THE BOY WITH DRAGON POX
Summary: A young Muggle is in hospital and the doctors are looking for a
blood donor from a close relative. Harry has a plan to help. Pre Epilogue.
Disclaimer: I'm not JKR. Any character you might recognize belongs to her
genius. She's a much better story teller than I am, too.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter One: A Search and Introductions.
Eleanor Statterin was desperate when she called her old boyfriend.
"Robert, Michael has what they think is a rare type of blood disorder. They're
looking for a blood donor that'll match but it's hard because he has a rather
odd incompatibility with all the blood they've tried so far," she said on the
phone.
Robert O'Neil gripped his cell phone tightly in reaction to the words.
"I'm so sorry to hear that," he said. "Is there anything I can do?"
"Yes," Eleanor said. "We think there are other cousins on my aunt's
side but we can't seem to find anything, even a name. Could you help us find
them?"
"I'll do what I can," he said, "but I have to stay within the guidelines of
department policies. I'll talk to my boss, see what we can come up with."
"Thanks so much, Robert," Eleanor said. "We're just at our wit's end
right now."
"I can understand that," Robert returned. "I'll get started right away.
Give my best to everyone and a good hug to that hellion of yours. He always
had a special place in my heart. Like the child we never had."
"Oh you hopeless romantic," Eleanor said with a chuckle. "We would
have made beautiful babies together. How's your wife and kids then?"
"Everyone's fine," Robert said. "Roland is nine and loves football.
Wants to play for Manchester United, of course. Mary is seven and as cute
and wonderful as can be. Loves horses, naturally. Anyway, I better let you
go and get to work. Once again, hugs to everyone, okay?"
"Thanks Robert," Eleanor said.
Detective Constable O'Neil turned to his computer and did a rough
search, got a last name that simply dropped out of sight then a couple
others and traced the most promising down. The files said he sold mining
and drilling equipment, moderately prosperous, though there was a gap in
work and income about thirteen years ago. A bit odd for a salesman. Lives in
Surrey. That was less than an hour away so he made a call and got a time to
talk to them after work. Then he went to his boss and explained the situation
with a request to take a couple days off to help find these missing cousins.
Petunia Dursley met Robert at the door with a painted on smile that
seemed permanent. "Yes, do come in. Vernon is getting changed. He'll be
out in a minute. Would you like a cuppa?"
"That would be most kind of you, ma'am" Robert said politely.
As she handed him the hot cup, Vernon came out to the living room
and asked, "What is it we can do for you Constable?"
"For starters, please call me Robert," he said as he stood and shook
hands. "This isn't a criminal investigation, I'm helping a friend out. I have
permission from my boss to find a relative of Michael Statterin, the son of
Eleanor Statterin. We've known each other since school, you see. Anyway,
her son, that's Michael, is in hospital and they're looking for a compatible
blood donor. Your son, Dudley, I contacted him already but in searching the
family tree there is mention of a Lily Evans but I can't seem to find anything
about her. No record after grammar school far as I can tell."
Vernon and Petunia exchanged horrid looks, not at all missed by the
constable. Something about Dudley?
"She's dead," Petunia said with a tremor in her voice. "Both of them,
him and my sister both gone. That was a very long time ago."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Robert said automatically. He saw that look
again. "She was married then?"
"Yes, they were," Petunia said. "She had to get mixed up in that ...
with that man."
He saw the two people exchange looks, knew what he was seeing but
had to push this to conclusion without offending. "Is there something
uncomfortable about all this? I'm only here to help find a donor for Eleanor's
son. I don't wish to intrude on any family difficulties."
Vernon snorted then put on a grin like it was a well worn mask. "Oh
no, no difficulties anymore."
The grin didn't extend to his eyes, Robert noticed, and got curious
about the history here. But he wasn't here for history, he was here in this
increasingly complicated and strained situation for reasons other than his
personal and professional interest.
"Well, sir, I'm glad to hear that," he said casually. "Are there any
children still around?"
A wave of anger passed over Vernon's face.
Petunia glanced at her husband then said, "Yes. A boy. We brought
him up but we haven't seen him in years," she said, putting on a face that
said she wanted to say more but decided she shouldn't share with a
stranger.
"Do you know where he lives now?" Robert asked. Many times he'd
been in worse conversations but that was professional. This seemed so much
more personal than interviewing a suspect in a crime, like he was rubbing an
old scar that still hurt and these people had done nothing to earn a nose-
rubbing.
