Dragon Pox Kills Forty People A Day
That was the news that Hadrian opened his paper to that morning, staring pensively at the writing. Naturally, he wasn't a completely heartless bastard. Yes, he'd been used and manipulated beyond all reason. Didn't care about people easily, but to know he knew a cure while people died around him? Well, it didn't sit right with him at all.
The public in his time had done nothing for him, judged him, hated him, revered him, which was somehow worse than their hatred. The duplicity, the two facedness of it ensured that he did not trust easily ever again.
This public…they either revered him, loved him or wanted to use him for their own gains. Although, fair play, they were sort of upfront about it. They all knew he was much too 'Slytherin' to buy anything else.
He would always prefer to be Hadrian Peverell-Slytherin for sure. He had built up his reputation, bit by bit. He hadn't received acclaim for something that had ripped his parents from him. Reminded him of it with the glances at his scar, the awe, the hated, the disgust for a war they didn't really understand until they'd participated themselves. listening and revelling in their parent's wisdom until they believed it themselves…and choked on it as they died.
"What's got you so down this early in the morning?" Tom asked, as he entered their dinning room. "I would have thought earlier would have kept you in a good mood." A mock leer on his face, that had Hadrian laughing softly, and Tom to exude smugness.
"Our plan needs to go ahead now; I'll bring out the potion to stop Dragon Pox the second their deaths are announced." Hadrian said, setting the newspaper aside.
Tom sighed dramatically, "Let me guess, that guilty conscience kicking in?" honestly, Hadrian was sometimes too good and pure for this world. As he took a seat, food appearing right away.
"I know, but it fits in well with our plans, we need to do something big and extravagant when you announce your bid for Minister candidacy. They need to remember it; I think that's more important than any schmoozing." Hadrian told him.
"That is not how politics work," Tom said dryly.
Hadrian smirked wryly, "The public vote, and the majority of the public aren't rich. We'll have everyone in Knockturn Alley voting for us for definite, but we have to ensure it. I'd rather not go into all this and lose."
Tom screwed up his nose at the very prospect of losing. He did not lose, when he attempted something it bore fruitful results. "I'd hardly lose."
"Who knows? You may have run for Minister for magic, I don't know everything about you, you know," Hadrian teased him, smiling a little.
"Hum, well, it certainly can't hurt to tip the scales in our favour," Tom conceded, "Very well, I'll arrange for them to end up with Dragon Pox, but I have no clue on how you intend to see it through?" Hadrian had made it clear that was what he wanted.
"Easy, a blow dart, we are going hurting after all," Hadrian said, eyes gleaming victoriously. "It's easy to banish the dart or summon it back, they'll be done the wiser." Except from feeling a pinch of course.
"Here we are discussing murder, and you feel sorry for the public," Tom said mesmerised, "I think we could live for thousands of years, husband of mine, but I doubt I'll ever be able to predict you." which was all very true.
"Which is a good thing, keeps you on your toes," Harry chuckled, his gaze softening, he didn't think he could have loved anyone so fiercely, yet he loved Tom and Fenrir oh, so much.
"Certainly," Tom agreed, drinking his coffee, "I should have everything prepared by this afternoon. Our targets are sure to be in the Ministry of magic, how would you like to proceed?" leaning back, watching Harry's mind at work. Oh, he had dozens of ways to do it, he just wanted to see how Harry would do it. Blow darts, rather ingenious, definitely not something he expected. It confirmed Harry's earlier word, Muggles had been using them all the time. To hunt for food, to hunt each other actually, Muggles were a blight on this earth. Too many of them, they loved to cause wars and kill anything remotely different, whether it's just Muggles with a different view from them to wizards and witches. They had more lethal weapons now than blow darts.
"I'll use my Invisibility cloak, it's been too long since it was last used," Harry told him, "But if the Ministry is packed it might not be a suitable arrangement."
"It will be packed, but there will be two trials on in courtroom three and ten, respectively," Tom informed him, as he ate his breakfast. "Afterwards there is a Wizengamot meeting." He added, scraping a piece of sausage and egg together and eating gracefully.
"Do you know the exact time? Before and after trials are really busy, they're shoulder to shoulder trying to get out or in." Harry questioned thoughtfully. "I'll be heading off to the reserve to check on everyone in about ten to fifteen minutes." The children might need a potion or two after the full moon. Not just the children either, but the adults, depending on how the evening went.
"I don't, I know they're afternoon and that the wizengamot meeting begins at precisely three oh five." Tom confessed, "It would be easy to find out, I can Floo call them." It was a matter of public record so they wouldn't have to worry about unwanted questions to their curiosities.
"Then we'll move when the wizengamot meeting occurs," Harry said, nodding, "None of our targets are members of the wizengamot, finding them should be rather easy. They'll be in their departments and with the day winding down…yes, perfect time of day." Giving Tom a look of fond exasperation. Only Tom would get aroused hearing him speak that way, everyone else would be appropriately wary.
