[poAshes in your Mouth
Chapter Four: Hangover to healing.Where our hero helps the war-weary heroine, and finds being an adult isn't much fun
Harry woke up with a terrible hangover in his bed. His arm ached.
On the bedside table lay a half-empty bottle of fire-whisky. He looked over but the bed was just him. Shame. Ginny had looked nice in the robes.
A long hot shower later, Harry sat down at the breakfast table and drank the waiting hangover potion.
"Master has made the newspaper" said Kreacher, and Harry glanced at the paper.
"Auror Potter saves Awards Ball" was the headline. The photo had a tired looking Harry mechanically waving to the photographer in slightly dishevelled robes.
Hermione came to visit before Harry'd managed tea and toast "I can't sleep" she admitted. "I'm taking sleeping draft."
"I'm working and drinking" admits Harry. "Ron didn't mention it?"
Hermione put her hands on her hips "That's irresponsible" she said
"And taking sleeping draft is so great?" asked Harry.
"I was hoping we could go… maybe to St Mungos and get treatment?" asked Hermione.
"You could do that on your own?" asked Harry.
"I'd feel safer if you came with me" admitted Hermione. "Backup" her eyelids quivered.
Harry reluctantly accompanied a tense Hermione to St Mungos, where she waited for several hours to see a healer. Harry sat next to her as he waited, wand out, hating the hospital smell.
In the end, she was prescribed different potions, and she admitted nervously, a healing ritual in a few weeks. Harry got up from the waiting room chair he'd sat in and accompanied her to the Apothecary in Diagon Alley.
"Harry, you should have seen the healer too" said Hermione. "What if they could help you too?"
"I'm fine" said Harry. "I've got being an Auror. I'm making the country safer. I'm good."
Hermione nodded, took her prescription out of her beaded bag, and tapped it with her wand, duplicating it into two scrolls. "It's just a gemino curse" she explained "But… you could just take it in and get some too?"
Harry shrugged "Fine" he said "I'll take more disgusting potions, if it makes you happy."
"I'm more concerned that you're not happy" said Hermione.
"Look Hermione, I appreciate the gesture, but I've got some problems no potions going to fix" said Harry.
Hermione nodded. "Sure" she said.
Harry and Hermione both got wooden boxes of potion vials the size of lunchboxes. Hermione apparated off to the Burrow.
An afternoon spent as Kettle selling fireworks was soothing. Kettle was an Auror, true, but nobody expected him to be a hero, nobody hated him, and with the exception of the Greengrasses, nobody ever talked to Kettle other than to buy fireworks.
An elderly witch came over and asked if he could do a fireworks show. "It's for my nephew." she confided. "He's back from America with his wife. His brother was one of their lot, died at Hogwarts, good riddance."
"What would you like?" asked Harry, taking out his notepad from his, Kettles Apron.
"Well, obviously dragons, but perhaps an American eagle. A thunderbird would be better, I suppose because that was his house at Ilvermornay."
"I'm sure we could do both" said Harry.
"Well… I'm Hortense Travers nee Greise, and my nephew will be taking over Toll house. The Travers seat, as you know." Harry didn't know, but he nodded.
After the shop shut he spent half an hour with George going over the display for the Travers's.
Harry took the potion as directed before supper.
The notes said no alcohol, and Harry went to bed anxiously, only to fall asleep and have strange dreams that culminated in er… the ball, but Daphne Greengrass, the first witch he'd danced with had all been naked and pressing herself against him. He woke up suddenly with um… wet pyjamas. A cleaning charm and back to sleep. He woke up wanting to scream; having dreamed of a naked Hermione dancing pressed against him. Can you obliviate yourself, he wondered? He got back to sleep and dreamed more weird things. If he had to clean his pyjamas when he woke in the morning, well… it was the stupid potion. And that flirty Greengrasses fault for whispering in his ear like that.
Nearly a month later, Harry was really getting used to a good nights sleep. Even if his pyjamas were almost always damp. If Ginny could spend more time… around maybe he wouldn't be creaming himself like a fifteen-year-old. Harry was eating breakfast when an owl dropped off a letter.
Kreacher did something to it and levitated it over to Harry.
'Harry Potter, Head of the Black family and last Potter.
The Department of Finance has this year asses your annual tax liability to be:
Three Hundred and Nineteen Galleons Seven Sickles and Two Knuts.
Comprised by:
Income Tax of Fifty Galleons, Eight Sickles and Nine Knuts on your income of one hundred and eighty Galleons as an : Auror with The Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Additional Income Tax of Fourteen Galleons, Twelve Sickles and Nineteen Knuts on your other income of : Undeclared other income of Sixty Galleons, eighty-nine sickles and forty-one knuts.
Floo Network Authority Tariff of Nine Galleons.
Obliviators Tariff of Five Galleons.
Wizengamot service Levy of Eight Galleons
Ministy support fees comprising the remainder.
We would appreciate your payment not later than the first of April, lest we turn your unpaid taxes over to Gringotts Bank Plc for collection, which would incur additional fees.
