A/N: Thank y'all so much for reviewing. WFF has surpassed 100 reviews now!

Please let me know what y'all think about this chapter. It was getting a bit long, so it's been split in two.

Here ya go!

Oh! And good luck to those with upcoming finals!

Cursed

Over the next month, things improved substantially with Arthur. It took a while, but he finally engaged in the counselling sessions; however, he still didn't share; he listened and paid attention, at least. He would even stick around afterward to chat. For some reason – perhaps curiosity - he continued to go on Monday night even though that's when Conner went; the Irishman also continued going when he found out Arthur was attending.

Things soon returned to normal at work. People stopped talking about him behind his back. The weekly meetings with Kingsley were rather refreshing; Arthur made a conscious effort to go when Percy wouldn't be there. He would end up going to lunch with his brothers or friends from work several times a week. As the Department of Muggle Relations grew more efficient, Arthur found himself surprised with his ability to get a new department running.

Most of the weight Arthur had lost, he regained, thanks to Gran. Working with Gramps nearly every morning before work and all weekend, restored his toned, muscular form even more so than during the war. Arthur ceased to stay at work late and became less short-tempered with his grandparents the week following the little talk he'd had with Gramps. After a while, he got used to, and rather enjoyed, people coming in and out every day, being able to see family that he only rarely got to see over the past decade or so.

All in all, things were looking up, except for the empty feeling he still couldn't shake, the continued incessant urge to drink, still not having full use of his left hand, and not having heard from his wife or any of his kids, not even Ginny. Of course, he had told her not to contact him, but he didn't think she would actually obey. With Christmas and their thirtieth wedding anniversary coming up in a few weeks, he thought Molly would have at least sent him a letter; maybe she was finally done with him or else she was waiting on him to reach out to her…but he was afraid to. Yes, he missed her terribly and wanted nothing else but to be with her again. The problem he faced was that this may very well be his last chance, and he did not want to blow it. The longer he put it off, the longer he could fool himself.

The first weekend in December found Arthur helping Gramps finish building a small extension onto the barn. To best assist his grandfather, Arthur took off work Friday, attended the Thursday morning counselling session, and moved the end-of-week department meeting to Thursday. Both Friday and Saturday, they woke up and started well before dawn and worked until hours after dusk, the only break lasting ten minutes for lunch. And, Of course, the only time Gramps allowed magic while working was to enable them to work longer by encompassing them with warmth and providing light after the sun had set. Sunday was much the same as the previous two days, the only difference being that they completed their work in the late afternoon.

Gratefully, Arthur showered after he ate a quick bite. He wiped fog off the mirror and closely studied his reflection. After a long time of contemplation, he finally decided to shave the beard off completely. He had imagined he would have grown to like the beard after having it for months, but he still absolutely hated it.

Still burning up from working, the shower, and the fire Gran had crackling in the fireplace, Arthur put on a plain, white tank-top, didn't bother buttoning his overshirt, and rolled up his sleeves.

Thankful that no one was on the couch except the dog, Arthur shoved Sid over and stretched out on his back, his necklace glinting in the firelight. Gramps chuckled. Gran smiled contentedly at him from her rocking chair across the room.

"Great Uncle Artie, will you play with us?" one of his great nephews asked excitedly. Alexander and Margaret had brought three of their grandsons for a visit. While the boys played on the floor, Arthur's eldest brother and his wife sat on the loveseat. Gramps sat in his armchair.

"Not right now," Arthur yawned. Sid the Sheepdog curled up on top of him. "Maybe later," he mumbled as his eyelids suddenly grew heavy.

oOoOo

Hiss…hissss.

He was in and out of consciousness, but Arthur could swear he heard something in the cold silence of the Department of Mysteries - or perhaps he was only dreaming.

Hiissss.

There it was again. It seemed to be getting closer.

Hiiisssss.

He tore his eyes open and jumped up as the dim light from his wand revealed a large snake emerging from the dark.

He was too late. The beast struck –

Once.

Fangs plunged deep into his flesh. He screamed. A fire burned within his veins with an intensity he had never imagined possible.

Twice.

The corridor echoed with the sound of ribs cracking under powerful jaws. Arthur stumbled backwards. Blood gushed from the large gash.

