Prodigy
By: ChipmonkOnSpeed
Happiness Is Contagious. . . And Possibly Deadly
--
James and Tony entered the building with subterfuge in mind. James was trying to find a way to be in exactly the right spot at the right time, without getting the magical authorities called. The last time that had happened, it had not been pretty. James had blamed everything on Andron and run away. He felt no shame.
Gibbs of the past came into view, so James pushed Tony behind a fake palm tree. Tony gave him a look. "I'm flattered that you would think I'm so thin. . ."
"There's a charm around us. We're behind the tree because I wanted to push you."
"Oh, so first I'm gay, now I'm a punching bag?"
"I didn't punch you. Had I done so, you would be thinking you're a six year old girl," James said.
"Why do you want to emasculate me?" Tony asked. James rolled his eyes and sighed.
"Because I have a crush on you, DiNozzo."
"Really?"
"Ew no. Are you that desperate? Because I'm not."
They continued through the building, and because they couldn't use the elevator, they had to sneak up the stairs. Tony was huffing by the third floor.
"Are you quite all right? Or do you sit at a desk all day? Cut the calories, DiNozzo," James said. "Or do a sit up once in a while."
Before Tony could reply, they found two people making out on the fourth floor landing. Tony shoved his fist in his mouth to avoid alerting them by bursting into a fit of un-Tony-like giggles. On the next landing, the senior field agent started laughing.
"Palmer and Lee? Oh my god, I can't wait to tell Probie!" James rolled his eyes and pushed open a door to the floor they needed. The area was clear enough, so James walked through the entry. A few agents walked by, but none noticed them.
"We need to be in the bullpen in ten minutes. Which means, DiNozzo, that you have to follow my lead. We have to act like we had been standing there the whole time. Do you understand?" James demanded. When he turned to see Tony staring at a female agent, he sent a stinging hex at his arm.
"Ow!" Tony yelped, rubbing his upper arm frantically.
"Are you trying to single-handedly destroy the world?" snapped James. "Listen to me for twelve seconds here."
James spent four minutes explaining to Tony exactly how to look natural after they got to the bullpen. "What?"
The man didn't exactly get it.
"As soon as we go back in time, I'm going to take the invisibility charm off of us. You have to act as if nothing has happened between you first grabbing my wrist, and the moment we become visible. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Liar."
"Yes."
Slipping into the bullpen with the intent of not bumping anything, James barely avoided running into Ziva, who stood suddenly. He raised five fingers at Tony. When the younger Tony and James disappeared, the older James and Tony were in place.
"What was that?" Ziva demanded.
"What was what?"
"That?"
"That what?"
"That!"
"I fail to see what you are speaking of," James said.
"You are impossible."
"I'm a man. That's how we're programmed."
James turned to find a young woman, perhaps in her twenties, standing near them. She was wearing a white button-up shirt and black work pants. Her dark hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail, and rectangular glasses rested on her nose.
"James Potter?"
"Still alive," James said absently. He was looking at her hand; in it was a white envelope.
"You've been served," she said, handing him the envelope. She walked away to the elevator.
James opened the envelope and read it. He was being subpoenaed as a witness for the prosecution in the case relating to Lindsey's kidnapping. Tony, who had read it over his shoulder, let out a low whistle.
"Whoa."
--
Three days later found James in a witness chair in New York City. The prosecution was asking him questions that only apeared to be easy. "Where were you before the incident involving the defendant?"
James sat in the witness chair, staring at ADA Novak. "I can not answer that question."
"Are you attempting to commit perjury?" the woman demanded. She sounded pissed that her own witness was not cooperating.
"I am attempting to not commit perjury. If I give you an answer, it will have to be a lie. By law, there are many things I am not allowed to reveal."
"Oh, yes. You work for the Special Forces," Novak said.
The trial continued when the defence attorney questioned him. "Special Forces, hmm? Sounds like it involves Nazi SS activities. Tell me, Mr. Potter, you're not into that kind of stuff, are you?"
"I'll pretend you didn't just say that."
"Have I struck a nerve?" taunted the attorney.
The judge attempted to say something, but James spoke first. "My grandfather fought in World War Two. He was captured and tortured by the SS. I am slightly offended that you would compare me to them, yes," James said. He stared at the man until he turned away. James felt no guilt in using guilt to sway the jury. Of course, Dumbledore had been captured by SS Wizards. . .
"Your grandfather must be fairly old. You're only seventeen."
"My grandparents waited a long time. You're going to have to explain the relevance of this line of questioning."