Sincerely
Crawley Slugbotttome,
Department of Finance and Revenue,
Ministry of Magic.'
Harry looked at the bill. He was painfully aware he only had a small heap of galleons. Nothing near three hundred. And… the best thing was to… Ask his Aunt Andromeda. After work. His lawyer charged fifteen galleons a half hour, after all.
Andromeda looked at Harry over her glasses "You owe how much?"
"Three hundred and nineteen". Said Harry. "I only have… maybe a hundred."
"Well, have you got anything you can sell?" she asked. "A spare house would set you up quite well?"
Harry thought about that, and did what any hero who'd beaten Voldemort would do. He asked Hermione, by visiting the Burrow and going for a walk to the apple orchard.
She seemed quite oddly cheerful. Or had at least stopped sobbing all the time, and was acting more Hermione-ish.
"What houses do you own that you could sell?" she asked.
"Um" said Harry "I've got titles for places, but… my lawyer umm, wrote on the titles that I can't sell them. They're entailed, whatever that means, and he charges fifteen galleons a half hour, so I'm not going to ask."
"Well, what else do you have that's intact?" she asked "Just Grimmauld place?"
Harry thought about this long and hard, and a minute later nodded "You're right."
Forty Galleons at Harry's lunch break bought a second-hand tent, that smelt of cats. Again.
And a Real-Estate firm in the Alley took on selling Grimmauld… provided Harry could arrange 'vacant possession.' Which meant no house elf, and no Harry.
Harry thought about where he could live that night. His parents cottage had walls and some roof. The water might still work, and therefore… the loo. He had a feeling the bathroom was downstairs too.
Harry visited Godrics Hollow very unsentimentally that weekend, and explored the tumbledown house. The tap in the kitchen rattled, spat rusty water then ran clean. There was a bathroom off the kitchen, and apart from a missing window, was okay.
Harry cast the standard array of protective enchantments on the property. One thing he'd learnt in the war anyway.
Upstairs was wrecked by a lack of a wall and big bits of the roof.
There was an overgrown shed in the backyard with some slightly rotten firewood.
A repair charm on the roof there had it good as… probably when his father had used it as a woodshed.
Taking all the furniture out of Grimmauld place, including at Kreachers's insistence, all the paintings took all weekend. They went shrunken into trunks, charmed impervious and stacked in the woodshed.
Harry put the magical tent up in the living room of his parents house after mending the front door and vanishing the decaying furniture.
Inside the tent, it was like being on the run again, but less crowded with no Hermione and Ron.
Last thing Sunday night Harry asked Kreacher to come to Godrics Hollow, so the house could be sold.
"Kreacher will not. Kreacher is a Black family elf, and will not go to such a place." said Kreacher.
"Fine. Go to …. Black Manor then." said Harry. "I've no idea what shape it's in."
"Kreacher will serve the house of Black" said Kreacher, and vanished with a crack.
The dark, slightly smelly house seemed suddenly a lot emptier without the objectionable old house elf. Harry olwed the agents. They could use the floo.
Monday morning, Harry woke up to the smell of slightly rotten house, and cat piss. The bed in the tent wasn't as comfortable as his old bed at Grimmauld Place.
There wasn't any hot water. Harry resolved to use the showers at the Auror office.
Being Kettle on his days off has it's good points. Selling fireworks is fun. Setting off displays...
Harry went to Toll House by apparation with a large box of fireworks.
Kettle was met at the gate by a young man, a little older than Harry in a puffy red muggle coat.
"You the fireworks guy?" asked the young man in an American accent.
Harry nodded "Kettle." he offered.
"JJ Travers" said the young man "Is Kettle your first or last name?"
"I'm called Kettle. My family name causes too much trouble" said Harry.
Travers nodded "I understand. I went to that pub… The Leaky Cauldron, said who I was and everyone acted like I had splattergroit."
"Your uncle was a Death Eater" explained Harry "A complete bastard."
Harry took the box around to the back lawn and set up.
Setting up took a minute or two, then he retired to safe distance.
Travers spoke up nervously "When um, grandma fires green sparks, set it off?"
Kettle nodded and sat on the lawn.
"You're just going to sit there?" asked Travers. "Don't you want a chair?"
"Lawn's soft" said Kettle.
"I'll, um bring you a drink" said Travers.
The single bottle of butterbeer was worse than nothing. Harry found his eyes watering. Instead of a craving for another butterbeer, he just felt odd, and hunched over, sitting on the grass waiting. His arms and legs shook in an unpleasant, memory of torture curses kind of a way.
It got darker, Harry finally saw green sparks and set off the fireworks display.
The top of the box exploded off, and coloured fireballs shot into the sky in an enormous multicoloured fan. Over time, the fireballs formed up into Dragons, an American eagle and finally a Thunderbird. The rain effect under the thunderbird was really pretty.
"Kettle?" asked someone female and vaguely familiar.
Harry looked up from the grass, and someone in a dress robe stood there looking at him. "What are you doing here?" she asked.
