while, he closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

"All right," he sighed. "We've been scooped." He opened his eyes, and forced a smile. "It won't be the first time in my—or your—career. We'll just have to do a better job on the followup."

"I'm sorry I didn't get the story," Lily said in a flat tone of voice.

He waved her off with a wave of his large hands. "Never mind that anymore. Just tell me what you know."

"Let's see." She told him about her unsuccessful trip to Parkinson's house, then going to St. Mungo's to investigate the rumors about her health.

"Find anything at the hospital?"

"Only that she had been there several times, but I couldn't learn much more than that." Given the circumstances, Lily did what she often did with her brothers and parents, and no doubt like they often did with her and each other: she only said the absolute minimum amount of truth necessary. It's not yet the right time…

"Okay, then, this is what you need to do now. This was only a prepared statement from the hospital," he said, pointing to the papers. "Your job now is to ask the right people the right questions, and get answers from them."

"What kind of questions?"

"Why did she hide her pregnancy; who the father was; did she take proper care of her child." Lily's eyes opened wide. "You never know what kind of parents people make just from the surface," he said roughly. His eyes then narrowed. "You're not afraid to ask the tough questions, are you, Potter?"

Rapidly regaining her composure, she shook her head emphatically. "If there is something the public needs to know about this tragedy, I'll find out what it is."

"Heh," he grunted. "Find out as much as you can, Miss Potter, and I'll decide what the public needs to know from what you found. Is that clear?"

Although he was smiling, she could feel the coolness radiating from him. "Of course."

"Good. The press conference at noon. Get some answers."

"I'm on it."

There were dozens of reporters crowded near the entrance to St. Mungo's. Burly security guards were trying, without much success, to keep a path clear for patients, to the point that an occasional spark of a jinx flashed, forcing people to stand back. Lily was halfway to the back, straining to peer around some wizard who had decided to wear an old-fashioned pointed cap, which blocked her view.

The chatter quickly died down as Marla Parkinson, flanked by several Healers, came up to the podium. Clearing her throat, she took out a short roll of parchment and began to read: "Witches and wizards of the press, in this difficult time I appeal to your sense of discretion and propriety, and respectfully ask that you refrain from approaching me and other members of my family as we deal with this loss. We shall attempt to answer all your questions today, once and for all."

And say nothing else after. It was a tactic Lily and her family was well-versed in, and based on the indistinct murmurs passing through the assembled reporters, they were none too happy about it. From this side of the mirror, I can see why. Marla pointed her wand at the crowd; a reporter in the front shouted: "When did he die? And what was the cause of death?"

One of the Healers answered in response: "Miss Parkinson's son, Avid, was pronounced dead in the middle of the night yesterday. The cause of death was hypoanima." Several gasps broke out from the audience, but Lily had no idea what that meant. "For those who do not know, that means her baby was born without a soul," she continued, as others reacted in shock. "It's a very rare ailment, a very serious ailment, and when a hypoanimiac infant is born, they appear to be sleeping, but they can never awake, and they die three days after birth."

Despite the terrible import of those words, Lily kept her composure and continued to record her thoughts in her Codex. Another witch boldly asked: "Who was the father?" Now Lily gasped as well. How inappropriate!

In a flat, unemotional tone, Marla Parkinson said, "My fiancée, Arkav Maroudy, is the father."

"Why were you hiding your pregnancy? Did you use Reduccio potion to hide it, and do you think it might have had anything to do with her death?"

Again Lily felt a surge of indignation, but upon thinking about it, she realized it was a legitimate question. "I did. I stopped using it several weeks ago, when I went into seclusion for—personal reasons." Parkinson turned away, as if to clear something from her eye.

"Let me add," another Healer said harshly, "that nothing she did had any effect on the development of her baby. This is one of those maladies that simply is part of the order of things."

The reporters all began shouting questions at once. Lily was one of them, and was surprised when she was permitted to speak. Clearing her throat, she said in a loud voice: "Is this condition contagious? Is there anything which the larger Wizarding community should be concerned about?"

The Chief Healer frowned and emphatically shook his head. "None whatsoever. This was a purely random event, and nothing could be done once the child was born."

Before she could pick another reporter, Lily held up her wand so as to continue speaking. "What about before? Did you do any tests?"

Out of the corner of her eye Lily thought she saw someone start on the stage. She could not tell who it was, as the Healer quickly answered: "Nothing was wrong—she was healthy, then this happened! Next!"

Some other reporters began asking about the family plans that she and her fiancée had, and her future involvement with the conjuredrama. Perfunctorily Lily listened and recorded, but she focused on processing the important stuff said. After a short while, Marla Parkinson suddenly turned and walked away, while the Healers quickly followed after.

