Be Selfish
Chapter 3
It was only Antonin's well-honed reflexes – that so called 'Azkaban' did not destroy despite the Dementors greatest efforts - were the only thing, that prevented Harry from having his head smashed open. As Harry flopped like a rag doll after the Apparation. Antonin, who hadn't been prepared for Harry's entire weight to flop, just stared blankly down at the unconscious wizard where he'd fallen after stopping his quick descent. With a look of utter bafflement on his face, what in Morgana's name… Antonin thought. People reacted differently to the magical transportation, sure, but he'd never heard of anyone passing out during an Apparation, or more accurately, Side-long Apparation.
The worst he'd seen anyone react to Apparation was a little sickness, dizziness perhaps for a few seconds. However, falling unconscious? It made alarm spells ring, there was a reason Healers didn't use Apparation despite it being a less costly endeavour. They used Portkey's, or if all magical transportation was out such as Floo, Portkey etc…they used the Knight bus. That method was used so rarely that it had only been used three times in five decades. Used only in circumstances were magic couldn't be performed lest they kill their patient or make them worse.
Easing the boy immediately onto the floor, he was no healer, but he knew enough to get by. His mother had been a healer, and he'd learned healing spells before all else. He'd known more than they teach at Hogwarts, or rather taught. "Lori!" he barked out, making sure he was breathing first and foremost, and he hadn't passed out due to inability to breathe.
A pop announced the arrival of a House-elf, "Yes, Master?" polite and professional the House-elf waited on his Master answering. The House-elf was dressed in a well pressed and clean robe, hand stitched, with the Dolohov coat of arms proudly displayed on the right-hand side of her chest. Peeking outside of her robes, only just was a blue skirt.
"Retrieve my potions kit, immediately," Dolohov ordered, another spell and Harry's vitals appeared above him. To most people the numbers would be undecipherable. However, healers knew this as well as they knew the palm of their hands. The spell showcased how your vitals were doing, breathing, heartbeat, blood pressure and other important vitals healers keep watch over.
Blood pressure that was outrageously, dangerously low.
Antonin barely paid any attention to the House-elf when she returned, as he began to run tests to find out what was wrong with Potter. His brow furrowed displeased – and although he wouldn't admit it alarmed – by the results the tests concluded.
The injuries causing blood loss, dehydration, lack of nutrients, iron deficiency, and just as alarming anaemia. Shit, he wasn't a healer, he didn't know how to deal with all this shit. Either way, it explained how the kid had passed out, it was a surprise it hadn't happened sooner, stress can affect all these injuries and make it worse.
"Two blood replenishers," Antonin ordered, that much he could cure, the rest of these results including improperly healed bones, and bone breaks require an actual healer. Wrapping his hand around the back of Harry's neck, he raised him up to sitting position. Only to find his white carpet saturated red, blood.
Antonin stared at the blood, before glancing at the too large top, surely it couldn't be muggle fashion. He hadn't seen anyone else with clothes so big in his time watching Privet Drive for any sign of the boy. He didn't panic or get angry or fearful. Instead, he used his left hand to carefully ease the top up and over the boys' shoulders.
The first thing that he thought was: This wasn't a muggle fist fight or scuffle. That was lash marks, belt marks, and he could feel older impressions, under the new injuries. His eyebrows rose in incredulity, it seemed impossible that Dumbledore would allow his golden boy to be abused. Yet there was evidence to the contrary.
Yet the boy was a Muggle lover. Championing Muggles and Muggle-borns. Just like Dumbledore.
Antonin confessed himself baffled by the boy, as he plucked the vial out of the House-elf's hand and poured it down his throat. Roughly rubbing his throat to ensure it went down and the boy didn't choke. The second one joined the first, there, that would begin replenishing the boy's blood. It would take at least a day before it was entirely replenished.
"Air out the ground level purple spare room," Antonin ordered the present House-elf, this wasn't how he expected to start the parley. Oh, well, tossing the vial in the bin, he scooped Harrys legs into his arms, and he rose to his quite formidable height, the boy easily ensconced in his arms.
