Be Selfish

Chapter 10

"Thank Merlin you're back," exclaimed Healer Smirnov, still in his nightwear. His blue striped nightshirt made him look impossibly smaller and paler. With a darker, same length night gown and a night hat that was the same colour and pattern as his nightshirt. "I was expecting you back hours ago." Staring at them both, the patented look of a disapproving father or grandfather staring back at them. The fireplace blazed on behind him, keeping the room and the property warm. He was entirely frazzled; he'd been so fearful that Antonin had been arrested or some such and Harry dragged back to that awful family.

Then he realized that Antonin had Harry in his arms.

"What has happened? Is he alright?" in healer mode, looking closer and seeing that Harry was actually unconscious in Antonin's arms. He'd have likened it to the result of the ritual and Harry's body in recovery. However, he knew they'd left to perform the ritual immediately, surely Antonin hadn't meandered around for hours with the boy unconscious? Unless, he had woken up before falling unconscious again? Perhaps he'd been given the go ahead to take him home from the healers.

"We're fine," Antonin murmured, his voice a grumbling purr. "Both of us."

"Set him on the bed, I'd like to give him a once over." The healer ordered Antonin, his eyes roaming over all he could see of Harry. Trying to deduce whether he truly was alright without even a single spell being performed. "I swear you have aged me thrice in the past few hours. I was tempted to send out the House-elves." Which honestly was an understatement, it was Antonin's grandparents that stopped him from going out to search for them.

Antonin moved them towards the room Harry had been using. Smirnov opened the door and Antonin placed Harry on the bed. Moving back, he watched the healer work, observing the stacks of potions with suspicious eyes. "That's way too much potions. Has there been a mistaken with the order?" There were three crates there, admittedly the first one was almost empty. Ignoring the older wizards complaining for now.

"There has been no mistake," Smirnov explained, before flicked out his wand from his holster and began to chant.

"Then what is all this?" Antonin asked, peering into the cases, finding various different vial types, inside with different colours, consistencies and amounts. He recognized a few of them, since he and Harry had been on potions since coming here. Him far longer than Harry of course, and far less needed for him too.

Smirnov sighed, standing back, "Hmm, a little magical exhaustion, nothing too bad, although he really must eat." His body really needed sustenance, and to be eating three or four meals a day at the same time every day. If he didn't his body was going to continue eating its own fat. He barely had any to begin with, all this was of course, explained and written down. By barely it clung to the – presumably – food Harry ate during most of the year at Hogwarts.

"I'll be surprised if he wakes before he's due to return home," Antonin stated, his face impassive. Nothing on his features gave away how he felt about having to return Harry to Privet Drive. Returning a boy to where he was abused? No, he didn't want that unfortunately, the magic called upon him to return him to whence they'd begun their parley. If he did not, then magic would punish him.

The books all had different 'punishment's' for denying the rights of Parley oath. Death, loss of magic, partial loss of magic, huge amounts of bad luck. Like losing their fortune, everything they invested in went rotten and an incurable disease. Magic punishing them by making them live through hell before granting them mercy.

Antonin wasn't joining the ranks of those fools.

"You may be right there," the healer commented, sitting on the chair that had become his during Harry's convalescence. "But the youngster has surprised me before so I shall not be taking any bets on that front." Truer words couldn't have been spoken.

Antonin glanced at the healer; his brow furrowed but swept it aside. Presuming it to be something insignificant. "Accio!"

The bottle of firewhisky zoomed towards him, and he snatched it out of thin air. Then filled the two glasses that followed behind the bottle.

Smirnov gave him a gimlet glare, "You really shouldn't be drinking," lightly reprimanding the wizard, but truthfully, at the end of the day there was nothing he could do to truly stop the wizard from doing as he pleased.

"He didn't make a single sound during the ritual," Antonin said, before throwing back the contents he'd just poured.

A small sound emerged from the healers' lips, a bleat of some kind. Dazed as he stared at Antonin, expecting to be informed it was a joke but knowing him well enough to know it wasn't. "N-nothing?" the stunned disbelief gave way to horror, the realization that the pain he'd endured for the ritual was nothing much added on to the pain he'd received all his life.

