I don't own Harry Potter or Call of Cthulhu
Anything in italics is taken from the Horror on the Orient Express module.
New Year's, The third of January, 1923. Outside of the British Museum.
"Where's Harry? We're going to miss Professor Smith's lecture." Hermione fussed as she checked her appearance in the small mirror she always carried around in her bag. She subtly adjusted her cardigan and pleated skirt, smoothing out invisible wrinkles as she did so as well as tilting her cloch a smidge more to the left.
"Still at the office I'd suspect." said Ron as he fidgeted awkwardly with his bowtie. "Mione, do we really have to wear these muggle clothes?" he complained as he pulled uncomfortably on his collar. "Bloody uncomfortable these things." Hermione let out a sigh before turning to Ron and loosening his bowtie. Licking her thumb she also rubbed a smude of dirt off his nose.
"Yes Ron. muggle event, muggle clothes remember?" Ron scowled but nodded as Hermione straightened his flat cap. "Honestly Ronald. When are you going to learn to dress properly? I'm your friend, not your mother." Ron just grinned and shrugged.
A soft crack resonated through the alley as a disheveled man in an ill fitted pinstripe suit and old fedora appeared. His face was covered in stubble and he looked exhausted. You'd never guess this man was the youngest Chief Auror in a century. He smiled a tired smile when he spotted his two oldest friends. "Oh, Harry…" Hermione said worriedly as she flicked her wand out. "You look awful." with a few whispered spells Harry's stubble fell away from his face, his clothes straightened and seemed to fit a little snugger around his frame.
Ron came up and clapped him on the shoulder. "Everything alright mate?"
"Yeah." Harry let out a small yawn. "Just old fools causing trouble again."
"Death eaters?"
Harry nodded. "You'll read about it in the papers, no doubt." he withdrew a silver cigarette case and a box of matches from his coat. "Old man Carrow made his last stand. Nearly killed King." the glow from the match made the bags under his eyes stand out as he lit his smoke.
"You need a break Harry." Hermione said as they made their way towards the museum entrance. "Take some time off. I know you haven't taken a vacation since you went on holiday with Ginny."
Harry scowled at this. It was true he hadn't taken a holiday since his less than amicable break up with that ginger harlot all those years ago. He was surprised at how fresh that wound seemed at the mere mention of it. Maybe she was right. His work at the DMLE had him running ragged. "I'm fine 'Mione, really." he began walking towards the museum. Ron and Hermione shared a brief worried look before trailing after their long time friend.
The British museum was in top form that afternoon. The marble columns that made up the face of the building stood proud and tall, like soldiers at attention. The great dome glinting in the evening sun like a gem atop a rich woman's ring. A great banner ran across the front advertising the latest attraction, 'the Maudsley collection,' an assortment of stone statues and carvings from several southern mexican and Central South American tribes. A truly impressive reminder of the great british past time of invading another culture then stealing anything that wasn't nailed down in the name of 'cultural preservation.'
At least it explained Hermione's interest in the exhibit. Working for the Misappropriation of Magical Artifacts office in the Ministry there rarely wasn't an opening in muggle Britain she missed. As a muggleborn she had an easier time 'fitting-in.' her seemingly endless correspondence with every academic professor in Britain helped as well.
Ron was just tagging along for fun.
All this museum stuff really wasn't Ron's bag, he was taking some time off from the shop so him being there was really just Ron wanting something to do. Even if it that 'something to do' meant sitting through some muggle's boring lecture about… "Hey, Hermione." Harry piped up.
"Yes?" Hermione said as she fiddled with her bag.
"What's the lecture about again?"
"Knowing Dr, Smith, it's something to do with ghosts and the like. He says it's his life's mission to 'fight' the paranormal, as he puts it."
Harry frowned at this. "I thought Muggles couldn't see ghosts."
"Normally no." she said. "But sometimes muggles can have squib children and the ministry doesn't always have a way of picking up on them like they do muggle borns. Dr. Smith isn't a squib though. Just a muggle with a hobby."
As the tro crossed the threshold of the museum they were accosted by a rotund man. a moustache that stuck out from the sides of his lips like unkempt broom bristles. He wobbled towards with a cane hanging loosely from his arm. He was followed closely by a clean cut man in a butler's uniform. The man greeted them with a warm smile from under his mighty moustache. "Hermione, my dear girl. It's been an age since I last saw you." he took the young witch's hand in his own and kissed the back of her knuckles. "Am I correct in guessing that these are your two schoolmates you were telling about in our last correspondence?"