Harry blinked "I'm setting off the fireworks" he explained.
"Oh. So you're not a Travers?" she asked.
"No. I just work for Weasleys" said Harry, a bit grumpily.
"Oh I'm sorry" said …. Daphne Greengrass. "So… that was really great. I love their Dragons" she enthused, eyes lighting up.
Harry squeezed in a dozen more fireworks shows, trying to make some money for George. George insisted on Harry getting a third of the profits. A year ago, Harry would have been noble about it. With so little money, he was glad of the ten galleons a month it makes. Oddly, Daphne Greengrass seems to come to every private fireworks show. She always comes over and asks questions about the fireworks too. Harry mentally categorises her as… fireworks enthusiast.
After the twelfth show, where she nearly gets scorched by standing too close… as fireworks obsessed.
Auror Potter is very busy. The Death Eaters are still trying to terrorise people, and opportunists in dark cloaks and white masks are keen to play at being Death Eaters, for bribes and loot.
Harry spends far more time in St Mungos getting healed than he expected.
Harry's selling fireworks at the shop one day when Daphne Greengrass came in and made a beeline for the fireworks. She started sorting through the boxed fireworks for a bit, then hissed at Harry
"Kettle?" she asked "Help me."
"What kind of fireworks to do want?" asked Harry.
"Some shooting stars will do. You're an Auror, right?" she asked, casting a privacy charm.
Oh, thought Harry, a tipoff.
"Yeah?" Asked Harry.
"Since the war" said Greengrass awkwardly.
"Yes?" asked Harry, itching to get out his pad and take notes.
"Some people have been laying low." said Daphne Greengrass.
Harry nodded.
"I mean, you don't even use your real name" said Daphne Greengrass "I totally understand. My friend… let's call her daffodil, she did some things. Not illegal, but… has a very bad reputation. Sympathised with the losing side, you know."
Harry nodded slowly and got out his pad, and wrote daffodil down.
"My friend… she' started seeing this… man, and I was wondering, can you check up. He's one of the ones that got a medal, but… he's quite secretive, and my friend, well she's going on dates with him, but… she's always had terrible taste in boys, and I'm worried… he might be going to… abuse her, and he's got a medal, if my friend complains to the hit-wizards… it'll just look like a disgruntled loser from the war smearing one of the heroes." she added nervously.
"Who's the fellow?" asked Harry.
"Dean Thomas… the uh... Gryffindor." said Daphne Greengrass "I think he's a half-blood." Harry's eyebrows must have moved, because Greengrass continued "He went to Hogwarts, you see. So obviously did my friend, and she's… he makes her coffee, and I'm really worried because she's being…. Nice."
"Nice?" asked Harry.
"My friend, P –, daffodil, she's always been a bit of a – bitch" said Greengrass nervously. "Now she's just talking about coffee all the time."
Harry spoke up "I um, know Thomas. From the ministry. The um… Hogwarts types seem to think he's okay." said Harry.
"That's the problem" said Daphne Greengrass "I'm worried he's doing something creepy, or going to, daffodil... she tends to go along with boys… if you know what I mean?"
Harry didn't, but his imagination wondered why Dean Thomas got a witch who had free time and would go along with things. Lucky prat. Even if it was Pansy.
"Why ask me?" asked Harry.
"Well… I know you, you're not one of our sort, Hogwarts alumni" she explained ", and you're a friendly acquaintance. And more importantly, you work for the Weasleys. So you can discreetly ask if Dean Thomas really does have a very large manhood."
Harry went red in the face "A what?" he asked.
"Well he's coffee coloured and everyone's heard the rumours" said Daphne. "Though I'm suspicious it's just the Shafiq's spreading false advertising."
Harry couldn't look the witch in the face. Asking if Dean was a bad guy… look into his records… but comment on his trouser size… so embarrassing.
"I can't talk about that" said Harry, staring out the window.
"Mister Weasely?" asked Daphne loudly dispelling the privacy charm.
George looked over and stalked over like a prat in his top hat. "Miss Greengrass?"
"I need to talk to Kettle privately, Auror business" said Daphne Greengrass.
George nodded "Back storeroom." he said and led the way out the back, and opened the storeroom door, and of course he waggled his eyebrows at Harry.
"Thanks boss" said Harry, eyes narrowed at George.
Daphne Greengrass strode into the storeroom and drew her wand "Don't get any funny ideas Kettle." she said.
Harry followed her in, closed the door and cast a basic privacy charm.
"Why are you not prepared to do me a simple favour?" asked Daphne Greengrass.
"It's too embarrassing" protested Harry. "How will Weasleys' know what size this Dean Thomas is ?"
"I definitely know the bra size of everyone in my dorm year" said Daphne Greengrass. "I imagine you boys all lined up and showed off."
"Oh god no" said Harry, going red in the face, and turning to face the selves, "You might see another blokes bits but no looking and certainly no comparing sizes. Besides, they get bigger...well you know. When excited."
"I'm disappointed Kettle, you seemed like a helpful, humble man for an Auror." said Daphne Greengrass. "Clearly you don't care if my friend gets assaulted by Dean Thomas."
