The Catalyst
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Chapter Five: Heritage Unveiled
The Children's Ward of St. Mungo's was a vividly decorated hallway, with doors of every color imaginable. Every surface was covered in tiny painted handprints that sometimes waved, gave passers-by a thumb's up, or tried to make off with the mediwitches' quills. The lights seemed brighter, the windows sunnier, and Hermione was sure this was by design. She reflected that even the merry decor could not quite conceal the smell and the feel of a hospital ward.
Hermione pointed down the hall, with the arm not still tucked into Harry's elbow. "It's this way. Five twenty-"
"Yes, the door with the Auror guard, right? I'd gathered that much." He sighed, and nudged her playfully in the ribs. "The Great Harry Potter," he mocked. "Can't even have children the normal way…" His second sigh assuaged her rumpled spirits by reminding her that Harry might seem to be all Gryffindor-Lion-full-speed-ahead, he was inwardly as uncertain as she was. "Have you been to see her then?" He was assuming that her knowledge of the room location arose from that fact.
Hermione felt the defensiveness rise up within her again. She didn't like to admit, even to herself, that she had had no intention of seeing their daughter, at least not in such context as the girl would be aware of their relationship. She couldn't help but continue to feel that this was yet another of Harry's harebrained, fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants schemes, and here she was again, along for the ride. Just like always… She supposed there was something to be said for sticking with one's routines.
"No, Harry, I haven't." His name escaped her lips on a gust of air. "I hadn't decided yet what course of action to take - still haven't, as a matter of fact. I didn't think there was any point in revealing myself to her, if I wasn't - wasn't going to be around. You really need to think about this. If you take her, is it really in her best interests? Or am I hoping it wouldn't be in her best interests, so that I can be relieved of any responsibility or guilt about it? This whole day's been a whirlwind, and I just don't know anymore - I can't distinguish anymore - "
"-between what is right and what is easy," Harry rumbled unexpectedly, startling her. Annoyed, she tried to jerk her arm out of his grasp, but he prevented it. She was shaking her head that he'd dared to go there.
"That's not fair, Harry."
"I was just quoting…" He was all innocence. She was not fooled.
"I know what you were doing, and what you meant… and of course, that you're right in this instance, and I'm easy. Would that be - " She stopped when she heard Harry's snicker, and realized the double entendre in what she'd said. She speared him with a look of long-suffering acerbity, as he tried to school his features into a more serious mien. "I hate you, Harry."
"Easy and a liar…" he teased, and she felt the grin pulling unwillingly at her lips again. However, once they'd come up to the door, easily enough spotted by the two Aurors posted on either side of it, any facade of lightheartedness or mirth fell away as if hit with Finite Incantatem.
The younger of the two Aurors, dark-haired and somewhat self-important, looking just the far side of thirty, stepped forward and managed a perfunctory, "Identification please," before realizing who stood before him.
"I'm Harry Potter," Harry enunciated the obvious slowly, and with entirely too much wide-eyed sincerity, as he flipped out the security badge that was charmed to allow him into all of the Brigadoon facilities. Hermione nudged him reprovingly in the side, and lifted her wand to show her St. Mungo's tag.
"Healer Granger… and Harry Potter… Harry…. oh!" The Auror had unfurled a short roll of parchment that most likely held a list of those who were authorized entry. His professionalism almost succeeded in masking the speculative glance he gave the two of them. Judging by that reaction, the parchment also revealed their relationship to the little girl. Fabulous, Hermione thought, as she felt Harry tense up beside her. Still eying them covertly, the Auror opened the door, and stood aside to let them pass.
Hermione knew from experience that most of the rooms on the hall were large, housing multiple beds, generally for those children requiring a greater amount of recuperation time from some sort of magical mishap, or for those needing long-term care for a wizarding disease with little to no hope of a cure. This, however, was a small single room, holding only one bed, a small end table, and a couple of chairs. A baby blue-curtained window allowed a few beams of sunlight through, although Hermione was nearly certain that they were merely magical in origin.
