I’d like to thank all of those who’ve taken the time to review. I appreciate the feedback very much. It’s my only way to gauge how the story is being perceived, so, please take a moment and share your thoughts. Special shoutout to perceptive reviewer Crys (I can’t respond to guest reviews, though) who commented that I was still setting the stage and introducing the players. Crys is right, and there is one more big player here, but I think this one really gets things rolling. I hope you enjoy!
As always, my thanks and gratitude to Arnel, Sherry, and Sue for their guidance and support along the way.
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Category: Post-Hogwarts Characters:None Genres: Drama Warnings: Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 210 Summary: Muggle and magical illnesses are separate. Until they’re not. Harry has always had a discernable enemy. This time, he’s fighting an invisible and indiscriminate threat. Part of the Cuts universe. Hitcount: Story Total: 112757; Chapter Total: 5107 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: |
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Caged The Ministry safe house where Harry was now ensconced was located in Kent. He wasn’t certain of the exact location, but it mattered not since he wasn’t allowed outside the small, confined room where he now paced. He knew Owen and Ethan had also both been taken from the burnt grounds in Wales, but hell if he knew if they were there in the safe house with him. His sock-clad feet made a muffled shuffling sound as he paced back and forth. His shoes and the clothes he’d been wearing had been taken upon arrival, and he hadn’t seen them since. He was left with a thin robe of pale green, a pair of thick woolen socks and his irritated disposition. Occasionally, a pair of wizards wearing Bubble-Head Charms and dragon-hide gloves entered the room and waved their wands over his entire body, but they always left without a word and without answering any of his questions. He knew that several safe houses like this one had been put in place after the war when multiple locations had been discovered booby-trapped. Like they’d done to Grimmauld Place, the Death Eaters had left Dark Magic reminders of their presence everywhere. The houses were a place for Aurors to go to be healed and have Charms removed without the danger of spreading the Dark Magic. Harry had been confined to a few in the past after raids turned up something bad, but never one quite like this where they seemed to be withholding information. Those other times, he’d always known he’d encountered something Dark, and sometimes had the injuries to prove it. This, though… they really hadn’t discovered any magic, just some burnt remains of a building. He didn’t have a clue as to what was going on, and so he paced. He absolutely abhorred being confined. It wasn’t nearly as bad as his cupboard. There was space to walk and books to read, and although the food they’d supplied had been rather bland, he certainly didn’t have that gnawing pain in his belly that made him feel as if his insides were hollow. He had no fear about what would happen when the door finally opened, but he still hated knowing he couldn’t get out. Well, perhaps he could if he wanted, they hadn’t confiscated his wand, but… did he really want to attack someone from the Ministry? Not yet, anyway. He'd used his wand once since his arrival… was it yesterday or even longer? He wasn’t certain. He knew he’d dozed at one point, but that might’ve been out of sheer boredom. He’d sent Ginny a Patronus telling her he was all right and would contact her as soon as he could. The Bubble-Headed jailers had offered him quill and parchment when he’d been shown to his room… cell… but he wasn’t about to put anything to Ginny in writing that could end up splayed across the gossip pages in the Daily Prophet. He’d learned that lesson already. No, he’d sent the Patronus so she knew he was safe. He couldn’t help but wonder how much trouble he was in. They’d both been looking forward to their holiday away from all this. He supposed she probably knew more than he did by now since Ron would’ve heard any Ministry information and relayed everything to her. This fact only increased his irritation, and he quickened his pace. Back and forth, back and forth. It took exactly seven steps to go the length of his room. The space consisted of a single bed and a desk with some shelves above it containing an odd assortment of books. A bedside table held a gas lamp and several magazines. There was a small wash closet through one door, and an even smaller toilet through another. Everything was tidy and fairly new, but rather antiseptic and boring. What was he doing here? Ethan had said he’d found some dead plant life, so perhaps something in those ruined cauldrons had been poisonous… but Dark? Certainly, they would’ve ruled out Dark Magic by now. So, what