"I think I can help you," Petunia said, shooting a look toward her
husband. "He sent us cards and pictures."
Vernon's face turned pink then red, he sputtered and said, "I thought
we agreed to toss that rubbish out!"
Petunia gazed evenly at him with her lips pursed in anger, glanced at
Robert then back and said pointedly, "It seems at the moment we could help
save a boy's life. We owe him that much, Vernon."
She turned to Robert, tremoring with strain but used a pleasant voice
to say, "I have all the pictures he sent. I'll get them. His address is on the
envelopes." A sharp look toward Vernon and she walked out of the room.
Vernon sat in his chair with a look on his face that wasn't pleasant and
Robert thought back to the last time he'd bollixed something up with the
Misses and paid for it later. It looked like Mr. Dursley wasn't going to have a
nice evening at all.
"Cost me my promotion," Vernon muttered. "Worthless little git. Had
to take leave for a year. Nearly lost the house."
"Pardon sir?" Robert said though he heard every word.
"Never mind," Vernon said, glaring into space.
Petunia returned and handed Robert a handful of letters. "If any of
these can help that poor boy out, you use them. If I could ask a favor,
though," she said. Robert nodded and waited.
"Please, I'd like to keep the photographs. His children are just darling."
Another look shot toward her even redder faced husband said it was
going to be a long night for the poor fellow. That last remark wasn't for him
as Constable or someone trying to find a relative. No, Vernon was going to
have a long night.
The return address was from Godric's Hollow, wherever that was. He
glanced through the photos, two then three children growing up, the last
ones with two boys about ten and eight, both wearing long cloaks, the
younger girl a pointed hat with a broom in her hand, one of the old
fashioned kind with straw tied to a warped branch. They really were
engaging. The picture almost looked like it was alive with the smiles of the
three youngsters. He blinked then handed them to Petunia.
"Very nice looking kids," I said. "Once again, I thank you for your time
and most generous hospitality."
"He saved my son's life," Petunia said. "Maybe he can save another."
"That is my hope too. Once again my thanks for all your help, Mrs
Dursley," he said, slipping his hand into his jacket. "My card. If anything
comes up you might think could be helpful."
"Very nice to meet you Constable," Petunia said as he started to his
car.
When he was a few blocks away he stopped, opened his phone and
typed. "Hmm," he muttered softly. "Too long to drive there today. A phone
call would work."
A short search into the police server and he found a phone number,
gave it a ring and got an answering machine. Message left he headed back
to the office where he looked up the name on the envelope and found
another mystery. No work listed, nothing from Inland Revenue, a driver's
license that was current, passport, many trips abroad with family, a lot of
money for someone that didn't seem to be earning any. It didn't add up
which was triggering his detective sensibilities. But then again, there was no
indication of criminal history, no arrests, not even a parking ticket so that
left out crime to explain the money and the anger he'd seen.
Even brokers paid corporate taxes but that path wasn't helpful either.
With a warrant he could dig into the records but he didn't want to go that
far, not yet, the man wasn't a criminal and deserved his privacy. Then he
found nothing in the personals or social nets either. Apparently he had a
couple Email addresses and cell phones so that could provide some means of
finding out more if he needed to. But it still added up to a mystery.
"So, Mr. Potter, who are you really?" he asked aloud and went back to
typing searches.
Back at the hospital later that afternoon he was sitting on Michael's
bed with a checkerboard between them while his mother and father were
chatting with the doctor away from the boy's hearing.
"So, Michael, you been good while you've been staying here?" he
asked.
"Yes, Uncle Robbie," the seven year old boy replied.
"How's the food? Dating any of the nurses yet?" Robert asked.
Michael giggled and moved a piece. "Food's okay. Nurse Clarissa
promised me a date but I have to wait til I'm old enough. I'm old enough
now don't you think?" The boy looked up with bright eyes.
Robert snickered. "Yes, you just might be, mate. You doing school
work while you're here?"
"Yeah," the boy said with a snort. "Mum has Lizzie next door getting it
from my teachers. I wish she'd just forget so I don't have to do any more
fractions."
Robert made a move on the board to set up a double. "I use fractions
all the time at work," he said.
"You do?" Michael asked and absently moved into the trap.
"Well, sometimes anyway," and winked. Both snickered at the joke.