"McQueen's got the Quaffle—he's dodging Beckman's Bludger, shoots—it's good!" There was a thunderous roar from the wireless box. "Falmouth goes up on Chudley 150-40!"

"McQueen's got a real gift for flying off-balance with the Quaff," came a familiar voice, "obviously it's an elementary skill, but you'd be surprised how few Chasers continue to develop that skill once they start in the professional leagues. He rotates 90 degrees while flying perpendicular to the Chudley Beaters, always keeping a low profile to make himself a difficult target, then flips over to take the shot. Jordan never knew from which direction McQueen would throw—excellent work!"

"Your Mum has a real gift for commentary," her dad said appreciatively. "Keeping after a Snitch is one thing, but being able to analyze the entire match while it happens—well, that's what made her so good."

"Too bad the Cannons can't hire her to train them up," Lily said, sitting down on a sofa across from her dad. The Chudley Cannons were absolutely terrible last year, ending the season with twenty straight losses, fifteen by a hundred points or more.

"—wait, Fenrick has the Snitch! It's over, Cannons win, 190-150!"

"Amazing, simply amazing! Look at that Death Dive, I've never seen a Seeker go headfirst into the pitch like that. But never mind his shattered broom, or his broken legs; and never mind that it doesn't even count! Tonight, the Cannons go home a winner!"

"For the Wizarding Wireless Network, I'm Samuel Thomas, with Ginny Potter. The final score: Cannons 190, Falmouth 150!"

The box went silent. Her dad was beaming: "Hopefully this year I won't have to listen to Ron moan and curse about the Cannons anymore. Who knows, maybe he'll finally get rid of that ridiculous tuft on his face!"

The reporter's candle lit up in her head. "Is that why he has a beard now?"

"Exactly right," her father said, his green eyes twinkling. "Thought it would bring them good luck, like when they won the English Cup eight years ago. As soon as they win a real match, no one will be happier than your aunt, let me tell you, she positively hates it when he isn't clean-shaven. She's probably shaving it off right now."

That was more than Lily wanted or needed to know about her aunt and uncle. "I don't know, I think it makes him look dignified," she said in jest, having been drawn into the spirit of the conversation.

He cast a wry look at her, and they both started laughing. Suddenly the door opened, and Ginny stepped in.

"Hello, Potter family," she said sleepily. "I'm touched, you didn't have to wait up."

"No one calls a better Quidditch match than you," Lily said enthusiastically.

"What she said," her dad said with a smile as Ginny bent over and kissed him.

"Alright, I'm going to bed. Good night Lily."

"Good night, Mum."

"I'll be up in a while," her dad said. Yawning in assent, Ginny went upstairs.

"You may not want to hear it again, but congratulations on writing your first article," Harry said.

"Thanks, Dad." Her smile faded. "Not exactly the most cheerful subject."

"Definitely not," he agreed.

"This morning, I remember being upset about being given what I thought was a… token assignment. This isn't what I had hoped for."

"Don't feel guilty about it. Things happen, and we just have to respond the best we can. You did great."

"Thanks." A silence fell between them. With a sigh, Lily finally broke it: "What a terrible way to lose your child," she said softly.

Her dad nodded silently, a taut grim look on his face. "Losing your soul… if there's something worse than death, that is it."

Topics like this…and others… her parents and adult relatives had gently but firmly steered conversation away from all her life. All those years she had often resented it, especially her dad's gentle rejoinder that, 'it's something you don't have to worry about until you're an adult.' Now, she was an adult—at least, in more than merely chronological terms.

Enjoy being a kid—it's not always so much fun being a grownup That bit of wisdom had come from her Uncle Ron. She had always resented it, but now…

"Do you know anything about this, hypoanima?"

He was silent, stroking his own light stubble. "There are several ways a wizard can lose his soul. By Dementors, and others. But to be born without one? No, I did not know that was possible."

She looked at him carefully—he had said nothing that she didn't already know from having researched the topic.

"Never ran across a case of it?"

Now he stared at her. He didn't seem angry, but he did seem hesitant. "In my time with the Ministry, the Auror Department has investigated a few deaths of wizard children. They were all tragic and depressing cases, but never unexplained. I'm no Healer, but I think you can be reasonably sure there's nothing suspicious about a death by hypoanima."

It was a rare thing when her dad talked in specifics about his work; he and Lily's other uncles and aunts were masters of obfuscation when it came to 'Wizard business', as Albus and James had scornfully labeled it. Lily was eager to take advantage of the opening, but before she could formulate a question in response, he said, "This is, of course, off the record." He smiled.

