2- Bad Medicine

Rosalie drove through the evening without stopping it was about a six-hour drive from Surrey to Newcastle and she pulled into her car park around 10:30 at night. Opening the front door she was assaulted by a large yowl of indignation as a small calico cat with Big Blue eyes gave a withering stare.

"I'm sorry Eggie, did you run out of wet food and need to resort to dry for a day? You spoiled cat. "

She scratched the cat behind the ears and fondness and retreated into the kitchen, Eggie padding close behind. She opened the icebox and grabbed a ginger ale, quickly glancing at the cauldrons bubbling away in stasis on the countertop. Satisfied that the several goos were not on the verge of blowing her house sky high she walked back into her sitting room and flopped into her favorite old recliner. Puffing out her cheeks she blew out a sigh and rubbed her eyes until she saw starbursts. What a disaster of a day. With a flick of her wrist any well placed silent spell the stereo on the entertainment center sprang to life filling the room with the soothing voice of Peter Gabriel. She stood up from her chair it made her way to the pile of post thrown idly on the coffee table. Nothing interesting today. Just as well. She thought about the note she had written to Harry and hoped it would make its way into the boy's hands.

The next morning as she groggily muddled her way through the motions of brewing a pot of coffee, a soft tapping was heard at the kitchen window. Staring through the glass were the same amber orbs of the snowy white owl she had sent with her message the day before. She quickly opened the window and offered a treat to the beast. Graciously, an envelope was dropped into her hands from the owl's beak as she took the treat and flew into the great blue spruce in the side yard.

Rose felt like a giddy kid reading the message.

Thus, began the marathon of nearly daily messages flown covertly between the two. Through these scribblings on parchment Rosalie and Harry learned many things about each other. Such as Rosalie's favorite color was green, she enjoyed gardening and feeling the earth in her hands, she was an accomplished poitoneer, but also enjoyed baking in her free time. Harry, as it were, enjoyed being out in the garden as well although for other reasons. Mostly, it was to avoid the wrath of his aunt and uncle. It was probably his favorite chore. She asked him what his of his favorite school subject, ask questions about his friends when he wrote of them, and seemed genuinely interested in his life. She learned that he enjoyed reading fiction novels, his favorite dessert what is treacle tarts, and he could talk about quidditch until the hippogriffs came home. He asked many questions about what his mother, which she answered in detail. He had never had anyone who had known his mom so well and give him so much of her.

The night before Harry's 13th birthday Rosalie had sent Hedwig with a small package. Inside was a paperback novel titled 'Maniac McGee,' half a dozen homemade treacle tarts, and inside the envelope of the letter where several old Polaroid photographs. One of them showed Rosalie as a child in a pale pink tutu pirouetting by an old tree. She had a wide brim pointy witch's hat on her head. Lily sitting in the grass to her right with a large old tome opened halfway through on her lap. She smiled brightly at the younger girl as she held up two fingers behind a sallow skinned boy's head in jest. The boy no older than 14 had a strange expression of half a smile and half a sneer and dark eyes that looked at the two others with guarded fondness. Harry felt vague recognition of the teen sitting in the grass with the girls. Where had he seen him before? He turned the photo over in his hands. Perhaps his mother had described the scene like on his baby photo.

He found Lily's handwriting:

Diagon Alley, here we come! Sev, Lily, and Pip. August 25th 1975

Harry was stunned. Sev? As in Severus? Severus Snape? Merlin's Pants, there was no way the dungeon bat was anything but a snarky century old vampire out to take the blood of small children and use the rest of them for potions ingredients. There was absolutely no possible way he was ever a kid or had made friends with Harry's mother and cousin, or had any friends ever, at all! Nope! No way!

Yet, here was photographic evidence of such things, right here in his hands. He placed the photo down into his hiding place under a loose floorboard with his other pictures of his parents. He securely wrapped them inside the baby blanket he was left in on the front step. This would be something he needed to digest later. He slowly started chewing on a treacle tart as he read over the note Rosalie had sent with the package. He savored the sweetness end flakiness of the tart. It soothed the rumbling in his belly as tonight's dinner was half a cheese sandwich and a glass of tap water. Petunia had not been happy in how Harry had washed and wax the kitchen floors today and took it out of his rations in spite.

Happy birthday Harry!