"Background information. Now, you… appeared in Las Vegas, bullied your way onto a flight to New York, and proceeded to jump off a building?"
"Just another day in the life of me, yes."
"Were you drunk?"
"Excuse me?"
"It's been noted several times that you drink almost without pause. I ask you again- Were you drinking when you were 'abducted' by this man?" the man suddenly roared.
"Objection! Badgering the witness!" Novak exclaimed.
"Over-ruled. Answer the question," the Judge ordered.
"No, I had not been drinking," James said. He gave Eliot Stabler a subtle look.
"We have reports that you were acting drunk, yelling on a phone, and smelled like a bar," the attorney said.
"The suspect has a tendency to look for intoxicated victims. That was easily taken care of. Spilled some vodka on my shirt, and walked unsteadily. I take my work very seriously."
"Why did Detective Stabler give you money before you disappeared for an hour?"
"I won a bet. I wanted my money before I ended up in a hospital and eventually had to leave... again. When I left, it was to change clothes and to retrieve the alcohol to pour on those clothes," James said. He knew the lie was absurd; it had to be- Andron had thought it up.
"I see." The interrogation continued until the courtroom door burst open.
"Apologies, your honour. James Potter has an urgent call from Seattle, a Doctor Gregory House."
"Greg House wouldn't call me," James said.
"He is, sir."
"Then someone is either dying or dead," James muttered.
"How important is the call?" the judge asked the clerk.
"The Doctor said that a world famous oncologist is days away from death," the nervous clerk said.
"I'll take the call later," James said. The attorney raised an eyebrow at him. "Gregory House is a world famous diagnostician. He can handle things until this trial is over. Wilson won't die in the next twenty minutes."
"Listen, you inconsequential maggot, I need you in this hospital twelve minutes ago!" House's distinct voice boomed. The clerk's eyes widened, and he looked down at the phone in his hand,
"I guess it was on speaker?"
James heard the Judge let out a sigh. "Are there anymore questions for the witness?"
"The defence rests, your honour."
"You may go, Mr. Potter."
--
James walked into Hogwarts, killing time before he was expected in Seattle. No meal was being served, so James had to look at his watch to know the time. He thought he could get in a few minutes of werewolf research, at least, before he had to leave. Cruel as life could be, an owl intercepted him before he made it to his room.
His grandfather requested his presence in his office. James grumbled and began the trek to the hidden administrative centre. When he reached the gargoyle, he realized he had no clue as to what the password was. 'Shake it like a polaroid picture' popped into his head, but he remembered that was the password to the hidden files on Andron's computer. And the password to his porn accounts. Go figure.
James, fed up with trying to think of Dumbledore's password and only coming up with Andron's, climbed passed the gargoyle with a growl. When he got to the door, he threw it open.
"I hate this wretched place," he said. Dumbledore looked up at him from a book and raised an eyebrow. James pointed at him from the doorway. "No, don't even look at me like that. This damned castle is inefficient. If I had to stay here all the time, I would commit suicide. Or patricide. I haven't yet decided," James said. Dumbledore rolled his eyes and motioned for him to sit down.
"Now," he said, setting his book down on the desk, "Minerva seems to think you and your friend hate her." He raised an eyebrow, and James stared at him.
"That wasn't a question, old man. Therefore, it does not invite a response," James said.
"Why do you hate my wife?" Dumbledore asked bluntly.
"I don't."
"Then why-"
"I don't hate her, but I don't have any strong like for her, either. She's never been anything but cold and indifferent to me. I've never had time to worry much about it." James' cell phone began to ring. He looked at the screen and saw House's name. He thought for twelve seconds, before he declined the call.
"So you have no negative feelings for Minerva?" Albus asked.
"And yet no positive feelings. We call something like that neutral-" His phone rang again. Again, it was House. He declined the call once more. "This man knows I can't be there in less than eight hours. It's been... two. Ridiculous. I told him that his friend wasn't going to die immediately."
"Who's not going to die?"
"Some guy in Seattle. Was there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?" James asked.
"How far have you gotten on the cure?"
"Pretty damn far," James said. "We're close. Very close. I once wrote a thesis on an obscure branch of biochemistry. It was thirty five pages long. By the tenth page, I not only wanted to go on a killing spree, but I wanted to burn every building that facilitates biochemistry in the world. By the thirty second page, I loved biochemistry more than anything. Now, here's the comparison. Let's just say that I'm on page twenty seven of the cure. For the love of. . . ."
James answered the phone and told House that he would be there. "That's all I had to ask. I don't wish to hold you up any longer."