was in those cauldrons that would require them to keep Aurors locked up for this long? He didn’t know anyone who’d had such a lengthy stay, or had relayed complaints of being held without reason. Someone certainly had some explaining to do whenever he got out of here. Harry flung himself down on his bed, slinging an arm over his eyes, trying to control his breathing. It would do him no good to get all worked up again. For some reason, if he focused too much on being locked up, it tended to make him breathe too fast and made his chest hurt. The overhead lighting had a very faint bluish tone, and he knew that had there been any severe traces of Dark Magic, his skin would have reflected red in the light. He glanced at his arms and bit of leg that was showing under his robes — no red. He’d examined himself quite thoroughly already, and the only bits of faint red came from old scars that had already been documented. He picked up one of the magazines and absently flipped through it before flinging it back on the table, heaving himself up and beginning to pace once again. It had been an endless cycle, and he was beginning to feel like he was going mad. He rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses, trying to envision the details that had led him here once again, beginning the cycle anew. He’d tried shouting to Owen, but there hadn’t been a response. He didn’t know if that meant Owen wasn’t near enough to him, or if there were Silencing Charms on the various rooms. He supposed that was more likely. Maybe they were just tired of listening to Harry’s litany of questions. His stomach rumbled, causing him to wonder how long it had been since he’d eaten last. He’d only picked at the offerings, feeling too worked up to eat. Now, he regretted that decision. He glanced absently at his wrist for about the fiftieth time, despite being well aware that his watch, along with the contents of his pockets, was missing along with his clothing. This was ridiculous. Suddenly, a disturbance broke the monotony of his routine. He could hear raised voices from somewhere outside his room, and he was certain he recognized one of them. At least he knew they hadn’t Silenced the sound outside his four walls, anyway. “I don’t care what procedures you’re following, get out of my way right now, or I’m going to Hex you,” Ginny’s voice warned from outside the door. She sounded livid. He wished he could see her dressing down the two guards who’d so infuriated him with their silence. “Ginny, I’m here,” he called, uncertain if she could hear him. He could hear mumbling but not decipher any words. He pressed his ear to the closed door, and he could detect a very faint hum. There definitely were some sort of enchantments keeping him inside. A shriek and a loud bang caused him to jump back from the door. Oh, they’d done it now. Ginny had a short fuse, and she tended to hex first, ask questions later. “Ginny!” he heard another voice — Ron this time. They were both here. They’d come for him. He knew they would eventually, but he was pleased nonetheless. Foregoing his pride, he banged his fists on the door, trying to alert them where he was. “I’m in here.” Even to his own ears, the sound of his thudding was muted. Damn it all to hell, why had he harassed the guards so much when he’d first arrived? He didn’t hear Ginny’s response, but there was more mumbling from outside. Suddenly, the entire front wall of his room seemed to shimmer, then it turned to a thick pane of glass, leaving him staring out into the hallway, mouth agape. He jumped back, startled, but then his hand touched the cool glass, running his fingers along it. He didn’t know what spell had done this, but it was impressive magic. “Harry!” he heard both Ron and Ginny shout. He could see them then, outside his room, and he drank in the sight. Ginny wore her favorite pair of Muggle jeans that clung to her petite form perfectly, hugging all the right curves. Harry really liked those jeans because they peeled off rather easily… “Are you all right?” she asked, dragging his thoughts back to the present. He had to take a deep breath. His relief at the sight of her, looking more concerned than angry, sent a physical slackening coursing through his body. He hadn’t even been aware how tense he felt. Ron stood beside her, tall and imposing despite the pallor of his skin. He was very pale, causing his freckles to stand out dark and heavy. Ever since the final battle, Ron tended to overreact whenever he expected his mate was in some sort of trouble. Harry really couldn’t blame him, despite how exasperated he sometimes felt. After all, he had run off to die on Ron once before. “I’m fine — just hacked off at being locked up in here. D’you know what’s going on? Why am I locked in? Where’s Owen? Have you heard anything?” The questions tumbled from his lips faster than he could contain them, and he saw Ginny’s eyes widen in concern. He didn’t