Hemp Flowers Meant Fate
Chapter 1
This chapter isn't edited in any way, shape, or form. If you see an error, please tell me~!
Warnings: Slight mentions of blood. Body disfiguration, I guess? I mean, flowers are growing out lungs, that's kind of gorey. Rushed writing. Dealing with depression. Attempts at medical lingo that I have no experience in, though I do have experience with depression, haha.
A/N: As for SilentIndigoMist's question in the reviews, Harry's unrequited love is himself, in a way, haha. Hanahaki disease, for those who don't know, is about unrequited love. Harry, in this story, is a bit depressed, and finds very little self-worth to keep on living. It's going to take a lot for him to recover from his depression, and the two curses he has going on here.
And we haven't even tackled more of the KHR verse, yet. Yet.
That might happen next chapter.
That being said, if you have any questions, ask in the reviews! I might answer you! Or I might just include the answer in the next update, haha. Other than that-
Enjoy!
(Also, kudos to Extended Experience for catching the fact that I had originally posted this on 4/20 -blaze it- and the title included Hemp. :'D They're the only one who noticed said fact, so I was really proud my little inside joke was recognized, haha.)
Dead leaves.
Sadness.
Harry glared balefully at the handful of dead leaves. His chest ached and burned, torn in half from his previous coughing fit. His limbs still trembled, and he felt a bit clammy; his throat burned as if he had swallowed 10 pints of fire whiskey nonstop. His stomach lurched, and Harry sighed, standing up on shaky legs to amble over to his bedroom's trash bin, tossing the dead leaves into them carelessly before staggering back to his bad. With a slight grunt, he fell face first onto his silk and cotton sheets, hating life, hating himself.
The pacifier that he had held for the past few days dug painfully into his chest.
It had been a few days since he had accepted the Arcobaleno curse. It had been a few weeks since he had accepted his flower curse. And he had spent zero time trying to work through any of the two, choosing instead to return to his moping in his bedroom.
I'm so pathetic, Harry lamented, rolling over to his back. He stared solemnly up at the ceiling. Whatever happened to the 'man-who-conquered'?
While Harry wasn't one for self-pity, he was seemingly drowning in it at the moment. Harry felt slightly bitter and irritated with his current mindset, knowing full well that he should be doing more than just laying around and being unproductive. It was just that- he couldn't muster up the energy, couldn't bring himself to care. And on some type of subliminal level, he knew that trying to urge himself to care with his entitled 'man-who-conquered' title was a dead end- was there ever a man-who-conquered, in the first place?
Throughout the war, throughout his school years, and throughout his life- Harry had just felt like Harry, with a whole lot on his shoulders. He never felt like a hero, he never felt famous, he felt tired and angry and mournful. Regretful after the war, dull and lifeless despite earning his chance to live past the whole war with Voldemort.
And it wasn't like he could go to some type of therapy.
Muggle therapy wouldn't know what he had been through, couldn't know, and wouldn't understand in the long run. Magical therapy- Harry remembers the pamphlets that were passed around in the after hours of the war, skimming through them and being slightly unnerved at the brightly colored leaflets. He remembers burning them later on, much to Hermione's disapproval.
He doubted that would work out well for him, anyways. The magical world would have kittens if they found out that Harry wasn't the all-mighty savior he was always portrayed as, unable to process the fact that maybe everything that had happened to Harry had its repercussions.
"Master!" Kreacher appeared in the room with a small 'pop'. His eyes were especially red, and past the tears, anger laced his voice. "You have stupid mudblo-"
"Stop right there," Harry interrupted with a dark look, making Kreacher sniff and glance away. "I thought I told you to stop using that word," Harry reprimanded with a sigh, pushing aside his dark contemplation and thought. "Guests?"
Harry doesn't remember inviting anyone. Or opening the wards to allow people in, actually.
But that slur that he had stopped Kreacher from using, that could only mean-
"Harry!" Hermione's reproachful voice was heard from outside his bedroom door, and Harry groaned, flopping back down onto his bed. Of course, if there was one person who would be able to work through his wards and still somehow find their way in, it would be her.
"I tried to stop her!" Came Ron's unhelpful opinion, and Harry couldn't help but silently snort at that.
