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Chapter Text

          Holly was dying.  She had always been a quiet, sickly child but lately it had gotten worse, much worse.  And now… Numerous trips to the doctors had brought no relief; they had taken her to every specialist they could find.  Holly would rally some with the visit; but her symptoms would change; the tests were all negative and in the end the doctors and specialists could find nothing wrong with her.  Most finally suggested she wasn’t really sick; it was all psychological—not that the psychologists could find anything wrong either.  But looking at Holly now, all pale—so weak, she could barely lift her hand; Dillon knew it wasn’t psychological.  Holly was dying.  And if something weren’t done fast, it would be too late.
          There was a time, while he watched Holly gradually get sicker and sicker, that Dillon harbored a secret dread, a hope and a dread actually, (not that it mattered now,) that one day a letter might arrive at their house, a letter that would explain away all of Holly’s problems.  That would have been difficult had it happened, but Holly’s eleventh birthday rolled around and no letter arrived.  Instead, Holly got sicker and sicker.  Doctors now ignored their frantic pleas for help—
          “There was nothing wrong with Holly,” they said.  If only they would make house calls.  Then they could see her now.  Holly was so frail and thin; she didn’t eat, didn’t speak; she just lay there listlessly.  She was so pale her long blond hair was her brightest color.  And her eyes, her beautiful green eyes; they could add lots of color—but they were closed now.  Dillon doubted they would ever open again.
          In the back of Dillon’s mind lurked the thought of a hospital.  A special hospital he knew had to exist where they took strange cases…  Holly’s case was strange; it had stumped every doctor and specialist they had seen.  Maybe, just maybe, the people at that hospital could help…  It was a long shot, true, more so since Holly hadn’t gotten that letter, but Dillon had run out of conventional ideas and was desperate.  Unfortunately, his link to that hospital was old.  So old it may not even exist any more.  Dillon sat in the dark next to Holly, listening to her shallow breathing, pondering the situation.  Finally, he rose from his seat and left Holly’s room. 
          “I am going out for a while,” he announced briefly to his wife Laurel.  Laurel nodded.  Dillon had sat with Holly nearly all evening.  It was her turn now.  Sometimes, with Holly as sick as she was, you just had to get away from it all.

 ********************

          “Daddy?” asked Lily as they were leaving the station.  “What’s your name doing on the walls?”
          “My name?” questioned Harry.  He turned to look at where Lily pointed and sure enough, there were signs with his name on them posted on columns all over the Muggle side of the station.  They were hard to miss, actually.  Bright fluorescent green paper: 

          “Who’s Dudley?” asked Ginny as she studied the signs.
          “Maybe someone I know,” answered Harry quietly.  He walked up, carefully removed the sign, folded and tucked it away in his pocket.  Then he began to remove the rest of the signs posted all over Kings Cross station.  Ginny and Lily helped out.  Without another word between them they pulled off the rest of the signs and left the station.  Ginny had lots of questions but was silent.  She knew Harry would explain more when he was ready.

********************

          Dillon sat alone in his office waiting.  The office had long since closed and the sun was setting but still he waited.  He had been reluctant to give out his home telephone number—not for something like this.  He didn’t want to have to explain his crazy idea to Laurel or have her accidentally answer the phone should someone call, if someone called.  And there had been calls the first few days.  Pranks though: curious about Harry and why Dudley wanted to talk to him. But they didn’t seem to know Harry; they weren’t the kind of people Dillon wanted to talk to; he could tell.  The calls had stopped ages ago.  But still Dillon waited; still Dillon hoped that maybe…  Anyway, sitting here was better than sitting with Holly, watching her waste away into nothingness.

          The phone rang.

          “Dudley?  It’s Harry.” 

