A Malfoy's Problem

Author's Note: All right, here's the second part, continued right after (mid-conversation, really) the first part. Now, I present for your enjoyment, Part II of A Malfoy's Problem.

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A Malfoy's Problem

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Part II

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"And a cure for this is what, Richard?" he asked, holding back the intense urge to curse the Healer as a nagging voice screamed in his mind that he was powerless to do even that much.

"There is not a cure, Lucius," replied Richard, using his patient's name for the first time that meeting. "I'm sorry, but there is nothing else I can tell you." And with that, Richard Keneth stood up and, leaving his patient sitting on the sofa, left his office to continue with his work.

Lucius did not move from the sofa right away. He was vaguely aware of Richard leaving, but the thought did not seem to affect him much. The only notion that floated in his mind was that of the Healer's words.

No magic, he thought. It's impossible. He was a Malfoy, after all. A pure-blood wizard and the Dark Lord's right hand. There was no way he would be knocked down to a life without magic. It was simply an unacceptable idea.

His thoughts were interrupted by a voice, however. For a moment, Lucius thought Richard had re-entered his office and was on the verge of speaking to him, demanding that he find a cure, when he noticed that the room was empty. It had not been Richard Keneth who had spoken.

Instead, it had been the portrait of Sir Morton Raynius, an old Healer who had lived around five or six centuries in the past.

"Good day to you," Sir Morton stated, his round face splitting into a huge grin as he did so. "I could not help but overhear my fellow Healer's diagnosis to you, and I think that I may be able to help you."

Lucius surveyed the figure for a brief moment, his grey gaze cold as he looked at Sir Morton's obviously happy and cheerful expressions. "How so?" he asked.

"Why, you should seek out Hippocrates ---"

"The legendary Healer?"

"Oh, yes," answered Sir Morton. "His portrait hangs here in the hospital, you know."

Well, if he had been completely honest, Lucius had not known that a portrait of Hippocrates hung in St. Mungo's. But that detail did not really matter. "Where can I find this portrait?" he asked.

Sir Morton Raynius, however, did not seem to want to give Lucius a simple answer. Instead, the medieval Healer started to sing.

I sing a tale worthy of myth and legend,
Few who doubted were later enlightened.
I tell the story of how St. Mungo's came to be,
An apparition that Bonham had come to see.

Grecian wizard of the past was this great man,
Through him Mungo Bonham's vision hath began.
When the hospital was built, Hippocrates's ghost was at peace.
Bondage upon his soul, this world hath finally released.

A portrait of this ghost is all we have now,
One summer night is all that nature would allow.
A night he'll come to share his boundless knowledge,
The only time when this ghostly portrait gains earthly passage.

Alas, we know the time but ne'er the place . . .
Place whence the Healer's presence be grace.
Many-a-claim from those who saw and were helped,
Many-a-patients his healing presence hath been felt.

Finally, the portrait was quiet, and even though Lucius asked and demanded him to answer some more simple questions, Sir Morton Raynius remained quiet. Eventually, Lucius just gave up and left the office.

Upon hearing Sir Morton's song, Lucius had made up his mind to find the portrait. St. Mungo's, in reality, was not an extremely large hospital, anyway, so it should not be difficult to find Hippocrates's portrait.

Hippocrates. He had been a brilliant Healer, one who had invented and discovered cures for hundreds of ailments. Most of his knowledge had been lost to time, unfortunately.

But that lost knowledge could be just what I need, thought Lucius as he set off in search of Hippocrates's portrait, the notion of a cure and things returning to normal combating Healer Keneth's diagnosis in his mind.

Lucius continued his brisk walk through the many corridors of the hospital. So far, he had covered the first two floors, and there was still no sign of Hippocrates's portrait.

He paused for a moment before ascending a lift to the next level of the hospital. Next to him stood a couple of desks, each piled high with many of what looked like patients' medical files and charts.

No wonder people have trouble getting things completed around here, he thought as he surveyed the disorganisation on the desks. As he continued watching the Healers hurry back and forth along the hall, a small note of parchment flew right at his face, heading towards his nose. Lucius glared at it and batted it aside with his hand, but the paper was relentless. It started poking his hand next and would not stop.

Malfoy wrapped his hand around his wand, intending to blast the annoying note to ashes, when he remembered that he could not use his magic. The knowledge of Healer Keneth's diagnosis increasing Lucius's already present irritation with the note, he reached out and tore the thing off of the desk, tearing it in half as he did so.

