36. The Whole Truth.

"Alright. Tell me the truth this time."

"I told you the truth," McCoy snapped, "and that's all there is to it!"

They had spent an uncomfortable but bearable night in the cell after Kirk had performed his usual potential jail break routine. He'd found no possible escape route. Even if he had, Kirk had assured them, they would not have used it unless absolutely necessary – Dumbledore had warned them not to fight. They were much safer here, even if they were locked away and treated like potential anarchists. At least here, there weren't any possible Death Eaters waiting to kidnap them – or so they hoped. With all the methods of magical concealment, you never could be sure.

The night had passed unbearably slowly, with all three officers remaining awake. Kirk had sat there silently on his bed, opposite McCoy, going through their options over and over again. Not for the first time, he'd wondered aloud what Umbridge planned to do with Hogwarts, whether the students were safe. Yet McCoy also knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that his captain and friend was worried despite his attempts to hide it. He was worried, McCoy knew, about the Enterprise and its crew. They had known, since Dumbledore had explained the magical nature of their arrival, that the Enterprise had no hope of finding them, had no hope of making a temporary universe rift.

Yet Scott didn't know that, had no way of knowing, and there was no doubt that he wouldn't give up. Scott was an intensely loyal and determined man. He was committed to keeping both the ship and the crew safe, even at great personal risk to himself. He would not give up easily, and McCoy could see that it was this which plagued the mind of one Jim Kirk.

Kirk, forever concerned with the lives of others, did not want Scott to jeopardise his career for a lost cause. He knew that if – when, McCoy mentally corrected – they returned home, there would be an enquiry, and Kirk did not want Scott to be too involved. The Scotsman was an engineering genius; he did not need another repeat of Delta Vega, where he was abandoned at some far away outpost, left with nothing to do but tinker and reflect upon the injustice. He deserved more than that. Scott deserved his reputation as the best Chief Engineer of the Fleet, and that should not be taken away from him. They all knew that.

Spock, on the other hand, had remained quiet throughout the night, only speaking when asked a direct question. His eyes had been slightly glazed, his focus inwards, body unnaturally still, and McCoy had been worried.

Finally unable to stand it anymore, he had made his way over to the Vulcan, concerned that he was suffering from the slightly lower than normal temperature, and put one hand on the Vulcan's forehead. It had been its usual temperature and McCoy had, with a confused frown, picked up Spock's wrist, feeling for the pulse.

It was normal.

"Hmm," McCoy had murmured, placing the wrist onto Spock's lap, only to find two suddenly lucid eyes staring at him. "Spock?"

"Leonard."

McCoy had fixed a half glare. "I was checking to see if you were suffering from an illness and, being your usual obnoxiously stubborn self, refusing to tell me."

"I am perfectly healthy."

"Well," McCoy had shot back, "I know now."

"Then your query has been satisfied." The eyes had begun to un-focus again.

"Spock," Kirk had called from across the cell, coming to sit on the bed, next to his First Officer, "what are you doing?"

"I am attempting to meditate."

"Oh."

"Aren't you supposed to cross your legs and hum for that?" McCoy asked.

"That is a rather peculiar misconception, Leonard."

"Well then," McCoy had drawled, "what are you supposed to do?"

"Think."

"Think?"

"Yes, Leonard," Spock replied, a small sigh escaping from between his lips.

"You think?" McCoy repeated. "That's it? You don't chant?"

"Chanting would be counter-productive."

"You don't do any yoga?"

"Negative."

"You don't even focus your inner energy, attempt to join it with the rest of the universe, and float to the ceiling?"

Spock had simply stared at him.

"I made that up," McCoy admitted.

"So what are you thinking about?" Kirk asked.

"The beginning of a mental link between Mr Potter and I. I am attempting to utilise it to ascertain his current emotions."

"You want to find out if he's safe," Kirk deduced.

"Affirmative. However, my attempts are having limited success."

"Why's that?" Kirk asked.

"There are two factors. Firstly, the link is not sufficiently tangible."

"Isn't there a way of strengthening it?"

"I am currently endeavouring to do so, Leonard."

"And how's that going?"

"There has been marginal progress."

"And what's the second factor?" Kirk asked.

"My attention is constantly being diverted."

"Ah," Kirk chuckled. "We'll let you get back to it then, Spock." And with a pat on the Vulcan's shoulder, the captain had moved to another bed, taking McCoy with him, to discuss yet more theories on what Umbridge was planning.

