Oblivion & Other Temporary Fixes

* * * * * *



"What's your name?"



"Brian. Brian Evans."



"You're cute, Brian Evans."



He ignored this. "Nice normal sounding name, innit?"



The young woman frowned. Just how pissed was this man she was chatting up?



She chose to ignore his comment.



"So what brings you to The Comet?"



"Looked like a nice normal place. I like normal."



She suppressed the urge to make a face and waved as if at someone on the dance floor behind the clearly inebriated Brian Evans.



"My friend is here. I'd best go."



"No wait!" He grabbed her arm and held her in place. "We were just getting to know each other."



She fought alarm and tried to pull her arm free.



"Yes, well, I think I've learned enough. Let me go."



He did not, although his grip did not tighten.



"I just wanted to talk. You're very pretty."



"Let me go!" She pulled on her arm, but despite his not tightening his grip, it was like pulling on a concrete piling; Brian Evans was far stronger than he looked.



"What's your name?"



"LET ME GO!"



"Here, mate. Let the lady go."



Brian turned tired green eyes to the heavyset bouncer who stood by his elbow.



"We were just talking."



"Well, it looks like the lady don't want to talk, mate. Let her go."



Brian looked unhappy. A spark like a static charge flashed from his hand around the lady's arm and she shrieked. The bouncer's mouth firmed and he reached for Brian only to be jolted back by what felt like a huge static charge. It sent him reeling onto a table of drinking men who did not take kindly to having their beer spilt and began to yell. Very soon a melee was taking place, but Brian Evans did not move, nor did he let go of the woman's arm.



"Shite."



"Please let me go!"



"This always happens."



"Let me bloody go!"



"I just want normal, you know?"



* * * * * *



Susan Bones was finishing up a Reversal report when her left arm itched and she pulled down her sleeve to see her otherwise innocuous tattoo rapidly reform itself into a communique.



SURREY. SECTOR 12. PROBABLE TCO SIT.



She grit her teeth and scowled. Bloody Harry Potter.



Standing and taking her wand in hand, she Apparated directly to the given coordinates.



* * * * * *



"Susan! Over here!"



She ran lightly to Justin Finch-Fletchley, one of her junior squad members and quickly noted his findings. A young red-haired Muggle lay amidst the wreckage of the bar, clutching her badly burnt arm. Every other Muggle in the place was Stupefied. Harry Potter was held at wand point by two very nervous trainee Reversers, clearly drunk and dazed.



"What's your name, honey?"



The young Muggle looked up at Susan's friendly voice and frowned at her robes, but answered anyway.



"Phoebe. Are you a sister?"



Susan was well-versed in Muggle terminology and nodded reassuringly. "Yes. Hold still, Phoebe, whilst I look at that arm."



Phoebe turned to look, as well, and Susan rapidly Stupefied her, then healed her arm and stood, leaving the unconscious girl. She waved away the trainees and moved up to Harry bloody Potter, highly recognizable despite his close-cropped haircut and lack of spectacles.



"Still looking for trouble to get into, Harry?"



His face, once a source of pride and admiration to Susan, curled into a too-familiar expression. "It finds me whether I'm looking or not."



"Spare me. I can smell that Muggle crap in your breath. What is it this time? Vodka? Cannabis? What else? I know you're on something Harry. You lost control of your magic."



"Leave me alone. You don't know anything."



"I know I'm sick of coming out here to these Muggle places and cleaning up after you, Harry. I don't care anymore that you're the bloody Chosen One or a bum on the street or if you killed a dozen dark lords. Just do everyone a favour and clean yourself up and do something useful with your life."



"Like what? Being a bloody Auror like you? Or maybe play Quidditch?"



"I don't give a ruddy shite if you become a bus conductor, Harry! You had the world offered to you - take one of the offers up and make something of yourself more than some drunken arsehole!" She turned from him, angry at the tears in her eyes and upset that he'd made her lose her temper in front of her junior squad members. She whirled back to the startled Harry and waved her wand under his nose, red sparks flying from the tip in her anger.



"And I'm not a bloody Auror, you drunk fool! I'm a Senior Field Reverser for the Ministry. I studied hard to get to the NEWT's to join the Magical Reversal Department. I worked bloody hard for the last seven years to climb through the ranks to get this position. I wasn't offered it on a silver salver. What can you say you've done these last seven years?"



