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readingrat2. Preliminary Examinations
"Who is this weirdo and why are we treating him?" Chase asked, barging into House's office.
"What makes you think he's a weirdo?" House had ensconced himself comfortably behind his desk armed with coffee, a few muffins, and a book on herbal medicine.
"Look at how he's dressed! And he talks about magic and incantations like it's everyday stuff."
"Good point. We shouldn't treat guys who run around in drag and believe in supernatural powers. Wait, didn't you nearly join that club of men in drag who believe in invisible powers, miracles and inexplicable healings?"
Chase drew upright with a mixture of indignation and amusement. "Are you comparing the Catholic Church to this bunch of impostors?"
House tipped his head to one side. "I'm saying that I don't have a ranking system for delusions. If these folks want to believe in curses and spells and witchcraft, that's their headache, but they get treated, same as any other patient with religious delusions. Did you get a decent patient history and previous treatment details from them?"
Chase tossed the patient file onto the desk. "As far as that was possible. Why'd I have to do it? Couldn't Cameron or Foreman …?"
"I thought your British accent and preppy look might relax them and get them to open up," House said, resting his chin on the palm of his hand and batting his eyelashes at Chase.
"I'm Australian; there's a world of difference."
"You say 'zed' instead of 'zee' and don't drop the 'h' in 'herb'. We don't want to misunderstand them when they talk about magic mushrooms, do we?"
"Actually, they did talk about magic mushrooms," Chase said, looking at House slyly.
"Shrooms? Goody!" House said, opening the file.
"Jumping toadstools," Chase clarified. "I have no idea what they are, but they aren't a species of psilocybin mushrooms."
House leaned back. "And you're sure about that because?"
"Because I checked. I knew the question would come up." Chase's grin was a tad smug.
"Okay," House said, rising and tossing the file back to Chase. "Make three copies of this."
He limped into the conference room where Foreman and Cameron were sorting through old files, cataloguing them and placing them into boxes.
"Playtime's over. Time for serious work." He picked up a black marker and stood in front of the whiteboard. "Patient, male, between eighty and roughly one hundred and twenty years old, presents with … ."
"What do you mean, between eighty and one hundred and twenty?" Foreman asked, irritation emanating off him already.
"Age is unclear."
Cameron immediately looked concerned. "Is he a John Doe?"
"Nope, just an old guy with reality issues." House taped the picture of Dumbledore's hand onto the whiteboard.
"Is that … gangrene?" Cameron asked.
"Yes, that is gangrene!" House barked. "Common causes?"
Foreman looked more than pissed. "Why are we treating a patient with gangrene? It's boring."
"Because," House said, "the patient's delusions about the cause of his gangrene are interesting."
"That explains your interest – you like crazy – but it doesn't explain why Cuddy would give you the case after making a point of telling us that we have to get our old paperwork filed and down to the archives stat."
"Cuddy's interest was piqued by the patient's financial possibilities. Causes of gangrene?"
"Peripheral vascular disease," Cameron said automatically. "Often caused by diabetes, smoking, atherosclerosis, … ."
"Sudden onset," House interrupted.
"Infection," Foreman said. "But dry gangrene and sudden onset don't go together."
"What does the patient say?" Cameron asked.
"He says it was a curse," House said matter-of-factly.
"Okay, then we need to put psych symptoms on that board, unless our patient has already been diagnosed with dementia, schizophrenia or the like," Foreman said, making notes on the pad in front of him.
"Dementia doesn't cause shrivelling," House pointed out.
"It does, if the patient can't assess dangers anymore," Foreman countered. "Or stick to a decent diet if he's diabetic."
Chase returned with four files that he fanned out on the table. Foreman and Cameron picked up their copies and started reading.
Cameron soon looked up, a puzzled expression on her face. "There's no record of any mental illness."
Foreman rolled his eyes. "This guy hasn't gotten a very dangerous condition adequately treated. That's kinda the definition of insane."
Chase shook his head. "No. He believes he's getting his condition treated. That's medical ignorance, not insanity."
"This guy," Foreman said, tapping the file, "is eighty or older. He's senile, which is why he believes that waving wands over his arm while muttering mumbo jumbo and drinking green smoothies is a viable cure."
"Isn't that how it's done where you come from, Dr Mandingo?" House asked. "Course, it might work better if they added a voodoo doll or two to the mix." He tapped the end of the marker against his lower teeth. "Seems to be having some effect, though. If he's in pain, he's hiding it well."
"His condition has been stable for two months," Chase said.
"Says the patient. Patients lie," Foreman retorted. "What's the treatment anyway?"
"He was treated with … ." Chase turned a page in the file. "Potions containing valerian, mandrake, thyme, aconite, belladonna, bubotuber, salamander blood, sopophorous beans, and a bezoar."
