Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns HP, along with Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Warner Brothers. I own nothing more than my OCs, and make no
money out of this.
The house Jack built
'But Angie, I still love you, baby
Everywhere I look I see your eyes' (Rolling Stones, Angie)
Chapter four. Rayner.
Angie sat with him in the pub almost all evening, angry she was, probably about the job. She had got him a part-time job over at Borgin and Burke's, and he had not showed up. Not that he wasn't grateful; he just hadn't managed to get out of bed. He had lain there all day, tossing and sweating, trying to fight off the demon that never went away. From her reaction one would think he had done it of pure laziness.
He had bought some of the Viper on tick from his dealer, and had been sitting in the pub when she showed up. He could see her mouth moving, her reproachful eyes staring at him, but he did not understand a word she was saying. Like in a trance he watched her lips dancing; she bared her teeth when she was angry, something that fascinated him.
She pleaded with him, the palms of her hands reached out to him and tears were in her eyes. This made him sad and he had wanted to stroke her chin, but his arms would not obey him. All he could muster was a feeble hand on her knee.
He had made her cry. When he should have taken her in his arms and kissed the tears away, told her all those thoughts he had carried with him in silence for several years. Why didn't he tell her?
Did it matter?
It mattered to him, so why didn't he tell her? He couldn't answer. He knew she cared for him, the way she petted him and fussed about him made him blush sometimes.
Because he always messed things up, that was why. Because if he dared to say it aloud, it could destroy the little he had, and he could not bear to see the question on her face, her slow and discreet withdrawal.
He was so scared of losing her.
So he just sat there, looking at her disappointed face, and feeling like dirt for not being good enough. Not even sober enough to understand what she was saying. What had been the last she had said to him?
They only had each other. Since they were eleven, they had been together. They had met on the Hogwarts Express, two lonely children on a train filled with scary strangers and intimidating big boys looking for first-years to pick on. He had managed to find a seat among a group of Hufflepuff's who seemed a little friendlier than the rest. They had not included him in their conversation, though, and he had felt abandoned in a strange world. Then she had showed up; angry with one of the big boys for pulling her ponytail she had sat down beside him. They had been sorted into different Houses, but it did not matter, because he had not been alone anymore.
He had a room across the street, on the third floor, and it took him twenty minutes to walk the stairs. The Viper was still in his blood, and the demon would not demand more until the following night.
Next morning he went to work. Mr. Borgin was an unpleasant person, almost as bad as the objects for sale in his shop. But money is money, and Ray did the job as best he could, and Borgin seemed satisfied with his effort. He had expected Angie to turn up, though.
After work he went down to the pub, looking for her. When she didn't show up after an hour, he walked up to Madam Malkin's where she worked. And left in a state of total confusion. She didn't work there anymore; she had been fired two weeks earlier, old Madame had informed him with a strained face. Why hadn't Angie mentioned this to him?
He went up to her room and knocked on the door, but when no one replied, he returned back to the pub. Waiting, smoking, buying a pint for the money he had earned, growing more and more restless. None of those he asked had seen her. Worried he knocked on the door to her room again.
And found her.
He had never seen her naked before, and she was as beautiful as he had imagined. At first he thought she was sleeping, but then he saw her open brown eyes, cold, fixated at nothing but thin air. This was not Angie. It was her body, yes, but his Angie was not there anymore. He sat down beside the bed and forced himself to look at those hollow terrible eyes, and in the end he couldn't stand it anymore and had to look away. But her hand, lying peacefully on the side of the bed, looked like it could move anytime. Rise up, and bustle his hair as she sometimes used to do.
With a shaking hand he reached out and touched the tips of her fingers. They were cold.
Somehow he managed to go downstairs to Borgin's flat. Borgin called the Hit-wizards, and when they arrived they asked him questions. Later he could not recall anything of what they had said, or even his own answers; it was all a haze of images, accusing faces and cold hands touching him. He did not know where the real world ended and his thoughts began.
