It is time for the obligatory "Child becomes sick"-chapters.
Because apparently all domestic parent-child fics need those.
The holiday season couldn't last forever, and the Director had to return to the office routine all too soon.
Though there had been some notable changes since before the winter holidays that made staying at the office for long periods of time dull and tedious; making him impatient to get out of there and return home to the apartment.
Credence had started playing. Actually playing. And there was nowhere else that Credence embraced it as much as at home.
Graves hypothesized that the boy was still embarrassed over the fact that he wanted to play with things, the fact that he had been almost twenty years of age less than two months ago; a fact that Graves kept forgetting if he was to be honest.
The Goldsteins had given their childhood doll to Credence to take home with him; and the boy had barely contained his excitement when he had presented it to the Director.
The doll was made out of porcelain - as Queenie had mentioned - and had green eyes and auburn hair that you could make either go in ringlets or straight down by using one of two brushes. The spell that had made this work had been very worn out when Credence came home with the doll on New Year's Day, but with some investigative spells and trial-and-error the Director had managed to refresh it.
The reason the doll had auburn hair was because Tina and Queenie's father had only been able to buy them one doll, and thought it would have been unfair if it looked more like one of his daughters than the other.
"Papa was so sweet that way. He really wanted to get one for each of us, though", Queenie had mused as she told them this story.
"We got twice the amount of dresses for her to make up for it instead", Tina had flicked in as she had produced the shoe box containing said dresses.
It had been a lot of dresses.
Three plainer robes. One resembled an Ilvermorny uniform down to its cranberry and royal blue fitting and Gordian Knot, one formal robe, a sleeping gown and a lined winter robe with a matching hat and mini gloves.
She even had a few nomaj dresses. Two of which were in typical Victorian fashion, with frills and ribbons beyond count, and the two remaining ones were everyday dresses.
Despite having a flair for fashion himself the wizard did not quite understand the entertainment of dressing a doll in the same clothes over and over again, but Credence seemed to be enjoying it tremendously; sitting on the middle of the round rug of his room with the dresses laid out around him like the petals of a flower; so he decided not to voice his question.
Though the favorite was Major, the bear.
The boy wanted to bring him everywhere. Which wasn't a problem; Percival was happy to let the boy have something to entertain himself with during the long hours at the office.
But Percival drew the line when Credence wanted to have him sit by the dinner table. It had been almost two weeks since New Year's, and as much as Percival loved seeing Credence letting his childlike imagination and games seep into their everyday life he had to try and keep their routine intact; and by that making a distinction between play time and… well, every time else.
"Credence, no bears at the table, please", he had said firmly, but not unkindly.
Credence had paused his progress of putting the bear in the chair adjacent to his.
"Then may Anne sit by the table?" Anne being the doll.
"Sorry", the Director clarified, realizing he had slipped into play time vocabulary. "No toys by the table."
For a second Credence had pouted, which surprised Graves because the boy had yet to fuss over anything. But he did oblige and went to leave the bear in his bedroom.
This wasn't the end of this, however. Graves noted a lack of appetite from the boy. Credence was just sitting there, pushing his peas around with his fork.
He hadn't had a problem with peas before, but Percival had dismissed it as Credence sulking over the bear. Which was unlike him, but the director had no other reasons in mind for the boy's behavior.
"Credence", he said as he divided his potatoes.
The boy looked up.
"Eat your food, please. Before it gets cold."
Credence looked at his plate, seemed to think for a moment, then back to the wizard.
"I'm full...", he said.
Graves paused his chewing and looked at the plate again. The potatoes had been cut in halves and smaller halves, creating a sort of saucy mush, and the meatloaf laid untouched.
"But you've barely had anything to eat", he pointed out.
Credence seemed to consider this.
"I'm not hungry..."
Now, Graves doubted the boy would lie to him; especially about such a thing, but he hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast.
Perhaps he was, as the domestic columnist in The New York Ghost had warned him about, 'pushing him'.
"May I leave the table?", Credence then asked.
Now this was new, Percival was certain of it.
The boy must have noticed his skepticism because he added:
"I'm tired..."
Graves thought for a moment. He still doubted Credence was consciously being difficult, but he couldn't let him leave without eating anything either.