Antonin's grandparents' portraits remined sombre and silent. Having moved into the frame moments earlier. They heard what Antonin had to say. Naturally they knew what was going on, they heard everything that happened in the property for the most part. There was always someone somewhere in the property except the Master bedroom.

Antonin poured himself another, before downing it, shaking his head, grimly. Rubbing his temples, he'd accomplished nothing this week, he'd had a lot he wanted to do unfortunately, it wasn't meant to be.

The healer was suddenly very grateful he had already sat down. He knew should he have been standing, he would have wobbled to a chair. Merlin, he couldn't even begin to imagine the pain. The only ritual he knew of that was worse was the one that tried to remove traces of peoples magic from someone. "I'm…I'm speechless," was all he said, he could think of nothing else to say.

Antonin grunted, his agreement, watching through hooded eyes as the healer drank from the crystal tumbler glass.

"What did the Master goblin healer have to say?" Afon asked, well aware that goblins had at least four goblin healers on staff at each establishment any given day. Not just in case of cave ins, but because humans used them quite often. Given what ritual he had been under, a healer had most definitely been brought to ensure he'd survive it and to take care of his wellbeing afterward.

Antonin chuckled, drank another mouthful, a contemplative frown on his face, "I don't think I've seen goblins display more than a single emotion in the years I've known them. Today? They displayed at least four or five different emotions…and one of them was reverence. The warrior race respects Potter, he's gained their admiration." Nodding repeatedly, over and over again a little tipsy. He'd grown out of the ability to hold his drink.

"As a warrior race, they respect power, strength and wealth." The healer mused, "I can't say I've heard of it either. As I live and breathe, I never thought I'd hear the like." He was rather envious that he hadn't been there. "I wish I had accompanied you both."

"It's little wonder they'd respect it, he's sixteen-years-old, and withstood the second worst ritual created in the magical world. To withstand that sort of pain? It's not done, magical children are supposed to be cherished and protected." Afon grimaced, sorrow written across his face. He knew despite his words, that it happened likely all too often. His husband and sister-in-law were proof of that, and it had a long-lasting impression well into adulthood. Naturally, his husband blamed himself for not getting them out sooner.

Anton curled his lip in disgust, making no effort to mask it.

"If he wishes to press charges, then he may well wish to go through with the ritual to remove the traces of magic left behind by the bindings on his magic." Anton murmured, he normally wouldn't advocate such a painful spell, but if it was something he was willing to go through for proof of what Dumbledore did to him, then he would likely do it. "Irrefutable proof goes a long way, and it would show the magical world just what Dumbledore is like."

"Anton," Afon admonished his husband, "Would you be saying as such to your sister?" the only one who would get away with such comments understandably.

Anton grumbled like a wounded bear, now he sounded exactly like Antonin. "No," he eventually managed to make a somewhat human sound.

"Doesn't make it any less the truth," Antonin told his portrait grandparents.

"Regretfully so, and as much as I hate to say it…it may well be the only way he's believed." Smirnov commented, looking regretful and bitter, "Everything I've read indicates that Dumbledore's reach is very vast. He lost everything for perhaps eight months before he regained it all and far more acclaim. Is that not, correct?" here he glanced at Antonin, who was naturally more aware of the political climate in the UK as well as the civil war.

Antonin bared his teeth, an animalistic look on his face, one he'd worn today to warn off everyone overwhelming Harry. It was hardly any wonder, natural healers were revered and desired at all times of the day. If they let themselves be used twenty-four hours a day, they would.

"I think it's safe to say our grandson is in agreement." Afon said, amused by the look on his face not at all intimidated. It meant his grandson cared, which was a relief, it had been a long time since he cared about anything other than the cause he supported. They neither supported or decried it, life as a portrait was different to being alive.

"It's regretfully true, the sway he holds upon the magical world is alarming." Antonin confessed, pinching the bridge of his nose before he filled up the two glasses once more. Even when he lost his political clout, he still had his avid supporters and despite their best attempts in making him out to be insane. Even the Dark Lord quite rightfully feared him, Dumbledore's reputation, powers and ability to get people to follow him was much like the Dark Lord's surpassed all else.