"Obviously," Harry called back, dragging himself up. After a moment's thought, he hid the pacifier underneath his shirt, and combed through his hair with his fingers before blanching in disgust. He hadn't taken a shower in a few days, and his hair was greasy and limp, sticking to his forehead. Harry didn't want to think about how he probably appeared, and cursed rather liberally underneath his breath.
Maybe if he applied a few cleaning charms-
Aaaannnd his door was kicked open.
Ron at least had the gall to smile sheepishly at him, before Hermione pushed her way inside.
"...We have magic, you know," Harry commented, as Hermione's sharp brown eyes scanned the room, and him. "You could have totally spelled the door open instead of ruining it like that," he offered a bit more.
"Where's the fun in that?" Ron laughed, before really looking at him. "Woah, mate, you look- er, I mean, you look... wonderful," Ron hedged, with a tight smile. Harry had to give him props for trying, at least. "Doesn't he-"
"You look horrible," Hermione looked personally offended, and Harry blinked.
"That's a bit rude," Harry replied. "What if I was confident in this look? I'm trying to start this season's trend of looking like-"
"Something rubbish and belonging in the trash?" Hermione interrupted, skeptically. She folded her arms, looking reproachfully at him.
Ron mused, "Maybe he was going for a London underground hobo look, 'Mione."
"I was going to say something tragically trendy, but you know what? I'm already offended," Harry finished, a bit spiteful. He looked at a fuming and morose Kreacher, and said, "Can you go fix us something for tea? Please?" Kreacher sniffed, wiping at his eyes, before disappearing after a dark look fixated itself on his guests.
"If looks could kill," Ron said mysteriously.
Hermione rolled her eyes, already pulling out her wand. Harry briefly panicked if his wards around Grimmauld Place was completely ruined now, and he'd have to hurriedly erect a few others so the general public could never find him. Or worse, get in. Hermione caught sight of his expression, and raised an eyebrow, "Don't look so worried, Harry. I only let both Ron and I in, I'm not stupid, you know," she told him.
Harry relaxed. "Thank you so much, 'Mione," he sighed, rubbing at his tight chest. His chest was generally tight nowadays, filled with growth from flowers to plants mocking him about an unknown future and his morose feelings. Probably fueled them, now that he thought about it.
Thoughts to think about, huh.
Hermione busied herself with opening his walk-in closet, and rifling through his clothes. She was frowning, and- well, using her wand. Ron was currently standing awkwardly in the middle of the room with Harry, still lanky and tall as ever.
"You use your wand for this, and not for my door?" Harry asked, glancing at his door. The doorframe was slightly crooked now, as well as the lock looking slightly ajar.
"I don't know what type of mold could have grown on all this," came Hermione's quip reply.
"...Good kinds?"
"There are good kinds of mold?" Ron blinked, and Hermione groaned.
"Harry, you are going to take a shower," she ordered, coming back to the other two males in the room, and shoved some clothes at him. Proper clothes, and not his sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt that he was pretty sure he hadn't changed out of in a few days. "Then you will join us for tea, and we'll have a proper discussion about everything that's been going on."
A bit of panic seeped in. "About what?" Harry hedged, shifty-eyed and suspicious.
Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, after sharing a quick look at Ron. "Everything you're not telling us, obviously," she told him seriously. Harry had to keep his calm as he raised an eyebrow at his two best friends.
"How do you know I'm not telling you guys anything?" Harry challenged.
It was Ron's turn to look personally offended. "We're best friends," he emphasized. "We're here to emotionally support you," Ron nodded to himself, glancing at Hermione. Hermione sent him an approving smile, which he grinned at.
"Either with your consent, or not," Hermione's brown eyes slid towards Harry, who tried to stand strong. "We are going to emotionally support you whether or not you like it, Harry," Hermione scolded, and Harry twitched.
"Damn our friendship," Harry muttered, hunching in on himself. "You two are somehow very persuasive," he told them as he brushed past them to head to his private bathroom.
After his shower, and his general 'clean-up', the three friends were found in one of the more livable common rooms of Grimmauld Place. Ron was nibbling on the snacks, and Hermione and Harry were staring each other down. Harry refused to say she intimidated him, but she intimidated him, even as she calmly sipped her tea.