James stood up and began to walk out of the office. He stopped, and spoke without turning around. "Get more sleep. You're setting yourself up to collapse from exhaustion."
"How would-"
"You're using magic to cover the black marks under your eyes. You're reading a book that not even god could be interested in. You asked to talk to me, so you would know if I hated your wife. You had to get that off your mind. You've had six cups of tea in the last three hours, staying awake until I got here. You haven't even been to your bedroom in two days."
"Now how would you-"
"You've gotten several floo calls both nights," James answered. "Ambient magic of the transfer is left in the air for several days. See you later, old man."
Albus watched his grandson go, wondering just how easily James could use his extraordinary gifts for the Dark side.
--
James walked into the hospital and asked after House. The man was, apparently, in his office. James walked down the long hall, and came to the glass wall office. The curtains were pulled over but not closed. Opened the door and walked through the curtains.
"House," James said, "explain to me why I saw Wilson walking through the hospital."
House looked up from his computer and raised his eyebrows. "Because nobody but me believes he's sick."
"You called me out of court… said the man was dying… Are you kidding? I travelled across the country because you think your friend is sick?" demanded James. House shrugged as he stood up. He grabbed his cane off the edge of the desk and limped past James.
"I am a diagnostician. I diagnosed him."
"What does he have?" inquired James. He followed the egotistical doctor into a connecting room. The room was open and bright, with a long table surrounded by chairs, and a dry-erase board off to the side. Three doctors James had never seen; two men and a woman.
"Ridiculously Smart Kid, this is Thirteen, Kutner, and Taub. Thirteen, Kutner, Taub, this is Ridiculously Smart Kid," House said by way of introduction.
James shook each of their hands, and got their individual names at the same time. James gave his own, not wanting anybody to call him that horrid name. Thirteen was a woman who appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties, with long brown hair. Kutner seemed the same age, with Black hair and friendly brown eyes. Taub was a short little man with dark hair and a sly smile in his early forties.
"So, House, who is this?" Kutner asked.
"This is James Potter. He was a patient of mine months ago," House answered. He seemed preoccupied as he stared at the blank whiteboard.
"What happened?" Thirteen asked James.
"He had a wicked heart attack, and no one could figure out why," House replied. Silence reigned for a moment.
"Well," Taub said, "why did he have a heart attack?"
"I don't know."
"Oh. Have we gotten a case, then?" Thirteen asked.
"Not in the traditional sense. You three, go work in the clinic. Bye," House said detachedly. Kutner raised an eyebrow.
"You're not still on about Wilson, are you? Why are we working in the clinic?"
"Plausible deniability," James said. "It is a good idea."
"He's right," Thirteen said. She began to head for the door. "Cuddy can't fire us this way." They left, and House stared after them for several seconds after they were out of sight. He then looked at James.
"Come with me," House commanded. He moved out of the room as quick as a man missing thigh muscle could move. He was practically running. James lengthened his stride just to keep up.
"Where are we going?"
James was caught off guard as House shoved him into the MRI room moments later. "Good lord, House. Did you even check if this was being used? That machine there… that's a giant magnet. Were it on, I would be dead- or worse; crippled."
"I'm stung," deadpanned House. "I checked the schedule already. I need the privacy. Cuddy said I can't pursue the issue. Wilson doesn't believe me, but I know he's sick."
"Why am I here?"
"The last time you were here, a girl got better after you saw her twice. You did something. I won't ask what it was, but it worked," House said. He turned to look at the machine in the middle of the room. "Wilson doesn't trust me, since I dosed his coffee with amphetamines. But I know he's sick."
"What are his symptoms?" James wearily asked.
House rattled off a list of rather inane 'symptoms'. James hopped on the MRI machine and sat perched on the patient table. He tried to think of one disease that had symptoms including 'euphoric behaviour' and 'charitable donations'.
"I've got it!" James said. "He's happy. Shoot, you're going to have to quarantine that guy. I heard that stuff is contagious."
"Hey! I'm serious. Something is wrong!" James looked House over. He looked tired, as if he hadn't slept in days. Though he usually looked slightly unshaved, he looked like he was really working on a beard. James could feel his worry, no matter how hard the man tried to hide it.
"Okay. Okay, I'll help. What do you need me to do?"
"Get into Wilson's office. Find anything relating to his medical history. Get on his computer, in his files, his cell phone. Everything," House enunciated.
"Can do. Where will you be?" James asked. House finally turned to look at him.
