A/N: Dying of the Light will most likely be updated tomorrow.
Harry is on the loo when Luna strolls in, unabashed, and unceremoniously dumps a ringing device in his lap. She drops a kiss on the top of his head, reminds him to use a freshening charm when he's done before strolling out nonchalantly, closing the door behind her.
In his lap, 'God Save the Queen' continues to play in 8-bit MIDI tones.
It is going into its second repeat of that singular verse when Harry remembers himself and hurriedly answers the blasted phone. He's quite forgotten that he was supposed to be carrying it with him at all times. Harry had persuaded Basil to try out owl posting once and that was the last time Basil had trusted him in regards to any form of communication, wizarding or not. It turns out that Basil isn't terribly fond of birds.
"Hello, hello?" Harry says after a bit of fumbling with the buttons. Whoever thought it was a good idea to place such tiny keypads on these things deserves a very special place in hell.
"Did I... Did I catch you at a bad time?" Basil asks, his voice sounding tinny and weirdly high pitched through the mobile.
"Not really, no," Harry answers, glancing around at the bathroom.
"I know you're in the bathroom, Harry," Basil says and Harry instantly flushes at being caught in this awkward social faux pas. These portable phones, he decides, are a menace.
"I'm- I'm not- How- How did you-" Harry stammers and though it is a silly and impossible notion, Harry cranes his neck, checking for any surprise muggle devices hidden in the bathroom.
"The acoustics, Harry," Basil explains. "It tends to echo in bathrooms."
"Oh," Harry says. "Of course. Sorry?" he offers uncertainly. An apology seems like the proper protocol when caught being in the bathroom while on the phone, but just in case he's gone and got it wrong, Harry fashions it enough that it can be construed as a question as well.
"It happens to the best of us," Basil laughs good-naturedly for a while. "Yeah, anyway."
"Can you get to Bethlem Royal?" Basil asks and Harry sobers at the serious tone.
"What happened?" Harry asks, straightening slightly, wand already out as he mumbles the charm Luna mentioned.
Basil sighs heavily, tone burdened with weariness. "There's been an attack."
"Bethlem Royal is an asylum?" whispers Harry, surprise colouring his tone.
"I thought everybody in London knew that," says Basil, glancing sideways at Harry and tucking his hands into his trench coat pockets as they follow the attendant leading them to the ward. Harry gives him a pointed look and Basil shrugs, slowing a step to put a little more distance between them and the hospital staff.
"I thought even your kind would know of it," Basil clarifies, dropping his volume lower. "It's rather notorious."
"How so?" Harry asks curiously.
"Unethical treatment of inmates, for one," says Basil. "The field of psychiatry in those times were generally fucked up."
"Everything you've heard of, they've done. Lobotomy, electroshock therapy, the likes," Basil continues. "And god forbid you were a woman back then. You could get committed for speaking your mind. Called it hysteria, they did." Unbidden, Harry thinks of Luna, back in Grimmauld Place — safe, if he can help it.
"The word 'bedlam'?" Basil says. "This was the place that coined it — the original." Harry looks around at the innocuous hallway with its pristine white walls and sterile smell, masking all that history. He decides he's heard quite enough.
"Why are we here?" Harry asks. If the change of subject surprises Basil, he makes no outward indication of it.
"They found this girl in some back alley way behind one of those clubs for the youngsters in Soho. She was lying, seemed to be unharmed, beside a pool of blood but there was no other body in sight," says Basil, flipping through a spiral notebook he's pulled out of his coat. "The blood doesn't match hers. When she came to she started gibbering nonsense about her boyfriend and monsters and... magic."
"Magic magic?" Harry asks, one eyebrow arched up.
"That's what you're here for," Basil says, cocking his head at Harry. "It seems she keeps mentioning David Copperfield, which is not your type of magic but the talk of monsters and the blood..."
"Yeah. It sounds like it could be something from my world," Harry finishes for Basil. Basil nods.
"It could be connected to our case or it could not," Basil adds. "It's hard to tell right now."
"Well, then," Harry says, holding the swinging door open for Basil, gesturing for the other man to go before him. The attendant escorting them walks briskly ahead. "Let's find out."
The first thing Harry notices about Lacey Hart is that she has the same shade of brown in her hair that Hermione does. The resemblance ends there though.
Where Hermione's brown eyes shine with intelligence and a muted fire, Lacey's are a dull cerulean. Where Hermione always seems to be in motion, even when she's just doing paperwork, Lacey is deathly still, like a figurine suspended in time and space.