A little girl sat up on the bed, on top of the sheets, legs criss-crossed, in a hospital gown and socks. She had a spiral bound sketching tablet in front of her, and a box of Quilliver's Color-Change Crayons was spilled across the folded coverlet at the foot of the bed. She flicked a glance at them, first at their faces and then at their empty hands, and the mild trepidation left her face. She went back to her drawing.
"Hello there - erm…" Harry verbally stumbled, and sent Hermione a frantic look.
"Eleanor," she hissed.
"Eleanor." He cleared his throat awkwardly, and closed his eyes, appearing to screw up his nerve one last time, before he approached her bedside. "What're you drawing?" The picture was a large and crooked, gray oblong, with some kind of squarish cut-out missing at one end.
"My door."
"Your … door?" Another glance back at Hermione. She stifled a smirk, feeling a pang of sympathy for how out of his depth Harry seemed.
"Yes. It is the door at the place where I was."
"I had a door like that once," Harry volunteered suddenly, in a change from his awkwardness that rather surprised Hermione. His voice was genuine, and Eleanor seemed to recognize that. "Only it had lines crossing it like this." He flipped her paper over and, with her black crayon, sketched out an irregularly-shaped door with wainscoting and a small rectangular grate in the center. Almost immediately after he finished, the picture emitted a puff of smoke and his door turned teal.
Eleanor regarded him with wide, green eyes.
"Did the needle people keep you in there?"
"They didn't have needles, but they were not very nice people."
Eleanor appeared to mull this over, studying him for a moment, before co-opting his door sketch and coloring the slats in the grating with rainbow stripes. She didn't appear fazed by the psychedelic effect of the colors constantly switching back and forth.
"Dudley does not sound like a very nice boy."
Harry fumbled with the purple crayon that he'd been twiddling with, and dropped it on the floor.
"Where did you hear about D-dudley?"
"He is your cousin. And you are my father. That means Rhu is a liar - she said I did not have parents. Will you hand me that purple please?"
Harry did so, taking the time to exchange a flummoxed glance with Hermione, as he knelt to retrieve the wayward crayon. Wordlessly, he handed it to the little girl who continued to touch up his drawing.
"Did your door have a circle handle, or a long, skinny one?" She spoke conversationally, using proper, almost too-precise grammar and syntax. She did not make much eye contact, but seemed fully engrossed with the artwork before her.
"Oh - er - it had a - a round one." She flicked her eyes up to his again, and chose a yellow to draw the door knob.
"Eleanor?" Hermione spoke this time, her voice calm and soothing. Harry could tell that she was speaking as though she were merely a Healer on rounds. "How did you know that Harry is your father?"
"He said so." There was a brief silence, broken only by the sound of crayon strokes on paper. "Only not with his mouth. And I heard him."
"Do you always hear those things? That people say inside their heads?"
"If I can see them, I can hear them. But sometimes I can make them be quiet, if I try really hard." She darted a look of disquiet at them that Hermione had a hard time interpreting.
"Eleanor, you don't have to worry about us," Harry surprised Hermione by interjecting. "Whatever those…needle people told you not to do or not to say, they're gone now. The Aurors rescued you, and you don't have to go back to those people ever again. I promise. You can answer any questions that you want to; you can talk about anything that's bothering you."
"I was not supposed to talk about it - about hearing what people do not say. The doctor said I was never to listen to… to what they were not-saying. Unless we were playing the card game."
"Card game?"
"Yes. They wanted me to see the pictures on the cards, without seeing them. Rhu or Zed would hold up a card, and I could only see the back. Sometimes, I did not know what the pictures were. But if Rhu or Zed saw them, then I could see them too."
"Have you always been able to do this?" Hermione spoke again, a kind of dawning horror welling up in her dark eyes.
"I cannot remember. I think maybe the medicine did it." She shuddered a little, and started to put the crayons back in their shimmering box. She speared Harry with a sharp look, and answered his unvoiced question. "Sometimes I drank it - it was like very nasty juice. And sometimes, it was the… needles… Sometimes the medicine made me sleepy, and sometimes it made me feel hot inside, and sometimes everything turned rainbow colors and I floated away. They liked to play the card game. Or to see if I could make things go up in the air or get smaller or go away." She seemed to curl down into herself, plucking at the blankets, as if she would like to take shelter beneath them or barricade herself behind them. Without comment, Harry moved her up to the head of the bed, and arranged the sheets and blankets to tuck her in. He moved the crayons and paper over to the small table. When he made eye contact with Hermione again, he was startled to see that she was holding back angry tears with difficulty.