The fact that the note was now in two parts only made things worse, as both pieces started attacking Lucius at the same time. He reached out and grabbed both pieces, muttering, "Fine; I'll read it." And read it he did.

'Clean and re-bandage Mr. Boheminton's wounds.' After he had finished reading the note, Lucius felt the pieces tear themselves from his hands and soar through the nearest patient's door and over to a bed, upon which lay an injured man, his entire body pretty much covered in bandages.

Lucius wrinkled his nose in disgust as he looked at Mr. Boheminton. The man's bandages were pretty much soaked through with blood and other bodily liquids, and a couple of strong, unpleasant odours radiated off of him.

He turned away from the patient, intending to leave and continue on with his journey, but the two pieces of note would not let him. They both flew at the back of his head and began to poke him once again.

"All right," he muttered, flinging the letters to the ground. He walked over to the foot of the patient's bed and picked up the chart. Scanning down through the Healer's comments and notes, Lucius read that Mr. Boheminton suffered from a collection of many creatures' bites and burns, among them a werewolf bite on the right arm, injuries sustained by a manticore on his chest, and several burns achieved by an encounter with, at least according to the Healer, a fire crab.

What the hell were you doing, Mr. Boheminton? Lucius wondered to himself as he left the patient's bed and headed over towards a tall storage cabinet on the wall next to the entrance door. Opening the cabinet, Lucius began searching through the dozens of bottles and vials on the three large shelves.

A potion would be the easiest thing, he thought as he set aside a roll of fresh, white bandages for later. He knew what he needed --- He needed one of the multi-creature antidotes. At least, that would be the quickest, he thought, moving aside the vials of bee stings and serpent bites potions. Either a multi-use potion, or around three or four to combat the several different creatures.

Finally, Lucius found it. At the very back of the last shelf stood a dusty brown bottle with the scrawled words 'Melako's All-Purpose, Multi-Uses Formula: A Potion to Combat Many-Creature Injuries.' Turning the vial over, Lucius read the list of ingredients and made sure that they were, indeed, correct.

Who would have thought that week in Potions would have been useful? thought Lucius, reading the instructions on the bottle. They were faded and scratched off in many places, causing the instructions to be slightly unclear at best. But still, what he could glean from it said to pour a tiny dose in the patient's mouth and then place accompanying paste on the wounds.

Lucius opened the top of the vial, giving the potion inside a whiff. The smell was very strong, causing Lucius to back away from it. Well, here goes nothing, he thought, pouring a bit in Mr. Boheminton's mouth.

Everything seemed to react okay, and so Lucius continued by dumping a layer of the accompanying paste, which was basically just some thickened version of the potion, on the wounds. All went smoothly as the skin around the wounds gave off a sort of steam, (though Mr. Boheminton made no noise or movement), before the puss and blood was gone.

Stepping away from the patient and back to the cabinet, Lucius picked up the row of bandages. He placed them on Mr. Boheminton and left the room before any other notes could come flying at him.

Lucius did not stop outside Mr. Boheminton's door again. Instead, he headed straight for the lift that would take him to the third floor on his search for Hippocrates's portrait.

Leaving the lift, Lucius entered the main corridor of St. Mungo's third floor. Perhaps here, he thought as he walked, his eyes scanning the walls for the illusive portrait. Upon reaching the end of the first hall, he had not found the portrait.

Rounding the corner at the end, Lucius continued on his journey through the hospital. He paused for a brief moment, however, when he thought he heard someone say his name. But no one was around, and he did not hear the voice again. Figuring he had imagined it, he continued walking on his way.

Lucius stopped walking once again, though, when the voice continued. And this time, he could not pass it off as imaginings, mostly due to the fact that the words were coming from his own mouth.

"The new dining table cost over 250 Galleons . . . Dinner last week was utterly horrible . . . A 200-Galleon donation ought to sufficiently cover it . . . The Dark Lo---"

Instinctively, Lucius covered his mouth to keep anything else from being said. Words about Galleons and dinners were one thing, but anything that related to the Dark Lord just could not be heard.

His mouth, though, continued to move, though the sound was blocked by his hand. Damn, he thought as he walked along the deserted corridor, his eyes still scanning the walls for Hippocrates's portrait while they also searched for a Healer. Why is one never around when you actually need them? he thought, irritated.

For Lucius had realised what had to have obviously happened, and all he needed was for a Healer to give him the antidote. Fortunately, he was already on the correct floor.