A brief anger flared up in her. "I hope you're not joking!"

"Definitely not. Like I said, the truth is very important." He looked very sincere.

Lily relaxed a little. "Well, I've been checking all day, and I've come to the same conclusion you did. It's such a rare, mysterious condition, and normally there's so much shame attached to it." A judgment she had made earlier in the day seemed appropriate, but she couldn't remember it. What was it…Ah! "I am really impressed that she came forward and disclosed it."

"So am I," her dad murmured. When she looked at him quizzically, he said: "Who knows, maybe this will spur efforts to understand it better, learn how to prevent it—since you can't cure it," he said with a grimace.

"I hope so too."

Harry got up and stretched his legs. "I'm so proud of you, Lily. I know you'll do great things as a reporter!"

His voice was so warm, so filled with empathy, it almost made her blush. "Thanks, Dad," she said as she slipped into his embrace. "I'll do my best."

"I know you will." He kissed her on the cheek, then pulled away. "Good night, Lily."

"Night, Dad." A few moments later, Lily herself was in bed.

Drifting into sleep, a strange, ineffable feeling persisted within. It took shape as a peculiar thought that accompanied Lily into her dreams:

…I am no longer the little witch I used to be…

Seeing the byline, 'By Lily Potter', on the lead article in the morning edition of Wizarding Weekly made her feel immensely proud; this one time, she allowed herself to indulge in it. Alas, it only lasted the morning; after lunch, she was hard at work wrapping up her investigation of this story by covering the funeral of Marla Parkinson's son—a somber, quick affair, with surprisingly few members of the press or her family and friends in attendance.

Lily knew now that hypoanima was viewed as a cursed condition, that it would was considered horribly unlucky to be associated with an incident of it in any way, but she was still surprised that such beliefs would actually affect the behavior of so many witches and wizards. Nevertheless, she was in no mind to linger around once the ceremony was over.

Albertsworth was begrudging in his praise: "This is just the beginning, Potter, so keep on your toes." But Lily was keen to the value of actions over words, and he had given for her next assignment a part of the ongoing investigation of irregularities of contract between the Ministry and the Free Association of Goblins at Gringotts. Of course, I now have the pleasant task of interviewing the head of the Goblin's Association, and trying to investigate the goblins' side of the deals. For a young witch like herself to probe into goblin affairs, even in the current era of improving Wizard-Goblin relations, was a delicate matter in the best of circumstances.

Albertsworth tried to reassure her: "You have an advantage, Lily: the Potter name goes far in goblin circles."

His words did much to negate the positive feelings she had developed towards him. "Well then, why don't I just ask my father to talk to them, he's got nothing better to do," she said acerbically.

To her mild surprise Albertsworth was apologetic. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be patronizing. I understand how you feel, but what I said was completely true, and there's no use in pretending otherwise. As you know, your father often negotiated with leaders of the goblin community on behalf of the Ministry. Those kinds of facts matter for goblins—it would be an insult not to acknowledge it."

In fact she did not know that about her dad. He's a complicated guy, even though he always pretends otherwise. Lily did not want to belabor the point. "All right, what's the background?"

He scooped up a large number of scrolls and gave them to her. "Potter's daughter or not, you have to get familiar with goblin custom—it's not required, but that's because they implicitly think no wizard respects them anyway, so they assume the worst. Put your best foot forward, Lily, and you'll find they'll open a lot of doors."

"I'll be there to walk in," she said dryly. Burdened with the armfuls of scrolls, she left the office.

As dusk turned to evening, Lily fought the urge to doze off, a losing proposition when faced with thousands of inches of densely-scribbled parchment detailing every aspect of goblin custom for the past five hundred years. Almost everyone else had left for the night, leaving Lily to burn the candles. Such was her concentration that at first she didn't feel the tingle in her robe.

"What?" she said aloud, looking down at herself. As she began frisking, she felt the tingle again—and now all hint of lethargy vanished.

Now? Trembling, she reached into her right inner pocket. Pulling out an old Knut, some tiny letters appeared:

Alastor Field
right now

She didn't say why. But a message sent this way was a matter of blood—work would have to wait. Carefully she put all her work away, then drew her wand. Trying to keep her knees from shaking, she stepped outside. Wait—not in the open. Hurriedly she walked down Diagon Alley, looking for a deserted back-alley. Upon finding one, she wasted no time and Apparated away.

As she touched down, an arm reached out and grabbed her. Crying out, she twisted and tried to break free, but it was too late—they were Apparating away again, and then a second time if she wasn't mistaken. Moments later they both landed on solid ground.