Three times.

The fangs ripped through his neck, barely missing his jugular. He grasped the side of his neck and collapsed against the door behind him, warm blood trickling through his fingers.

He tried to stand, but was paralyzed. By fear, or pain, or some other force, he did not know. The snake approached once again - No, this wasn't right. Something was supposed to spook it. It was supposed to slither away.

"Arthur."

It reared its head.

"Arthur."

Its red fangs glistened in the dim light.

"Wake up!"

The snake struck one last time.

"Arthur, wake up!"

Arthur's eyes shot open, heart pounding, cold sweat dripping from his forehead, gasping for air. A miniature version of that godforsaken snake stared up at him with black, beady eyes as it slithered up from the floor and onto his chest. Carelessly, Gramps grabbed it before handing it off to Alexander next to him.

"Arthur?" Gramps said uncertainly, worry etched on his face.

"Where did that bloody thing come from?" Arthur panted, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"I'm sorry, Arthur," Alexander apologized. "The kids –"

"Why do they have an effing snake?" he demanded.

"It's just a toy. It's harmless," his oldest brother explained. "George gave it to them at the shop."

Gramps and Alexander gave Arthur some space as he sat up. He pulled his legs out from under Sid who remained curled up on the end of the couch, unperturbed. Arthur ran his hands through his hair. Without another word, he stood and left the room, discretely feeling his chest and neck.

Not entirely sure how he got there, Arthur found himself retching into the toilet. He remained kneeling for a moment, making sure he was finished. Unsteadily, he got to his feet, washed his hands, rinsed his mouth out, and splashed water on his face. The cold water dripped from his chin and nose as he tried to control his breathing.

He took a seat on the edge of the bathtub after drying his face and hands. A throbbing heat ran through the scars from the snake attack. He held a hand to his chest as a general pain grew in it, holding his breath as he waited for it to pass.

A sudden knock at the door gave him a start. He snapped his head in the direction of the noise. "Who is it?" he croaked.

"It's me," Gran answered.

After a moment's hesitation, Arthur said, "Come –" His voice cracked, so he cleared his throat and repeated more firmly, "Come in."

"I brought you some tea," Gran said as she closed the door behind her.

Arthur reached for it with a trembling hand. When the hot liquid splashed over the sides of the mug, he gestured for her to set it on the counter.

After Gran set the mug on the sink, she turned back to him and felt his forehead with the back of her hand. "Are you feeling well?" she asked, frowning. "You're awfully pale, and you gave us quite a scare."

"I'm okay," Arthur said as he moved her hand away.

The hand on his chest drew her attention to the scars above his tank top. She gently moved his head to the side and narrowed her eyes at the scars on the side of his neck.

"What?" Arthur asked.

"Have you been scratching?" Gran asked.

"Of course not," Arthur replied. Looking down and pulling his shirt away from him to see the scars underneath, he saw they were an angry red color, looking as if they had only just healed.

He abruptly stood to have a better look in the mirror. However, the dull, tight pain in his chest became a sharp pain that hit him with an intensity he had never experienced before. He grimaced and clutched his chest before collapsing. Gran grabbed his elbow to help ease him down.

"Costin, could you come in here please?" she calmly called. "Now."

A few seconds later, Gramps stuck his head in. He rushed over when he saw Arthur doubled over on the floor,

"He needs to go to St. Mungo's," Gran told him.

Gramps nodded in reply. He called for Alexander while helping Arthur up. As soon as Alexander appeared, Gramps told him, "Get the boys out of the living room then go to St. Mungo's and tell them we're on the way."

Alexander nodded and disappeared.

"I'm fine," Arthur grunted. "It's just – heartburn."

"You're going. It's not up for debate," Gramps stated firmly as he helped Arthur to the fireplace in the living room.

When they got to St. Mungo's, Healers immediately took Arthur back and ran diagnostic spells. Everything appeared relatively normal. Not long after, the intense chest pain subsided to a dull one and he caught his breath. The scars, however, remained bright red and continued to burn.

An hour later, Arthur, his grandparents, and Alexander still waited on further testing to tell them what exactly happened. Finally, there was a knock on the door and one of the Healers from earlier, Healer Buxton, entered.