That had been several hours ago, and Spock had continued to make small but encouraging steps of progress. Soon, they would hopefully have a way of communicating, even if it was non-verbal, with Hogwarts.

The morning had slowly dawned, bringing with it a slightly stale but very welcome meal, the bread and fruit doing wonders to quell the hunger which had arisen since their arrival.

After they had eaten, McCoy had been taken out of the cell to what seemed like an interrogation room, though not in the traditional sense. There might have been no one way mirror on the wall, but McCoy still had the impression that he was being watched, the eyes not visible.

On the solitary wooden table before him sat a pile of parchment, most of them devoid of lettering and a testament to the expected length of the interrogation. The few that had been written on were in a small pile at the opposite end of the table. In the middle of the surface, a hovering quill wrote down the conversation, only stopping when it reached the end of the paper, flying impatiently before the paper was turned over or replaced.

Behind the table, dressed in handsome robes, were two wizards. On their chests was a large badge each, detailing their guard number and status within the Ministry. The only indication he had of their identity was a surname, printed in official letters on each badge.

Puddlemarsh, the more experienced of the two, sat in front of McCoy and on the left. His white hair contrasted with his dark robes, highlighting his age and experience. The lines on his face spoke of many years of hard work, the stress of working for a government constantly plagued by rumours of dark wizards. McCoy had no doubt that he'd interviewed more Death Eaters and suspected supporters than he cared to count.

The wizard on the right, on the other hand, was young and practically brimming with enthusiasm. Sporting the inconspicuous name of Smith, he seemed determined to prove himself, to rise above anonymity. He dominated the investigation, in his eagerness repeating questions several times.

Yet McCoy got the distinct impression that Puddlemarsh didn't mind. In fact, he seemed to relish the opportunity to sit back and study McCoy, eying him for signs of deceit.

"Tell me the truth," Smith repeated.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Good God boy, do you have the memory of a goldfish? Perhaps you can't remember the answer I gave you as much as five seconds ago?"

"Insolence will get you nowhere, Leonard."

"It's McCoy to you," McCoy snapped, for what felt like the hundredth time.

Smith ignored him. "Leonard, we both know what's going to happen if you don't confess." He leaned forwards. "I want to help you, Leonard."

McCoy snorted. "Really?"

Smith maintained eye contact. "Yes. Leonard, I know there is no one in your life who-"

"Are you interrogating me or asking me out?" McCoy scoffed.

Smith wasn't fazed. "I know," he repeated, "that no one you know will believe the truth, but it's alright." He nodded once. "I will."

"You will, will you?"

"Yes."

McCoy couldn't resist. "I'm an alien," he said simply, keeping eye contact.

Smith stared at him, gulped, and nodded. "That was unexpected."

McCoy smirked and lounged back in his chair. "Good."

This time, it was Puddlemarsh who spoke. "Don't play games with us, Mr McCoy. These are serious charges."

McCoy rolled his eyes again. "I just told you the truth. I come from a different universe. Therefore, you would consider me an alien although," he smirked, "I'm human."

"Mr McCoy," Puddlemarsh warned, "that is enough. Now tell us where you're really from."

"Georgia."

Smith raised his eyebrows. "Georgia? Come rather a long way, haven't you?"

"You have no idea..."

"Mode of transport?" Smith asked.

"I don't know. Magic, I suppose."

"Hippogriff airport, Portkey station, Apparition..." Smith listed. "Do any of those sound familiar?"

"...Hippogriff station?"

"Airport," Smith corrected. "Though admittedly there are only two left in the world. They're illegal here in England."

"Then why," McCoy snapped, "did you mention it?"

"Standard procedure, Leonard. Let's continue." He quickly scanned his notes. "We have no record of you."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"Do you have any idea why this might be the case?"

"I come from a different universe."

"Mr McCoy," Puddlemarsh snapped, "answer the question."

McCoy sighed. "Because I haven't been arrested before. Because I don't work at the Ministry."

The quill jotted that down. McCoy resisted the urge to snap it.

"I told you that things would be easier on you if you co-operated," Smith smiled. "Now, why did you come to England?"

"I had no choice."

"You were ordered here by a superior?"

"No," McCoy said clearly. "I've told you."

"I see."

The quill scribbled.

"Who do you work for, Leonard?"

"You'd never believe me."

"Leonard-"

"Yes, I know," McCoy interrupted before the man could launch into his speech. "Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you. I work for the United Federation of Planets."

Smith's eyebrows escalated.

