Fic: Lost Boys 8/14 - A Sudden Illness
Prologue - Two Dads
Part 1 - Visions of the Afterlife
Part 2 - Little Boy Lost
Part 3 - Detention
Part 4 - An Intruder
Part 5 - Conversations with the Dead, Part 1
Part 6 - Conversations with the Dead, Part 2
Part 7 - Another Life
Title: Lost Boys, 8/14 - A Sudden Illness
Rating: FRT (PG)
Distribution: Sure. Let me know where it’s going. Written for the snape_after_dh ficathon.
Feedback: Makes me write more. Or feel guilty for not writing more. Flames make me toasty.
Thanks to lady_clover, rainkatt and emmessann for fantastic beta work. Remaining mistakes are, of course, my own. Also, this section forward owes much to the glimpses of these characters as adults shown in the works of mistful (Especially “Drop Dead Gorgeous” of all things) and LizBee’s Girl Most Likely. I’m new to the fandom, new enough to be able to trace how I made the shift to seeing these kids as more than my age, and these two authors are a lot responsible. Thanks to them both.
DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, and whoever else may have a hold on them. I own nothing in the Potterverse, or anywhere else, for that matter. Strictly for entertainment, and no profit is being made. Please sue somebody else. David Dursley, however, is mine. Please ask before you borrow him.
Summary: Past and present meet in the dungeons of Hogwarts.
Then one night, the boy did not appear as expected. The ghost worked for a while alone, as he did on the many nights the boy did not appear. But something about tonight was different, and as he worked the ghost became increasingly unsettled. Unsettled enough that he finally ventured into the world above, careful to avoid other ghosts or anyone who might catch sight of him, to seek the boy out.
He found the boy lying in a bed in the hospital wing, very pale, unconscious, his breathing labored. The girl, Rose, was sitting on the arm of chair pulled up beside the bed, holding his hand, while another woman sat in the chair itself, sometimes looking up from the book in her lap to stroke the girl’s hair comfortingly. The girl’s mother, he rather thought-- the family resemblance was uncanny. The solemn vigil at the bedside did a good deal more than unsettle him. This was serious. He drifted closer and listened to the murmured conversation.
“Let’s go back a bit,” the older woman was saying. “You think he’s been having nightmares? What makes you think so?”
“He always used to tell me about his dreams. We used to argue about them, because he thinks they might be Seer dreams and, well, you know that’s all rubbish. He likes to tell me about them, so he can claim he saw the future if they come true.”
“But he hasn’t been doing that lately?”
“No. He’s just been very tired, not at all himself.”
“All right. That’s good to know.” The woman made a note on the parchment in her lap. ”When did you first notice a change?”
“He’s really been a bit quiet since we came back to school this year. He didn’t say more than a dozen words to me on the train. And he’s kind of been keeping to himself, this year.” She seemed about to say more, but then she glanced over at her friend’s face and stopped herself. The ghost wondered if she had been about to reveal something about him, despite her promise. But surely, he couldn’t have anything to do with this?
The girl’s mother sighed and turned back to her book. “Well, sometimes boys get up to mischief all on their own. It’s possible he’s gotten into some Dark Magic-- you say he’s been reading more, too?”
Rose nodded. “But not anything like that, that I know of. I’m sure I would have seen something like that. But when I asked what he was reading, or if I could help, he just told me it was private. I thought maybe he just, you know, didn’t want to be friends anymore, or something.”
The ghost read a great deal more into her downcast expression than it appeared the mother did-- the girl clearly was worried David had fallen out of love with her. He wished he could tell her that they had talked of her at some length just last week-- well, David had talked, and that, as far as the ghost could tell, the boy’s affections were unchanged.
But she could not see him, and that was just as well. He himself was realizing now that there had been a change in the boy since he’d returned from the summer holidays. Quieter, less likely to talk, even though he came to their lab to study almost every night. He had been there last night, in fact. The ghost wondered now why he had not asked his young friend about the dark circles under his eyes, if he had been sleeping well, if something were troubling him. It seemed so obvious in retrospect.