It had allowed Antonin to act though, while Dumbledore had been distracted between the Ministry, Hogwarts and the loss of his positions. Not to forget reconvening the Order of the Phoenix. The pathetic group, not as wizards, they were rather powerful, but following Dumbledore around like a puppet on strings made them pathetic. Pureblood's most of them, and fought for the champion of Muggle borns. It had allowed him to do what he had to, looking for Black as well as the other freed Death Eaters had been well done.

"And the boy?" Afon questioned sombrely.

Antonin glanced at his grandfather curiously, waiting on the finishing of the sentence.

"Is he happy to return to the so-called light side and Dumbledore given what he now knows?" incredulity written across his features. Inwardly entirely exasperated at the titles both sides had given to themselves. Honestly, dark and light, magic was magic, and the dark side was pandering to the masses by even mentioning 'dark side' honestly.

Antonin shook his head, "I don't know." He confessed, pouring yet another generous amount, before drinking it down, more than buzzed now. "The boy doesn't seem remotely…upset by what he has learned this week. Either that or he's very good at concealing his emotions."

"It's not the lack of being upset," the healer refuted, "More along the likes of not being surprised there's a difference."

"I'm not sure there is," Antonin murmured, rubbing his chin in silent agitation. "He's been through the wringer to the point of apathy."

Anton grimaced, giving a short jerky nod, understanding completely. He remembered that feeling, but he had his sister to wake him from that apathy. Then his husband who made him feel true joy just at someone's mere presence. "Depending on how long he's felt that way…it might be next to impossible to rectify." And he knew what he was talking about far better than anyone else, including his grandchild.

The healer glanced at the bed where Harry was ensconced, "No, not impossible," he murmured, but he didn't look at any of the Dolohov's. He legally couldn't say anything about it, no, if Harry wanted to tell them then he could. He couldn't say a thing, he could find himself struck of the medical record if he did. He might have been summoned by Antonin, but ultimately, Harry was his patient. He'd gone just a smidge out of line by leaving his paperwork out for Antonin to find.

To make them see what Harry had been through, fully.

"We also have an answer to whether he has the ability to heal others," Antonin commented, removing the bundle of books shrunk down, and placed them carefully on the table. He would request them back, at some point. Although, there was little point, he was no natural healer, and it was unlikely he'd ever have a child. Bearers were highly sought after, and were betrothed while they were barely weeks old, months at the latest. Yes, they didn't always go through with it, but you'd need to know about them being a bearer to fight for them.

"He's able to heal himself and others?" Smirnov perked up, completely distracted by his earlier thoughts. Eyeing the books with reverence, he'd love to read them despite the fact he would never be able to use magic to heal someone the way natural healers would.

"Others, yes, himself? Only time will tell." Antonin commented, if he chose remain on the wrong side, then perhaps not.

"Natural healing has a unique signature," Smirnov explained patiently, "He's definitely been using it." Refuting that statement, "I wasn't aware you could do both."

"He's powerful, they're liking him to the level of Merlin himself." Antonin added wryly, glancing at the boy, he was so small, it was hard to believe he was sixteen-years-old. Nothing would help in the long run; he'd always be too small for his age now. Tom when he was sixteen was the same height as himself. Wasn't a tiny beanpole of a wizard. Tom had a presence about him, it showcased his magic, made everyone pay attention. It was…thrilling to be around, and he hadn't sensed the like from Harry, not until they were in that room.

Hardly surprising if his magic had been bound thusly.

"Merlin?" the three voices echoed, all dubious and filled with disbelief.

Emrys Merlin was undisputedly the most powerful wizard of all time. Number one or level one, gold mage on the grand magus scale. The only level one that there has ever been since the dawn of time. Only three others had came close to his power levels, Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus Peverell they were level two, silver mage. Further down perhaps level four, amethyst mage were Helga Hufflepuff, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw and level five, ruby was Godric Gryffindor. Most people who touched it were lucky if they found themselves a level nine or worse ten.

The Dark Lord (even as Tom Riddle) had never picked up the mage globe, which records power levels. He already had Dumbledore paying an annoying close watch on him, he wasn't going to have the world doing it to see what he'd do. He believed he'd be on the same level as Emrys Merlin or over it. Regardless of whether he touched the globe and done the test…everyone knew he was far more powerful than them and that was enough for him.

