Ominous
By Angelfirenze
Disclaimer: Dick Wolf and J.K. Rowling own damned near everything and everyone. It is pointless to attempt to sue me. You will get nothing, as I am merely a L&O:CI and HP loving college student. Anyone you don't recognize belongs to me. There are always lyrics somewhere in all of my stories. They probably will come from Incubus, Radiohead, Straylight Run, Thursday, and My Chemical Romance, just to name a few. Also, I should say that Beka's fic, 'The Art of Being a Kept Woman,' inspired the title. It's my most favorite of hers. And, lastly, there's a line in here inspired by 'The Energy of Nothing' by Mel, which I'm sure you'll all recognize.
Summary: ...I'm certain that, from what Detective Goren told you, you must think
there is some sort of hoax being orchestrated, but I assure you that he
is not lying and hasn't gone mad, as he said you might think...
Pairings: Bobby/Alex, as it's only the summertime and no students are there. O.W.L results haven't even gone out yet!
Timeline: Post-'Collective' since that's the last one we've seen...damned NBC...pouts I know 'Collective' probably takes place during a winter month, but let's pretend it didn't, okay?
A/N: I know the movies are better considered entities all to themselves, but I do love the uniforms, particularly circa PoA. So let's pretend Bobby's robes came with other stuff. Also, I don't actually know where Alex's apartment is, so I'm winging it.
Part II: Explanations and Exploration
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Hogsmeade, Scotland
10:05 am
Someone, somewhere said some things
That may have sparked some sympathy, but don't believe
Don't believe a word you've heard about me
Don't be so scared
It's harder for me
Bobby followed Professor McGonagall up through the castle, noting that he was distinctly uncomfortable with the way Filch kept glaring at him as though he was going to whip out his service piece and shoot him with it. Bobby rolled his eyes and sped up, keeping pace with Professor McGonagall since he figured he'd probably be here long enough to get a good look around later if not now. He hoped Captain Deakins wouldn't kill him when he showed up several hours—or days—late for work. Yawning, he covered his mouth.
"Have you slept at all, Detective?" Professor McGonagall asked, glancing at him.
"Seven minutes or so, I think," He looked at his watch. "It's only 1:05 am where I came from. But it's no big deal. I don't sleep very often anyway."
Professor McGonagall frowned again and started walking faster. "That's unacceptable."
Bobby didn't say anything. He just kept walking.
"I assume you heard me, Detective Goren?" Professor McGonagall said, catching Bobby off-guard.
Bobby bit his lip and watched the tight bun on her head bob slightly with her movements. "I didn't know you wanted me to answer. I apologize, Professor. Yes, I suppose it is unacceptable. But...I-I can't sleep very much. I've had insomnia for most of my life. I was actually surprised when I fell asleep so early last night. Of course, I wasn't nearly as surprised as when I woke up 3,000 miles away in a strange bed."
He didn't add that whenever he managed to fall asleep, he had nightmares that woke him up and kept him up for however long it was until his alarm went off.
"Well, after we talk to Professor Dumbledore, I think Madam Pomfrey could give you some Dreamless Sleep potion to help with that."
What is she, a mind reader? He thought as they came to a large oak door with a gargoyle in front of it.
"Password?" The gargoyle asked and Professor McGonagall said, "Sugar quill."
The gargoyle sprang aside and a door opened to reveal a staircase spiraling smoothly upward like an escalator at a mall.
"I feel like I'm at some shopping center," Bobby muttered, following Professor McGonagall onto the escalator. Filch, thankfully, didn't follow.
"What was that, Detective?" Professor McGonagall asked from two steps in front of him.
"It's not important, Professor," Bobby said as they came to another room, a circular room filled with all sorts of interesting contraptions and apparatuses. Bobby felt his arm extend toward one of the shelves, but he pulled it back. Confined to his small piece of personal space, Bobby began to fidget, wanting very much to go touch and examine the objects, but...he couldn't.
"Detective Goren, surely you can control yourself?" Professor McGonagall's voice was severe and sounded rather like ADA Carver's when he was annoyed with Bobby.
"Minerva, why shouldn't Detective Goren exercise his curiosity? So many adults lose theirs, after all? It's quite refreshing." A man with a long white beard who greatly resembled the barkeep from The Hog's Head came down another set of steps from above. He was resplendent in robes of deep purple with silver stars embroidered into them.
Grinning widely, Bobby strode over to the first thing in sight and picked it up, turning it in every direction. The paintings on the walls snickered and Professor McGonagall was wide-eyed with shock. This grown man was playing with Professor Dumbledore's things as though they were in a toy shop! It was preposterous.