tend to ramble. Ron shook his head. “I don’t know anything. They’re being unusually tight-lipped. Hermione is still at the Ministry trying to get some answers, but even Dad doesn’t know. They never even sent a message. The only way we knew you were in a safe house was from your Patronus.” That wasn’t standard protocol. The other times either he or Ron had been compromised, an owl had been sent to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley immediately, as they were listed as next of kin. “We tried to go to the Ministry and ask, but they kept shuffling us around. Finally, we decided to just check on the safe houses. This is the fourth one we’ve tried,” Ginny said, her eyes raking over him as she bit her lip. “I’m not hurt,” he said reassuringly. “We found the burnt out remains of a house — or maybe it was a laboratory, I dunno. Ethan set off the protocol when he found some dead plants around the house, but they haven’t told me anything, just locked me in here. What happened when you arrived? I heard spellfire.” Ron snorted. “That would be this one,” he said, jerking his head toward Ginny, who looked completely unabashed. “They had two Unspeakables using Bubble-Head Charms who tried to stop us from entering. We reckoned this was the one once we saw that. Ginny cast her famous Bat-Bogey Hex when they wouldn’t answer our questions, and she was really worked up because it shattered the Charm. The other one made this glass appear then dragged her coworker away. I don’t know where they went, but we’re probably going to have some trouble coming our way soon.” Ginny tried to push the door to Harry’s room open, but it didn’t budge. “There’s no knob on this door,” she said. “Something isn’t right,” Harry said, running his hand through his extremely mussed up hair. “They’ve got the Spell Detector lights on in here, but I’m not showing red. There wasn’t any sign of Dark Magic that I saw, so this is something else. I just can’t work out what yet. How did you know about this safe house? I don’t remember being here before?” Ron’s ears turned red — a sure tell that he’d done something he probably shouldn’t have. “Er… I got the address from Aberforth, actually. I went to the Hog’s Head to see if there was any scuttlebutt going on about you.” Harry raised his eyebrows, causing Ron to shrug. “You know me, I’d rather laugh with the sinners… they’re dead useful, too.” Harry grinned. Aberforth always did have a way of knowing what was what, much the same way his late brother always had. “That they are. Thanks for coming, mate.” “Don’t worry about it,” Ron said, shrugging again. “George and Hermione wanted to come, too.” “What have you been doing this whole time?” Ginny asked. “I dunno. How long have I been here? I tried to get them to answer my questions at first. They come in every few hours and wave their wands, but they won’t tell me anything,” he said. “Have you slept? You look exhausted,” she said. “I’m fine,” he said, knowing they wouldn’t believe him but trying to relax the tension in his face, anyway. “I just hate being locked up. D’you think you could talk to Robards and find out how long they’re going to keep me here?” Ron and Ginny shared a glance, and Harry could plainly see the sympathy there. They knew him too well. He averted his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look into their all-too-understanding gazes. “I’ll ask him, mate,” Ron said quietly. “And I’ll get Percy to demand some answers from Kingsley. He owes you that much,” Ginny said, firing up once again. “Have they fed you?” Ron asked. Food was still of the utmost importance to Ron. “We can bring you anything you like in a jiffy.” “How would you get it in?” Harry asked irritably. “Besides, I expect they’ll be along any second to kick you out, and I’m not sure you’ll be invited back.” “I’d like to see them stop me,” Ginny said. Harry smiled tiredly. “There’s my girl. I’m really sorry about our holiday, Ginny. I wish I could undo all of this.” Ginny shook her head. “Let’s not worry about that now. We’ve got all the time in the world.” Her eyes were very soft in that special way she had. For some reason, this time, it made his throat tighten. “Why don’t you try and get some sleep? We’ll find out what we can, we’ll have you out of here as soon as possible,” she said. “I —” Harry didn’t even get to finish his thought, because at that moment, several large and burly wizards, all using Bubble-Head Charms, stormed down the empty hallway. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to leave. You’re trespassing on Ministry grounds,” the one in the lead said. “And who are you?” Ginny said, hands on hips and unmoving. Ron crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. “We’re not going anywhere until you tell us what this is all about. You’ve no right to hold the Boy-Who-Lived, Savior of the Wizarding World, without any explanation. You don’t look like Death Eaters, but you’re sure acting like them.” Several of the wizards shifted uncomfortably, and the one in the lead flushed heavily. “We work in the Department of Mysteries, and Mr. Potter has stumbled across one of our cases. There will be someone in later today to fill in some details,” the wizard said. “In the meantime, I’m going to have to ask you two to leave. You’re endangering yourselves by being here.