Healer Buxton pulled out his quill and braced his clipboard on his forearm. "Mr. Weasley, there are a few more questions I need to ask you. Other than the chest pain and shortness of breath, did you experience any other symptoms? Sweating, trembling, nausea, dizziness, et cetera?" he prompted.

Arthur nodded.

"Which ones?"

"All of them."

"Okay." Healer Buxton scribbled on his clipboard. "Did anything out of the ordinary occur before this happened?"

"No," Arthur answered.

Healer Buxton raised an eyebrow. "Did anything happen that made you feel on-edge or uneasy? Have you been under a lot of stress lately?"

Arthur hesitated. He glanced over at his grandparents and eldest brother. Before answering, he cleared his throat. "I was asleep. I had a – uh – a nightmare, but that's not unusual. Everything started right after I woke up."

Healer Buxton hummed and scribbled more notes. He looked back up. "Do you have a history of panic attacks?" he asked.

"No."

Healer Buxton put his clipboard to his side. "Mr. Weasley, you did not have a heart attack. That was determined when you first came in, and most of the tests came back normal. So, with that being said and with what you have told me, it sounds like you had a panic attack. If the dream was vivid and realistic enough, it could have brought one on, or it could have been stress. There are a number of things that can cause a panic attack. This may be the only one you ever have, or it may become quite common. And it is not unusual to confuse a panic attack with a heart attack, especially if you have never had one before."

"So I didn't even need to come in?" Arthur asked.

Healer Buxton took a deep breath. "While you did not have a heart attack and panic attacks are not necessarily harmful, there has been damage to your heart. When you were here seven weeks ago, Healer Wilson told you that your heart has been gradually growing weaker over the past three years?" Healer Buxton asked.

Arthur nodded.

"What I am seeing today is…more than that. And it is something that has only occurred recently. It most likely happened this afternoon, but I am at a loss for what caused it. Further testing should clear a few things up."

"It's probably from you working him so hard," Gran fussed at Gramps. "I told you to take it easy on him." Gramps did not respond, but wore an expression that showed how much he hoped she was wrong.

Healer Buxton cleared his throat and continued, "Since your scars are acting abnormally, it may be connected to that and unrelated to the panic attack. Healer Smethwyck will look further into that since he treated you and specializes in that area." He glanced at his watch. "I will be back in with Healer Smethwyck shortly if no one has any questions." When Arthur shook his head and none of the other Weasleys made to respond, Healer Buxton gave them a small smile and left.

Arthur let his head fall against the pillows and closed his eyes. Great, that's exactly what he needed - for something else to be wrong with him. A broken arm? Fine; that could be mended in a jiffy. A bunch of deep gashes because a snake thought he would be a tasty snack? Okay; it may take a bit longer, but it could be fixed. Damage to his heart? They already told him that would be an easy fix. Panic attacks, a drinking problem, being miserable all the time? No, he could not deal with those. A wand couldn't be waved and make everything better - How was any of that supposed to be made better?

"Arthur," Gran brought him out of his thoughts, "what did you dream about?" She moved from her chair to sit on the bed.

Arthur opened his eyes, but didn't look at her. Instead, he stared at the wall in front of him. "I don't dream anymore," he mumbled. "I only have nightmares."

Gran rubbed his leg. "Well, what was it about, Dear?" she gently prodded.

"I don't want to talk about it," Arthur said evenly. "I've talked about it extensively with Molly in the past, so I don't need to talk about it now."

"You probably should."

"Irene," Gramps interrupted softly. "He's talked about it with Molly. He doesn't have to tell us anything."

"It might help him if he talked about it now, Costin," Gran disagreed. "It is clearly still bothering him."

"It was about the war," Arthur admitted. If he gave her that much, maybe she would drop the subject, but he was wrong. It only prompted more questions.

"Which one?" Gran asked.

"I only fought in one," Arthur snapped. "Are you daft, old woman?"

"Do not speak to your grandmother that way," Gramps scolded, causing Arthur to shrink back into the pillows.

"I'm sorry," Arthur apologized sheepishly.

Gran smiled sadly at him. "I think you've fought in more than one, Love…I was speaking metaphorically as well."