          Dillon froze in his seat.  That voice—it could be right.  But he had to be sure.  “Lots of people have called claiming to be Harry,” Dillon responded carefully.  Waiting.  Hopeful.  There was silence on the other end of the receiver. 
          Then that familiar voice spoke again.  “There was this night with some Dementors…”
          Dillon thought.  Even the name gave him chills.  But it wasn’t enough.  Anyone from Harry’s world could have known about that.  It caused such a ruckus Harry using magic that time.  “Anyone over there could know that,” spoke Dillon.  “What else?” 
          The receiver was silent so long that Dillon feared the voice on the other end had hung up.  And then—  “There was a teacup with some tea on the floor outside my bedroom door that last day…”
          Harry!  It was definitely Harry!  Dillon sagged with relief.  “We’ve got to meet!” he spoke urgently.
          “When?” 
          “Tonight!”
          “Where?” 
           Where? Dillon hadn’t thought that far ahead.  Where could they meet?  Someplace neutral but not too far from home.  The park!  “There is a park,” he began, and proceeded to give Harry the directions.  “Can you be there?”  Dillon asked when he finished.  
          “I can be there,” the quiet voice on the other end assured him.  “How soon?” 
          Dillon thought quickly.  It would take him a while to get there from here.  But who knew where Harry was.  “Uh, 20-30 minutes?  Is that O.K?”
          “That would be fine.  I’ll be there.”  And the voice on the other end rang off. 
          Dillon hung up his own phone, quickly grabbed his coat and left the office.  Maybe, just maybe, he had found one last chance for Holly.