"Star Fleet," McCoy added.

"Who do you really work for, Leonard?"

"That is who I really work for."

"The answer isn't good enough!" Puddlemarsh snapped. "Fantasy companies aren't listed, surprisingly."

"Alright," McCoy muttered. "I'm unemployed."

"Is that why you were opposing Madam Umbridge? Did you want her job?"

"No. I was opposing her because she was incompetent."

"You believe you could do better, McCoy?"

McCoy glared at Puddlemarsh. "Any idiot could."

The quill scribbled that down.

"Lucky we caught him before he could do any damage, right, Mr Puddlemarsh?"

"I'm not here to do damage!" McCoy snapped. "Believe it or not, I just want to get out of here."

"You're not going anywhere," Puddlemarsh sneered. "Especially not after your confession."

"What confession? I haven't given one!"

"Leonard." Smith was looking sympathetic now. "I understand how you feel-"

"Oh you do, do you?" McCoy spat.

"It can't be easy," Smith continued. "You're alone in here, you're being interrogated in a foreign country and your plans have been discovered – it's enough to put anyone down in the dumps."

McCoy blinked at him. "Exactly how long have you had this job?"

"Two months, but I don't-"

McCoy turned to Puddlemarsh. "And he hasn't been fired yet?"

"Mr Smith is an extremely competent employee," Puddlemarsh said, though not too enthusiastically. "He's already convicted two former Death Eaters."

"You people are nuts."

"Excuse me?" Smith asked, genuinely confused.

"There's something about this government," McCoy retorted, "where at least 2/5 of the employees have to be useless. Is that an official requirement?"

"Don't write that down," Smith ordered the quill.

"Isn't that tampering with evidence?"

"Leonard, I understand that you're under stress, but those comments were uncalled for."

"Of course I'm damn well stressed!" McCoy exploded. "I got dragged out of my universe, ditched here only to be arrested for being a public menace, when I don't even live here! This planet is crazy!"

"McCoy," the older wizard barked, "that's enough. I can have you psychiatrically evaluated if you don't-"

"And they'll find me perfectly sane."

"I beg to differ." Puddlemarsh narrowed his eyes, his calm demeanour almost gone. "If you don't stop ranting about other universes, I'll have you committed!"

"And wouldn't that be convenient?" McCoy bellowed, infuriated. "The only opposition to Umbridge just happens to be insane!"

"Leonard-"

"Will you stop calling me that?" McCoy asked in exasperation. "The only people who say that to me are my friends and mother, and I'm proud to say you're neither!"

Smith actually looked slightly hurt.

"McCoy," Puddlemarsh tried again, "I'm not sure you understand the gravity of the situation. You've verbally abused a member of the Ministry, spread false rumours about the return of He Who Must Not Be Named, and are a known member of Dumbledore's Army. In addition to this, you continued to disrupt the peace with fanciful daydreams of alternate universes-"

"Fanciful?" McCoy repeated incredulously. "That universe is anything but a fanciful daydream. There are Klingons over there who would willingly rip you to shreds. A whole planet – my friend's planet – was destroyed by one insane Romulan!"

"I'm sure it was," Puddlemarsh replied, voice practically dripping with sarcasm. "But what I'm trying to tell you is that you could easily go to Azkaban for this – all the Ministry has to do is take your membership of the DA and tell the public you're trying to overthrow the government. You're bad behavioural conduct will only cement the ruling against you!"

"Don't tell me you're trying to help."

"I've seen too many people go in there for too long and never recover," the man replied, eyes haunted. "As it is, you're looking at a fairly short sentence, but if you continue to be difficult then you will be classified as dangerous!"

He paused for effect. "That means you'll essentially receive the same treatment as former Death Eaters, if the Ministry thinks it's appropriate."

McCoy, for the first time since he'd entered the room, remained silent.

"Now," Puddlemarsh continued, "I don't like you, in fact I think that goes without saying, but that doesn't mean I won't try to help you." He stood up and motioned at the brick wall. Wordlessly, a guard entered the room through the wooden door which had just appeared. "I'll leave you to think about that for a while."

Taking his cue, McCoy stood, ignoring the wand pointed at him as he was led through the corridors and back into his cell, the door slamming shut behind him.

Kirk looked up as McCoy made his way to a bed, grumbling, and plonked himself on it. "How did it go, Bones?"

McCoy grunted.

"That bad?"

"I may have exploded..."

Kirk sighed. "Bones, I've told you before; yelling at them won't help."

