Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K.R.

Author's notes: Thank you to Shygui for editing this chapter.

Chapter 24 to 26, 05/03/18

25

It was about mid afternoon when they arrived in the Portkey terminal of Lutétia within the magical quarter of Paris. It was situated in the middle of the Ile de la Cité, and hidden from the Muggles by a portal in an underground parking garage on the Rue de Lutèce, behind a door that led to a maintenance room.

Daphne and Harry emerged from the underground garage into the bright sunshine of a July afternoon. Harry had been in Paris before for his preliminary examination and took the lead. 'It's down there,' he said. 'This street leads directly to the hospital complex. The main entrance, with the entrance to the court from where the magical part of the Hotel Dieu* is accessible, is at the place in front of the Cathédrale Notre-Dame.'

Daphne only nodded to that. She gave Harry a surreptitious side glance. His face was ashen, and his jaw was set in a taut line. He had hardly spoken to her ever since they had met in front of The Rectory to tell their guests goodbye and to take the Portkey. Not that she blamed him for that. Her stomach was tied up in a hard knot. Would the French healer be able to help Harry? If she felt like this, how must it be for Harry, who would submit himself to what was known to be one of the hardest treatments wizardkind had ever invented before another hour was over? What awaited them? Would he survive the treatment, as weakened as he was?

The French healer had told Harry he needed an anchor during the treatment, whatever he meant by that. Since this was supposed to be their honeymoon - at least in the eye of the magical public - they had agreed that she should take that role, whatever it was. Anyone else than his new wife would raise questions, and even more so if Harry's treatment ever became public. Though reluctant at first, Harry had agreed to the plan.

As they drew closer to the Place Jean-Paul II in front of the cathedral, she turned her gaze to the Hotel Dieu built alongside the left side of the square: a huge, uninviting block of brownish stone, darkened by the fumes of Muggle Paris, it seemed to loom over them.

Harry shuddered. Daphne's heart began to beat faster, and she reached out with her hand to him. Would he let her comfort him?

He did.

Her heart gave a little skip as his hand closed around hers. His fingers were ice cold, but he gave her hand a small squeeze as if in thanks, and kept it in a firm grip.

Their steps faltered until they drew to a halt; they looked at the building in front of them, and tried to find the courage between them to continue. Harry was the first to be ready. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. 'Shall we?' he asked. His face was a stony mask, but the slight quiver in his voice gave his fear away.

She nodded, and together they entered the hospital through modern sliding doors that were in a stark contrast to the ancient façade of the building. Harry had been here before and knew his way, so they ignored the reception desk and turned left. Going through another set of sliding doors they entered the courtyard.

Daphne stopped in her tracks. The courtyard was filled with sweet scented, colourful flowers, planted into a complicated pattern between low boxwood hedges. On two sides it was bordered by arched hallways.

It was peaceful here, peaceful and soothing. The tightness in Daphne's chest lessened, and she drew a deep breath.

Harry's stiff posture relaxed, although his eyes still remained dark and troubled. He turned his head to her. 'It's beautiful, isn't it?'

Daphne nodded. She pointed to a door that materialised out of the cream coloured stones of the archway on the opposite side of the courtyard. 'I suppose, that's the hidden entrance to the magical part of the hospital. Are you ready?'

'I'm as ready as I'll ever be,' Harry said, and gave her his lopsided grin, though it lacked a lot of its usual cheekiness.

They walked around the courtyard. The magical portal opened for them as soon as they approached it, and within the next second they found themselves in the entrance hall of the Hotel Dieu Magique.

Daphne looked around. It didn't look much different from St. Mungo's. There were rows of chairs for wizards and witches waiting for treatment. About half of them were occupied. A young witch held a small boy in her lap who was emitting bright, blue bubbles from his ears. The bubbles rose up into the air, and burst right above the boy's head with a loud Ping! The young mother had conjured earplugs for herself, and so had the wizards and witches around her. Not that she blamed them; the noise was already getting on her nerves.

She followed Harry to the Welcome Witch.

Harry cast a Translation Charm on himself. He looked at her. 'Would you like me to perform the charm on you?'

She shook her head. 'Thank you, Harry, it's not necessary. Mother insisted that Tori and I should learn French.'

Harry turned toward the Welcome Witch. 'Good morning. My name is James Evans. I have an appointment with Healer Petite,' he said.

She had warned him that Rita Skeeter had spies at St. Mungo's, so it was likely that the French press had similar informants in place. To keep his privacy, Harry had admitted himself to the hospital under an alias.

'Bonjour, Monsieur Evans,' the young witch at the front desk said. 'Healer Petite is ready to see you. He's waiting for you in diagnostic room number four. Down that corridor, please.' She motioned with her hand to a corridor at the left.

'Merci,' Harry replied, and turned away from the front desk.

Together, they walked down the corridor. Daphne's chest tightened once again, and she fingered her necklace. She cast a look at Harry. He held his head up high, but his gaze darted from one side of the corridor to the other, and there was a light sheen of sweat above his upper lip. Other than that, nothing in his demeanour gave away the anxiety he was feeling.

