Disclaimer: Criminal Minds and Harry Potter do not belong to me.
July 29, 2009 (7:40pm)
The ache in his shoulder was beginning to throb, the pain flaring through the joint and across the stretched muscles of his chest. He tried to shift, to draw his arm down, but he quickly became aware of the ropes lashed across his wrists. Eyes snapped open in panic as he realized his body was stretched and bound across the smooth altar of stone.
"Come in hassste to asssissst him, you sssaintsss of God…"
He twisted his head to the side, calling out to the figure in the shadows only to have his words muffled by the unforgiving fabric gag taught between his lips.
"Come in hassste to meet him, you angelsss of the Lord..."
He turned away from the encroaching shadows and the figure coming with them. He twisted his wrists in their bindings, gripping the length of rope extended above his head in his palms and focused his magic as best he could without his wand. Solvo**… Solvo… Solvo!
"Enfold in your armsss thisss sssoul…"
The bindings tightened painfully around his limbs of their own accord, blood seeping from the lesions hidden beneath the cords. He hissed at the pain, consciously aware as the figure drew ever closer. Only a few feet away…
"And take your burden heavenwardsss to the sssight of the Mossst High."
A frigid, chalk white hand reached out of the shadows and caressed the side of his face. The touch burned and he cried out once before the hand was clamping securely over his mouth and nose.
"May Chrissst receive you, for it wasss He who called you," the figure leaned forward, and the snake-like visage of the reborn Voldemort loomed over him, "And I who sssent you!"
: - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - :
The cell vibrated across the surface of the windowsill beside Derek, but he did not turn his attention away from the papers in his hand. The file was as he had read it before, but he was hoping that after hours of reading and cross referencing them he could find something new. So far, he had been unsuccessful.
"Hey Baby Girl," he answered the phone in a near whisper.
"Hello my Chocolatey Adonis," the sweet voice of Penelope brought a smile to his face. "How's our witness doing?"
The agent finally looked up from the files and glanced over to the figure lying in the bed. "Still out," he answered. "The Doctor said the sedation will keep him under until tomorrow."
"Well, I've been able to dig a little further into the mystery that is Harrison Evans," she informed him and he leaned back in his chair.
"What have you got for me, Garcia?"
"Well, he's not the only one in his family that disappeared from public records at the age of eleven," she said somewhat excitedly. "His mother, Lily Evans, born in 1960, was enrolled in the public system in a little town called Cokeworth but vanishes from records in 1971 at the age of eleven until seven years later when her name shows up on a marriage certificate between her and one James Charlus Potter. The thing is? He doesn't exist."
"What do you mean, he doesn't exist?"
"Just that," she was clicking away on her computer and he could envision her shaking her head in frustration. "There is no record of a James Charlus Potter anywhere on the British Isles. No birth certificate, no schooling, nothing. The only time I could find his name was on the registry of the House of Lords in 1977 when he replaced Charlus Ignotus Potter, who I assume was his father. This James guy, whoever he was, was a non-entity until they married in 1978. In fact, all the Potters who held the Seat in the House of Lords were non-existent. I have no other records for any of them.
"Now, back to James and Lily Potter, after 1978 there's nothing again for either of them until their names are listed as the parents on the birth registry for Harry James Potter two years later in 1980. There was no hospital record of the birth but they could have used a midwife or some other means of delivery. But there's nothing for any of the Potter family until fifteen months later when the death certificates for Lily and James show up in 1981."
"So they were all off the grid?" Derek was drawn to the man unconscious in the dim room and felt his curiosity peak.
"Completely," the woman on the other end
"Have you learned anything else on where they were? Or what they were doing?"
"Not even a smidgen," she admitted reluctantly. "And believe me, I've tried. However, I did find a few disturbing things regarding his Godfather."
"The killer?"
"Well, turns out there's some doubt about the validity of that," she was clicking away again and Derek couldn't help but smile. "There are no records of a trial, let alone a conviction, of Sirius Orion Black. In fact, he was like James Potter until the man hunt for him in 1993. He didn't exist before then."