Arthur should have realized that. Gran always was one for metaphors. Now, he knew exactly what she meant; it seemed like his whole life had been a series of literal and metaphorical wars. "It was about the real one," he finally answered her question. "Can we leave it at that?"

To his relief, Gran didn't pester him about it anymore.

The four Weasleys sat in silence. Arthur propped against the pillows, arms crossed and eyes closed; he was absolutely exhausted. Gran remained on the edge of the bed and watched him intently. Gramps read a Quidditch magazine; every once in a while, he glanced up at his wife and grandson. Alexander disappeared for a few minutes; when he came back, he had a crossword with him.

"Arthur," Gran started again.

Arthur hummed, letting her know he was awake and listening.

"Do your scars still hurt?" she asked.

"Mm-hmm," he replied with a small, slow nod.

"You never did tell us how you got them," Gran stated. Gramps set the magazine in his lap and eyed his wife warily. Alexander also looked up from his crossword, quill hovering over the paper.

Arthur didn't bother opening his eyes. "Working for the Order," he mumbled.

"I gathered as much," Gran said. "More specifically."

"Doesn't matter now, does it?" Arthur said.

The snake slithered out from the darkness of his eyelids. Arthur's eyes snapped open. He hoped no one noticed as he tried to calmly glance around the room. He knew it was irrational to think Nagini would be there. He'd seen her severed body after the Battle of Hogwarts, after all.

"If you're a werewolf, we'll still love you," Gran stated bluntly.

Gramps shook his head as he ran a hand over his face and sighed heavily, not believing his wife had just come out and asked that question. Alexander set his quill down and leaned back in his chair, bracing his elbow on the back of his hand while hiding his mouth behind his other fist. Arthur stared open-mouthed at Gran.

"You don't actually think…" he trailed off, dumbfounded.

"It had crossed our minds," Gramps admitted. "We were going to let you tell us in your own time."

"And if you are, it would explain a few things - the change in personality and aggressive behavior, for example," Alexander said, his words muffled behind his fist. "Not to mention, you were in the Dai Llewellyn Ward for quite some time."

"Excuse me. You're stereotyping. One of my closest friends was a werewolf and he was one of the kindest, calmest people I've known," Arthur defended. "Do not assume they are all the same.

"Besides, there are a few things wrong with that theory," Arthur continued. "Wouldn't you or someone else from the fourth floor have been involved with my treatment if I were cursed?" he asked Alexander.

"Well – yes," Alexander said.

Arthur turned to his grandparents, and said. "And I would have had to transform twice since I moved in with you." The past few years, he had taken to tracking the full moon because of Remus. Even though Remus had been killed, he continued to track it, either as habitat or in remembrance.

"We thought about that. Your grandfather and I go to bed early, so you could have snuck out," Gran reasoned.

Arthur had to admit she had a point there, but he pushed on. "Okay. Well, do these even look like werewolf marks?"

Alexander shrugged. "They could be," he answered. "We only get to see what's above your shirt. It could have gotten you with only two claws until further down."

Arthur blew out an exasperated breath with a scowl on his face. "I am not a werewolf," he stated firmly.

"I will let the others know," Alexander said to himself and Gramps, but Arthur heard him as well.

"Who all thinks this?" Arthur asked incredulously, eyebrows furrowed.

"Trent…Neil…Ian…" Alexander listed. "Desmond just thinks you've been being an arsehole – We've discussed this a bit if you couldn't tell."

"No, I never would have guessed," Arthur said sarcastically.

"Trent and Neil may have a pool going with the older nieces and nephews," Alexander continued.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Great. Do I get the pot since I found out?"

A knock at the door interrupted, and Healers Buxton and Smethwyck entered.

"Well, Arthur, that damned snake keeps causing us problems, eh?" Healer Smethwyck began to chat in an attempt to lighten the mood. Understanding dawned on the three older Weasleys. "How are Molly and the kids?"

"Alright," Arthur answered shortly, hoping he would not pursue the topic further.

"And this must be –" Healer Smethwyck began before interrupting himself as he spotted Alexander. "Oh! Alexander, I wasn't expecting to see you here. Are you on-call tonight?"