They took him along with them and he didn't ask why, he just followed them when they told him to. They placed him in a dungeon somewhere, in a cold stone room without windows, with only a bunk to sit on. He didn't object; he sat there for hours on end waiting for something to happen, for his mind to start working again. With horror he felt the familiar urge waking in his body.
'For Merlin's sake, not now!' But Merlin slept in his cave, and did not hear the young man's prayer.
She had been so beautiful.
The Hit-wizards came back, and took him to an office in an endless corridor to ask more questions. Where had he been that night, did he speak with anyone.
The restlessness in his body made it painful to sit still.
"You killed her, didn't you? You knew she was walking the street, you got angry and you had an argument, isn't that right? Got jealous, did you?"
He shook his head, but didn't protest against their accusations. He couldn't fight them, there was nothing left to fight for. She was gone; he was alone against the demon, alone against these strangers and the fingers they pointed at his face. He didn't care what happened to him, they could crucify him if they wanted, he could not fight two enemies at once.
He did not know what the clock was, whether it was night or day, but he knew it was time. His body started screaming for the Viper, and his mind followed it. He felt so cold now, his body shaking slightly. "Please, may I use the toilet?" he heard himself ask, his voice sounded strange and unfamiliar to him.
The Hit-wizard in charge looked at him with contempt. "You may when I tell you to."
His young assistant looked worried, though. "Sir, I think..."
Ray threw up on the floor, and the Inspector turned his head away in disgust. "Merlin's beard!"
"With all due respect, Sir, he's on the Viper, I can see it on his eyes." The assistant turned to his supervisor. "He will be of no use the next two days."
"The Viper, eh?" The older wizard scratched his head, and got up from his chair. "You better get St. Mungo's to come and get him, then. And clean up this mess!"
Ray had been put back into his cell to wait. He tried to walk around, but the muscles in his body ached, and he lay down on the bunk though it was useless to try to get any sleep. He had been through this before and knew what awaited him, and he was so scared he started crying. With all the strength he had left he prayed for the Healers to come; the angels dressed in green. They would take away the pain and make him sleep.
Slowly he drifted off into a feverish dullness, his body's last attempt at a weary rest; an intermission of fatigue before Hell started.
Her hand had been so pleading. She had stretched it out to him, knowing he would be there. Urging him into the bed, begging him to warm her body. She needed him, she was so cold. He should have lain down beside her and taken her into his arms, giving her the only thing he had to give. Warmth, comfort. But it was too late.
It was always too late.
Someone spoke to him from far away. He tried to listen, but the voice was not Angie's. It was the demon that spoke to him; he turned his head and would not answer. If he pretended not to see him, perhaps he would leave him alone.
Then someone grabbed his arm. He didn't understand; why did the demon touch him? Slowly he turned his head and saw a person standing over him, a woman. He could not see her face clearly, but it was Angie, it had to be. His voice would not obey him when he tried to talk to her, to ask her if she was all right. The woman bent down over him and touched his chin, and the face in front of him turned into Angie's, her eyes were dark caves in her face, and her mouth was a black hole gaping over him. He had never seen a Dementor before, but now he knew what they looked like.
Panicking he lashed out at the creature over him, and tried desperately to crawl away from it. But strong hands held him down; pinned him to the bunk under him. He started screaming, and a hard voice reached him.
"For Merlin's sake, give him the bloody potion!"
A vial was stuck in his mouth, and he almost choked on the liquid that flowed down his throat. Then everything was dark and peaceful. Ray slept.
****
He sat in a chair by the window when he heard the familiar voice from the young Hit-wizard assistant. He did not turn his head to look at him, but listened as he spoke with the head nurse.
"Has he gone...a little funny? You know..." the assistant asked her.
"No, he hasn't," she replied coldly. "Why don't you go and talk with him yourself? He's perfectly capable of having a normal conversation."
The Hit-wizard appeared in front of Ray and grabbed one of the chairs. With an expression of utter discomfort he sat down opposite the patient, and gave him an uncertain smile.
"Hello, remember me? My name is James Figg, and I work for-"
"I know who you are." Ray's voice cut him off.