I know it's early, but I have agreed to pick up a colleague's shifts at the hospital while he is out on paternity leave. I won't be able to write for the next few nights while I stay on call in the ward. However, I simply could not miss your birthday! 13 is an important year. I hope you enjoy the treacle tarts. It's my first attempt at baking them. I thought I would send along a few more photographs for you to enjoy.

I hope you will also enjoy the book I've picked out! Maniac McGee was always a favorite of mine. You'll have to let me know how you like it!

Big Hugs,

Rosie

PS. I will be making a trip to London in August. Maybe I can sneak you out for your schoolbooks. Diagon Alley, here we come!

At midnight, Harry received birthday gifts from Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid. His friends from school had sent correspondence few and far between for fear of retribution against Harry by his uncle, but neither one of them had forgotten his birthday. Care packages from both held candy and snacks which Harry hid in his well thought out spots around the room. It seemed both of his friends would be taking holidays away from home this summer. Ron's father, Mr. Weasley, had one a raffle chance through the daily prophet for 700 galleons and spent the money on a trip to Egypt to see their oldest son, Bill, who is training as a curse breaker. Hermione would be spending her summer holiday in France with her parents going to every museum imaginable. Although Harry was happy for the two, he couldn't help but feel somewhat sorry for himself and Hedwig stuck in this room all summer long.

The next morning Harry began his day as he always did, by cooking breakfast for the Dursleys and then sifting through the extensive to-do list left by petunia as she went to the market. Today was especially difficult as it would be the day aunt Marge would be blessing the household with a weeklong visit. Harry wished he was locked in his cupboard at this point as Aunt Marge was the absolute worst sort of person to be stuck around. She was cruel and let her dog attack Harry at his will. The Dursleys were also much more unpleasant and threatened him every chance they got to keep his freakishness away. It was on the evening of her last day with the Dursleys where she blatantly slandered the Potters as no good lazy drunkards who were responsible for his bad blood, that Harry had finally snapped.

When Aunt Marge began to swell up like a puffer fish and float out the garden doors into the sky like a hot air balloon, Harry knew that he was in trouble. There would be no coming back from this. At first, he was fearful of retribution by Vernon for accidentally blowing up his sister and sending her on an impromptu tour of the London roof tops but he had had it with people ragging on him, had it with his so-called guardians. He needed to get out of here! Blood wards be damned! He'd live in a cardboard box down by the rail depot before staying another minute with these people.

He swept up the stairs taking 2 at a time, threw open the door to the bedroom and started to pack up all of his meager belongings into his school trunk making sure his new treasures from Rose were still snug in his baby blanket. Dragging it all back down the stairs, he made for the front door. His anger never faltered. As he reached the last step, two meaty hands grasp him by his collar and hoisted his too small body a few inches above the floor.

"You bring her right back! Now! Undo whatever it is you've done!" spittle left Vernon's lips as he raged in Harry's face.

"No! She deserved all of it! I'm Leaving!"

"You're leaving?" Vernon gave a cruel laugh. "You have nowhere to go! You'll be expelled for sure! If you leave out that door without bringing Marge back, you'd better never show your face in this house again!" Vernon roared, his face an obscene shade of purple

Harry practically flew outside dragging his heavy trunk behind him. Bitter tears of rage sliding down his cheeks as he heard the door slam. He was on his own. Now what?

Meanwhile in a high tower of an old castle somewhere in Scotland, nestled among a horde of shiny gizmos and knickknacks, an old, wizened face furrowed gray bushes eyebrows in concern. He waited for his two compatriots to arrive after his summons from a quick Patronus he'd cast not 15 minutes ago. If what he felt was true, then we were all in big trouble. Big, big trouble indeed.

Albus turned towards the sound of the stone stairway at the entrance of his office. He quickly greeted the two professors who had arrived. None of his usual playful banter nor offer of a preferred sweet this time. Minerva McGonigal and Severus Snape understood that whatever they had been summoned for was no laughing matter.

"My friends, I find that we may be in dire trouble. I was alerted to the disappearance of a one, Harry Potter, from his residence guardian's residence in Surrey after a disagreement and a discharge of accidental magic; He inadvertently blew up his Aunt Margery and she floated up in the air towards the Thames. At approximately 7:47pm this night, the Blood Wards at the home withered and then fell. We have no idea where Mr. Potter is at this present time." Dumbledore's tone was grave. He looked more his age than ever.