"No, I believe Beatrice is," Alexander said, referring to the Healer-in-Charge of his ward. "Arthur's my brother. Didn't you know that, Hippocrates?" Alexander asked his colleague.

"Oh, hmm, I don't suppose I ever really thought about it," Healer Smethwyck mused before introducing himself to the two older Weasleys and explaining that he was the Healer who treated Arthur after the snake attack. He turned back to Arthur. "Healer Buxton filled me in. He said last time you were in here they told you there was still venom in your system?"

Arthur nodded.

With a shake of his head, Healer Smethwyck frowned. "That's not possible. I checked before I let you go three years ago. Everything was clear. You couldn't have survived with venom still in your bloodstream," he explained. "I don't know what they were thinking. Last time you were here, they should have gotten me if they suspected there was something amiss. So, I'm going to check you over and see if we can't figure out what the problem is."

"Another Healer will be joining us shortly as well," Healer Buxton put in.

Arthur sat up and pulled his shirt off, remembering the old routine. The scars were no longer red, but had faded to pink. As Healer Smethwyck took out his wand, Arthur laid back again.

Healer Smethwyck performed several tests, checking for any residual effects from the snake. He was just finishing the last test when another Healer, white hair pulled neatly into a bun, silently entered. The much older witch and Alexander nodded to each other in greeting as Alexander moved to lean against the windowsill.

After the additional Healer introduced herself as Healer Crowley, she pulled out her wand and repetitively muttered an unfamiliar incantation as she carefully traced the scars on Arthur's neck, shoulder, and chest. The scars glowed black as the wand passed over them. Gran and Gramps looked on ignorantly. Alexander, on the other hand, stood up straight and crossed his arms as his expression suddenly hardened with a gravity Arthur had never before seen his older brother convey.

When Healer Crowley finished with the scars, she held her wand a few inches above Arthur and slowly moved it along the length of his body while muttering the same incantation. She stepped back and waited a few seconds. A large, black glow emanated from the center of Arthur's chest. Alexander ran his hands down his face and took a deep breath.

Healer Crowley cleared her throat. "Mr. Weasley, you can get dressed. We will be back in a few minutes," she said professionally. Not one of the three on-duty Healers indicated whether the results were good or bad.

Alexander strode across the room, following his colleagues out. Gramps's voice stopped him with his hand on the doorknob. "Where are you going?"

"With them."

"What was all that about?" Arthur asked.

Alexander shut the door the rest of the way, but kept his hand on the doorknob. "I can't tell you," he replied, not meeting anyone's eyes.

"How serious is it?" Gran implored.

"They have more information on this case than I do."

"But you know what they found out," Arthur claimed evenly.

Alexander breathed, "Yeah," and nodded once. He wrenched the door open and left to find the other Healers.

Arthur could not rest during the absence of Healers this time. If it had not been for Alexander's reaction, he and his grandparents would have had no reason to be concerned.

Four years prior, Alexander had become the Deputy Healer of the Cyprian Youdle Ward for Serious Curses – the youngest Deputy Healer at St. Mungo's in five hundred years – and had specialized in curses since he was a Trainee Healer fresh out of Hogwarts. When he became a Prefect his fifth year and gained access to the restricted section of the library by Professor Dippet himself, Alexander spent all of his free time studying curses and similar forms of dark magic. He truly was an expert in his field. If he was as perturbed as he let on, there was something very wrong, indeed.

After he redressed, Arthur leaned back on the pillows. Gran stood at the head of the bed and leisurely ran her fingers through his hair, something she had done when he was a child; this simple action soon calmed his nerves. He had forgotten how soothing it was. Gramps, however, was not so composed; he paced in front of the window until the Healers came back in with Alexander, who had now managed to school his features. Arthur sat bolt upright.

Healer Smethwyck was the first to speak. "Arthur, we can discuss this privately first or your family can stay, whichever you prefer."

Alexander took a step back toward the door and Gramps held out his hand to Gran, expecting Arthur to send them away. Ignoring her husband, Gran placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder and gave a light squeeze. Arthur looked over at her hand then looked into a face etched with worry, silently pleading with him to let her stay.

Arthur turned back to the Healers. "They can stay if they want," he answered firmly.

