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Lean On Me


”Fumigation charm to the anterior and lateral basal segments. Quickly. And for the love of Merlin - can we please get a mediwizard trained in emergency scale removal up here? Now?!” The voice was a rushed, nervous sounding wizard’s, anxious but firmly in command. “Mr. Potter? Mr. Potter, if you can hear me, you’ll feel a bit of a nasty shock in your left side in just a mo’... Going to be all right. All right, now, y’hear? ...Basil, oxygen to the patient, please…”

Charlus felt a hand slide beneath his neck, lift up his head torso and the promised shock to his left side had him crying out.

“DORAAA… DORA WHERE ARE YOU?” he scrambled, trying to find his wife’s hand.

“No, Mr. Potter, no, you must - stay - still! You must stay still.” This was a sweeter voice. “My name’s Basil, I’m the healer assigned to help you today.” There was a squeeze to his hand - the palm too small to be Dora’s, but comforting just the same. “Your wife is waiting in the corridor, we couldn’t let her in. Sterile room. We’ll be done quick as a wink, Mr. Potter.”

“Basil, my wife… I need my wife.”

“She’s waiting for you, Mr. Potter,” Basil replied.

The commanding wizard’s voice shouted, “Scales on the left forearm are multiplying rapidly…”

“I’m on it,” came another voice and then the scraping on his arm and Charlus felt the ability to fight against them leave him as somebody put him in a body bind curse and began scraping scales from his arms…

“DORA!” At least Dora was what Charlus had meant to yell. Instead of his wife’s name, though, what came from his mouth was fire. Raging white-hot fire that sizzled and singed the air, making the mediwizards and witches jump back, shouting.

“GET INTO YOUR FIREPROOF GEAR… NOW! Aguamenti!!”

“It’s all right, Mr. Potter… It’s all right… we’re taking care of you…” Basil again, grabbing his hand, but this time her hand was wrapped in funny feeling gloves.

“DORA!!!” More fire.

“Somebody please - a stunner.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Potter. Stupefy.”




James ran through St. Mungo’s, not even pausing for the witch at the reception desk, who stood up, trying to stop him from going past. “Sorry, love, we’re in a bit of a rush, you understand, don’t you darling?” Sirius called over his shoulder as he hurried after James, blowing the confused-looking receptionist a kiss as he ran backwards after James. He tripped into an extra bed that had been rolled out into the corridor, cursed, and turned to face forward again, rushing to keep up with James.

Come quickly. Mum.

That’s all the owl said.

Come quickly.

James was coming as quickly as he could.

He sprinted up the stairs - his trainers squeaking on the tile, gripping the rail, blind from tears and dizziness that spun his head ‘round and ‘round. He found himself thinking of those painted ponies - spinning, spinning - that was him right now, he was spinning, just like them. Around and around. And it wouldn’t stop. It couldn’t stop. He fell over one of the steps, landing on his knees halfway up a flight.

Strong hands scooped under his armpits and brought him to his feet. “Up you go, Prongs.” Sirius’s voice sounded far away and close all at once. “Give me your arm, Prongs, I’ve got you. Nearly there.”

Come quickly.

James clung to Sirius. “He’s dying, Padfoot.”

“It’s gonna be okay. Shh. You dunno he’s dying,” Sirius said.

James struggled away, his back hitting the stone wall of the landing and he covered his face, closing his eyes and sinking to the floor again. Sirius trotted over to him and bent down, grabbing at James’s wrists and pulling his hands from his face. “Hey. Hey Prongs. Hey... listen to me. I’m here, okay?”

“He was dying before, Sirius, and I thought - I thought I saved him - thought I - I saved --- Sirius, I can’t do this.”

Sirius pulled James into him. James’s face pressed into Sirius’s neck. “Shh, mate.”

“If he - if he dies --”

“Listen to me Prongs,” Sirius said. “It’s going to be alright. Whatever happens. It will be okay in the end.” Sirius pulled back and he held James’s face in his palms, staring into James’s eyes as he spoke with a thick voice. We will mourn. But we will grow. And we will live. And that’s what he would want.”

Artefacting, James found himself thinking. He’s said this to me before. And he could see it in his mind’s eyes - a flash of a memory that he’d undone - now recreated here, in the new timeline. An artefact of a time that had never happened...

Sirius’s eyes searched James’s. “It’s going to be okay, Prongs. Now… you let me be the strong one and you just get by and I’ll help you, okay? You lean on me.”

James nodded.

“C’mon. Up you come.” Sirius pulled James’s arm ‘round his shoulder and together they stood up. Sirius’s hand cupped ‘round James’s side as they stumbled up the stairs, James taller than Sirius, which made it awkward going, but they made it and Sirius helped James through the door and into the corridor on the second floor.

Magical Bugs and Diseases, Dragon Pox Specialties, Quarantine Department, the sign read, and they followed after the Dragon Pox Specialties arrowed until they ‘rounded a corner and there, in the hallway, was Dora Potter, her palms pressed to a curtained-off window that looked into one of the rooms. She clutched a singed handkerchief in her hand and her face was red and blotchy, coated with thick tear stains as she slapped her palm to the window, “Please, please,” she was sobbing.