Eleanor jerked her gaze up to meet his, as though he'd shouted at her. Her eyes were mournful.
"Do you think I'm bad? Or scary?"
"Eleanor, why on earth would I think you were bad or scary?" Harry propped one hip against the edge of the bed, and leaned forward so she could face him. "If I'm thinking angry things, it's because I'm angry at them, not at you. The needle people were wrong. To do those things to you. To lock you behind that door. To make you feel like you were being bad or scary."
"But they were scared of me. When I did things I should not do, or opened things I should not open. Then they looked at me, and whispered behind their masks, and I heard them not-say that I might hurt them. And they gave me the bracelet so I could not do those things. But Auror Falworth took it off. His wife's name is Regina. He is very nice."
"Aha, so I've caught you talking about me, Eleanor! Saying all good things, I hope!" His jovial voice preceded Stuart Falworth into the room. He was all smiles, but Harry knew he had missed nothing as he entered. He held out a hand for Harry to shake. "Mr. Potter." And gave a nod of recognition, "Healer Granger. Thornton let me know that you had arrived. I hope you don't mind that I've come. There are some things we should go over."
Harry and Hermione exchanged glances, and Harry stood, poised to move away from the bed. Eleanor grabbed at his hand, but jerked back almost as soon as she'd made contact. Harry arrested his own forward motion in surprise, looking at the little girl, who recoiled away from his attention.
"I'm sorry!" she said almost frantically. Harry reached out to take her hand, but she shrank further away from him, coming perilously close to falling off the far side of the hospital bed.
"Eleanor! Eleanor, it's okay." He held his hand out, palm up, and waited.
"I'm not supposed to - "
"I'm not going to hurt you. Ever. And you don't have to worry about hurting me." He actually had no idea if she had any other exceptional magical abilities, but he left his hand there, dangling in space midway between them. "Did you need me for something?"
"I - I wanted you to … stay…" The last word was barely audible, and she wouldn't look at him.
"I'm just going to speak with Auror Falworth for a bit. I'll be right back, I promise."
He moved away from her then, and followed Hermione out of the room, but not without giving Eleanor one more reassuring look before the door closed behind him.
Auror Falworth led them across the hall to what looked like a small meeting room, interrupting a Healer's approach to Eleanor's room, and gesturing for her to join them as well.
"Healer Desai is presiding over Eleanor's case," he informed them.
"Hermione," the petite woman acknowledged, shifting the stack of parchments in her arms.
"Shravana," Hermione murmured in response. Harry offered his obligatory - and unnecessary - introduction, shaking Healer Desai's hand, as she gave him the usual yes, I know look in return.
"I gather Healer Granger's brought you up to speed?" Falworth addressed Harry, who nodded in reply. "I wanted to assure you that we are doing everything to locate the wizards or Muggles who implemented this operation. We have a few people detained, and I expect to receive the authorization to use Veritaserum by this evening." He opened his accordion file, which expanded to cover most of the tabletop, and pulled out a sheaf of parchment. "Healer Granger did seem to indicate that the two of you would consider having the child adopted. The Intercessor gave me the paperwork, and this can be drawn up as soon as you would wish. It can be kept quite confidential. Would you want to have your personal solicitor contacted?" He was withdrawing several quills.
"Healer Granger was misinformed." Harry's voice was cool. Hermione flinched; the use of her surname stung.
"I see." Auror Falworth's eyebrows arched upward in surprise. "So the two of you have decided to … " His gaze encompassed both of them.
"I've decided. I'm her father; how she came to be is irrelevant to me. Is she here for treatment, or can she go? Is there something I need to sign? She doesn't like it here."
"We've done everything in our power to make her comfort -" Healer Desai rushed to the defense of her ward.
"Her childhood and mine share quite a few similarities. I can tell that she doesn't want to be here. It may be a different door, but it's still a door." Everyone but Hermione expressed bafflement at that incomprehensible statement.