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “What danger?” “What do you mean they’re endangering themselves?” Ginny, Ron and Harry all spoke at once. Harry’s eyes looked at the team of Unspeakables, all wearing the same protective gear as the ones who’d come into his cell every time. A prickle of fear ran down his spine. “Ron, Ginny, I want you to leave now. I’ll let you know when they tell me what’s going on,” Harry said, his heart beginning to thump uncomfortably. Neither Ron nor Ginny was using a Bubble-Head Charm. “I’m not going anywhere until I know what’s going on and how long they expect to keep you here,” Ginny said stubbornly. Harry knew that look well. She wasn’t going to go quietly. The guard obviously didn’t know that look. “I’m sorry, miss, but you will have to leave,” he said, withdrawing his wand from the pocket of his robe. Ginny had already pulled her own and much more quickly. “You’re going to have to make me,” she said. Harry’s heart swelled, but he needed to get her out of here. “No, Ginny, don’t. Please. You’ll make it worse. Find out what you can from Kingsley. I’m all right,” he said, his fingers pressed hard against the glass. Ginny frowned but gave him a good once over, nodding. She put her hand opposite his against the glass, and he saw it fog where she was pressing. Turning her head toward the guard, she said, “You’re to get him something decent to eat. He likes treacle tart.” “And a few Butterbeers. It’s inhumane to keep him locked up without sustenance and something to dull the boredom,” Ron said. He’d been quiet watching the exchange, but Harry noticed he, too, had his wand in his hand. “We’ll take care of it, but you have to leave now,” the guard insisted. “You’d better. I’ll find out if you don’t, and I’ll make certain you never sit comfortably again,” Ginny said, very quietly, but locking the man’s gaze with her own. Harry grinned as the man swallowed heavily. Ginny finally released him, and turned her eyes back on Harry, instantly becoming warmer. “Get some sleep, love, and try not to worry. We’ll work this out.” “Yeah, take care of yourself, mate. Have some good nosh and let the Butterbeers do their thing,” Ron said, knocking on the glass before turning toward the guard. “Some Firewhisky would be even better, you know. He is the Chosen One, after all.” Harry shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I love you,” he said to Ginny, trying to keep his voice low so that only she could hear. Ginny’s eyes sparkled. “What did you say? I didn’t catch that,” she said, holding her hand up to ear. “He said he loves you,” Ron said loudly over his shoulder. “Give the bloke a break, he’s stuck in there like a reptile at the zoo.” “Gee, thanks, Ron — hadn’t thought of it quite that way,” Harry said, shaking his head. “No problem. We’ll see you soon, Harry,” Ron said, losing his grin and staring intently through the glass for a brief moment. Harry knew that look said Ron would do anything for him, and he knew it was true. “Thanks, Ron. Stay out of trouble, you two,” he said, watching them walking away. “Says the man whose got himself locked in a display box,” Ron grumbled. Ginny’s responding laughter was the last he heard before his glass wall solidified once again. Harry wasn’t exactly certain how he spent the time, or how much time had actually passed since Ginny and Ron had left. It all sort of blended together. He’d dozed again, but he didn’t think he’d had a really good sleep. He started when he heard a loud crack, his eyes opening wide. He sat up quickly, heart racing, and reached for his wand. He was still alone in the room, but a tray of food had been placed on his desk. He was pleased to note several bottles of Butterbeer and a larger bottle of Firewhisky was included on the tray. It must be evening as he didn’t think they’d give him the alcohol in the morning. Who knew, though? Ginny had put the fear of her wand in them. He supposed it didn’t really matter, anyway. There was no window, and his watch had been removed, so time was meaningless. Dragging his protesting body off the bed, he used the toilet and washed up, glancing at himself in the small, rather dingy mirror that hung above the sink. Deep, sunken, bluish circles were prominent beneath his eyes, and his skin looked so starkly white in the odd overhead lighting that he could see his scar standing out redder than it had been in years. His hair was even more mussed than usual, and he thought he’d looked as if he’d awoken from a raucous night at