"Wait, you're telling me one of England's most notorious killers-"
"– Wasn't. When Harrison reemerged in 2000 the first thing he did, after changing his name, was push through a complete Royal Pardon for the man. With no trial, no conviction, and the thirteen people he supposedly killed listed as killed in an accidental gas explosion, it wasn't hard. The Queen herself signed off on the pardon"
"Who are these people?" Derek murmured, tearing his eyes from where they had remained on the figure in the bed; the figure that was now growing restless. "Garcia, I'll call you back."
He disconnected the call before she could answer and was rising out of his chair when he felt an uneasy chill crawl across his skin. The hairs on his arms were standing on end and the already dim lights started to flicker. Derek was transfixed by the low keening sound coming from the unconscious man. As he took a step toward the bed the overhead light crackled and exploded the same moment Harrison bolted upright in his bed.
In the momentary dark Derek thought the man's eyes were glowing, but the door burst open a second later and the light from the corridor was spilling across Harrison's face. The effect was lost.
"What the hell is going on in here?" The guarding officer asked, staring at the shattered glass from the overhead bulb littered on the floor.
There was no immediate answer. Derek was staring in amazement at Harrison who was bent over at the waist trying to calm his breathing. The officer saw the situation and after a brief hesitation was hollering down the hall for a nurse or doctor.
Derek was moving a moment after that and was beside the witness. "Easy," he said calmly in a low voice, "You're safe."
Harrison's eyes were clenched shut and he swayed slightly. Derek started to reach out to steady the man but held back his hand in uncertainty. When Harrison started to pitch to the side Derek grabbed onto his good arm to keep him from falling from the bed.
"I'm alright," his voice was hoarse and hitched slightly.
"You sure?"
"Nightmare," he nodded slowly and opened his eyes.
"I gathered." Agent Morgan kept a firm, but gentle, hold on his arm, feeling the muscles trembling beneath his palm.
The officer returned at that moment with a young nurse and orderly trailing behind him. The orderly carried a replacement bulb and a broom to sweep up the broken glass. While the nurse checked Harrison's vitals, the glass was removed and the bulb replaced.
"You shouldn't be conscious," the petite woman told her patient when the orderly was gone. "Doc Samson gave you enough meds to keep a man twice your size under for twelve hours at least."
A shaky smile was her only answer and after telling him to rest until the duty physician was back from his rounds, she left. The officer glanced at the pair inside the room before nodding once to Derek then returning to his station outside the room.
That was when Derek noticed he had yet to remove his hand from the other man's arm.
Taking it back in what he hoped was not an obvious manner, Derek reached over to the bedside stand and picked up the gold framed glasses. He offered them to Harrison. "None of the pictures we have on file show you wearing glasses," he commented as they were taken from his hand.
"I prefer contacts," was his explanation, "Harder to get chocolate smudges on them when I work."
"Harder, but not impossible?" the agent couldn't help but tease, wishing a heartbeat later he could bite his own tongue off.
Harrison only looked over at him with a light smile. "In my line of work, sooner or later you get chocolate everywhere. Is that for me?"
Derek looked to where the younger man motioned and saw the duffle hanging on the back of the door. "Your sous chef, Rhys, is down as your emergency contract and so Dr. Samson called him to let him know you'd been brought in. He brought you a few things."
"Good man."
The agent was stunned when the other man flung his blankets aside, pulled the IV from his hand, and climbed out of the bed. "You're supposed to be resting," Derek told him when Harrison grabbed the bag and headed for the bathroom.
"I can rest at home."
"Wait, what?!" Derek could only stare at the now closed door that separated them.
"I'm going home, Agent Morgan." Harrison's voice came through the wood of the door.
"You can't go home!" Derek replied back. "You – you do realize you were just held captive by a serial killer for two and a half days, Mr. Evans. You need to be in the hospital!"
"Can you guarantee my safety if I do?" the man asked loudly. "I'm not naïve, Agent; I know this son of a bitch is going to want to finish what he started. They always do."