Tom eyes glittered over the top of his coffee mug.
"With the completion of the Dragon Pox potion, I'll likely be awarded an Order of Merlin again, at some fancy Ministry celebration and we can announce you trying for Minister there." Harry said thoughtfully.
"You play everyone so masterfully, but you are utterly ridiculous at chess," Tom said fondly. That he had to admit amused him, so skilled at getting what he wanted, planning ahead yet still so abysmal at chess.
Harry grinned, "I'm used to getting my ass kicked at that game," he admitted, his thoughts becoming a little pained at the thought. He would have done anything for Ron…and Hermione come to that. He would have gladly died so that they would live…yet they'd so easily turned their backs on him, hunted him down like a dog. Even after all these years, new friends, new love, new happiness, it still hurt like blazes.
"Where exactly are you going to get a blow dart? Transfiguration or are you going to go into the Muggle world and buy one?" Tom asked, kicking lightly at his foot, bringing him out of his thoughts, disliking the fact Harry's past can still affect him so strongly. He knew what he was thinking about, Harry only ever felt that down when thinking on those despicable people who he had once called friends. The Muggles were still getting over the war, and there had been a massive boom in birth rates. Good for their Muggle investments though, which were immense to say the least.
"Either one works for me," Harry shrugged, "I'll wait and see how long I have free," if he didn't have the time, he'd transfigure something, if he had the time he'd go out and buy one…but he'd probably be best transfiguring something. It was best not to leave a possible trail right back to their doors after all.
"We'll meet back here in time for lunch," Tom declared, "Honestly, your need to be fair, I'm surprised we've gotten this far." He teased him a little, but mostly serious.
"I'm not really saving them, Tom," Harry admitted with a sheepish look, as the dishes disappeared. "You know as well I…that when someone's time is up…it's up. Yes, it might be put off…and I may be condemning them to a much worse fate."
"Nothing is worse than Dragon Pox," Tom shuddered, it ate through your magic, for Merlin's sake. You died in excruciating agony, your body and core being eaten away. He'd in his youth assumed it was like Chicken pox, something, very, very contagious in the Muggle world. A vaccine would be created in the 1970's according to Harry. It affected healers and Medi-wizards and witches more who were in direct contact with them…despite their best efforts to avoid it.
"You've got a point," Harry agreed, glancing at the time, "I best get going," standing up, he kissed Tom, who pulled him in for a more passionate kiss, leaving Harry flushed red and rather breathless. Then gave him another peck on the lips for good measure. "I'll see you at lunch."
"Yes, you've made sure we're rather busy today," Tom said dryly, glancing at the time himself. Now he had to get Dragon Pox from his contacts today, not something easily done, but nonetheless doable. He'd probably have to pay a little extra for the quick supply, but it would get done.
"Extra busy, perhaps, but I don't think you've gone a day when we're not on holiday doing nothing." Harry snorted, shaking his head, "Remember to have the House-elves send the new blueprints." With that he apparated away.
Harry apparated to the sanctuary, the sign revealed what it was, so that everyone knew where it was. It was secured though, both inside and out, nobody not approved couldn't approach even from a distance without setting off every single bell and whistle Harry could think to have erected. It helped that a dozen was from the future, so unknown to all but Fenrir, Tom and himself.
As always, Fenrir met him there, "How did it go, Fen?" Harry asked, a soft smile on his face as he observed his son. So strong, so powerful, so good and so proud of himself, he'd done that, well, a lot of it. Fenrir had never been ashamed of his lycanthrope, but he'd been so angry, bitter, vengeful and hateful. This Fenrir had never experienced hatred, he'd made sure of it.
"Couple of the kids need a few potions," Fenrir rumbled out, as he approached, as he always did, scooped up his father in a great big hug. "Other than that, it went well."
"Were they in the trunk?" Harry asked once he was released by his mammoth of a son. The ones who didn't have full control over their wolf – and it was possible if they accepted themselves fully – stayed in the trunk Harry had created all those years ago. They could run around in the safety of the trunk without fear of getting out or hurting humans. Which is what they all did until Fenrir built the sanctuary. It gave werewolves a place of safety, of camaraderie, people who understood them and most of all no judgement for something they couldn't control.
"Yeah," Fenrir murmured, sniffing at his dad again slightly confused. "You been to the clinic already?" assuming that's where the smell was coming from.
"No, you know I come here first," Harry said, giving Fenrir a confused look.
"Someone come to the manor then?" Fenrir questioned, sniffing more closely, but his dad barely blinked over his close proximity. Anyone else would have stank of fear, even his fathers Knights.
"Aiden came by last night, nobody since…" Harry cocked his head to the side, "What is it you're smelling?" more amused than concerned.
"The scent associated with pregnancy." Fenrir said, his head cocked to the side in his curiosity. Imogen smelt like it a lot; it took a good while for the hormones to fade away entirely.