With this salvo, she turned and stalked off, leaving Justin to finish the Reversal work which consisted of clearing all traces of the Wizarding world, if any, and obliviating the Stupefied Muggles around the bar. She trusted Justin, and in a line of work that involved being licensed to use dodgy charms, spells, potions and mind-altering magic, that was saying a lot.




* * * * * *



Susan sighed and sank into her long, narrow, claw foot tub. Her grandmother's estate had passed to her upon her majority, the sole heir, since her parents had their own manor house and no desire to move.



She had not looked a gift horse in the mouth. The place was huge, dusty, chilly, and the rooms were full of antiques she had yet to fully categorize and place into storage, but it was hers. There were two ancient house elves, Bimmy and Chives, who cooked for her, made the bed, did the laundry and kept the lawns tidy. They'd had one small daughter, Maffy, who was myopic and prone to fits and who mostly slept in the cupboard below the stairs. She was otherwise healthy, but a subdued creature who enjoyed knitting and produced prodigious amounts of socks, jumpers and shawls if given the yarn. Susan sometimes wondered if Maffy knew her knitting needles were actually wands, belonging to her Great Grandfather Bones and Great Uncle Smythe, respectively.



The events of the day began to play back in her mind as she soaked now and she found herself fighting tears of frustration. Bloody Harry Potter! The man had everything - money, fame, looks - and he treated it all like dirt.



She was mightily sick of watching his spiral into oblivion. It had started not long after the Victory over Voldemort. Harry had saved Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger from a trap set for them by the Death Eaters... only to lose Ron and Ginny Weasley who had been captured. He'd had to make a choice and no one blamed him, but he blamed himself.



It was seven years, though, and that was quite long enough to mourn and move on. Harry apparently thought that this maxim did not apply to him. He mourned and mourned and mourned some more. When the Wizarding world refused his need for dueling, he turned to the Muggle world and had lost some of the good looks Susan remembered him for in fist fights.



To be fair, he never pulled his wand. The Aurors had never had to be called. The media had never found out, thanks partly to the fact that a few members of Dumbledore's Army were working for the Magical Reversal Department, Susan included, and true to their oath of secrecy, they kept mum about Harry's problems.



Since she had earned her promotion two years ago, though, Harry had become Susan's problem. Thanks to being in the DA and having been elevated to Senior Field Reverser, she had been assigned TCO or The Chosen One on a full time basis. Any calls related to TCO came to her. She also dealt with larger scale Reversal situations, but Harry kept her busy on at least a weekly basis.
She had learnt far more than she wanted to about Harry's personal demons and desires.



The situation today was a case in point. Before she even got there, Susan had known a woman would be involved, always a red-head and always petite and pretty. That Harry would be inebriated became a given five years ago, and other Muggle drugs came into use three years ago. It was as if when alcohol had not numbed him, he turned to other devices.



His occasional loss of control over his magic was only a very recent addition, which meant, per her private consultation with Hermione, now a Healer and also a Longbottom and ex-member of the DA, not to mention once one of Harry's closest friends and hence a safe choice to discuss the situation, that Harry was using some form of Wizarding sedative. What it might be, Hermione could only guess, she was sadly informed. Poor Hermione and Neville had never quite been forgiven by Harry for not only surviving, but finding solace in each other. Harry had barely spoken to them by the end of the war and did not attend their marriage, a situation that had hurt them both, although they professed to understand his feelings.



Well, Susan did not. The war had hurt everyone, but everyone moved on, except bloody Harry Potter. He apparently felt the entire world should stop and rearrange itself for him. Well, it was past time he learnt that he was just a man, no, not even that, a boy trapped in a man's body, and that he was just as helpless as everyone else to change fate.



Harry Potter, in Susan's opinion, needed to bloody well grow up and get over himself!



* * * * * *



Severus Snape opened the envelope and lifted a brow at the Gringott's cheque made out to him for 150 galleons in exchange for an expedited bottle of NoNostroMore.



The end of Voldemort not only meant the end of the war, but also Snape's near slavery to the Dark Lord. Dumbledore's directives to the order, and the surprising appearance of Fawkes amidst the battlefield had spoken more eloquently of Snape's true allegiance than anything.



Snape had thrown himself in front of Harry as the Killing Curse was hurled at him by Voldemort. Fawkes had shrieked, startling all the combatants on the field, and intercepted the curse, immolating himself. Severus had plucked up the infant phoenix from the ashes before him and shouted to Harry to "Bloody well finish it, Boy!"