Lily was dizzy and nauseous; she stumbled to the cold dark ground. Scrambling, she got up to her feet and pointed her wand.

"Don't worry, Lily, it's just me."

Lily's growing sense of panic vanished, replaced by a rapidly-growing exasperation and anger. "You'd better have a good explanation for this!" she said with barely-controlled fury.

"I do," Rose said. "Oh, I almost forgot! Muffliato!" Wand in hand, she raised it and pointed it to the sky; flashes of light erupted around them. When she was done, the scene was unnaturally quiet.

"Afraid someone will find out we're brewing love potions for Agnes O'Malley again?" Lily said sarcastically; post-Hogwarts, she knew that her cousin would not have used their special secret communications coin on a lark.

"I think we have much bigger problems than that," Rose said darkly.

Her anxiousness was infectious. "What's wrong?"

Rose seemed agitated, almost frantic. "It's all a lie! Everything!"

"What? You mean Parkinson?"

Rose shook her head frantically. "I think—I mean, I saw, I'm sure—" She was babbling.

Lily spoke forcefully" "Rose, calm down, and start from the beginning."

Rose nodded, took a deep breath, and said: "The easiest way to explain is this: Marla Parkinson's child did not die."

"What?" Thinking ahead, trying to stay on top of the situation, Lily had expected Rose to tell her that the death was due to foul play. She had not expected to hear this.

Rose was breathing rapidly, trying to calm herself down. As she became still, Lily's own anxiousness rose. Finally, Rose began to speak: "When I told you she was going to have a baby, what I meant to say was, that she was going to announce it to the world - her baby had already been born."

Lily was confused. "So what happened?"

"She's been in our hospital with her son for over a week. The hospital staff kept it very quiet, we did everything to treat him—"

Pieces of the puzzle suddenly fell into place in Lily's mind. Exictedly, she said: "That was your job, making that potion, right?"

"Right. But I never got a chance to see the boy myself. Anyway, not long after you left St. Mungo's, they told us he had died, that they were going to announce it tomorrow. I went back to my normal rounds, and deep in the night is when I saw him."

"What exactly did you see?"

"The hospital was almost deserted, I was in the basement getting some herbs, when I saw the Chief Healer with Parkinson, and an infant. I followed them outside, and watched them hand the infant to another wizard, who vanished."

Lily carefully considered her words. "Did they say anything?"

Rose nodded. "Outside, the Chief Healer said, 'I'm sorry we couldn't do anything to help your son.'" She paused. "He then said to Parkinson, 'Are you sure you want to do this?'"

"And Parkinson said yes?"

She nodded. "What was weird was, she didn't seem upset. If anything, I'd say she was… relieved."

"Relieved to give away her child?"

"I know, it's completely bizarre."

"You should go to the Ministry and report this—your mother could get the whole Magical Law Enforcement Department on this in an instant! Or if you don't want to blow the horn, I can tell my dad—"

"—The Ministry is involved."

Now Lily was shocked into silence. Rose continued: "Not long after the first wizard Disapparated away, another witch Apparated in. The Healer told her, 'everything is taken care of,' and the witch said, 'Good. The Ministry appreciates your discretion. We'll handle it from here."

"A coverup," Lily blurted out without thinking. "No, wait, maybe an investigation?"

"Maybe, but if they're willing to pretend a child died to cover the truth, I think it's wise we don't trust anyone."

"Not even our parents?"

"Not even them. You're my only hope, Ferret."

Rose's use of her Hogwarts nickname had a jolting effect. "Me? What can I do?"

"You're the reporter. It would be too dangerous for me to get involved any further. Only you can safely dig until the truth is revealed."

Lily trusted Rose implicitly, so she made a split decision—one she knew she would regret. "Where do I begin? Do you know the identity of anyone involved?"

Rose smiled wolfishly. "I have something much better—I can tell you how to find the child."

Lily was thunderstruck. "How can you do that?"

"By the Birth Trace. Healers place one on all infants that are born in St. Mungo's, so they cannot be switched by accident—or design. It identifies children even if they've been Transfigured or Polyjuice Potioned, and provides their location at all times."

"Surely they would have removed it before taking the infant away."

"They couldn't—once you end the Birth Trace the Birthing Registry officially records the infant's birth in the Wizard Census. That means Marla Parkinson knows where he is, but I'm guessing she doesn't care now."

"Did you put the Trace on?"

"No, another Healer did, who tipped me to it. He's even more scared than I am, so I convinced him I would take care of it and leave him anonymous." Rose began looking around. "I have to go soon. Here is the incantation for invoking the Trace." She handed her a scrap of parchment.

