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hospitality
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December 1939
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After their conversation, Harry finds that Tom keeps his word; there are no more questions about his nightmares.
If anything, the incident seems to have convinced Tom that the level of care he provides needs to be increased. Each time when Harry wakes, Tom is already awake. Tom gives him hugs and pets his sweaty hair until his breathing evens out. Until Harry is calm enough to lie back down and go to sleep. Tom insists that Harry isn't the one waking him, but Harry feels guilty all the same.
Though Tom tries to hide it, Harry thinks that the severity of his nightmares must be scaring Tom, too. Sometimes Tom's breathing is funny, and sometimes Harry can feel the rapid beat of Tom's heart thudding in his chest. It's not normal to have so many bad dreams, and it certainly isn't normal to forget about so many of them.
Jon's room is far enough away from the rest of the rooms in the house that Harry hopes no one hears the few occasions where he wakes with a yell. It would bring up a lot of unwanted questions. He and Tom have been practicing the Silencing Charm at Hogwarts, but so far neither of them have seen Nathaniel or Septimus do any underage magic in the house. It's safer to not risk getting in trouble.
Harry wishes he could have a normal childhood, but also he knows that if he had, he never would have met Tom at Wool's. Maybe they still would have met at Hogwarts, but then that means Tom would have grown up all alone.
So they're okay, his nightmares. Harry can put up with them and hope that someday they will leave him. After all, the more time he spends at Hogwarts, the easier it is to forget.
Over the course of their stay with the Weasleys, Tom and Septimus are civil with each other. Harry figures it is because Septimus' parents are watching. Tom wouldn't dare try anything with watchful adults around, and Septimus isn't about to misbehave in front of his parents.
In the meantime, Harry busies himself with Christmas presents. This year he had made a point to plan in advance. During one of his and Tom's summer jaunts out and about in Diagon Alley, Harry had exchanged some of their sickles for Muggle pounds. From there, he'd convinced Tom that they ought to look through some second-hand Muggle bookshops.
Harry had enjoyed pouring over the selections to find just the right book for each of their friends. Tom had helped, too, giving opinions here and there, sometimes pulling a book off a shelf and offering it for Harry's perusal. These were personal gifts without being too expensive. They were easier to wrap, too, because of the simple box shape, which Harry was glad for.
"Are you excited for Christmas?" Harry asks.
The three of them are on Septimus' backyard porch, watching fat snowflakes fall from the sky.
"Christmas is brilliant," Septimus agrees. "You'll see how fun it is once everyone is here."
"Everything is great so far," Harry says. "Your parents are very nice, letting us stay."
Septimus shrugs. "My parents aren't strict about who I spent my time with. I would have bothered them until they said yes."
"Do you know when Atticus will be here?" Tom asks.
If Septimus is surprised by the change of subject, he doesn't show it. "We might not see him until Christmas, honestly. You'd think people would be more careful around the holidays, but that doesn't seem to be the case. More so this year."
"A shame, that."
"Yeah, well, hopefully we'll see him soon." Septimus quirks the side of his mouth into a mild frown.
Harry feels a need to interject. "It's okay if he doesn't have time to look at me. I don't want him to spend his holidays doing work."
"Harry." Both Tom and Septimus speak in the same exasperated tone. They cut off in the same way, too, and turn to look at each other, obviously irritated at their simultaneous outburst.
"Your health is important," Tom says sternly.
"It's no trouble, honestly," Septimus adds. "Atticus told me he wants to help. He's one of the best healers at St. Mungo's. He'll know how to help you if there's anything wrong."
Outnumbered by his friends, Harry can only fall silent. "Okay," he says, when they continue to stare at him. "As long as Atticus wants to, I suppose."
"Great." Septimus beams.
Tom smiles and pats Harry on the arm in a way that it probably meant to be encouraging, not condescending.
Harry decides maybe he likes it better then they're at odds with each other rather than ganging up on him to look after himself.
Harry has never known a family dynamic before, but he thinks that if he and Tom were ever adopted, he would want one like this. The Weasleys are wonderful hosts. Septimus talks freely to his parents about everything. It is a marked difference from the halting way Annalise often speaks of her and Adelaide's home life.
Mrs. Weasley sets up games of wizard's chess in the living room so they can play simultaneous rounds together, and Tom beats everyone except for her. Apparently during her time at Hogwarts, Mrs. Weasley had been something of a champion player.