The door opened and a familiar-looking man burst through, a little out of breath. The ghost had seen this man frequently-- as a boy, and more recently as David’s “Uncle Harry” in the mirror. His dark brown robes were rumpled, and his tie had been loosened unevenly around his neck, his collar unbuttoned. He looked very tired, and worried. “I came as soon as I could,” he said. “Ron’ll be here soon, too. He’s bringing a couple of others from the office-- whoever Shacklebolt says we can spare just now. You really think this looks like Dark Magic poisoning?”
“Well, Rose says she hasn’t noticed him studying anything untoward, but he’s also become more secretive and been avoiding her. His Head of House is away, but I’ve got Neville looking through Davey’s room with a couple of prefects-- he said he’d call us if he found anything-- and yes, Harry, I told him-- they won’t touch anything they find until you get there. It just couldn’t wait.”
“Yeah, I know.” The ghost watched as Harry came over and gave the girl a peck on the cheek and the woman a hug she stood to return. Then the ghost’s eyes followed the man’s down to the boy lying so still on the bed. The raspy breathing was painful for the ghost to listen to.
“He doesn’t look anything like his dad,” Harry said, in a lost sort of voice.
The woman was still standing by him, and her arm tightened around him comfortingly as he looked down, clearly struggling with his emotions.
“Dudley’s gonna kill me, Hermione. He’s been so great about letting Davey be in this world-- my world. If we can’t figure out what’s causing this....”
“We will figure it out, Harry. That’s why I’m here, after all.” She nudged him, and the ghost sensed she was trying to comfort him as she went on, mock sternly, “Are you trying to say you don’t think I’m the best researcher St. Mungo’s has ever had?”
“’Course not. Merlin forbid.” A slight smile twitched at his lips, as if this were an old joke between them.
The woman released him and returned to her book and notes. “I think we have him stabilized for now. And I think I’m getting some good leads from this book. All I need is a little time. And more information. Have you contacted Lisa and Dudley yet?”
Harry shook his head. “Didn’t want to upset them until I could get out to see for myself. I’ll send Ginny an owl and have her go over in the morning. Think we’ll have to transfer him to St. Mungo’s? Lisa’s parents live near there in London, so they could be close.”
“I’m kind of afraid to move him, really. Dark Magic has so many insidious little triggers-- moving him might set one off. But then again, leaving him where something can maintain whatever hold it has on him-- I don’t know, Harry. I’d rather not move him without knowing more.”
The ghost listened with growing alarm. He tried to think of anything he knew that might be helpful. He remembered the boy had left his book bag in the lab last night when he left, tired and preoccupied. But the ghost was at something of a loss how he might get someone down there to look without revealing his own presence, assuming these people could see him any better than the girl could. Still-- the man was an Auror, was he not? So he should investigate strange noises....
The occupants of the room jumped as the ghost banged open the door and hid behind it. A few moments later, after Harry had peered cautiously out into the hallway, the sound of plate mail could be heard crashing down the stone steps of the nearby stairwell. Looking back from his vandalism, the ghost noted approvingly that Harry was out the door with his wand drawn and ready in an instant.
The ghost flitted into the shadows of the stairwell, staying well ahead of the Auror as he left a trail of noisy destruction in his wake. He vanished into the deepest shadows of his lab just as the man entered at a dead run, his wand aloft and blazing with an unusually intense light.
The man stopped then and took careful stock of his situation. The ghost had mentally deducted a few points from his estimation of the man’s skill for the headlong dash into the room, but now he grudgingly had to give a few back as he watched the Auror examine everything in the room with keen, intelligent eyes.
The man saw the boy’s book bag next to a table, the glass and wires on one worktable, the empty cauldron on another. With a final look around, he picked up the bag and tucked it under his arm. He left the room, muttering something under his breath about what he was going to do to a “Peeves” if he’d been responsible for leading him on a wild goose chase, whatever that was. After a moment, the ghost silently followed.