Harry experimentally passes a hand in front of Lacey. She doesn't blink, doesn't flinch, doesn't even seem to have noticed their presence. Harry glances at Basil, doubtful. Basil shakes his head and walks past Harry, crouching in front of Lacey while maintaining some distance between them.
"Lacey?" Basil says gently. If Harry hadn't been watching her closely, he would have missed the slight twitch in her fingers. Basil glances up at Harry and they exchange a meaningful look.
"Lacey?" Basil tries again. This time she blinks, and those dull, dull eyes zero in on Basil.
"She's not here," Lacey says before flickering her eyes away dismissively.
"Sorry, who isn't?" Basil asks in a confused tone.
"Lacey," she says impatiently. "She's not here."
"Ah. May I know who I'm speaking to then?" Basil asks, giving Harry a quick sideway glance.
"No one important," Lacey replies, looking annoyed. "Did you want something or are you just here to stare like a couple of perverts?"
"I'm Basil, this is Harry," Basil introduces, gesturing to Harry. Lacey looks warily at Harry and Harry gives her what he hopes is a reassuring nod. "We're with the police. Lacey was found unconscious in an alley last night, is there anything you can tell us about that?"
"Harry..." Lacey says like she's testing the name on her tongue, eyes flicking momentarily to Harry's forehead. "Common name. It's... rather far-fetched, but any relation to Harry Potter?"
"That- That's me," Harry startles. Basil looks at him, bewildered, and Harry shrugs helplessly back. "How do you know?"
"You don't look like much of a war hero," Lacey sneers and turns her attention back to Basil like she's done with Harry.
"Wait, what do you mean war hero?" Harry says, stepping forward, but when she shrinks into her chair, he puts up both palms and steps back again.
"Are you thick?" Lacey accuses. "I meant what I said, didn't I?"
"How do you know about that?" asks Harry, fingers twitching to touch the smooth wood of his wand tucked into his sock.
"David Copperfield's a talkative drunk, innit," Lacey says, shrugging, but then she turns sharply to Harry and narrows her eyes at him. "Thought 'e made you up. I'm still not sure he didn't. You're too young to be in any war."
"How does this David Copperfield look like?" Basil interrupts, drawing Lacey's attention away. Harry silently thanks the man.
"White. Whitest arse you've ever seen," Lacey sniggers. "White hair too. Could lose him in the fucking snow. Thought it was dyed, but it's real."
"He's real posh too, you can tell," Lacey adds. "Oh, and he's got this tattoo with like... a snake? A skull? Something gothic anyway," she says as she gestures vaguely at her arm.
Harry freezes. Basil must have noticed because he sends a quizzical look at Harry. Harry shakes his head and mouths 'later' to him. Still puzzled, Basil nonetheless nods and turns back to Lacey.
"I don't know how..." Lacey says, frowning. "But it seemed like Roy knew him too."
"Roy is Lacey's boyfriend?" Basil questions. Lacey nods.
"He went straight for him last night," Lacey says. "Lacey didn't even see him yet. One minute Roy was there, the next he was dragging the bloke out."
"David Copperfield was there last night?" Basil asks and Harry is glad that Basil is there, doing the interview, because he doesn't think he can remain as unflappable as the other man.
"Yeah. Roy was beating on him," Lacey says, lips curling up in disgust. "I told Lacey, didn't I? Told her Roy's a little pisshead, but she never listens."
"And then what happened?"
Lacey flicks her head almost like she's trying to shake a thought out, eyes going unfocused. Her breaths start coming in short bursts and light tremors dance through her. Worry comes over Basil's face while Harry hangs back, unsure of what to do.
"And then... Teeth... Rows and rows of sharp teeth. Then suddenly I couldn't talk... I mean, Lacey... couldn't talk... She was trying, really trying to scream for help, but that... stick... was pointed at me- Lacey again... and Roy was... Roy was... terrified... I-" she stops abruptly and her wide eyes swivel, pupils shrivelled into pinpricks, darting back and forth between Basil and Harry.
Her mouth is open, tongue, thick and heavy, thrashing wildly in the cavern as she claws at her throat silently. Fresh tracks of wounds appear underneath her fast reddening nails. The attendant lurking nearby immediately runs out, shouting for the nurses and doctors.
It's only after they've subdued and sedated her do Basil and Harry realise that she's been trying to scream the entire time.
"Fuck," Harry says after they've escaped to the hospital grounds.