Hermione returned his smile with one of her own. "Yes. this is Harry Potter." She gestured toward him and he stepped forward and firmly grasped Professor Smith's proffered hand. Harry's auror training kicked in as he took in the portly man. Noting the signet ring on his hand. Silver, the image of a book and quill embedded into it. Recently used, there was dried was on the edge. Hands, soft, no calluses. Light circles under the eyes, missed some sleep. A watch on a chain hung from his breast pocket. His clothes were thread bare but well maintained. The patches and stitching barely visible, money troubles? No, penny pincher most likely. Shoes? Polished, no signs of dirt. He glanced towards what had to be the man's steward if the way he kept glancing at his timepiece was anything to go by. "And Ronald Weasley." Ron stepped forward and shook the man's hand, returning his smile.
"A pleasure to meet you both." the professor said. "I do hope you'll find my little lecture as invigorating as I do." the man began to drone on about his work, Hermione nodding along as he did so. Harry glanced around as the pair prattled on. Passively notting the people that were milling about the exhibits near by. Everything seemed quite normal and boring until his eyes came to rest on a man that appeared to be staring at them quite intently. He felt the hackles on the back of his neck stand. The man was young with very tan skin and thin moustache. His features reminded him a bit of a man he had worked with from istanbul. There was something.. Wrong about the man. Harry couldn't put his finger on it. His fingers were resting absentmindedly on his wand.
Harry jumped a as a hand on his shoulder brought him out of his train of thought. He glanced back to see Ron with a look of concern on his face. "You alright mate?" he asked.
Harry looked back towards were the man was standing only to find the spot now occupied by a couple of students talking animatedly about a statue or idol of some kind. "Yeah, i just thought…" he shook his as if to clear out some imaginary web. "I'm fine." he tried to give his best friend a reassuring smile though he failed miserably.
"Well i best be heading off." Professor Smith declared. His man servant who, they later found out was named Beddows, had reminded the professor of the time. "A few things to take care of before the lecture. Though, I do hope you'll join me for dinner the imperial institute is hosting, over in Kensington? As my guests, of course." Hermione graciously accepted the invitation, Ron looked pleased as well. Though that may have been because of the mention of a free meal.
As they made their way towards the lecture hall hermione pulled on harry's sleeve to get his attention. "What was that back there. There was a moment where you had that look in your eyes Harry."
"What look?" he decided to play dumb hopping she'd drop the subject.
"You know very well what look." Harry was forced to a stop as yanked on the sleeve of his coat. "Harry we're just worried. You've been working yourself to death ever since…" suddenly Hermione looked nervous and glanced at Ron who held up his hands defensively.
"It's alright 'Mione. She may be my sister but that doesn't mean I like what she did. Mum still harps on about how Harry's still her son weather it be in-law or not." Ron snapped his fingers like he just remembered something. "Oh and mum says you're commin' round for Easter hols. Weather you like it or not." he gave Harry a pointed look. "Seriously, she said she'd owl King if she had too."
"I'm fine, really. Just still a bit worked up from earlier."
Hermione still looked worried. "We can leave if you'd prefer… "
Harry gave her a tiered smile. "It's alright 'Mione, really." she did not look convinced.
Soon enough the trio found themselves seated in front of a small podium and several large screens with Professor Smith standing proudly at the podium. He began to talk. His style of lecture was droll but entertaining. He recounts several of his more well known decits and exposures with a zeal and relish rarely seen from men his age.
"There prove to be, however," and here his voice turns serious, "categories of repetitious phenomenon offering no simple elucidation. I refer to the 'poltergeist,' to the 'traveler' who suddenly finds himself dozens or thousands of miles or years from where he stood moments before, and to the 'haunting'. My presentation tonight concerns the later… "
As the man began to drone on about how he was applying the scientific method to magic harry tuned the man out. This really wasn't his jurisdiction. Worse comes to worst they'd call the obliviator in and clean up the whole mess. He sat up a bit straighter as the man began to show slides of 'possible phenomenon' as he called it. While he wasn't sure about the first two slides he was definitely sure about third. There was no doubt about it. It was definitely a ghost of a woman in 17th century dress. But how was that possible? Ghosts couldn't be captured on film, not even in the wizarding world, Yet there it was. He stared intently at projection. It took him a moment to realize the projection was staring back… Harry gave a start and nearly fell out of his chair. As he looked alarmingly at the projection that had reverted back to a motionless image. Hermione was giving him a strange look but he waved her off.