The only possible explanation, he thought, turning another corner with still no sign of a Healer or Hippocrates, can be one of two things. First, there was a dose of Babbling Beverage in the glass. (For, thirsty and disgusted by Mr. Boheminton's wounds, Lucius had gone out of his way and taken a quick stop on the fifth floor for a drink, before heading back down to the third floor.) Or it is the equally annoying and problematic Babbling Curse, he thought. Either way, the answer is the same. All I need is the antidote to a Babbling Beverage, which can, fortunately, also be used to cure the curse, and luckily, I am already on the third floor.

His thoughts stopped, though, when he caught sight of a Healer. The witch was walking away from him but, fearful of something unwise being uttered, he did not want to remove his hand and speak. Instead, he jerked a piece of parchment and a quill from a nearby desk and, scrawling out the words "Need antidote for Babbling Beverage," Lucius ran after the witch, his robes blowing in an undignified manner behind him.

He finally caught up with her, though, and shoved the note in her hands. She read it, and quickly led him to a nearby room, in which sat many vials and bottles of all shapes and sizes. The young witch immediately picked up a vial that contained a bright green, bubbling liquid and handed it to Lucius. Lucius removed his hand long enough to drink the contents of the vial and, upon swallowing, felt a slight burning sensation in his throat before all was well.

Once the burning sensation had left, the only words that came from Lucius Malfoy's mouth were a muttered, "Thank you," accompanied by a slight nod in the Healer's direction, before he left the room, leaving behind a somewhat shocked young witch holding the potion vial.

Lucius walked up and down the fourth floor of St. Mungo's for the third time, trying to see if he missed the portrait anywhere. He hadn't and, tired, he collapsed in a nearby chair, massaging his head as another headache approached.

"You know, if your head is in that much pain, good sir, I suggest seeing a Healer," exclaimed a voice. Lucius's grey eyes looked up to see the portrait of a wizard in a simple brown robe on a wooden bench. The painted figure was staring down at Lucius and continuing to speak.

"I believe Muggles refer to them as 'too-mores' nowadays, but in my day, head pain seemed to trigger Boxyclavititus, a rare and oftentimes fatal disease."

His grey eyes narrowing as he stared at the portrait, Lucius rose, saying, "It's a headache, nothing more," as he walked away. The wizard in the portrait seemed relentless as he followed Lucius along the corridor.

"Your sickness is not simply a 'headache,'" the wizard said. "I'm Healer Bartholomew Petricolus, and I know what I'm talking about! You'd do well to listen before you perish ---"

Lucius stopped and went back to the wizard's portrait, pausing to read the plaque on the wall.

Healer Bartholomew Petricolus
Lived during Dark Ages: Dates Unknown

A wise wizard, Petricolus made many discoveries to magical medicine.
Unfortunately, he was mistaken as a vampire, and Petricolus was
killed: a stake through the heart while he slept.

Smirking slightly, Lucius looked back at Petricolus. "You couldn't even protect yourself from Muggles," he said, disgust dripping from his tongue. "I'm supposed to take the advice of a half-bit wizard who was killed by Muggles?"

With that, Lucius started to walk away from the portrait and was relieved when he saw that the wizard was not following him, but he was stopped once again by the portrait's voice.

"Very well," said Petricolus, "but the word around the hospital is that you're looking for the portrait of Hippocrates." The mention of Hippocrates caused Lucius to turn back around and face the portrait.

"And you know where it is?" he asked.

Petricolus smiled, seemingly glad he was holding Lucius's attention. "Indeed I do, good sir," he answered. "And I was planning on helping you out. . . . But now, I don't think I shall do either."

Lucius refrained the urge to destroy the picture. Getting angry wouldn't help, and since he had been searching the hospital for hours to no avail, he knew he could really use Petricolus's help. "And why do you refuse to help me, Healer?"

"First off, because you're too rude," the portrait answered, "and secondly, you seem to have no regard for the older methods. I've no reason, therefore, to help you."

Apparently, he will need some convincing. Lucius searched his mind for anything he could say that would convince Petricolus to give up an answer. Finally, he settled on just rambling a bit.

"You have to help me," said Lucius, and Petricolus stared back at him.

"Why should I?"

"I'll tell you," replied Lucius. "You must tell me where Hippocrates is because I must get my cure. If I don't, the world will come to a screeching halt and you will be the sole cause of hundreds of deaths and infestations taking over."