The quiet pop in the background the only indication that the House-elf had left to do as bid.
Only with the boy so close to him did he smell the boy, he was rank, smelt disgusting. When was the last time that boy had had a bath for Merlin's sake? The weather had been hotter than usual this season, but there was no excuse for not using the facilities. There was something seriously wrong here, and he didn't like where his mind and suspicions were going.
He'd been alive a very long time now and had seen the depravity of the human race more than most.
That and he could smell infection, one of the wounds on his back was most definitely contaminated.
This required a healer's expertise.
Antonin made his way to the bedroom, the door was opened, and he made his way inside. The room was a light and airy cream colour with purple bedding. Hence the 'purple' room the bedroom had been named. There were pictures on all four walls, all had a variety of purple in them as well. Other than that, it was empty of anything of personality, it was a guest bedroom.
"Send for Healer Smirnov, tell him it's not urgent but to be quick."
Lori curtsied before popping away, more than familiar with Healer Smirnov, he had been tending to her Master since he was a little boy and his father before him. Technically Healer Smirnov had retired, he was after all, celebrating his 122nd birthday in a week's time.
Antonin put the boy down on the throw that had been put over the bed before their arrival. Stepping back, he scowled in annoyance, disliking how this had gone so far. How could he get so sick in the time since he returned home from summer break? Had he been hit with a curse or spell without realising it? Scowling again, he crossed his arms over his broad chest.
If looks could kill Harry would be six feet under for no other reason than perplexing Antonin Dolohov.
"Master Antonin is in the purple room, follows me," came the quiet almost muffled sound of Lori's voice as she led Healer Smirnov towards the room both he and the Potter boy was in.
"What on earth have you got yourself into now, laddie?" the healer grumbled under his breath as he followed the House-elf.
The wizard that walked into the room didn't look a day over sixty. In fact, Muggles would likely guess at closer to fifty. His blue eyes took in his surroundings, "Well, it doesn't seem like you're the injured party this time." he commented, a fond smile on his face. That was until he noticed the unconscious figure on the bed, it turned shrewd, he knew Antonin well enough to know he'd never hurt a child.
A child was someone most definitely under the age of seventeen.
Regardless of the Dark Lord Voldemort and his orders.
"Not this time," Dolohov agreed, "Thank you for coming." Not surprised that he'd come straight away. Smirnov had always come right away when he needed him, regardless of when he was working or not. Having a healer on retainer did imply that sort of service was given. Nevertheless, he was grateful he'd come right away.
"It's of no trouble," Smirnov waved his hands to brush it off, "Now who do we have here?" moving closer to the figure on the bed. They were positively swimming in clothes, hmm, clearly, they couldn't afford fitted attires, he was surprised it was someone Dolohov knew. The family was very well off and would never associate with some homeless vagrant. Which is exactly what this person looked like.
"Heir and soon to be Lord Harry James Potter." Dolohov had the courtesy to use the boy's title as he'd been raised to show Lord's respect. Even if the enemy didn't give you respect, I turn.
Smirnov rose both eyebrows in surprise. "And what seems to be the problem?" he couldn't see any visible problems, but he knew that didn't mean anything. He was aware that Antonin had learnt a lot of healing spells from is mother who had been a formidable woman and a wonderful first-rate healer.
Antonin moved, and the magical monitor was visible to the healer. "He's had two blood replenishers." He murmured, moving to stand closer to the door giving the healer room to work. Most people would be wondering why he didn't just kill the boy, but the reality was, he really didn't kill anyone under seventeen, and only in battle. They were each fighting for a side, each side were going to cause death, it was inevitable. When he said he wasn't aiming for Granger? He'd been honest, he had indeed meant to hit Tonks.
