Chapter Two

As was typical in the winter and autumn months, a thick fog had risen up around the island that held the Carroll Institute. To a muggle seaman, or even a novice wizarding sailor, the voyage would have been difficult. Perhaps even dangerous. However, the man who captained the little ferry was a wizard who had been sailing in the area for years. He made a living for himself ferrying muggles, mostly, but was still willing to go a bit out of his way to take wizards to the Institute whenever they took it into their minds to visit. Whistling as he worked, he made heavy use of his navigational charms to keep the ferry clear of any submerged rocks or other nautical dangers.

A man who appeared to be in his thirties—though for wizards, appearances could be deceiving—stood leaning against the railing of the ship, seemingly holding no concern for falling over the edge and into the murky sea. Though the wind was blowing into his face, ruffling his dirty blond hair around his piercing green eyes, his face gave no sign that he even noticed the disturbance. Brian Early was too concerned with internal matters to care about the sea spray that flecked into his face.

His thoughts were on his younger brother Wyatt, currently rotting away in the Institute he was about to go visit. A feeling of frustration, anger, and something that might have resembled grief rumbled somewhere deep inside of him, but it was easily ignored. Less easily ignored was an emotion that Brian had scarcely felt in his life—guilt. He felt almost…badly about what had happened to his brother. Maybe it was because he had been there during the robbery that his brother had been arrested for…because he had helped with the murders, but had been smart enough not to get caught.

He shook his head. He had been smarter, Wyatt hadn't been clever enough and he had gotten caught. That was the way of the world, there was no use whining about it or wishing things were different. However, he was still going to visit Wyatt, if only to settle that unpleasant tingling feeling in his stomach that he got whenever he pictured his little brother lying on some filthy cot, his eyes staring holes into the ceiling day in and day out—

The sounds of the couple back in the ferry's cabin jolted him from his thinking. He found, to his surprise, that his fists had tightened around the railings until his knuckles were white. He slowly relaxed them, letting out a deep breath as he did so. Those two geezers must have been getting to him…well, they weren't that old, but they went on about their precious daughter like any two old windbags he had ever seen. If he had to listen one more time to a story about their 'brave little girl,' who had so nobly given her life up to fight against the Dark Lord's regime…he was going to spew all over the ship.

Looking around, Brian noticed that the sea had gotten a little bit mistier, the sky perhaps a bit cloudier. There was probably going to be a storm tonight, or at least a bit of rain. He would have been worried if he were a muggle, but the ferry would be fine in virtually any weather with the protection of magic. He gave a slight shiver as the wind picked up, cutting through his robe as though it weren't there.

He shook his head one last time to clear his thoughts, then turned away from the sea. He would head back into the cabin to get a bit of rest before seeing his brother. The visit would be bothersome, but he needed to do it.

After all, Wyatt was family.

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"I went to the last meeting, Wesley, I heard everything you said." The sharpness of Elaine's voice was not at all dampened by the way it echoed off the hallway's walls as she and the Director of the Institute walked briskly from her lab in the far end of the West Wing towards its front door. Wesley kept up with her easily, his legs being slightly longer than hers. Still, she was setting an unusually quick pace—one of the only ways of telling that she was annoyed. Her face was still perfectly cool and collected.

"Then you know that funding is in a precarious balance for the entire Institute, and not just you," he said, frowning at her. "Elaine, I know that what you do is important—"

"Do you really? Because I—"

"—but," he continued with a bit of a glare in her direction, "That doesn't mean that you are going to be exempt from budget cuts. If they happen."

She scoffed.

"If. As though there's any doubt that the Ministry wants to strangle this project."

"The Carroll Institute is a highly respected—"

"You aren't fooling anyone, Wesley, not even yourself." She stopped and turned to look him in the eye. "You know just as well as I do that no one really wants to be here. No one wants to take care of these shells, or be reminded of the punishment that their elected government chose to carry out for years. The mainland is just as unhappy with the idea, and unless we can come up with some concrete benefit for this Institute, it is going to die."

Wesley gaped for a moment, caught without a response in the face of her bluntness. His cheeks turning slightly red, he huffed for an instant before regaining his composure. He followed her as she began walking again, opening the door and stepping out into the grassy area in the center of the four Wings.

