Chapter 43 In Extremis

A strong cold front was bringing in a major storm that evening. The next morning when Harry awoke he could tell that things seemed different. He looked out the window and everything was blanketed in ice and there was still a light drizzle falling that froze to everything it touched. There was an 'ice palace' type of beauty to everything, shining as it all was in the encasement of ice, reflecting and bending the light. However, Harry could see how the ice weighed down the trees and realized that this was very dangerous weather for any living thing outdoors. He dressed warmly and headed down to breakfast.

"Aah, Harry, there you are!" greeted Cameron. "We wanted to let you sleep as long as possible since you get up so early at school, but they'll be needing us certain in weather like this."

"Sure, of course," yawned Harry. "That's what we're here for. There's time for some breakfast though, isn't there?"

"So long as you like porridge and sausages," said Mrs. Figg, ladling out a large steaming bowl of oatmeal and putting it in front of Harry. "Eat hearty, Harry, you'll be very busy on a day like today, and they'll be counting on you and Cameron to handle the heavy chores and outdoor things."

"Right-o!" said Cameron, "but before we get going, I'll be taking a look around the house to see how the ice is affecting Grandmum's place. We may need to lighten the load on the trees or gutters before we go."

Harry ate his porridge as quickly as the heat of it would allow, alternating spoonfuls with bites from the plentiful sausages and sips from the tumbler of juice Mrs. Figg insisted Harry needed for the weather. After Harry warmed areas of the house and yard that were vulnerable to the ice, they were off. The radio said the buses weren't running until the roads could be cleared, so they walked. Despite being thoroughly bundled and hunching their shoulders against the weather, Cameron and Mrs. Figg kept their eyes open for signs of someone living on the street. Harry was surprised how they were able to espy the telltale signs of street dwellers, despite efforts to make themselves inconspicuous. Harry almost never saw them. It was like with seeing magical things, more a matter of knowing how to see them.

At the Mission, things were already bustling even though more than half the staff and volunteers had not yet been able to get in. In addition to those regular clients that came in whenever the weather got fierce, the bobbies and relief agencies were sending street people to every available shelter, as the temperature continued to drop and the rain turned to snow. Mrs. Figg went right to work in the kitchen to get plenty of hot food going; she took Harry with her to lift the heavy bags from the floor and retrieve from storage the large boxes that they would need. Cameron went to help with registration and assignments. Harry was amazed at the way the place transformed from the sleepy, almost lonely, facility it had been on the weekend to being as crowded, chaotic, and yet purposeful as a goblin hullabaloo.

Harry was kept scurrying all day and evening long. If he wasn't doing the heavy lifting in the kitchens and dorms, he was collecting and taking out great bins of trash and garbage, or shoveling – scraping was more like it – the walk and drive to keep access, or serving food, or cleaning up afterward. Whenever he found himself alone, he took the opportunity to clean up the area magically, figuring he would be asked to clean it eventually and may have watchful muggle eyes about at such times. While cleaning up after dinner, Mrs. Figg told him that with people still coming in, they would have to stay at least that night, and perhaps the one after that. Harry let on that he was glad he had cleaned the mattresses ('specially' he said with a wink at her to avoid mentioning magic).

"It'll do us no good, Harry," she replied, "'though I'm glad they're clean. They'll all be taken by clients. The reserves are being laid on the floors between the bunks and the clients will have those too. You'll have to kip up where you can. The divans are already claimed. You might be able to lay out some bags of flour or such in the pantry."

"You're kidding!" said Harry, "You know I could provide a bit of comfort if …"

"None of that, Harry, we'll do things the 'regular' way," she whispered.

"I could apparate back to the house," Harry pled. "I can take you and Cameron with me."

"Too obvious. There's too much activity around the place. There's already talk of how clean the bathrooms are for it being a rush," she said, arching her eyebrow at Harry, who tried to look innocent.