"So," Harry finally gave in to stare morosely at his folded hands, starting to play with the edges of his sleeves. He felt a bit better in clean clothes, and after taking a shower. "What do you guys want to know?"
"Whatever's eating at you," Hermione supplied, helpfully. Everything, Harry inwardly sighed. All in all, it was a pretty open question, ambiguous enough even, so much so that Harry could have probably lied through his teeth if-
Well, if it was literally any other person asking that.
After all they have been through, being on the most wanted list of Magical Britain, and literally winning a war with each other- Harry pressed his eyes closed, inwardly snorting at himself. How stupid was he to really think to keep this a secret from his two best friends?
While they respected his privacy and his social life, well lack of that is, Harry really couldn't expect them to not worry about him. As Hermione and Ron both repeated to them, they were best friends.
Which brings him to the question, which should he bring up first? The flowers, or the Arcobaleno curse? In reality, Harry was kind of dreading telling them anything, already knowing the lectures and disapproval at keeping a secret for as long as he did.
And probably at how he literally did nothing to help himself.
Feeling a bit more pathetic, and self-hateful, Harry stifled a groan, tipping his head back.
"I don't know, Hermione," Harry mumbled, sitting up straight and mentally bracing himself. "I don't know where to start," or how to start, really. Ta-da, I'm dying!
Ron blinked, "Just tell us what you can, we'll work through the rest," he asked, formally. Harry was slightly bewildered at the tone, before remembering that Ron was probably using his authoritative voice on him. He scowled half-heartedly at him, making Ron grin sheepishly. "Sorry," he offered.
"I'm not a weepy little victim you need to patronize," Harry muttered, focusing on his tea. He stirred in a few cubes, and took a tentative sip. It scalded his tongue, burned his throat; it was oddly refreshing. Licking his lips, Harry shot a glance at his patiently waiting best friends, considering.
Arcobaleno curse, or the flower curse?
Logically speaking, the flower curse was the more likely one to kill him. He had been inflicted with it the longest. So- Harry sighed, pressing himself deeper into his chair. His chest burned, and felt oddly heavy. It was slowly becoming a familiar feeling, Harry noted bleakly. Suddenly an idea struck him, and he perked up, slightly. It was slightly morbid, but it was loads easier than telling them all the details, and such.
Instead of telling them about his flower curse, then what about showing them?
"Harry?" Hermione prompted, a bit concerned.
"It's easier if you guys see for yourself," Harry said, pointedly. He pushed himself to the edge of his seat, bracing his forearms on his thighs, mentally preparing himself. It was an experience every time it happened, each time that it happened taking a little bit more away from him.
"Um," Ron said, a bit unsure.
Harry just spared them a slightly morbid smile, before resuming his position and began to cough up the next bouquet of flowers.
Bittersweet Nightshade.
Truth.
-0-0-0-
As it turns out, Harry's bright ideas are never really bright. Nor funny, as Hermione reprimands him, after the panic and general tears.
Harry just weathers it all, already too used to his own dark sense of morbid humor.
-0-0-0-
"So you've been spared from the curse, Aria?"
Aria jerked, turning around. Unable to find the source at eye level, she glanced down and visibly relaxed. Reborn stared up at her, solemn. "Uncle Reborn," she breathed, bending down to be more at level with him, tears springing to her eyes. She wiped them on her sleeves, trying to compose herself. "I was," she admitted, still bewildered and slightly disbelieving of the fact.
The Sky Arcobaleno curse was something she always envisioned herself taking.
So to suddenly- well, not- she wasn't prepared.
Reborn made a humming sound, turning his face downward. His fedora tilted down slightly, shadowing his face. "This is an unseen outcome," he stated, making Aria nod. "Why aren't you happy?"
Aria startled a bit.
Was- should she be happy? Her mother had just passed away, and Aria was left to figure out running an entire mafia family on her own. She'll never hear her mother's voice again, or see the warmth in her eyes. She'll never have her again- how can she be happy, just because she wasn't cursed? Now that she thought about it, it was because of that curse that she was like this. That curse took her mother away.
And it would have taken her away, too.
