Potomac

by Kodiak

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am not making any money from this story. Fortunately, JK Rowling has expressed amused tolerance of fan fiction.

Chapter One

The setting sun brought a warm glow to the amber fire in his glass as Dr. Samuel Crane reclined on his private deck to enjoy the early Montana summer. The Scotch was old, smooth, and burned away his frustration in a fiery path down his throat. Damn whinging, sniveling patients! The ones who could afford his program led pampered public lives. They complained about pressure... Crane could tell them about pressure... No, none of that. Let it go. Peace. There was no grief, no past, nothing but the Potomac Valley and his own personal sunset.

And the crunch of boots on gravel. Damn! Should have locked the gate before turning off the phone. Leave me alone.

"Samuel! Robert's been ringing your mobile for thirty minutes. Are you hiding?"

"Clearly not well enough."

The dying light warmed the pale blond hair and crisp white shirt as Troy Phelps trod the steps to steal the sunset from Samuel. The young man cautiously stepped back as Samuel curled his fingers possessively around the decanter of his finest scotch.

"Fine, don't share."

"Are you not 'on duty'?"

The only reply was an eye roll, and Samuel was perversely pleased with the thought that fine breeding had not endowed the youth with perfect manners. Oh, Troy, what would your father say?

The silent treatment worked as well on proteges as patients, and Troy explained that the school principal was trying to contact him for advice regarding a young member of the 4H club.

"She didn't realize that her lamb would be sold at the fair. He's concerned that she'll be traumatized."

Samuel cocked his eyebrow at this declaration. Troy should know better than anyone, well almost anyone, that Samuel did not coddle people. Or approve of others doing the coddling. "The world is a hard, cold place. Better she learns that now." Much as Troy might protest, that was Samuel's final statement on that matter.

He steered the conversation to Troy's recent 'calls' and paid lip service to the young man's desire for more challenging and interesting medical emergencies. He truly held no interest in drama. If the injuries were severe enough for Troy to find them diverting, Samuel himself would undoubtedly be called into the fray, and he'd seen enough excitement in his life already.

It was time to quietly oversee the recovery of the drug-addicted rich and watch for the single perfect sunset.

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Saturday had been quiet, the benefit of having a well trained staff. They took care of the daily essentials, and Samuel spent his time and talents healing wounded minds and the occasional broken heart. The last patient file on his desk now closed, and dreading his own thoughts of loneliness and alienation, he tried to focus on the image of still water.

He welcomed the pounding on his door as a respite from his inner demons, until he opened it to find one standing on his doorstep.

"Wolfe." If his tone was disagreeable, it was necessary to protect his own sanity from the desperation in the other man's dull brown eyes. "This had better be urgent and unavoidable."

John Wolfe was bending under the weight of the bundle of tattered brown robes that he clutched tightly to his body. "Se- Samuel, please. We found their last rabbit hole. Caught them both napping. It's over, finally. I promise I'll make it right, but just now I need your help. They had her, downstairs... they... we... Look, I know that you can help her. Please."

Samuel fought to grasp the tempered steel of his self control. John was eroding his will, always could. He wanted to say 'No' on principle, and then John shifted the woman slightly, balancing her weight and the cloak slid away from her bare foot. Milky white skin peeked out from layers of grime, dust, and what looked suspiciously like dried blood. His last resistance melted away. "This is for her, not you." He turned his back on both the man and the pain as he pulled his phone to summon Troy.

If John was surprised that Samuel kept a well-stocked trauma room in his basement, he made no comment. The psychiatrist refused to look at John's face lest he give away anything more than he had already. Focus on the patient. Follow diagnostic procedure, deal with the acute, boss Troy around (handy tool, displacement), and then press John for more details. Power, control, he needed to keep both for himself this time around.

"Hold this." Samuel pulled John next to the bed and thrust the IV bag into his hands. "Higher, or it won't flow." That was good. He could use the authority of his title to keep John off balance, keep control of the situation, then send the man on his way before he made concessions he would later regret. It was the wolf's own fault that he hadn't any idea that the IV stand was only two feet away. This way Samuel could focus on lab tests, diagnose and treat the body, then worry about the shattered mind. But he found he couldn't wait. "How long?" He didn't like hearing the rough edge in his own voice, the weakness it revealed.

He liked the answer even less. "She was missing for nineteen days. We think they grabbed her..."

"Just the facts, Wolfe. What have they admitted to?"

The list was grotesque, but contained nothing unexpected until the last. "...and Cruciatus." Damnation. That complicated things. He barked a few orders at Troy, scribbled notes in a new chart labeled 'Doe, Jane', grabbed the IV from John and placed it on the silver tree attached to 'Jane's' bed, and snarled one last command at the man. "My office. Now."

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Samuel made an elaborate show of sitting behind his large desk (overcompensation, he knew, but for the moment he would use any tactic in his arsenal). When he made eye contact with John, the man winced in a way that made him wonder if the wolf could actually hear the pounding of his headache. He knew he'd have to tread very carefully, but there was nothing for it. If the Muggle girl had suffered magical torture, he would need John's help to coax her back to sanity. Nineteen days with Yaxley and Macnair; Christ Almighty, it might be too late already.

