Warnings: Um... none? I think...
Disclaimers: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and associates, of whom I am not one. Written for The Magic Bringer's Summary Challenge on HPFC.
"I'm afraid, Mr and Mrs Dursley, that with this kind of illness your nephew's chances are not optimal," said the doctor gravely, and he looked over to where the small boy was playing absently with a pile of blocks. "He mayn't even last out the year."
He wondered if they had heard this before, or if they had expected the news. But no, Doctor Alan Jacoby was the first person the Dursley family had consulted regarding their nephew's condition.
"I see," Vernon Dursley's tone was grave, but there was a gleam in his piggy eyes that the doctor didn't like. Even when he had been taking blood samples two weeks prior, the man – who was of elephantine proportions – had been trying to sell him drills and go golfing and several other things that were very strange of the caretaker of a potentially ill child to be concerned about. Who cared about drills when the poor child was sick?
It wasn't a pleasant disease in any sense of the phrase, and sadly, it wasn't as uncommon as some might think. Sure, Autism was far more common, but one in a thousand still wasn't a good chance. He had just recently diagnosed a very bright little girl named Hermione; only the fact that it wasn't contagious, but rather genetic, kept it out of the spotlight.
Usually, it cropped up around the age of five and very few diagnosed survived past the age of eleven. Harry Potter wasn't the first in his family to be diagnosed; his mother's records showed that she was diagnosed and, at age eleven, put under intensive care. It was amazing that she survived to bear a child to be honest, and she had born the son of another carrier of the illness.
Jacoby had found that the mutation in the child's DNA was especially diverse, more so than ever recorded previous. It was astonishing.
"I would suggest having the boy interred full time at the hospital, in case it advances faster than anticipated and starts shutting down his systems," the doctor continued, trying to shake his morbid thoughts and the suspicion that these Dursley people were looking forward to their nephew's death. "No one else has survived long enough to reproduce that had this disease before, and I'm afraid of what having two carriers as parents will do to the poor boy."
In the corner, Harry continued playing with the blocks, green eyes slightly glazed. His cousin had been kicked out of the room for not letting Harry play and was currently with a nurse in the hospital cafeteria, but Harry still wasn't playing like a normal child.
"We can't afford something like that!" squawked Petunia Dursley, an anorexic-looking woman with a horse-like face. "We have to spend enough of our money on that boy as it is, we can't afford to pay his fees to stay at the hospital as well!"
"The Foundation of the Phoenix has already agreed to pay his fees," Jacoby informed the woman. "They take in most such cases. The papers are all drawn up, if you wish to sign them."
The idea that Harry would be taken off their hands without having to pay for it seemed to be the step the Dursleys needed, and they signed straight away. They were gone like a flash to join their son in the cafeteria, and Doctor Jacoby was left with the sick child who continued to ignore the world around him save for his game with the blacks.
When Harry was taken away by a representative of the Foundation, a tall black man named Kingsley, the blocks stopped floating, and Doctor Jacoby reclined in his chair.
Harry Potter went in and out of hospitals for six more years before receiving his letter to "Hogwarts Medical Center," where he met a bright girl by the name of Hermione Granger and a funny boy by the name of Ronald Weasley. Together they did things that Doctor Jacoby would never understand, because Doctor Jacoby thought they were sick, and sick children didn't go around saving the world.
Shows how much he knew.
Author's Note: Just a bit of fun :)