"And how do you even remotely reason that out?"

"Simple," said Lucius, allowing himself a slight smirk before replacing the stoic expression. "You see, I must have the cure, otherwise my single problem will turn into many problems, thus creating a monster of problems. These problems are extremely contagious; they attach themselves to other unsuspecting individuals, where they grow and move on until the entire world is covered in problems, problems that have taken physical shape, resembling giant birds with leathery-looking wings that are capable of attacking people. Soon, these massive problems mutate into a point where they're fatal. After growing a disgusting, green-like fungus on their faces, all those people who had these problems erupt and spew fire, completely melting down into puddles of paste-like goo. This goo feeds normal pests of the world, and they become fifty times their original size and take over the world," finished Lucius, sighing at the complete nonsense he'd just rambled about.

"I don't think you're being honest with me," said Petricolus, though his brow was scrunched in slight thought. "Now, tell me why you need Hippocrates, and this time, no lies." By now, Petricolus's neighbouring portrait, that of Madam Cynthia Looklove, a Healer from the early 1900s, had joined Petricolus in his portrait.

"Fine," said Lucius, looking around to make sure that he wouldn't be overheard. "I'm a Death Eater, a servant of the Dark Lord, and a pure-blooded wizard from one of the oldest wizarding families. My family has given more contributions to this hospital than any other family, and I need my magic back so as to go back to my family and the Dark Lord, continuing on the path of killing, torturing, and ridding the world of Mudbloods."

The painted witch and wizard just stared at Lucius when he had finished. Finally, though, Petricolus spoke.

"I said not to lie," he said. His companion, however, tapped him on the shoulder and whispered to Petricolus.

"You know, Bart," she said, "I think he may just be telling us the truth."

"Oh, come now, Cynthia," said Petricolus. "If he was telling the truth, he surely would not have told us this."

Lucius answered before Cynthia could speak again. "Unless, of course, he knew you wouldn't believe the truth, even if he told it to you."

The two portraits stared at him. "What?" asked Petricolus, a look of intense confusion wrinkling his face.

"You were just about to tell me where Hippocrates is," said Lucius, to which Petricolus grinned, muttered, "Oh, yes," and spoke.

Lucius sighed as he walked briskly down the corridor to the lift that would take him back down. When he'd first heard Petricolus's words telling him that Hippocrates appeared in the main, large portrait of St. Mungo's founder, Mungo Bonham, he'd almost wanted to curse himself. The portrait had been the first one he passed after leaving Keneth's office.

Naturally, I'd have to go all the way back to the beginning, Lucius thought as he stepped off the lift, entering the first floor's main corridor. He walked right up to the tall portrait of Mungo Bonham, an elderly wizard sitting regally a large, high-backed scarlet chair. His blue eyes seemed to glitter with knowledge as he surveyed Lucius, who stood in front of the portrait.

"What can I do for you?" Mungo asked.

Looking around, Lucius replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was told you could tell me about Hippocrates," said Lucius. "I need a cure from him."

Mungo Bonham smiled. "So I've heard via the hospital's many portraits," he said. "But, I'm afraid I cannot answer you directly."

"But ---" Lucius started but Mungo raised a wrinkled and frail hand so he could continue.

"You see," he said, "I have to keep with an oath I made that I'd never reveal his position directly.

"Yet I see you're in great need," continued Mungo, "and I understand . . . a Healer's task is to help find cures." Mungo paused for a moment and just watched Lucius. Lucius didn't say anything and Mungo spoke.

"If you can answer my question, I'll point you in the right direction," he said. "Would you prefer a 'mind game' or a 'game of chance?'"

Lucius thought about his answer for a moment. He'd never been a very reckless person; those were usually the Gryffindors; taking chances wasn't in a Slytherin's nature. The decision, therefore, wasn't as difficult as one might think.

"Mind game," he answered, confident in a cunning mind over a lucky chance.

"A mind game?" asked Mungo. "Very well, answer this riddle:

Red eyes hath shone
Valuable is my egg
I have plenty of backbone
But lack a good leg.

Lucius thought about his answer. Well, plenty of creatures have valuable eggs, he thought. There are dragons, several types of serpents . . . Serpents, yes. They'd have backbone and no legs. . . . But which have red eyes and valuable eggs? Both the Runespoor and the Ashwinder --- That's it! The Ashwinder's eyes are red and its eggs are extremely valuable in potions.

