A/N: This chapter was posted soon after ch. 8. I originally had them written as one long chapter, but found the other to have a very powerful ending where it was, and I didn't want that lost in all of this. Hopefully you'll see what I mean. If you haven't read that first, go.
Note: I tried uploading this right after chapter 8, but ff.net wouldn't let me. Sorry you had to wait!!
Dr. Edward Thompson quickly made his way through the crisp white corridors of St. Luke's Hospital. He had made his final rounds of the evening and was now on his way to his office to await the arrival of Dr. Anya Saluria, a colleague in the same field, though with very different patients.
He had met Anya in medical school nearly forty years ago and noticed right away that she was different from all the other students. There was just something about her that he had to know her better. It turned out, his instinct was right. Anya was a witch in a very long line of witches. Magical blood, she called it. One of the few who attended university with non-Magical people (Muggles, as she had told him once in a fit of laughter). They were friends from that point on, calling on each other for opinions in their respective hospitals, though it had been quite a long time since she had called him to St. Mungo's. Today, she was needed at St. Luke's.
Dr. Thompson reached his office at eight p.m. on the dot in time to see Anya suddenly appear in his office with a soft pop. She, like him, was dressed in a white lab coat and a bright smile. Her long silvery hair was pinned up at the base of her neck, though her face looked years younger.
"Edward!" she exclaimed, clasping his hand. "It's been such a long time! I nearly fell over when I got your letter."
"Hello, Anya," he greeted her, kissing her lightly on the cheek. He looked her over and found that, except for the gray hair, she hardly looked any different than when they first met. "I do wish this were a social visit," he said shaking his head. "I might ask you to go dancing with me."
"I will treat that as an invitation," she said with a smile. "Perhaps we can invite your wife."
Dr. Thompson chuckled low in his throat before Anya turned serious.
"So, who's the patient you wanted me to see? It's not another claiming to see flying cars and witches on broom sticks, is it?"
"No, it's a boy who was placed in our care two weeks ago by a family doctor out in Surrey."
"What do you know about him?"
"Not much. He won't speak to us." He grabbed a file from his desk and motioned for Dr. Saluria to follow him. They walked slowly through the quiet corridors so he could give her all the information before reaching the boy's room. "I get the distinct feeling that he's like you." He looked at her pointedly over his wire-rimmed glasses.
"Like me?" She frowned. "Tell me about him."
"He was found in a field by Dr. Albert Snyder, severely injured and wearing only pajamas and no shoes. It was suspected he was a victim of a hit-and-run, a runaway, at first, but Snyder found that the injuries were more current with an abuse situation: mild concussion, some broken ribs, several wrist and hand bones, his collarbone. The tell-tale was a spiral fracture in his arm."
"As if it had been twisted?"
Dr. Thompson nodded.
"And the distinct marks of a heel on his torso and hand. His face was swollen, as if he'd been hit several times and a large knot on his head. The boy was in pretty bad shape. Didn't even seem to know what had happened to him. Wouldn't tell his name or his parents' name. Nothing. It didn't seem to be a life or death situation, so Snyder and his wife kept him at their house until he woke. At that point, Snyder called us, and after a number of tests, he was then declared 'disturbed.' A suspected schizophrenic."
"But you disagree. What were his symptoms?"
"That, Anya, is why I summoned you. The symptoms of schizophrenia, I'm sure, you'll notice when you go into the room. It's the others that concern me." He stopped in the corridor and opened his file. "First off, his room just feels different since he was moved in there, like the air is charged. Second, = all the monitoring equipment in his room has been destroyed," he began, counting off on his fingers. "Electricians blame it on faulty wiring, but we've never had problems until the boy was placed in that room. It just exploded. Also, since the boy received his first shot here, any syringes that enter that room burst for no apparent reason. And, he screams at night about people being killed and tortured, whether he's sleeping or awake. Sometimes it's just screaming. Other times, we hear words, strange words, like he's speaking another language." He glanced down at the file. "We've heard: crusho, impiro, evada something, and vole-mort. Vole-mort seems to be the most common." He glanced up to see Dr. Saluria looking very pale and weak. "Anya, are you alright?" He had never seen her blanche so much at simple words.
"Voldemort? He was actually saying that? Voldemort?"
"Yes. Does it mean something to you? Is it a-" he lowered his voice, "-spell?"
"The others are," she explained in a hushed voice. "But the last. It is a name no one dares speak. If this boy is invoking that name, he is a danger to everyone here."
"But he's just a boy- no more than fourteen or fifteen."
"That name is the name of a very powerful and dangerous wizard." She looked at him curiously. "Fourteen or fifteen? He shouldn't be old enough-. Edward, where is he? Let me see him."
Dr. Thompson motioned toward the door across the hallway. Dr. Saluria glanced in through the window to see a dark haired boy rocking himself on the bed, his knees drawn to his chest, hiding the sling that protected his right arm.
"You said there is no electric equipment? Nothing that can record our conversation?"
"No. Nothing will work in that room."
"Good. Edward, you stay out here." She slipped into the room and instantly was hit by the concentration of magic in the room. This boy was most definitely a wizard, possibly quite powerful. She watched the boy for a few seconds, though he seemed not to notice her. She stepped forward.