Not that Aria would had minded much in her grief, nor with dealing with the aftermath of her mother's death. It would have just been a cherry on top of the cake, really. Still, that curse was bad, Aria reminded herself. And now some poor unsuspecting soul was afflicted with it, and Aria didn't know who, couldn't have the visions to help her.
"Should I?" Aria smiled wanly. "My mother just passed, uncle Reborn. And I'm worried for the newest Sky Arcobaleno." She didn't know if he was a civilian, or a mafioso. As a result of mourning, her family was going through a trial of respect. That meant that her family was isolated for a few months, without interference from the rest of the world, mafia or otherwise. Their territories, and business, should be respected and not infringed on, or the Vongola Alliance would have a say in it.
And any underground syndicate with sense wouldn't dare disobey the Vongola Alliance.
"Hm," Reborn eyed her shrewdly. "I'm sorry for your loss," he intoned, without infliction. "I'm sure you know by now that you are not associated with the rest of the Arcobaleno," besides me. Aria sighed, nodding again. "There are rumors that are still traveling around that is saying that you are the newest Sky Arcobaleno, so you will be targeted, no matter the trial of respect going on," he told her, factually.
Aria winced, and nodded, trying not to feel paranoid. "I- I see," she said, unsure. She didn't know what to do, or how to do it. She was going blind into this whole family business, and still couldn't bring herself to go into her mother's study.
Reborn's eyes glinted. "Meanwhile, the rest of us are going to look for our newest Sky," he said, a bit bitter. Aria smiled wanly at him, sympathetic and understanding. "We need to make sure they won't be assaulted, and won't be taken advantage of. We have a suspicion that they are a civilian, seeing as of that there are no leads in the underground side of things."
"Um," Aria hesitated. An idea formed in her head, mulling around her skull. "If- if he's consenting, and you guys as well- maybe you can introduce me to him? I- I can offer protection," the heavy weight of the words fumbled off her tongue. Everything she said had a new meaning now. She was the newest don of the Giglio Nero Family, the Sky for them; everything was so different now.
"Are you sure?" Reborn shot her a sharp look. "That's a lot of responsibility," he reminded her.
Aria chewed her lower lip. "I'm sure," she said, more assuredly. "It's the- the only way I can thank him," and she smiled a bit self-deprecatingly. "And it's not like we don't know how to take care of a dying Sky."
Reborn was unmoving and silent.
For a brief second, Aria thought she misspoke, and was about to backtrack awkwardly.
"I suppose," Reborn luckily spoke, voice oddly transparent. "I'll tell the others about it, and make sure they understand the circumstance. I'll check up back on you soon, Aria. Take care," Reborn told her seriously, stepping away and down the hall.
"I will, Reborn," Aria told him, staring after him.
For a brief moment, Aria was worried about the state of her family's security due to how easily it seemed like Reborn was able to come and go. He was included on the list of mafia that should not interrupt the Giglio Nero's trial of respect, but- well, Aria shouldn't be surprised, in the end.
He was the world's greatest hitman, after all.
Aria straightened, suddenly a lot more sure about her path forward. She needed to gather up her family, and learn to be the best boss she can possibly be. Her family needed to come back after the trial of respect, and she needed to be in full charge by then. Hopefully, she'd have another addition to the family, and they needed to provide the protection needed for the newest Sky Arcobaleno.
-0-0-0-
Harry had coughed up purple columbine flowers.
Resolved to win.
-0-0-0-
"It's an unheard of, your curse," the Healer as St. Mungos murmured, perplexed. He was lifting pages up off the clipboard, sorting through them with a trained eye. His glasses needed to be pushed periodically, and Harry was vividly reminded of his own glasses; after the war, he had his eyesight cured, but he still carried his own round glasses around, unable to part with them.
"Ah," Harry offered, glancing away from the Healer. His wand was being palmed nervously, a bit of self-assurance with being in public. While St. Mungos had made it as private as possible for him, and did better than expected considering the short notice- it was still an unfamiliar place to Harry, who was all too used to the infirmary at Hogwarts.
Alfie, his Healer, shot him a look. "Can you please tell me when you first started to experience this phenomenon?" His eyes trailed to the orange pacifier hung around Harry's neck, and his expression twisted slightly. "After we work through your flower curse, we can start on your, er, what did you call it?"