"Not until you you've eaten some more", he told him.
The boy looked like he was about to protest, but the Director was faster. The years of negotiation with officials, aurors and Picquery; the stubborn awardees herself; had given him plenty of experience of seeing the tell-tale signs of opposition.
"One potato and a fourth of the meatloaf, then you can go take a nap if you still want to", he instructed, using his knife to point out the conditions.
Credence frowned but did not object and within two minutes both the potato and about a third of the loaf was gone, which was better than Graves had bargained for.
When Credence was done, he even had some water, then placed his cutlery on top of the plate and waited to be dismissed.
Graves deliberately waited a bit, just to see if the boy would change his mind. When that didn't happen he reached out and stroked him over the cheek before saying:
"You may go now."
Credence slipped down from his chair.
"No, you can leave it, my boy", Percival said when the boy reached for the plate.
Credence obeyed and went to his room, closing the door after himself, which left the wizard alone at the table.
As he sat there eating the leftovers from the boy, he realized it was one of the first single luncheons he'd had at home since the boy moved in.
Which made him a little sad.
After about half an hour of idling about the apartment, including animating the dishes and sending a rag to wipe down the table, Graves went to wake the boy up from the nap.
He had left the lights on. And his shoes.
"Credence…", he whispered as he squatted next to the bed.
Surprisingly, the boy didn't stir.
"Time to wake up", he said and placed a hand on his arm.
Credence inhaled deeply, and whined. Seemingly in a much deeper sleep than usually brought forth by a nap.
"Seems like we've got a sleepy-head on our hands...", Percival pondered to himself.
But he wasn't stupid. All the unusual behavior that had taken place within the hour added up to something.
While the boy continued to rouse himself awake Percival placed his hand on the boy's cheek, then relocated it to his neck and then his forehead: having to brush away the straight bangs.
He did seem warmer than usual.
"How do you feel, my boy?", he asked.
Percival didn't wait for a reply before he branded his wand and pointed it in the direction of the hallway bathroom.
"Accio thermometer", he said.
Meanwhile Credence finally sat up. He squinted at the light in his room and rubbed his eyes.
"I'm tired..."
Percival hummed, and then had to catch the thermometer sailing into the room.
"Wizards have thermometers too?", Credence asked as the Director caught the thing in the air.
"Yes, but we have other ways of checking the temperature, also", Graves habitually explained.
The fact that Credence did not ask for more details was enough of a red-flag in itself, but surely enough, after one minute with Credence sitting with the rod under his tongue the magic contraption displayed: fevery.
"You are sick...", Graves said looking at the oblong instrument.
Credence frowned.
"I don't want to be sick..."
"No one does", the Director assured him.
"I think it's best you get into your pajamas and get to bed."
"I don't want to go to bed...", Credence complained. Still, he got out of bed and allowed Percival to help him get in and out of his clothes.
It was in the middle of it that Percival had a second discovery that day.
Upon removing his shirt the wizard saw that the boy's sides were covered in round patches of pink skin. Turning him around revealed that they continued all the way around along his lower back.
"Where did these come from?", he asked, worry stirring in his stomach.
"Don't know", Credence said with a shrug, seemingly just as surprised to see them. Albeit slightly dampened by his fatigue.
"Does it hurt?", he asked while gingerly brushing his thumb over the skin.
Credence shrugged again.
"No..."
The wizard took a moment to think.
He's wasn't trained in the medical field, but he knew enough that this was not a normal cold. And even if it was he would not be taking any risks with Credence.
"I'll send for the Healer."
"Healer...?"
"The Doctor", Graves clarified after a moment of nomaj translation.
Then he lifted the boy up and carried him back to his bed where he quickly tucked him in.
"I'll be right back", he promised.
In the amount of time it took Percival to write a note to the Graves Family healer, send it through the fireplace and return to the boy's room things seemed to have gone from bad to worse with the boy's temperature. Credence had started to shiver.
"I'm freezing", the boy said. His voice the most pityful Graves had ever heard it.
"The healer will be here within the hour", the adult tried to sooth.
His Family Healer had quickly replied that it had been a good idea to send for him, but had sent a pediatric healer in his stead, which Percival could see the logic off.