"Look, Dean's a good guy, he's very respectful of girls. Not like Seamus" said Harry.
"What?" asked Daphne "You know all the Griffindors then? How?"
"I just do" said Harry.
"You're one of them?" asked Daphne Greengrass "Finnegan?"
Harry cancelled the disguise spell.
"No I'm Harry bloody Potter. Dean's not going to do anything your friend doesn't like" said Harry, turning to face her.
Greengrass was staring at Harry.
"You're Harry Potter" she said, blinking and wringing her hands "But… you're Kettle, the fireworks man. Potter's … you're the man who won… and an alcoholic egotist."
"I can be both" said Harry bitterly, not liking being called an egotist.
"Why?" asked Daphne Greengrass, hands on hips.
"Because I can't just have a job. I just want to be a good Auror." said Harry.
"Your friend… she should be all right." said Harry. "If she's not, she can tell you, I'll sort it."
"Daffodil… some girls don't complain." said Daphne awkwardly. "I'm not sure if she's right in the head about some things. Some girls… like stuff that's…. well boys like doing it."
"Likes snogging" nodded Harry. Greengrass had a sheltered upbringing, Harry thought.
"Like being choked, tied up, whipped" corrected Daphne Greengrass. "I'm hope Daffodil's really not like that… but I worry." Harry's mind went fuzzy. Oh. It seemed he was the one with the sheltered upbringing.
"Pansy?" asked Harry, trying to think about normal things. "She liked Malfoy… who's dating your sister."
"Fine, Pansy. She's acting really weird. Like… nice. Happy, and being thoughtful. It's not natural for Pans." said Daphne.
"Well maybe she's just in love" said Harry.
Daphne Greengrass snorted. "Pans is a bitch. I'm very worried Dean Thomas is doing something awful to her, twisting her mind."
"Making her nice?" asked Harry drily. "You could do with a little of that" he observed.
"And don't think I'm interested in you, I'm not interested in Aurors or fireworks salesmen" said Daphne Greengrass dismissively. "And before you go off and fantasise, I certainly don't like any of that stuff."
"I'd never even heard of it" admitted Harry. "I'm with Ginny Weasley."
"Well you certainly didn't make her nice" said Daphne Greengrass. And she huffed off.
Daphne Greengrass, Harry mused later over some fireworks shelf filling, was a rich, conceited woman. Who was tall and blonde and pretty-ish when not looking down her nose.
Ginny was much better.
A month later, an awkward letter from his property agent indicated the house had sold, and he had a sack of galleons to pick up. Harry had indicated that Gringotts were not to be used.
The sack, Harry was told, had eight thousand galleons in it. It was charmed featherweight.
Harry paid Finance in person the next day and saved the receipt carefully.
Living in a tent at his parents old house had it's good points, Harry thought. The gardens, with a bit of attention were quite nice. It did rain a lot in Godrics Hollow, admittedly. Wales and all that.
Harry sent his lawyer fifteen galleons, and received the title to Black manor & Potter's field in Stitchcombe.
There was nothing at Stithcombe but an empty field, not even level ground, with holes all over, dotted with scraggly trees.
Black manor is a huge, sprawling building and needs … roofs that work. Harry finds Kreacher living in the old boiler room. Kreacher's looking… old and tired.
"Master?" the house-elf croaked.
"Kreacher" said Harry.
"Is master going to repair the house?" asked Kreacher.
"I don't have that sort of money" admitted Harry.
"The roof, master. You must get it seen to. The house is rotting" said Kreacher. "For the heir."
The thought of Teddy inheriting… only his grandmothers house had Harry making difficult choices.
Harry wrote a letter to a builder and is, several days later, told by return owl that his lead roofs need seven thousand galleons spent on them. With a heavy sack, Harry took a sack of galleons to the builders office and left with a heavy heart. He's got less than a thousand galleons now. And… one cottage with no proper roof, and a rotting manor with… a roof that'll be fixed… in a month or so.
-==0==-
The cottage needed repairs, and Harry's first attempt; simply casting Reparo had left even more stone lying in the grass outside. He'd carefully found a tree in the back garden big enough and cut it down, and sliced off the bits he didn't need. The waste he chopped up with cutting curses into firewood sized pieces. The cottage was very cold in winter. Which was coming.
Harry had a drink or two to ensure he'd be able to sleep later.
As he was trying to push the new wooden beam into place in the attic, balanced on the sawhorse he'd found in the garden shed, his foot came down on air, and he fell backwards, landing on his bum with a small, sharp crack. Harry gingerly rolled off his back and checked his bum… nothing broken, and he stood up. There was the familiar presence in his back pocket of his… wand.
Harry reached around and pulled out his Holy and Phoenix feather wand… and it had a tiny crack in the Holly. Harry swallowed. He certainly couldn't afford seven galleons right now… if only there was a way to fix it. But there was, Harry remembered. He'd done this once before. Holding his fractured wand carefully he apparated to the forest outside Hogwarts and pulling his invisibility cloak from his hoodie, he disappeared for view, and started on the walk to Dumbledore's tomb.
