CHAPTER 23: THESE EYES OF MINE
The sun was low in the sky by the time Sparhawk and Dumbledore exited Ollivander, richer by one wand. The older man seemed deep in thought, his wizened hand coming up to absent-mindedly run through his beard. Sparhawk itched to handle his wand but found himself reluctant to bring the shiny piece of hardware out in the open. Indeed, waving a sapphire stick around in public was going to take some getting used to. Give him a solid length of steel anyday.
Finally, Dumbledore snapped out of his reverie and turned back to Sparhawk. "Well, Sparhawk," he said, seeming to roll the syllables around his mouth with a new relish, "I do believe we're running short on time. But we can probably squeeze in a little visit to St. Mungo's. Let's be off my lad" he said and extended his hand to Sparhawk. Now Sparhawk did not think Dumbledore was so senile as to require his assistance walking as he seemed to be doing just fine until now and so he surmised that the purpose of the outstretched appendage was for him to hold on to as Dumbledore navigated him to the hospital. He would sooner die than be seen being led around like a little child.
When Sparhawk made no move to grasp proffered appendage, Dumbledore sighed and said, "You're going to have to hold onto me, Sparhawk. We're going to apparate to near 's and I need you to take my hand"
"What's that?"
"Apparition, Sparhawk, is a way of getting to other places by magic, quite instantaneously"
That sounded pretty useful to Sparhawk. As he opened his mouth to ask if he could be taught, Dumbledore cut him off. "It's quite advanced magic, Sparhawk. You'll have to wait a few years before you learn this. Infact, just in case I forget to tell you, children are forbidden from doing magic outside of Hogwarts until they reach seventeen years of age"
Sparhawk doubted that he'd be following that inconvenient rule. In fact, he was pretty confident no one did. Dumbledore however recognized the look in Sparhawk's eye. It was all too common a reaction from children raised in the muggle world. But of course they couldn't be expected to know about the Trace. Short inferential distances and such.
"In case you're thinking of flouting that rule, young man, I must warn you that a trace is put on the children when they first attend Hogwarts and it advertises pretty clearly if you do engage in such behaviour. And the consequences can be quite extreme. Our world, you see, is protected from the muggles by dint of secrecy, and the law takes a very dim view of those who would endanger it."
Sparhawk, being a church knight completely out of his time did not know about the witch hunts that prompted such neccessities, but he remembered well the tensions between the Sttyrics and the Elenes. The God fearing Elenes did not view their alien neighbours' capacities of magic in much favour, preferring the term witchcraft and resorting to occassional jolly outings which consisted of pillage, rape and murder. Such activites of course were strictly frowned upon by the Church knights who, being much more acquainted with the Styrics through their beloved tutors in the arts, responded to such incidents with extreme acts of violence that the very thought of hurting the Styrics was usually stamped out of the locality for generations to come. Long story short, he understood where Dumbledore was coming from.
He nodded and grabbed Dumbledore's hand. The old man twisted in place and the next moment the world around him blurred and Sparhawk had a terrible sensation of being squeezed through a pipe. It lasted barely a second before the world came into full focus once more and he nearly stumbled. Nearly.
Dumbledore turned to give him a bland smile. "Well, my lad, you handled that better than most people on their first time"
"I didn't scream and bleed?"
"Well now, Sparhawk, I see you know about splinching."
"What now?"
Truth be told, Sparhawk wanted to throw up his breakfast, but he'd be damned if he gave Dumbledore the satisfaction.
They were in front of an empty building that seemed to have a lot of mannequins. They were some really well made mannequins.
"I thought we were going to St Mungo's?" asked Sparhawk.
"Patience, Sparhawk" he replied, and then began walking towards the seemingly abandoned building. Now, Sparhawk was not a very big fan of following creepy old men into abandoned buildings, but it didn't seem as if he had too much of a choice.
But just as he passed a certain point, something changed in the air, something almost palpable, and the scene in front of them shifted dramatically. for where before there was a dilapidated mannequin filled building, now there stood a soaring structure of pristine white, the marble columns framing the gateways topped by a great arch in which was engraved a motif of a bearded man wearing very little and holding high a staff with snakes entwined on it.
