lomonaaeren

Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Three—Distractions Do Not Exist

Harry swore softly and pushed the book away from him, letting the cover shut with a bang. No one else but Kreacher lived in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place now; he could make as much noise as he liked.

Though if Xavier was here, there would still be noise, just of a different kind.

Harry rolled his eyes and stopped himself from thinking of it. His relationship with Xavier had ended badly, just like all the others had, and he knew the cause: himself. Yes, Xavier had behaved like an arse at the end, but when he’d been dumped by six people, it was more likely Harry had the problem than all of them.

Distractions do not exist when you are tending to a patient, Healer Pontiff murmured in his mind. They are the most important thing to you—the only important thing. If you let your attention waver for a moment, then your patient may die.

Harry nodded in determination and opened the book in front of him. He would find a solution to the riddle of the third spell under the Cutting Curse and the Permanency Spell cast on Lucius, because Lucius was his patient, and he deserved all the time and attention and care Harry could lavish on him, which was considerable.

Harry had once done his best all the time because he thought it might persuade the Healers to relent, look past his two failed attempts to take the Potions NEWT, and let him become a Healer. But now he tried to do his best from the sheer love of a mediwizard’s job. He wouldn’t want someone combating Dark magic cast on him or poison in his veins with half a mind and half a heart.

And if he wanted to forget about the dinner at the Weasleys’ that evening, where Ginny still looked away from him with disappointment in her eyes and tried to avoid being left alone with him, the books were his best chance to do so. He’d never acquired Hermione’s taste for studying; he still had to beat his mind into being disciplined about it when it would rather wander off to do something else.

Ginny had been badly, deeply in love with him. How deeply, Harry had never realized, until she had been forced to call a halt to the relationship and tell him it wasn’t working. Harry could live happily enough with her as a friend, but he never felt passion for her except in the moments when someone else showed interest and he suffered from jealousy. Sometimes he wondered if he would have noticed her at all during his sixth year if she hadn’t been dating Dean Thomas.

She was back with Dean now, and he loved her truly all the time and would take care of her. But the sight of Harry was still painful for her six years after their parting, and Harry doubted she would become comfortable around him until a few more decades had passed.

You’ll have those decades with the Weasley family, Harry told himself, rubbing his forehead and making himself concentrate on the cool touch of his own palm for a moment, something that looked decidedly uncertain when Voldemort was still around. You have enough happiness in your life. Eventually, this pain will pass, just like the pain over Xavier will. And now, pay attention to your work.

He glanced down at the page, and concentrated on distinguishing between one Latin incantation and another. Why did the book insist on differentiating between the Mansuefacio and the Mansuetus spells? The first was the verb and the second was the adjective; he’d managed to trickle some rudiments of Latin grammar into his brain through the cracks in his thick skull. But why would that make such a difference to the effect? Couldn’t you just use one of them if you couldn’t remember the other?

Quickly he found out that you couldn’t. The Mansuefacio spell needed an object; it was supposed to be cast on a person or animal to make them tame or gentle. The Mansuetus spell was a general spell that could be used in lieu of a Calming Draught, and would affect several people at once.

More than that, he discovered as he read on, Mansuefacio was actually a variant of the Imperius Curse, just mild enough not to be illegal. It tranquilized a part of the mind, instead of the whole thing, and gave a vague command over the victim’s body to the caster. The book told Harry it had been used in the past to take over the part of the brain that commanded another person’s hand and cause him to turn his wand on himself—and sometimes it had been used for a more severe purpose, such as to make another person forget language. The writer admitted that he didn’t know of a case in which it had been used to slow healing, but said that was possible. And there were some criminals who might favor Mansuefacio for such a purpose, because it could be easily hidden another spell, its effects not being dramatic, and it was little-known, so searchers wouldn’t immediately test for its presence.

Harry grinned. He had a suspect for the mysterious spell, and that was more than he’d had an hour ago.

See? he thought, as he stood up and stretched, preparing himself for a few hard hours of sleep before he returned to St. Mungo’s. Your life is getting better and better all the time.

*

Harry paused outside Lucius’s hospital room. He’d had word already from Flora Helford, the mediwitch who passed news to him as a favor, that Lucius had slept well last night and no one had threatened him. But there were three voices in the room now, one Lucius’s, one Malfoy’s, and a third Harry knew, though he had tried hard enough to forget it.