"Now, Detective Goren, Madame Malkins owled me about an hour ago before our unfortunate discovery behind the Hog's Head pub—"
Bobby turned to face him, the strange item still whirring away in his hand. He extended his right and shook Professor Dumbledore's hand before carefully placing the...thing he was playing with back on its spindly table.
"Ah, yes, er..."
"What happened last night, Bobby," Dumbledore asked, making him smile. Professor McGonagall had plainly refused to call him anything but Detective Goren. It was refreshing.
"Well, I went to bed last night...seven minutes later I woke up in The Three Broomsticks. I went across the road to Madam Malkins and she gave me some robes because I was only wearing my boxers. She said I could pay her back for them some other time. She said the most important thing was to talk to you. She'd asked me if I knew what Apparition was. I told her no."
Dumbledore's white brow furrowed, "So she sent you here?"
"Yes, but before I could talk to her again, she left. I'd been getting dressed and she'd left. I went outside to find people gathered around The Hog's Head pub and—and are you related to the proprietor there, because the two of you look alike—"
"He is my brother, Aberforth," Dumbledore confirmed and Bobby smiled.
"Well, he was describing the body of a young girl he found behind his pub this morning when he was putting out some butterbeer crates. He was telling the truth because there were bits of wood stuck in his beard."
Dumbledore smiled sadly.
"And I wanted to go look at the body, because that's what I do at home in New York. I solve murder cases. That's my job at the New York Police Department. I work in the Major Case Squad with my partner, Alexandra Eames." Goren knew he was explaining it badly, but he didn't know what he could assume these people knew--they seemed to think he ought to know a lot of things that he didn't. "Um, I was wondering how it is I got here and how I could get home. I have to go to work in—" Goren looked at his watch. "Nine hours and five minutes so—"
"I'm afraid, Bobby, that I can't let you go home just yet," Professor Dumbledore said and Bobby felt his mouth drop open.
"Why not? I have to go to work in the morning."
"As much as you love your job, Bobby, I have to wonder why you were never informed that you were a wizard."
"What? No, I'm not..." He paused, looking shrewdly at Professor Dumbledore. "How do you know?"
"This castle, for instance. If you weren't a wizard, there isn't any way you would've been able to walk through those doors. Or, rather, you wouldn't have wanted to."
"Why not?"
"Because, Detective Goren, this entire castle is charmed so that any Muggle who comes across it will believe they are simply looking at an old, falling down building. You see a castle. You are a wizard."
Bobby felt the breath forcefully expelled from his chest. All he could think was...
Wow.
Thus
Escape takes lead
into a world unknown uncontrolled by all
where border are erased and potential infinite
Chosen cells glands and transmittors
blast the body with joy
Astral feet running
up to dimension covered with gold
stairs of glowing ectoplasma
sapphire onyx and buzzing vibrations
A dead man banquet
food for the gods
Alexandra Eames' Apartment
Manhattan, New York
1:45 am
Alex was getting ready to turn in for the night, having turned off the tape of the CSI episode she'd been forced, as usual, to record. Grumbling under her breath about cases and vacation time she should've taken years ago, she was passing her fireplace when suddenly it burst into flames and her partner's head appeared in the middle of it.
Okay, I was not drinking tonight...What the hell?"
"Uh, Bobby...may I ask why your head is sitting in the middle of my suddenly lit fireplace?"
"Um...well, actually, Alex, I feel very sick. I figure I better get all this out before I vomit."
Alex Eames, clad in merely pajamas, stared at the (admittedly gorgeous) head of her partner and best friend, Bobby Goren, as it floated in her fireplace with flames dancing all around his ears. He was talking to her now, explaining how he'd gone to bed at eleven twenty-seven, only to wake up seven minutes later in an inn halfway around the world.
"So you're in England, right now?"
"No, not England. Scotland. Hogsmeade, Scotland, at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I've been here for about an hour. And, actually, there's a dead girl down in the village. The headmaster's brother found her this morning when he was putting out butterbeer crates—"
"Butterbeer?" Alex asked, cutting him off and Bobby smiled a little.
"Yeah, I had some a few minutes ago because the Deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall asked me when the last time I ate was and I said yesterday morning—"
"I hope she gave you a swift kick in the ass, like I want to," Alex said, becoming quite annoyed.
"Um, no, she didn't. Although, with the way she keeps glaring at me, I think I prefer the kick."
"Good," Alex said, giving him her own glare for good measure. "So there's a dead girl in the village..."
"Yeah, and apparently, since I can see the castle itself—uh, the school is located in a huge castle—I'm a wizard, too—"
"Whoa, wait," Alex dropped the book she was holding, where it lay on the floor, forgotten. "You're a wizard?"
