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He closed his eyes and listened to the doctor yap on about terminal illness, chemotherapy, radiation, about all the wonderful things that they could do so that he wouldn't have to feel the pain and suffering. He wasn't the least bit interested in that. He intended to live so this was all meaningless. When he got tired of listening, he pulled the mask away from his face and spoke,
"Are you quite done with your speech?"
Those grey eyes widened as Harry tested out his breathing. It felt better…not as strenuous as before. The doctor was gaping at him, utterly baffled so Harry decided to put him out of his misery and spoke,
"Yes, I know that I have stage four metastatic pancreatic cancer. Yes, I know what metastatic means and, yes, I know that I don't have long to live. And, No, I am not afraid of pain and death."
The doctor sat down and went through the file in his lap,
"Mr. Potter, surely your family must be devastated…you must feel something…"
Harry looked away from him and stared up at the ceiling,
"Do you want me to wail and scream like other people do when they hear they're going to die? Or do you want me to be shocked and deny it all? Or maybe you'd prefer me to be angry about it. Which emotion would you like to see, Doc?"
Harry closed his eyes and sighed,
"You know when they told me about it the first time, they were as baffled as you are because I so readily accepted it."
The doctor rose to his feet and spoke,
"So, are you willing to undergo chemotherapy then?"
Harry laughed at that,
The doctor leaned over him and asked,
Harry bit back another chuckle and spoke,
"It won't allow me to live now, will it? I have no interest in looking and feeling like I'm dead before I actually am. I'm leaving this hospital as soon as I can get back on my feet."
The doctor pursed his lips and was about to speak when Harry spoke first,
"I did my fair share of research. There are drugs that can help me with my symptoms and delay my imminent death. Can you prescribe them to me?"
This was another thing he'd been researching for the past one week. The drugs were the only thing that had appealed to him. Originally, he'd planned to get them the illegal way but now that he was here, he might as well get them the legal way. The doctor looked conflicted,
"I'm not sure that they'll complement you. I'll have to run some trials before I can prescribe them to you."
Harry opened his eyes and met the doctor's gaze,
"No, I'm not going through trials. I want the drugs, I'm sure they'll work for me."
The doctor looked like he was about to refuse so Harry added,
"I have the complete right to choose my treatment plan and you can't deny me that."
The doctor nodded curtly before picking up the file and leaving. Soon after, Deus returned to the room and leaned against the wall,
"He didn't look too pleased."
Harry ran his fingers through his hair and spoke,
"I wasn't the kind of patient he was expecting."
Deus smirked and crossed his arms over his chest,
"Did you refuse treatment?"
He nodded silently. He couldn't let Deus know about the drugs…but maybe that bastard already knew. He knew everything,
"I asked you a question before the doctor interrupted us."
Harry looked at him. Damn, he hated that face, hated that smirk, hated everything about Deus,
"I've thought about it. Wizards are supposed to be immune to muggle diseases. In fact, they're even supposed to be able to heal them. I think that's the reason it's never showed up on the diagnostic charms. You said it was ironic and I completely agree. I survived the killing curse which no wizard has ever survived and ended up with cancer that can't be healed. Judging by that smirk on your face, I can tell that you have a theory."
Deus's smirk widened and he stepped closer to him,
"I think Dumbledore repressed your magical core to the point of damaging it and in doing so he shattered your immunity to muggle diseases."
Dumbledore… That bastard had ruined his life and although Deus's theory made some sense, there were loopholes,
"My magical core isn't damaged and besides that doesn't explain why my cancer can't be healed."
Deus chuckled and spoke,
"When was the last time you cast a spell?"
Harry frowned at the ceiling and spoke,
"That night I was attacked by death eaters."
Deus sat down in the chair and asked,
"What was the last spell you cast?"
Harry remembered it had been the killing curse. He'd cast it at Bella but it hadn't worked even though he'd desperately wanted to kill her. Suddenly Deus's theory was beginning to make a lot of sense and that terrified him. What if he hadn't been able to cast the curse because he had lacked the magical ability required to cast it? What if he was never able to perform magic? Deus must have read the horror on his face because he chuckled,
"I'm not saying that you can't perform magic anymore, Harry."
Harry gritted his teeth,
"I can perform magic. My magic helped me escape when Voldemort had had me tied to the bed."
Deus had a sad smile on his face and Harry cursed verbally as he realized that that hadn't been his magic. It had been Deus. Harry closed his eyes as his breathing got out of control again…more rapid…more erratic. He coughed once, twice, thrice before Deus had replaced the mask over his mouth and nose,
"Calm down, Harry!"
Harry refused to calm down. This wasn't something he could just ignore. What was the point of gaining immortality if he couldn't perform magic. His heart was racing in his chest and he couldn't control it. The thoughts were accelerating inside his head. He wanted them to slow so he could breathe but they wouldn't. He struggled to make his mind slow down so that his brain and his body could cope. He felt so sick. His heart was hammering inside his chest like it belonged to a rabbit running for its skin. Everything inside him ached like hell. It was like an invisible hand was clasped over his mouth; an equally ghostly shot of adrenaline pierced his heart, unloading in an instant. He felt as his ribs heaved as if bound by ropes, straining to inflate his lungs. His head was a carousel of fears spinning out of control, each one pushing his mind into blackness. Sounds that were near feel far away, like he was no longer in the body that lay on those starched sheets. Blackness... creeping blackness...lingered at the edges of his visions…somewhere far away Deus was shouting and then it wasn't just Deus...someone else was shouting as well,
"He's fading fast…"
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