Diagnostic room number four was the last room on the left, before the corridor made a turn. Daphne motioned towards a couple of chairs opposite of the door of the diagnostic room. 'I'll wait here for you until your examination is over.'

Harry nodded. He was as pale as a sheet.

She stepped closer towards him, raised her hand, and put it on his shoulder.'You're not alone in this, you know.'

Harry stiffened under her touch, before he took a deep breath and nodded. The next moment he knocked at the door of the diagnostic room and was called in.

Daphne watched him disappear behind the door, and then plopped down in one of the chairs. She crossed one leg over the other and leaned back.

The examination lasted far longer than she thought it would. Daphne folded her hands around one knee while she waited. She would not look on her wristwatch again: she had done that an embarrassing number of times during the last hour.

At last, the door to the diagnostic room opened, and Harry came out, followed by a man in white healer robes who was at least six feet five tall. Her lips twitched; Healer Petite, indeed.

That remained to be the only humorous moment of the day.

Harry introduced her to Healer Petite as his wife. The Healer greeted her with a kiss on her knuckles, and then led them to a hospital room.

'I'll wait outside until Monsieur Evans has changed,' he said and left the room.

Harry and Daphne looked at each other. A faint blush crept in Harry's cheeks. Daphne walked to the window and looked outside. 'Get changed,' she said, and kept her eyes trained on the dull courtyard below the window.

The quick rustle of his clothes behind her back indicated he got changed within record time. Well, their wedding night surely started unusual.

'I'm ready,' Harry said.

She turned around.

Harry leaned back in the cushions of a hospital bed, his upper body slightly raised. He was clad in one of his own pyjamas and had covered his body with a white blanket. He had cancelled the Glamours and looked like death warmed up.

Daphne took a better look around the room. For a hospital, the room was rather nice. There were tasteful drapes at the window, and comfortable looking, upholstered chairs stood at each side of the bed. Harry's nightstand was made out of mahogany, and so was the wardrobe at the far wall of the room. The marble top of his nightstand hosted an impressive looking number of potion vials.

Daphne sat down in the chair at Harry's left side. He gave her a small smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Healer Petite came back into the room. He took the first potion vial from the table top and handed it to Harry.

'This is a Stomach Soothing Potion, Monsieur Evans. We don't want you to throw up the potions that do the hard work, n'est-ce pas?'

Harry grimaced, took the vial and downed it in one gulp.

Healer Petite handed him the next one.

Harry also downed it without pause. A violent shudder went through his body, and he closed his eyes.

Daphne tensed. She leaned forward and clasped his left hand that lay on the blanket between both of her hands. It felt clammy and cold.

Nobody spoke a word as Harry downed potion after potion. His breathing became more laboured with each vial he emptied. Daphne counted a dozen vials until she gave up. She shuddered. The state of Harry's body must be even worse than Healer Payne had told him. The number of potions he had to take was alarming, and each of them was supposed to take care of a different aspect of his body. Merlin, how ill was he? What if it was already too late for the treatment to work?

Finally, Healer Petite handed Harry the last vial. Harry's hand trembled when he put it at his lips. She reached up and steadied his hand. He gave her a weak smile of thanks and downed the potion. The empty vial slid out of his fingers. Daphne hurried to catch it, or it would have dropped onto the blanket.

Harry sunk back into the cushions and closed his eyes. A deep furrow appeared between his eyebrows and he let out a small grunt.

Daphne settled down in her chair and took his hand between hers. She almost dropped it: it was burning hot. This couldn't be right, could it? She looked at Healer Petite who sat in the chair opposite of her.

His eyes never waived from Harry's face, however, he looked calm and composed. He used his wand and cast a string of silent spells with complicated wand movements over Harry's still form. An array of runes appeared in the air.

She tried to decipher the runes before they simmered out and were replaced by new ones. It was a lost cause: the complicated array was way beyond her skills. So much for being among the top three of her class at Ancient Runes, and the apprenticeship she had done with Madam Pomfrey.

Healer Petite read the array without any problems. As the last runes blinked from existence he leaned back in his chair with a satisfied nod and continued observing Harry.

She allowed a breath that she didn't know she was holding to escape; everything seemed to be going as well as it could be expected. The tension in her muscles lessened.

Silence descended onto the hospital room, only disturbed by an occasional grunt of pain from Harry. His eyes were still closed, but she could see their shuddering movement under his lids.

After an hour, the grunts became more frequent, and his breathing became laboured once again. His hand, still burning hot with fever, twitched between hers.

'Shh, Harry; everything's going to be alright,' she told him and brought his fevered hand to her lips.

What an idiotic thing to say: it still remained to be seen if the potions would work as hoped and give him back a healthy body.

Healer Petite gave her an encouraging smile, and performed another round of examination spells on Harry. Everything seemed to be progressing as it should, if the satisfied gleam in his eyes was anything to go by.