The rest was history. Years had passed. Life went on. Snape endured. People forgave or forgot or chose to ignore his background when they found they needed a difficult potion only a Potions Master could brew.



Like NoNostroMore. Highly monitored by the Ministry, NoNostroMore kept the user from suffering nightmares. Generally safe unless overused, NoNostroMore was designed for Aurors and the like, to take after particularly horrific cases, if nightmares became a problem. Like Dreamless Sleep, it was addictive and meant to only be used for two or three nights in a row. Also like Dreamless Sleep, it was prescribed only by a qualified medical professional.



Some, however, found ways around this proscription by finding places to purchase it, or brewers they knew needed money and would ask no questions.



Which led to Snape. Who scraped by with the more difficult potions orders he received each month and the pittance the Ministry paid him to make Wolfsbane that barely covered the cost of his ingredients. So a private and mysterious order like this, from one Brian Evans, could scarcely be turned down. 150 galleons would just about pay for the plumbing repairs on his house and leave enough to allow him to purchase a new pair of boots, even if they were only Muggle ones from the Oxfam down the road from his house.



* * * * * *



Harry removed the contact lens and studied his reflection. He didn't look bad, he thought. Older, an experienced man. That was a good look, wasn't it? Didn't women like older men?



He ignored the scars on his face and focused on the one that, in his mind, had caused all his trouble. It was rather more noticeable now since he had tried to remove it a few years back. He had peeled the skin away and the next morning had awoken with a large oval shaped area of dark pink shiny skin on his forehead... with his old scar a stark silvery white in the middle. He had decided that he liked it at the time. Made it look deliberate, rather than an accidental mark, and for awhile he had admired it each time he saw it, but now he was sick of it.



The other scars, the results of the many fights and Muggle medical care that the Magical Reversal Department did not know about, were, in his opinion, badges of honour. He wore them more proudly than his scars earned during the war. Those he tried to ignore, although the occasional Muggle woman he picked up would ask and he always said he'd been in an accident.



They never asked anything else and he did not answer, caring only for the temporary oblivion of mindless sex. He fucked them until they screamed and he got his nuts shucked and it was all good. The Muggle birds he picked up did not care that he was Brian Evans, owner of an occult book store, or Harry bloody Potter, hero of the war against You Know Who. They only cared that he took them to a nice hotel room, that he paid for everything, and that he made sure they had at least one orgasm before having his own.



The fact it was getting harder for him to reach that orgasm he refused to think about. The girl he had just fucked earlier that night had complained about how long he had been thrusting into her, but he kept hearing women saying that what was most important was staying power, so clearly that woman was an anomaly. She didn't know a good thing when she'd had it, and Brian Evans was a good thing. He was rich and nicely muscled and could last for hours. His dick wasn't long, but it was thick and heavy and would fill a woman to the brim. He would show them a good time in clean and classy surroundings. Wasn't that what they wanted?



All he had ever wanted was to give people what they wanted and for them to be nice, to him and each other. That was a normal desire, right?



All he wanted was normal.



Harry uncorked the bottle of NoNostroMore and drank the last swallow. He had placed a new order yesterday, so a new bottle should be coming in a day or two. He could manage one night without it. He could still manage one night without sleep. It was one good thing the war had given him.



* * * * * *



Snape Apparated back to Spinner's End, still gasping for breath and clutching the bag of ingredients he needed to make the NoNostroMore.



Two men, ex-students and still holding a grudge not only for their poor grades, but his being a Death Eater, had met up with him as he was leaving the Herbalist shoppe. Words had been exchanged, wands had been drawn and he had found himself on the receiving end of a Stupefy, followed by two savage kicks to the ribs and hip. They meant to hit his groin, but he'd turned just in time, despite the Stupefy and grabbed the package he'd dropped before Apparating.



It was rare, but it happened and there was little he could do. He did not contact the Aurors, although they would press charges. He did not want the publicity, especially when he had a bag full of ingredients that a few newspaper readers would recognize was for something questionable.



Moreover, a few kicks were easily healed.



Fawkes squawked in indignation and flew to his side, landing on the arm of the couch where he sat. He peeled off his robes, wincing, and revealed his bruised torso.



The phoenix made an unhappy sound and dipped its head, one tear landing on his ribs, the other on his hip bone. Soon the bruising disappeared and Severus breathed a sigh of relief.



Fawkes rubbed his head against his side and Snape stroked the bright red feathers, glad of at least one friend.