********************

          The park was empty; it was late and dark now.  Dillon could see the playground swings move gently in the breeze when he got out of his car.  He could hear them creak lightly as he drew closer.  But he didn’t see anyone, anyone at all. 
          Then, suddenly, there was a movement and Harry was there.  He had been standing quietly in the shadows, camouflaged by their darkness.  Harry stepped into the light.  “Dudley?” he asked.
        “Yeah,” confirmed Dillon.  He hurried forward, hand extended and then stopped.  They hadn’t ever been the best of friends even on a good day; how do you greet someone like that after nearly 20 years?  Dillon withdrew his hand.  “You, ah, look good,” he said instead.  “You haven’t changed a bit.”  And it was true.  Long and thin, hair slightly untidy, the same style glasses.  Harry still had that scar on his forehead.  He was a little older, sure, but definitely Harry.  Dillon had been relieved that Harry wasn’t wearing something, well, weird, like his friends had been wearing when they last saw each other. Harry looked actually normal in that coat and tie but his hands were in his pockets—one of those pockets no doubt hiding what Dillon knew must be there.
          “You’ve changed,” said Harry bluntly. 
          “I, uh—” Dillon scrambled to remember what he must have looked like back then.  It was so long ago.  “You see, after we moved, I met this girl, and, uh, I lost 40 pounds!  And I got married and I have a family—two kids.  Little Vernon looks just like his granddad when he was young.  And Holly—well, when she smiles, it’s like the sun come out from behind the clouds.”  Dillon smiled at the memory.
          “I am glad to hear that,” replied Harry.  “But you didn’t ask me to call just to catch up on old times…”
          “Uh, no.”  Dillon struggled to find the right words.  Harry wasn’t making it any easier.  He just stood there calmly, waiting.  “It’s Holly!”  Dillon finally blurted.  “She’s dying!”  The words came out in a rush now.  “We’ve been to doctors and specialists everywhere!  But it doesn’t help.  They can’t find anything wrong with her; they think we’re crazy.  But she keeps on getting worse and worse.  She’s gonna DIE!” 
          “I’m sorry to hear that,” replied Harry quietly.  “But Holly is a Muggle.  We don’t deal with the problems of the Muggle world.  You know that.”
          “Yes, I know,” responded Dillon.  “But Holly’s case is different.  Nobody knows what’s wrong with her.  You must have a hospital, one that takes, uh, strange cases.  I thought maybe they might know, maybe they could figure out…”  Dillon’s voice trailed off.
          “How old is Holly?” asked Harry abruptly. 
          “She’s eleven,” answered Dillon. “Just turned eleven in July.”
          “And she didn’t get a letter?” asked Harry.  Dillon shook his head.  “Then Holly is a Muggle.  I’m sorry, Dudley, but she’s a Muggle and we don’t deal with Muggle problems.”
          “Look-it Harry,” said Dillon desperately.  “She’s dying.  DYING!  What if it were your little girl dying and you were watching helplessly and you knew there was some hospital or doctors out there that maybe could help.  Wouldn’t you do whatever you could to get her there?”
          Harry studied Dudley.  He was still big, portly, but more muscle than fat with thinning blond hair.  There were circles under his eyes betraying long days of little sleep.  It was a testament to Dudley’s determination and/or desperation to seek out Harry especially given how Dudley’s parents felt about Harry.  Holly must be really sick.  Harry thought of his own sweet Lily.  If their situations were reversed, and it was his Lily who lay dying, and he knew there was a hospital somewhere… he would indeed be trying everything possible to get her there. 
          Harry sighed.  “All right,” he said.  “I’ll take her to the hospital.  I can’t make any promises, though.  If they say it’s a Muggle thing and won’t take her, that’s it.”
          Dudley’s tense body almost collapsed with relief as he mumbled a grateful “Thank you.  Come with me,” he said as he practically ran to his car.  “We don’t live far from here,” he continued.  “I’ll take you there.”  Harry followed Dudley to the car and got in beside him.  It had been so long, Harry reflected, since he last rode in a car…
          The silence in the car bothered Dillon.  “So,” he began, grasping for a topic of conversation.  “That Volde- Volde-something-er-other—is he gone now?” 
          “Yeah,” answered Harry briefly.  “He’s gone now.”  Even now, the memories were too much and it was not a topic about which he liked to talk.
          “Oh,” said Dillon.  “I wondered, but nobody ever said.”
          “When it was all over,” Harry began, choosing his words carefully.  “I knew you were safe.  I also knew how your parents felt about me…  I didn’t look you up because I didn’t want to, to intrude on your privacy.  Didn’t want to impose on your hospitality again…”
          Dillon nodded.  He remembered that scary night when they had been pushed into a car and hustled to a new location, a new life.  They had been given new identities.  Though they remembered who they had been, to the rest of the world, Petunia had become Violet, Vernon had become Vincent and he, Dudley, was now Dillon.  Vernon and Petunia had worried for years that Harry, or someone of his kind, would walk in on them and their new lives.  It was only much later that they had begun to relax daring to believe they would never be bothered again. 
          “You probably did the right thing,” he reflected.  “Look.  There’s my house now.”  Dudley pulled the car into a driveway and came to a stop.
          The lights in the house were warm and inviting after the somber gray colors of night.  A stocky young boy, about 13 or 14, sat in the corner playing a computer game.  He had blond hair and green eyes.  He looked up at Dudley when he walked in.  “Hi dad.  You’re late,” he announced.  “What kept you so—” he broke off when he saw Harry standing behind him.  “Who’s that?” he asked.
          A tired looking woman with limp brown medium length hair tied back with a faded blue kerchief and worn clothes came out of a back room.  She kissed Dudley lightly on the cheek by way of greeting and glanced curiously at Harry.  “I saved some dinner for you on the stove,” she began.  “If I had known you were bringing company…”  She trailed off, again looking at Harry. 