Minerva gasped in audible concern. Severus, However, rolled his eyes and set his jaw. He smelled a wild goose chase on his very close horizon. "So, the little brat decided to run away from home. How bloody lovely. I suppose you'd want us to go look for him, yeah? "He huffed in indignation. "Like I have nothing better to do with my holidays. " He heard Minerva hmph a disapproval. Honestly though, the boy had a flair for the dramatics. He would probably turn tail home before the adults could form a proper search party. Maybe he would turn up at the Weasley's residence. He and the youngest red headed boy were stuck together like glue. "Have you tried Arthur and Molly's?" Minerva questioned, seeming to read Severus's mind.

"The Hollow was the first place we had checked, I'm afraid. We found it quite empty. The Family is on a trip to see their eldest son in Egypt."

"perhaps, in all of his glory, Potter thought he could walk to Egypt. Have we looked in Giza?" Snape scoffed.

"Severus, Please, this is important. I want to locate him before Sirius Black can. You are aware of his escape from Azkaban. Who knows what that man is capable of doing to the boy who vanquished his Supposed master. Harry's life is in great peril at this very moment, and although unfortunate he has decided to leave his relatives safety in any case, I fear this is the worst possible time for him to have done so, if at all by his own free will. You must know how grave this is. The blood wards have failed! He has very little protection on his own." defeat evident in the headmaster's voice. All his careful planning and strategy was unraveling before his eyes. "The trace hasn't revealed any purposeful magic by the boy either. He's simply vanished into thin air."

At this Severus had the courtesy to look abashed. Suppose there really was cause for concern. Where would the little urchin run to? Had Black already gotten to the boy and exacted revenge for the Dark Lord's downfall? Had He failed his vow to make sure the little pond scum stayed alive? Oh, Lilly, what had your son gotten into?

The room went silent, only the whirring of many magic trinkets to be heard.

Now What?

Harry nearly ran out of the neighborhood. Hot tears making his face feel sticky. Out of breath from and unable to abate his sniffles, he stopped near the empty park he sometimes hid in from Dudley during his Harry Hunting stints. It was dark and the air was chilled more than it should have been during mid-summer. Wiping his face with his sleeve, Harry heaved a sob again.

What had he done? With some of his initial anger at the Dursley's waning, the full force of his actions landed on his chest. He ran away from home. Vernon said to never come back. He needed a plan. Maybe he could get to London and then to Gringotts bank and live off the contents of his vault. He wouldn't be allowed back into Hogwarts ever again after what happened to Aunt Marge. Surely, he would be expelled and then ostracized to the out skirts of wizard society. He'd have to keep running to find somewhere to call home. Like the boy in the book Rosalie had given him, Maniac Magee.

Wait! He thought. What about Rosalie? She said to ask her if he ever needed help! But how to get word to her?

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by a snap and a rustle in the nearby bushes. Large glowing eyes stared at him. A growl and the shadow form of a large angry dog made the blood rush from his face. He stumbled backwards in fear, tripping over his trunk and tumbling ass over tin cans, his arms waving in the air. Suddenly out of nowhere a strange looking bus appeared with a purple flash, a scraggly looking conductor, named Stan, introduced himself and the Knight Bus. "Emergency transport for Stranded Wizards and Witches, this is. Where to, kid?"

Harry thought for a moment. Something he didn't always do before he acted. In another world in another time, he would have been on his way with Stan and Ernie to London.

Resolutely, the boy stated "147 Stony Bottom Lane. That's in Shiremoor." Time to put his money on a different horse.

"11 sickles, please!" Stan printed his ticket and they were off like a shot. Harry was glad he didn't except the offer of a hot cocoa. He probably would have sicked up. After what he would call a harrowing journey involving near collisions with multiple vehicles, pedestrians, buildings and one stubborn cow in the middle of a road the bus needed to levitate over, they had arrived.

"147 Stony Bottom Lane, Shiremoor!" Stan announced. He looked around at the seemingly abandoned property. The grounds hadn't looked like they had been touched all summer, the house itself in need of a major reno. "'eh', now Kid, ya' sur you be wan-tin to stop 'ere? Seems Dodgy ta me." He sniffed.

Harry gulped. He was beginning to think he had made a mistake. It wasn't too late to turn back and head to the Leaky Cauldron, after all. Summoning all his Gryffindor courage, he stepped off the bus, bid a thanks to Stan. There was a lone light shining in one of the second-floor windows. That made him feel a bit better. At least someone was home.