"The Arcobaleno curse," Harry repeated duly. "Er, more specifically, the Sky Arcobaleno version of the curse."
"Right," Alfie said, uneasily. "Well, both of them feel pretty heavy and rather dark; I'd be more surprised that you're still alive and coherent as you are if you weren't, well, Harry Potter," he told him, and Harry hunched his shoulders. "Er, I didn't mean anything by that, by the way," Alfie said, hurriedly.
"No, no, I'm used to it," Harry replied, still slightly uneasy. "You're right, I'm Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived. It's seems to be a habit of mine to survive unsurvivable things," he said with a tight smile, making Alfie shift. "As for your previous questions, it's been a few weeks since the flower thing started. Just a few days had passed since I was given this," he gestured to his pacifier.
"Hm," Alfie made a humming noise, placing his clipboard down on a counter. Surprisingly, St. Mungos was a lot more modern than Harry had originally thought. All clean and smooth surfaces, even some delicate technology that made Hermione twitch and murmur about interrogating the staff about how they go about not frying said technology. Magic and technology did not mix well, something Harry was growing more curious about now that he thought about it. "I'm going to run a few more intricate diagnostic spells on you, is that alright with you?" Alfie approached him, drawing his wand, and Harry stiffened.
Barely reigning in the paranoia and the need to draw his own wand defensively, Harry swallowed dryly and nodded. A few other intern Healers, which were like nurses now that Harry thought about it, had gave him a general check up, and had ran a few diagnostic spells on him already.
"You won't feel a thing," Alfie assured him, before murmuring something. He waved his wand in an intricate pattern, centered mostly around Harry's chest. Despite Alfie's assurance, Harry felt some sort of tingly feeling on his chest.
Soon enough, there was an image materializing a few centimeters away from Harry's chest. It was a golden color, and rather shimmery, and Harry narrowed his eyes to realize that it was like an x-ray of some sort. Alfie had stepped back, satisfied, and had reached for his clipboard to scribble some things down, squinting at the image that he had created from Harry's insides.
Harry could see the faint outlines of his ribs, and the dark image his lungs made. There was darker and denser parts in his lungs, curling inside them. Harry fought the urge to cough, glancing away to eye the rest of the image. He noticed that his lungs and heart were moving, and was vaguely impressed; real-time x-ray images- maybe muggles had some sort of technology like this, and Harry was just easily impressed, he can't say he knew much outside of defense against the dark arts, and his own home. Besides the organs that Harry could make out, he noticed two rooted dots, located just a little bit beneath his heart, near his core.
"What are those?" Harry asked, gesturing towards the dots.
"Huh? Oh," Alfie glanced up, pushing up his glasses. "Well, one of those is your magical core," he leaned in to observe them. "Ah, that's it," he pointed at the darker dot, a little bit bigger than a golf ball. Harry noted mildly that it looked a bit rotten, and just hoped that it was his own vision failing and that the diagnostic spell just made things look like that. Alfie's solemn look didn't assure him all that much, though. "The dot right next to it," was considerably larger, pulsing almost. "That is a bit more spiritual magic, something I'm not too acquainted with," Alfie admitted, with a frown.
"Spiritual magic?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "You mean, like, Divination and all that?"
Alfie grimaced. "Sort of? It's- I heard it's more like any type of magic anyone can get, muggle or not," he said, slowly. Harry's eyebrows raised. "It's a bit difficult to explain, but I'll try. Have you ever heard of humans doing, er, 'superhero' acts? Like suddenly getting the strength to lift cars off their children, or doing things that defies- ordinary standards? LIke high on adrenaline sort of things."
"I think?" Harry offered, a bit confused. "I mean, I always thought that that was like, you know, magic. But it happens to regular muggles as well? And how does this adrenaline high link to spiritual magic?"
"Hm," Alfie scratched his head, before absently banishing the fading x-ray image with a wave of his wand. He had returned to looking at the clipboard, more in thought than anything. "While it's normally dormant for most of regular humans lives, it only comes out in dire situations. I'm not really surprised that yours seems a bit more active than other wizards I have met, though there are a few exceptions. Those dire situations come only when a human strips away all of their normal thinking, acting on instinct, and on pure determination."