Tom doesn't seem to mind too much; after all, losing to an adult is hardly a mark of failure. But Tom does continue to play against her whenever the opportunity presents itself. He is determined to win. So Harry is not surprised when five matches later Tom at last declares a victory.
"Do they still do chess club at Hogwarts?" Mr. Weasley asks curiously.
Nathaniel is the one who answers. "It is less of a club and more of a casual group. Gobstones are all the rage now, so they've started their own club for that."
"Gobstones." Mrs. Weasley sniffs. "That foul liquid is something awful on the hair."
"People have been using it to settle disputes," Nathaniel continues, "which is better than dueling in the halls. Can't say I'll complain about that."
"Do you catch many people dueling in the halls?" Harry asks.
Nathaniel shrugs. "Most aren't brave enough to try. Or old enough, really. Dueling to settle an argument is an old tradition."
Tom leans forward, elbows braced on the arm rests of his chair. "Tradition?"
"A belief that magic favours the strong and the worthy," Mr. Weasley says. "In most cases, they mean magic inherited by blood. The rhetoric of many old families, though views are slowly changing."
"Right," Nathaniel says brightly. "Because of students like Tom and Harry."
Harry flushes. "Not me."
"Stuff it, Harry." Septimus gives Harry's shoulder a shove. "You're smart! You work hard for your marks."
"If Septimus says so, it must be true," Mrs. Weasley comments from behind her mug of tea, like she's sharing a secret.
"Harry's great at Quidditch, too," Septimus adds. "We'll sweep the cup this year because of him."
Harry wants to shrink into his chair, but he forces himself to stay upright. He is proud of his place on the Quidditch team.
Louisa had said people were hesitant to have two second years on the team. Usually tryouts were for older, more experienced players. But Louisa had assured them that she had faith he and Septimus would both be perfect additions to the team.
After playing actual games on the pitch, Harry feels like he has a solid place on the team. He is accepted as part of the group, as an important player in the lineup. Harry is proud of himself, and of Septimus, and he's happy that all their hard work has paid off.
Septimus had put in a lot of effort to train himself up to Louisa's standards. It's a lot of effort that most people probably don't notice because Septimus has always been a hard worker, has always been eager to lend a hand to those who ask for it.
Maybe it comes with the territory of having so many older siblings. It seems to Harry that Septimus has grown up in a household where people offered help before anyone needed to ask for it.
"We'll squash Ravenclaw flat," Harry agrees.
"That's the spirit," Nathaniel cheers. "I'm awful tired of listening to Roper brag at the end of every season. Can't wait till Harry steals the Snitch from under his nose."
At this point, Harry turns to take in Tom's reaction. Tom smiles as soon as Harry looks at him, which could really mean anything if Harry didn't know better. But because he does know better, he can pick apart the reaction.
Tom has many different smiles he offers to people. The charming, polite one he shows to their professors. The easy-going one he flashes to their fellow yearmates. The smirk that settles on his lips when he triumphs. Harry knows all of these. He knows Tom, and this is why he can read the edge of something else in Tom's otherwise genuine smile.
"Harry can do anything he sets his mind to," Tom says slowly. "It's one of his most admirable traits."
"The two of you are quite close," Mrs. Weasley says kindly. "Like brothers."
"Harry and I look out for each other," Tom agrees.
"Tom is like family to me," Harry says.
Mrs. Weasley sighs and regards them both with a patient, sad expression. "I don't suppose either of you know anything about your parents? Or where you came from?"
"Sadly, no." Tom exchanges a look with Harry.
Harry can only shrug and agree. "I've never met my parents. The matron said I was left at the orphanage with a note addressed to my aunt. They never found her, and even if they had… well, I don't think she wanted me to begin with."
The room falls quiet at Harry's depressing proclamation. Harry regrets speaking. He should have held his tongue. It is nearly Christmas, and here he is, plaguing his kind hosts with his unimportant woes.
"That may be true," Mr. Weasley says softly, reaching across to place a light hand atop Harry's shoulder, "but you and Tom will always be welcome here with us."
Atticus arrives at the Weasley home two days before Christmas Eve. He has dark circles under his eyes and looks as though he is liable to pass out in a dead faint at any moment. His parents fuss over him while the rest of them watch. Atticus takes it in stride, fending off his father's attempts to wrestle him into a swaddle of blankets, and marches upstairs to his room for what he claims will be a short nap.