* * * * * *



When the NoNostroMore arrived via postal owl, Harry was pleased. He was also planning a night out so he shrank it and tucked the bottle in his pocket, along with two fresh condoms.



* * * * * *



Phoebe did not like the look of the green-eyed man, despite his easy smile and considerable charm. Her friend, Meg, was in a dither over him, but she could tell he was really more interested in her. Whilst flattering, Phoebe still did not feel comfortable and had already decided she would not go anywhere with him.



"So what do you do, Phoebe?"



"Nothing interesting, I'm afraid," she strove to sound boring, hoping Meg would pick up on her dislike. "Just an office job. Nothing I want to talk about."



"Oh, she's just being modest," Meg crowed now to her dismay. "She's a top legal assistant. Some of the biggest firms in the country have been courting her. She'll be a solicitor herself once she's done at uni."



"Is that so?" Brian's eyes gleamed and Phoebe grew still more uncomfortable. It was as if she knew this man somehow, and for some reason, she clutched at her arm, rubbing it, feeling an odd tingling, burning sensation.



He noticed this and his gaze darkened. "Something wrong with your arm?"



"No, just a bit of a twinge. I lifted a heavy box at work this afternoon," she quickly lied.



"You poor thing," he said, suddenly sliding down to sit by her in the booth. "Let me rub it for you."



"No, that's all right," she began, even as he took her arm in his hands.



Then all hell broke loose.



* * * * * *



Susan's arm not only itched, but throbbed, even as she slid up her sleeve to read the message from the Field Minder.



SURREY. SECTOR 9. FIRE. DEATHS & INJURIES. MB W/TCO SIG. TCO MISSING. AURORS CALLED.



"Oh, shit, Harry," she muttered, even as she drew her wand and Apparated.



* * * * * *



Justin met her before she reached the warded area. His robes were properly sombre gray tweed, but she noted his earring which he'd apparently forgotten to remove, meaning he'd been called whilst off duty. She smiled at this; she loved Justin like a brother and the fact he was elegantly bent mattered not one whit compared to his efficiency.



"TCO's gone. He may have apparated, but dashed if anyone can make heads or tails of the mare's nest he left behind. His signature is all over, but it's mixed so there may be another wizard involved. This one is bad, Chief. The Muggles think there was some sort of electrical failure. We let them clear the facility and take the injured. They think we're from the Yard."



Susan nodded. "Good work, Justin. By the way, you might want to lose the sparkly."



He started, felt at his ear and rolled his eyes, smiling at her as he pocketed it, and then sobered. "I don't know if we'll be able to keep this one from the media, boss. The Minister's parrot was here--"



"--and the press will follow," finished Susan, privately damning Percy Weasley, the aforementioned Minister's parrot as he was now known, thanks to his bright red hair and the bright green robes he wore for his office of Special Assistant to the Minister of Magic.



"So far, we told him it looks like some kids were bird-watching and accidentally used a Wheeze that caught fire. That sent him off."



"Good thinking, Justin," Susan smiled at the thought of Percy Weasley shouting at his brothers in their Diagon Alley shoppe. She had nothing against Fred or George, but their products had definitely caused a great deal of trouble over the years for various Ministry departments. Only their popularity and contributions to various charities kept them out of the direct eye of the Ministry, so she had no qualms about causing them a bit of worry in exchange.



"What's the word, boss?"



"Let the Muggles deal with their own. Tell them you concur with whatever their findings are. Obliviate or Confund as necessary. Try to iron out the signature. I'm going to look for our esteemed TCO."



* * * * * *



Royal Surrey County Hospital was a large facility, but her knowledge of Muggle procedures served Susan well. She made her way to the Outpatient Department where the sister pointed her to the Burn ward where she quickly found Harry or Brian Evans as he was calling himself these days.



"Are you related?"



"I'm his mother's niece," Susan smoothly lied.



"Well, that's all right then. Visiting hours will be over in two hours."



"Thank you, sister."



Susan watched the nurse walk back to her station and turned, pulling the screens around the bed where Harry lay sleeping.



She assessed the area and found his clothes. Muggle money, burnt. Two condoms, partially melted. A shrunken bottle with some sort of liquid. She enlarged and sniffed it, but the smell only told her it wasn't cologne. It had no label, but the bottle was unique. It looked familiar, but she could not remember where she had seen one like it.