Cameron peeked at Chase's file, and then opened hers to the same page. "I haven't even heard of half of these ingredients. What is … bubotuber?"
House raised an eyebrow at Chase, who said, "It's a … a slug-like plant that squirms and exudes a pus-like, smelly substance, according to Professor Snape. That's the guy accompanying our patient," he explained for Foreman and Cameron's benefit. "Looks like an overgrown bat."
"Did Batwizard also say what sane people call this plant?" House asked. "The question is, are Dumbledore's delusions the reason why he's consenting to this insane treatment or is the treatment the cause of his delusions?"
He turned back to the whiteboard, where he'd listed symptoms and potential causes on the left side. He drew a line down the middle and wrote 'Treatment' over the right-hand column. Then he noted down all the potion ingredients that Chase had mentioned. "Okay, let's strike off every ingredient that we know can't be causing delusions."
"Isn't a bezoar a ball of hair?" Cameron asked, disgust turning down the corners of her mouth.
"Yep," House said, "from the stomach of animals."
"Gross!"
"Yes, again. Thyme doesn't cause delusions, paranoia, or hallucinations." House struck 'thyme' off the whiteboard.
"Suppose this sect uses their own names for plants; then it's possible that the names that seem known to us refer to completely different plants," Chase said thoughtfully. "'Thyme' may not refer to the plant of that name that we know, while 'sopophorous beans' might be something we'd grow under a different name."
"Good point." House scratched his forehead. "Okay, everything stays on the list. I need tests. Cameron, test for diabetes, atherosclerosis, and any other -osis that could cause peripheral vascular disease. Get X-rays of the hand and of anything else that looks odd. Foreman, get swabs and test for infections that could cause gangrene. Chase, find out what those ingredients are and organise samples."
"Where from?" Chase said, looking put upon.
"From Severus Snape. He fed this stuff to his boss, so it's his stash that we want to look at. And while you're at it, find out who benefits from Dumbledore's death."
Chase grinned. "Oh, I can tell you that: a dark wizard named Voldemort. He practices black magic, and apparently he's trying to take over the magical world. According to Snape, Dumbledore is the only one who can stop him."
"Now that's just racist," House whined, "equating the colour 'black' with nefarious doings."
"Yeah," Foreman deadpanned, "let's call it 'pink' magic instead. Meanwhile, let's look around for other beneficiaries – within Dumbledore's inner circle. This Snape, is he Dumbledore's second in command? We need to know how their organisation is structured. What does the title 'Professor' mean in the context of this sect?"
"They're all teachers at a school in Scotland," Chase said. "They take kids from all over Great Britain."
"A school? There are people who send their children to a school run by these madmen?" Cameron looked flabbergasted.
Chase shrugged. "Yeah, and it isn't only cult members who send their children there. Apparently some Muggles – that's what they call non-believers – also send their children there."
"Muggles?" Foreman repeated. "They call us Muggles? That's … ."
"Rude," Cameron supplied.
"Yeah, it's just wrong to call people who have other beliefs names, isn't it – like, 'heathen' or 'goy' or 'gentile'?" House remarked. "Or just plain 'weirdos' or 'madmen'."
"Hey, you called them that too!" Foreman pointed out.
"Ah, but I don't object to being called names. I even answer to 'Jerk' and 'Ass'."
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"When do I get the test results?" Dumbledore asked the pretty young doctor who was drawing blood from his healthy arm.
"Well," she said, loosening the constriction around his arm, "the blood tests take about a day. Maybe I can get the lab to do them by this evening. I'm taking you down to Radiology next; the X-rays will be ready immediately."
"So I can leave tomorrow."
Her head snapped up. "Oh, no! My colleague is starting cultures in the lab from the swabs that we got from the wound. Those'll take a few days. And once we've figured out what's causing this, we still have to treat it."
"A Corruptus curse is not treatable!" Snape who had re-entered the room, said. He pointed through the glass wall at the Australian doctor, who was writing up notes with an expression reminiscent of Neville Longbottom after double Potions. "Professor, that inept bungler wants samples of every ingredient I ever used on you. At Hogwarts he wouldn't pass First Year Potions; he doesn't even know the commonest remedial herbs, let alone more sophisticated ingredients or potion-brewing techniques."
Dumbledore couldn't help feeling sorry for the young man. "Oh dear," he said. "But Severus, you are acquainted with non-magical life and customs. This can't be so surprising to you."
"No, indeed, it isn't. And I'll remind you that it wasn't my idea to come here. My point is that it would be unwise to place potentially lethal potions ingredients, such as moonseed, into inexperienced and, in my opinion, careless hands."