He allowed himself a moment of weakness to brace his hand on the wall and think wistfully of coming back later. Then he smiled wryly to himself. Healer Pontiff would frown at him if she saw him standing like this, catch his chin, and tilt it up to its proper position. No skilled mediwizard has cause to stare at the floor in the presence of any man, woman, or magical creature, she had told him the first time she saw him doing it.

Harry stepped into the room and caught Lucius’s eye, nodding to him. Malfoy fell silent at once, looking disgruntled at having been interrupted. The third man in the room turned and stared. Harry ignored those two. Neither of them was his patient. “Good morning, Mr. Malfoy,” he said. “I have a suspect for the third spell Smythe might have cast under the Cutting Curse and the Permanency Spell. If I’m right, it gave Smythe control over your body’s healing, but little enough control to frustrate his purpose of opening constant bloody wounds in you.”

“How interesting,” Lucius said. “Please proceed.”

Harry stepped forwards, but the third man barred his way. Harry looked up at him. Auror Julius Adoranar had never had a problem with height, or with commanding someone’s attention either, for that matter. His hair was dark, his eyes a warm and brilliant gray, and there was something pleasing about everything from the way he moved and smiled to the arrangement of his face.

It was no wonder he had married a wealthy woman, and done it young, when he’d barely left Hogwarts. What Harry found surprising was how long it had taken him to suspect the marriage after Julius became his lover.

“No word of greeting for me, Mediwizard Potter?” he murmured now, voice husky and intimate, eyes warm.

“Greeting,” Harry said mildly, and stepped around him. He came up to the edge of the bed, Lucius studying him as if he had seen Harry begin bleeding before his eyes. Well, Harry had had no real hope that he’d be able to hide his past entanglement with Julius from someone like Lucius, though he could have done without the further humiliation in front of Malfoy. Then he pushed the distractions firmly into a locked chamber and focused on his patient. “The spell is called Mansuefacio. Have you heard of it, Mr. Malfoy?”

“You were so courteous once,” Julius told his back. Malfoy’s eyes were moving rapidly back and forth between Harry and the Auror as if he were watching a game of Muggle tennis. “I cannot believe you would snub me now.”

“I have heard of it,” Lucius said. “I believe it commands mental processes. Why should my unfortunate enemy have cast it on me, if he desired a physical effect?”

“Your education has been lacking, I see,” Harry said. “A pity, though not astonishing by now.” Malfoy made a wordless noise; Julius fell silent in astonishment; Lucius gave him a smile like winter sunlight. “The spell commands parts of the brain, not mental processes. It also touches on the body. The book I read last night—“

“Which one would that have been?” Malfoy demanded.

“Bryony’s History of Spells Marvelous and Depraved,” Harry said. “Do forgive me. I ought to have included that in the sentence, for the sake of the specificity mediwizards are trained for. Said book suggested that the spellcaster might have seized control of a rival wizard’s hand and thus his wand, by seizing control of the part of his brain that commanded the hand.”

“And in this case, he would have gained control of the part of my brain that regulates the body’s healing.” Lucius had a deep line between his brows. “Could he still have it? Could he use it from a distance? The Imperius Curse, at least, has the advantage of the caster needing to be close when he gives his orders.”

“I would question how such a worthy man knows the secrets of the Imperius Curse,” Harry said, “but I forgot that you were under it for some years when the Dark Lord first rose.” He looked at Lucius with his eyebrows raised; Lucius looked back, and let the irony hang glittering and spinning in the air between them. “And the answer is that I’m not sure whether Smythe could still have such control,” Harry continued after a moment. “I need to test for the presence of the spell first.”

Lucius nodded. “By all means.”

“Father—“ Malfoy began.

“Do you have reason to distrust me?” Harry said, spinning on him. Julius was best ignored, because nothing so infuriated him, but Harry was growing tired of Malfoy’s attempts to interfere with his treatment of Lucius.

“Call it, rather, distrust in your education,” Malfoy said, taking a step forwards and folding his arms. Harry wondered if he knew he looked like a prig when he did that. “You lack the ability to become a full Healer, or you would have become one.”