The moment he saw her, James felt a surge of adrenaline. He struggled away from Sirius and ran down the hall. “Mum!” he called and Dora turned and let out a strangled cry of relief when she saw him and he caught her up in his arms, hugging her into him. When had she gotten so small and fragile? James wondered, when had it been that he’d become taller than her, when had his shoulders become broader? When did Dora Potter stop being the doting, worrisome mother who had wiped his face with her spit and a handkerchief on Platform 9¾ back in 1971, and become someone who was enveloped in his arms so easily, who needed his protection?

He rested his chin atop her head. “I’m here, mummy,” he said quietly, kissing her head. “It’s gonna be okay, mummy, I’m here.” Even as he said it, James heard the echo of it. Another artefact.

James’s hands shook.

Sirius came up behind him, skidding to a stop a couple steps away, staring at the embrace as Dora’s fingers twisted ‘round James’s shirt, clinging to him tightly.

“What happened, mum?” James whispered, “Is he alright? Is he going to be alright?”

“I don’t know,” Dora gasped. “The mediwizards haven’t told me -- we - we came yesterday for his scale removal, routine, every third month, you know, and he - he was okay, they checked his blood, gave him some potion… bit concerned with the coughing so they kept him, wanted to monitor the toxicity level of the smoke, they told us… then this morning, he woke up and the smoke was darker, thicker than before… And he suddenly… just.. Just an hour ago… James, there’s fire.”

Sirius hung back, rubbing his arm fearfully. He’d had an uncle - Walburga’s brother, Arcturus, the one whose name Regulus had been given as a middle name - and he had died of dragon pox - back when the boys were very small. He only vaguely remembered Uncle Arcturus. Fun loving guy, at least he’d seemed so then. And there were times that Uncle Arcturus would cough and he would breathe fire, and he’d make a joke of it, laugh it off, tell Sirius he’d eaten a dragon steak dinner… and Sirius would laugh and laugh... He’d been Sirius’s favorite Uncle. And the day he died, Walburga had screamed so loud that the rafters of the house at Number 12 Grimmauld Place shook. Sirius remembered going to the funeral - dressed in a pressed black suit and standing beneath Orion Black’s conjured umbrella as rain fell over a dismal grey hill.

It was the fire that killed him, he could hear the words clearly in his head. People whispering them all around the grave site.

Fire was not good.

Fire was very not good.

Sirius stared at James’s back as his mum clung to him.

The door to the room opened then and a tired looking mediwizard stepped out, followed by two others who sped away down the hall quickly. The mediwizard wiped his brow with a handkerchief, turning to James and Dora. “Come with me, Mrs. Potter,” the mediwizard said gently, “We need to have a word in private.” He waved for her to follow as he turned and started toward a little room down the hall.

“I’ve got you mum,” James said thickly, holding her up. You lean on me,” he whispered, repeating the words Sirius had said to him.

“My husband,” Mrs. Potter was asking as James helped her through the door of the little room, “Is he all right?”

The door to the room closed before Sirius heard the answer.

A young mediwitch came out of the room, crying, and sped off down the hallway.

Sirius looked around, then, unable to wait for answers, he grabbed a magenta labcoat like the mediwizards coats from a cart with a laundry hamper behind hm, and he shrugged the coat on… ducking through the door as casually as he could, tugging the door shut behind him.

It smelled of smoke and burning plaster in the room. The ceiling over the bed was singed black and grey. Sirius glanced over his shoulder as he moved to the curtained off bed, afraid what he’d find when he pulled it back. He paused, took a deep breath, and stepped around it.

There lay Mr. Potter. Eyes closed, arms at his sides. Sirius hesitated, afraid.

Don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead. He inched forward and reached out a hand for his wrist, his thumb touching the pulse point.

He’d never been so relieved in his life as he was when he felt the gentle throbbing of the pulse beneath Charlus Potter’s skin.

“Thank bloody God,” whispered Sirius.

“James?” the voice was a croaky whisper.

Sirius flushed. “I - no Mr. P. It’s - It’s Sirius.” He paused, “James is with his mum… the mediwizard… he’s talking to them. They’ll be here in a second. I - I sort of snuck in.” Charlus’s finger moved against Sirius’s hand, so Sirius laced his fingers through Charlus’s. “I’m sorry, Mr. P. It’s only me. But they’ll come. Your wife and you son, they’re coming.”

“You are my son, too,” Charlus whispered.

Sirius felt his guts turn to a puddle. “I… I am?”

Charlus’s reply was a indistinguishable noise, something between a grunt and a hum. It was the most wonderful sound Sirius had ever heard.

Sirius’s throat felt quite closed up and he tightened his grip on Charlus’s hand as he melted to his knees beside the bed, leaning his forehead against Charlus’s hand in his own.