Concerningly, Atticus does not come down for dinner. Mrs. Weasley goes to investigate and reports that Atticus, the poor dear, is fast asleep and no one is to disturb him. As a result, dinner is more subdued than usual. Mr. Weasley debates aloud whether they ought to bring Atticus some soup, but in the end it is decided that it is better to let Atticus sleep off his fatigue.
Harry can tell that the Weasley parents are worried but do not want to cause further worry amongst their children. Septimus pokes at his plate with glumness while Nathaniel tells them about the Christmas present he's purchased for Genie. After dinner, everyone goes about their usual evening while Atticus remains in his room, dead to the world for all intents and purposes.
"Does he normally get worn out like this?" Harry can't help but ask. "It can't be good that they're working him this hard."
"Atticus likes helping people," Septimus says quietly. "He sometimes forgets that he has limits. This isn't the first time he's shown up here and slept through the day. I wish he'd take better care of himself." Septimus frowns, his brows all bunched up. "I dunno. He's wicked smart, though. He used to volunteer his time at the Hospital Wing while he was at Hogwarts. Turned down the Prefect role so he could have the time for it."
"I hope he feels better soon," Tom says. "It'd be a shame for him to fall ill so close to Christmas."
"We've got potions," Septimus says, turning his gaze to the sky. "Pepper-Up and other ones. I think mum will probably give him something when he wakes up. Dunno if he'll take them, though. Atticus says it's bad to develop a reliance on potions."
Harry nods. "Makes sense."
"Don't worry, though," Septimus adds quickly, glancing back over at Harry. "He's got quite a few days off. We'll make sure he can see to you before he has to go back."
"I'm not worried about that," Harry protests. "I don't want him to be more tired because of me."
"Merlin, Harry. It's not a big deal, honestly." Septimus sighs. "Looking you over isn't the same as having to treat patients at St. Mungo's. You should hear the stories Atticus has. People lose limbs on accident. This is nothing, I promise. Just some diagnostic spells and the like."
"It's for your own good," Tom says. "We don't want to go to the nurse at Hogwarts, Harry."
That is true. The benefit of seeing Atticus is that his problems will be kept private. Or at least as private as they can be. Harry doesn't want his past to follow him to Hogwarts, and he has the suspicion that Tom feels the same way. Hogwarts is a separate space from Wool's; they will keep it that way.
Harry exhales a deep breath, his chest heavy with resignation. This is clearly a losing battle. He's not quite sure why he continues to fight it, honestly. "When he's feeling up to it, then."
"Of course," Septimus says. "The plan isn't to overwork him, Harry, really. You worry too much."
Harry does worry, but more than that, he feels guilty. It's not right for both Atticus and Septimus to be putting him first, but it's not like he has a say in the matter. Hopefully once all this is done, people will stop treating him like some fragile flower.
Atticus wakes up half past noon the next day. He spends about an hour being plied with food, water, and potions. His eyes are brighter, though, and his smile more cheerful. This cheer spread to Septimus, who is noticeably happier that his brother is doing well.
"I'm fine," Atticus repeats, over and over again, running a hand through his floppy hair, pushing the bangs back from his face. "I'm fine, dad!"
The afternoon passes much the same way, with everyone watching Atticus for signs of fatigue. Atticus regales them with tales from St. Mungo's, with rude patients and unreasonable injuries.
"As if anyone would convince me that they accidentally Splinched all of their fingers exactly at the second joint. Specifically when there are clear signs of Dark magic cauterizing the edges."
"What does that look like?" Tom asks. "Is it always obvious when there's been tampering?"
Atticus makes a mild sound of disapproval. "Only to those who don't know what they're doing. Dark magic used to be a large chunk of our healing practices, decades back. People began abusing it, though, which is why I still get patients who've made mince meat out of themselves."
"Sounds painful," Harry comments with a wince. "Why do people still do it?"
"It works," Atticus says simply. "If you do it right, it works. The benefits are there, clearly, but not everyone is cut out for handling powerful magic that can go catastrophically wrong. It takes a lot of discipline, more even than healing with Light magic." Then Atticus stretched out in his chair, looking thoughtful. "There used to be plenty of apprenticeships for it, but the tradition has been slowly dying out. Nowadays you'll see healers like me who have been trained under multiple older, more experienced healers at public or private institutions."
"One of our classmates was thinking about going into healing," Harry says. "I didn't know it was so complicated. The history, that is."
"I imagine it is plenty interesting from a Muggle perspective." Atticus frowns. "You'll have to tell me how practices are in the Muggle world. I'm curious to see if there are similarities."