***
Note: from here, point of view can alternate between Harry and the ghost, though Harry makes up for lost time in this second half of the story. The shift here struck me as a little too jarring when I was doing a final read through tonight. The rest should not be, particularly if you're expecting it. So-- expect it, please.
***
When Harry got back to the upper levels, he ran into Ron and a couple of other Aurors. “Hey guys.”
“Heya, Harry,” Ron said. “Just got done checking in with the Headmaster. Here, you might need this,” he added, handing over a scroll giving its bearer the headmaster’s blessing to conduct whatever business was necessary in his school, and not otherwise commenting on Harry’s lapse in not picking his up immediately on his arrival. Instead, his partner looked at the bag under his arm and asked, “What’s that?”
“I think it’s Davey’s book bag. I found it in some dungeons down lower even than where the potions classroom used to be.”
“Weird. I didn’t know there were lower levels than old Snape’s classroom,” Ron said. “Want us to go back down and do a full sweep?”
“Yeah, would you mind? I want to get this back up to Hermione, see if there’s anything in here that might help. You might also want to try to corner Peeves-- I think he’s the one who made such a racket and led me down there. See if he knows anything. He’s always liked you more than me.”
“Right.” Ron rolled his eyes. It wasn’t the first time over the years they’d had cause to investigate at Hogwarts, and Harry knew the poltergeist just about worshiped any member of the Weasley family, thanks to the exploits of Fred and George. It made Ron really uncomfortable. Usually, Harry thought it was funny. But not today. Ron was turning away saying, “Yeah. We’ll be up later, then. C’mon you two, let's go see what Harry’s missed this time.”
Harry shook his head at the jibe and continued on to the hospital wing. As he’d expected, Hermione relieved him of the bag at once, all the while berating him for going off alone.
“Honestly, Harry, you seem to think nothing can happen to you. When are you going to learn to take better care of yourself? One of these days your recklessness is going to get you killed-- and you’ll stay dead, this time. For Merlin’s sake...”
“Ron’s here,” Harry cut in, as he always did, before Hermione could get too wound up. “He and a couple of other Aurors are doing a sweep, down where I found this. Did you know there are lower dungeons than where we had potions classes?”
“Of course, Harry. Unlike some people, I actually have read Hogwarts, A History.”
“All right, Ms. I-revised-it-to-add-another-zillion-boring-pages,” Harry sighed. He watched while she began laying the bag’s contents out on a nearby bed, more neatly and methodically than he would have managed.
“Yes, the part about you is particularly yawn-worthy," she replied, still sorting through the debris of quills and parchment scraps at the bottom of the bag, none of which looked remotely remarkable to Harry. "Speaking of which, when's the last time you slept, Harry?"
"Um. Well, it's been kinda busy at the office lately...."
Hermione paused to fix him with that look. "Harry. My husband is an Auror. And your partner. He's been home every night this week."
"It's just a little insomnia, all right? C'mon Hermione, do you see anything in Davey's bag or not?"
"Other than a copy of my much-maligned book? No, not really,” Hermione's brow was furrowed in the worried expression Harry remembered so well from his school days. Rose was sorting through the items on the bed, her face almost a copy of her mum’s.
“I don’t see anything strange here, either,” the girl admitted. “Where did you say you found this, Uncle Harry?”
“Oh-- there’s a lab in the very lowest level of the dungeons....”
Rose seemed about to speak when the boy on the bed twitched and moaned. “Professor Snape, please. Help me. Don’t....”
Harry and Hermione traded a stunned glance. Hermione rose and touched the boy’s flushed cheek, laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Harry,” she said slowly, “Why would Davey be calling out for Professor Snape?”
A motion in the doorway caught Harry’s eye then, and he saw a dark shadow coalescing there. He would have recognized the figure anywhere.
“Perhaps because he’s here, Hermione.”