Figg's face turned into the usual professional mask Ray had seen earlier. "Very well, Mr. Jugson. I've come to tell you that you are no longer considered a suspect in this case. There was a witness who saw you at the time of Miss Flint's death."
There was silence in the room as Ray took in the news.
"And I've come to ask whether you have any more information for us. To tell the truth, Mr. Jugson, we are banging our heads against a brick wall here. No one seems to have seen anything, like they've all gone collectively blind. We need all the information we can get, to determine whether or not we should call in the Aurors. I've got a few questions I'd like to ask."
Ray repeated everything that had happened, but the Hit-wizard did not look satisfied.
"She didn't say anything about meeting someone? You didn't see anyone following her from the pub?"
Ray shook his head slowly. "As I said, I was far away. She spoke to me, but what she said I don't know." The shame burned inside him. There was something inside his head, an image of a man, and he knew it was important but it slipped away from him when he tried to grasp it. He rubbed his eyes with his hand, and felt the familiar anxiety coming back to him.
The nurse had watched them, and intervened. "I think it's time for your potion now, Mr. Jugson. Perhaps you could come back later, Mr. Figg?"
"Yes, of course." Figg got on his feet. "You will contact me if you remember anything else?" he asked Ray. "Anything at all; we need all the help we can get."
Ray nodded faintly, shifted uncomfortably in his chair and did not look after the Hit-wizard when he left. The nurse brought him the potion, and he swallowed the vile tasting liquid without protesting.
Later he got up from the chair and walked around the ward's sitting room, trying to shake off some of the agitation. He avoided the other patients as best he could. He knew they shunned him, but it did not bother him. In fact he was grateful for it, the thought of idle chit-chat was too much for him right now.
He stopped by the window and looked outside, the magical windows showed a peaceful view of a typical rural English countryside, with farmhouses and grazing horses. The nurses had been so proud when they told him about the enchanted view, but it scared him. He raised his hands and pressed them against the cold surface of the glass.
'It's not really there,' he thought. 'It's all just a lie. It's all lies.'
The house Jack built
'But Angie, I still love you, baby
Everywhere I look I see your eyes' (Rolling Stones, Angie)
Chapter four. Rayner.
Angie sat with him in the pub almost all evening, angry she was, probably about the job. She had got him a part-time job over at Borgin and Burke's, and he had not showed up. Not that he wasn't grateful; he just hadn't managed to get out of bed. He had lain there all day, tossing and sweating, trying to fight off the demon that never went away. From her reaction one would think he had done it of pure laziness.
He had bought some of the Viper on tick from his dealer, and had been sitting in the pub when she showed up. He could see her mouth moving, her reproachful eyes staring at him, but he did not understand a word she was saying. Like in a trance he watched her lips dancing; she bared her teeth when she was angry, something that fascinated him.
She pleaded with him, the palms of her hands reached out to him and tears were in her eyes. This made him sad and he had wanted to stroke her chin, but his arms would not obey him. All he could muster was a feeble hand on her knee.
He had made her cry. When he should have taken her in his arms and kissed the tears away, told her all those thoughts he had carried with him in silence for several years. Why didn't he tell her?
Did it matter?
It mattered to him, so why didn't he tell her? He couldn't answer. He knew she cared for him, the way she petted him and fussed about him made him blush sometimes.
Because he always messed things up, that was why. Because if he dared to say it aloud, it could destroy the little he had, and he could not bear to see the question on her face, her slow and discreet withdrawal.
He was so scared of losing her.
So he just sat there, looking at her disappointed face, and feeling like dirt for not being good enough. Not even sober enough to understand what she was saying. What had been the last she had said to him?
They only had each other. Since they were eleven, they had been together. They had met on the Hogwarts Express, two lonely children on a train filled with scary strangers and intimidating big boys looking for first-years to pick on. He had managed to find a seat among a group of Hufflepuff's who seemed a little friendlier than the rest. They had not included him in their conversation, though, and he had felt abandoned in a strange world. Then she had showed up; angry with one of the big boys for pulling her ponytail she had sat down beside him. They had been sorted into different Houses, but it did not matter, because he had not been alone anymore.