“I am glad to see that your education has imbued you with the ability to make such stunning leaps of logic,” Harry snapped. Then he wrenched his temper back under control. Healer Pontiff would have been disappointed in him for rising to such obvious and childish bait. “The final decision, as always, rests with the patient,” he added, and turned back to Lucius. “Mr. Malfoy, do you wish me to fetch a full Healer who might treat you?”

“Would they be as committed to my physical safety?” Lucius asked. “Or as willing to be in the same room with me?”

“The only one I can think of is already overloaded with cases,” Harry admitted. “It would be trading your current physical safety for the possible attendance of a Healer more skilled in potions than I am.”

“Then I decline such attendance,” Lucius said. “My son is studying for his mastery in potions. He can surely supply any knowledge that you lack.”

Harry nodded. He would have liked to ask, wide-eyed and innocent, whether he had the permission of both Mr. Malfoys before he continued, but he had already allowed himself to be provoked too often, and he’d also already left the decision up to Lucius once. Appealing to Draco’s judgment now would be specious at best, and at worst, the idiot would decide to take it seriously and refuse permission.

He cast the nonverbal spell Healer Pontiff had taught him that would test for the presence of foreign magic in the body, and oriented it so that the soft blue tendrils extended from the end of his wand and curled about Lucius’s head. A few sneaked beneath his hair, whilst Lucius watched them with a blank mask of calmness. They flared in a sudden corona, and Harry nodded in satisfaction. Yes, a spell had reached up to Lucius’s brain.

“I always did like watching you work,” Julius said from behind him, so close that Harry could feel his breath on the back of his neck. “Such grace, such skill and power!”

There was a time when Harry might have screamed at him for interrupting when he was in the middle of a procedure like this. Times had changed. He planted his elbow smoothly into the middle of Julius’s solar plexus—long familiarity with his body was a help there—and Julius staggered off, arms clasping his belly, hacking horribly. Harry thought he heard Malfoy chuckle.

Then he flung himself straight into the middle of the spell that would detect whether it was, specifically, Mansuefacio that was present in Lucius’s brain. It was a delicate task that required both strength and finesse, and thus was one of those spells that Harry tended to avoid unless he had no choice. His concentration still wasn’t good enough; he preferred to hand tasks like that over to Healer Pontiff, or even Emptyweed, who had at least proven he had concentration enough to sit a bloody Potions exam.

Now, there was no choice, and so he answered the challenge with the same determination that he had brought to the sacrifice of his life when he wanted to defeat Voldemort for good and all. He pictured each word of the incantation in his mind, a glittering barrier, and then pictured himself soaring over them on a hippogriff. The hippogriff had to clear each word as he spoke it, and with enough space to spare; that was his breathing room in case something went briefly wrong. All the strength had to flow into the words and make them shine, but not escape beyond the boundaries; that would be applying too much magic.

Harry flew at the first word. Probo, it said, and the hippogriff cleared it easily. The word began to shine with radiant blue light. And then Harry couldn’t think about it anymore, because they were on the ground and cantering towards the next word.

Mansuefacio, and this would be harder because it was not a word he had learned until last night. Harry hauled himself up and poured his magic forwards in syncopated pulses, forcing himself to use just enough to power the beats of the imagined hippogriff’s wings and nothing beyond that. He came down hard, exhausted already, fighting against the terrible fear that the power would escape from him and damage Lucius’s brain.

Aevitatis, said the third and final word, and Harry’s mind tried to distract him with the knowledge that this was bastard Latin, an incantation put together by someone who didn’t know or care about what the graceful, correct words should be, someone who only wanted them to work—

Someone like me, Harry thought, and used the thought to guide himself back to the correct task before his mind could go wandering. He jumped, and the word turned as yellow as sunlight. He whirled around and took one last glance back; was the word Mansuefacio glowing white like quartz?

It was.

Harry opened his eyes and slumped against the bed, watching as a whirl of shapes like falling leaves, blue and white and yellow, swarmed into Lucius’s brain. He had cast the spell correctly. He knew it, and he let the pleasure of the knowledge run through him like strong wine, followed by the swifter pleasure that was the common knowledge he had helped someone else.

Lucius looked a bit nonplused when the leaves funneled out through his ear and formed an intricate pattern like a garden in midair, spelling out the word Yes. Harry threw back his head and laughed.

“I am glad to hear that the news is good,” Lucius said dryly. “At least to you.”