"Dire situations?" Harry mused. "You mean..., like, if people think they're going to die?"
"Yes," Alfie snapped his fingers in realization. "Exactly like that, Mr. Potter." A pause. "Er, I mean Mr. Black," he corrected himself, with a sheepish chuckle. "Anyways, it's just like that. If you take away all safety precautions a human mind usually exerts in everyday situation, your mind and body can do incredible things," he explained, almost mysteriously. "Did you know that if your brain didn't stop you, you'd be able to bite through your own fingers like carrots?"
Harry sweatdropped. "Ouch," he said, a bit bland.
Of course he had activated some sort of spiritual backup magic he had going on next to his magical core. Still, this conversation had ignited some sort of bittersweet nostalgia and dread in the back of his mind. The war was rough, and Harry, himself, had lived through near-death situations, each one a bit more depressing than the last, leaving him feeling a bit more empty. Of course, that was now. Back then, it had left him feeling something akin to determination, fiery and burning. He remembers the light, like Dumbledore had told him so wisely all that time ago. He had pulled through by the skin of his teeth, dragging himself from the pits of death by his fingernails, all for- all for-
For what? For him to end up like this?
Selfish, depressed, and extremely social reclusive? One cursed to die, by two different curses? Someone who wasn't willing to help himself, and didn't tell his closest friends about it? Harry's eyebrows furrowed, as he chewed anxiously on the inside of his cheek, feeling suddenly unsatisfied and unhappy with himself. Disappointed, even.
No, he didn't pull himself out of death to be like this.
Harry had risen out of death to finish a battle, to save his friends, his family. The world, even. He had pulled himself through to spend a few more moments with his friends, to see their faces, to exist with them. He had pulled through to eat dinner at the Weasley family's house once more. He had wanted so much to experience another sunset, or to walk through the halls of Hogwarts once more, surrounded by his friends, and other students.
He had saved himself so he could live.
"You know," Alfie's voice interrupted him, and Harry jerked, wand gripped tight. He forced himself to relax, even as Alfie shot him a tense and nervous smile. "I once heard the myth that the spiritual magic, once awakened, could be harnessed. And the adrenaline high was called, um," Alfie frowned in thought. "Dying will, I think?"
"Dying will," Harry repeated. "How morbid."
"It's a bit cool, if you think about it," Alfie enthused. "Anyways, I don't know much about it, haha, other than theory and the likes. If you were to harness it, it'd take practice, and experience, I think it's pretty difficult. Especially if you'd happen to be magical, which is a considerably easier alternative than the spiritual magic."
"And regular muggles can harness it?" Harry asked. "It seems like something that breaks the Statute of Secrecy."
"I think they can," Alfie said. "But I don't think they know it's magic, haha. And like I said before, it's extremely difficult to do. You'd had to put yourself in situations that required it to be called forth, and that's mostly when you think you're about to die. Most humans tend to avoid that part of life, haha," Alfie grinned.
"I bet," Harry snorted, dryly. "As interesting as this conversation is, can we get back onto track? I'm kind of tired after the events of today," being forcibly dragged here, and telling the truth to his two closest friends were a lot more draining than he had accounted for. "I think I need to cough," he warned, already hunching over to clear his throat roughly, feeling a bit put off that his flower disease was acting up just now. It must have had something to mock him about.
After a few weeks of living with the curse, which felt like eternity, Harry had worked out a pattern with the flowers, and his coughing fits. While, sometimes, he was able to force them out at his own time and place, ripping them out of his lungs and caused more discomfort and pain than normally- the flowers were young, and sometimes unrecognizable. It he had waited until the flowers grew to be too much, he would be able to force out recognizable flowers that either mocked his current situation, or the near future.
"Oh?" Alfie looked a bit unnerved, already pulling out his wand. "I'll run a few more diagnostic spells on you to help monitor this process, and maybe it will lend a hand later on," he told him, seriously. Harry just waved him off, gagging and coughing dryly.
Soon, blood dripped from his mouth, as did stray petals. His chest and throat burned painfully, his chest seemingly felt ripped in two, and his eyes felt suspiciously wet with burning tears of exertion. He panted, as he observed the flowers in his hands.