Gramps managed to get Gran to sit down with him and held her hand tightly. Alexander, however, did not move.

"Arthur, I can step outside," Alexander offered.

"You don't have to."

With that reassurance, Alexander resumed his place on the windowsill.

As soon as everyone was settled again, Healer Smethwyck began. "Good news first: as suspected, there is definitely no venom in your system. It is long gone. And no other natural," he said carefully, "complications from the snake were found."

That was a relief. There had been enough problems immediately following the snake attack. At least he didn't have to deal with them again. But, there was still the matter of the unnerving black glow from the last test and the careful choice of words Healer Smethwyck used.

"So what's the bad news?" Arthur asked, ready to hit it head on.

"Dark magic was detected," Healer Crowley, Healer-in-Charge of the Cyprian Youdle Ward, answered.

Arthur crossed his arms and cocked his head slightly. "I don't understand," he said, eyebrows knit together. "I have never encountered a cursed object, not like that. How is this possible?"

"It doesn't have to be an object," Healer Crowley informed.

"It is extremely rare, but a highly-skilled witch or wizard can place a curse on a creature without it harming the creature itself, but whoever it scratches or bites," Healer Smethwyck explained. "It is similar to how a werewolf's curse is transferred; someone is bitten or scratched by a werewolf on a full moon, that person is then infected as well. In your case, what we can figure is that Voldemort put a curse on the snake, then, you contracted the curse when it bit you."

Gramps spoke up before Arthur had a chance to finish processing what had been said. "Why has it taken you three years to find this?" he questioned, a bit more aggressively than he probably intended.

"When I was treating Arthur, I did not find it necessary to check for dark magic. He came in for a creature attack. I had very little information, so I did not know it was a special snake that attacked him. If I had known it was Voldemort's snake, I would have checked. This is all on me, and I apologize for my negligence," Healer Smethwyck sincerely apologized. "This never should have gone unnoticed."

"You can remove it, can't you?" Gran followed up hopefully.

Healer Crowley answered this time. "In this case, no, it cannot be removed. If someone comes into contact with a cursed object, they usually make a full recovery although it may take some time; it is ultimately dependent on the curse, though. Creatures, on the other hand, are more complicated; they pass along the curse through the bloodstream – not to mention, the dark magic we detected is exceptionally powerful. It is impossible to remove."

Arthur rubbed his face then asked, "What does this mean?"

"We're not entirely sure. There is very little known about this particular type of dark magic, but one common thread that runs throughout all cases involving dark magic is that each case must be handled differently. Yours is especially unique because of the extraordinary circumstances," Healer Crowley said.

Healer Smethwyck added, "Like I said, it is extremely rare that a witch or wizard can magically alter a creature like this. It is even more rare that someone survives once they've been attacked by said creature." He raised his eyebrows. "This happens once in a thousand years."

"So what happens now?" Arthur asked.

"We monitor it," Healer Crowley answered.

"Monitor it?" Arthur scoffed. "Until what?"

"By monitoring it, we can learn how it behaves. While it cannot be removed, we may be able to treat whatever ill effects it causes. From what we can tell right now, it has been targeting your heart, but has remained relatively dormant. Given time, we could possibly find out what triggers it."

"You could have been monitoring it for the past three years if people did their job right to begin with," Gramps shot, eyeing Healer Smethwyck. Gran laid a placating hand on his shoulder. It took a lot for Gramps to become angry, but when he did, it would make Hagrid cower. "You would already have the answers you need and this entire situation could have been avoided."

Alexander gained the attention of the room when he cleared his throat and took a step forward. "They followed protocol. Healer Smethwyck is the Healer-in-Charge of his ward and knows how to do his job properly. There were no signs to indicate any dark magic was present, so there was no reason for them to check," he said professionally. "This was no one's fault. What's important is that we are aware of it now."

Gramps backed down after that.

"Healer Buxton said there was damage," Arthur said. "How much are we talking about?"

"Well, the records from last time you were here have helped give a more accurate reading for today. Over the past three years, up until about seven weeks ago, your heart function has gradually decreased about five percent – That's about 0.14 percent each month, so it's nothing to be too concerned about right now," Healer Buxton answered. "But in the past several weeks, it has decreased another five percent, most of which abruptly occurred today. A ten percent loss is not necessarily bad, especially since you've had a very good health history," he tried softening the blow.