How else do you think they'd gotten the counter curse? Because he had given it to them. Not that Pomfrey could reveal that information. Luckily it was only the one of many he had in his repertoire. His family had been avid collectors, and their grimoire collections sat at five books they never published any of their creations. His grandfather, his father's carrier, had created one book all on his own. He'd loved his grandfather so much, out of all his relatives he'd been his favourite. It had been excruciatingly painful to bear when he passed.
He missed him still to this day.
"Anything goes?" Smirnov questioned, his salt and pepper hair shifting as he cocked his head. by this he was meaning the 'illegal' spells, rituals and potions that were forbidden in the U.K which was regretfully a great many. Even something simple as a deep diagnostic ritual, which required only the blood.
"Always," Antonin declared, he didn't for how the Ministry was limiting their magic, their abilities all the while letting Muggle-borns have more of a say and devilising paganism and worse, the abundance of Muggles that know about magic able to freely (theoretically) talk about it. It had only gotten progressively worse over the past sixty years.
Dumbledore had progressively and systematically destroyed the magical world and all it stood for.
Only one person had tried to stand up to him, had gathered a group of people that felt as passionate about the magical world, their world, only to be demonised 'the Knights' condemned as Death Eaters it was only decades later that they became as bad as the papers portrayed. Then Tom had declined and became progressively worse and more deranged. It was only when he went after a kid that he realized there was something seriously wrong with Tom.
Smirnov removed a few implements of his trade, including a glowing blue piece of parchment that was barely bigger than the wizard's palm. The blue glow came from the runes situated all around the piece of parchment. In the middle was the weakest glow of all, placing it on the bed, he murmured a pinprick spell against Heir Potter's index finger. One single drop of blood oozed from the wound he'd created, and Smirnov pressed it against the single lone rune in the middle of the parchment.
Smirnov closed his eyes just before the glow became blinding. Dolohov was almost disorientated by the sudden glow that emanated from the parchment and he wasn't even looking at it. He'd seen the process done before, many times, so it was of no interest to him. Still, he didn't expect to be blinded so.
"Is that normal?" Dolohov demanded to know.
"Yes, there has been additions to the ritual since you last saw it performed." Smirnov explained, "It literally burns the paper and the blood until nothing is left." He explained as he was indeed left with nothing but ashes from the tiny square piece of parchment.
Then parchment magically appeared above Harry, scrolling up and up as it went.
"What age is the boy again?" Smirnov asked, watching the process, with what could only be termed as consternation.
"Sixteen," Antonin told him, well aware of the boys' birthday, everyone knew it, even those on the dark side.
A small hum came from Smirnov, then a nod, "I thought as much," waiting impatiently to read the results of the information that would lay bare as Heir Potter's medical history. "Far more of a medical history than a young teenager ought to." He added, with a frown, as it continued.
"He's had far more excitement than most," Antonin remarked, as he watched the scroll as it continued to unfurl.
"So, it would seem," Smirnov replied, his worry becoming a little more prevalent.
The pair seem to frown deeper in sync the longer the scroll continued to emit its magic. Which thankfully, did not continue to run for much longer. Smirnov glanced briefly at Dolohov wondering what he'd gotten himself into now. Not curious enough to ask, he had a don't ask don't tell policy, far safer to work that way. He only ever needed to know enough to safeguard and care for his patient nothing more.
"Is there anywhere I could sit to read this?" the un-worded clear as a bell, 'it may take a while' remained unheard but understood by the pair of them.
"You may take the sitting area in here or the main sitting room through there," Antonin informed him, "Or the kitchen, the choice if yours."
Smirnov glanced behind him, surprised indeed to see a sitting area to the left. Mostly hidden by the fourposter bed. The curtains weren't tied up properly, at the bottom. Presumably it had come undone at some point, since this was most definitely a guest bedroom. "This will more than do," leaving his bag and the rest of the items he made his way to the table and sat down. It was far more comfortable, and the table acted as a prop to keep up the parchment in place.