          Dudley ignored her implied question and instead asked, “How is she?”  The woman shook her head sadly.  There were dark circles under her green eyes, and a lot of despair in her face.  Dudley cleared his throat.  “Everyone, I’d like you to meet my,” even now he had problems saying the words, “my cousin—Harry, Harry Potter.” 
          “Cousin!” exclaimed the boy.  “I didn’t know you had a cousin.”
          “Nor did I.” stated the woman looking at Harry with new interest.
          “Well, I do!” said Dudley defiantly glaring at his family, daring anyone to question his word further.  “Harry, this is my son Vernon…”
          “How do you do,” replied Harry, bowing slightly acknowledging the introduction.  Vernon stared curiously back.
          “And this is my wife, Laurel,” continued Dudley introducing his wife. 
          “Pleased to meet you,“ said Harry taking her hand in his and touching his lips briefly to her fingertips.  It never hurt to go formal in awkward situations.  Laurel removed her hand from his and stared at Harry.
          “Harry’s come here to help with Holly,” continued Dudley.
          “Oh?” said Laurel.  Was there just a hint of hope in her green eyes?  “Are you a Doctor?” she inquired.
          “No, ma’am,” replied Harry quietly.  He did not volunteer any further information.  It was plain that Dudley had not told his family of his crazy idea for help.  They knew nothing about Harry or his wizarding world.  Harry did not know what he could, should or should not say in front of these people.  He left all the explanations to Dudley. 
          When it became apparent that Harry would say nothing further, Laurel turned to Dudley for additional explanations.  “Harry knows of this hospital where the uh, doctors are really good.  They specialize in unusual cases and maybe they can help Holly,” explained Dudley.
          “Hospital?  What hospital?  Where is it?”  Laurel asked.
          “In London,” replied Harry.
          “What’s its name?”
          “St. Mungo’s Hospital,” replied Harry.  The full name was St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.  But Harry didn’t think giving out the full name would be such a good idea right now.
          “Never heard of it.”
          “Of course not,” explained Harry smoothly.  “It is very private; most of its business comes through word of mouth and references.”  "That was true enough," thought Harry.  Everyone in the wizarding world knew about St. Mungo’s so why bother to advertise. 
          Laurel fixed her green eyes on Harry’s.  “So you propose to take my Holly to this unknown, obscure hospital where the doctors are going to make her all better.  Right?”
          “Not exactly, ma’am,” replied Harry, his voice still quiet and carefully neutral.
          “What, exactly,” she demanded. 
          “I will be taking Holly to St. Mungo’s where the doctors there can examine her.”
          “And they will make her better, right?”
          “I don’t know that,” replied Harry.  “As I said before, I am not a doctor.  I cannot make promises for the doctors at St. Mungo’s when they have not yet had a chance to examine her.”
          Laurel turned towards Dudley.  There was fire in her green eyes.  She may be tired but there was still a lot of energy left.  There was a fight brewing between them and Harry wanted no part of it.
          “Excuse me,” he said to Dudley.  “Where is Miss Holly’s room?”
          “What?  Oh, that way,” indicated Dudley with a turn of his head.  Harry left quickly and went into Holly’s room.  Behind him he could hear Laurel’s voice…
          “Are you out of your mind?” she said to Dudley.  “Do you have any idea how fragile, how frail Holly is?  A move like that, all the way to London, could kill her!!!  And for what??? Another empty promise to help MAYBE???”  
          Harry shut out Dudley’s response and focused on the figure in the room.  The room was dim but he could see a shape lying on the bed.  She was so thin she was almost skeletal.  For a moment, Harry thought she was already dead.  But then he saw a faint hint of movement in her bony chest that indicated a breath.  Privately, now that he saw her, Harry agreed with Laurel; it could be dangerous, even deadly to move Holly.  But Harry had promised to take her to St. Mungo’s.  If he moved quickly, he might even be able to get her there before she died…  Harry looked around the room.  He saw a quilt folded neatly on a nearby chair. 
          The voices continued in the background.  Laurel’s voice was rising ever louder.  “You want to entrust our Holly to a distant cousin I’ve never heard of, you’ve never even talked to for over 15 years?!!!”
          “More like 20,” corrected Harry privately as he grabbed the quilt and gently wrapped it around Holly.  Then he lifted her up.  She was so light!  “Oh, Holly,” he thought desperately while brushing a strand of long blond hair away from her pale face, “I hope I am doing the right thing.”  Harry carried Holly into the other room. 
          The fighting stopped the moment the two saw her.  “What are you doing?” asked Laurel. 
          “I am taking her to St. Mungo’s,” said Harry.
          “She’ll die!” 
          “She’s already dying,” agreed Harry.  “Visiting St. Mungo’s can’t make her any worse.”
          “Do you think it’ll help?”
          “I don’t know.  Probably not.  No,” said Harry dully.
          “So why are you doing it?”
          “Because I said I’d try,” said Harry resolutely.  “And,” he continued thoughtfully looking down at her tiny form, “because she’s family.”
          “Then let me get my coat,” said Laurel.  “I’m going with you.”
          “NO!” both Harry and Dudley practically shouted together.
          “I mean,” explained Harry more calmly, “I don’t think that would be a good idea.  I can travel much faster alone.  And I think we’re agreed that speed is of the essence.”
          “That’s right,” confirmed Dudley desperately.  “Harry can get there much faster on his own,” What would Laurel think if she actually saw the hospital in question.   Then he remembered that Harry’s transportation, what ever it was, was probably still at the park…  Laurel hesitated. 
          Harry used that moment to his advantage.  “I’ll call as soon as I learn something, Dudley,” he said.  “Could you get the door, please?”
          “Dudley???  Who’s Dudley?!!!”  Laurel shrieked.  Dudley ran to get the door.  Harry quickly walked out of the house with Holly leaving Dudley behind to answer more questions.