She put it in her pocket and turned to Harry who slept under a swath of bandages covering extensive burns.



"You are a bloody fool who deserves everything that happens to him," she said now, feeling a pang in her heart over the saviour of the Wizarding world, the Chosen One, the man who lived to destroy himself.



Then she aimed her wand to the chart at the foot of his bed, peeked around the screens and issued a mild Confundus to the sister in charge of the ward, and then turned to Harry and apparated them both.



* * * * * *



"Healer Longbottom, please."



"I'm afraid she's off duty. May I be of help?"



"Thank you, but it wasn't work-related. I'll Floo her at home."



* * * * * *



Hermione and Neville had been cuddling by their fire, so Susan's sudden intrusion was mildly embarrassing, but they had swiftly urged her through and she apologized before rapidly filling them in.



Neville shook his head as his wife rushed to their bedroom to grab her surgical kit.



"Poor Harry."



"My arse, poor Harry. The man is a menace!"



"He's unhappy is all."



"Then he should try some Pep & Cheer, not drinking himself to ruin and taking Merlin knows what kind of potions."



Neville said nothing else and as Hermione hurried back into the room, kissed her gently and held out the Floo container. He was used to her being called for medical emergencies.



"I love you," she told him now, before taking a pinch of powder and throwing it onto the fire. "Bones Estate!"



* * * * * *



"The burns will heal," Hermione announced a few hours later. "But something is keeping him unconscious and I don't know what it is."



"Could it be a potion? I found this in his clothes." Susan held out the bottle.



Hermione waved her wand at it. "Acclaro Argumentum!"



A fine mist appeared above the bottle and coalesced into formulae Susan could read but not understand.



"It's not a sedative, but it's related. NoNostroMore, if I'm not mistaken."



"Could it account for his state?"



"Only if he's been taking it for awhile. It's addictive, not meant to be taken more than two or three times in a month."



"Who prescribed it?"



"No one," Hermione sighed, studying the bottle. "If it had been prescribed, the chemists' label or mark would be here. No. I'd bet good money Harry bought this over the counter or via owl order."



"Is it illegal?"



"Not strictly speaking. But no reputable potion maker would brew this regularly for a customer."



"You're assuming he only bought it from one source," Susan sighed now, as well.



Hermione looked sad and she hugged her, briefly, glad of the companionship in her one woman TCO crusade.



"Well, wherever else he may have gotten some, I know where this particular batch came from, or rather who."



* * * * * *



Severus was nearly asleep when he heard someone calling him.



He almost never received Floo calls, so it took him a moment to realize it wasn't a Muggle neighbour calling for assistance. He got up and hurried to the sitting room.



"I'm sorry to bother you, Professor, but this is an urgent matter."



He nodded, trying to place the composed face of the young blonde woman in context. She was definitely one of his ex-students, he knew, but the faces were too numerous and had blurred with time.



"Please come through."



She did and memory resolved itself.



"Susan Bones."



She smiled and he flushed a little at being caught in his night attire.



"Good evening, Professor Snape. It's good to see you again, if under difficult circumstances."



"Please. I'm no longer anyone's professor. How can I be of help, Miss Bones?"



"Sir, I'm the Senior Field Reverser for the Magical Reversal Department. I've got one particularly difficult assignment and a bottle was found that a healer from St. Mungo's insists is one of yours. I'd like to ask you about it."



He nodded, pointing to his worn couch and sitting in the chair beside it. Susan sat and waited.



"What exactly do you wish to know?"



"First of all, is this your bottle and potion?" She held out the bottle.



He took it, scowled slightly and nodded.



"May I ask if you remember making this potion?"



"You may and I do. Three days ago for an order by owl."



"Who was the order for?"



"A Mr. Brian Evans."



"Have you made any other potions for him?"



"No, just this one."



"What is the potion you made?"



Snape sighed, folding his fingers together in his lap. "NoNostroMore. It's a sleep aid that prevents the taker from having nightmares."



"Like Dreamless sleep?"



"No. Dreamless sleep erases all dreams. NoNostroMore allows a person to dream, but excises the memory of nightmares."



"Is it addictive?"



"Yes. But the dosage is controlled. No more than three uses a month. I only brewed enough for three uses."



"What happens if a person takes more than that?"



"Well, as I mentioned, it's addictive. To some people it's addictive at the first dose."



"I fail to see why that would be bad, if it only excises the memory of nightmares."



