Disclaimer: Happily, there are only three things that I do not own in this chapter. I don't own the St. Mungo's Hospital building, I do not own Remus Lupin, and I do not own Harry Potter. Lynn Harris and the medi-wizard (poor old sod) are most definitely mine.
Author's Note:
Guess whose back? Back again? TF's back. Tell all of your friends! PLEASE. I am hungry for reviews on this chapter as I am trying out a new style of writing.
Second chapter to my first HP fic AWWWWWAAAAYYYYYYY!
ps. I love you all. You get hugs and…cookies. "Nothing funny, heh heh. I just like talent."
Adios Amigos,
T.F.
Remus and Harry waited in the small, private lobby adjoining the hospital room. The mud wallpaper cracked along the corners, peeling down in spots like the skin of a banana. The area reminded Harry of his room under the stairs at Privet Drive. The dank, musty smell of water damage and age assailed his nostrils and then began beating them senseless with the stench of ammonia and used spells. Faulty lighting flickered over head, tossing faint shadows of past occupants around the room, only heightening Harry's feeling of insecurity.
This was the best they had for her.
The medi-witches and wizards filed out of the small room, calm in the knowledge that another unfortunate wretch had been saved, another life rebuilt, but solemn with the wisdom that no life, can ever be the same after hospitalization; never a truer fact then for an attempted suicide victim. But, they didn't let that worry them much. Nothing actually worried them much.
The head medi-wizard shuffled slowly over to Harry and Remus, who rose quickly out of the icy, hard chairs they had been occupying during their wait.
Now, the medi-wizard was not an unkind man, he just had little toleration for people who ruined how things were supposed to go. He was old, having lived much too far past his prime, and had recognized that over the years, life had a definite pattern. People are born. Other people care about them immensely. They grow old. They become ill. They come to the hospital accompanied by their closest friends and relatives, all extremely concerned, and they die. Such was the way of the world. People who attempted to hurry up this process were not appreciated, so he had made it his personal goal to stop all these impatient fools from succeeding and making them get on with life.
Harry tapped his foot edgily and Remus continually ran his fingers through his hair as they waited for the old wizard to make his way over to them. After watching the man struggle valiantly for about a minute and moving forward two steps, they decided that if Mohammed would not go to the mountain, or in this case, mountains, the mountains would go to Mohammed.
"Well," questioned Harry impatiently, resuming his almost angry foot tapping, "how is she?"
The medi-wizard looked up at him benevolently, cracking his withered lips into a smile and reaching up to pat Harry's shoulder condescendingly. "She's fine my boy, just fine."
Harry gave a deep sigh, crossing his arms across his chest, and let his chin drop to his chest. Thank God.
"You see," continued the wizard slowly, turning his attention to Remus, "The difficultly was that she mixed many different potions together in one bottle. Rather a mess for us." He eyed the room disdainfully. "Some unfortunate relative of yours I suppose? Black Sheep or something like that? I can completely sympathize. Really, what makes these silly fools think that they can weasel out of living? Hm?"
"Uh, well, no, actually-" stumbled Remus, quite unsure of how to go about explaining the strange circumstances that led to the dramatic rescue.
"Can I go in to see her?"
The wizened wizard jumped at the curtness of Harry's question, having quite forgotten about the boy. "Oh, yes, yes of course. You can go right in."
Harry stalked past the man, icy anger dogging his tread. Remus was about to call after him but decided it was not the best course of action to take. The old man continued to question him about the lady until Remus finally said, "She's not a relative."
"Oh, a friend of the family then?"
"No, she is not."
"Well, then-"
"Listen, we just found her. In a graveyard." Remus waited for the implications of this to sink in. The medi-wizards brow furrowed.
"Doesn't one usually find dead persons in a graveyard?"
Harry closed the heavy wooden door, firmly cutting off Remus's reply. He leaned up against it, breathing deeply, allowing the air to flow in and out of his lungs freely, allowing the quiet calm to rush over him.
If only he could get away…
He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them slowly, taking in the scene before him with great detail, not wishing to rush anything. The sooner he got bored in here, the sooner he would have to go back out there.
It was a small room, containing few pieces of furniture. The bed was barely large enough to hold the lady, who was actually rather small, and the mattress creaked seemingly on its own accord. A large Victorian lamp stood to the left of it, and glowing dimly, its dusty cover was decked with cheap beads and plastics. To its right was another of those horrible chairs that looked practically collapsible. Pushed against the wall was a tall skinny cupboard containing the woman's few effects.
The woman lay sleeping.
Harry trod across the floor as quietly as he could, his sneakers making no sound against the grimy tiles. Once he reached the side of the bed he eased himself into the uncomfortable metal frame chair, pulling it closer and wincing at the screech it let out.
The lady had been tumbled into a loose white shroud and a sheet was drawn half way up her chest.
Harry sat there, quietly observing the pale face framed by dark brown hair. Her face seemed naturally pale, and she rather resembled a china doll, pure, clean, and perfect; except for a small scar that started at the lobe of her ear and traveled down to the base of the jaw.