Part 9 - Spectres of the Past
Part 1 - Visions of the Afterlife
Part 2 - Little Boy Lost
Part 3 - Detention
Part 4 - An Intruder
Part 5 - Conversations with the Dead, Part 1
Part 6 - Conversations with the Dead, Part 2
Part 7 - Another Life
Title: Lost Boys, 8/14 - A Sudden Illness
Rating: FRT (PG)
Distribution: Sure. Let me know where it’s going. Written for the snape_after_dh ficathon.
Feedback: Makes me write more. Or feel guilty for not writing more. Flames make me toasty.
Thanks to lady_clover, rainkatt and emmessann for fantastic beta work. Remaining mistakes are, of course, my own. Also, this section forward owes much to the glimpses of these characters as adults shown in the works of mistful (Especially “Drop Dead Gorgeous” of all things) and LizBee’s Girl Most Likely. I’m new to the fandom, new enough to be able to trace how I made the shift to seeing these kids as more than my age, and these two authors are a lot responsible. Thanks to them both.
DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, and whoever else may have a hold on them. I own nothing in the Potterverse, or anywhere else, for that matter. Strictly for entertainment, and no profit is being made. Please sue somebody else. David Dursley, however, is mine. Please ask before you borrow him.
Summary: Past and present meet in the dungeons of Hogwarts.
Then one night, the boy did not appear as expected. The ghost worked for a while alone, as he did on the many nights the boy did not appear. But something about tonight was different, and as he worked the ghost became increasingly unsettled. Unsettled enough that he finally ventured into the world above, careful to avoid other ghosts or anyone who might catch sight of him, to seek the boy out.
He found the boy lying in a bed in the hospital wing, very pale, unconscious, his breathing labored. The girl, Rose, was sitting on the arm of chair pulled up beside the bed, holding his hand, while another woman sat in the chair itself, sometimes looking up from the book in her lap to stroke the girl’s hair comfortingly. The girl’s mother, he rather thought-- the family resemblance was uncanny. The solemn vigil at the bedside did a good deal more than unsettle him. This was serious. He drifted closer and listened to the murmured conversation.
“Let’s go back a bit,” the older woman was saying. “You think he’s been having nightmares? What makes you think so?”
“He always used to tell me about his dreams. We used to argue about them, because he thinks they might be Seer dreams and, well, you know that’s all rubbish. He likes to tell me about them, so he can claim he saw the future if they come true.”
“But he hasn’t been doing that lately?”
“No. He’s just been very tired, not at all himself.”
“All right. That’s good to know.” The woman made a note on the parchment in her lap. ”When did you first notice a change?”
“He’s really been a bit quiet since we came back to school this year. He didn’t say more than a dozen words to me on the train. And he’s kind of been keeping to himself, this year.” She seemed about to say more, but then she glanced over at her friend’s face and stopped herself. The ghost wondered if she had been about to reveal something about him, despite her promise. But surely, he couldn’t have anything to do with this?
The girl’s mother sighed and turned back to her book. “Well, sometimes boys get up to mischief all on their own. It’s possible he’s gotten into some Dark Magic-- you say he’s been reading more, too?”
Rose nodded. “But not anything like that, that I know of. I’m sure I would have seen something like that. But when I asked what he was reading, or if I could help, he just told me it was private. I thought maybe he just, you know, didn’t want to be friends anymore, or something.”
The ghost read a great deal more into her downcast expression than it appeared the mother did-- the girl clearly was worried David had fallen out of love with her. He wished he could tell her that they had talked of her at some length just last week-- well, David had talked, and that, as far as the ghost could tell, the boy’s affections were unchanged.
But she could not see him, and that was just as well. He himself was realizing now that there had been a change in the boy since he’d returned from the summer holidays. Quieter, less likely to talk, even though he came to their lab to study almost every night. He had been there last night, in fact. The ghost wondered now why he had not asked his young friend about the dark circles under his eyes, if he had been sleeping well, if something were troubling him. It seemed so obvious in retrospect.