"Getting lunch with Wilson. Someone has to distract him." The man limped from the room, leaving James to stare after him.
--
The office of James Wilson, Oncologist, was rather nice. James looked around at the couch directly across from the door, and the desk to the left of the entrance. Bookcases lined the walls behind the desk, leather-bound tomes of medicine. A sliding glass door led to a balcony, adjacent to House's own.
James sat at the doctor's desk and turned on his computer. He ran into a password screen, and bypassed it quickly. He found a folder filled with appointments, dates, and times, but nothing interesting. He searched the locked, probably House proofed, drawers. As if James could be discouraged.
He wrote down everything that could be of use to a diagnosis. The last drawer had a false bottom. Underneath was a stash of documents. Using a shorthand method Andron had come up with for a project, James copied the hidden documents onto another piece of paper.
As he closed the drawer, the doorknob began to turn. Waving his hand, James set everything back in order. The door cracked open. James cleared the desk in a clean leap, running toward the sliding glass door. He threw it open with another snap of his wrist. He was over the barrier separating the balconies belonging to Wilson and House when he heard Wilson enter his office completely. He walked into House's office and sat down, clutching the papers protectively.
The man himself walked into the room. "Way to keep him occupied," James snapped.
"He had an appointment with a patient," House said. James looked up at him.
"No, he doesn't. I looked at his appointment book, and he doesn't have an appointment for an hour and a half." House sat in the chair in the corner of his office.
"I feel duped. Did you get anything?" House asked. James held up the papers.
"Only a veritable diary of his life," said James, as he rolled his eyes. "That is one crazy man. He's had more wives than I've had jobs. Ish."
"Four wives isn't unusual," House said as he walked forward to take the papers. James raised an eyebrow as House looked at them.
"His files indicated more than four women, but, okay. . ."
"How am I supposed to read this?" the older doctor snapped.
"You're not. That's a man's private files. Ethics say you shouldn't read them," James admonished, smirking in a condescending way.
"Ethics say I'm not supposed to sleep with patients. Translate that," ordered House. James wrote out a matching copy on a separate piece of paper.
"Anything else, Doctor House?" James asked as if he were speaking to a young child. For some reason, pissing House off was endlessly entertaining. Especially considering the man had practically held him hostage.
"You might want to stay out of sight, especially around Wilson and Cuddy."
"Cuddy is a mid-sized woman with dark hair and brown eyes, correct?" asked James.
"Yeah," House said.
James ducked under the desk as the Dean of Medicine, Lisa Cuddy, walked in to the office.
"House, why is your team in the clinic?" she asked.
"We don't have a case. The have medical degrees, so I thought perhaps they should practice medicine. There isn't much else they can do, aside from annoy me. This is a win-win situation. They help patients, I'm not annoyed," House said. James wondered if the man knew he was rambling.
"I… see. And this has nothing to do with Wilson, right?"
"Of course not."
"Good. I need to tell you, since you didn't go to the mandatory meeting, that this hospital was ranked first in diagnostics. There will be a bonus in your next pay check. Are you sure nothing is going on?" she asked suspiciously. James dearly wished he could see their faces. However, from the awkward position under the desk he had chosen, he couldn't. And, House didn't know that James, literally, could be invisible.
"Nothing," answered House. James was surprised at how innocent the man could sound.
"All right." Doubt filled her voice, but she left the room anyway. James stood up, relieving his rapidly cramping legs.
"So, number one in diagnostic medicine. Good job, Of course, I guess it comes with the territory, if you're diagnosing seemingly healthy people. There might be a vast psychological explanation for that, you know," said James. House rolled his eyes and continued reading the translated paper.
"Tell me," he said after a moment, "why a healthy man would get a prescription for sleep meds… from a hospital he doesn't work at?"
While James pondered, House walked out of the room. James followed indignantly. "Perhaps because he doesn't want you questioning his sleep pills?" demanded James. They reached a balcony that overlooked the main entrance to the hospital.
"Will you take this seriously?" snarled House. James looked at him.
"I am taking this seriously! My serious just happens to include rude comments and derogatory jokes. And… Oh jaysus," James said.
On his way to the elevator, James Wilson collapsed and began seizing. James Potter looked at House for a split second before he took off.
Wow, I was pretty sad only, like, four people noticed my summary and/or proile. And I had to tell one of them. Still, it made me giggle. Teehee.
My beta was offended when I failed to capitalize "Jesus", so I wrote it phonetically. As in, how I say it, and not the rest of the world, because somehow I see him doing that.
Did anyone else notice that I now have three James's running aound...?