Fleur-de-lis flowers this time around, delicate petals already soaking up his mucus and blood and spit. Harry felt vaguely disgusted as he racked his brain for the flower meaning, and furrowing his brows in slightly confusion.
Flame; I burn.
Alfie looked on, a perplexed frown on his face. He was quickly writing down his thoughts on the clipboard, before sighing and putting it away. With a quick wave of his wand, the clipboard and quail pen was writing by themselves. He gingerly took the flowers away from Harry's hand, allowing Harry to wipe them on his trousers. Alfie, luckily, had gloves on, and he had taken them to the counter.
"Flower of the lily, huh?" Alfie asked, making Harry raised an eyebrow. "That's a direct translation. I suppose you know it already...?"
"Fleur-de-lis," Harry supplied. "It's meaning means flame, or I burn."
"Does the flowers usually change?" Alfie questioned. "Does their meaning change when you do something?"
"Generally, yes."
"Huh," Alfie returned to running spells on the flowers. He gave up after a while, turning towards Harry with a sympathetic smile on his face. "Do you need any pain potions? I can prescribe some general cold potions, and charms, but I don't think their reach can extend to the flower growth inside your lungs. At the very least, it might give you some control over your coughing fits. But I'm afraid that might have it's drawbacks as well."
"Such as?"
Alfie grimaced. "You could suffocate if you don't cough up those flowers regularly," he told him. "If worse comes to worse, we can perform surgery to physically remove the growth if there is no other option. In the meantime, I need to develop a special type of potion that could possibly help, er, dissolve those flowers that are growing inside your lungs. It's not a permanent solution, but it should be able to help you control it better."
"Alright," Harry said, unsure. "What about my Arcobaleno curse? And what exactly did you see when you performed those diagnostic spells during my coughing fit?"
"Erm," Alfie ran his hand through his hair in the familiar act of frustration. "Well, about that- your coughing fit told me a few things, actually." He admitted, a small nervous smile on his face. "As of assumed, your curse is indeed magical. But I had thought that it was an anomaly, a foreign type of magic that is causing physical harm to your body. But-" He shot Harry an appraising look, making his stiffen and harden his stare. "It appears that- it seems like your own magic is supplying the flowers," he finally stated, making Harry blink.
Magic was all about intent, when it all came down to it.
So that must mean-
"I'm doing this to myself?" Harry asked, voice soft and slightly hoarse.
A self-inflicted curse, huh? What a new low, even for himself. Alfie nodded, a bit unsure. "It's unheard of, but it could happen," he tried to assure. "The permanent solution I was thinking, other than rather controlling the effects of the curse, is to deal with it at it's source, meaning your magical core." He fiddled with his glasses, before pushing them back onto his face to look at Harry seriously. "That would mean that you would need to go under magical therapy, and perhaps even regular therapy. I can tell you that will help with the start of your recovery, and you'd need to be in touch with both your magic, and yourself, for that."
Therapy, two kinds. "You really think I'm doing this to myself?" Harry asked, not irritated, not angry. A bit bewildered, and- that was a bit surprising. He was killing himself.
"Not intentionally," Alfie hedged, slowly. "But subconsciously? Maybe," Alfie was honest, which Harry had to give him props for. "Have you ever heard of factitious disorder? It's more commonly known as Munchausen Syndrome, but it's been renamed recently. It's where a disease is often faked due to psychology trauma, to gain reassurance, and, or, to gather attention-"
"Do you really think that I'm doing this for attention?" Harry seethed, suddenly very irritated. It was a sore subject for him, often being titled as attention seeker in the past. As if, Harry internally seethed. If anything, Harry wanted no attention.
Alfie looked surprised, and tried to backtrack, carefully. "Or," he stressed, a nervous smile on his face. "It's a form of Hypochondriasis disorder. That's a form of health anxiety, or illness anxiety disorder. It usually refers to some people who have anxiety and generally thinks they have a disease that do not have."
Harry was unconvinced, still slightly bitter. "Okay, what does that have to do with me, and my situation?"