What was that? Did that really happen or where his nerves still shot after the early morning fight with Carrow. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose before grimacing. How long had it been since he last had a good night's sleep without a potion… hell, how long had it been since he last slept.
After the lecture and dinner Harry was exhausted. He wished his friends a good night before apparating with a crack to flat above Quality Quidditch supplies in Diagon alley. He quickly showered and dressed for bed then sat down in front of his fireplace with a glass of Red Barren scotch. The days events swirling through his mind much like the contents of his glass. First there was that man in the museum. Something about him just gave made Harry's hair stand on end, Something not right about the man's face. Then there was the picture. It had stared at him. He didn't understand. It was just a photo, a muggle photo but it had moved… or at least he thought it had moved. He didn't understand why this bothered him so much. He saw moving paintings all the time!
Harry growled in frustration before he downed the contents of his glass. Something wasn't adding up but he needed sleep. Marching angrily over to his kitchen cabinet he yanked it open and grabbed a knockout potion he usually saved as a last resort. He hadn't slept for days but he needed the rest. Hell, king had been the one to suggest the damn thing. He stared at the black liquid for a second before yanking the stopped of the bottle and downing the potion then stumbling towards his bed. The last thing he remembered was falling towards the sheets.
Later he awoke with a groan as he heard someone shouting his name. Drearily Harry sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The knockout potion had done its job. He didn't feel well rested by any means but at least he didn't feel like bloody rubbish anymore. He stood from his bed before stumbling towards the living room to see Kingsley's head perched menacingly in the midsts of his fireplace. "Morning King." Harry said. "How long have I been out?" he touched a hand to his fireplace to allow kingley past his wards.
In a flourish of green spark the dark skinned man stepped into the room. "It's been two days Potter." kingley grumbled. "If it weren't for the fact we could hear your bloody snoring from the other room i'd have sent a patrol to kick down your door." Harry snorted as he walked past the man toward the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove.
"Anything happen that i should know about?" Harry asked before heading back towards his bathroom to change and splash some water on his face.
"Maybe." Kingsley scowled. " We have a patrol out there now but the Muggles have already made a mess of things."
A newspaper was shoved into Harry's hands as he exited the bathroom now dressed in his suit and jacket. He frowned at the picture that stared up at him from the front page of the paper before the realisation slammed into him. It was the same man from Professor Smiths lecture the day before. Quickly he scanned the article under the picture.
Man Dies Three Times in One Night!
Three Bodies In Hotel:
Each Man Carries Same Identity!
Three slain men were discovered last night
in a London hotel, each bearing positive
identification as Mr. Mehmet Makryat, of
Islington. Each had been stabbed through the
heart.
Maids at the Chelsea Arms Hotel discovered
the remains. The room also was registered in
the name of Mr. Makryat.
Bona fide papers identify the trio as one
man, the Mr. Makryat who is a Turkish antique
and art dealer doing business in this city. The
victims bear superficial resemblances, and each
had passed as Mr. Makryat since independently
arriving in London three days ago.
Confusingly, the real Mr. Makryat, or at least
the man described by neighboring shopkeepers
as Mr. Makryat, cannot be found. Police request
that he come forth.
The passports of these Turkish nationals
record independent world-wide travels for
each man over the past three years. Inspector
Fleming of Scotland Yard is at a loss to describe
the meaning of the bizarre mystery, but is eager
to converse with any other Mehmet Makryats
still living.
Harry gave kingsley a hard look. "I know this man King." he gestured to the papers photo. "I saw him last night at one of Hermione's muggle lectures she drags me and Ron to."
Kingsley frowned at this. "The one that died?"
"Died?" Harry asked incredulously.
"Yeah. She stormed into your office very upset about something yesterday. When I asked her about it, she said some muggle professor died in a fire." Kingley reached into his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper. "Told me to give you this." he handed Harry the note before turning back to the fire place. "Anyway, I need to get back to the office. I think Hermione's looking for you" the fire flashed green as kingsley left
It was back. That horrible feeling he hadn't felt in a little over a decade. The sinking feeling that things were about to change again and those changes were going to have implications that reached far farther than your average mad man attempting to take over the government. With a scowl and feeling of dread he headed towards the mantle and reached towards his flu powder only to stop as his eyes rested on the gun his uncle had given him so many years ago.