The hours crept on with agonising slowness and pain in Harry's case. Day progressed into night, and Harry's condition seemed to deteriorate by the minute. He appeared to be on fire, being burnt alive in his own skin, and the groans of pain had given way to a constant soft wail, the wail of a very small child. It tore at her heart. She held his sweaty hand between hers and comforted him as best as she could. Did he hear her? It was impossible to tell.

Not long after dusk the convulsions began. Without any forewarning, Harry arched his back in an impossible looking bow and screamed.

Daphne let go of his hand and jumped to her feet. 'Harry!'

'Don't worry, Madame Evans. The potions are working just as they should. The convulsions will last for three or four hours, followed by a phase of heavy hallucinations. After that, Monsieur Evans will break out into an even heavier sweat and fall into a natural sleep of healing until tomorrow morning,' Healer Petite said. His voice seemed to come from far away.

Daphne looked down on Harry's body as it twitched and flexed on the bed. How small he looked! Fragile and somewhat broken. Tears pricked behind her eyes and streamed down her cheeks the next second. She didn't bother to wipe them away.

She resumed her post beside his bed. His hand shot out and grabbed hers and held it in a death grip. The next convulsion hit him, and his iron grip almost broke her fingers. Afterwards, she leaned forward and brushed the fringe from his damp forehead. He relaxed under her touch.

Convulsion followed after convulsion. How was his frail body supposed to make it through this? Daphne lowered her head and closed her eyes. Was there a way out; she couldn't bear to watch him suffer anymore. She bit her lips until she tasted blood. Of course she would stay. A Greengrass never ran away from a responsibility she had accepted.

The time between the convulsions spread out longer, and their intensity lessened.

Healer Petite looked at his watch. 'This should have been the last one.'

Daphne stood up and loosened her cramped muscles. Her hand hurt and was slightly swollen. She looked at Harry's frail body in the bed. Who would have thought he still was that strong?

'Show me your hand, Madame Evans.'

Daphne startled. She hadn't noticed that Healer Petite also got up and now stood beside her. She held out her hand to him. He cast a silent healing charm on it. The pain subsided, and she let out a relieved sigh.

He gave her a small smile. 'That should last you through the next couple of hours. The hallucinations are going to begin any second.'

The words had barely left his mouth, when a heartbreaking wail from Harry's bed made them both whirl around.

'No, Uncle Vernon… please… not the belt! I promise to be a good boy!'

'Pour l'amour de Dieu!' Healer Petit exclaimed as they both rushed to Harry's side. 'Wasn't it enough that he was almost starved to death as a child?'

An answer was impossible: her chest constricted, and she had difficulties to breathe. She picked up Harry's hand, pressed it between the palms of her hands and raised it to her lips. 'Shh, Harry; it's over and you're safe. He can't harm you anymore.'

Harry relaxed at her words. However, the reprieve was a short one. Not even five minutes later, he was hallucinating again.

Healer Petite cast strong Privacy Wards on the room. 'The patients will relive the worst moments of their lives under the influence of these potions. All their secrets come out into the open. While I'm bound by my oath of confidentiality as a healer, you never know who's passing that door in the hallway,' he said.

He hadn't exaggerated. During the next three hours, she became privy not only to the abuse she had already suspected, but also to the truth behind the rumours that had flown through the hallways of Hogwarts about Harry. The rumours paled in comparison to the truth. She held his hand against her cheek and comforted him in a soft, steady voice, while the tears streamed down her face.

His strength was unbelievable. How had a small boy of eleven found it in himself to stand up against the darkest wizard of their time? What had possessed him to go down into the Chamber of Secrets and fight a Basilisk? And where, by Morgana, had the adults been who were supposed to take care of him and make sure he wouldn't come to harm? On the contrary, it seemed as if Dumbledore took a perverted pleasure in putting him in harm's way over and over again.

It was past midnight when Harry finally calmed down. He let out a deep sigh, then sweat began to pour out of his body and soaked his pyjama and the bed linens. Within the next second, he was in a deep slumber. A small smile played around his lips and made him look so very young and vulnerable.

Healer Petite cast a diagnostic spell on Harry. His face lit up as he read the array of runes above Harry's body. 'Excellent, the potions worked even better than I dared to hope,' he said.

At those words all tension left her body, and she sagged back into her chair in an ungraceful heap. She pressed the balls of her hands against her eyes. It was of no use: the tears poured down her cheeks once again. This time they were happy tears.

A hand touched her elbow, and she looked up.

Healer Petite smiled down at her. 'Go, get some sleep, Madame Evans. This has been a hard day.' He pointed towards a camp bed he had conjured in front of the wardrobe.

'No kidding,' she agreed, and got to her feet. Her knees were pure jelly, and Healer Petite had to steady her until she could stand on her own. She cast a last look on Harry: he was sleeping as peaceful as a small child.

She slipped out of her ballet flats and laid back on the camp bed, not bothering about her clothes. The next moment she was out like a light.

t.b.c.

* The Hotel Dieu was founded in 651, and is considered to be the first hospital in the city of Paris and the oldest worldwide still operating. Because of its long history I think it's very likely that it houses a magical part.