“Smythe did cast Mansuefacio,” Harry told him. “As soon as I can find a counter to it, I can—“

His eyes narrowed. He had cast the spell better than he knew, because the magic continued to pour out of Lucius’s ear. It had not only identified the existence of Mansuefacio, as the words Harry had woven together asked it to do, but had gone further to detect any oddities of magic in Lucius’s brain. Harry winced just imagining what Emptyweed would say about that. This time, the strange result had been good, but who knew what the spell might have turned into, pushed beyond its boundaries?

A fourth spell, the leafy words said.

Harry cursed, and looked at Lucius, who had an inquiring eyebrow raised. “Smythe wove a construct of spells, not just one,” he said. “Mansuefacio is tied to a fourth spell, and the fourth spell may be tied to a fifth one. I wonder if he cast them on purpose, or in a panic, one after another, when he realized the first few weren’t working the way he intended them to.” He turned towards Julius. As the Auror who had questioned Smythe, he ought to be able to tell them which suspicion was likelier. “Auror—“

His voice died when he realized that Malfoy stood behind him, back to Lucius and Harry and the bed and arms folded. Julius stood in front of him with his hands raised.

“What happened?” Harry asked. It seemed Malfoy and Julius had managed to get into a row in the short time he was paying attention to other things. Harry couldn’t imagine what it would be about. Julius had never mentioned Malfoy being a friend during the seven months he and Harry had dated before Harry found out the truth about his marriage and Julius dumped him for “not understanding the way normal people lived.”

“He was about to interrupt you again whilst you cast, the brainless idiot,” Malfoy said, voice heavy as an iceberg. “He doesn’t seem to have considered the harm unrestrained healing magic could do to my father’s body and brain.” His shoulders shook slightly, as though he were holding himself under intense strain, and Harry supposed this was the way Malfoy looked when he was furious.

“I merely wanted to ask you a question,” Julius said, the picture of injured innocence. The softness of his downcast eyes had got him out of trouble many times. Harry hadn’t let them affect him in five years.

“As it happens, your question will have to wait, because I have more important ones,” Harry said. “What degree of planning does Smythe appear to have brought to this? Did he speak of plotting carefully and calculating the effects of each spell, or might he have cast recklessly, wildly, trying to snatch back control as each piece of magic went awry?”

Julius sighed and took a step back from Malfoy so he could drop his hands and straighten into a more flattering posture. “You know how poor my memory’s always been, Harry, and how much I dislike speaking in front of crowds. If you would come into the corridor with me for a moment, I’m sure we could have a more fruitful discussion.”

Fruitful was Julius’s favorite word to use right before he had sex with someone; he claimed it was seductive. For a moment, Harry was so filled with rage that he couldn’t speak. Julius really thought Harry would spend a night in his bed simply to gain the answer to a question?

“Pardon me for asking the question. I do remember how poor your memory is, Auror Adoranar,” he said, when he recovered his breath and tongue. “You forgot your wedding ring at home for seven months whilst you visited my house.”

Malfoy laughed, a sharp, cold laugh that went into Julius like an arrow, from the way he suddenly stiffened and took a step backwards. Lucius did not speak, but raised an eyebrow again.

“Well, I really can’t say what Smythe had planned or hadn’t planned,” Julius said, in the tones of an injured child. He was at his least charming immediately after he’d been taken off his guard by someone he’d thought would never have the power of hurting him. “We had no reason to suspect multiple spells, so I didn’t ask about them, or listen for clues that might have confirmed their existence.”

“Thank you, Auror,” Harry said, and turned back to Lucius. “I do apologize, Mr. Malfoy It seems my investigation will be still more prolonged. Perhaps I could simply cast as many Finites as there are spells and end them that way, but without knowing how they are joined—whether simply piled one on top of each other or joined together in a net—doing so could damage you. And I suspect the solution is more complicated, in any case.”

“Competence can take as long as it needs,” Lucius murmured, and closed his eyes. Harry heard a light footfall behind him and glanced over his shoulder to see Narcissa Malfoy entering the room; Julius had already departed. Well, he’d never had a taste for standing over battlefields he’d lost on. “Now, Mr. Potter, is there anything else you need to discuss with me, or can I converse with my wife in private for a time?”

“Nothing else,” Harry said, and bowed as Narcissa stopped beside her husband and stroked his hair back. “I shall continue reading, and hope to bring better news the next time I come.”