the pub with Oliver — without benefit of the night out. Out of habit, he brushed his fringe down over the scar. Harry swore irritably and moved away from the mirror. He lifted the cover off the food tray and the aroma of a steaming plate of steak and kidney pie rose to meet his nostrils. It was usually one of his favorites, but it looked uninviting. There was also a plate of his beloved treacle tart. He sat at the desk and forced a few forkfuls into his mouth, chewing mechanically. His stomach grumbled, and he knew that his body was hungry, but the food was still rather tasteless and unappealing. He picked at his meal for a while, trying to force down a few more bites before finally calling it a bad job and rising from the table. He opened a Butterbeer and began his pacing anew. It seemed a fairly short time later when the door opened, and the two Unspeakables once again entered the room. Both wore the same protective gear, and neither spoke as they began waving their wands in complicated patterns around him. He noticed their eyes had widened beneath the Bubble-Head Charm, and they were giving him a rather wide berth. He remained still and unresisting while they conducted their business, but when they appeared ready to leave, he cleared his throat and moved quickly to the side, blocking their exit. They both jumped, and Harry struggled to keep his face in his expressionless Auror mask. The urge to smirk was overwhelming. “I was told there would be someone coming by to answer some questions,” he said, his voice sounding croaky from lack of use. “When?” The male Unspeakable nodded. “She’s here. She’s in with Auror Savage now, and will be by to speak with you shortly.” Surprised, Harry allowed them to leave without further comment. So, some answers were finally forthcoming, and that would mean Owen was also here somewhere. Harry amused himself with thoughts of how the grizzled senior Auror was taking his confinement. Knowing Owen, he wasn’t done swearing at this mysterious Unspeakable yet. He sat on the edge of his bed, picking up his discarded copy of The Current Quidditch Standings, and began leafing through it once again. He strained his ears to detect any sound or indication where Owen’s room might be, but there was nothing but enduring silence. He was halfway through an article on the Arrows’ new Beater when his door opened once again. Swiftly looking up, he found a witch of indeterminate age entering his room and seating herself at his desk, facing him. She wore the expected Bubble-Head Charm, and beneath it, she had light brown hair swept back into a tight bun with one streak of lighter hair on the left side. He couldn’t tell if the streak was blonde or grey. She wore large spectacles, but the hazel eyes underneath were sharp and clear. Harry had the impression of an attractive woman who went to great lengths to hide it. Her glasses were thin, but Harry knew that meant little in the magical world. His glasses were thin, and his vision was terrible. In his first year at Hogwarts, Madam Pomfrey had examined his eyes and cast a spell on his glasses that both thinned them out and, he’d assumed, caused his prescription to change as necessary since he’d never needed it adjusted since. It was definitely a benefit of living in the magical world. “Good evening, Mr. Potter. I’m Vivian Scott from the Department of Mysteries. I understand you’re frustrated by your detainment here,” she said, her voice low and smooth with a slight Scottish accent. She was one of only a few people that didn’t seem the remote bit interested in who he was. He liked that about her. “More like incarceration,” he said grumpily. “I want to know what’s going on, and why the need for all this secrecy.” Vivian nodded, face expressionless. “Well, I’ll tell you what I can. I’m glad to see you’re more civil than your uncouth partner.” Harry grinned. Owen must’ve really let her have it. “I suppose that depends on how upfront you are with me.” “Fair enough,” Vivian said, her lips turning up slightly in what he supposed could be considered a smile. “You came across some ruins in Wales. Why were you there?” Harry shook his head. “I’m not answering any of your questions until you answer some of mine. You’re the one holding me here.” Vivian pursed her lips, the left side of her face twitching. “I’m currently looking into an increased number of Muggle deaths in Wales. I think there might be some magical influence on these casualties, despite the apparent presence of a common Muggle ailment. I think the burnt house you stumbled upon might be the origin I’ve been seeking.” “Origin of what?” Harry asked. Vivian shifted only vaguely, but Harry noted it. “The deaths appear to be attributed to the Muggle disease they refer to as dementia.” “Hang on… I think I read something about that somewhere,” Harry said, racking his foggy brain for where he might’ve seen it. “What does dementia have to do with