Harry exchanges a look with Tom. Neither of them are overly familiar with doctors and hospitals. Harry's own experience boils down to being treated for smoke inhalation and non-existent burns. "We don't know much about it, but we can try?"
Atticus snaps his fingers, his face lighting up. "That's right. I still need to look you over, Harry. Perfect! Fair trade, wouldn't you say?"
"Sure," Harry allows. It feels better than having nothing to offer.
"Wonderful." Atticus stands up, and Harry is bewildered to realize that the man means for them to do the check up right now. "The upstairs bedroom will do. I don't need a great deal of space."
Harry gazes around the living room. Everyone is smiling and nodding at him, even Tom. Tom, who has also half-risen from his chair to follow. "Okay," Harry says, a dull dread thudding in his chest.
The walk upstairs is quiet. Harry can't place the source of his apprehension. Tom hovers at his elbow, a silent presence that should feel comforting. Only it doesn't, and this only serves to confuse Harry further.
It is only when they reach Jon's room that Atticus shifts his pensive gaze to the both of them. "Tom, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to wait outside."
"What? Why?"
"Patient confidentiality," Atticus says, not unkind as he smiles in Tom's direction.
"Harry and I are like family," Tom insists. "We take care of each other."
Atticus kneels down. His hand reaches out, nearly settling on Tom's shoulder, but then he seems to think better of it as he braces both hands on his thighs instead. "It's very admirable, Tom, that the two of you are so close and care so deeply for each other. But when I undertook the path of a healer, I made an oath, and that oath requires me to ensure that Harry has the right to privacy while I look him over."
Tom stares in silence for a moment, then nods. "I can wait outside?" he asks.
"Of course you may." Atticus does give Tom's shoulder a pat, and Harry smiles at the miffed expression on Tom's face.
"Only if Harry says it's alright," Tom says stubbornly.
"It's fine," Harry says, resigned to his fate. It'll be faster if Tom isn't around to ask nosy questions.
After a beat, Tom flashes a smile. "I'll wait for you, then," Tom promises, like he has so many times before. Then he shifts his gaze to Atticus for a moment, his eyes narrowing, and Harry knows that the slight of being left outside is not yet forgiven.
Oblivious to Tom's ire, Atticus pushes the door to their room open. Harry exhales, a deep gust pulled from his lungs, and follows.
Harry swings his legs up and down, bumping his shins against the bedding. Atticus hums absently as he makes marks on a sheet of parchment. Is the check up done? Harry wants to know what Atticus is writing, but it'd probably be rude to pry.
Then Atticus taps the father of his quill on his face and says, "I think we're done here. Would you like for us to talk about what I've noticed?"
Harry shrugs. His anxiety has yet to die down despite Atticus' calm, almost impersonal manner. Whatever Atticus is about to say, it is unlikely it will make Harry feel better. Atticus had cast a number of spells, harmless ones that made his body tingle in strange places or light up with bright colours. Then Harry had been asked to cast some basic spells with his wand and to do a few stretching and breathing exercises.
While those things were going on, Atticus had asked him about Muggle healing, and Harry had done his best to answer. The conversation had kept Harry's mind occupied, which was a nice distraction from the discomfort of the medical spells.
It was only when Atticus had asked him to remove his shirt that Harry had gotten tense and anxious. But Harry had done it because he knew it was necessary. Atticus had not commented on his stressful, panicked breathing, he had only continued a low dialogue of reassuring words that washed over Harry without their meaning fully registering. But once the few spells cast on his chest were done and out of the way, everything else had been fine. Overall, the entire experience had felt very professional and thorough to Harry.
"Okay," Atticus says, gesturing for Harry to sit back down on the bed. "What I think is important for you to know is that, compared to Muggles, your natural magic enables you to heal faster and be more resistant to injury. This is especially true for younger children. Because of that, a good deal of the damage in your body, I suspect, has been somewhat repaired over time."
This is surprising. Harry knows that there are things wrong with him, injuries hidden away that only make themselves known every so often, but to hear that they could have been worse…
"That said, I must add that the amount of lingering damage is still a cause for concern. Would I be correct in guessing that you have been severely injured on multiple occasions?"
Harry nods, not trusting his voice. He wants to shut his eyes, to block out the sudden memories of sound ringing in his ears, but he keeps them open and fixed on Atticus' face, wanting to give the man his full attention.
"As you grow older, the symptoms will lessen, but I would like to start you on a proper regime of health potions now. You're still very young, Harry, and there is all the chance in the world that we can reverse all or most of the damage to your body. I'll put in an order with St. Mungo's under my name. No one will have to know they're for you."