He placed his wand on top of the covers, mumbling a heating charm over them.
Credence seemed to settle ever so slightly; but it was clear he was still unhappy with his current predicament.
The Healer did come within the hour and the wizard had to leave for the office to welcome them by the fireplace.
"Mr Graves?", the witch said as she stepped out of the fireplace.
She wore the typical aproned gown, as was standard at the Magic Hospital of New York.
"That is correct", Graves said.
"Ursula Ribbey, at your service", she greeted, and they shook hands.
"Thank you for coming at such short notice."
"Ah, you are giving me too much praise. I used to work at the Splice-accident ward when I was younger. Now that required travel at short notice. But this isn't the time for small talk is it? Where is the patient?"
He showed her the short trip from the office to the boy's room.
Well there he once again had to rouse Credence from his sleep, which the boy was not very happy about.
Ribbey started by popping her own thermometer into Credence mouth, then she asked him to show her the marks Graves had mentioned in his note.
Credence pulled up his shirt to display his sides and lower back. The Healer looked at these and asked if they were itching; to which Credence nodded.
She also checked the boy's toes and armpits, as well as several other things Graves was too uneducated in the arts of healing to understand the purpose of. Thus, he felt particularly incompetent while sitting on the bed waiting for a verdict.
"You're all done, darling", the Healer said after checking the thermometer.
At hearing this Credence dropped his shirt back down and trotted back to Percival and climbed up to sit in his lap. There he curled up in a little ball.
Graves could feel that the boy was still alarmingly warm, so before the boy could settle completely Percival pulled the throw blanket to him, then tucked it around the shivering little body.
Credence huffed, then snuggled into the fabric. Then he closed his eyes.
"So, any diagnosis?", Graves asked.
The witch nodded.
"The symptoms indicate Rose Rash."
"Rose rash?", the Director repeated.
"Yes. Which is why it's so odd that he has it", she said as she directed her instruments to her bag with her wand.
"Odd?"
"It's a baby sickness", she explained.
"Normally you get it as an infant. Do you know how old you were when you caught it, Mr Graves?"
"No…", Percival said. He at least didn't think his own parents had ever mentioned it.
"What about his mother?", she continued.
It took a second for him to realize what she was asking.
"Oh, no…! He isn't actually... mine", he said. He couldn't help for it to come out awkwardly.
Said boy had already fallen asleep against him.
"Oh, pardon me", Ribbey said.
"It's alright", he assured her with a smile. Because even if it could be inconvenient, he couldn't say he minded the misunderstanding.
"You're not the first one."
"I'm assuming he lived with no-majs prior to this."
The Director nodded.
"Then it was really just a matter of time. Has he been in contact with any wizard babies recently?"
"Er… He was introduced to my nieces during Christmas..."
"That fits the timing almost perfectly", she said.
"He's lucky it didn't wait any longer, as it gets worse the older you get. Most no-maj borns get sick anyway, but it's usually glanced over as diaper rashes, but it isn't unheard of no-maj borns catching it once they start attending wizarding school. It's not lethal, but it tends to throw a wrench into their study schedule."
"Sadly, there is no treatment other than riding it out", she continued.
"An estimation on how long that would be?", he wondered.
"Up to two weeks. But unless it gets worse I'd say less than a week. Are you comfortable with domestic potions?"
"I just need to wash the cauldron and get the ingredients, but then I'm good to go", he told her.
Potions had never been a favorite subject of his, he had focused more on Charms and defense against the Dark Arts, but he had needed it for his grades; and it proved to be useful; such in times like this.
Still, two weeks! Was he supposed to stay at home during that time? How did other parents do it?
There were usually two of them, he admitted begrudgingly to himself.
He doubted the Goldsteins would do anything but jump at the opportunity to spend more time with the boy; but they had works of their own to attend to...
As the Director silently pondered over this the Healer brought out a notebook and a quill with her wand, and with a 'Locomotor', the quill straightened, ready to take notes.
"For the rashes you'll need Tingle Wingle cream", she started, the quill immediately starting to write ferociously. Presumably the instructions for the potion.
