Disclaimer: We do not own the Harry Potter characters or world, but the over-active imaginations that produced this we will claim.
Rituals and Consequences
by mmagicwolf and WickerChair
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Cumulonimbus
Saturday, June 22, 1991
Dr Scott looked through the one-way window that masqueraded as a mirror into the reception area of St Mary's Clinic. He saw several of his patients with their parents, but also several unfamiliar children, also with adults. Most of the children were playing with the small selection of toys. One child, however, was not playing with the others. He was dressed in clothes much too large for him colored an atrocious orange, perhaps once attractive on someone else, it had faded to the greyish orange seen in mold growth. The boy sat, perfectly still with three magazines open in front of him. Next to him sat a woman with greying medium brown hair and her leg in a cast. Another woman, similar in appearance minus the gray, sat knitting on the other side of the boy.
"Which one is my new patient?"
"That one," the receptionist pointed at the motionless boy. "Mrs Figg is the one in the cast, crutches leaning against the wall. He isn't a relative, but she says that he was dropped on her doorstep this morning. Her daughter, Mrs Must, drove them in from Little Whinging."
Dr Scott's eyebrow rose in disbelief. "Dropped on her doorstep?"
"That's what she said."
Dr Scott's face darkened, "Age?"
The receptionist, Marielle, blushed, "His? I guessed maybe five or six but didn't actually ask. You'll have to look at the paperwork."
"What information do you have?"
"Just his name really. Harrison Potter. He doesn't have an Heath Services Card. I didn't want to scare him off by asking too many questions."
Dr Scott continued watching through the window as one of his regulars approached Harrison.
~O~
"Do you want to play with us?" asked a cheerful girl's voice.
Harrison blinked, "What are you playing?"
"Me and Joanna are playing house," the young girl pointed to a near duplicate of herself. "We need someone to play papa."
"What would you expect me to do?" asked Harrison.
"What papas do." she said.
"Well, I'm not really sure what papas do. I'm supposed to see the doctor soon, perhaps I can play later if you are still interested. Then you can tell me what papas are supposed to do," offered Harrison politely.
"Okay," chirped the girl and trotted back to her sister.
~O~
Dr Scott observed the interaction and frowned. "He is the right height for five, but his speech is not normal for that age. I don't like the fact that those clothes are so large on him, I can't really judge his age. He might be a precocious five, but somehow I doubt that. Marielle, I'm afraid that you've done it again."
"Yes, Dr Scott." The receptionist pulled a folder from a drawer, "I was hoping that I was wrong."
"Unfortunately, you are probably absolutely correct." Dr Scott made his way from the reception area to the door that connected the waiting area to the remainder of the clinic. As he walked, Dr Scott prepared himself for what he would likely find.
~O~
Dr Scott entered the waiting room and approached the young boy, Harrison Potter, and his companions, a Mrs Figg and Mrs Must. Neither woman resembled the boy, with his messy black hair and brilliant green eyes. The older woman held the clipboard with the medical history form on it. Dr Scott watched as she scanned the first page, her expression darkening and a whistling hiss like a tea kettle about to boil sounded as she started on the second page. By the third page, the whistle had changed to something like the high-pitched growl of a cat.
The younger woman eyed her companion warily, "Mother?"
"I'm fine, Angie."
"Problems with the form?" asked Dr Scott.
"No, most of the information that is there I know is correct," she said with peculiar emphasis as she handed the form to Dr Scott.
Dr Scott glanced at the date of birth section of the form, then again. 1980? He looked at the boy who returned his gaze warily. This boy is nearly eleven? I would have guessed six, maybe seven as an upper limit. He's too small to be ten. Unless his parents were small? Dr Scott looked at the Family History area. Parents' names: James and Lily Potter. Both deceased. Date of death, October 31, 1981. Cause of death, car accident. Guardians: Vernon and Petunia Dursley, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. He came from Little Whinging? Why come all the way into London? Wait, he came with Mrs Figg. Relationship to guardians: Aunt and uncle. "What is your relationship with young Potter?" he asked Mrs Figg, gesturing at the sheet in front of him.
"I take care of him sometimes. The Dursleys left early this morning for an employee retreat with his company. I already had my appointment and did not want to leave him at home alone. I take care of him when his guardians go out or on vacation."
"Why didn't he go with them?"
"Vernon never said. He just drops the boy on my doorstep. Harrison is no trouble, but then he never is."
Dr Scott read further, "Dudley?"
"Petunia and Vernon's son. They are in the same class at St Grogory's School. They will both be graduating this year."
"Would you like to come along for the examination?" Dr Scott asked Mrs Figg.
Mrs Figg turned to Harrison, "What would you like?"
Harrison frowned slightly, "You need to get your leg checked. I will be fine." He turned to Dr Scott, "You will talk to her later?"
"Usually, no. Patient information is confidential, that means private," he added hastily.
Harrison closed his eyes, "I need to sign a confidentiality waiver for her to access protected health information, right? I want her to have the information, but," he paused, "can you refuse access to the Dursleys?"
Dr Scott nodded. "I can get you the form for Mrs Figg, but I'm afraid that I cannot prevent the Dursleys from obtaining your records if they ask."
Harrison shrugged, "They are unlikely to ask. But can you refrain from sending them a copy?"
"That I can do," admitted Dr Scott.
"Very well, lead on, Dr Scott. I am interested in what a physical examination entails." Harrison hopped down from the chair and stood beside Dr Scott. Head coming barely above Dr Scott's waist, Harrison followed him from the waiting room, pausing at the door to give Mrs Figg a quick wave. As Dr Scott continued down the hall, Harrison's voice was cut off from the waiting room by the closing door, "What sort of tests do you do? If you listen to my pulse, may I listen to yours?"