Robert's phone rang and it took a second to realize what the number
meant. "No moving my pieces while I'm gone or I'll turn you upside down
and dip your hair in the toilet," he told a giggling Michael with a grin, got up
and went out in the hall.
"Detective Constable O'Neil. Is this Mr. Potter?"
"Yes sir, it is," the voice said. "What is it I can do for you, Constable?"
"Well, nothing official, not in the legal sense," Robert said to reassure.
"You see, my friend's son is quite ill and the doctors were looking for a blood
donor. Eleanor is related to you through your mother's family. We're trying
to contact everyone we can to see if there's a suitable match."
"I see," the voice said. "If there's anything I can do to help, I'm
available."
"That's very good of you," Robert said. Didn't sound like someone
trying to hide anything. "Can you make an appointment with your local
physician? I can send the needed information and forms for testing."
"That's quite alright," Harry said over the phone. "Where can I meet
you?"
"I'm at Radcliffe Hospital right now," Robert said. "In Oxford. If you
like we can set up an appointment here in the next few days, if that's what
you'd prefer."
"Just a mo. Let me talk to my wife." A minute later he said, "I can
meet you there anytime. Thirty minutes be alright?"
"Are you in Oxford, Mr Potter?" Robert asked.
"Not at the moment," Harry said, "but Radcliffe, that's close to the
University. I'll be there as soon as I can get changed and app ... get there.
What's the room number?"
Wondering just how this was going to all happen, Robert said, "Twelve
fifty eight but don't put yourself out. Tomorrow would be just fine. I'm just
happy you responded. I'm sure the lab here can draw blood for matching in
the morning."
There was a pause, then the voice said, "Half an hour. No problem."
When he rang off he couldn't help but wonder more. First a mystery
man, his family acting so oddly at the mere mention of him, Vernon's bluster
and barely civil, rabid dislike of the man. Then he calls up and says he'll be
here in half an hour, traveling half across the country to do it. Maybe he was
in London, but no, his phone was in Dorset. At least the dialing code was in
Dorset. Perhaps one of those forwarding services.
True to his word, in half an hour there was a knock on Michael's room
door. Eleanor got up and there stood a rather smallish man with unruly black
hair, an engaging smile and glasses with a small smudge of dirt on one
cheek. Robert got up and placed himself between Michael and this man who
shouldn't have been able to get where he was standing in so short a time.
"Mrs. Statterin?" the man asked.
"Yes?"
"I believe a Detective known to you has been asking for me,
he said. "My name is Harry Potter. If I can be of any assistance to you or
your son I put myself at your disposal. I understand we're related through
my mother's family."
Eleanor turned to Robert and got a slight nod. "Do come in Mr. Potter.
This is my son and the light of my life, Michael."
Harry looked at the boy and saw the spots around his neck, frowned,
then put on a happy face. "Glad to meet you, young man. My name is Harry.
How you feeling?"
The boy smiled shyly and shook the offered hand. "Pretty good. I beat
Uncle Robbie in checkers today."
"You did?" Harry asked with a friendly voice, moving closer and looking
again at the spots under the boy's chin then at the man standing close by.
Didn't seem to be the natural father, they didn't look that much alike. But he
did look concerned for the boy.
"Sure did," the boy said and leaned in close to quietly continue, "I
think he let me beat him. He does that sometimes but don't tell him I know."
Standing back a little Harry said with all seriousness, "If you're that
good at checkers maybe we could play a game of chess if we get the
chance."
"I can play chess, a little," Michael said and beamed a grin.
"I just bet you can," Harry said. The hopeful doubt he had faded as he
looked at the spots again when the boy raised his chin.
"Mrs. Statterin, you have a fine son and I'd like to take him up on a
game or two later, with your permission," Harry said and glanced at the man
eying him carefully. Police officer. Had the look. Two and two made four in
the Muggle world too.
"Now, I should properly introduce myself to the Constable here. He
went to a great deal of trouble to track me down," Harry said.
He turned to O'Neil and offered, "A cup of tea? Then we can talk to the
doctors and see if a blood test would be helpful."
Robert saw a look, something that looked familiar, one police officer to
another. He made a slight nod of his head in recognition. "I could use a good
cuppa. My treat, though."
Harry grinned. "Most hospitable of you sir. Shall we?"
As they waited for the elevator to reach them, Robert asked, "Who do
you work for, Mr. Potter?"