"What's your name, boy?"
He ignored her, continuing rocking on his bed, one hand obscuring his face behind the long black hair that hung almost to the tip of his nose. She bent down to try and catch his attention and gasped. His hand was not merely covering his face. The boy had been digging his nails into the skin on his forehead. She could see the blood on his fingers, forehead, and face.
"Get out of my head. Get out. Stop it. Stop it. Get out," he was demanding in an oddly soft voice.
Dr. Saluria gently took his wrist and pulled his hand away so she could see him more clearly, wondering to herself why he had not been restrained from this activity. His thin pale face and small nose were smeared with his own blood. From behind his long clumps of hair, she saw a dull green eye flit up to her face before his wrist flexed and was pulled from her grasp. Without hesitation, his hand returned to its previous pursuit of tearing at his own skin. She gripped his wrist more firmly and pulled it away again, holding it more tightly as he fought against her. With her other hand, she moved his hair out of the way to examine the deep scratches and gouges he had caused. Then, she reached into her coat and removed her wand. The boy fought even harder as his eyes fell on the wand in her hand, trying to twist from her grip and pull away. She held him firmly and began healing the self-inflicted wounds. After several moments, she replaced the wand and once again swept the hair aside to examine her work.
"How can this be?" she gasped, examining the wounds more closely. A number of newly healed scratches crossed his forehead, but in the midst of them all, as if it had been his target, stood a much older jagged scar, closely resembling a thunderbolt. Hands shaking, she pushed all of his hair from his face and looked at him clearly for the first time.
"Harry Potter?"
She was met with a stare full of loathing.
"Do you know your name?"
Nothing.
"Can you tell me anything? What do you remember?" She was feeling almost hysterical at her discovery.
He continued staring back at her. Suddenly, she felt a shock ripple through her body from her grip on the boy's wrist. He screamed, threw his hands to his head, and gouged his nails at his forehead, continuing to disfigure his scar. He resumed murmuring to himself, as if he'd already forgotten she had been there.
Startled, she stood and backed away from the bed until the she had reached the door and could slip out. The boy didn't even notice.
"Anya?" Dr. Thomas was waiting for her, eyeing her carefully as she attempted to compose herself. "Are you all right? Do you know him?"
"I do," she answered, grabbing his arm to pull him close. "That boy is indeed a Magical-born, and he should not be here. I am going to contact someone who can help him, but no one must see him until I return."
Her eyes were almost wild as she spoke, though her voice was low and even.
"What is it? Who is he?"
"For me, for people like me, he's a hero," she told him in a low voice. Edward would have thought she was joking had her face not looked so serious, though distracted. "There have been stories in the papers that he was- but I never believed- this certainly explains a great deal."
"Anya?"
"Edward, keep an eye on him. Don't let anyone see him. Understand?"
He barely nodded before she pulled a wand from her pocket and disappeared before his eyes.
₪₪₪₪
Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, was called away from a dinner party he was hosting in his own home, by Oderic, his House Elf. The Minister was gone for some time when one of his guests knocked on the door of his personal office and was called forth.
"Is all well, Cornelius?" the man asked, walking slowly toward the desk where the Minister was perusing a message sent to him by owl. Fudge looked up at his guest, a slight smile on his lips.
"It seems a Dr. Saluria has requested an emergency portkey to be made for St. Mungos for an under-aged patient."
"Pulled away from a dinner party for a portkey request? How mundane." The guest sat across from the Minister. "It seems I was correct in assuming the Ministry would fall apart without you," he drawled.
The Minister's smile broadened at the unabashed flattery.
"Rather, it's the reason for the request that drew me from the party," he answered. "This will be a great blow to Dumbledore. Pity if this should get out to the media." If possible, the smile grew.
"Really?"
"It seems Harry Potter has been found in a Muggle Mental Institution, and Dr. Saluria would like to have him transferred into her care."
"You don't say?" the guest answered, sounding melodramatically aghast at the information. "Harry Potter? Insane? Who would have thought?" The sarcasm was heavy in these words as the Minister handed the letter to the guest as proof. As his eyes swept over the parchment in hand, Lucius Malfoy felt that Christmas had come early this year.
* * *
My sister is so pissed at me for doing this.
"A mental institution? How can you put him in a mental institution? You have him acting all demented!" There was actually a lot more to it with several explicatives, but then, she is one of the ones who were mad at me for killing the poor boy. What better place to send him after all he's seen and experienced? And for those of you who may think I gave in to peer pressure by bringing him back, I had this planned from the start. What fun would it be to just kill the poor boy from the start? How many more chapters of pure death angst can I write without my readers rebelling? But don't worry. As you might gather from this last paragraph, the problems are far from over for our little friend. Stay tuned!
As for this story becoming a 40 ch. Saga, that won't happen. I don't have time for that as school starts soon, and I have lesson plans to create. I have this entire story planned out (literally, there's a checklist of chapters in front of me as we speak). Even if I add, it will not be over 20 chapters. Drawing out the whole "Harry's Missing" thing is a conscious effort actually written into my plan from before the first chapter was written. I just think it's more fun when the reader begins to feel as frustrated as the characters.
Thank you.