Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belongs to J. K. Rowling

Part 3/Chapter 15

The rest of November was very hazy for John. He roused sometimes, but was dazed, confused, not appearing to recognise anyone, though holding tight to Pat's hand when she took his. The day he remained awake for an hour, it seemed he was getting better. Pat sat beside him, and talked about Margaret's wedding arrangements. But he cried out suddenly and jerked in the bed, struggling against the pain he had told himself would never return. The pain went on and on. It was too severe to let him rest, although blackness did give him some relief now and then. It took three days, but suddenly his body relaxed and again he was unconscious.

Pat said to Alison that she was glad she'd agreed that he could have the Christmas lights early. By the end of the week, it was rumoured in the village, that they'd had Christmas early so that poor young Mr. Bellamy could have one last Christmas before he died. Celia, down the road, said it was expected any day now.

He was sleeping a lot and still seemed very confused. Margaret was one of those who took turns sitting with him in the daytime, though Pat just went on sleeping with him at night. She didn't want him to start thinking again that she didn't want him. He slept peacefully at night, but caused concern in the daytime. He told Margaret that he wanted to go to her wedding, but that the aurors might be wanting to arrest him and then he'd have to leave the country.

Margaret assured him that no-one was trying to arrest him, but he pulled himself a bit higher in the bed, and said, quite seriously, "Just remember, if you ever decide to kill somebody, you've got to check for cameras first. Otherwise you get into a lot of trouble." But it was only when he referred to her marriage to Sean that she realised that it was something from the past he was referring to, and not mere imaginings. Margaret didn't mention this conversation even to Pat, as it sounded like the boss had killed somebody once, and she didn't know whether he might still get into trouble if it was known.

Ghosts visited him, but they seemed friendly, and amused him. There were conversations no-one could work out. None of the painful times in the past came to him at this time. Instead, he laughed about Gemme setting fire to a haystack, confided to Pat that he thought that Neville's wife always forgot the anti-conception spell because they'd just had their eleventh child, and moaned to Ron about their Potions homework. Gabrielle was addressed as Julia, and treated to a stern lecture about bullying, but then he laughed and said to someone called Ben that he wasn't allowed to get so drunk next time, as he was too heavy.

Quite suddenly, one day, he woke at the normal time he always woke, felt that it was his own Pat, who slept next to him, and cuddled closer. Pat was delighted when she woke an hour later than normal, and found him already out of bed, showered and shaved, even though he staggered as he re-entered the bedroom. He was fine again, although, as usual, it would take a while to regain his strength. It was the seventh December.

Pat was desperate to know whether he now remembered anything, as, for the past week, it seemed that he did. She didn't ask, and he only said that he could see better all the time, and maybe one day, he'd be able to wear his glasses and see perfectly. And, like always, he apologised for being ill, as if it was his fault - a character failing, and thanked Pat for looking after him. It seemed he only remembered the attack of pain, and even that was blurry. He had no idea that he'd been sick so long.

Bryce had been visiting daily. That day, Pat gave him a broad smile, and said, "Outside, admiring the lights."

He was no longer admiring the lights, but walking next to the sheep paddock, God Wot? following behind him like an enormous dog, two cats behind God Wot?, and both Forster and Trey racing around not far away, playing with the colts and fillies in the clear, frosty air.

John was cooperative, and Bryce took a few readings, told him it was great to see him so much better, and then alarmed and upset him by interrogating him on his returned memory. Pat intervened at the sound of raised voices, and promised John that he wouldn't be pestered further. John was shaking, had turned very pale, and said to Bryce that one thing he'd never understand, why on earth he'd ever allowed him to be his healer in the first place.

Bryce grinned, "I had to fight you for the privilege!"

John stared, "What?"

"Well, you got all stupidly upset just because I mentioned that you were a mutation, and I finally got your cooperation by beating you in a fistfight!"

John stared, then laughed, and wound up by looking at the healer speculatively. "You must be good. Want to do it again one day?"

Brcye shook his head. "I only had a chance because you'd tired yourself working the strong magic three times in a day. You were staggering now and then, even before we started. And then you nearly beat me!"

Pat smiled. The way she'd heard it, Bellamy had won. Dieter had told her.

After Bryce left, John asked Pat if he'd really showed indications of remembering things from 'before.' Pat said calmly that he'd been confused for several days, and was referring to events and people that sounded as if they had come from the past. But that they didn't know for sure. John was silent.

Pat hugged him. "Don't worry about it. If it's going to come back, it'll come back without your giving yourself a headache by worrying."

John nodded and stood, his words slurring slightly as he said he just might lie down for a little. Pat watched after him with worry, but when she crept into the bedroom ten minutes later, he was only sleeping.

He regained his strength quickly, although not the surging optimism that had led him to become very drunk with the happiness of being free of the prospect of repeated episodes of pain. Maybe he would always be sickly. But Pat put up with him, so he guessed he should just do the best he could.