Lily nodded. "I'll get on it right away."

Rose looked at her cousin, then she backed away. "I can't get involved anymore. They might Obliviate me at any time." Lily started to protest, but Rose cut her off. "I trust you, Lily. Find the truth, and let the world know."

"I will. Thanks, again."

"Bye, Ferret." Rose Disapparated. The outside world began to leak in; in a moment, Lily would become visible, so she departed as well.

In a deserted field far from any wizard settlement, Lily looked at the complicated writings on the parchment, struggling to make the correct sound. When she felt confident, she raised her wand and said, "Neonata Revelia." A moment later, an image of a baby swarmed into her vision:

…he was sleeping in a crib… in a dark house…on a deserted street…in a small town…385 Lourdon Circle, Eatonville…

"A Muggle town?" Lily was disconcerted; this would complicate things. The Statute of Wizard Secrecy forbids witches and wizards from performing magic in front of Muggles…

"…but they can't see you performing magic in front of them if they can't see you in the first place," Lily said with a grin—a lifetime of growing up with her aunt had taught her a great deal about the law—and how to find loopholes. Carefully, she performed an Invisibility Spell on every part of her body, clothes and possessions. If they see me at all, I won't have any excuse-it will be off to Eremos. Satisfied, she Apparated to the town of Eatonville.

What strange houses, Lily mused. It was almost dawn, and after a bit of walking she had found the right one. "Homunem revelio," she said softly. A man, a woman, and a child. "Now what?"

Her choice was very difficult—it would be absolutely illegal for her to enter their house. But the Trace had worked; the child was inside. Something very wrong is happening. Were these Muggles involved in the wrongdoing at St. Mungo's? Sometimes we must do what we must, for the greater good. As long as you're willing to accept responsibility for your actions…

Pop! She had Apparated inside to the room where the baby was. Removing the Invisibility spell, she looked down at the tiny infant, swaddled in white cloth, lying in the crib. He was awake, and wheezing. Lily's heart warmed to him. It can't hurt to make him feel a little more comfortable. She took out her wand and pointed it at him. "Enervate," she said softly. There was a slight hum, but the baby continued to wheeze. That should have worked…

Lily bent down and examined him closely. Other than his small size and soft wheezing, he seemed alright. Daring, she reached over to touch him—he was very warm. She kept her hand on him, becoming more and more curious.

The baby started to cry. "Shhh, I'm sorry." Then she heard a door opening inside the house; a woman's voice said, "I'm coming Gabriel, don't cry, Mommy's coming."

Time to leave.

Sitting in an open field outside of Eatonville, watching Muggles go to and fro, Lily was wracked with questions, but answers did not come.

Why did Marla Parkinson abandon her son? Surely not to avoid a scandalous birth; pretending that her child was dead, then giving him away—to Muggles, no less—with the help of St. Mungo's and the Ministry of Magic? That's a dozen laws being broken right there.

There were other mysteries—what of the magical quill at Hogwarts, the one that recorded magical births? Surely it would have revealed to the world Parkinson's child. Maybe that's how the Ministry knew about it, but then why would they agree to help cover it up?

Was there something wrong with the child? Lily didn't have much experience with infants, but there did not seem to be anything magically wrong with the child. Wait, that's not quite right, there was something…odd, about Avid, or I guess, 'Gabriel' now. It was an ineffable thing; if she had to put it into words, it was almost as if the baby wasn't entirely… real?

You're making no sense, she muttered to herself. Frustrated, Lily decided to start over from the beginning. Carefully checking to see that the area was empty, she opened her Codex and looked at all the information magically entered about Marla Parkinson. She's a little older than I am, which might mean her parents…

Lily looked at the information about her father—then changed her mind. Her mother, Penseé Parkinson. Reading her biography, she was not surprised to learn that her mother was a contemporary of her father at Hogwarts. 'Pansy' Parkinson in those days. Lily rolled her eyes. Let's see—Slytherin House, just like her husband, her daughter, and future son-in-law to be. Lily stared at a picture of Pansy with a coldish blonde boy. Of course, just like Scorpius—this must be Draco Malfoy—

—a sudden burst of insight hit her. The more she thought about it, the more incredible the ramifications. Somehow, she knew she was right, but what it all meant—she had no idea.

I'm going to need help. Right now.

As she gathered her things and prepared to go back to The Wizarding Weekly, Lily carefully considered how to phrase the question-the most important question she had ever asked in her entire life. Once she did so, she took out her Protean-Charmed coin and carefully marked it up:

Parkinson's son was born a Squib
Was it natural, or otherwise?