Snape sat back. "Sounds simple, but we actually need our nightmares in order to process our painful and/or shameful experiences and assist the mind in setting them into memory. We have them as frequently as dreams, but usually we only recall the ones that are particularly vivid, just as with dreams. Without undergoing nightmares, the mind begins to lose capacity for memorization. The person loses cohesiveness of thought, becomes unable to understand or make logical deductions. Then comes a loss of emotional control, and eventually, the user begins to suffer hallucinations."



"You mention a loss of emotional control. Could that manifest in magical backlash?"



"Absolutely," Snape cleared his throat. "I know of at least one particular case where the backlash was strong enough to cause an explosion. You can find the case in the St. Mungo's archive under the name Fleetweather, Samuel. The year, I believe, was 1985."



"Thank you. This has been very helpful."



"If I may inquire, Miss Bones -- is the person you found this on -- are they all right? I assume there was magical backlash."



She was impressed at his perspicacity.



"They will be or so I am assured. However, they are not conscious, which leads to my next question -- what can we expect by way of withdrawal symptoms?"



"Miss Bones, if Mr. Evans is your patient, then I can either assume you have two different and very demanding jobs, or else Mr. Evans is a high profile person who you, as Senior Field Reverser have been assigned to, meaning you must keep him out of the eyes of the press and public. There is only one person I know who fits that description and if memory serves, his mother's maiden name was Evans."



"You have me at a disadvantage, sir," she said with a slight and apologetic smile.



He sighed, unfolding his hands to stand.



"If you will allow me a few minutes, I can dress and bring what I need with me to assist you. Mr. Potter will require careful attention and quite possibly some potions you would be hard-pressed to obtain without a great deal of questions from St. Mungo's personnel or the Ministry."



* * * * * *



"Mrs. Longbottom. It's a pleasure."



"Likewise, Professor. I haven't seen you since the wedding. You look well."



"I'm not a professor of anything anymore and I'm afraid my brewing duties take up a great deal of my time. I appreciate your flattery, but it is quite unnecessary; I know what I look like. Now... where is our patient?"



* * * * * *



Snape ran a few diagnostic spells over the man on the bed he scarcely recognized.



"You've given him nothing?"



Hermione nodded. "Not even for pain since the Muggles pumped him full of diamorphine. His level of unconsciousness was so profound I didn't feel it was required."



"Quite right." He sighed as he put his wand into his pocket. "NoNostroMore is neither the first nor only drug he's taken to dull his pain."



"I had noticed that, as well," Hermione admitted now, slightly embarrassed.



"It is not your fault, Healer Longbottom, when a patient is recalcitrant, contrary and ignores medical advice."



"Please, Severus, if I may call you that -- call me Hermione. And Harry is not my patient. In fact, I hadn't seen him in at least five years."



He lifted a brow at this. She sighed.



"Harry never forgave Neville and I for living whilst Ron and Ginny died. He," she choked slightly and drew in a deep breath to finish. "If you recall, he didn't even come to Neville and my wedding."



"Then he is as big a fool as I had feared."



Snape scowled at the haggard-looking man on the bed, salt and pepper hair peeking through bandages which hid his trademark scar, but not the other various scars he bore and which Severus recognized as the hallmarks of brawling.



"No, even a bigger fool," he sighed, running a hand through his hair before turning to Hermione and, to her surprise, bestowing a small smile on her. "It is to your credit, Hermione, that you maintain fellow-feeling for him."



She swallowed tears. "We were the closest of friends for seven years."



He nodded, then looked to Susan.



"When did the magical backlash occur, Miss Bones?"



"Going on five hours now."



"Then we have thirteen hours before we have to worry about pain, which leaves me just enough time to brew the potions he will need."



Hermione sat up, wiping at her face. "Will you require assistance? I can notify St. Mungo's I need some time off to attend to a family emergency."



"I can manage on my own."



"She should stay," Susan opined. "Even if you can handle the withdrawal, he still has the burns and the other injuries he needs a healer for."



"That's right. Primarily for the burns. The broken fingers I healed already and his other cuts and abrasions I disinfected and will heal given time."



"Very well, but I can handle the brewing," he insisted.



"But if you do that, you won't sleep, and fatigue is a sure way to make mistakes, Severus."



He nearly smiled. "Very well, Hermione. I appreciate the assistance."



"Good. That's settled." Susan snapped her fingers and two elves appeared. "This is Bimmy and Chives. Bimmy, Chives, these are guests for a few days. Please see to what they need."