"My dear Healer, I do not appreciate your attitude towards this Institute. We provide a very valuable service." Almost without realizing it, he began to slip into the sort of speech he was accustomed to giving at meetings and press conferences. "We take those unfortunate victims who have nowhere else to go. We—"

"Don't give me the spiel, Wesley, I know why we're here." She took another, hard look at him before turning away to keep walking. "And I know that my research is the best way—no, the only way for us to keep this Institute alive. I believe in this place Wesley…more than any of the other Healers, probably more than you." Wesley opened his mouth to protest, but she ignored him and kept going. "So few people even realize the significance of what the Dementor's Kiss is, the implications. They take away our souls. What does that even mean? Does it prove that we have some sort of eternal existence, even more so than ghosts do? And what happens to those the Dementors kiss? Are they simply snuffed out, as though they never existed? And where do those lost souls go? I'm almost there, I can feel it—"

"Elaine." Wesley put a hand on her shoulder, cutting her off. "I know how strongly you feel about this. But you've claimed to be on the edge of breakthrough since you came here. As has every other researcher who has ever looked at dementors. I can't just keep giving you the same funding based on promises. The Institute is here to help people, and if the galleons you are getting for your program aren't going to bring about any results, than they would be better spent elsewhere."

It seemed apparent that Wesley had intended for those words to be the end of the conversation, but Elaine was not done.

"Don't pretend that you have any noble ideals about this place, Wesley, not when we all know that you wouldn't be here if your father thought you were capable of managing anywhere else—" She broke off as they reached the door to the East Wing. Wesley had stopped in his tracks, and his young-looking face was almost unreadable. For the first time in the conversation, a flicker of emotion besides frustration crossed Elaine's face as she realized that she may have gone too far.

"Wesley, I—"

"I stand by my earlier warning," he said, curtly and quietly. "I will need your official request for a budget continuance, and you may be called to a Board of Review when the budgetary discussions begin with the new year." With that, he turned and began striding back towards his office even more quickly than he had already been walking. Elaine could do nothing but stare after him as he went, before sighing and walking into the East Wing.

Nicholas was seated at the desk when she walked in, focused on reading a small paperback novel. He had been able to convince a taskless Healer to go and get it for him during a slow moment, and had been attempting to fight the boredom of desk duty ever since. He looked up to see Elaine enter, and nodded a hello to her. It was mostly ignored as she strode up to the desk purposefully.

"Has Healer Thistlewood checked in yet this morning?"

"Yes, Miss Winters. Spoke to her myself."

Elaine didn't seem interested in small talk, but nodded curtly instead.

"Please inform her that I am done experimenting with her patient, and that he is available for pickup whenever she pleases."

"All right." Nicholas shrugged. "I'll be sure to let her know. Want some tea, Miss Winters?" He gestured towards the pot he had brewed by the desk. He had had a craving after that first cup, and had ended up with more than he could drink. The aroma was tempting, but Elaine shook her head.

"No thank you. I'll be choosing my next subject from the second floor patients, if anyone needs me." Before he could make any real acknowledgment, she was walking past his desk and towards the lift, brushing by one of the Healers working on the first floor, a middle-aged man named Corbitt. He sighed and gave one last glance in her direction before turning back to his book. That Elaine was a real cold fish, never spent a lot of time with the other staff…to be honest, Nick thought she was a bit creepy, spending all that time experimenting on the patients. Not that he'd say it to her face—she seemed…well, polite, if not nice. That would have to do.

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Charlie pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders as he walked across the grounds towards the dock. He was running a little bit late, and the last thing he needed was to be dealing with visitors who were irate from having to stand around in the cold waiting for their guide. The clouds that had been quite distant this morning were now ominously beginning to gather, and he had a hunch that rain of some sort would be coming soon. Hopefully he would be done with his tour duties and sleeping by then. Or at least indoors.

It was his lucky day—at least, it would have been if he hadn't already been forced into this obnoxious chore while sleep deprived. The boat was just pulling into the dock as he arrived. Assisted by magic, the ferry's captain didn't need any help getting it to remain steady as the three visitors stepped off. Charlie nodded his thanks to the captain, who tossed him a small salute and then began to pull the ferry away from the island. He would return in a few hours to pick up the visitors and take them back to the mainland.