Shrugging, "Must have put my clothes back in the wardrobe without washing them," he said, the only pregnant woman he'd been around was Imogen. Walking towards the communal dining pit where breakfast was already being made for everyone.
"Doesn't smell old," Fenrir said, shrugging himself, what else could it be though? Yet the scents would tickle his nose for the entire duration of his dad's trip here. "What did Aiden want? He didn't look happy." And he hadn't teased him once either.
"That's because he wasn't," Harry told him, "He's been doing something for me and he knew I wouldn't take the news well." All true enough, he never lied to Fenrir but he also didn't want to tell him the real truth.
Fenrir snorted, "Nobody likes giving either of you bad news." Opening the door, to find everyone already sitting down waiting for their Alpha before eating.
"Go ahead and eat," Fenrir told them, waving his hand idly, as if to say go ahead.
"You too, I know what I'm doing son," Harry teased him wryly, "Then get those deer properly preserved." Otherwise, the meat would go off, his mind dwelling on what Fenrir had said to him as he moved towards the little room, they had set up for him, a clinic of sorts, that housed all his extra equipment. It was admittedly, extra because he'd bought it but still.
"Hey, Dawn," Harry said smiling at the girl, he had a feeling that his son and she would end up an item soon. They'd beaten around the bush for long enough though…so maybe longer.
She gave him a curious look, nostrils flaring as she inhaled, "Hey,"
"Still asleep I take it?" he murmured quietly, making his way over to them, smiling at their peaceful faces, but they had bitten their leg quite severely, which was uncovered, and different varies of damage. "Humm…not too bad, easily fixed."
Summoning his bag, he began to prepare everything, cleaning out the wound, delicately rubbing salve onto the wound before wrapping it up. Doing it himself instead of using his wand, he found that it constricted everything too tightly.
Plus, he preferred working with his hands. Pouring his magic into the wound, promoting the healing to advance on itself. By the end of the afternoon, the wound would be gone, not even a scar to prove anything had happened. Normally it was impossible to get werewolf made scars to fade, they usually had to live with them, but he was a natural healer. Natural hears were better than any other healer, its why they were so desirable to anyone who had any ailment.
As he worked, his mind was dwelling on both Fenrir and Dawn's strange behaviour. He didn't think the house-elves would for a second, put his robes back into his wardrobe without washing them. Even if he'd only had them on for half an hour – which did not happen – so that wasn't the reason.
Male Pregnancies did happen, but it took spells and potions to accomplish…if it was even already happening here. He couldn't recall much about male pregnancies, if he's honest, it wasn't something that had made interesting reading. He'd wanted to read stuff that would help him survive. The book had looked old though…but it could have just been ill looked after before he got his hands on it.
Harry was so used to the work that he was able to dress the wound with only a fraction of his attention on it. "Take the bandages off this afternoon, just wipe off the salve that remains, they'll be fully healed." Again, this was something they knew.
"You okay? You're slightly distracted," Dawn asked him in concern, wondering if there was something wrong with Fenrir's dad, he was so lucky to have parents who accepted him fully. This place was full of people who had been disowned and discarded like yesterday's trash after being bitten, even heirs of long-standing families, the stigma of having a werewolf child they couldn't conceive allowing it. Although, things were changing, maybe in a few decades it wouldn't be like this for them. Maybe they wouldn't need the preserve, although she never wanted to leave, she loved it here.
"I'm fine," Harry reassured her, packing everything away, "Is there anyone else?" he asked, the bag still open waiting on her reply, some were just too headstrong to come to anyone for help, let alone a healer even if they knew he wouldn't say no because they were werewolves and that he was Fenrir's – their Alpha's – father.
"No, everyone else is fine," Dawn reassured Harry, watching him close up his healers' bag and set it aside.
"Good, give them these when they wake up, it's just something to boost their energy levels and give them some nutrients." Harry told her as he retrieved a few potions, and handed them to her.
"You aren't staying today?" she asked in surprise.
"No, the clinic is open this morning," Harry explained, giving her a tired smile, "My afternoons packed as well, life is anything but dull."
"No, it definitely isn't," Dawn laughed, a cheeky grin on her face, she'd heard all his tales – which she knew to be greatly exaggerated – for the children who he always made time for when he could.
"Tell Fen I expect the both of you for dinner some time this week!" Harry said once he was done, barely waiting for her agreement before he apparated to his clinic.
The second he was there, he pulled up his seat, and sat down, bringing his magic to the fore, he ran a diagnosis on himself. True healers didn't need wands and spells to tell when something was wrong, they could run their magic through someone to find the problem once they were familiar with the body.
That's where he found it.
The little thrum of life that proved just how powerful a werewolf's nose was.
He hadn't taken any potions…or used or allowed anyone to use those spells on him…how could he be bloody pregnant?
"DEATH?!" Harry called out; voice raspy with the shock of it.