Author's Note: Thanks so much for the reviews, guys! Hope you enjoy your visit to London City Holding (yes, I'm being bad). LOL.
"Hell isn't merely paved with good intentions, it is walled and roofed with them."
Aldous Huxley
Chapter 4: "Descent"
Harry apparated to the darkest section of magical London, hunkering into his robe and starting slightly when a large metal sign cut through the fog and came into view:
Unless Licensed by the Ministry,
no Magic Allowed Beyond This
Point by Penalty of Law.
Despite the warning, Harry kept his wand easily accessible, moist grey gravel crunching beneath his feet, all else silent. Bit by sluggish bit, a stark, square five-story building crept out of the haze, larger and more austere than he had imagined. The edifice looked hewn from solid grey rock with no seams or bricks evident, no windows or decoration, its edges blunt and clumsy as if someone had manufactured it from modeling clay then fired it within an inch of cracking.
Harry shuddered in the cold, heavy air and stopped just inside a towering thick stone entry gate gilded on top with silver meshing and barbed wire. Another huge sign loomed above, impossible to miss:
London City Holding
Check in time: 3:00 pm-7:30 pm only
Mandatory cell occupancy: 7:30 pm-7:30 am
Pick-up: 7:30 am-12:00 pm
Release: 12:00 pm-3:00 pm
Below it, a dirty two feet of parchment was tacked down, curling and sagging around wet edges with a spell lit message glowing in red ink:
Plan Ahead!
LCH is not
a care facility.
You will receive
no medical
treatment.
A third sign leaned so precariously Harry had to tilt his head sideways to read it. It appeared that someone (An occupant? A family member?) had mauled the heavy maple sign in a moment of pure frustration, and LCH had done a piss poor job with repairs:
Keep yourself out of Azkaban!
Know the Laws Concerning your Species
Felony Offenses
- failure to report during full moon phases-
- removal or alteration of registry numbers-
- magical/physical assault of an LCH employee-
-refusing to follow orders given within LCH boundaries-
- smuggling any item past checkpoint-
Harry digested the implications of such a list of rules as he strode hastily up the wet stairs to the only entrance -- a set of weighty double doors inlaid with two large molten yellow eyes that rippled open and met his with steely focus.
"Your business?" the door stated automatically in a ghostly, severe voice.
"I'm here to pick up a friend."
"Pick-up hours are between 7:30 am and 3:00 pm. You have five minutes to leave the premises."
"It's.." Harry pulled out his pocket watch. 7:29 am. He shifted his weight and in less than a minute, the door blinked and repeated, "Your business?"
"I'm here to pick up a friend." And the doors opened with an intolerable screech, yellow eyes tracing his movement as he passed.
Harry traveled the narrow hallway (too narrow for a full-sized werewolf, he thought) heading towards a glowing portal to the right, a solitary source of light that fell into the hall and glinted off wet rock directly ahead that appeared to be a dead end. A voice in the room murmured something, and a rain of boisterous laughter followed, the mirth echoing off LCH's cold and dismal walls.
Harry winced into the brightness when he arrived at the light source – a wide service window. It opened into a large office space where five guards sat playing magical cards for galleons. Someone had discarded a three-of-hearts card, and it sat on the edge of the table, looking downtrodden.
One guard shot Harry a quick, annoyed look then glanced at the clock, addressing his mates more than the young man.
"A bit early," he said.
"I'm here to pick up someone."
A thickly built guard stood up with a grunt of resignation, not happy to leave the game, and straightened his LCH badge as he looked Harry over and picked up a thick roll of parchment tacked to a clipboard. He dropped it heavily on the counter and fixed Harry with vacuous eyes.
"Number?"
"…Number?"
"Number! The Werewolf Registry number!"
"I don't know his number!" Harry snapped. "His name is Lupin. Remus John Lupin."
The guard gave him a confrontational gaze and flipped his quill to the parchment as he called over his shoulder, "Martin! A kid's 'ere to pick one up and he don't 'ave the number!"
Seconds later, a lightly-built man with a sharp nose and thinning brown hair emerged from the back; and as he moved into the harsh light of the main room, Harry saw a row of claw marks across his neck.
He didn't know the man but could tell the man knew him. Martin pursed his lips in a careful smirk and lowered his head a bit, eyeing Harry from over his gold bifocals.
"Harry Potter…" he said quietly. "Why on earth would you be here?"
"I'm here to pick up a friend."
"Oh, really?" the man said lightly, a simpering wheeze floating out of his throat as he smiled and clasped his hands behind his back.
Harry bit back a very strong urge to tell the man to sod off.
"Remus John Lupin."
"We don't go by names here, Mr. Potter."
"So I hear."
"Yes, everything is done here on a numbers only basis. Now…what does this friend of yours look like?"
Harry looked away briefly in annoyance. "He's quite tall…and thin. He-"
The man cut him off. "That describes half the Lycanthropes in here."
Harry pressed on. "He has dark blonde hair, going a bit grey. Blue eyes….uhm...eye. He wears a patch."
The heavy guard with the clipboard had eavesdropped intently after learning Harry's identity and immediately perked up.