"I'm in law enforcement like you," he replied easily,"though I doubt
our paths would ever likely cross."
The elevator arrived and they stepped in. A few people waiting started
for the door then stopped, the doors shut and they were alone.
"If you don't mind me asking what agency do you work for then?"
Robert asked.
"Auror's Office. Could you tell me what time it is?"
Robert glanced at his watch and said, "Seven thirteen."
"Take my hand," Harry said.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Take my hand. I'll explain in a few minutes," Harry said and gently
took a hesitant touch of fingers in his. "This'll feel a little strange."
Robert started to say something then the world dropped out from
under his feet, twisting him inside out and back again and leaving his
stomach roiling. He was standing in darkness, outside, on a lawn when his
stomach gave a heave and he lost his lunch on the grass at his feet.
"There, better out than in, like a good friend of mine used to tell us,"
Harry said as he patted the man's shoulder.
Robert managed to stand up, looked around and reacted instinctively,
hand going for his weapon. He saw Harry reach into his sleeve and pull a
stick out, pointing it at him just as he got his service automatic out of the
holster. As he raised it he heard words.
"Accio bullets cenare'."
There was a slight tug on his gun hand as he continued to raise it,
pointing the barrel at center mass without thinking then adjusting his stance.
Harry smiled then opened his hand to show just over a dozen nine
millimeter shells in his palm.
"Sorry 'bout that," he said. "If you had discharged your weapon there
would have been so many questions to answer and I don't think you'd've
been able to answer very many of them."
Robert stared as the hand was held out to him. "Take them, please."
Robert held out his left hand and Harry dropped the bullets onto his
palm, he stared at them for a moment then at his weapon, clicked the
release and stared wide-eyed into the empty magazine. "How? What the
...?"
"Michael doesn't have a blood disorder, not like you think," Harry said.
"Constable O'Neil. I need you to listen to me carefully. First thing is
everything I'm going to tell you stays between you and me and the trees. I
need your solemn word you will not repeat anything we talk about to
anyone. I cannot emphasize how important this is to you."
Robert glanced at his gun, fingered the bullets in his other hand and
looked up. "What is going on?"
"Your word as a keeper of the Queen's peace and as a man," Harry
said. "This is very important. To you most especially."
Robert looked this strange man in the eye, saw no deceit and nodded.
"Alright, for now. My word."
"I won't insult you by asking for anything more," Harry said. "You're a
man to hold to his word. So, first off, we are at Southfield Golf Course.
That's about three kilometers from Radcliffe Hospital. About the same from
Oxford university. Could you tell me what time it is."
"Time?" Dumbly he looked at his watch again. "Seven fourt ... teen,"
he said and frowned.
With his brow furrowing in questions he said, "In the elevator it was
seven thirteen and now it's seven fourteen. We're three kilometers from
Radcliffe you say."
"Constable Oneil. Can I call you Robert?" Harry asked and got a nod.
"Good. Michael does not have what the doctors think he has. He has a form
of Dragon Pox I believe. Very early stages. It can be disfiguring or fatal if
not treated properly. They won't be able to cure it."
"Dragon .... Pox?"
"Yes. Wizards get it. Thought we had it pretty much taken care of but
it sometimes comes up out of nowhere," Harry said. "A blood transfusion,
now that's an interesting approach, though I'd have to talk to Hermione
about that but it seems like an interesting idea. Neville has said it is a
genetic disorder but Madame Pomfrey doesn't agree. But then again, she's
still working with eighteenth century potions." Harry finished and gave
Robert a grin.
"Potter," Robert said. "I hope you understand when I say I'm totally at
a loss. I haven't understood a thing since you said Michael didn't have what
... what the doctors said." He looked at his useless weapon then holstered it.
Harry didn't need to think about what to do next. Michael was a sick
child, and though the doctors were doing their best, it wouldn't work. It
wasn't the time to be subtle.
"Okay. You'll need to suspend your detective's index of suspicion for a
few minutes and just accept what I'm going to say," Harry said. "I'm a
wizard."
Robert guffawed. "Like Gandalf? Potter, I can't ..."
Harry said softly, "Lumos" and his wand lit. "Repello muggleton,
muffliato, protego." His wand pulsed with light at the words.
He turned back to Constable O'Neil. "I said I'm a wizard. Gandalf was
fictional. I'm not. I just made sure no one would disturb or overhear us.