"Yeah, I didn't believe them either, but Professor Dumbledore—he's the headmaster—gave me a copy of this book called, Hogwarts, A History. I've been reading it and there are all sorts of wards on all the magical schools—because there's at least one in every country or region—that make it impossible for Muggles—that's what they call nonmagical people—to see the schools and come snooping around. Like with Hogwarts, Muggles see a huge, dilapidated old teardown. It's really fascinating, actually. The headmaster said I could contact you since you're my partner and my best friend. They'd arrange for you to stay here with me. They'd also like to talk to Deakins if it's possible."
Alex wasn't understanding. "Wait, Bobby, no. How do you know these people are telling the truth? They could just be lying to set you up. Nicole could be behind this."
"Yeah, I thought of that, but none of it fits. For one thing, none of them have ever heard of Nicole Wallace or anyone involved with her. Plus, hey, Alex, the pictures—the pictures and paintings and stuff all move here! It's like watching television, only miles more interesting."
That cinched it. Alexandra Eames sighed shakily, now firmly convinced that her partner had finally gone off his nut. He's crazy.
"I'm not crazy, Alex. Look, turn around. Professor Dumbledore said he was sending a letter and a Portkey to both yours and Deakins' apartments to explain everything. He wants to talk to both of you. On your coffee table, is there a dark red feather with a golden underside?"
Alex turned around and, sure enough, there was a feather tied to a note written on parchment paper. Hurrying over to it, she opened it and read the letter, addressed to:
Alexandra Eames
The Living Room
28E 108th Street
Manhattan, New York
"Oh my God," Alex murmured, reading the letter.
Dear Ms. Eames,
I'm certain that, from what Detective Goren told you, you must think there is some sort of hoax being orchestrated, but I assure you that he is not lying and hasn't gone mad, as he said you might think. We have spoken with Madame Malkins and she assures us that he did, indeed, walk into her robe shop wearing nothing but a pair of dark blue boxer shorts...
Alex snorted despite herself at the image of Bobby wandering around Scotland half-naked.
Okay, Eames, concentrate! It's not productive right now to imagine Bobby in his boxers! She'd save that mental image for later on.
...and that she gave him a set of robes to wear for the time being. As he is currently in the castle, he is not in any imminent danger. However he will have to stay for some time as we find it unacceptable that he has reached adulthood with no knowledge of his magic or any idea of how to use it. It is quite unsafe for him to continue on in this way so we have decided he should be taught to control his magic as soon as possible to avoid his or anyone else being injured. Now, as his partner you are permitted to join him. Ordinarily, Muggles are not allowed into the castle, but Detective Goren assures myself and Professor Dumbledore that yourself and your superior, Captain James Deakins, will not breach the Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, adopted in 1749 by the Wizard's Council to avoid Muggle knowledge of magic and, therefore, another catastrophe like the Salem Witch Trials, which led to the massacre of hundreds of innocent Muggles in Massachusetts, New England due to mass hysteria. There is a Phoenix feather attached to this letter. It has been transformed into a Portkey, which will bring you to the school in fifteen minutes. Please pack what you can, take hold of the Portkey, and wait. Similar instructions have been owled to your superior.
Yours,
Professor Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Alex, now quite pale, looked up to find Bobby's head still sitting in her fireplace. His face showed no amusement whatsoever. On the contrary, it showed trepidation.
"Do you believe me?" He asked quietly. His dark hair was mussed and dirty with soot. His face was streaked with it.
Alex smiled, "I guess I don't have a choice, do I? You should go have a shower, you're covered in soot. I'll be there in a bit."
The little boy smile on his face then made her stomach flip. Several seconds later, Bobby's head was gone and her fireplace was dark again.
I heard a place not too far from here
Is handing out answers about why we are here
And it's a small town, in a small world
And the congregation's small too
But somehow I think they're telling the truth;
And in the same small town there is a girl
She's a good looker but she's mad at the world
And she's wonderin' about tomorrow and why she's here
And she's sick and tired of using her sleeve to wipe her tears
Bobby sat in the chair in front of the headmaster's desk, playing with his soiled handkerchief. Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall had asked him to wait while they met with other wizards about what they planned to do with him. One of them in particular, a tall man with long, rather greasy black hair and wearing black robes that seemed to swish with every movement he made, stared at him for a few moments before the headmaster had commanded his attention. Bobby had watched him back, intrigued as to why this guy was staring at him. At least he didn't appear to act like Filch. Bobby turned back to the paintings of the previous headmasters and headmistresses, resuming his conversation with Dilys Derwent, who had also been a Healer at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Illnesses in London before her term as headmistress in the early half of the eighteenth century.