"Aye, Martin! I checked that bloke in. Scars on his face, one right deep? And a gimp arm? Limps sometimes?"
Harry felt his face go hot with an odd resentment, and he nodded.
"We put 'im on the end, so 'es easier to drag out. Cell 283. Accio cell 283 bag," the guard yelled, and a bag came flying from the back room and into his hand. He threw it on the counter and leaned back with his arms crossed, a look of interest on his face as Harry rummaged through the bag to check the contents.
Remus' threadbare clothes and decrepit shoes. His wand. The tattered leather eye patch. A half-eaten bar of low quality chocolate. A few loose sickles.
What about the ring?
"There should be a ring in here, on a leather strand. A small gold ring with a purple dyed Howlite stone."
The guard shrugged at him. "Dunno. Heard 'o Howlite, though. Yeah…the stone that protects werewolves from silver burns, aye?"
"It'd be in here. He never took it off."
"He'd take it off in 'ere. Everything comes off 'ere," the guard said aggressively.
"That's right, Bailey," one of the guards seconded, discarding two cards and looking up at Harry as the other two guards grinned confidently.
Harry began to hate this place even more than he thought possible. "He had it on yesterday."
"Well, I guess yer friend lost it," Bailey said flatly, ending the conversation, but over in the corner, still busy at his cards, a young guard that looked vaguely familiar had a knowing smile.
Harry glared at him for a minute and the guard glanced at him furtively then looked away, clearing his throat and focusing intently on his hand.
"Off to cell 283. I'll take 'em, Martin. One foot in the grave, that one." The man touched his badge and immediately rematerialized in the hallway and put a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry pushed it off.
"Follow me, Mr. Potter."
With the flick of his wand, the apparent dead-end dissipated into a long constricted hall, where balls of blue flame nestled into the ceiling every meter or so, throwing dim light along the way and giving Harry an eerie depth of view.
Straight away, the low and cacophonic sounds of people quietly suffering reached Harry's ears and emanated through the suffocating hallway. Desperate moans, low and angry cursing. Someone openly wept.
On either side, cell after cell lay before them, each with flat woven bars so heavily interlaced a human arm could barely reach through the openings.
Suddenly, a pained shriek came from corridor's far end, echoing off the cold stone walls and making Harry's stomach lurch. And then nothing but the low sounds of suffering again, drowned out by the guard's heels clicking loudly on the uneven stone floor.
They passed an open cell where a guard sprayed a large puddle of blood into a hallway drain, lighting his work with a floating orange flame that allowed Harry to see the cell, which had no bed or sink, no furniture of any sort, and a solid wall on either side so occupants couldn't see one another.
He heard the sickly pull of something on the soles of his feet and looked down to see a ragged line of blood tracing their path as if the guards had dragged a body away earlier.
Harry jumped when Bailey's chipper voice boomed.
"Yer mate? We usually have to drag him to recovery then drag him out back at closing time 'cos he don't have the health to leave no more, like he used to when we first opened. Me, I'm always surprised to see 'im still breathin' in the morning…he's the bloke who used to teach over at Hogwarts?"
"Yes," Harry answered curtly.
"Yeah, one of our guards, Ian? You'd know 'em. Older than you, but he was a Hufflepuff. 'E was there at the table. You saw him, aye?"
The guard that looked slightly familiar to him. "I did."
"Yeah. Ian said the werewolf was a knock-up teacher."
"He was," Harry answered
"But Ian says he was right selfish, puttin' everyone in danger just 'cos he wanted to teach, see."
Normally, Harry would have tried to formulate an intelligent response, but none of this was normal.
"That's bullshit," he spat, and then managed, "The majority of his former students don't feel that way."
The guard threw a quick look over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised. "Well, Ian don't agree. All these blokes, they can't work no more. And that's for the better. That's how Martin almost lost his throat. Workin' a deskjob over in The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office, and a werewolf sharing a cubicle with 'em. He didn't even know! We all 'ave 'em here for a reason, Mr. Potter. Keeps everyone safe, see? It 'ain to be cruel."
They continued down the seemingly never ending rows of cells where naked, bleeding humans, just passed the throes of transformation, suffered….inches away from "their equals" but each very much alone in their pain.
Some were sprawled unconscious near the bars, sweat and smears of blood covering their miserable bodies. Others leaned in hopefully as they heard footfalls, anticipating the arrival of people who cared enough to come for them, who would take them away from this place.
Step by step, they got closer to the cell where the earlier scream had come, their footfalls stirring the horribly injured occupant inside.
"I can't," the voice whined then rose. "I can't!….I CAN'T STOP IT! HELP ME!...Don't let me die in here…don't let…don't let me! Call my Dad! Please call my Dad!"
A swift low hand shot out on their right; and a dark and desperate face pressed into the bars, seeking the guard's attention.
"Bailey, call his Dad for him! He won't come 'til 10:00, otherwise! It's Marcus, man!"
"We don't treat and we don't make calls, you know that!" the guard chastised in passing, hand on his wand. "Put your arm back in! Now!" He pushed Harry in front of him and kept walking.