Notice how quiet it's gotten?
"There's a whole other world out there. We have kept the Muggle
world and the Magical world apart for generations on generations. From the
sixteen hundreds, I understand."
Robert had a strange look on his face but Harry continued. "Sorry.
Magical and Muggle, non magical world. It's been centuries since there has
been contact between us. I was raised as a Muggle. One of my best friends
was Muggle born. My wife and her family come from a long line of Pure
Bloods, though if you use that word around Ginny she'll likely turn your hair
purple. For starters."
"Muggle. Pure Blood. Wizards. Right." Robert muttered.
"I'm head of the Auror's Office, British Ministry of Magic. I hunt down
and capture Dark Wizards. Criminals, if you will," Harry said. "What Michael
has is Dragon Pox, if the spots mean what I think. Like I said, I'll talk to
Neville to be sure but I've seen it before. Ron's daughter had it but she's
been free of it for a year now."
"Dragon Pox," Robert said, trying to get his head around all that had
happened in the last five minutes of his life. A life he thought he had a pretty
good handle on. Until this moment.
"Yes," Harry said seeing thee look in the man's eyes. "I suppose the
real question for you right now is all this I've been saying, is it bull or what."
"Uh yeah," Robert said and looked at Harry again, suddenly realizing
the both of them were bathed in the light from that stick. There was no guile
evident in his expression or body language. "You're serious. You're telling
me you do, you have magic, you do magic I mean. You want me to believe
you're a wizard and that's your magic wand."
Harry gave a soft chuckle. "Yes. Holly with Phoenix feather core. Only
one other like it was ever made," he said with a certain finality to his voice.
"Had the Elder wand for a few hours but, well, never mind that for now. The
important thing is for you to not just believe what I say but to truly accept it.
This is very important. As an Auror, I can do what is needed without directly
alerting the Ministry, though I'll have to explain to Shacklebolt why I've
chosen this way of doing things. It's a touch risky, what I'm doing.
"I've been wanting to make contact with Scotland Yard or some such
for a long time now. I think we can help each other out in certain cases,"
Harry said. "Also, St. Mungo's could use a little shaking up, get into the
swing of modern medical care. There's so much Muggle medicine could offer
us, though I doubt the reverse would be true. Except in Michael's case."
Robert stared at the man in front of him. "Yes, Michael. I'd make a
deal with the devil himself if it would help Eleanor."
Harry gazed evenly back at O'Neil. "I see. You two?"
"A long time ago," Robert said wistfully. "Almost got married, but I
went to the Academy and we sort of fell apart after that. Still love her in a
certain way. I'm married now and I love my wife and kids more than life
itself."
"As a husband and father, I couldn't agree with you more," Harry said.
"Now, though, we need to figure out how to have Michael seen by Neville
and some Healers. The sooner the better.
"What you need to do is talk to Eleanor, make her understand Michael
needs to be seen by a specialist. That's going to cause problems with the
hospital staff. That can't be helped but we'll need to be, uh, careful in what
we say and do. Can I count on you?"
Robert thought a moment. A deal with the devil himself he'd said. "If
it's for Michael, I'm your man. Now, just to satisfy my curiosity, could I see a
bit of magic?"
Harry laughed. "Tell you what. I'd like you to meet Kingsley
Shacklebolt. He used to work for the Prime Minister. Of England. Muggle
England," Harry said. "I think you'd make a good liaison officer between our
departments. You up for something completely different?"
Robert chuffed and Harry stared at him. "John Cleese," Robert said
with a grin.
Harry thought a moment then burst out in laughter. "Yes. When I need
a good laugh he always does it for me. If this works out like I hope it does,
it'll be that. Something completely different."
"All of this is real then?" Robert asked. "You're a wizard, an Auror you
said, and there's a whole other world out there I've never heard about.
Never even imagined?"
Harry chuckled. "You'll see tomorrow. For now how about we have that
cup of tea. Would you mind apparating again? I can get us pretty close to
Radcliffe without being seen and we can visit with Michael some more.
Charming young lad. He'd like my Lily I think. And you have some difficult
work to do."
Robert O'Neil frowned. "Will I blow my cookies again?"
"Probably. I nearly did the first time I did side-along with Dumbledore
but I was only sixteen then and used to odd things." Harry gave a short
laugh and said, "After a while, you get used to it. Ready?"
"Have at it, mate," Robert said and held out his hand.
o