"A pleasure, Mistress!" Chives assured her.



"Oh, it's been too long since the house had guests!" cried Bimmy with glee.



* * * * * *



It was, as Snape had said, just enough time for them to make the potions. He started them as Hermione went home and caught some sleep, then seven hours later she arrived and took over the monitoring and stirring as he slept in a guest room.



Susan slept and watched the brewing, from time to time, looking in on Harry. He was unconscious, so she wasn't too concerned, but she had put a non-Apparation ward on the room where he slept just in case.



When Snape woke, he went to Harry's room first and ran a few diagnostic spells.



"Champing at the bit, are you?" He spoke to the sleeping figure. "Trust me, this is one time you don't want to display your vaunted impatience. Let Morpheus keep you in the peace you cannot find whilst awake."



"How is he?"



He looked to the tired Susan and shook his head.



"His body is metabolizing the Muggle drugs faster than I expected. He will be more aware within four hours."



"Is that enough time to finish the potions you were brewing?"



"It should be, but the time may be close. In the interim, a calming spell may do some good if he stirs."



"I'll do that. Thank you, sir."



He nodded and left for the kitchen where Hermione was watching his various potions brew and Bimmy was happily making breakfast.



He never told them that at his home, his familiar of eight years could easily have fixed Harry Potter's many ills in a trice, but that if he did that, the boy would never learn that his actions had consequences. Nor would he ever learn from his many mistakes.



* * * * * *



It was just as Snape had indicated. Harry roused due to pain, which Susan used the calming spell for, then Hermione was able to give him the first dose of modified pain potion. He did not swallow it voluntarily, growing angry at the sight of her and necessitating Susan using Immobilus and Hermione force-feeding it to him, but eventually the potion was down and Harry was pain-free and calm once again. His eyes still narrowed whenever he saw any of them, though, particularly Snape.



Snape merely lifted a brow at him. Hermione winced and looked pained.



Susan just scowled, lifted her wand and would refresh the calming spell, which had the effect of relaxing the lines on his face and making him, for awhile, appear twenty years younger than he looked, or nearer to his own real age.



* * * * * *



On the second day, Harry's anger mutated to shame, mostly due to the fact he could do nothing for himself due to his burns and bandages and Susan had needed to levitate him to the loo, then left the room as Hermione had unbandaged his buttocks and genitals, positioned him and bade him do his business, then wiped him afterward as if he was an infant and applied more ointment that Snape had made, and fresh bandages that Chives brought her.



The only saving grace was he was in too much pain from his burns to get an erection as Hermione's gentle hands smoothed ointment on him, even going so far as to retract his blistered foreskin and apply ointment there. It was necessary, she had informed him apologetically, otherwise he might lose it and he had no desire to be circumcised in such a fashion.



This happened six times that day since his bladder and bowels were being affected by both withdrawal and potions. The last two times, Susan had been taking a much needed nap, so Snape had assisted Hermione. Unlike Susan, Snape had not left the room, assisting Healer Longbottom with the ointment and even insisting she make sure to debride some dead skin before applying more to his buttocks.



Harry drank the potions Snape gave him after that without complaint, not meeting his eyes. He also did not respond when he overheard the Potions Master admonishing Susan for keeping him and his condition out of the press.



"The negative publicity might just be the kick up the arse the boy needs to straighten himself out," Snape had muttered, whilst Harry pretended to sleep.



After a few moments, he was no longer pretending, and all too soon he was dreaming.




That night it took the three of them taking turns to cast Calming charms on the alternately thrashing, screaming and weeping Harry.



At dawn, Snape bade the women to rest whilst he remained by Potter's bedside.



"The worst of his withdrawal is yet to come," he told them ominously.



* * * * * *



On the third night, hallucinations began, and Harry alternately sang and screamed until Snape was able to brew a batch of Cogito Claro and get it down his throat. Then he simply lay atop the bed and wept.



Susan ached for him, but there was nothing to be done. He had done this to himself and would have to go through the withdrawal. He would not be alone, but no one could do it for him.



* * * * * *



The fourth day the bandages were removed and the still pink burns allowed to dry. Soon Harry looked crusty all over, but Hermione assured them all this was not only normal and expected, but a very good sign. Once he peeled, just like with a sunburn, the healthy new skin would emerge.



Snape ate while Hermione and Susan gently applied hydrating salve to the sleeping Harry.