********************

          Laurel’s last words echoed through Harry Potter’s head as he walked down the driveway.
          “Fool!” he berated himself.  “Of course they would have changed his name when they gave him a new identity.”  He should have thought to find out his current name before addressing Dudley in public like that.  He must be more careful to not make such mistakes on their next meeting.  It would be, Harry suspected, looking down at Holly’s still form, a most difficult meeting indeed without adding other social blunders to the occasion. 
          Harry looked around.  It was late out and no one else was on the street.  “Holly,” he whispered softly, “I hope you survive this.”  And Harry Apparated them to the streets outside St. Mungo’s.

********************

          Holly gave a brief shudder and a gasp upon arrival outside the Purge and Dowse Ltd. Building.  Harry looked down anxiously.  Had she just died?  But no, she was still alive.  Harry gave a sigh of relief.  It was probably only his imagination but she did seem to be breathing a bit easier.  The street was empty.  He walked up to the window display to face a female dummy on the other side. 
          A cough broke the silence.  Harry looked around.  Had they been seen?  Were they being watched?  He saw a dark figure, the source of the cough, just turning the corner.  The person ignored Harry and walked purposefully down the street coughing.  Holly stirred and coughed.  It was a small, wispy cough.  Harry looked down in amazement.  A moment ago, he hadn’t been sure she had enough strength to breathe let alone cough.  This was encouraging.  The coughing man turned the next corner and vanished from sight. 
          Harry looked up at the female dummy and spoke.  “I’ve a patient…”   The dummy face nodded and beckoned with her jointed finger.  Harry, still carrying Holly, stepped through the glass and vanished.
          They arrived in a quiet reception room.  Only one person stood before the receptionist, talking.  He was covered with a purple rash all over his body.  He kept on scratching himself.  “…I was just trying to take a bath before bed,” he was saying,  “I didn’t know my son had put some Weasley Itching Powder all over my soap!  Now I can’t get this dang rash off!”  He scratched himself some more.  
          “For the fastest results, you need to visit George Weasley,” the bored brunette witch receptionist answered.  “He has remedies for all the products he sells.” 
          “I know that!” wailed the man while continuing to scratch.  “But he’s out of town on vacation and can’t be reached until Monday.!!!   Can’t you do anything about this itch TODAY?!!!”
          “Third floor,” directed the receptionist.  “Good luck.”  The man walked off scratching continuously.
          Holly stirred.  Harry looked down at her.  She was scratching herself!  Not much, but she was definitely making scratching motions.  “How strange,” he thought.  Maybe Dudley’s crazy idea wasn’t so crazy after all.
          “Next!” 
          Harry stepped forward.  He looked down at Holly.  “I, uh don’t know exactly what is wrong with her…” he began. 
          The witch receptionist looked up at him.  She surveyed Holly briefly.  “You need Diagnostics.  Down the hall and the first door to the right,” she directed.  “A Healer will be with you shortly.” 
          Harry obediently walked down the hall and into the room on the right.  There was a chair and a small pallet.  He sat on the chair but continued to hold Holly.  Harry was almost afraid that to set her down would break whatever slender hold she held onto life.  Shelves full of colorful odd shaped bottles and flasks lined the room. 
          A portrait of a matronly lady with dark brown hair all braided and twisted into a bun on top of her head, dressed in Middle Ages style clothing standing amidst a room with a table full of vials and potion bottles hung on the back wall.  She looked down curiously at them.  “What’s wrong with her?” the lady in the portrait asked.
          “I don’t know,” replied Harry. 
          “Well, don’t you worry,” the lady reassured him, “Healer Winonan is the best there is.”
          “Thanks.”   Harry waited some more. 