In the meantime, they were all Charlie's.

He cleared his throat, directing the visitors' attentions to him. He could easily guess who was who—the couple were holding hands, and looked the right age to have an adult daughter. The Early brother was standing a ways off from them, looking a little bit surly. Charlie stepped forward, stopping close to the group.

"Good morning, everyone," he said, trying to sound cheery despite his near-exhaustion. "I'm Healer Holcomb, and I'll be your guide today. I'm sure you all want to get out of this cold as much as I do, so if you'll just follow me this way to the East Wing…"

The Melvilles nodded, smiling politely even though Charlie could see that their faces were strained. It must be difficult, he thought, coming to see your daughter in such a place. Nontheless, they seemed friendly enough. Early merely let out a quiet grunt and filed into place behind the older pair.

Charlie sighed. Well, at least none of them seemed to be the crying types. If they were, maybe they could at least wait until they reached their loved one before losing all control. It exhausted him to see people cry, he always felt as though there were something he should be doing to help, when really all he could do was stand back and give them some semblance of privacy. He began to walk briskly towards the East Wing, where the check-in book was located. It was also where Early's brother was treated, so going there would kill two birds with one stone. After he dropped Early off with his brother, he could take the Melvilles to see their daughter and he would be done until they were ready to leave.

As he walked away, he could see some of the steam rising into the air from the ferry before it became indistinguishable from the mist rising up from the ocean.

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Lenore Thistlewood had stopped by the window on the second floor when she saw Charlie's figure crossing the grounds beneath her. Part of her wanted to tap against the window and try to get his attention, but she knew he probably wouldn't hear her. Besides, what could she do even if he did? Try to mouth some sort of conversation to him? It had been a silly idea. Instead, she simply watched as he walked by.

Charlie and she had struck up a sort of friendship as they worked on the island. Lenore was the newest addition to the Institute's staff, and Charlie had been the one to show her around—much as he was currently doing for the visitors. Though he hadn't seemed to think much of the job, and had probably been forced into doing it by Wesley, Lenore had found herself being drawn into conversation with him as they walked about the island. Now, several months later, he was still the only person on the island that she could have really meaningful conversations with, and she couldn't help but think that if they were on the mainland, she might have asked him out on a date. Of course, on this little island, there wasn't exactly much of a dating scene. Still, she flushed slightly as she watched him walk by beneath her.

She felt a little angry with herself for the flush—despite her peppy personality, she was not a schoolgirl anymore, and had no business getting silly crushes like one. She was an adult and had no business fawning over a coworker who might very well have no interest in her whatsoever.

Of course, he had seemed to enjoy their conversations too, and seemed less grumpy than he normally was when he was with her….maybe that meant…

She was virtually lost in these reflections when Elaine came up behind her. Lenore nearly jumped at the sound of Elaine's shoes, and spun around to face her. Her first instinct was to feel guilty for being distracted from her rounds, but she belatedly realized that this hospital was quite different from any of the ones she had been taught about in school. Patients were not likely to die because of her lack of diligence, and the rounds could easily wait. They weren't going anywhere, and none of their conditions were likely to change significantly. Still, it took her a moment to regain her composure, and Elaine used that moment to begin speaking in her assertive, authoritative voice.

"Healer Thistlewood, perfect. I was just looking for you." If Elaine was still bothered by her conversation with Wesley, her face did nothing to show it—though perhaps her voice was a bit distracted sounding. "I am finished with your patient, and am searching for a new one on this floor. If I choose another of yours, you'll have all the paperwork on your desk before they leave the building."

Caught slightly off guard, Lenore could only nod for a moment before remembering to speak.

"Oh—yes, of course, Elaine. And you can call me Lenore, you know."

Elaine only smiled patiently. While she hadn't been able to resist allowing Lenore to call her by her first name, she was still more…comfortable remaining formal with the rest of the staff. After all, she wasn't here to make friends. Saving souls most certainly took precedence.

"I'll keep that in mind, Healer."

"I don't suppose you had any success, did you?"

It was an idle question, coming from Lenore—and she most likely already knew the answer. If there had been any sort of breakthrough in Elaine's research on the dementors' victims, it would have been the only news to spread throughout the island all day. There would be an uproar over it. Elaine simply shook her head and turned to leave, looking down at her list of the patients on the floor. Then, a stray thought caught her and she stopped. Elaine turned to look back at Lenore, who was still standing by the window.