"There are several tests that we haven't finished running, but your daughter is uninjured, and I'm sure you could - "
"Tests?" There was an undertone in Harry's voice that Hermione recognized as dangerous. "The first things out of her mouth when we walked in her room are about needle people and potions that make her hallucinate, and you're conducting more tests?"
"She's still considered a ward of the Ministry, and we are only - "
"Where is the paperwork?" Harry thrust his hand out peremptorily for a quill. "I'll sign it right now, and I'll - " Wordlessly, Auror Falworth slid the appropriate piece of parchment toward him, and he signed it, while muttered phrases like "any common human decency" and "treat her like a lab rat" reached their ears.
"Mr. Potter," Healer Desai finally broke through his ire to catch hold of his attention. "I would respectfully ask you to reconsider. These tests are not invasive or painful. And while perhaps, given your daughter's background, the situation might be less than ideal, she is largely a mystery to us. She is showing signs of extraordinarily advanced telepathy - we don't know why. We've never seen anything like it before. It should be impossible at her age, and would be rare at any age. Besides that, we need to determine if anything else was done to her. We need to know if there will be any long-term damage from the signs of chronic potion usage that we've seen. For her well-being and to have her case solved, these tests are necessary."
Auror Falworth backed her up. "The Magical Forensics department is studying the bracelet we found on her. There is some evidence that it worked to repress magic, but she was freely exhibiting her telepathy when we freed her, with the bracelet still on. I've also got people looking for the - what did you call her, Healer Granger? - the gestational carrier - perhaps she had a bond with the child, and she'd be willing to tell us something. I've got people looking at the books on Magical Records down at the Ministry, to see if we can garner any additional clues to her origin. I can only imagine what you're feeling right now, Mr. Potter, but it would be most helpful if you were to continue to work with us."
Harry managed a somewhat curt nod, with the barest hint of conciliation flickering in his eyes.
"I would be a sorry parent if what's best for Eleanor did not immediately become my first concern. If this is to help her, or to find out who did this to her, then you'll have my cooperation. The first hint that it's to … satisfy someone's scientific curiosity…" His expression indicated what he did not say.
"If she'll stay here the night, she can leave with you tomorrow, and anything else we need can be done on an outpatient basis." Healer Desai seemed appreciative to get that much from him.
"And the Aurors will certainly keep you apprised of the investigation's progress. We are certainly treading new ground in this case… as, apparently are you," he added after a beat.
After Falworth had left, and Desai had excused herself to check on Eleanor, Harry made to follow the healer back to his daughter's room, but was blocked by a bone-crushing hug and a mass of curly hair.
"Not that I don't always love your hugs, Hermione, but - "
"I don't know if I've ever felt so proud of you, and so ashamed of myself at one time before," she murmured, her voice muffled into his shoulder.
"Hermione - " he began to demur, always hating to hear someone run her down, even if it was herself.
"You're right. Of course you're right. How can we not take her? How could - I mean, you couldn't very well sit by and - after all she's been through, and - I couldn't believe it, the way she talked about what they did to her… mind-altering, and - and just filling her up with potions and sitting back and watching what they did to her… it - it made me so angry, and - and sad - and then you - you were so good with her, you seemed to know just how to reach out to her, and I realized that was because you'd been there, just where she is, alone… and unwanted. And it all - it's all so - I don't know what we're going to do, Harry. I don't know how we'll arrange it, or what we'll tell people, or - or what to say to the Weasleys, and I - it just - " Hermione finally lost steam, and sniffled noisily into his shoulder.
"Ick. Geroff me, Granger!" He pushed at her playfully, and his grin took any potential sting out of his words. "I don't know how we'll handle all the details either, but I do know that if it's you and me facing just about anything this world could dish out - well, I'd lay money on the two of us just about any day of the week."
"Well," she managed drily, groping for her usual equanimity, "I've always said I didn't think you had much sense."
Harry reflected on the long, obstacle-ridden road they'd been traveling since they became friends so many years ago. His eyes flickered with nostalgia for an instant, and then glinted with amusement, as they walked back to Eleanor's room.
"Yeah…" he mused. "But thank God for that."
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