          A few minutes later a short dark skinned man with short white curly hair, bushy white eyebrows and a white beard entered the room.  He wore a lime green robe with an embroidered emblem of a crossed wand and bone.  Underneath was a yellow polka dot shirt, pink pants and blue flowered suspenders.  He looked comical but was definitely all business.  “I am Healer Winonan,” he announced.  “Now what is the problem?”
          “He says he doesn’t know,” blurted the lady in the portrait before Harry could answer, “but I think she’s starving.”
          “Yes, yes, you are probably right,” agreed the Healer.  “But lets have a look see for sure.”  He motioned Harry to put Holly on the pallet. 
          Harry laid Holly gently on the pallet.  “I don’t know—” Harry began… 
          “Hush!” interrupted the Healer.  “I’m busy.”  So Harry fell silent.  Winonan proceeded to examine Holly.  He listened to her breathe.  He lifted her arm and watched it fall limply down to her side.  He pulled out a small round clear glass ball.  He twisted it open and held it over Holly’s nose.  It appeared to catch some of Holly’s breath.  The physician closed the ball over her breath and studied it.  The breath turned immediately pink and yellow and swirled around in the ball. 
          Then Healer Winonan straightened up having made his decision.  “You’re absolutely right, Fiona, as usual,” he announced, talking to the portrait.  “This child is absolutely starving!  She needs lots of food and some fresh air at a nice quiet secluded beach.” 
          Fiona sat back with a smug look on her face.  “Told you,” she said to Harry. 
          Harry stared at the Healer in shock.  “But, look at her!” he sputtered.
          “I am!” the Healer replied.  “Have you?  The poor thing is nothing but skin and bones!”  He fixed his eyes on Harry accusingly.  “Are you the father?”
          “Uh, no,” Harry muttered.  “Her cousin.”
          “Well where are her parents?!”  Winonan demanded. 
          “They’re Muggles.”
          “Oh,” the Healer softened his tone.  “I guess that explains it.”
          “No it doesn’t,” stated Fiona righteously.  “I think it’s criminal, even for Muggles, to starve their children.  Don’t you?”
          “But they weren’t starving her,” said Harry desperately.  Of that he was sure.  “She wasn’t eating!”
          “You sure?” 
          “Yes.”
          “Hmmm.  So who was dying?”
          Harry looked at the Healer in disbelief.  “What do you mean?  Look at her!”
          “Not her, silly, the other person!!!”  That came from Fiona leaning forward again; she had definitely taken an active interest in the case. 
          Harry looked at her blankly.  “What other person?  There was no other person!” 
          Fiona sat back.  “Really?” she sounded impressed.  “And she is so young.  What about the neighborhood?  Was there somebody dying in the neighborhood?” 
          Harry stared at the portrait. “Well, I don’t know!” he answered. 
          “You should,” she announced.  “You should always keep tabs on such things with someone like her especially if she’s got Muggles for parents!”  She looked at Harry accusingly as if Holly’s condition was all his fault! 
          Harry could feel his blood beginning to boil.  This was not his fault.  He took a deep breath and lowered his voice.  “I don’t understand.  What is wrong with Holly?”
          “Oh, is Holly her name?” interjected Fiona.  “What a pretty name.” 
          Harry ignored the portrait and stared directly at the Healer waiting for an answer.
          “I told you,” replied Winonan.  “Nothing is wrong with Holly.”
          “So why is she like,” Harry gestured at Holly’s still body, “like this?” 
          Rather than replying, Healer Winonan drew out his wand.  He pointed it at Harry and muttered some words.  Before Harry had time to respond, he felt a sharp zapping sting in his left arm.
          “OW!”  Harry exclaimed rubbing his now very painful arm.  “What did you do that for?” 
          Winonan did not answer.  Instead, he nodded at Holly.  Harry, now more interested in his hurting arm, glanced at her briefly turning as he rubbed his arm.  Then he stared again—the pain in his arm forgotten.  Holly was rubbing her arm—the left arm at the exact same place!  He looked at the physician with wonderment.  “Did she just feel that?”
          Healer Winonan nodded. 
          “She’s an Empath!” announced Fiona smugly!
          “A what?” 