He was feeling irritated when he got there. If he'd just kept the damn thing he wouldn't have had to come back for it, and to hope his Holly wand could manage one last, powerful levitation charm before it broke.
Harry held his wand awkwardly, trying to cover the crack with his fingers, and carefully, slowly swish and flicked a levitation charm on the marble slab, which slid sideways again, the tiniest scraping sound betraying the massive weight of the lid. It stopped slantwise on the lower tomb, but enough was exposed. His wand felt terrible, nearly falling apart, but there, atop the oh, very grisly, drying out Albus Dumbledore, was the white wand. Harry picked it up and the cool fizzing feeling of power flowed up his arm, as if it had never left. Harry cast a repair charm on his Holly wand, and with a snick, it was mended. His proper wand he put it back in it's proper wrist holster, and waved the elder wand "Accio Stone" he cast, to pull the rock back into position.
The marble slab lay silent and still. Harry was about to wave the wand again when something hit him in the head from under his shirt. Like a rock. Or a small stone. Harry peered under the front hem of the robe. There, at his feet, glinting slightly was the black pebble with a triangle carved into it. That stone again. Harry shrugged, it had come out of his jeans pocket again. He undid his shirt, pulled out his mokeskin pouch and stowed the other two Deathly Hallows. This time he used wingardium leviosa and the slab went back in place.
"I really will leave you alone from now on Professor" promised Harry, and walked away, back to the forest, back to Godrics Hollow, back to the broken house, and the small tent that smelt of cats.
He sat down, had a cup of tea and thought through his project. All he needed was to put the beam in place, and there'd be something to hold up a roof; if he had one.
Harry finished his tea and went back up to the destroyed attic. The beam need to go there, and a careful levitation charm put the beam in the right place. Almost. Then it fell off, punched a hole in the ceiling below and disappeared into the house in a cloud of dust.
"Damn" Harry swore. He drew the elder wand from his mokeskin pouch and summoned the beam back up, and repaired the hole it had made. Then the beam got put in place using the Elder wand, and permanent-sticking charmed to not fall off. A few carefully aimed repair charms had the project nearly finished. Harry fired off an overpowered repair charm on the roofline and the rotten framing for the tiles sprung out of the lawn and reformed over the beam, and the slates flew back up onto the frames. A last half slate slid into place. The roof had a lot of slates missing.
A bit of transfiguration on rocks in the backyard solved that.
Harry went to bed in the tent, knowing the cottage roof finally didn't leak.
The next day Auror Harry Potter worked on paperwork, helped arrest some Dragon parts smugglers and went home to a markedly warmer cottage. Having a roof helped. He started to wonder about maybe having insulation in the attic. Perhaps DIY wasn't so bad, he mused.
-==0==-
Time passed, and Harry got his cottage properly weather-tight. Mr Weasley's book on magical building techniques, discreetly borrowed after a Sunday roast at The Burrow helped.
Days off slowly turned into either… drinking too much and lying in the tent, or of things were going well, going to Black Manor and repairing what he could. Builders quotes for repairs to, for example the fourth floor floors, rotted out by a leaking roof, damaged plaster; which was pretty much everywhere, thanks again to the roof, and leaking windows were prohibitively expensive. Harry concluded that by the time Teddy was an adult, Teddy would inherit a building that needed a lot of money to be grand. There were a few rooms that were usable, but nothing on the bedroom floors, and the plumbing wasn't working. Kreacher looked like he might last the winter out.
Greengrass had kept going to every private fireworks show, thought she did keep a slightly more polite distance from Kettle, she still asked lots of questions about fireworks.
Time passed. Harry'd been an Auror for a year, and as part of that, he had to get his annual medical. At St Mungos again.
"You have torture curse exposure, poison damage to your heart, and a scar on your chest which has a dark magic residue" said the Healer.
"The war" said Harry simply.
"Well, we're going to do a blood test now, just in case you've got anything going wrong, or any inherited issues" said the Healer, getting a finger sized glass vial and taking a wand out.
"Inherited issues?" asked Harry as the healer spelled Harry's blood into the vial pressed against his skin.
"Yes, some families have, well, inherited intolerances to some potions. Your induction was apparently a rush job and the tests weren't done then."
They poured Harry's blood into a cauldron, which gave Harry a nasty flashback to a cemetery, a traitor and a Dark Lord. Harry started to shake a little, feeling keyed up.
"Are you having a reaction to the spell?" asked the Healer.
"I just… last time someone took blood and put it in a cauldron, they resurrected Voldemort" admitted Harry "Brings back bad memories" he laughed awkwardly.
The healer cast grabbed Harry's hand and cast a spell "Brings back bad memories? You're having a panic attack."
"I'm fine" corrected Harry, as he panted, and blinked hard trying to keep his vision.
"You're getting an appointment with a specialist." said the Healer "Healer Lowry will see you about it."