"They'd know, they've got a record of every single magical signature of anyone whom walks into their bank." Afon pointed out, which meant everyone, purebloods and Muggle-borns alike, since the bank was where they exchanged their Muggle money for wizarding coin. The globe in the Ministry was just a fancier version, and decided not private, once used, it was up for public consumption. There's were far more stringent and protected.

"I forgot about that," Anton murmured ruefully, shaking his head at his own absentmindedness. "Perhaps you should let the boy sleep undisturbed?" if he wasn't already listening to their every word that is. He certainly would be to ensure his own safety and wellbeing.

"Then you'll be leaving him alone too," Afon said dryly, giving his husband a look.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Anton murmured innocently.

Afon just stared at his husband decidedly not swayed by the innocent look. He knew his husband well, he likely wanted to talk to Harry before he left. Try and encourage him to stay, but the truth was, it had to be Harry's decision. He'd spent the past six years being fed misinformation, and it may well be his own belief's now. It wasn't something they could change, if you believed something, you believed it. Sometimes to the point of utter insanity, but it is what it is.

"Then you won't mind Antonin removing the frame for the evening then? Hmm?" Afon said sweetly.

Other than a twitch of his nose, Anton didn't seem bothered, "Very well," but his nose twitch was his tell, it had always been right from the very first date they'd gone on.

Afon smirked as he turned to face Antonin, oh, yes, his husband had been up to mischief. Plus, he had a feeling, things would turn out differently than everyone was expecting. Yes, the boy had been abused and misused, but there was a fire in him even now.

He would surprise them all, Afon truly believed that.

Smirnov watched both his friends exit the frame, Afon prodding at his husband as they both went. He watched Antonin wordlessly get up; despite all he'd drank he still had that regal pose about him despite his towering stature. He opened his mouth, contemplating telling him. He deserved to know; this was his soul mate. Although, the fact he hadn't figured it out was baffling. Antonin would be more liable of the two, to sense it than Harry, who didn't even know what it was.

All he knew was a feeling of safety that overwhelmed him.

Sure, he'd given Antonin information to fully understand Harry. He hadn't informed him about their possible soul bond. He couldn't interfere with that sort of magic it. Hecate help him, but he couldn't do it, that sort of bond needs to come naturally. Trying to force it would be tantamount to betraying magic itself.

"Sleep well, young one," Smirnov murmured, his tone soft and soothing, one he used whilst at work especially geared towards calming children. Levitating everything, the box, the potions, the journals he'd situated there earlier, the box with all his writing implements, and the extra box of ink and quills.

He exited the room, the floating items following, and the door closed with a small snick after.

The only noise in the room afterwards were the tapping of the inkwell glass by a quill or the scratching of one.

Antonin glanced at the time as Lori – The House-elf – popped away having delivered breakfast. The heating was finally warming up the room, thank Merlin for that it was very nippy. He hated the cold; he'd endured enough in Azkaban – admittedly not always just when the spells waned – but it was enough to garner a hatred of cold. He wasn't sure if it would ever change. He was sat in the chair closest to the fire.

Neither Harry or Smirnov were here. One didn't surprise him the other did. Smirnov was far more punctual than himself even. He glanced at the clock again, convinced he'd misread the arms that were ticking away. Yet, nothing, it was the correct time, hmm how peculiar.

Plating up his breakfast, he relaxed back into his seat. Despite his worries, he very much preferred the silence of his home. Not due to anything bad, but the normalcy, he'd spent over a decade alone. Being around people too long was daunting, he rather did hope it changed.

No, not hoped, he would ensure it did.

It might just take a little time.

The only sound for the next half hour was the sound of the cutlery clinking against the plate as he ate. He had literally just lay his utensils down feeling completely satisfied with a full meal when he heard footsteps. Plucking the envelope from the silver tray holding all his mail, he checked the back and crest in the wax before opening it.

Duke Dolohov

Just as we discussed, I am keeping you updated on the progress I'm making on the potions. Please be reassured that nobody except me can access the laboratory in which the potions are kept. You'll be pleased to know that the brewing stage is going swimmingly and the most difficult part is complete. I have found a way to shorten the process by one lunar month. Therefore, the potions will be complete on August 2nd. I do have two cauldrons with the original recipe just to be on the safe side.

"Good morning," Smirnov greeted politely, sitting down, not expecting much of a reply due to Antonin being distracted.