Antonin moved further into the room as well, leaning against the wall keeping his distance. He'd learned that healers truly hated being hounded for information. He waited patiently, knowing he wasn't going to like what he heard. Eventually when it became clear he wasn't going to be spoken to any time soon, he moved to a chair and sat down.
It took ten more minutes before he spoke, "I scarcely know where to begin…" he confessed, glancing up at Antonin his brows furrowed showing his tension.
"How about from the beginning?" Dolohov asked dryly, having no fear of insulting the wizard, for he was rather a sarcastic person regardless.
"He hasn't had all his inoculations, it's sheer dumb luck he hasn't been infected with something whilst in school." Smirnov answered, "The attack resulted in something of the Dark Lord Voldemort being imbedded in the child. I would need to focus on that to glean an understand to what it was. It's black magic, bordering on Necromancy."
Antonin grunted, shifting in his seat, gesturing for the healer to continue.
"That's when his health seems to decline," Smirnov explained, glancing at the boy, he really shouldn't be giving Antonin his medical history. Unfortunately, given his abysmal appearance there was no way he could afford…which shouldn't be possible, he was the Potter heir unless they were penniless. Which might be a reality, wouldn't be the first house to fall from grace. Still, he clearly needed someone to take care of him. Antonin wouldn't have brought him here if it were not something he intended to do.
"Go on," Antonin murmured, leaning forward.
"Malnutrition, it was at it's worst until he turned four, it didn't reverse the damage, but it prevented starvation." Smirnov explained, "The Malnutrition weakened the bones, and thus made them more susceptible to breaking. Which has happened, and his magic had been the only thing mending the breaks, but they're unnaturally set. I would need to remove them instead of rebreaking them. There were seventy-nine improperly broken bones. The malnutrition also did not help his eyesight, and he does not have the proper prescription eyewear. Which had worsened his eyesight over the years.
Antonin's gaze chilled the room, his face would have chilled anyone to the bone.
Smirnov continued to explain the sheer consequences of Harry's life with the Muggles he'd been placed with. Which was a great many consequences. The penalty of course, was also a widened magical core, and one that was severely drained in keeping him alive.
"Are you telling me the boy is using only half his magic?" Antonin asked, glancing at the unconscious boy in shock. He was more than just a little impressed now. He'd seen him use magic, seen him keep up, and duel. Yet what he'd seen was only half his magic? He was awed.
"I'd say less than half, you have no idea how bad it is, under those clothes, I wouldn't be surprised to see him skin and bone." Smirnov revealed, "He has a septicaemia, severe blood poisoning, I don't think his magic would have been able to fight it off. One of his injuries must be infected."
"I could smell something when I carried him," Antonin grudgingly nodded, "He has whip lashes on his back, with older ones healed beside them."
"Yes, I gathered as much from the results," Smirnov informed him, a grimace of aversion on his features.
"When was the first time?" Antonin asked not sure he wanted to know the answer but demanding it, nonetheless.
"Five," Smirnov told Antonin, glancing away from the wizard, "He's had a very tough life." He couldn't help but wonder if all he'd heard about the boy was even true. For, truly, how could he contemplate defending Muggles? Let alone actually doing so given all they'd done to him?
Antonin's hand balled into fists, disgust flashing through him. Most wouldn't treat their house-elves like that (most being the keyword) never mind their child. No, child (even a spare) would have been treated that way. Dumbledore had to know, surely, he'd been coined the wizard's magical guardian after the attack after all.
No matter, he'd find out sooner or later.
"It's hardly a wonder he fell unconscious after being Apparated here then," Antonin declared, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Do you know whether he has any allergies?" Smirnov questioned.
"I do not," he confessed, "I could attempt to gather his medical files, if he has any, from Hogwarts?" he could visit on the pretext of ensuring Granger's continued wellbeing. Poppy naturally, couldn't say anything, couldn't reveal he'd been there it had been the one stipulation he'd given for bringing her in the know about his counter-curse. For which without Granger wouldn't have survived, no matter how good a healer Pomfrey was. If they wanted to delude themselves into thinking that, well, he didn't care.