The hallucinations returned, but more Cogito Claro was given and he slept again, whimpering and crying out from his dreams.




That night Susan found herself unable to sleep until she had fingered herself to climax.



It was a bit disturbing to her that she had gotten aroused at the sight of the naked, but still-healing Harry Potter.



He was slight, but well-built, with a nice amount of hair covering a nicely defined chest and a modest cock amidst a nest of lush black pubes. It was this modest cock that Susan had applied salve to with trembling fingers. Hermione, working carefully on Harry's eyes and nose, had admonished her to be sure she got salve everywhere, including under his foreskin. So for the first time, Susan had touched a man's organ and learnt how it felt to slide that tender skin back and examined his very red glans. She thought it was still burnt, but an embarrassed question to Hermione had reassured her that the colour variation was normal.



Since he developed an erection as she rubbed the salve in, Hermione began to lecture in a didactic tone that helped Susan divorce her feelings of shame and focused on her natural curiousity as she learnt that Harry's unconscious response was perfectly normal and that the colours of his penis and glans changed from pink and red to red and nearly purple as he erected, which was also normal. She also learnt that Harry was rather smaller than Hermione had expected, but that it was in keeping with his average height.



Susan would not know, but since his erection looked almost painfully thick and large to her, she found herself rather glad he was not well-hung.



Not that she expected ever to find use for that particular information. Her tireless efforts to gain her current position had not left her time for dating or even much socializing.



She finally fell asleep after deciding her current fascination with Harry, and his genitalia, must be related to this.




* * * * * *



The afternoon of the fifth day Susan handed a surprised Snape and Hermione cheques for their services to the ministry at breakfast.



She had gone into the Ministry in the pre-dawn hours and spoken to the head of the department who gave rapid approval for the payments, along with a commendation for securing the services of discreet professionals to handle their most famous and, also, most difficult client.



She had also discovered the incident had been filed as "Wizard-instigated Muggle Scheme, unsolved", known more commonly by the Reversers as a WIMSy. The Minister had not gotten involved, satisfied with the report and a promised follow-up. Senior Field Reverser Bones was listed as working on assignment out in the field, which was entirely true, if neglectful of details.



Hermione had been uncertain about accepting the cheque, but Susan assured her it was entirely aboveboard. She had procured their services and they deserved payment for them, simple as that. Snape had not argued, merely gotten a bit flushed, then pocketed the cheque without comment.



He had yet to leave the estate since she'd called on him for assistance, and so his cheque was for continuous service, which in Susan's opinion, he more than deserved.




Later that day, Susan and Hermione reapplied more salve to Harry, whilst Severus caught up on sleep. He had spent several days brewing, not just potions, but the very salves they were currently applying.



Harry had quickly grown thick and rigid under her ministrations, and that night, Susan found herself in her bed, rubbing her clit and imagining it was Harry's thick cock she was rubbing against. She stopped herself from crying out his name and fell asleep wondering just what it was that made Harry get under women's skin so damn fast. She knew he did, since she had been following, and cleaning up after, his exploits for years now.



* * * * * *



The sixth day Harry sweated and raged as the last remnants of the NoNostroMore he had taken for far too long burned out of his system.



Keeping clothes on him was useless, so he remained naked atop a heavy layer of towels. Hermione occasionally would levitate him and Susan would replace the towels, handing the soiled ones to Bimmy.



After the last bout of sweats, Harry had calmed and fallen asleep. The three were resting on chairs by the bedside, exhausted, when Chives popped into the room holding a knitted afghan.



"Miss Maffy made this for Miss Susan's house guest."



Without further word, he fluffed out the afghan and gently laid it over Harry's sleeping, still nude form.



* * * * * *



Later that afternoon, Susan had helped Hermione bathe Harry.



Scourgify, Hermione had informed Susan, was not what was called for after a patient had undergone a bout of such profuse perspiration. This was definitely a case where only a tub bath would do.



This time Susan learnt about not being shy and making sure the anus was free of soap before getting him out of the tub. If the soap residue had remained, Harry would have gotten a very uncomfortable rash.



Then they had dried him and laid him atop the bed and covered him once again with the soft afghan Maffy had knitted him. He looked more like the boy she remembered now, with his tousled hair and relaxed, unlined face.




Later that night, Susan gave up and called out his name over and over as she rubbed herself to climax. No one could hear anyway. The soundproofing charms were very good indeed; Charms having been her best subject at school.




* * * * * *



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