Norm Lockwood joined him one morning as he rode on the moors. He was only going quite slowly, a gentle canter. He was accompanied by Oliver riding Sparks, as well as Steve on Storm, neither of whom were totally confident on their new horses.

Lockwood looked at them assessingly. "Nice little horses, the pair of them."

"They're quite new, and the boys are thrilled with them."

"Been sick again, I hear?"

John said defensively, "I'm fine, now. It just takes a few days to get strong again."

Lockwood glanced at his friend. He was far too thin. In the time he'd known him, he always seemed to be either thin or very thin. He asked, "Will you be fit in another week?"

"Of course. It never takes very long."

"The hunt is meeting at my place next Saturday. I thought you might like to ride."

John queried uncertainly, "A hunt?"

"Nat Long is doing the fox, and he always makes a good ride. And hardly anyone refuses us access any more, as the foxes know not to go where they're asked not to."

"So you don't hunt real foxes!"

"Of course not! Father always said that they were too unpredictable in any case, and half the time, you'd just be standing around, freezing to death. Much better with Nat Long."

"And Nat Long doesn't get eaten at the end?"

Lockwood laughed, and suddenly wondered if the wizard was serious. "Of course not! Afterwards, hounds get fed some special treats, the horses get rubbed down and we all go to the pub. And if Nat's done a good job, he won't have to pay for a drink the whole night!"

John was smiling in anticipation as Lockwood continued. "Margaret's riding, and Edward, of course. M'wife's not, she never does. But I will be."

John grinned at him. "I'll be there."

He wasn't working that Monday, though he was to work the following Monday, a full day's work, as Juana and Lucasta Stonehouse had returned to New Zealand, Lucasta with a new husband. John frowned when he heard. Lucasta had felt as if she was as closely related as his own daughters, and now she'd married a Davenport, who was probably descended from him as well. But Pat just reminded him that not all Davenports were his descendants, and in any case, it would be about six generations back.

There were piles of invitations for Christmas functions. Pat flipped quickly through them, and asked whether he wanted to go to any. "You're under not the slightest obligation, of course," she said. "It's not just that you've been sick, but we do what we've always done, send a thank you for the invitation, and don't say whether you'll be there or not. It's a security thing."

John nodded. Lots of things they did or didn't do, were for security. But then she held one up. "You might like to go to Isaac's wedding, though."

"Isaac's getting married?"

"Casey Longbottom. It seems they're in a hurry. It's Friday." Pat passed him a note. "It's a separate note for you. It's marked personal."

John hesitated, then took some glasses from his pocket and read the note, though taking his glasses off straight afterward.

Pat stared.

John looked sheepish. "My sight's improving, but I'm not game to leave them on longer than a few minutes."

"It's what started the last illness, isn't it?"

John nodded, and glanced at the note again, not reading, "He says there'll only be a few there, Casey's immediate family, Bryce, of course, and you and me if we'll come. He says he'd very much like us to be there."

Pat had a quizzical look on her face. "Bit ironic, when you remember what he did to you."

"Mostly, he just watched me. Exactly as Bryce would have done in a similar situation. And even though there was RAB and that other thing, he was actually very good to me whenever I was sick." He smiled at her. "I would like to go."

Pat asked, "What about the other invitations?"

"It's time I stopped hiding. Sort out what you want to go to, and if you want me, I'll come too."

So Pat sorted out the ones she thought suitable for her husband, small events, preferably with those she knew well and thought had the sense not to be tactless. The possibility of sudden collapse had to be taken into consideration, also.

The first was to a small dinner party, Wednesday night, and with this sort of small affair, the hostess was quietly advised of the acceptance beforehand. He'd met Gerard Innes, although not his wife. Their son, his wife, and a baby Innes were also present. And on Wednesday night, Grandfather Harry was introduced to the tiny baby. His perfectly genuine wonder and admiration was the reason the custom had started in the first place. There were no problems, and no-one tactlessly demanded that he remember things they knew were gone. Pat was relieved, and John thought again that he'd been being cowardly.

Friday at breakfast, Norm Lockwood mentioned to his wife that he'd asked Bellamy to go on the hunt with him. Pam's nostrils twitched, and she said, "Well, I do hope he knows how to dress suitably."

Norm glanced at Edward. It was not something he'd considered. Edward raised his eyes from his cereal, and said, "Leave it to me and Marg. We'll fix something."

But it was Norm and Edward who rode over to Bellamy's place, and were admitted to wait in a large entry hall. Neither of them had been inside the house before. It was nicely furnished, with some quite beautiful decorations, and showed no external signs of magic. A portrait of a man with a battered face and an innocent expression was in a place of honour. A cat strolled through an internal door, and sat regarding them suspiciously.

In the bedroom, Pat arranged the deep collar of Bellamy's outer robe, combed out his long hair, though he thought it was already combed, and gave him the nod, just as Louise knocked and said that Lord Lockwood and Edward Lockwood were waiting. Bellamy looked at himself in the mirror, grinned and went to join them.

They stared open mouthed. "Fancy dress?" finally said Lockwood.