He grabbed the weapon and withdrew it from its holster. The word 'colt' stamped into the dark metal stared up at him like accusatory stare. He ran his thumb along the slide as he remembered back to when Vernon had given him the muggle weapon.
"Boy!" Vernon dersley had bellowed from the bottom of the stairs. "Get down here, now!" the Dursleys once pristine home was now all but barren as they prepared to flee the country. The blood wards would be dropping soon so they had chosen to run. Harry walked calmly down the stairs a confused expression on his face. "Follow me." Harry quickly followed his uncle out the back door into the Dursleys rather spacious backyard.
It looked different than it had the day before. There were old brightly colored liquor bottles lined up on a hastily erected bit of fencing. Petunia's wooden cutting block at been dragged out of the kitchen and onto the back porch. "Now you look here boy." Vernon started as he wagged a sausage sized finger at Harry. "When your kind look back on this… farce you've gotten yourself mixed up in don't let it be said Vernon Dursley didn't do his part for his country." he moved aside and gestured to the block. Resting atop it were two muggle guns. A pistol and vernons old hunting shotgun. "Well don't just stand there staring come here."
Hesitantly Harry approached his uncle before vernon grabbed his shoulder and roughly stood him in front of the fence. He picked up the pistol and stuffed it into Harry's trembling hands. "This is a colt nineteen-eleven. It's a forty-five caliber handgun. Brand new, yanks just came out with it this year." Vernon began roughly 'adjusting' Harry into what he deemed an acceptable firing stance. "Now relax a bit." he vaguely wondered how the hell he was supposed to do that.
"Uncle i don't… " Harry tried weakly
"Don't argue with me boy, now focus!" Vernon stepped to the side before pointing the sights on the weapon. "Now, line up the sights. Aim at the center of what you want to hit. Going for the head is a fool's choice. When you're ready exhale… and squeeze." Vernon stepped back and Harry did as he was told. His first shot rang out with a bang. He had been aiming at the yellow bottle on the stand but missed terribly and saw some dirt get kicked up a few yards behind it. He was about to protest when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "That's alright. Try again." this threw him a little. Vernon had never said anything so… encouraging before. "Just relax, breath."
So he did. A few seconds later another crack rang out as Harry fired the gun. The bullet struck the glass bottle and shattered into a million tiny fragments. He was startled as Vernon let out a 'whoop' and thumped him on the shoulder. "Good, man!" Harry was wide eyed at this… was his uncle really smiling at something he did?
Harry let his eyes linger on the firearm for a moment before returning it to it's holster and strapping the thing to his belt. This feeling, whatever it was, made him think he might need it in the future. He grabbed a handful of powder before throwing it into the fireplace and stepping into the bright swirling flames.
A moment later he stepped out into the brightly lit living room of Hermione's flat. His bushy haired friend was pacing back and forth in front of her couch where Ron was reading that mornings copy of the Profit. "Harry!" Hermione screeched. "Where have you been? We've been looking all day."
"She's been looking all day." Ron said pointedly. "I chose to let you sleep after i popped in to find you dead to the world."
"What?" Hermione fixed ron with a hard stare. "You told me he wasn't home."
Ron ignored her and continued to read the newspaper. Harry rolled his eyes at his long time friends antics. "Look, it doesn't matter." he said as he thrust the newspaper into Hermione's hands. "I saw this man at Smiths lecture yesterday. Now two days later Smith's home burns down with him in it and this man dies three times. My gallions say they're connected."
Hermione opened her mouth to speak just before someone started knocking roughly on her door. She frowned as she went to answer the door with Harry lingering a few paces behind her just in case. Standing outside hermione's front door was a man in a cabbies cloths. When hermione opened the door he tipped his cap towards her. "Sorry to disturb you mum. Got a letter 'ear for a Miss 'Ermione Granger." the man had a very lowbrow accent. Hermione nodded and held out her hand. The man smiled before pulling the note out of jacket pocket and tipping his cap again.
Harry called out when Hermione rushed out after the cabbie, the note that was delivered falling to the ground in her haste. Harry picked up the note and gave it a once over. It was a normal piece of stationary folded in on itself into an envelope. On the back was an address in cheapside and on the front was a broken wax seal. He recognized the impression from the professors signet ring. The message on the inside was short but sent an all to familiar chill up his spine.
Come at once. I haven't long. For God's sake let no-one follow you.
J.A. Smith