"Is that covered through work?" asked Harry.
"It's not recorded as a preexisting condition" said the Healer "So I say it's work-related, and covered."
They added some ingredients into the potion; some bat wings and some spleens. The potion turned greyish, and they stuck a self-inking quill into it and filled it, then put it on parchment and charmed it to write.
The quills scribbled away.
"Harry James Potter
Son of James Potter and Lily Potter née Evans
Not vaccinated for Dragonpox
Not vaccinated for vanishing sickness
no significant allergies.
No family records on Potter side. See Records for details."
"Ah!" said the healer "Auror Potter, you've not had childhood vaccinations. You're getting the needles today."
"My family don't have records?" asked Harry.
The healer said "I'll forward a request to records, they'll know why" and she wrote a letter, and charmed it into a paper crane that flew off in a rustle of paper.
"Now while that comes back, we'll get a couple of referrals sorted."
"A couple of referrals?" asked Harry "Just Lowry?"
"And blood healers; your mothers family should have come up and it's not so you'll need a different test"
"Oh that's because my mother was muggle-born" said Harry.
The healer shook her head "Auror Potter, you know precisely nothing about how magical bloodlines work. Your mother was the offspring of some squibs. They all are. And if they've got an exotic potion allergy, why you could die from medical treatment. As an Auror, we're pretty much expecting you to get badly, exotically injured."
"I've never had any trouble with potions, and I've had lots of injuries already" admitted Harry.
"And a cursed wound on both arms?" the healer asked sarcastically "Were you trying to collect the set?"
"The round one's a basilisk fang" admitted Harry "I got Phoenix tears for it."
"Yes of course you did" said the Healer blandly, sounding like they didn't believe him.
They wrote out two referrals and signed them.
"Now you'll need to take these referrals to admin and get appointments" said the Healer. "Records seem to be taking their time."
The door opened and a wizened, hunched, grey haired witch tottered in "You asking about Potters?" she asked feebly.
"Yes" said the Healer, and Harry pulled his shirt on.
"Oh he's here." said the witch, peering at Harry "Dishy isn't he?"
"Maude?" asked the Healer firmly.
"Auror Potter, your family have had a policy of never letting St Mungos keep records of their family tree. Your records we have from your birth. Your mother insisted, over your father's protests." explained Maude.
"Potters never let anyone know who they're related to?" asked Harry. "Why?"
"Sadly I doubt your father left any record of why" said old Maude from Records. "Are you going to let us keep your records?"
"I don't see why not" said Harry.
"And your children's?" asked Maude.
"I'm not married" said Harry.
"Oh that's no obstacle for handsome famous wizards" said old Maude, cackling.
"In the event I have children, I will be married to the witch having them" said Harry firmly.
"Sounded like his grandfather for a second there" said old Maude. "Who's his mothers family?" she asked the healer.
"Didn't come out. I'm referring him to blood diseases for a workup" said the healer.
"This his Auror medical?" asked Maude curiously.
"He didn't get his childhood vaccinations" said the Healer.
"Oh I'm leaving" said Maude "I hate needles" and she tottered out, closing the door.
"Maude means well" said the Healer in a gentle tone, then got out a metal syringe big enough to baste a turkey and asked Harry "Which arm don't you like?"
The swelling, like a ping-pong ball, was immediate after the second injection. "That's normal in adults. You'll feel sick for a few days. I'll write you up as unfit for active duty for three, to be safe" explained the healer.
Harry's vision suddenly had coloured fringes, and he swayed involuntarily.
"Seeing coloured fringes?" asked the Healer.
Harry nodded.
"It passes" she said nonchalantly.
Harry staggered down to St Mungos Admin and handed over his referrals.
Healer Lowry was a mind healer, apparently and had an appointment available tomorrow. Blood diseases had time now, if Auror Potter would go to the third floor, room four hundred.
Harry staggered up the stairs, the coloured fringes making it very odd to walk.
The brown haired witch in Blood Diseases looked up as he came in.
"Are you unwell?" she asked curiously.
"Just had Dragonpox and Vanishing sickness vaccinations" admitted Harry.
"Well, sit down then" she asked.
The same creepy blood taking spell filled two vials and a green metal quill started scribbling on a roll of parchment. After an age, it stopped scribbling, leaving fourteen feet of parchment.
The witch tore it off and started reading.
"So your mother's parents were squibs," she said "You understand a squib is the child of a mage who can't do magic?" Harry nodded.
"Well your grandparents were squibs… and theirs were… she turned the scroll carefully… "Ah, Edourds and DeGrecy out of France."
"France?" asked Harry.
"Well you can almost apparate over the channel and it's easy to portkey. People move around you know. And apparently once upon a time you could use flying carpets in England."
"Oh yeah" said Harry "Banned to prevent competition with the broom industry."
"Which is mintry idiocy. I don't think I would want to fly around on a broomstick for hours on end, but Carpets are an easy ride on long trips. They rent them in Crete. Glorious. Invented about four thousand BC apparently" said the Healer, who'd got to the end of the scroll, to the very last name.