"So you going back to Hogwarts, Mr. Potter, when they reopen it? I never went meself, but my sister did. Sorted into Hufflepuff, just like Ian."
"HELP!"
"Shut up, for fuck's sake!" Bailey screamed as they passed the cell.
Other voices joined the chorus.
"Ain't no one going to help you, mate! Don't give them the satisfaction!"
"Hey! HEY! Call someone for him!"
"Please…please….help me," the voice called out again, weaker and softer as Harry and the guard passed.
"Aren't you going to help him?" Harry screamed, unable to take it any more.
"He'll be fine, Potter. It 'ain as bad as it sounds. He always blathers on, that one."
As they passed another cell with an alert occupant, an arm reached out to snatch the guard's pantsleg. "Just another body to throw out, aye? AYE? You sadist! Call his dad! He's only a kid!"
The guard ignored it all, moving a bit to the left or right as he walked through the gauntlet of curses and grasping hands.
"Bloody animals... stay in the middle. We don't want get swiped through these bars. Some of 'em keep their claws for a bit after retransforming. Here we are! Cell 283."
The guard pulled his wand from his tight waistband with some difficulty, and the cell door ground open noisily and clamped to the wall with a flick of his wrist. Deep in the recess of the cell, Harry could see nothing but blackness since the cells had no light source.
"Oy….Oy!...'Es still out of it. 'Ere ya go." The guard muttered lumnos, and weak light from his wand fell into the cell.
Remus lay huddled in the corner shaking, one arm drawn over the side of his face, trying to cover his ear from the unbearable sounds of another morning at LCH. Harry rushed in, already pulling off his robe to throw over Remus' shoulders.
"Careful, Potter," the guard called warily.
Remus didn't even register Harry's hands on his freezing skin as he wrapped the robe around him.
"Remus!"
"Floo is right outside the exit 'ere," he said, pointing to the left. "The rock shed with the chimney. I can't help you move 'im to the floo, you know, Potter. It's the law. You can drag him out, but I'm gonna have to head back down."
"I know!" Harry snapped angrily. "I've signed him out. Just go."
"Alright, so you signed 'em out. You got five minutes….You know the Ministry ain't responsible if anything happens to you down 'ere."
"Yes! Go!"
The guard shook his head and his heavy footfalls trailed down the hall as he slowly walked back to his post. A rain of epithets and curses showered his wake from conscious and angry occupants who realized the boy in the far cell had probably died from his wounds – easily treatable wounds at that -- as was the case with many deaths in LCH.
Harry pulled Remus into the hallway where the faint blue flames lit him well enough to see the extent of his injuries. His upper lip bore a horrendous split that sent blood trickling down his chin and neck. A deep claw swipe ran down his ribs, and the cheek below his good eye was red and swollen as if he had smashed his face on the bars during transformation.
Harry leaned him against the wall and fastened the robe as his godfather finally cut through the fog of unconsciousness and realized he wasn't alone. One lone eye focused on Harry, the other a mass of unseeing white where his iris once glowed blue and vibrant.
"Told you…told you not….to come," he slurred weakly, anger evident in his quiet voice.
"I know," Harry whispered gently. And Remus' eyes closed once again, brief consciousness giving way to exhaustion.
Harry steadied Remus against the wall and quickly went back to the young man's cell, stretching his arm in to the shoulder, his fingers barely grazing a slippery wrist. Finally, he managed to find purchase and leaned back, pulling the boy to him.
Death had caught Marcus by surprise, a look of shock on his motionless, blood-splattered face; and Harry recognized him as a Ravenclaw from his year -- bitten by Greyback's pack in the final stages of war.
"Marcus?" he said softly and touched the young man's neck, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. Harry put his hand over the boy's chest and squinted his eyes shut, attempting a wandless revive spell. But officials had warded LCH to the teeth. Magic wouldn't emanate.
Harry dropped his head in anger and squeezed the boy's hand. He pictured the teenager's father arriving in a few hours only to be told his son had died. Would they even give him the body?
"Is he….is he dead? Is Marcus dead?" someone called tentatively through the bars. Harry could barely get the word from his mouth.
"Yes," he said shakily.
After a long and heavy silence, the man shrieked, "Someone's gonna pay when I get outta here! THEY'RE GONNA PAY!"
Hot tears went down Harry's face as the man continued to scream in fury; and he turned to find Remus awkwardly slumped on the floor, coughing desperately as blood from his split lip trickled into his throat. Harry returned and pulled Remus to him, rested his cheek on the top of his head. Just yesterday, Remus had said , "You have no idea what my life has been like." And Harry had presumed otherwise.
Everything was wrong. It was all so wrong.
Suddenly, two molten eyes opened on the ceiling. "You have three minutes to vacate the premises."
"We're going!" Harry screamed up at the yellow orbs. "And we won't be back." As he quickly laced his arms under Remus' and began to drag him towards the exit, he added, "And you know what? None of these other people will be coming back, either. Because we're going to end this!"
Back in the brightly lit office, four guards sat at their cards, looking at Harry's angry face in stereo via a warped, black and white magical feed from the two eyes.
And they laughed. For now...
tbc