Harry watched her, leaning forward once to brush away a lock of mahogany hair from her mouth, before resting his chin in his hands.
"The just don't understand," he whispered, "Do they?"
The coffee brown eyes flicked open.
Harry jumped back, the chair squeaking loudly.
The woman moved her head slowly to get a better look at him. She stared at him, blinking several times to clear her vision.
Silence.
"Who are you?" Her voice was rough and low, gravely from lack of use.
Harry smiled ruefully and lifted up his bangs, revealing the scar as an introduction.
The woman observed it politely for several seconds before propping herself up on the relatively flat pillows and saying, "A name…would be nice."
"Oh, Harry. Harry Potter."
The woman proffered her hand. "Lynn Harris, pleasure."
There was another span of uncertain silence.
"Well," Lynn drawled, "Now that we're all nice and acquainted…" She threw her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, teetering uncertainly at first and placing a hand out to steady herself. The white robe fell all the way past her feet and slithered after her as she walked to the cupboard. Harry stayed in his chair studying her.
"I really don't think you should be getting up," he suggested.
Lynn's only response was an impossibly sarcastic snort. She threw the cupboard doors open carelessly and began rummaging through her things, muttering.
With a satisfied grunt, she withdrew her wand of weeping willow and flicked it towards herself saying, "Comon Principio". A sucking noise filled the air, followed by a happy pop, like a child joyfully withdrawing a savory lollipop.
A bag appeared just above her hands and floated softly down into her open arms. She reached into it, removing a pair of jeans and a faded sapphire long sleeve shirt; the edges tattered like most of her belongings.
"Here's a tip kid," said Lynn off-handedly, unfolding the clothes, "Never go any where without ready access to a pair of pants." She proceeded to slip the blue jeans on under her robe. When she removed the entire white sheet to don her shirt, Harry turned away, his face turning a charming cherry color. Lynn didn't seem to notice, let alone care. When he turned back, she had taken a small leather box out of the knap-sack, about the size of his palm, and placed it ceremoniously on the edge of the bed.
"What's that?" inquired Harry, reaching out to it. Lynn poked his hand away with her wand.
"A-ta-cha," she warned, "Mine."
"Well, what is it?"
Lynn thought about the question for a moment before replying, "Refreshments." Without another word, she tapped the lock with her wand. With the tinkle of glass and the slow slush of alcoholic beverages, it slowly unfolded into a good-sized, fully stocked and completely portable bar. As naturally as a dog might bury a bone, she picked up a tall glass and began mixing herself a drink.
Harry gaped at the seemingly small box which contained an impossibly large bar, and then looked back up at what must have been the strangest adult he ever met, who was now sipping a wonderful martini on the rocks with a twist. Upon noticing his stare, Lynn calmly asked, "Would you like something?"
Harry gawked at her, not quiet comprehending what she meant.
"To drink, I mean. Would you like something to drink?" Lynn prompted again, rattling the ice in the glass.
"Oh…no! No, no, I'm…I'm fine," he answered quickly. He watched her top off her glass. "Are you an alcoholic?"
Lynn stopped drinking abruptly. "Why, yes, I do believe I am," she chuckled to herself, "Who would've thought it, eh?" She walked unsteadily over to the edge of the bed and sat down, facing Harry.
"Now," Lynn started, in a very professional manner, "Its time for me to ask you some questions." She took another swallow from her drink. "Do you have some kind of hero complex, kid?"
"It's Harry."
"Answer the question."
"What did you ask?" questioned Harry innocently.
Lynn looked at him and smirked. "I think you heard me the first time."
"Well, what do you mean by a 'hero complex'?"
Lynn leaned back and crossed her legs. "You seem to me to have some kind of unquenchable need to save people."
"Like you?"
"Like me."
"I did what anyone would do."
Lynn gazed at him coldly. "Believe me, I've known plenty of folks who would have done the exact opposite and not lost a wink of sleep over it." She tipped the rest of her drink down. "It's my life isn't?" she queried, her voice biting with surprising power.
"Well, yes."
"And I'm supposed to be able to do whatever I want with my life, aren't I?"
"Well, yeah but-"
"So why can't I end it when I think it should be over? Hm? Who branded you my bloody guardian angel?" Lynn stood; replacing her glass in the case and folding it back up. Harry stayed silent.
"With that quality thought of the day," Lynn loaded up her pack, "I bid you a not so fond farewell." She pushed her way out of the room, closely followed by Harry.
Outside, Remus was still talking with the old medi-wizard. It would be more correct to say that the medi-wizard was still talking with Remus, who was listening politely and was desperate to get away. His bored eyes locked upon Harry with great joy.
"Remus," said Harry, walking up to the two men slightly ahead of Lynn, "This is Lynn Harris." However Lynn Harris kept on walking towards the smoked glass door, and waved vaguely over her shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's a pleasure, but I'm afraid I really must dash."
"Ms. Harris, I'm afraid you cannot leave this hospital."
A/N: Just do what you always do.
Audience member: What, run around our houses naked drinking rum, scotch and singing about 'Tequila'?
…Errr…no. Review for me, please! I'm planning on continuing this!
Your Obedient,
T.F.