Lucius murmured something which Harry rightly took for a dismissal, and he slipped out of the room, checking his watch as he went. There was a half-hour before his attendance was required on his next patient; he had planned to spend more time with Lucius this morning, hopefully undoing the Mansuefacio spell. He could use the extra time to retreat to his cubicle and relax, he thought, perhaps taking one of the headache potions that Healer Pontiff brewed for him.

A hand touched his arm, making him spin around and straighten automatically; Healer Emptyweed sometimes announced his presence that way. But it was Malfoy, regarding him with brilliant eyes and a kind of forced half-smile.

“Since my mother is sitting with my father, I have some time to spare,” he said. “Would you mind if I accompanied you to your lunch? I’m rather a stranger to this part of London and don’t know the best places to eat.” His face softened and his smile became more genuine. “And I do want to thank you for trying to save my father’s life.”

Harry stared at him, puzzled. Malfoy could have told him that last without trying to accompany him to a lunch Harry was sure he had no desire to share with his schoolboy rival, and which Harry wasn’t going to take anyway. In fact, the way he leaned towards Harry, smiled, and lowered his voice was just on the edge of flirtation.

The most sensible explanation occurred to him and made him smile back. Malfoy’s breath caught, which amused Harry. That was taking a joke rather too far, wasn’t it? He was certainly overacting. And of course it was a joke of Malfoy’s, something to take his mind off his father and torment Harry whilst still being able to persist in a guise of respect, as Harry had demanded.

“I didn’t thank you for preventing that prat from interfering with my spell, either,” Harry said. “So you’ve done as much to preserve your father’s life as I have, this morning. By the way, thank you.” He offered a little bow to Malfoy in turn, disengaging his arm with a gentle pull. “I’m afraid I can’t oblige you, though, since I’m not going to lunch.”

Malfoy blinked at him. “But it’s almost noon,” he said, as though only savages from Venus took their lunch at other times of the day.

“I know,” Harry said, “but most days I simply don’t have enough time. I won’t today, either, before my attendance is required on the third floor in—“ He checked his watch, and swallowed his irritation as best he could. Malfoy was being civil, and Harry liked him better that way, even if he was only acting to relieve his own boredom. “Twenty-five minutes. I’ll have enough time to go to my cubicle, relax for a few minutes, and swallow a potion I need, but that’s all.”

“What potion do you need?” Malfoy immediately asked, his voice becoming brisker. Well, he was getting his mastery in potions. It must be professional interest. Still, Harry had no intention of confiding matters that were purely personal and had nothing to do with his father’s care to Malfoy.

“Oh, a common one I have on hand,” Harry said. He gave Malfoy a meaningless smile and turned away, but the man insisted on walking right beside him.

“A headache draught?” Malfoy asked, actually sounding knowledgeable. Harry shot him a startled glance before he could control himself, and Malfoy gave him a still more genuine smile. “I saw you rubbing your forehead earlier. And I know another cure for that,” he offered, voice low, and raised his hands as if he would press his fingers into the sides of Harry’s temples.

Yes, and what would he do once he had them there? Harry ducked his head and stepped away, shoulders stiff. He could feel irritation bunching in his muscles. Of course, once he rejected Malfoy, the prat would become repulsively snappish again, but that was better than allowing him to channel magic into Harry’s brain for his own amusement.

“Potter!”

Healer Emptyweed had never appeared as a miracle before, but he did now. Malfoy jerked to a halt, his lips curling. Harry gave him an apologetic smile, not caring how fake it looked, and strode towards his superior, nodding in respect. “Healer,” he murmured.

“One of your former partners is downstairs again, insisting on seeing you,” Emptyweed said, his voice dropping to a disapproving hiss.

Xavier. Harry felt his chest tighten. There would be no headache draught today; Xavier was rather like a hurricane, in that ignoring him and outrunning him were equally impossible.

Resigned, he hurried down the corridor behind Emptyweed. When he neared the stairs, a feeling of eyes on his back made him glance over his shoulder. Malfoy stood with his arms folded near his father’s room, lips downturned in a sulky pout.

Harry turned away, relieved. At least Malfoy’s flirting had disappointed him and probably contributed to his boredom, which meant he was unlikely to try it again. And Harry could use one less problem right now.

Chapter 4.