Healers were always neutral. They tended to stay out of fights, and they were magically compelled to do no harm and naturally, heal those that need it.
Smirnov shook his head, "She'd know, only an imbecilic fool would let their medical files be easily sought after." No, he may not personally know this healer, but he knew they were fastidious about keeping their files safe.
As much as Antonin wished he could say Pomfrey was a fool, especially considering where she worked. He couldn't, she was intelligent, powerful, she'd succeeded in undoing his spell on the Granger girl the first attempt. There were only a few people he reckoned who could do that. Himself, the Dark Lord and perhaps Severus Snape.
"How long will it be before he's awake and coherent?" Antonin questioned; his tone entirely too disgruntled.
Smirnov glanced at him in silent query to know more. To know where the disgruntlement comes from.
"We are under the parley oath," Antonin explained, straightening out they weren't going to get much of a truce from an unconscious boy.
"He will be unconscious for at least two days, groggy for another," Smirnov explained, "However, he will owe you his life, especially if he had been determined not to seek aid." He didn't need to say more, or it at all, Antonin knew what Septicaemia was and how fatal it was.
"Has it been caught in time?" Antonin asked, and it wasn't entirely because if Potter died in his care after the oath, he'd lose his magic, no, not at all.
"Just," the healer revealed, "He cannot take anything else with the potions for Septicaemia,
Antonin nodded, "Same with Skele-grow," he bit out, the kid was going to be bedbound the entire time the truce would be in effect, maybe even afterwards. This was not part of his plans, but it would give him a chance to talk to the boy. At the very least get him some answers to questions that were baffling him.
He wanted to know how on earth the boy could support Muggles and their rights, especially given what they'd done to him. His gaze traversed to the paperwork lying on the table, unless, of course, he blamed the dark for killing his parents which in a way led to that situation. Although, it wasn't strictly true, magical children were always given to their closest living magical relative. Muggles were a last resort.
There was no way that the boy didn't have one single magical relative out there. Not when he could name a few right immediately, he was related to quite a few pureblood families through the Potter family. The Black family, which means the Tonks or Malfoy's it would have been a damn sight better than Muggles.
"Indeed, I shall need you to hold the boy up, the puss needs removed from the wound." The healer informed Antonin, and wincing a little just imagining the pain, grateful that the boy was unconscious and wouldn't feel it. Especially seeing as he couldn't give the boy anything for it. His life literally hung in the balance in getting the potion to cease the septicaemia in its tracks. Blood poisoning was nasty business, but he would ensure the boy recovered.
Antonin nodded, and for such a big man, he was very careful with the unconscious teenager as the healer prepared. He'd had a quick look, but it wasn't until they could both see it properly did its real damage become apparent. "It will never heal over properly." Not even with all the salves in the world, which was unfortunate. Potions could only do so much, but that infected area? Would be a stark reminder that he nearly died.
The wound as he suspected (due to its advanced state) was swollen, filled with puss which opened the wound further to infection. He was honestly surprised the boy hadn't passed out sooner. Without his wand or speaking any incantation, he had the wound of mostly puss drained before sterilizing it, then a bandage the right size of the wound was taped across it. Keeping the wound clean until he could have it treated, but right now, there were more important potions to be had.
Which luckily Blood replenishers were likely one of the very few potions that could be taken alongside the potion for septicaemia. Otherwise they would need to wait six to eight hours before they could give him them. Giving Antonin a nod, he stepped clear of the bed.
Healer Smirnov called his own house-elf, "Rolf," already removing his coin pouch from his bag.
"You called, Master?" Rolf stated, he was dressed similarly to Lori, they treated their House-elves far kinder than those in U.K. They trusted them with their children, with their lives, with their food…only a fool would abuse them.