He summoned his most professional voice, authoritative and calm. "As you've no doubt surmised, Cruciatus complicates things greatly. You were right to come to me. Standard psychiatric treatments yield dubious results even in cases of Muggle torture. Add magic to the mix with an unsuspecting victim... What?"

"You are correct that she's a Muggle, but she knows about magic, dating a wizard..."

"Stop. Don't twist the blade. There's no way around this. I will help her as I can, but you will have to stay. You will be her support, the familiar face of reassurance." He held up his hand to stave off Wolfe's objection. The man hadn't planned to drop the woman at his door and leave, had he? The nerve! Maybe this wasn't John's girlfriend after all. "You will help me with daily household chores. I will do what is necessary to help her heal. You will not undermine my decisions regarding her treatment, and you will leave our history in the past where it belongs. Am I understood?"

Later, as Samuel finally succumbed to exhaustion, he heard muffled sounds that could only be John raiding the liquor cabinet. Perhaps this was painful for the wolf after all. When he caught himself smirking, Samuel had the grace to blush.

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The scent of frying bacon brought a smile to Samuel's face. He could hear Remus humming in the kitchen, feel the softness of expensive sheets. Albus must be picking up the hotel tab for these stolen moments; normally the bedding was coarse and breakfast consisted of take-away.

And then reality returned with conscious thought. Albus was gone. The pain in his chest left him gasping for air. No. no. The man taking over his kitchen was no longer his Remus, no more his haven from violence and pain. John Wolfe would act as his shield, buffer him from the vengeance of angry saviors, let him start a new life, but never forgive. So be it. This would be his last act of penance. The wolf would absolve him or not, and they would part ways for good. Samuel would make sure of it.

He bypassed his dressing robe for chinos and an oxford shirt. Samuel normally never wore shoes for Sunday morning breakfast in his own home, one more layer between himself and the comfortable life he'd finally found, so he reached for his softest leather loafers and savored the confidence they lent him. The more he could insulate himself from Wolfe, the less heartache he would suffer later.

He focused his mind to remember what was stocked in the pantry. There were some fresh rolls and fruit that Robert delivered after his weekly trip to town. That would do. Walk right into the kitchen like you own the place, Samuel, 'cause you do. Grab a roll and an apple; proceed directly to your office. Do not talk to the wolf; do not pass go; do not collect two hundred dollars. That's better, you have work to do. Now get moving.

He'd timed his entrance perfectly. Wolfe was wholly focused on the skillet he was tending. Samuel had made it through the room and to the door before he heard, "You aren't trying to avoid me, perhaps?"

Dammit. "Why ever would you think that? Patient to check on, schedules to plan, busy day."

He hadn't turned around so he was surprised to feel the hand firmly locked around his elbow. "Troy sent Cathy home at nine. Jill is due after Sunday services. You know he's very capable; Amanda is in excellent hands. You have time to eat with me." Samuel cursed his traitorous body as he allowed himself to be muscled into a straight backed chair and sighed at the aroma of a perfect bacon and Swiss scramble.

This wasn't wise. He was certain they would both bleed before the end. Yet the eggs tasted as perfect as they smelled, and the warm sensation in his stomach had less to do with the hot food than the feeling of belonging to someone. How nice it had been to know that one person in the world believed the best of him. How far to fall the day he didn't. And now they were together again, a hand's breadth away at a tiny kitchen table, but for the doubt and alienation between them it might as well be a chasm.

When Samuel rose abruptly from his chair, he saw Wolfe stiffen; hurt and anger flashed across his face. "Look, there are things that I must see to. Today. You need to acquire Amanda's full medical records by any means possible. And the paramour – perhaps seeing him will help build her trust in us."

"What happened to 'you will help me with daily household chores'? We're going to have to deal with each other sooner or later, you know."

"No, we aren't. Damn. Damn damn damn." He'd invited Robert and his wife for dinner. It was too late to politely cancel. He was going to need Wolfe's help after all. Fortunately the shopping had already been done, and the man was an excellent cook.

So forty minutes later, when he had finally locked himself in his office, Samuel realized that he had never held the balance or control. As soon as John had crossed the threshold of his life, Samuel was doomed. Doomed. Maudlin and melancholy, he picked up the phone and rang through to his mentor.

"Hey, Jack. I hope I'm not interrupting, I can call back if there's a better time." And before he knew it, he had opened his soul to the intuitive man in New York. Yes, he remembered the grief and pain of losing Remus. Yes, he knew this was a very bad idea, and that he was likely, scratch that, certainly in over his head, but did Jack realize that no other psychiatrist would have any understanding of what this girl has suffered? Samuel might be the only person alive and outside of a desolate North Sea prison to know the full capacity of evil within those men. John had been right to bring her here.

And though he was reminded again that Jack knew Samuel was in over his head, Samuel hung up the phone knowing that his mentor cared for him, and would help him weather even the storms of his own bad decisions. And would need a ride from the airport on Thursday, because even very intuitive mentors could do only so much from two thousand miles away.

That left him three days to get his proverbial shit together because as much as Jack supported him, he would certainly do what was right for Samuel's patients as well. And Samuel refused to entertain the thought of losing his career over old heartaches.