"So wizards and witches have never heard of schizophrenia?" He was astounded. Perhaps this was why he'd never succumbed to the disease that had so ravaged his mother.
"No, my dear, I'm afraid not. And we generally have seen a lot of different illnesses. Many of which, in fact, have never stricken Muggles. Most have been identified, though, so I believe we would have caught this schizophrenia by now. You say it causes mental deterioration and accompanying madness?"
"Yes. I-I have a-a family history of it, but my mother first showed signs of it when she was much younger than I am. I don't know very much about my father's medical history, but I don't believe he was a wizard. In fact, he never mentioned anything remotely magical. Plus, he's dead and Professor Dumbledore says wizards have a longer lifespan than Muggles do."
"Yes, that means you are a Muggle-born. That is, your parents were non-magical. You have no other wizards or witches in your family?"
"Not that I know of," Bobby answered, shifting nervously in the plush purple chair.
"Well, that explains it, then," said another wizard dressed in green and black robes. "Why else would you be here at—how old are you?"
"Forty-three, and blow me," Bobby said between clenched teeth.
The wizard snorted, "You sound like an older version of Potter...as mouthy as can be."
"Leave him be, Phineas," A red-nosed wizard said. "There has to be a reason why he never received a letter from any magical school in America."
"When would I have received it?" Bobby asked, looking at the red-nosed wizard, trying to see what point of his childhood this would have been at.
"At the age of eleven, young man. All magical schools start then. Where were you going to school at the age of eleven?"
"When I was eleven I was supposed to be in the fifth grade, but I got skipped up three grades to eighth. And I was in Advanced Placement for all of high school. By my senior year I was taking college classes."
"Oh," said Phineas Nigellus then, eyeing Bobby with curiosity now. "We have ourselves a brilliant one, now don't we? You'll probably go in Ravenclaw then, if Dumbledore decides to Sort you into a House. Tell me, what do you do for a living?"
"I'm a Police Detective, like I told Professor McGonagall. I solve murders and things like that. I work at the New York Police Department."
"Oh, and that sounds like a Gryffindor, always running off and putting yourself in unnecessary danger for the good of others. We Slytherins think differently, I have to tell you."
"Goody," Bobby griped, frowning up at Phineas Nigellus. He definitely didn't like this guy. "Sorry I'm not so selfish. I don't think I quite have that in me."
"It's not selfishness, my dear detective, it's common sense. I was attempting to explain the same thing to Harry Potter when he was in here. Self-preservation is not a crime, or a sin, or an inconsideration. It's smart."
Bobby rolled his eyes and turned away from Phineas Nigellus, concentrating instead on the door which the Heads of Houses went through.
"A Gryffindor if I ever met one," he heard the wizard say disdainfully. When Bobby turned back around Phineas had left his frame.
"Where'd he go," Bobby asked irritably.
"He probably went to the Black mansion," a wizard with the name Armando Dippet engraved on his portrait's nameplate supplied. "Whatever he says, he hasn't been the same since his great-great-great grandson died a month ago."
"Who was it?" Bobby queried, becoming curious despite his dislike of Phineas.
"Sirius Black," Armando answered sadly. "He was a marvelous student when he was here, he and his friends, James Potter—father of the aforementioned Harry—Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew were always in here for some offense or another, but their grades more than made up for their delinquent behavior. The same for Harry and his two friends Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. They're always getting into trouble, but do really quite well. Not surprisingly, they were all in Gryffindor...though, in retrospect, I have to wonder why the Sorting Hat placed Pettigrew in that house..."
But before Bobby could ask why, there was a sort of whooshing noise and two people fell out of thin air.
Bobby sprang up and rushed over to pick Alex and Deakins up and set them on their feet.
"Oh, God," Deakins muttered, looking around. "This just keeps getting stranger and stranger."
Alex couldn't comment as Bobby had enveloped her in a hug. "Glad to see you missed me, partner," she spoke into the softness of his new robes. She was glad he couldn't see how much she was enjoying herself. "Bobby Goren, let me go."
Bobby did as he was told and gestured around. "See, I wasn't lying."
Deakins managed a dry chuckle as the doorway Dumbledore and the others went through opened.
"Ah, Detective Eames, Captain Deakins, I see you've both made it," he said, smiling at them.
There was a time that the pieces fit, but I watched them fall away
Mildewed and smoldering, strangled by our coveting
I've done the the math enough to know the dangers of a second guessing
Doomed to crumble unless we grow, and strengthen our communication
...tbc...