"They're not dangerous. But they will start to itch something incredibly. The cream will ease the itching. It also helps to let the skin air when possible, so unless it's cold you may try to make him sleep without a shirt. For the fever you may give him concentrated Feverfew drops, but if his temperature rises above fevery you may also give him Dittany petals. I want to you contact me if that happens."
Graves nodded obediently.
"If he has trouble sleeping it's okay to give him a Sleeping draught, or even a Potion for Dreamless Sleep if the fever dreams get too unbearable."
The quill finished of the prescription, which then fluttered through the air to land in the wizard's outstretched hand.
He ran his eyes over the ingredients.
He did have a few sleeping draughts already, but he would have to send after some of the other ingredients to be able to brew the other potions as well as the cream.
"Other than that, it's the usual. Lots of liquids. Lots of rest", the Healer finished.
Graves put Credence back underneath the covers and followed the witch back into his office where she departed through the fireplace. As soon as she did Graves summoned the Domestic potions book standing in his bookcase as well as a catalog from the apothecary.
He made sure to return to the boy's bedroom as quickly as possible, however. His nerves seemingly still too on edge to leave the child unattended for more than a minute. On the way to the child's room he also summoned a tall glass accompanied by a bottle of pumpkin juice.
Credence was laying with his eyes closed. His reddened cheeks, brought out even more sharply by his jet black hair, and shallow breaths made him seem even smaller than normal.
"Credence", Graves whispered.
Credence pried his eyes opened, and whined.
"I want you to have something to drink before you fall asleep", the Director instructed and waved for the bottle to pour it's content into the awaiting glass.
He made the boy sit up, and seemingly still half asleep the boy obediently drank the juice.
"Is the Doctor gone?", he asked once he had emptied it.
Graves nodded.
"The Healer has left, yes", he corrected him, although not unkindly.
Credence redirected his gaze to the book in Graves hand. The wizard had opened the index to try and find the recipe for Fewerfew, figuring that was the most urgent thing to treat.
"What's that?"
"It's a potions book", he replied.
Then he reached out and carded his hand through the boy's hair. He noticed that even his scalp seemed to radiate warmth.
"I need to see what ingredients to buy."
"Read for me?", Credence mumbled.
Percival paused his skimming of the page.
"Do you really want to hear a recipe? I can read you a fairytale when I am done."
The boy frowned and fidgeted with the covers.
"No, I want to…", he whined, seemingly upset by the suggestion.
"Alright, alright", Graves assured.
"And lay down", Credence added and patted the space beside him.
Right after New Years Graves had fulfilled his promise to start reading to the boy before bedtime. The first time he had had Credence on his knee in the sofa. Then it had moved to him sitting on a chair by his bedside with Credence already tucked into bed, because it made so that he wouldn't have to rouse the boy when he moved him (which resulted in Credence wanting to hear just another chapter). The problem with that was that then the boy couldn't look at the beautifully drawn, and often animated, pictures of the books.
The solution had been simple.
Percival had to read laying down in the bed with Credence head propped up on his bicep; which he seemed to prefer over his own pillow. Most often than not Major was squeezed in there as well, but this time he sat forgotten at the end of the bed.
Before he began he branded his wand and directed it towards Credence's little desk, where the boy liked to sit and practice using his quill, and summoned one of the simpler pens he would use for the order pamphlet that came with the catalog.
"Automotor", he said and the pen and pamphlet straightened in the air above their heads, where the unicorns pranced in the afternoon light.
He inhaled, then paused for a moment, realizing that he was wondering what voice to read the instructions in. He settled for his normal voice.
"Bring five cups of purified water to boil. Add two chopped leaves of Dittany. Boil until vapor turns light blue. Add grinded down Wiggentree bark until liquid turns orange. Note, if overdosed, that is liquid turning blood red, it is possible to correct the dosage by adding salamander blood. Add honey…"
And like that he read the recipe with Credence curled up against his side; warm, almost like a hot water bottle in winter time. The quill wrote down the ingredients as he spoke. And hopefully he would be able to send it and have the things sent to him so that he could start the very same evening.
I know it's a bit short, but I do plan to do either a long follow up chapter or two shorter ones. I could probably have made an entire side fic about this, but I actually don't know what else to fill up the main fic about xD
(I am very open for suggestions BTW.)