"Okay," Harry rasps. Then he ducks his head and coughs a little to clear the mucus gathered in his throat.
Atticus frowns and steps closer, placing a gentle hand on Harry's knee. "I won't ask what happened unless you feel comfortable telling me, but I noticed that your injuries are at least a few years old. Are you in danger at home, Harry? Do you need help? If you can tell me that you're safe now, then I'll believe you. But if you think you might get hurt again, then I am willing to help as much as I can."
Harry is shaking his head before Atticus even finishes speaking, but he lifts his eyes back up and stares into deep blue. "I promise I'm not in any danger. I'm safe at Wool's. With Tom." There is more danger at Hogwarts, where their enemies are more powerful. For once, Harry understands the benefit of Tom's tyranny at Wool's.
"You didn't always used to be with him?"
"No. We met when we were kids. When I was nine. I got—I was moved from a different orphanage."
Atticus watches Harry intently for a second. "Okay. Then if you have no other concerns, I think we are done here for today."
"Great." Harry lets out a shaky breath. "Thank you."
"You're very welcome, Harry." Atticus smiles. "I'm happy to help. I'm going to talk to Nate later tonight and tell him to let you use our owl to send me a message while you're at Hogwarts if you need to, if that's alright."
"I won't need to," Harry says quickly. "I'm sure everything will be fine."
"Ah, but you're my patient now. I have a small amount of responsibility to make sure you stay healthy." Atticus pats Harry's arm. "Healer's oath, you understand. No way around it." There's a twist to Atticus' mouth that makes Harry think this healer's oath concept is a tad suspicious.
"Just how complicated is this oath?" Harry asks crossly.
"Nothing very complex," Atticus says, laughing. Then he sobers and adds, "I am here to look after your health, which means I need you to contact me if there are issues. Consider it me taking my job very, very seriously."
Harry sighs and stands up, placing his feet on the floor. Tom's been waiting outside long enough. It's easier just to agree. "Okay," Harry says. "I'll write if there are problems."
"Excellent. I genuinely hope that there are no reasons for you to write to me. And if you and Tom are over for Easter, I'll see about taking another few days to come visit, how's that?"
"Septimus would like that," Harry agrees readily.
Atticus' eyes do a funny crinkle on the edges. "You're a good person, Harry. I'm glad Septimus has a friend like you."
Harry scuffs the toe of his shoe on the floor. "Septimus is a great friend to have. And I know he looks up to you."
"All the more reason to let me help you then, yes? Less worry for Septimus, less worry for me."
"Yeah," Harry says. "I suppose."
Atticus claps his hands together. "Then I think we've kept Tom waiting long enough. Let's head out, shall we?" With a wave of his wand, Atticus dispels the magic he'd put on the door to keep out eavesdropping. Harry wonders how Tom feels about being shut out, but he doesn't have to wonder long—the door swings open, revealing Tom sitting on the floor, his arms wrapped around his knees and a pensive expression on his face.
Tom scrambles to his feet upon seeing them. "Well?" he demands, the irritation in his tone barely repressed as he stares at them both.
Atticus offers Tom a friendly smile. "I'll leave you both to discuss it," he says, then departs for the stairs.
Tom turns a softer gaze in Harry's direction. "Are you alright, Harry? What did he say to you?"
Harry has no doubt that if he was to say anything remotely negative, Tom would march right over to the stairs and try to send Atticus toppling down to the ground floor. "I'm fine, Tom. Atticus was very kind. He's going to get me some healing potions for my lungs and things."
Tom's eyes narrow. "Didn't Septimus say that it was bad to rely on those?"
"If you don't need them." Harry shrugs. "Atticus said if we start early, we can fix most of my problems."
Tom presses his lips together. "Like the breathing?"
"I think so."
"We'll see how it goes, then," Tom decides distantly. Then his eyes flicker back to Harry and he adds, "If that's what you want."
It takes a second for Harry to remember what he wants. "Yeah, I do want to. I think… I think it will help. I'd like to try and see."
"Then that's settled." Tom nods and reaches for Harry's elbow, holding it in place. His fingers curl around the bone. Comforting. Steady. "We'll try and see."
Harry nods in return. They are in this together.
A/N:
i know negative one million things about healthcare, that's my disclaimer sfkldgjdfh anyways hello all, here is me with yet another chapter of this story. much love to you all!