The voice of experience rang in those words, and Derek reminded himself that this was someone who had been hurt and hunted before. "That's why I'm still here, Mr. Evans. Between me and my team, someone from the FBI will be with you twenty-four seven."
"People tend to die when they try to protect me, Agent."
Once again the profiler wondered just what had happened to the man. Before he could voice his protests to that statement, the doctor was pushing open the room door and entering. The man was younger than Dr. Samson, a physician named Jackson Horne if he remembered their introduction earlier.
"Where's Harrison?" Dr. Horne asked the still stunned agent.
"Right here, Jack," the bathroom door opened and Harrison stepped into the room. The sling was gone and he was now dressed in loose fitting jeans and a light long sleeve t-shirt that covered the bandages on his wrists. His glasses had been replaced by his aforementioned contact lenses and he was carrying a pair of runners in his hand.
"What do you think you're doing?" The doctor was frowning as his patient sat on the edge of the bed and began lacing up his shoes.
"I've been over this with Agent Morgan," Harrison answered grimly. "It's not safe for me here. I can better protect myself at home."
"It's not your job to protect yourself," Derek snapped. "It's mine."
Green eyes lifted and met his and the want to do just that was evident in those gem-like orbs. "I would like nothing more than to leave it to you, Agent, but this bastard could be anyone. Hell, the son of a bitch is probably somebody I know."
Derek couldn't help but be impressed by the man's pragmatism. Most victims refused to believe the perpetrator could be anyone close to them.
"Do your suspicions include me, Harrison?" Dr. Horne asked and there was no masking the hurt in the doctor's honey brown eyes.
Without hesitation, Harrison answered, "Yes," and went back to tying his laces. "Until you can get a name, Agent Morgan, I'm not going to trust my life to anyone."
"Doc Samson isn't going to like this, Harrison." The physician tried. "He only agreed to go home after you'd been sedated. He thought – hell, we all thought you'd be under until tomorrow at the earliest."
"Well, I'm not." The man growled and got to his feet. "I'll sign whatever forms I have to, but I'm going home. Now."
"I can't let you do that, Mr. Evans," Derek said quietly when the doctor left without another word. He approached the tense man and wavered before placing a hand on the Harrison's arm. A spark of static electricity saw him pulling back. "You were almost killed and you've been hurt. You need medical attention"
"It's not the first time," he dismissed and shrugged. "And whatever injuries I've got will heal with time and rest. Both of which I can get in the safety of my own home."
"What of the after effects of the starvation?" Derek prodded. "You need to be monitored.
He was not expecting the snort, or the look, of amusement from Harrison. "Believe me, Agent Morgan, two days without food or water is the least of my concerns."
The agent in him was dying to ask what was meant by that comment, but he was focusing on the current crisis. "I can't stop you from discharging yourself, but you need to be in protective custody. Like you said, this guy could be anyone and whether you like it or not you are vulnerable right now. At least let my team and I do our jobs and keep you safe until we can find him."
The uncertainty in Harrison's eyes was clear as day and Derek decided to push a little more.
"Mr. Evans – Harrison, the killer has been watching you for weeks if not longer. He knows your habits. If he knows you've survived, who's to say he isn't waiting for exactly this – for you to isolate yourself where he can come after you again? Look, I'll take you home myself, but let my team do a sweep of your house. We'll make sure it's safe and we'll set up round the clock protection."
Derek watched the warring emotions in the other man's eyes and was rewarded a moment later with a reluctant nod just as Dr. Horne returned with the against medical advice release forms.
As the doctor went over them with his patient, Derek was stepping out of the room while dialing Hotch on his cell. When the Unit Chief answered the situation was quickly explained to him and the senior agent agreed to meet Derek and Harrison at the Chocolatier's home with Rossi and several of the sheriff's men to do the sweep. When the conversation was complete Derek returned to the room.
: - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - :
The house was in a quiet cul-de-sac, only a couple blocks away from the small downtown core of Hartsville. It was a smaller house, with light beige siding and dark green trim, and looked to have been built in the late nineteenth century. It was aged but well maintained and it appeared like a home not just a house. It was not what one would expect of a house for someone with several hundred millions to their name. And yet, as he pulled the government issued SUV behind the dodge ram truck in the driveway, Derek couldn't help but feel that the house suited what he knew about Harrison Evans.
The dark haired man in the passenger seat sighed wearily at the sight that was waiting for him on his street. Two more black SUVs, three County Sherriff's vehicles, and a half dozen Hartsville PD cars; even Derek had to admit it was a little overkill. But what caused more than a few alarms to sound in his head were the dozens of people waiting on the front lawn.
"The one downfall of living in small town America," Harrison sighed again and unfastened his seat belt but made no move to exit the car.
"Everyone's business is everyone's business?" Derek turned off the ignition and watched as Hotchner and Rossi separated from the crowd and approached the idle vehicle.
"I know every one of those people out there – friends and neighbors, all of them – and yet I can't help but wonder if he's one of them," the man muttered as the two agents opened the back doors and climbed into the back seat.
"Mr. Evans, this is Agent David Rossi," Hotchner introduced the man.
Harrison turned in his seat to nod a greeting to the new agent.
"We retrieved your keys from the Sheriff," David told the home owner. "They had been found hanging from the back entrance of your store the night of your abduction. If you insist on returning home we need to know who all has access, Mr. Evans."
"Rhys has the only other set to the house and the shop," Harrison told them. "And even then he has only ever used them in emergencies."
"Well, when he let himself into your house this morning to get some of your things," Aaron said with a frown, "he inadvertently let it out that you were alive."
"And that's a bad thing because you were trying to keep it from the media, right?" the man sighed. "At least they haven't shown up yet."
"We've managed to keep them out of the neighborhood," David acknowledged. "But in towns like this news gets around without the media's help."
"So the bastard most likely knows he didn't actually kill me like he planned and if he's been watching me, like Agent Morgan said, then he also knows I wouldn't remain in the hospital."
"We are prepared to take you into custody, Mr. Evans," Hotchner said with an air of hopefulness. "We have a safe house already prepped and we don't even have to get out of the vehicle. We can leave right now if you want."
Harrison shook his head. "No. This is my home and I'll be damned if I let him scare me away. Agent Morgan said something about round the clock protection-"
"I'll be staying with you as long as needed," Derek confirmed.
"The profile we've developed has eliminated most, if not all, of the local PD and the County Sheriff's Department, so while Agent Morgan is inside the house there will always be at least a pair of officers stationed outside and an increase of patrols in the area."
"Does that mean I can go home, Agent Hotchner?"
"Give us a few minutes to do the sweep. Derek, stay with him."
A moment later, the two agents and a handful of officers were entering the home while the neighborhood watched.
"Sorry you get stuck with babysitting detail," Harrison murmured as he leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes.
"I actually volunteered," Derek remarked quietly.
"So it's not just because I latched on to you when I came to in my would-be grave."
The federal agent cringed at the blasé tone the man stated that. "At first," he admitted. "But other than Emily – agent Prentiss, who I don't think you've met yet – I'm better suited for protective detail. I was a beat cop before I joined the bureau, so I know what I'm doing. You work with me and we'll keep this guy away from you."
Harrison turned and opened his eyes, raising an eyebrow questioningly at the agent. "So your boss isn't hoping that I'll identify with you as the one who rescued me and open up to you with all my dirty little secrets?"
Derek couldn't stop his wry chuckle. "Were you a psychologist in a previous life?"
The other man smirked. "Not my first rodeo, I believe the saying goes."
"We just want to understand, Harrison," Derek explained carefully. "It may seem like we're prying, but everything we know about you helps us complete our victimology which in turn can help us flesh out a complete profile on the killer."
"I said it in the hospital, Agent Morgan," Harrison sighed. "What happened twelve years ago has absolutely no bearing on what's happening now."