"Good morning. Are you feeling alright?" Antonin asked, peering up at him, letter ignored for a moment. Not that there was anything more than a time, date and place to meet up to collect the potions. Then a portion of his name, he wasn't foolish enough to leave it written anywhere on any correspondence. The Potions Master was much like him and had a dual citizenship in Russia and the UK. He spent a great deal of his time in the UK.

Smirnov's face wrinkled up a little more, "I am well, why?" glancing at various parts of his body as if suspecting the answer to be somewhere on him.

"You're usually up at the crack of dawn," Antonin said wryly, "Even I haven't managed to wake up before you until now." It wasn't as if he lay in bed for hours after wakening up, or anything of the sort.

"After a lifetime of getting up early for my apprenticeship, my duties, my children and even taking my own hours as I wound down my workload, I find I can rarely sleep after six o'clock." Smirnov murmured ruefully, "When I do it's a potion or lack of sleep even then it's somewhat early still when I rouse."

"Does it annoy your wife?" Antonin mused out loud.

Smirnov laughed, "You have no idea," she hated being woken at the early hours of the morning. However, she was used to it, having endured it for all their married life. "Just yesterday she said it was lovely getting to lie in without being woken up. Well, that was the polite version." A wicked grin on his aging features. Along with very real threats she'd see through if he wasn't home in time for his great grandchild's first birthday which was in a few days.

Antonin chuckled, "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you've been here to help, but I'll also be glad for the return of my privacy."

Smirnov, "Nothing like being at home without the need to put on any airs and graces."

Antonin inclined his head, yes, that was exactly that.

"Just do keep in touch, Antonin." Smirnov said, eyes shadowed with worry, "It seems I may need to begin seeing about getting a copy of the Daily Prophet." He'd never thought he'd ever say that, he must confess. Unfortunately, he had grown rather fond of the young boy, and wanted to keep an eye out. He very much doubted Harry would care to write to an old man like him. Plucking the serving spoon, he poured more than a generous amount of scrambled egg onto his plate.

He, naturally, didn't understand how far Harry was willing to go for anyone who genuinely cared about him. he'd received so little care in his life that he'd do anything – literally anything – even die for the one who showed him with the basic care he should have received all his life.

Antonin shook his head, "I have Lori retrieve it for me every morning, if you so desire, I can have her get one for you as well and send it off." There was no point to the healer paying the extortionate fee for Portkey travelling a newspaper to another country. Not when he could ask his House-elf to buy another, and she'd be very happy to, she rather liked the healer.

"That's perfect, I'll give you a monthly subscription fee at a time," Smirnov declared, already removing his pouch and handing over five gold coins and handing them over. "This is for the meals, while I appreciate the plentiful you've kept the food coming, I pay my own way." His voice becoming grim as he pressed the coins into Antonin's hand.

Antonin inclined his head, knowing that if he tried to give it back it would be decided unpolite. It would be tantamount to declaring that the healer couldn't make ends meet on his own. That he couldn't take care of himself or his family. Muggles liked to think it was the right thing to do, Muggle-borns the same, but it wasn't right. It was insulting and grievously offensive. "Very well," he agreed, and begun to read the rest of his correspondence. His mind drifting to Harry with those children, despite his best efforts to remain here and now.

Most of his correspondence was people trying to start up a new partnership with the Dolohov family. Others trying to entice him to give money – in excess – to new investment schemes and business ventures. Most of them were a waste of ink and paper, but a few did sound rather promising but they needed the financial backing.

"It's nearly time." Healer Smirnov commented, his tone grim, they needed to get Harry up and returned to Privet Drive lest the magic punish all involved. "We must make concessions for the length of time it takes for the Portkey to land."

"Agreed," Antonin agreed, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, "Lori?" he called out.

Lori appeared before him calm and assessing the mood.

"Wake Potter up, as quickly as possible, he must return home." Antonin informed his House-elf, a little annoyed that the boy was already missing meals. Sleep likely was needed far more than nourishment, of you'd believe so but he wasn't sure Smirnov would agree with that assessment. "Unless he wishes to be punished by magic."

He didn't pay attention as she popped away, already turning back to Smirnov, as he finally put the coins in his pocket. He did not have his money pouch on him at this minute.