          “An Empath,” explained Winonan.  “She feels what other people are feeling.  When they hurt, she hurts.  When someone is sick, she’s sick.  And when someone feels so bad that he or she doesn’t feel like eating…”
          “Neither does Holly,” finished Harry in a whisper.  His face paled realizing how near death Holly had been, literally.  That nearness had been killing her.  Taking her away from the house had, unknowingly, been the best thing he could have done for her.
          Healer Winonan pulled a bright green bottle labeled FAST FOOD off the shelf.  He uncorked the bottle and poured some muddy dark brown goo into a large spoon. Gently lifting Holly’s head and shoulders he held the potion to her lips. “Drink this, my dear,” he coaxed softly.  “It’ll help make you better.”  Holly obediently swallowed.  She immediately started gagging and coughing. 
          “Nasty stuff,” commented Winonan sympathetically while watching Holly’s face contort, “but it’ll tide you over until we can get some proper food into you.  Would you get that bottle on the end?” he asked Harry while still holding Holly up.  Winonan indicated with his head a dark purple bottle on a different shelf.  Harry nodded; he removed a bottle labeled PAINLESS and held it out to Healer Winonan.  “Uncork it if you would, please,” he asked. Harry obliged uncorking the bottle.  Healer Winonan held out the spoon he had just used with the previous potion, the spoon looked sparkling clean.  Harry poured the liquid from the bottle into the spoon.  It was milky lavender in color.  The potion sparkled and fizzed in the light. “Come along, dear,” he encouraged soothingly holding the spoon to Holly’s lips, “this one won’t taste nearly as bad.” Holly again swallowed but this time without any of the coughing or gagging. The healer laid Holly down.  “Now rest,” he ordered gently.  “When you wake we’ll have a fine dinner waiting for you to eat.”
          “What’s that do?” inquired Harry studying the bottle still in his hands. 
          “It numbs her so she won’t feel the pain or emotions of other people,” explained Winonan straightening.  “Mind you, this is only a temporary solution,” he added taking the bottle from Harry.  He re-corked it and placed the bottle back on the shelf.  “If she keeps using it she’ll build a resistance to the potion and it won’t work at all.  She needs to learn how to block outside emotions and pain.  Then she won’t need the potion.”  Winonan examined her critically.  “She looks school age.  How old is she?”
          “Uh," thought Harry.  “She just turned eleven.” 
          “Eleven!”  Winonan raised his bushy eyebrows.  “Well, then, how come she isn’t at Hogwarts?”  He stared accusingly at Harry.
          “She never got a letter.”  Harry replied defensively.  “I thought she was a Muggle,” he added faintly.
          “She should definitely be at Hogwarts,” asserted Winonan.  “Why didn’t she get a letter?  There is going to be an investigation into this for sure!!!  Muggles can’t be expected to teach Empaths how to block emotions.”
          “I’ll be looking into it immediately,” Harry replied looking at the sleeping Holly.  Why hadn’t she gotten a letter?  It could have cost Holly her life.  He needed to find the answers quickly so he could explain it to Holly’s parents. 

********************

          Dillon sat alone in his office, waiting.  Laurel hadn’t exactly thrown him out of the house after Harry’s visit, but when she learned the only number Harry had to contact them was at the office, Laurel had insisted Dillon remain at the office until he heard from Harry.  And so he waited for the phone call he dreaded to receive.
          At 3 a.m. the telephone rang.  Dillon looked at the phone fearfully.  It was too soon—it could only be bad news.  He managed to pick it up after the third ring.
          “Hello?” said Dillon fearfully.
          “Dudley?  It’s me, Harry.  Call Laurel,” the voice commanded.  (Oh God!  This was it!!!)  “Holly is going to be fine!  The doctors want to keep her here a day for observation.  I’ll bring her back the next day and explain everything.”  The phone disconnected before Dillon could say another word.
          Dillon dropped the phone on the desk and cradled his head in his arms.  Tears streamed down his face.  He felt as if an enormous weight had lifted from his shoulders.  After a while, Dillon wiped off the tears, got up, grabbed his coat and left the office to go home.