"You can't know that," Derek shook his head and turned to watch the house. "So far we can only find one thing that connects you and the other victims. For all you know, what happened then is the same reason you're being targeted again."
"Does your profile say the killer is megalomaniac with delusions of immortality bent on the domination of his entire country before moving on to the rest of the world?"
"Excuse me?" Derek snapped his head to look at their witness. There was no mirth in the other man's face and the agent swallowed the sudden dry lump in his throat.
Harrison sighed again, weary and exhausted and so obviously tired of the entire situation, but met Derek's shocked gaze. "I'll help you as much as I can, Agent, but there are things you will just have to accept that I won't be able to tell you. Legally, I can't tell you everything."
His mind was racing, trying to connect with Evans' body language and words and what he knew about Britain twelve years ago. It fell too neatly in to place for any other explanation. "It was the 90s, and you were… oh my god, you were involved with the terrorist attacks?"
"I was the number one target," was the quiet answer, which just stunned the agent further.
"You were just a kid!"
"They attacked whole villages and families - hell, a boarding school for the elite of the society! Do you really think my youth was an issue for Riddle or his followers?"
It was almost too much to process, even after years of doing this job and the horrors he had seen. He filed it away for the moment to focus on the present. "You're right; it's unlikely that the other victims were connected in any way to the attacks back then. It is one hell of a coincident that you've been targeted again, though."
"Welcome to my life, Agent Morgan." Harrison turned his attention back to his house as the other agents and officers exited, the Unit Chief motioning for the pair.
It took a couple of minutes to get past the mob of concerned neighbors, several of the women weeping their relief and holding on to Harrison much to his obvious embarrassment. Derek was delegated to carrying the numerous casseroles and deserts that had been made for Harrison. The Chocolatier wasn't the only one grinning at Derek's role as pack mule; Aaron and David were not bothering to hide their own amusement.
As the crowd began to disburse and the numerous vehicles depart, the foursome entered the house. Two uniformed County Deputies stationed themselves on either end of the front porch while a second unit began circling the neighborhood. Once the door was closed behind him, Harrison sighed again but this time in relief.
"Where do you want these?" Derek asked, lifted the armful of food for emphasis.
"Kitchen is through there," Harrison motioned down the corridor, "refuse bin is under the sink. If it doesn't all fit, just leave it on the counter and I'll take care of it in a bit."
"You're throwing it out?" Rossi asked after Derek left to the kitchen after a moment's pause.
"I don't eat anything I don't cook myself, if I can help it," the man admitted and motioned them into the living room. "Look, I'm sorry about getting so defensive earlier. If you can give me half an hour to have a long, hot shower – the sponge bath in the ER left much to be desired – I'd be open to answering some of your questions. But, as I told Agent Morgan, there are just some things that I cannot legally talk about."
"We'd also like to go over some security measures," Hotchner told him. "If you're going to remain here we need to address who does and doesn't have access to you and the premises."
"What about the shop?" Harrison queried. "Will I be able to go back to work?"
"Is that really a good idea?" Derek asked as he came into the room. "Coming home is one thing, but you can't open yourself up to such a risk."
"Until we can apprehend this killer I'm afraid you'll need to inaccessible to most of the public," Hotchner crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the arm of the sofa. "It may seem unfair, like we're keeping you under house arrest, but in truth we're pressed for time."
"We can't know how long he's been watching," Rossi commented, sitting on the edge of the armchair and leaning forward with his forearms on his knees. "We do know, however, that you've changed the scenario. In the past he would kill and be… satisfied with that for weeks or months until the need arose to hunt again. But you survived and he's going to be very angry. He's going to escalate, and in his mind he'll have to finish what he started."
"Escalate," Harrison absently rubbed at the faded scar on his forehead before picking up his duffle from where he had set it on the floor. "I'm going to grab that shower before we setting in to discuss how this bastard will be coming for me sooner rather than later."
**SOLVO – (Latin) loosen, release, untie