The door opened and a familiar-looking man burst through, a little out of breath. The ghost had seen this man frequently-- as a boy, and more recently as David’s “Uncle Harry” in the mirror. His dark brown robes were rumpled, and his tie had been loosened unevenly around his neck, his collar unbuttoned. He looked very tired, and worried. “I came as soon as I could,” he said. “Ron’ll be here soon, too. He’s bringing a couple of others from the office-- whoever Shacklebolt says we can spare just now. You really think this looks like Dark Magic poisoning?”
“Well, Rose says she hasn’t noticed him studying anything untoward, but he’s also become more secretive and been avoiding her. His Head of House is away, but I’ve got Neville looking through Davey’s room with a couple of prefects-- he said he’d call us if he found anything-- and yes, Harry, I told him-- they won’t touch anything they find until you get there. It just couldn’t wait.”
“Yeah, I know.” The ghost watched as Harry came over and gave the girl a peck on the cheek and the woman a hug she stood to return. Then the ghost’s eyes followed the man’s down to the boy lying so still on the bed. The raspy breathing was painful for the ghost to listen to.
“He doesn’t look anything like his dad,” Harry said, in a lost sort of voice.
The woman was still standing by him, and her arm tightened around him comfortingly as he looked down, clearly struggling with his emotions.
“Dudley’s gonna kill me, Hermione. He’s been so great about letting Davey be in this world-- my world. If we can’t figure out what’s causing this....”
“We will figure it out, Harry. That’s why I’m here, after all.” She nudged him, and the ghost sensed she was trying to comfort him as she went on, mock sternly, “Are you trying to say you don’t think I’m the best researcher St. Mungo’s has ever had?”
“’Course not. Merlin forbid.” A slight smile twitched at his lips, as if this were an old joke between them.
The woman released him and returned to her book and notes. “I think we have him stabilized for now. And I think I’m getting some good leads from this book. All I need is a little time. And more information. Have you contacted Lisa and Dudley yet?”
Harry shook his head. “Didn’t want to upset them until I could get out to see for myself. I’ll send Ginny an owl and have her go over in the morning. Think we’ll have to transfer him to St. Mungo’s? Lisa’s parents live near there in London, so they could be close.”
“I’m kind of afraid to move him, really. Dark Magic has so many insidious little triggers-- moving him might set one off. But then again, leaving him where something can maintain whatever hold it has on him-- I don’t know, Harry. I’d rather not move him without knowing more.”
The ghost listened with growing alarm. He tried to think of anything he knew that might be helpful. He remembered the boy had left his book bag in the lab last night when he left, tired and preoccupied. But the ghost was at something of a loss how he might get someone down there to look without revealing his own presence, assuming these people could see him any better than the girl could. Still-- the man was an Auror, was he not? So he should investigate strange noises....
The occupants of the room jumped as the ghost banged open the door and hid behind it. A few moments later, after Harry had peered cautiously out into the hallway, the sound of plate mail could be heard crashing down the stone steps of the nearby stairwell. Looking back from his vandalism, the ghost noted approvingly that Harry was out the door with his wand drawn and ready in an instant.
The ghost flitted into the shadows of the stairwell, staying well ahead of the Auror as he left a trail of noisy destruction in his wake. He vanished into the deepest shadows of his lab just as the man entered at a dead run, his wand aloft and blazing with an unusually intense light.
The man stopped then and took careful stock of his situation. The ghost had mentally deducted a few points from his estimation of the man’s skill for the headlong dash into the room, but now he grudgingly had to give a few back as he watched the Auror examine everything in the room with keen, intelligent eyes.
The man saw the boy’s book bag next to a table, the glass and wires on one worktable, the empty cauldron on another. With a final look around, he picked up the bag and tucked it under his arm. He left the room, muttering something under his breath about what he was going to do to a “Peeves” if he’d been responsible for leading him on a wild goose chase, whatever that was. After a moment, the ghost silently followed.