"I shall put some food in a takeaway dish, shall I?" seeking permission to do so, since it wasn't his home or food. To do so without asking just wasn't done in high society, and they were very much indeed in high society.

"As much as you like," Antonin agreed, giving him the go ahead. If they weren't put into the takeaway dish, or to-go box as he referred to it as, it would be preserved for tomorrow. Although given the small amount that was left – at least small to him – it was likely Smirnov would put it all into the to-go box. While the majority of Russia was mostly frozen solid, he had enough estates in other countries – not just England – to grow produce so he very rarely had to pay for anything except sweets and such that he took a fancy to.

A few more seconds, a frankly pale faced and terrified Harry skidded into the room, still half dressing himself much to the shock and bemusement of the two other wizards. He honestly looked ready to pass out, he definitely shouldn't be up and about yet.

Shivering in cold but glad for the warmth of the room, he yanked his clothes on, hastily as possible. "I'm ready." He didn't want anything to happen to the healer or Dolohov for their hospitality. He didn't want to go back either but needs a must. He had been reading a book and last night he'd thought of something but he wasn't sure if it would be accepted.

He'd sort of been really ungrateful for everything Dolohov had done for him. Why would he go out of his way to do anything more? He idly grinned a bit just imagining the reactions to everyone seeing him dressed this way. The Dursley's, the Order guards, hell even Dumbledore.

Antonin observed the boy, a little startled at how quickly his mood shifted. He couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking about, but he didn't ask.

"This is the potions you need to take every day, there's a journal I've written down everything you need to know about the potions and the regimen and the food you're best eating." Smirnov did not waste a moment, as he withdrew one thing after another. "They're measured out perfectly. I would prefer you not remaining there, but I cannot stop you returning to…that place." A scowl on his aged face, he certainly would be stopping Harry if he could. "This is breakfast, it will remain perfectly preserved and warm for forty-eight hours before the charms need reapplied." The takeaway container went into the child's arms.

Smirnov then proceeded to place them all in a small old knapsack his grandson had used while in the community school before attending his magical education. He eased the knapsack onto his thin delicate shoulders, before patting him reassuringly. "Keep in touch as much as you can, young one,"

Harry nodded, "I promise," and it was a promise he intended to keep, he'd grown very fond of the healer in the short week he was here.

"Take your potions as soon as you can," the healer promptly reminded him.

"I will," Harry said, the pain he was in made sure of that, he'd grown used to not being in pain this week that was for certain. Part of him could also not believe that they hadn't noticed he wasn't there. They were the best and brightest, Aurors, yet they didn't notice the boy they were guarding wasn't there. It strained credulity so it did.

"It's time," Antonin declared, holding out the Portkey, he touched it and then they both left the compound.

They were off, caught in a whirlwind with Antonin as they made their way across the world.

Before too long, the whirlwind began to ease, the familiar sight of the park unblurred.

The first thing Harry noticed surprisingly wasn't Antonin…but an Order member. It was then it clicked, there was an order member just swaggering about, drinking and eating without a care in the world. It made him feel sick to his stomach. Why shouldn't he be selfish? Why shouldn't he have nice things? Why must he keep doing everything for everyone while they stay at home safe?

"I, Harry James Potter, do declare that for one week, that Antonin Dolohov joins me under the flag of truce, under the penalty of death if broken, I so declare, so mote it be!" Harry stated vehemently, almost spitting the words out, his green eyes flaring bright green.

The look on Antonin's face was utterly comical, clearly, he hadn't expected a reversal of roles.

A/n – there we go! Sorry it has taken so long to get chapters out lately; I really hope it changes! I so wanted to get this out for Christmas day for those that don't celebrate or can't really but oh well, it took far more time than I had available to me. Hopefully the next chapter (of whatever is next on the list) will be posted before the new year, I hope those that do celebrate Christmas had a wonderful time, and just in case I don't get another chapter up before the new year...Happy New Year When the time comes guys! 😊 I wish you all the best for 2023 may it be better than the past three years eh? 😉 so, what will Antonin teach Harry now that they're doing the treaty for another week? Will the Order member have noticed and raised the alarm? Or will they still remain unaware? R&R please! I guess you'll want to see what Voldemort is actually like then right now? ugh I hate flashbacks...hmm a conversation perhaps? between Antonin and Harry?