He had a room across the street, on the third floor, and it took him twenty minutes to walk the stairs. The Viper was still in his blood, and the demon would not demand more until the following night.
Next morning he went to work. Mr. Borgin was an unpleasant person, almost as bad as the objects for sale in his shop. But money is money, and Ray did the job as best he could, and Borgin seemed satisfied with his effort. He had expected Angie to turn up, though.
After work he went down to the pub, looking for her. When she didn't show up after an hour, he walked up to Madam Malkin's where she worked. And left in a state of total confusion. She didn't work there anymore; she had been fired two weeks earlier, old Madame had informed him with a strained face. Why hadn't Angie mentioned this to him?
He went up to her room and knocked on the door, but when no one replied, he returned back to the pub. Waiting, smoking, buying a pint for the money he had earned, growing more and more restless. None of those he asked had seen her. Worried he knocked on the door to her room again.
And found her.
He had never seen her naked before, and she was as beautiful as he had imagined. At first he thought she was sleeping, but then he saw her open brown eyes, cold, fixated at nothing but thin air. This was not Angie. It was her body, yes, but his Angie was not there anymore. He sat down beside the bed and forced himself to look at those hollow terrible eyes, and in the end he couldn't stand it anymore and had to look away. But her hand, lying peacefully on the side of the bed, looked like it could move anytime. Rise up, and bustle his hair as she sometimes used to do.
With a shaking hand he reached out and touched the tips of her fingers. They were cold.
Somehow he managed to go downstairs to Borgin's flat. Borgin called the Hit-wizards, and when they arrived they asked him questions. Later he could not recall anything of what they had said, or even his own answers; it was all a haze of images, accusing faces and cold hands touching him. He did not know where the real world ended and his thoughts began.
They took him along with them and he didn't ask why, he just followed them when they told him to. They placed him in a dungeon somewhere, in a cold stone room without windows, with only a bunk to sit on. He didn't object; he sat there for hours on end waiting for something to happen, for his mind to start working again. With horror he felt the familiar urge waking in his body.
'For Merlin's sake, not now!' But Merlin slept in his cave, and did not hear the young man's prayer.
She had been so beautiful.
The Hit-wizards came back, and took him to an office in an endless corridor to ask more questions. Where had he been that night, did he speak with anyone.
The restlessness in his body made it painful to sit still.
"You killed her, didn't you? You knew she was walking the street, you got angry and you had an argument, isn't that right? Got jealous, did you?"
He shook his head, but didn't protest against their accusations. He couldn't fight them, there was nothing left to fight for. She was gone; he was alone against the demon, alone against these strangers and the fingers they pointed at his face. He didn't care what happened to him, they could crucify him if they wanted, he could not fight two enemies at once.
He did not know what the clock was, whether it was night or day, but he knew it was time. His body started screaming for the Viper, and his mind followed it. He felt so cold now, his body shaking slightly. "Please, may I use the toilet?" he heard himself ask, his voice sounded strange and unfamiliar to him.
The Hit-wizard in charge looked at him with contempt. "You may when I tell you to."
His young assistant looked worried, though. "Sir, I think..."
Ray threw up on the floor, and the Inspector turned his head away in disgust. "Merlin's beard!"
"With all due respect, Sir, he's on the Viper, I can see it on his eyes." The assistant turned to his supervisor. "He will be of no use the next two days."
"The Viper, eh?" The older wizard scratched his head, and got up from his chair. "You better get St. Mungo's to come and get him, then. And clean up this mess!"
Ray had been put back into his cell to wait. He tried to walk around, but the muscles in his body ached, and he lay down on the bunk though it was useless to try to get any sleep. He had been through this before and knew what awaited him, and he was so scared he started crying. With all the strength he had left he prayed for the Healers to come; the angels dressed in green. They would take away the pain and make him sleep.