***
Note: from here, point of view can alternate between Harry and the ghost, though Harry makes up for lost time in this second half of the story. The shift here struck me as a little too jarring when I was doing a final read through tonight. The rest should not be, particularly if you're expecting it. So-- expect it, please.
***
When Harry got back to the upper levels, he ran into Ron and a couple of other Aurors. “Hey guys.”
“Heya, Harry,” Ron said. “Just got done checking in with the Headmaster. Here, you might need this,” he added, handing over a scroll giving its bearer the headmaster’s blessing to conduct whatever business was necessary in his school, and not otherwise commenting on Harry’s lapse in not picking his up immediately on his arrival. Instead, his partner looked at the bag under his arm and asked, “What’s that?”
“I think it’s Davey’s book bag. I found it in some dungeons down lower even than where the potions classroom used to be.”
“Weird. I didn’t know there were lower levels than old Snape’s classroom,” Ron said. “Want us to go back down and do a full sweep?”
“Yeah, would you mind? I want to get this back up to Hermione, see if there’s anything in here that might help. You might also want to try to corner Peeves-- I think he’s the one who made such a racket and led me down there. See if he knows anything. He’s always liked you more than me.”
“Right.” Ron rolled his eyes. It wasn’t the first time over the years they’d had cause to investigate at Hogwarts, and Harry knew the poltergeist just about worshiped any member of the Weasley family, thanks to the exploits of Fred and George. It made Ron really uncomfortable. Usually, Harry thought it was funny. But not today. Ron was turning away saying, “Yeah. We’ll be up later, then. C’mon you two, let's go see what Harry’s missed this time.”
Harry shook his head at the jibe and continued on to the hospital wing. As he’d expected, Hermione relieved him of the bag at once, all the while berating him for going off alone.
“Honestly, Harry, you seem to think nothing can happen to you. When are you going to learn to take better care of yourself? One of these days your recklessness is going to get you killed-- and you’ll stay dead, this time. For Merlin’s sake...”
“Ron’s here,” Harry cut in, as he always did, before Hermione could get too wound up. “He and a couple of other Aurors are doing a sweep, down where I found this. Did you know there are lower dungeons than where we had potions classes?”
“Of course, Harry. Unlike some people, I actually have read Hogwarts, A History.”
“All right, Ms. I-revised-it-to-add-another-zillion-boring-pages,” Harry sighed. He watched while she began laying the bag’s contents out on a nearby bed, more neatly and methodically than he would have managed.
“Yes, the part about you is particularly yawn-worthy," she replied, still sorting through the debris of quills and parchment scraps at the bottom of the bag, none of which looked remotely remarkable to Harry. "Speaking of which, when's the last time you slept, Harry?"
"Um. Well, it's been kinda busy at the office lately...."
Hermione paused to fix him with that look. "Harry. My husband is an Auror. And your partner. He's been home every night this week."
"It's just a little insomnia, all right? C'mon Hermione, do you see anything in Davey's bag or not?"
"Other than a copy of my much-maligned book? No, not really,” Hermione's brow was furrowed in the worried expression Harry remembered so well from his school days. Rose was sorting through the items on the bed, her face almost a copy of her mum’s.
“I don’t see anything strange here, either,” the girl admitted. “Where did you say you found this, Uncle Harry?”
“Oh-- there’s a lab in the very lowest level of the dungeons....”
Rose seemed about to speak when the boy on the bed twitched and moaned. “Professor Snape, please. Help me. Don’t....”
Harry and Hermione traded a stunned glance. Hermione rose and touched the boy’s flushed cheek, laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Harry,” she said slowly, “Why would Davey be calling out for Professor Snape?”
A motion in the doorway caught Harry’s eye then, and he saw a dark shadow coalescing there. He would have recognized the figure anywhere.
“Perhaps because he’s here, Hermione.”
Part 9 - Spectres of the Past