Behind him, he hears the sound of a lighter flicking open. Harry turns to see Basil about to light one up. Sensing eyes on him, Basil pauses and looks up. Meeting Harry's gaze, Basil gives him a sheepish smile before lighting the stick of tobacco up anyway.
Harry quirks an accusing brow at him.
"Diane doesn't know," Basil says. "It helps with the nerves." Sticking the cigarette between his lips, Basil sucks in a deep pull, the end sizzling softly as the oxygen rushes through the lit embers.
"Give us one then," Harry says, putting a palm out expectantly when Basil gives him a lopsided, distinctly patronizing, smile of amusement.
"You sure?" questions Basil.
Getting slightly annoyed, Harry makes a come hither motion with his extended palm. "I'm a grown man, Basil."
"It's your funeral, son," Basil relents, holding out the carton for Harry to take one.
"I think that's the least of my worries now," Harry says as Basil comes forwards with the lighter. Harry leans down, cupping his hand around the flame to shield it from the breeze. He lights the cigarette and takes a shallow inhale which he promptly expels by going into a coughing fit.
"How-" Harry wheezes and coughs again.
"Fuck!" he manages to shout out before devolving into yet more coughing. Basil, who looks far too smug in Harry's opinion, merely looks on without even lifting a finger to help.
"Shit!" Harry curses when he finally settles enough to manage a proper sentence. "What the fuck is this shite?! How do you people smoke this thing?!"
"Time and practice, my boy," Basil says, smiling slightly. "Time and practice," he repeats and takes another drag while Harry winces and throws his largely unsmoked cigarette to the ground, grinding it beneath his heel.
"You're lucky I like you," Basil says, looking pointedly at Harry's shoe. "These things don't come cheap."
"Nerves you say?" Harry asks, tampering the urge to lick against random surfaces to get rid of the ashy taste in his mouth.
"It's a harrowing job," Basil says flatly, all traces of humour dissipating. "She isn't my first trauma victim."
"Shit," Harry curses, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, Basil."
"Should I feel envious or worried that the wizarding world doesn't know what trauma is?" Basil asks.
"Worried," Harry answers. "Definitely worried."
They fall into a silence after that, the only sound between them being the low sizzling of Basil's cigarette till he finishes the last of it and drops the butt to the ground.
"So, who is our David Copperfield?" Basil asks, breaking the stillness of the moment.
"He..." Harry hesitates. "I knew him from school."
"Friend of yours?"
"No. God, no," Harry says, shaking his head. "We've butted heads ever since we met."
"A rival then," says Basil knowingly.
"It's... more than that," Harry sighs. "Remember what I told you about the Death Eaters?" Basil nods.
"Well, he was one of them," Harry says. "That tattoo? It's a mark given to them upon initiation into their ranks."
"This boy… He's the same year as you?" Basil questions.
"Yes," Harry confirms. Basil grunts oddly, it coming out like a cross between a snort and a scoff, and reaches for another cigarette.
"But it doesn't make sense," Harry says, pushing his glasses up and rubbing tiredly at his eyes. "He's a blood purist. What would he be doing in the mug- human world?"
"When's the last time you've seen him?" Basil asks. The lighter flicks open, the flame flares, the cigarette butt hisses, Basil inhales, exhales.
"Give or take a few years," Harry replies.
"People change," Basil says matter-of-factly. Harry makes a vague noise of disbelief but then Basil says something that makes Harry stand up straighter. "The last time you saw him, did he have sharp teeth?"
Ron has only ever been to Malfoy Manor on one previous occasion and that hadn't exactly been a pleasant experience. To see the place fall into such disrepair is surprisingly cathartic and Ron allows himself a tiny smile before that vanishes into a deep set frown.
Tentatively, he steps forward to the gate, wand held out in front of him like a shield. Gently, he probes the Manor's wards and is surprised when he feels it yield under his scrutiny.
It seems too easy and Ron briefly ponders the possibility of it being a trap but the gate opens easily when he pushes against it and he's already going inside before he can fully formulate the thought.
He's gone too far to back down now, not especially when the answers could possibly be within reach. He will, he decides, go through with it till the bitter end.
A/N: I've got a shift till midnight tonight (and for a few other nights), your reviews will keep me going strong till then. A reminder that if you're not reading Dying of the Light, you probably should be. The two stories are related and does frequently reference each other.
As always, review. Even a simple 'I like it!' lets us know you're still reading and that you're enjoying it.