"But this will eventually kill me."

"Most likely," Healer Buxton said. "However, optimistically, you could live another twenty-seven years with gradually decreasing health if you never have another episode like you had today – and that is without any treatment."

Twenty-seven years. Twenty…seven…years. Sure, it was better than two or three, but Arthur had hoped he'd live another ninety at the least, especially since he'd managed to survive two wars. He'd only make it a few years past middle-age if their calculations were correct. "If that's being optimistic, what's the worst case scenario then?" he asked hotly.

"There is no way to tell. It's dependent on too many variables, and we don't have hardly any information."

"No, tell me, if you had to take a guess, what would you say? Weeks? Months? Years?"

"Arthur, that is without treatment. There is no reason to worry about that," Alexander cut in before Arthur could get himself even more worked up. "Let's just focus on gathering information and finding out what can help minimize the damage it causes."

"So, what can help?" Gran asked, making sure Arthur couldn't respond with another hostile comment. "What treatments are there?"

"We won't know for a few months. We'll have to learn more about the curse before we can develop a plan, and then there are still no guarantees," Healer Crowley explained.

"They mentioned something about strengthening charms last time I was here," Arthur said evenly, actively working to calm himself.

Healer Crowley flipped a few pages over in Arthur's chart. The white-haired witch held up her spectacles and scanned the page. "Ah, yes," she said. She looked back up at Arthur. "Placing strengthening charms around your heart could be a possibility, but we do not want to do that unless absolutely necessary. We try not to do anything invasive until we have tried other avenues. Usually, a procedure like that is fairly simple and low-risk, but this new information complicates things quite a bit. There is no way of knowing how the dark magic will respond or if the charms will even be effective."

"Could you do anything to help with his bad mood in the meantime?" Gran asked seriously.

Healer Crowley peered at Gran. "I don't understand what you mean."

"He hasn't been acting like himself recently," Gran elaborated. "That's because of the curse, isn't it?"

"It doesn't work that way," Alexander explained. "Curses – dark magic – none of it impacts mood or changes personality. I mean – yes, it tends to corrupt the person practicing dark magic, but it doesn't affect victims in that way."

"That's right." Healer Crowley lifted her clipboard again and readied her quill. "For now, we need to see if we can figure out what causes the curse to become active. Do you know what caused the panic attack today?"

"I had a nightmare," Arthur said with a shrug, as if it was insignificant.

"It could be helpful to know what it was about. Do you remember anything?"

"The night I was attacked, but that's a common occurrence. I mean, I don't have it as much as I used to, but I have it once a week, or maybe every other week."

Healer Crowley hummed as she took quick notes. "Was it any different this time?" she asked and looked back up.

Arthur stared at the bed as he thought for a moment, attempting to recall what exactly happened in the dream.

"What about that toy the kids were playing with? Was that the snake that attacked you?" Gran tried to help, but Arthur was too deep in thought to notice.

"That was just a toy," Alexander replied. "It wouldn't have done anything except maybe trigger the nightmare and possibly make it more realistic; it has to do with the subconscious."

"I didn't survive," Arthur finally muttered. He looked up at Healer Crowley. "Every single time, it has replayed the attack precisely, down to the tiniest, most insignificant detail." He unconsciously scratched the side of his neck. "And they're always realistic. I've never had a dream or a nightmare as realistic as this one. It's…It's like I'm reliving it physically as well as mentally."

Alexander moved closer to the foot of the bed and crossed his arms, intrigued. "Can you think back to other times you had this nightmare? Did you experience any similar symptoms? Chest pain, burning or reddening of the scars…"

Arthur thought again. "I don't know. I usually wake up a bit pale, so the scars appear a little more red than normal. I've woken up with heartburn as well, but that comes with age, I suppose," he dismissed.

"Every time?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes at his brother. "Yeah…I think so," he answered uncertainly.

"Arthur…that's not heartburn," Alexander said, shaking his head. "Did you not find it odd that you'd have heartburn every time you had this nightmare?"