Impressive.
"Impressive, is it not?" asked Dumbledore, his eyes fixed on the gate.
Sparhawk made a noncommittal sound.
"I speak not of the structure itself, Sparhawk, but rather of what lies within. For under the auspices of St Mungo's all but the most virulent of curses can be treated free of charge."
Sparhawk started at that. Free Healthcare. Now that was impressive.
"Well, enough dallying. Let us go forth" said Dumbleore, and swept past the gate, his bad taste in clothes trumpeting ahead of him like a herald. Sparhawk trailed in his slipstream.
Once inside, Sparhawk was assailed by a visual cacophony. On one side were a row of counters, manned by harried-looking witches and wizards assailed by the sick and their family. On the other side, were seated in rows of chairs several of the most peculiar sights Sparhawk had seen. There was a man with a thundercloud above his head, incessantly soaking him. Next to the soggy fellow was seated a woman who seemed to have had an uncertain amalgamation of bodily features with an otter. A young boy was constantly sneezing clouds of golden dust and a girl was desperately trying to keep her hair from strangling her. Sparhawk watched as a trio of grey-robed men descended on the girl with the murderous trichosis and whisked her away to much hair waving.
Dumbledore's esteemed and very eye catching appearance disturbed the bustle but for a moment before it resumed full swing again. Nonetheless, the Headmaster was something of a bigshot and it wasn't long before a man in sky blue robes approached them and ingratiated himself with the headmaster.
"Ah, Professor Dumbledore! I'm Superintendent Gareman. What can I do for you?"
The old man seemed to brighten a bit at the address. "I'd like," he began, waving expansively at Sparhawk, "To get a healer to have a look at young Harry Potter's eyes"
At the name, the man's eyes widened, the bustle died down to a deathly silence, and then erupted in full force just in time to mask Sparhawk's "I'm Sparhawk"
Gareman bobbed his head vigorously and disappeared after leading Sparhawk and Dumbledore to a little private chamber off the hall.
Sparhawk glared at Dumbledore. "Did you have to that?" he asked in a long suffering tone.
"What exactly are you talking about, my boy?" the Headmaster enquired in a tone of innocence.
"I'm Sparhawk" he affirmed.
"Old age must be getting to me, Sparry." the man replied blandly.
Sparhawk decided silence was the better part of valour.
Presently, Gareman returned with a thin man wearing pristine white robes. Hidden in the depths of two sunken sockets of a vulturine face were the most piercing eyes Sparhawk had ever seen. And considering his experiences, that was saying something.
Gareman took the liberty of introducing the newcomer. "Healer Parson, our authority on problems of the eyes"
Healer Parson bowed. Sparhawk thought he noticed a bit of tightness about the man's eyes.
Dumbledore was all smiles. "Well, you didn't have to go quite so far. Sparhawk's just a bit short sighted and wants to get rid of his glasses."
Parson shot a withering look at Gareman. "I thought I was treating Harry Potter" he said bluntly.
"Oh, that would be right. Only he goes by Sparhawk"
Both Gareman and Parson looked a bit confused at that, but the Professor soldiered on. "But that's for another day. Will you be willing to take a look at his eyes, Healer Parson?"
If anything, Healer Parson looked like he would be anywhere else, but he grunted and moved towards the boy, bringing out his wand. Moving the thin piece of wood in a complicated sequence, he muttered a few words under his breath and pointed it at Sparhawk's eyes.
Immediately,Sparhawk felt a tingling sensation behind his eyes. It was rather disconcerting and made him want to itch his eyes, but he bore it stoically. Sparhawk's lack of reaction surprised the Healer.
He chanted the same spell again and once more there was that irritating sensation behind his eyes, but Sparhawk gave no indication of his discomfort. Healer Parson was looking increasingly perplexed.
"Do you feel anything at all boy?" he asked.