Slowly he drifted off into a feverish dullness, his body's last attempt at a weary rest; an intermission of fatigue before Hell started.
Her hand had been so pleading. She had stretched it out to him, knowing he would be there. Urging him into the bed, begging him to warm her body. She needed him, she was so cold. He should have lain down beside her and taken her into his arms, giving her the only thing he had to give. Warmth, comfort. But it was too late.
It was always too late.
Someone spoke to him from far away. He tried to listen, but the voice was not Angie's. It was the demon that spoke to him; he turned his head and would not answer. If he pretended not to see him, perhaps he would leave him alone.
Then someone grabbed his arm. He didn't understand; why did the demon touch him? Slowly he turned his head and saw a person standing over him, a woman. He could not see her face clearly, but it was Angie, it had to be. His voice would not obey him when he tried to talk to her, to ask her if she was all right. The woman bent down over him and touched his chin, and the face in front of him turned into Angie's, her eyes were dark caves in her face, and her mouth was a black hole gaping over him. He had never seen a Dementor before, but now he knew what they looked like.
Panicking he lashed out at the creature over him, and tried desperately to crawl away from it. But strong hands held him down; pinned him to the bunk under him. He started screaming, and a hard voice reached him.
"For Merlin's sake, give him the bloody potion!"
A vial was stuck in his mouth, and he almost choked on the liquid that flowed down his throat. Then everything was dark and peaceful. Ray slept.
****
He sat in a chair by the window when he heard the familiar voice from the young Hit-wizard assistant. He did not turn his head to look at him, but listened as he spoke with the head nurse.
"Has he gone...a little funny? You know..." the assistant asked her.
"No, he hasn't," she replied coldly. "Why don't you go and talk with him yourself? He's perfectly capable of having a normal conversation."
The Hit-wizard appeared in front of Ray and grabbed one of the chairs. With an expression of utter discomfort he sat down opposite the patient, and gave him an uncertain smile.
"Hello, remember me? My name is James Figg, and I work for-"
"I know who you are." Ray's voice cut him off.
Figg's face turned into the usual professional mask Ray had seen earlier. "Very well, Mr. Jugson. I've come to tell you that you are no longer considered a suspect in this case. There was a witness who saw you at the time of Miss Flint's death."
There was silence in the room as Ray took in the news.
"And I've come to ask whether you have any more information for us. To tell the truth, Mr. Jugson, we are banging our heads against a brick wall here. No one seems to have seen anything, like they've all gone collectively blind. We need all the information we can get, to determine whether or not we should call in the Aurors. I've got a few questions I'd like to ask."
Ray repeated everything that had happened, but the Hit-wizard did not look satisfied.
"She didn't say anything about meeting someone? You didn't see anyone following her from the pub?"
Ray shook his head slowly. "As I said, I was far away. She spoke to me, but what she said I don't know." The shame burned inside him. There was something inside his head, an image of a man, and he knew it was important but it slipped away from him when he tried to grasp it. He rubbed his eyes with his hand, and felt the familiar anxiety coming back to him.
The nurse had watched them, and intervened. "I think it's time for your potion now, Mr. Jugson. Perhaps you could come back later, Mr. Figg?"
"Yes, of course." Figg got on his feet. "You will contact me if you remember anything else?" he asked Ray. "Anything at all; we need all the help we can get."
Ray nodded faintly, shifted uncomfortably in his chair and did not look after the Hit-wizard when he left. The nurse brought him the potion, and he swallowed the vile tasting liquid without protesting.
Later he got up from the chair and walked around the ward's sitting room, trying to shake off some of the agitation. He avoided the other patients as best he could. He knew they shunned him, but it did not bother him. In fact he was grateful for it, the thought of idle chit-chat was too much for him right now.
He stopped by the window and looked outside, the magical windows showed a peaceful view of a typical rural English countryside, with farmhouses and grazing horses. The nurses had been so proud when they told him about the enchanted view, but it scared him. He raised his hands and pressed them against the cold surface of the glass.
'It's not really there,' he thought. 'It's all just a lie. It's all lies.'