wizards?” “Yes, the Muggle press is, unfortunately, onto the story. Thankfully, the Prophet hasn’t sniffed out anything suspicious,” Vivian said, and again Harry approved of her disdain for the paper. “These Muggles are reporting dementia-like symptoms, so they’ve lumped the illness in with what they know.” “And you don’t think that’s the case. Why else would the Department of Mysteries be involved in a Muggle illness?” Harry asked, coming to his own conclusion. Vivian’s eyes narrowed, studying him intently before answering, “We don’t think it’s strictly a Muggle illness, no. There are disturbing similarities to a wizard ailment, but I’ve yet to find the connection.” “What magical ailment?” “It’s a virulent sub-strain of Spattergroit called Cerebrumous Spattergroit,” she said simply. Harry paused a moment to see if she was going to offer anything more, but when she didn’t, he thought it was time to share. Their cases had obviously crossed somewhere. “We went to that location in search of a wizard called Gwilym Gethin. He formerly worked at St. Mungo’s as a potions master. Apparently, Gethin suffered a debilitating case of Spattergroit as a youth and had been seeking a potion to alleviate the scarring. Under Voldemort’s reign, he was asked to begin experimenting with various potions on Muggles. He’s been missing for quite some time, and his last known address was that spot in Wales. I’m guessing you think your sub-strain began at that location?” Harry was pleased to note that Vivian didn’t flinch at the sound of Voldemort’s name as so many still did. Her eyes had widened as his story unfolded, and he wondered what connection she’d made. “Are you aware there were two separate sets of remains discovered at that location?” she asked. Harry frowned, puzzled. “Two? I saw one near all the cauldrons.” Vivian nodded. “That one did have a magical signature; although it’s as yet unidentified, we can assume that was Gethin. The second was in another area of the building entirely, and that one had no trace of a magical signature.” Harry felt his stomach drop. “A Muggle, then? So… he did continue testing even after Voldemort’s defeat.” “It would appear so,” she said softly, “although we can’t rule out a Muggle mate.” “How is this connected to your sub-strain? What’s the difference to regular Spattergroit?” Harry asked. He didn’t have a lot of medical knowledge other than field healing, but he vaguely remembered Ron using the magical illness as an excuse for not returning to Hogwarts during the Horcrux hunt. “Spattergroit is a skin disease noted for purple pustules that can leave scarring. Cerebrumous Spattergroit causes severe confusion, memory loss and impairment in addition to the skin affliction. Sufferers are unable to speak once the infection reaches their uvula. They can be bed-ridden for months, and never remember any of their illness. There is a theory that it is why no one remembered the 1877 Quidditch World Cup,” Vivian said, and Harry was very much reminded of a professor in teaching mode. “So… that does sound very much like dementia, doesn’t it?” “Similar, but this strain appears to be much faster working… and virulent,” she said, her lips thinning to a straight line. “Pardon?” Harry asked. “It’s contagious — to both populations. Muggles don’t get Spattergroit, which is highly contagious, and magical people don’t get dementia, which isn’t contagious at all, but both are susceptible to this sub-strain. We need to learn how it spreads and how quickly. Knowing anything about his research might help us develop a way to stop it.” “We?” Harry asked, fearing most of Gethin’s research was probably destroyed in the fire. Vivian nodded resolutely, “Our cases have crossed, and I think we can help each other. I’d prefer to deal with you over Mr. Savage, but I’ll do what I must. This outbreak must be contained before we have an epidemic spreading across Britain and eventually the Continent — amongst both magic and non-magic people.” Harry felt a thrill of dread go down his spine, his eyes locked on Vivian’s. “How long do I have to stay here? Do you think I — all of us — caught this illness?” Vivian perused him with her intense gaze once again. “I don’t believe so, no, but I’d like to keep you all for another day to be certain. We haven’t detected any trace of it in any of our scans, and we believe the illness is fast acting. Exactly how fast, however, remains to be seen. You came across what I believe is its place of origin, but we have no idea how long it can linger without a carrier.” Harry nodded. He hated the thought of more time spent locked up, but at least he now knew the reasons. “I suppose I’ll see you once I’m paroled, then.” Vivian did give him a real smile then, and it softened her entire face, erasing the stern image. Harry suspected that was why she avoided it. “I’ll see you when you get out, then.” |
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