"The Ashwinder," said Lucius.

Mungo didn't speak right away, and Lucius was starting to fear that he'd answered incorrectly. But then, a large grin split the portrait's face.

"'The Ashwinder' is correct," he replied.

Lucius breathed a huge sigh of relief. Finally, he thought, rubbing at his exhausted eyes. "So?" he asked. "Where's Hippocrates?"

At that moment, the entire hospital was suddenly plunged into silence; not even the sound of breathing could be heard. The dozens of people were still present, but they were all unmoving. What's going on? Lucius thought, but then his grey eyes caught sight of the only other moving figure in the room --- that of a portrait of an old, ghostly-looking wizard, hidden in a deep corner.

Hippocrates.

"Well, it seems that you need me," the painted Healer said as Lucius approached the portrait. His hand was held close to his wand. There was just something eerie about the entire scene.

"I believe you have knowledge that I require," answered Lucius. "Your reputation for curing the incurable is legendary, Healer Hippocrates."

The painted Healer nodded his head in acknowledgement. "And what is it that you need cured?"

Lucius looked around before answering, but everyone was still frozen. "I've lost my magic," he whispered. "The Healers don't know a cure, and it's imperative that I get one."

"I've seen your problem many times before, Mr. Malfoy," answered Hippocrates, nodding his ghostly head repeatedly. "Centuries ago, there was an entire plague that stripped wizards and witches of their magic. Many believed it a sign from the gods, or other such nonsense: The people had grown too powerful and must be taken down a notch, if you will.

"But I knew that wasn't the reason," he continued. "I became determined to discover why it had happened, or at the very least, a cure. So for years, I experimented. Nothing seemed to work; I found myself growing discouraged. But then, everything came together. On the seventh day, of the seventh month, in the seventh year since the plague's beginning, I came across a cure."

Hippocrates paused, and Lucius, upon hearing the Healer's voice cease, jerked his eyes up and glared at Hippocrates. "And the cure?" he demanded, his voice barely controlling suppressed anger.

"Ah, yes, the cure," the Healer continued. "It's a simple potion, Mr. Malfoy. I happened to create it by accident, to be honest. The point is that, by a pure mistake, I was able to concoct a most outstanding potion that cured everyone afflicted with the plague. All magic was returned."

"And you have the recipe to this concoction?"

"Of course not! It's been centuries, after all, and for the life of me, I probably couldn't recall how to make the potion again after this long."

Lucius's patience had reached the end of its run. "Hippocrates," he hissed through clenched teeth, "I ---"

"You'll get the cure, Mr. Malfoy. I said I couldn't remake the potion, but I still have a few vials hidden. And don't worry," he said, seeing Lucius's expression at the thought of drinking a centuries-old concoction, "it's perfectly safe. The potion's everlasting, you know; it'll always be 'fresh.'"

"Where can I find this potion?"

Hippocrates smiled. "Look behind me, Mr. Malfoy," he said, opening up as he spoke. Lucius looked behind the portrait. Where he'd expected solid wall, he discovered a little inlet, revealing a small, wooden chest covered with dust. He removed the chest and opened it.

Inside was a small, clear vial containing a simple, silver-coloured liquid. He withdrew the vial and, closing the portrait, held the vial up to Hippocrates. "Is this the cure?" he asked.

"Of course it is, Mr. Malfoy," the Healer responded, a wide grin on his face. "Just drink seven drops of that, and your magic will return immediately."

Lucius didn't need to be told twice as he popped the stopper off the vial, dripping seven drops into his mouth before swallowing. There was a quick, burning sensation that seared his throat, but it was quickly followed by a sort of icy feeling.

"Well?" he asked.

"Take out your wand and try it," Hippocrates answered. Lucius set the vial back into the chest and removed his wand from his pocket. Pointing it at a table of magazines, he muttered, "Incendio," and watched as everything burst into flames.

"I told you it would work," said Hippocrates as Lucius left his portrait and headed towards the hospital's exit. Lucius, his hand on the door, turned back to face the portrait.

"Yes you did," he said. And, with that, he left the hospital. Within seconds, Lucius was back in his manor, asleep in his room. He had his magic; he had his wealth; and he had his power.

Everything was as it should be.

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Author's Note: Okay, here's the ending. It turned out well in the end; I couldn't possibly image a Malfoy without a magic, anyways, especially Lucius! I hope you enjoyed the story, and thank you for reading!

~Megan