"Self-imposed, is what I'm trying to say," Alfie admitted, shortly. "Honestly, this is the first ever scenario I have ever encountered. But most patients want to hear some sort of diagnosis to feel better about themselves, and in more control of their condition. It's a bit scary to not know anything about what's affecting you, isn't it?"
"Better than being labeled as attention seeking," Harry snapped.
"I'm not saying that you're that," Alfie responded, voice firm. "I want to focus more on the 'self-imposed' part, thank you. As someone who is magical, your magic could be reacting to your own self-imposed disease, and help fuel it, somewhat."
"...I'm not doing this for attention," Harry muttered, still and stubborn.
Alfie looked exasperated. "And I believe you," he reminded, making Harry snort and glance away. A bit of guilt seeped in, but Harry was a stubborn prick sometimes. It happens, he admits. He wasn't Mr. Friendly, and he certainly wasn't liking the way Alfie had insinuated another insulting title earlier in the conversation. He was just Harry, damn it.
"If I'm doing this to myself," Harry finally hedged, still a bit sullen. "Will therapy help me work it out and cure myself?"
"It's a start," Alfie admitted. "Magic is all about intent, you know. If your magic is making your flower curse take hold, then perhaps it could help take care of it as well. In order to become in tune with your magic, your mind must be healthy enough to undergo the magical therapy that will happen alongside with regular therapy." Alfie had snatched the clipboard from thin air, and flipped through the pages. "It says in your notes that you never went to counseling therapy after the war?"
Guilty and unhappy, Harry nodded.
Alfie grimaced.
"Shut up," Harry insisted. "I know, I know, bad self-care, I know. Hermione and Ron already tore me a new one earlier, I don't need to hear it from you," he folded his arms, staring stonily at the Healer. Alfie shot him a wan, sympathetic, smile.
"It's quite understandable," Alfie said. "I'm not judging, I promise. Most people who experience a war don't usually go to counseling aftewards, not without being forced that is. In regular army settings, veterans undergo training to settle themselves back into civilization, you know. They learn coping skills, and how to live day to day life like any other normal human. Have you experienced any dysphoria, or feeling out of touch with reality in these past two years?"
"Yes," Harry admitted, feeling a bit uncomfortable. He never went through that, after the war was done, it was just- he was just done. He never learned to 'settle back in', as Alfie had put it. "I didn't think of that," he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.
"It's never too late to learn how to live," Alfie reminded him, making Harry pause.
That- that was oddly assuring.
"Thanks," Harry said, softly. "I'll- I'll do the therapy, I guess." A pause, and Harry glanced at the relieved Healer. "What about my Arcobaleno curse? Any ideas on that?"
Alfie glanced once more at the pacifier, expression crumpling slightly. "That's another type of magic, I think. Not self-inflicted, thank Merlin. The pacifier itself has a heavy and dark aura, and seems to be seeping some type of substance from yourself- not your magic, however." His smile turned rather sympathetic and tight. "I think our earlier conversation actually ties into this," he admitted.
A slow dawning of realization seeped in.
"It's taking my spiritual magic, isn't it?" Harry asked, already knowing the answer.
"Indeed it is," Alfie sighed.
"Shit," Harry palmed his face with both of his hands, wand forgotten on his lap. "I'm a fucking mess," he lamented.
"Well, that's why you're here," Alfie tried to enthuse. "You have friends and myself to help you through this. Don't ever forget that you're not alone in this," he smiled, sincerely, at the young wizard.
Harry remembers Hermione's worried tears, and Ron's pale and tense face. And looking at Alfie's helpful expression was rather reassuring. Harry finally allowed a small, if a bit self-deprecating, smile because damn, he didn't deserve such nice people to worry over someone like him, didn't want or need someone to be there for him.
But he had them.
"Yeah, I'm not alone," Harry laughed, a bit grateful and slightly tired. "Thank you."
Review, favorite, follow, or whatever you do on stories that you read.
If you have any ideas, or whatever, tell me; I might consider it, haha.
ALSO on my profile, I have a desperate plea for Yamamoto Takeshi/Harry Potter stories- if you write me one, I'll write you a story of wHATEVER- PLEASE, I'M DESPERATE.
Believe it or not, Yamamoto Takeshi is my favorite KHR character, haha.
-mms