"Son of …." she said "Wow. You really have quite a magical family tree. Can't tell you anything about Potters, but your mother… well, read for yourself.
"...Son of Selene Slytherin, Squib, Daughter of Salazar Slytherin, Sorcerer, Teacher of Wizards."
Harry blinked. He was… related to Salazar … the heir of … oh crap.
"That – " Harry paused "In hindsight explains a few things."
"Weren't you a Griffindor though?" asked the Healer "Your ancestor would have turned in his grave."
"Mum was too" said Harry…. Then remembered that odd conversation with the Sorting Hat. Anywhere but Slytherin, he'd argued. And the Sorting Hat had … given in.
Had mum had the same argument, for the same reason? Slughorn had wanted her in Syltherin, and she'd cheeked him over and over.
Was the whole speaking to snakes thing… not a result of the scar?
Did cursed scars ever do that … even if you were an accidental horcrux?
Harry looked up from the scroll. "This... it doesn't mean anything though?" Harry asked nervously.
"You're related to one of the founders of Hogwarts, that's what it means. Everyones read those stories where the lost scion of an ancient family inherits treasure and castles" said the Healer "But with modern medical magic, there are no lost scions, and all the lost treasure and castles has already been inherited."
"I wonder who else was in your family tree?" asked the Healer "This is the line for you. We could look in the records and see who else is ... you know."
"But if they were, wouldn't that be kind of a big deal?" asked Harry.
"The Smith's are related to Helga Hufflepuff, and they had her cup. It got lost years ago. That's all I can think of" said the specialist. "One drop on the lookup Grimoire, and we can see?"
Harry consented and a minute later one drop hit the page.
The blood smeared out and words formed.
'Lily Evans, Muggleborn Witch b.1960, Married James Potter. Died Sept 31 1981'
Harry smiled. Well, it wasn't a surprise, really.
After a long time, 'Tom Marvolo Riddle, Wizard, Orphan b.1926' appeared as well.
"Well I suppose he might still be alive" said the healer.
"He's not" said Harry "He died in the war" he added, trying not to explain.
"Oh I'm sorry, you lost a relative on your mothers side" said the Healer. "He would have been head of the family. Some old families… like your mothers families have odd magical connections from blood magic. It's more common in er… old families like your one there. Selwyns, Pinces, and McGintys have it too."
"Odd connections?" asked Harry, surprised again.
"Magic does funny things when cast between members of really old families" said the Healer "The ancestors of some families did things to protect the family... that pass on down in the blood."
"My mother did" admitted Harry "Worked really well for ages."
"Lily Potter did… blood magic?" asked the Healer "Gosh. It's just... it's illegal these days. Not the kind I'm doing… but the other kind."
"Illegal?" asked Harry.
"It can be used for really dark purposes" admitted the Healer "This is diagnostics, but… some families have been know to make the eldest able to send dreams to their family. I like to say it saves on post owls… but it's been used for really cruel purposes. Driving them mad, and we can't treat it. We've got three Selywyns in the Janus Thackery ward."
Harry nodded, and swallowed a horrible lump. This was making sense now. That strange connection with Voldemort. It hadn't been a Horcrux… it was just magical inheritance of being Slytherin by blood. The spell backfiring… probably that too. In fact… he probably needn't have died. Harry was prepared to bet he hadn't been a Horcrux, as much as just… the heir. Like mum… who Tom had killed… which Salazar Slytherin's spell might well have… made kill Voldmort. Harry had a horrible realisation that the war had been … just a family disagreement that killed thousands… and which Albus Dumbdledore had… talked Harry into dying for, which would have left… no Slytherins alive at all. 'Rather convenient for the chief Warlock and Headmaster of Hogwarts' said a voice in Harry's head that Harry now realised was… second thoughts about his life.
Harry felt faint and swayed on his feet.
"Are you all right?" asked the Healer "The effects of the vaccines?" she asked.
"And surprising news" admitted Harry… who had the inkling of why the Potters told nobody who they were related to…. Peverells… Hallows… shit. Dumbledore might have known from the cloak… even if Dad had never said anything. More reasons for everyone to want Harry Potter dead… and especially either Dumbledore or Voldemort.
"Are you going to try to claim a formal title?" asked the Healer "The scroll is evidence, and the college of arms will consider a request."
"I um… I think I want this to be … secret" said Harry. "Obviously there's no Slytherin treasure."
The healer looked at Harry oddly "You'd own a quarter of Hogwarts? That's a lot. And it's not the Slytherin family residence wherever that is. The founders built Hogwarts as a school."
"I'll um… take the scroll and go see the college then" said Harry.
Harry was seeing coloured fringes still. He blinked.
"What exactly is wrong with our vision?" asked the Healer "You're not old."
"I've always had bad eyesight, my father did too" said Harry.
"Have you considered getting it fixed?" asked the Healer "If you're an Auror, it'd be safer not to depend on glasses."
So Harry got another referral to eye healing on level two in room one oh one. They could fit him in right away.