"They tried to get me to confess to running against Umbridge for her position!"

"Given your performance yesterday," Kirk said grimly, "it's hardly surprising. We knew before we got here that they'd try to twist our words to their advantage."

"I know," McCoy muttered, "but I still didn't expect something that stupid."

"What did you say to them?"

"I reminded them that Umbridge was incompetent," McCoy admitted. "I might have implied that an idiot could do a better job."

"Anything else?" Kirk asked wryly.

"I could have been slightly carried away about the existence of our universe."

"How did they react to that?"

"They want to get me committed."

Kirk snorted. "I'll remember to avoid talking about the Enterprise then," he joked.

"You do that."

"Well, now we know which angle they'll approach this from," Kirk said. "I'm sure we'll soon be known as the three crazies."

McCoy glanced at Spock, who had remained silent throughout the exchange and knew, from the glazed look in his eyes, that he was still trying to reach Harry.

"They also mentioned Azkaban," McCoy muttered.

"Did they say how long for?"

McCoy shook his head. "They said if we co-operate it'll be a shorter sentence. If we keep 'talking crazy' though, we'll be treated like Death Eaters."

"What?"

"They think we're promoting Voldemort's return because we support him."

Kirk sighed again. "If this government doesn't open its eyes, their country will be in trouble."

"You can say that again." McCoy paused thoughtfully. "I'm actually beginning to wonder why Dumbledore doesn't just run for the position of Minister of Magic."

"He probably doesn't want it."

"I can understand why," McCoy grimaced, "but it would get the country closer to being ready for war."

"As popular as Dumbledore is, I'm not sure the public would accept him as Minister. He might be a member of the Wizengamot, but he's still a headmaster, and most people see him as just that."

"He'd still be better than Fudge."

"So you've said," Kirk said wryly. "Many times. I'm beginning to think you want to be Minister."

"What?" McCoy squawked.

Kirk grinned. "The amount of times I've listened to you rant about government policies, you'd think you were a politician."

McCoy's eyes narrowed. "Never say that again."

Kirk raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Of course." Despite his posture, he was grinning.

McCoy harrumphed. "So," he said, slightly less angrily, "how's Spock's meditation going?"

Kirk glanced at Spock, who had not moved despite the direction the conversation had taken. "He's been at it almost the entire day," he said softly.

"Any progress?"

"I don't think so," Kirk said. "He hasn't spoken at all."

Spock moved, making them both jump slightly. "There has been significantly more progress," he reported, blinking slightly as he stood up, stretching his stiff body.

"Have you made contact?" Kirk asked eagerly.

"Affirmative. However, he is unaware of my mental presence. I believe that unconscious suggestion shall be necessary."

"You're going to give him messages?" McCoy asked. "Spock, I don't know if you've noticed, but he can't exactly help us. He's a student – we can't force him to leave Hogwarts to-"

"That will not be necessary."

McCoy glanced between Kirk and Spock. "Am I missing something here?"

Kirk nodded slightly. "We talked about it a bit after you were taken for questioning. Obviously, we can't stay here. The Death Eaters need us to bring Voldemort back, they might break in and try to get us. We haven't seen any sign of that yet," he added quickly, "but it could possibly happen. We need to get out before that."

"But Dumbledore told us to stay put."

Kirk shook his head. "He only told us not to fight them when they took us. If we had and been lucky enough to escape, the Order wouldn't know where we are now."

"They still might not know where we are," McCoy pointed out. "This is a pretty remote area."

"True, but Spock can show them."

"You're saying we're going to break out of here?" McCoy asked incredulously.

Kirk nodded. "Somehow."

"I shall implant my memories of our journey in Mr Potter's dreams," Spock added. "It is my hope that he shall then contact Professor Snape."

"Snape?" McCoy repeated. "The two hate each other!"

"I shall include a subtle order to share the information with him," Spock replied.

"Besides," Kirk added, "Snape is the most suitable for the plan. He, as far as we know, understands how the Death Eaters act. At the least, he can keep them away from us. Maybe, if we're lucky, he'll orchestrate a prison-break."

"But..." McCoy protested, "Dumbledore..."

"He spent ages keeping us in the castle, Bones," Kirk pointed out. "He wouldn't let us be handed over so easily. He needs us in his reach for the spell to work. He told us not to fight because it would give them less reason to put us under higher security."