"Healer Thistlewood…if you don't mind me asking…why are you here?"

Lenore blinked in response.

"Why am I….here? At the Institute?" Elaine nodded.

"Yes. I'm not naïve—I know that many of the Healers here came as a last resort, or because they are antisocial, or as a punishment. So few seem to really believe in—" She broke off, catching herself. "Anyway. My question is, why did you choose to come to this place?"

Lenore opened her mouth, then paused in thought. She was giving the question the consideration it deserved.

"I know that it sounds a bit daft, but I came here because I thought it was where I could do the most good."

Elaine looked at her for a moment, eyes revealing little.

"You really believe that? Out of the charity of your heart, and noble ideals, you came to this place?"

Lenore shrugged.

"Maybe. I know that I'd like to think so. Also—" She flushed a little bit, and seemed to have trouble making eye contact with Elaine. "I….I needed to test myself." Elaine's eyebrow quirked upward questioningly. "It doesn't mean anything if you only help people when it's easy for you, or convenient. I've always thought I wanted to help people, but if I found out that I only was interested when there was some kind of benefit for me—" Lenore's eyes flashed momentarily, as though angry at some forgotten conversation or memory. "I don't want to be a hypocrite. I figured there was no better way to test my resolve than here."

The Healer stopped after this outburst, seeming a bit surprised at how much of herself she had ended up revealing to Elaine. The older woman looked at Lenore for another moment, and then gave the Healer a smile. It was a rare expression on her face, and it lasted only briefly, but it was there.

"Thank you, Lenore." She adjusted her clipboard, then began walking away. "I occasionally find myself doubting whether this place has any meaning, or hope for a future…it's good to know that at least some people here are working for the greater good."

Lenore could do nothing but watch her walk away, the sun shining briefly through the clouds to pierce through the window behind her. She felt the sun's light warm her back quickly, and turned just in time to see it disappear behind the clouds. She did not know it, but that would be the last time she saw the sun for quite some time. In the distance, the clouds seemed like a reflection of the fog that seemed to be rising from the ocean in such copious amounts.

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James Noonan whistled to himself as he carefully navigated his ferry throught he mist and back towards the mainland. He was using the muggle instruments for fun's sake, but had spells ready to protect the ship from any unexpected collisions. Not that he thought such a thing was likely—after all, he had been sailing these waters his whole life. In fact, he had been giving thought lately to perhaps retiring, selling his ferry and moving farther inland. Certainly it might be warmer there, this cold was doing nothing good for his old bones…

He shivered, and suddenly realized that there was more to his discomfort than simple cold could allow for. A feeling of dread started sinking into him, from the pit of his stomach outward. Looking out the window of the cabin, the veteran of both of the wars against the Dark Lord Voldemort beheld a sight that paralyzed him with fear.

Drifting over the water was the largest group of dementors that James had ever seen in his life. Though the fog limited his range of vision down to perhaps twenty or thirty feet around the boat, the space he could see was nearly filled with them. There must have been more than thirty of the things, and he could see shapes moving in the mist outside of his vision that could easily have been more of them.

A terrible fear began rising in him, a fear that could only partially be attributed to the powers of the dementors. James knew the danger he faced, and was determined to escape it any way he could. He reached for his wand, hoping to use it to Apparate.

A shockingly cold and clammy hand grasped his own with a terrifying strength. James let out a piercing scream that no other human could hear.

The dementor had entered the cabin silently, and was flanked by at least three others. More might have been crowded outside, but the majority of the things seemed to be ignoring the ferry. These were the only ones who had stopped, perhaps sensing James's fear. His scream continued even as the dementor whose claw grasped his arm reached up with its other hand to pull back its hood, exposing a terrifying face whose maw was open and gaping, leaning forward to slowly envelop him—

The scream abruptly ended, the last of its echoes quickly fading as they were swallowed up by the mist. The dementors glided out of the ferry, leaving it to drift. They silently rejoined their brethren in their ceaseless journey, the journey that they and all of their kin around the world were undertaking—the slow but inevitable trek towards the Carroll Institute.