He pushed the doorbell and waited a moment. When nothing happened, he knocked on the door. Surprisingly, it was open. Quietly he crept into the house, "Hello? Rose?"

A cat appeared to figure eight around his ankles. She gave a friendly mewl. As Harry reached down to scratch her head, he felt a sharp tug through his navel pulling him up quickly towards the ceiling. He yelped as his body collided with a dull thud. The cat starting after him, her tail swishing in amusement like this happened all the time. The front door suddenly slammed shut.

He was stuck to the ceiling. In an empty stranger's house. This was a very, very bad idea after all.

Now What?!

"Paging Dr. Novack to the nurse's station! Dr. Novack to the nurse's station, please!" The nasally page followed by a sweet, Ding Dong of the PA system.

Rosalie rolled her eyes. She was on hour 22 of her on call shift in ward number 7. Just two more hours and hopefully no new traumas and she would be home free for three. Whole. Sweet. Blessed days. She was just placing a final stitch in the hand of a poor 11-year-old muggle born child, who was not properly warned that Licorice Snaps actually snap! Her first trip to Diagon Alley ruined by the sudden flesh wound.

"There now, it's not so bad! All Done! They will dissolve in the morning. No follow up necessary. Remember though, mind the licorice and stay away from the brown speckled Bernie Bot's. They are not chocolate flavored at all!" She had managed to get a giggle from the child despite her tear streaked puffy cheeks.

"Thank you, Dr Novack. I think I'll stick to the chocolate frogs for right now." The little girl grabbed her mother's hand and bounced out towards check out.

Another satisfied customer, she mused. She washed her hands, banished the used sharps and supplies, and grabbed her healer's staff as she exited the exam room. The new children's ward was bright and cheery, unlike St Mungo's with whom the new concept 'Muggle to Magic' program was in partnership with. The whole idea was to make it easier for muggle parents with newly gifted children who need treatment but could not get to St Mungo's what they need; A clinic to help bridge the transition into a new world. Ward 7 provided emergent and general care such as basic checkups, diagnostics, mild curse breaking and, much to many young wizard's dismay, vaccinations for a host of wizard specific diseases. Dragon Pox was a nasty thing to come down with. The program was the first of its kind in the UK and modeled after a similar very successful ward over in the states, and Rosalie was very proud to be a part of it.

She made her way down the hall to the nurse's hub where Marina, the sturdy unit manager, stood filing charts with her wand. Pages and papers full of histories, progress notes and Doctor's orders flew around her as they magically filed into the correct placements of their respective binders. Her aging features set in an eternal look of uninterest.

"'ellooooo nurse! Wat's cooking 'ot stuff?" The inappropriate cat call coming from the small wooden snake slithering around the top of Rosalie's staff. He waggled his eyebrows, or, were they would be if a snake had eyebrows, his little fork tongue flicking about.

"Albert, not now, not ever, not in a million billion years would I have thought I'd have an enchanted artifact hit on me at work. You're lucky our human resources department can't classify you as completely sentient. Dr Novack, please reign in your friend there." Marina didn't miss a single piece of paper as she spoke.

Rosalie wrapped her hand quickly around the top of the staff as to muffle whatever faux pas' comment would come out of her wooden companion's mouth next. "You're a complete liability sometimes, Albert. I swear" she hissed at the snake under her hand. "I'm sorry, Mari, maybe it's time I have his tongue sanded down."

"No worries, doll, you might have bigger fish to fry tonight. A 'red alert' memo popped up for you." Marina handed the danger-red parchment to Rose with a blasé wave of her hand. "I've already read it." She stated, unashamed.

"Oh my god! I've got to leave! Right now! Some git broke into my house!" Rose was already on the move down the hall in outrage.

"Yep, better get goin'. I have the last 2 hours covered by the new guy. Go get 'em, tiger! Wooo!" Mari's words dripping with sarcasm as she pumped her arm into the air at Rosalie's departing back. Papers continued flying into charts around her.

"Alright then! It's been a while since we 'ad to kick some arse!" Albert whooped as Rosalie shirked her white coat and dashed to a designated appiration stop in the far hall. With a quick tap of the staff on the floor by her feet, she disappeared with a crack.