"As it is," Spock added, "they do not believe in any outside threat to our imprisonment. We are, after all, under the false impression that the Death Eaters have a use for us. In addition, the professors at Hogwarts are occupied with teaching."

"And you two knew this all along." It wasn't a question.

Kirk inclined his head, having the good grace to look slightly guilty. "We had a suspicion, yes."

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

"I thought you should rant first," Kirk admitted. "It made our arrest slightly more realistic."

"Glad to know I could help," McCoy said sardonically.

Kirk sighed, but did not continue the argument. "How soon do you think you'll be able to contact Harry, Spock?"

There was no answer, and they turned to the Vulcan in concern, noticing that he was now swaying dangerously on his feet, his eyelids drooping with exhaustion.

"Whoa!" McCoy exclaimed, bounding to his feet and grabbing the Vulcan around the waist, leading him to the nearest bed. "What's brought this on?"

"Consolidating the link required considerable effort on my part," Spock murmured, closing his eyes.

"Will he be alright?" Kirk asked quietly.

McCoy nodded, one hand feeling for a pulse. "He just needs rest. I had no idea telepathy was so tiring..."

Spock did not open his eyes. "It required extending my mental presence to the end of the link and maintaining that position," he explained. "There was considerable distance between us..."

McCoy stared at the Vulcan, noticing that he was beginning to fall asleep. "You don't say."

Spock's eyelids struggled to flutter open, his eyes finding Kirk with slight difficulty. "I shall be ready to attempt unconscious suggestion tonight, Jim."

"No," Kirk said firmly.

Spock's eyes had fluttered close again, but he still argued. "Jim, it is necessary."

"You're exhausted," Kirk pointed out. "I won't let you do it tonight. It can wait another day."

"The Death Eaters-"

"Are not attacking this instant," Kirk interrupted. "And from what you just told us, you'll need all the strength you can get if you're going to use this link."

"Which is why we'll help," McCoy decided.

"Leonard..."

"Just listen to my idea before you shoot it down, Spock," McCoy said softly.

"What do you have in mind, Bones?"

"I've heard," McCoy began slowly, "that more than one person can be included in a mind meld. Vulcan Healers use that method when extra strength is needed. Since this process is obviously draining, I suggest that Spock lets us help."

"Spock?" Kirk asked, turning to the Vulcan.

"You have no experience."

"I do," Kirk reminded him.

"And we don't need to have any," McCoy continued before Spock could argue. "We just need to be able to give you energy so you don't get too drained."

"Leonard-"

"We can't have you collapse during a prison-break," McCoy added, ignoring the interruption. "It's be impractical and," he smiled, "illogical."

Spock sighed, giving in. "Very well."

"Good," McCoy chirped, "now get some sleep, you stubborn hobgoblin!"

Spock immediately complied, not having the strength to resist his body's demands any longer.

oOo

"Sair, ze reading eez fluctuating!" Checkov exclaimed from his position at the science station.

Scott, who had been sitting in the Captain's chair, going over their options in his mind, sat up slightly straighter. "How?"

"Eet's...almost shimmering, sair," Checkov replied, eyes never leaving the screen.

Immediately turning his attention to the screen before him, Scott saw the tell tale shimmer of the computerised image before the stars became still once more.

He made his decision.

"Mr Sulu, put the ship on red alert," he ordered sharply.

"Aye sir."

"What is it Scotty?" Uhura asked, her tone business-like but with a slight undercurrent of worry.

"A cloaking device."

"Romulans?"

"I do nae think so, lad," Scott told Sulu, eying the computer screen grimly. Intellectually, he had known that this moment had been coming, but that had done nothing to help prepare him.

Without warning, a circular ship materialised before the Enterprise, her sudden presence as intimidating as a Romulan warbird. Simultaneously, Checkov announced its presence, not yet having looked up from his screen.

"Sir," Uhura said, her hand to the piece in her ear, "we're being hailed."

Scott took a deep breath, struggling to keep the hammering of his heart under control. "On screen."

The image shimmered and was replaced with the figure of a woman, the hair turned white from stress, lines creasing a face which he had once considered attractive. She looked more than twice her actual age.

"Monty," she said, her voice scratchy from alcohol abuse.

Scott nodded. "Ehlette."

Everyone swivelled around to stare at him at once. The silence was almost palpable.

Ehlette laughed harshly, her eyes glittering. "Oh, did he not tell you? Monty and I go far back." Her eyes bored into Scott's. "Why don't you tell them, Monty? I'm sure they'd love to hear what you did to my brother."