AN: Hey guys, just letting you know I haven't stopped writing on this story. I want to branch out of the traditional Harry Potter fan fiction and go my own way, make my own story from the foundations of JK Rowling's work. So I am going to be introducing new concepts, new characters, slowly, very slowly. This chapter is just a taste I think, a trial and if it works I will continue in the same stream and if it doesn't, jump out and try something else I guess. Anyways let me know how you feel about it, your thoughts and opinions do matter I believe. It really has an impact on the direction of the story.
Chapter Eighteen: Doctors and Lawyers
Doctor Richard Zumdahl was a muggle born coming from a nice family of five brothers, two sisters and hard working parents. His father was a salesman, selling cars in his cousin's autoshop, and his mother was an English teacher.
He had worked hard to get to where he was, to get a medical degree from a muggle university which wizards and witches disdained terribly. And then he spent an additional three years learning magical ways of healing, and he was impressed.
He seemed to be a bit down today as he walked down Diagon Alley's cobbled street, looking at the shops that surrounded the alley like a growing forest.
He wanted to buy some potions equipment and perhaps test out a new wand. His old one was fizzling and didn't seem to work as good as it used to. Perhaps it was the studying in the muggle university and medical school that had costed him his wand. He didn't use much magic anymore, at least until he started his training in magical healing. And then too, his wand was a pain, but he couldn't afford to get a new one.
Now however, with him getting a cushy job at St. Mungoes treating such exotic wounds like apparration accidents, that his muggle colleagues had never even heard of, or diseases that only affected magically talented humans, he had some money. Not a lot, but enough to get by, enough to continue his research in potions... or rather potions with a certain dark arts connotations.
"Hey there, you got change?" asked a homeless man with a pleading look in his eye. When Dr. Zumdahl looked at him, he saw a bearded man, with gaunt looking clothes and a skinny malnourished body. He inwardly wondered at how a magical person could possibly go impoverished, but with an upward roll of his eye expressing his annoyance, he dug out a silver sickle and tossed it to the man.
"Thanks," the man said beaming. "My name's Arnie, I used to work for the Purple Knightbus, you know."
"What happened, did you get fired?" asked Zumdahl as he continued to walk down toward Potions Exotica, a store that was sadly fifteen minutes a walk from his apartment in Knockturn Alley.
Arnie continued to follow him, flipping the silver sickle between his fingers like a magician. "I did a good job, driving that is, not that you need to do much work. No it was Harry Potter that got me fired."
"The boy who survived the killing curse?" Zumdahl stopped walking, and turned to face Arnie, "I had heard about it, a curious event that has puzzled experts for a while, healers don't know how to replicate it, nor do they have an idea to go about how to do so." He sighed.
"I'm a healer myself you know," he said and then examining Arnie up and down, he added, "I can take care of those burns on your hands. What happened?"
"It was a dragon," Arnie said, "Dragon fire, the worst thing in the world, when it gets to you, burns out a person's magic, it does."
"That's a rare side effect, happens to only one percent of those inflicted with burn injuries," Zumdahl said, "You are a rare one then."
"Yes, rare, I'm sure," Arnie sighed, "That damn Potter summoned the dragon I think."
"Where was this?"
"You haven't heard the news, then?"
"I've been out of the country for a while, in South Africa, earning my medical degree among the muggles."
"Hmphf, a waste of time dealing with muggles if you ask me," Arnie said as the pair continued to walk toward Potions Exotica, Arnie following the doctor.
"Not a waste of time at all," Zumdahl said, "Their ways can be of immense help to the magical community, especially in research. Did you know they use rats and mice to experiment on, using chemicals and drugs for healing rather than spells and potions."
"I prefer amulets myself," Arnie admitted, "At least I used to, now nothing works. I have burns all over my body, and can't even cast a lumos charm, much less handle the Knightbus."
"That's too bad, you need to apply some wolfbark cream on your burns, but as far as your magic goes, nothing will help save for maybe pheonix tears," Dr. Zumdahl said, "And you know how rare that stuff is."
"That's what the healer at Hogwarts told me. That's where Potter summoned the dragon you know, I saw him, raising this crystal white stick in the air and whispering. He's a parseltongue you know. Heard it from a good person who doesn't never lie."
"A parseltongue, why to think of all that I've missed," Zumdahl said, "Well anyways I have to get going, you can buy the wolfbark cream from Potions Exotica. That's where I need to go."
"What are you buying then, you're a healer right, you don't need potions supplies, do you? Doesn't St. Mungo's provide it for you?"
"They do but I am undertaking a particularly complex research project," Zumdahl said, stopping in front of Arnie, "Show me your hands."
Arnie opened his hands palm upward, and Zumdahl stared at it for a few seconds, before taking out the wand that didn't quite work for him. He decided he would cast a cooling charm for the pain, and then a healing amplifier for the burns though he doubted it would do much.
Dragon burns were notoriously hard to heal. Zumdhal did his best with his wand, and the poor man looked much happier, and healthier, when he was done. Then he went to the potions shop and bought a few flasks of blue liquid, as well as an eye of newt that he would make a sleeping potion out of.
He had been having some strange dreams lately, and perhaps it was a bit of his divination skills. His great grandfather was a pretty darn good divination wizard, and he probably inherited some of it even though his parents were muggles.
He was walking out of the potions shop when he noticed Ollivander's wand shop explode in a fiery orange ball of debris and fire. He ducked.
People were screaming to escape the explosion.
Two men dragged an older man out the door. They wore white masks and black cloacks
Death eaters, Zumdhal thought with fear tightening his chest. I won't leave this place alive, they will kill me.
But they didn't kill him.
"Avada Kedavra!" said one death eater.
A jet of green light hit Ollivander in the chest and he flew backward with a last cry of utter pain.
Zumdhal shuddered even though he was a tiny bit curious despite himself. It shamed him. But he had never seen a killing curse before.
The feeling, the terror, it was pure evil.
The green light filled his vision, destroyed everything good inside him. He felt hopeless and agonized, as if he were near a dementor.
But some how just watching the harmless wand seller die was even worse. He wished he could do something about it but he was just too scared.