"Dr Chase is not inexperienced," the woman said. "He's very conscientious and … ."
"And you are?" Snape said, raising his eyebrows and looking down his nose at her.
"Allison Cameron. I'm one of Dr House's fellows. My speciality is immunology," she said, visibly flustered.
"Very interesting," Snape said, "though completely irrelevant to our problem. Next they'll be sending us gynaecologists – doctors specialising in women's ailments," he added, probably for Dumbledore's benefit.
"It could be an autoimmune problem," Dr Cameron said, flushing. "The body responding to something that it perceives as a threat by turning on itself."
Snape's smile was thin. "A likely story: the body attacking itself! And you think we're crazy!"
"I never said … ."
"I think we should concentrate on how to get potion ingredients from your storeroom to Princeton, Severus," Dumbledore interposed to stop Snape from reducing the young lady to tears.
"You think we should fulfil their demands," Snape said, his disapproval clearly visible.
"Yes, I do. If I understood Dr Cameron correctly, their method consists of narrowing down causes by excluding potential candidates in a process of elimination. Did I get that right, Dr Cameron?"
Her colour subsiding to a healthier pink again, Dr Cameron nodded and gave him a grateful smile. "Radiology has a slot in half an hour. I'll come and pick you up, shall I?"
Dumbledore beamed at her. "That would be lovely, my dear."
She was a pleasant young thing, even if the tests she was carrying out were a complete waste of time. Magical healing methodology and procedures might differ from Muggle ones, but he was pretty sure that he'd been subjected to equivalent tests at St Mungo's not so long ago, with no promising results.
When she was out of earshot Dumbledore said to Snape, "Don't take your frustration out on her. It isn't her fault."
"The doctors here are a bunch of incompetents," Snape muttered.
"Those two are young. I believe they are being trained, in the same way we train young healers, aurors, obfuscators – and teachers. If I were well, you'd be more charitable towards them."
"If you were well, we wouldn't be here!" Snape was prowling around the room again. "They said you needed to stay for a week at the very least. They indicated that they assume your stay will be considerably longer."
"A week? Oh dear!" Dumbledore said. Dr Cameron had indicated something similar, but he preferred not to think about the consequences. "We'll have to send for the potions ingredients."
"I don't want that oaf Hagrid or Filch rooting around in my supplies!" Snape said.
"They shan't. I'll ask Minerva to collect what is needed, shall I?" He waited for Snape's nod of assent, then he took a bottle of ink and a quill out of the large carpet bag standing in a corner of the room. "Will you write the list please, Severus? The handwriting that my left hand produces still leaves a little something to be desired, and I think that using my self-writing quill here might cause unwanted attention." He glanced out to where Dr Chase sat, typing his notes into the computer at the nurses' station with a mixture of puzzlement and disbelief on his face. "You didn't tell that young man out there any tall tales, Severus, did you?"
Snape's expression was bland. "Would I do that, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore's lips twitched. "No, of course not. Just make sure that you don't ask Minerva to pack any Alihotsy. I'd hate to send the whole hospital into hysteria."
While Severus wrote, Dumbledore, watching Chase, remarked, "Those devices they have, computers, aren't such a bad thing. I could work one with one hand."
"Why use a self-writing quill when you could have daily battles with operating systems, malfunctioning hardware, and computer viruses?" Snape asked, scribbling studiously.
"Sorry?"
Snape put the quill down. "Headmaster, Muggle devices rely on Muggle technology, and Muggle technology is subject to all kinds of malfunction. It isn't necessarily the skill of the user that determines the results, but the developer's abilities, the quality of the materials, the age of the device, and last but not least, the idiocy of previous users. Have you never wondered why those of us who are Muggle-born or part Muggle choose to come to Hogwarts instead of staying in the Muggle world? The Muggle world is very, very – annoying."
He picked up the quill again. "Sopophorous beans," he muttered. "Salamander blood, mandrake. Did we ever try essence of comfrey? Yes, we did."
Dumbledore was silent for a moment. "Now, who can bring us the ingredients? I don't think it would be wise to let Hagrid travel to and fro again. He draws entirely too much attention to himself. Besides, Hogwarts is already weakened by our absence. We can't afford to draw more staff members away from there. That would provoke the attack that I'm hoping to avoid."
"I could return and …," Snape offered reluctantly.
"No, I'm afraid you can't," Dumbledore said with a glance at his arm. "The journey has tired me to the extent that I'm afraid I shall require your continued presence to keep the curse in check. It'll have to be someone who won't be missed that much, someone whose abilities at Defence against the Dark Arts are limited. Pomona, perhaps?"
"I can think of someone who is absolutely useless," Snape said, a grim smile playing on his lips …
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