"Yes, I need you to retrieve Sanguis Clarum potions from Master Romanov, two-week dosage. As well as a two-week course of Yuri's fever reducer." He told his house-elf, handing over the bag filled with galleons, more than he'd likely need for the potions he was sure. "Inform him that I shall be needing at least two months of nutrition supplement, vitamin deficiency supplement and growth enhancer potion, and much more but I'll speak to him myself regarding the potions." He wasn't going to let that boy return to Britain in the state he was in without something to help him. He didn't care if it left him out of pocket, it was preferable.
"What other potions?" Antonin arched a brow, pensive and aggrieved over, well, everything.
"Atocium, amongst others, he's going to be on quite a lot of potions," healer Smirnov informed Antonin. "This is the age where they usually become progressively more sexually active." Unaware that Harry had no clue, which was a reoccurring theme.
"He's a carrier?" Antonin said, it was more of a statement than a question really, since he was very much aware of that particular potion. His grandfather had created a much gentler version, one that didn't have the consequences the official potion had with long term use. Walking towards the door to outside, a veranda sat in the most ideal position, the cold chilled him instantly.
"He is," Smirnov agreed, shivering a little, wrapping himself up tightly against the unforgiving temperature. Given the power levels he'd read he couldn't say he was surprised. Power played a part in someone's ability as a carrier. Their power levels were always off the charts, although there had been many powerful wizards who weren't carriers so it's not a unique identifier on whether someone was a carrier or not. History had merely observed that every carrier had significant power play.
"My grandfather will like him," Antonin said, but it was with grudging amusement, the change in temperature not bothering him the slightest.
"Was there anyone that didn't like your grandfather?" the healer teased; the wizard was quite frankly the most charming wizard he'd ever met. He quite frankly could have sold potions to a Potions Master.
Antonin smirked, "Not that I know off," which made up for his fathers' father, who was quite solitary was a kind way to put it. He preferred remaining at home, with a few select people's company, even his family was too much for him sometimes. However, he adored the ground his husband walked on, they'd bonded on the most elemental level possible and had died within twenty-four hours of each other.
It was the sort of love anyone should aspire for.
It was perhaps why he'd never found the sort of love they had.
"He was a smashing wizard, powerful, cunning and friendly: made enough friends for the both of them combined." the healer said, his tone fond as he recalled the wizard in question. "I miss him." He'd visit his grave but only family can get into the Dolohov family mausoleum.
"We all do." A deep sadness and longing buried deep.
"Here I am prattling on, I apologise," the healer admitted, "It's the location, no doubt."
Antonin laughed softly, a stark contrast to how he was with others, "You have my permission to go see him."
"I will be here for at least a day; I would be very grateful to be able to talk to him." The healer said, it had been years since he'd had that opportunity, the last time he'd been summoned, it had been to the Dolohov estate in the U.K. He hadn't stayed long at all; he did not wish to be involved in the Dark Lord Voldemort's policies.
The pop of the returning derailed their conversation, allowing Healer Smirnov to get back to his patient.
A/N – Forgive me for any medical inaccuracies that have occurred. I do my best to get it as accurate as possible but sometimes all I can do is guess. Google while a miracle worker, doesn't help when you don't actually know the names of what you're looking for. LOL so, if you do know please let me know 😊 I'm not one of those authors that get annoyed by correction 😉 after all how do you learn if you can't accept criticism?
I had such a tough time with this chapter, it doesn't usually happen this soon into a story (I had that same problem with My Time too lol) but hopefully the muse will stop fighting me at every turn 😉 every attempt I made felt like awful writing and ugh I dislike those days but here you go 😊 hope you enjoy the final product. R&R please
Will we see the dark winning simply by the fact that Harry takes Dumbledore to court? To make him libel for everything he'd been through? Or is that too much like the contract? Hmm definitely worth thinking about for sure! Also how long do you think he should be unconscious for? With all his problems I mean…and will Dolohov inform the Dark Lord in the next chapter? Shall we take a peek? Or will it be just Antonin and Harry? With some of the healer? R&R please