Harry staggered in "Sorry I've had some vaccinations… annual medical" he said smiling.
"Oh not a problem" said the Middle aged male Healer "You might need a little break after the treatment, fifteen minutes or so."
Harry sat down and awkwardly took off his glasses. The healer shone light in his eyes from his wand-point and nodded "Come on through to the treatment room."
"Can I put my glasses on... I really can't see much." asked Harry.
"There's not much to see" admitted the Healer. "You'll sit in a chair, we strap your head still, tip it back and add precisely measured drops of potion to your eyes. The whole spell takes five minutes."
Harry let himself be led to the hard wooden chair with a big hard headrest, and sat down. The head-strap did up, then they… strapped his arms down and his legs "To stop you moving when we tip the chair back" explained the healer "You may experience some discomfort, so bite down on this "
It felt like a leather block. Harry bit gently.
The chair tipped back and Harry felt like he was mostly on his back. Then two drops of burning unbearable pain, one in each eye. Harry screamed, his body rigid with pain but unmoving because of all the restraints. The agony continued far longer than Voldemort had ever tortured him, then faded, as the room came into clear focus. Harry's whole body ached, and he was covered in cold sweat.
The healer took out the leather bite thing.
"Some Discomfort?" asked Harry bitterly "I've had more pleasant crucios's from Voldemort"
"Is your eyesight fixed?" asked the Healer "There's an eye chart on the ceiling. What's the first letter?
"A" said Harry angrily.
"And the second row?" asked the Healer
"GHI" replied Harry furiously.
"And the next row?"
"The bottom row is KPQLIHW" said Harry, still very irritated.
"You can read the bottom row?" asked the Healer, sounding interested.
"Yes?" said Harry, feeling confused.
"I'd expect someone with normal vision to be able to read the second line up from the bottom" said the Healer "Congratulations, Auror Potter you've got exceptional eyesight now… for long distances anyway." The healer yanked on a lever and the chair tipped level.
Harry felt awful as the chair clanked to sit upright but looked at his hands. They were quite lined, he realised.
The Healer undid the restraints and Harry got out of the chair and staggered off, in search of the stairs. His old glasses lay discarded on the table.
Harry was walking, well staggering along the halls of St Mungos when someone came out of the door next to him.
"Oh my It's Harry Potter" they said. Harry looked over, it was a lined woman healer in Green robes, with soft brown eyes and wavy brown hair "You're right here" she said.
"Auror physical" said Harry "Had to have some vaccinations."
"Can I just get you to pop in, I'm Healer Felicity Reaver, and I'm a scar specialist. I'd like to have a good look at your famous scar." she asked.
Harry got dragged into the ward by the enthusiastic healer.
"Well, well, what a nasty piece of work that is" said Healer Reaver to Harry lying on his back some time later "That is the darkest curse residue I've ever seen. Does it hurt sometimes?" she asked.
Harry flinched "Sometimes, yes" he admitted. "Generally when I was near Voldemort"
"Sympathetic pain" she said thoughtfully "Have you tried getting it removed?" she asked.
"Uh, could you?" Harry asked.
"Just lie down there and I'll pour some potion on" she said.
A drop of potion fell on Harry scar and the pain was like Voldemort was in the same room.
After a few seconds of loud fizzing, the healer sprayed something on his scar and the pain stopped.
"Well, I didn't manage to remove the scar, but I managed to discover a lot about what kind of scar it really is" said Helaer Reaver "I can dissolve the scar and grow back some skin. It'll take an hour or so."
"Oh could you?" asked Harry enthusiastically. No more stupid scar, great.
She poured on some potion that fizzed, after five minutes Healer Reaver said "Bugger" and Harry lost consciousness in a red flash.
Harry woke up in a hospital bed, his head ached. And everything was fuzzy.
Eventually a healer came by and told Harry that the scar removal had encountered a problem, and he'd had to be stunned and operated on.
"What?" asked Harry.
"Well, the scar actually reached into your skull, into your brain. We managed to get the scarred body out of your head, but cleaning up the mess behind it was a problem. You had a hole in your skull, and a massive dent in your brain. Did you experience headaches, mood swings?"
"Um... a bit" admitted Harry.
"Because of the nature of the curse, we couldn't use skele-grow, we had to use a stainless steel plate to cover the hole in your skull. Your skin we managed to grow back quite well, all in all. We'll be taking the bandages off in a day or two."
"Why's everything fuzzy?" asked Harry.
"We ah, don't have your glasses" admitted the healer.
"I had my eyes fixed." said Harry "Just before the scar treatment. Room one of one, on the second floor."
The glasses came a few hours later. Apprently he needed the treatment repeated, a sided effect of the scar removal going wrong. Harry put his glasses back on.
The bandages came off and Harry Potter stared at his forehead that is a single massive scar. Fucking Malfoy's fucking 'scarhead' moniker. It certainly didn't look like a lightning bolt any more. It looked like the front of his forehead had been cut off and put sewn back on over a cursed scar. Like a budget-priced frankenstien's monster.