"Tingly" Sparhawk replied briefly.
"Never would have guessed it" Parson said dourly and muttered under his breath, "Almost thought the spell failed..."
He seemed to view Sparhawk in a new light, a spark of interest flickering behind his eyes.
"Let's get back to my office. There are a few tests I need to run."
An hour or so later found Sparhawk and Dumbledore sitting across a desk from Healer Parson.
Parson cleared his throat and began, "There's good news and there's bad news"
Before Dumbledore could say anything, Sparhawk butted in. "What's the bad news, healer?"
Parson grimaced a bit. "We might not be able to fix your eyesight just yet"
Sparhawk bore the news stoically. Just yet did not sound as horrible as he'd feared.
"You see," continued Parson, "short sightedness itself is an extremely rare thing among wizards. And even when it occurs, there are a couple of quick spells that can patch it right up, if you know what you're doing. But in your case, the problem, I suspect goes as far back as your grandfather, Charlus Potter. He was an auror and he began experiencing difficulties with his eyesight, or so the records say, after he got hit with a particularly nasty spell. And then his son, your father, was also born with short sightedness. The records at St Mungo's shows he was dealt with in childhood by a healer, but instead of the usual spells it took some sort of ritual magic to heal him. A bit of weak general anti dark magic stuff. And now here you are. Once is chance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action."
"So", Dumbledore interrupted, "We could use the same ritual to heal young Sparhawk, yes?"
Parson looked over at Dumbledore sourly. "You know I already tried that sir."
Sparhawk started at that. "When?" he asked.
"You remember when I drawing on your face with that marker?"
Sparhawk nodded. He'd found it unusual and somewhat amusing.
"That was it" said Parson miserably. "But it didn't work"
"Why?" he asked.
Parson glanced at Dumbledore, but the old man was putting on his senile face and the healer soldiered on. "I assume, and it's only a theory at this point young man, but I assume that it has something to do with taking a killing curse to the face at a tender age."
Sparhawk nodded, getting an idea of what was being hinted at.
"The remnants of the curse you have on your eyes is dark magic. But it must have gotten weaker with every generation. As such it shouldn't have even given you much trouble. But maybe, when you got hit with the killing curse, some of that dark magic leaked into your curse and strengthened it. That's the only idea I got."
"So, Healer Parson, what do you propose we do?" Dumbledore asked in a tone of polite inquiry.
"Charlus Potter was never cured of his affliction," and at that Sparhawk's stomach dropped, "but I think that was more a question of not having enough time, seeing as You-know-who managed to off him, before the Healers could do something about it. As it is, the original healer did leave some unfinished notes on possible cures and I strongly believe that I can go through them and find a cure to the boy's problems soon enough." And there shone in Parson's eyes a bit of fire as he said this. What Healer worth their salt didn't love a challenge? Well, the answer was nobody did, but Parson was a special case.
"And that's the good news?" asked Sparhawk.
"Well that, and I can refer you to a specialist of sorts in making glasses to tide you by until then. As I said, wizards with eye problems are few and far between, so wizard optometrists are exceedingly rare, and not always good. But the person I've got in mind is the best I know. Mind you, it's going to be bloody expensive, what with the small market, but it'll be worth it kid. And maybe, " he added, glancing at Dumbledore, "you could do with a new pair as well sir?"
Dumbledore smiled congenially. "Ah, no my lad. This one works just fine."
Sparhawk saw an opportunity here. "If I may be so bold," he piped up, drawing weird looks from the adults, "What exactly happened to your eyes, Professor?"
At this, Parson perked up too.
"Oh, nothing at all, my boy. They're perfectly fine"
And with that, he bid farewell to a bewildered healer Parson and they departed with the details of the specs maker.
Healer Parson scratched his head as he looked at the departing pair. Once they were out of sight, he shrugged and turned to a thick tome. "Maybe he uses it to see through people's clothes or something" he muttered to himself.
A/N:
Thanks, LadyKirsten for the review. I too look forward to the next chapter.
As always, read and review. You know I love them.