"Wedding," explained Bellamy. They were silent, regarding the splendour of a wizard's dress robes, until Bellamy said, "Don't worry, Margaret has already told us what we're to wear for her wedding. We won't appear like this at your place."

Pat joined them, then, and she, too, was looking impressive and quite unfamiliar. Edward looked at his silent father, and said, "Well, anyway, what we came about was tomorrow, the hunt. The Hunt Master puts a lot of importance on correct dress, tradition and all that, you know, so we brought over a few things in case you didn't have any."

Lockwood said, "Don't be offended, but you need a hard hat, proper jodhpurs or breeches, not jeans, and riding boots, not running shoes. And then you should have a neat, black riding coat."

Bellamy smiled at them. "I hadn't given it a thought. And don't worry, I'm not offended. Not supposed to make myself conspicuous in medj company. I'm even riding a different horse."

"They were my clothes," said Edward. "But I'm a bit big for them now, even the boots. No need to return them."

Pat checked her watch. "There's no time to try these now, but we'll buy some if we need to. There'll be time this afternoon."

The small wedding went off well, Isaac very pleased that Bellamy and Pat had come. Isaac worried sometimes about what he'd condoned with 'the John Doe,' but he didn't seem to bear a grudge. Isaac wasn't so sure about Pat. But now he was in wizard robes himself, marrying a witch, and booked into a wizarding resort town for a honeymoon. He wished he could tell Mark all about it, but he'd promised.

Saturday morning, when Margaret and Bellamy presented themselves at the Lockwoods, Pamela had only his unorthodox hair-style to criticise. The boots hadn't fitted, and the breeches had been too short, but he found some riding clothes in a wardrobe, that were only a bit loose. The jacket he found looked new, but was of an old fashioned cut, and not black, but Edward's jacket was all right. He found the hard hat uncomfortable, but when he asked Norm if he had to wear it, Lockwood only grinned at him and said definitely, and asked about the chestnut gelding he rode.

"Brandon," said John. "He was sold, apparently bored at home, so was always straying, and eventually returned as unsatisfactory."

"Oh, yes," said Lockwood. "The unique money back guarantee. But Edward wouldn't dream of returning Heathcliffe."

"Paul says we get hardly any back," said John. "And neither of us would want them to go to unsuitable owners in any case." He patted the chestnut, who took a few dancing steps, arching his neck. "Victor says if he catches me teaching him to buck, I'll be disembowelled. He wants him for Oliver in a few years."

The duke was joined by a few cronies, and John moved off, to be introduced to some friends of Edward's. "We heard you were dying," said one brash young man.

But John just shook his head, and said, smiling, "Not yet." He was at ease. It was a lot simpler being introduced to people to whom he was not known, than to those he had known once. And shortly, he was feeling an uttermost joy as the horses galloped. In spite of endeavours to be inconspicuous, he was noticed. It was the way he rode, apparently sloppy, but his horse was among the best, streaking across paddocks and taking big fences as if they were nothing.

Lockwood was disturbed when a comment was made about his unusual friend. "He's a bloody wizard," said the same young man who'd said that they'd heard he was dying. But it seemed to be only a comment on the way he rode.

He met more people when they socialised afterwards, and it was Margaret who suddenly worried about too many people noticing when he stayed young, while everyone else, aged. But then she saw him turn away suddenly and hold onto the railing of a staircase. She went towards him. Was he about to collapse? He was pale, even sweating. But then he shook his head and seemed perfectly all right again. She met the eyes of Edward, who tended to be very aware of her, and had seen her sudden concern. And, like Pat, she concluded that life and health were uncertain, and that he should be allowed to enjoy himself without worrying about the future.

For the first time, on Monday, twenty-first December, John did a full day's work spell-breaking in London. There were none that were difficult, and he suddenly thought that it could easily become very boring. There was only one English patient, but thirteen from China, fifteen from Japan, and a couple of dozen from other countries. There was to be a break over Christmas, and they would resume in early January.

He was led off afterwards to the auror department, to join in their Christmas party. Kupec grinned at him when he noticed him staggery, but it wasn't alcohol, as Kupec assumed, just another of those times when the buzzing in his head made him dizzy. It no longer frightened him, as he no longer expected the pain to attack, though he knew it could.

The European patients were mostly going to the Kaseys these days, the Italian Ministry for Magic preening themselves on having them. There had only been one small mishap, but Zoe was firmly told that if she cursed anyone else, whether they'd been rude to her or not, she would no longer be employed. Zoe raised her nose imperiously, waved a casual wand and cured her own victim, but then said that she could get a job wherever she pleased, and she wanted a raise. They gave her a raise.

There had been a change, John knew, since his latest illness. Somehow the black hole in his head was no longer like a stone. Sometimes, when he sat in his chair of a morning, and thought, it seemed as if he could see glimpses behind. Just once, he thought he could sense strands of magic encircling his mind, but the subtle feeling vanished again, and the barrier came back more solid than before.

***chapter end***