Arthur shrugged. "It was happening so often I stopped paying attention to it after a while."

"Well, it seems the dark magic is triggered by the nightmares, and the amount of damage inflicted is dependent on the intensity of the nightmare," Healer Crowley deduced. "From what you've told us, the nightmares have remained relatively consistent, which would support the gradual decrease in heart function. The change in the nightmare this afternoon reflects the more significant damage.

"It is also a possibility that the curse is generating the nightmares. The curse and the nightmares could be feeding off each other – a sort of symbiotic relationship, if you will - but we would need to admit you for a few days to determine anything definite – And please keep in mind this is all conjecture at this point," Healer Crowley added.

She put her clipboard to her side. "We have a lot to look into, but we're going to let you go home. You should be fine. Make an appointment with either me or Healer Weasley here in about two weeks for a follow-up, then you'll probably have to come back every two months.

"In the meantime, it is crucial that you take care of yourself. Get plenty of rest. Watch your stress level. Maintain a healthy diet. Get plenty of exercise, but don't overdo it. And, strictly, no smoking or drinking," Healer Crowley instructed. "You need to be proactive in keeping your heart healthy. Partaking in unhealthy behaviors will not help your situation any."

The Healers finally took their leave. Arthur wasn't exactly sure how he felt, but he knew he wasn't happy about any of this. He'd rather have had a heart attack, to be honest.

It wasn't much longer before the four were able to leave, all of them ready to get home. Before they left the room, Arthur gave his grandparents and brother a warning. "No one breathes a word of this to anyone," he stressed. "If I decide to tell anyone, that is up to me."

The other three gave their assurances.

"You will tell Molly and the kids at some point, though, won't you?" Gran asked.

"I don't know yet," Arthur mumbled. "It won't much matter if they never speak to me again, will it?"

A few minutes later found them walking through the maze of corridors toward the exit.

"I'll understand if you don't want me to be your Healer," Alexander said as he and Arthur followed Gran and Gramps. "Healer Crowley does have about forty years' experience on me, after all.'

"You had my complete confidence before she even said anything. You're an expert in your field and probably know more than she does about this," Arthur said. He rubbed at the scars on his shoulder. "Listen, you don't have to feel obligated to be my Healer. I don't want to put that kind of pressure and responsibility on you."

"You'll be like any other patient."

"Oh, so that's your usual reaction whenever someone tests positive for a life-threatening curse," Arthur quipped.

Alexander made a gesture resembling a mixture between a shrug and a grimace. "Sorry about that," he apologized sheepishly. "I was just not expecting that."

"Gee, you'd think your boss - who was on-call, by the way - coming in there would have given you some idea about what was going on."

"Okay, well, what do you expect? You're my little brother. There's going to be some level of personal involvement."

They turned down another long corridor. There was only one more turn before they got to the large waiting area and, subsequently, the Floos.

"There are a few things you need to understand if you're going to be my Healer," Arthur said. "If I decline to do something, that's it, alright? The final decision is mine."

Alexander cast a sideways glance at Arthur. "I am capable of separating work and family, you know."

"If I opt not to do some treatment or something, you can't turn into the overprotective older brother like you have always been so prone to do," Arthur rephrased.

"Okay!" Alexander threw up his hands. "In my office, as a Healer, I will only advise you as a Healer should. I won't pressure you into doing anything you don't want to do."

"And you can't talk about my condition, or treatment, or anything else that happens here with anyone."

"I couldn't do that if I wanted - Healer-patient confidentiality."

Arthur halted and put a hand out to stop Alexander. He looked his eldest brother in the eye. "Are you sure want to do this?" he asked seriously. "Because it may take a while, but if nothing works and worse comes to worse...we know where this is headed."

"I can handle it," Alexander assured quietly. "But if it gets to a point where I realize I can't, then I'll tell Healer Crowley and she'll take over. She and I already discussed all of this."

Arthur looked searchingly into his brother's eyes. "Okay," he finally said and stuck his hand out.

"Okay," Alexander repeated, placing his hand in Arthur's. The two brothers shook hands and continued down the corridor after their grandparents.

As soon as they turned down the last corridor to the main waiting area, Arthur saw someone sitting there he was not prepared for.