They toughed it out. They stayed at the shelter for the nest three nights, working straight through Christmas Day. Even at the Dursleys he had never been worked so hard on Christmas. Harry didn't mind the work and Cameron's and Mrs. Figg's enthusiasm were infectious: you'd think they were at an amusement park with a 'no wait' pass for the good cheer they had about helping the clients.

The attitude was infectious, that is, until Harry had to deal with the actual clients themselves. A few were alright, or at least civil, but most were rude and surly. They resented being in a building; they resented being subject to schedules; they resented having rules to follow; they resented being expected to get along with their neighbors. They resented just about everything: the food wasn't good enough, the beds weren't comfortable enough, the telly wasn't clear enough; the showers weren't spacious or warm enough. Never a consideration was given to the fact that they never had these things when they weren't at a shelter, only that whatever was there wasn't good enough.

And that went double for Harry and Cameron and Mrs. Figg and all the staff of the Mission. They were subjected to some of the foulest verbal abuse Harry had ever heard. The clients accused them of stealing things. They were touched inappropriately - by both men and women - and laughed at when they pushed wandering hands away. If Harry had not had the example of Cameron and Mrs. Figg dealing with all this so serenely, he felt he surely would have pulled his wands and hexed the lot of them. There wasn't a chance to talk about it all, but just seeing that they were dealing with it so well brought Harry around time and again when he would have liked to have responded badly. Even when they were finally able to get back and forth to the house for sleep they were too tired to even talk about anything.

On the bus on the Friday morning after Christmas, Cameron seemed a bit anxious. He hemmed a bit before saying to Harry, "Harry, there's an open meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous tonight at the Mission. 'Open' means anyone can come. Arabella and I are going, and I think you should, too."

Harry looked puzzled. "I've barely had anything to drink in my life – a few butterbeers, a taste of whiskey, a bit of firewhiskey, that's all."

"Nae, Harry, I'm not saying you have a problem. I just think it would be an eye-opener for you to hear what some people had sunk to and recovered from. Some of what you hear at the meetings can be quite shocking and at the same time inspirational. It's a side of people you should be aware of."

Some people had shown up near the end of dinner and started setting up for the meeting in the lecture room/chapel. Harry was asked to move the largest coffee urn from the kitchen to the back of the room and to bring in the several gallons of water needed for it. Harry was a bit nervous about going to the meeting, but also curious. He had at various times heard of AA, but just had a notion of a room full of drunks – very much like the Mission's clients – but the people who set up looked very normal and quite prosperous, people the Dursleys would have brought out their best china for. And yet, not quite normal – they radiated cheer and hope, just as Cameron did. Harry had to clean the pots behind the kitchen before he could go, so he surreptitiously used magic to make the back door stick and cover the windows with dust so he could clean the pots magically and get to the meeting.

Harry looked at the posters and brochures and books. When Cameron arrived, Harry waited until he was done greeting the people there. He seemed to know most of them, but then that was not a surprise since he was a regular volunteer at the Mission.

"Cameron, these materials here are pretty strange."

Cameron smiled. "How so, Harry?"

"Well, the advice on how to act better and look inside yourself makes a lot of sense. I've seen some of those ideas in magazines and other places."

"Aye, AA doesn't claim to have been the first with any of these ideas, but the success it has had has helped spread the ideas through society."

"Yeah, I can imagine. But the thing that gets me is that so many of the writings sound, well, desperate."

Cameron nodded. "O' course, Harry. Do you think people who love drinking come in here before they are desperate? The last thing they really want to do is give up liquor. They have to be crushed by their obsession until they have only one choice – reform themselves or die. It's that 'back against the wall' sense that infuses everything done here – it's a matter of life and death. Unfortunately very few people will really examine themselves deeply until they feel desperate. I've used this program to guide our work together."

"But … I'm not an alcoholic!" Harry said somewhat loudly.

A visitor nearby overheard and nodded at Harry, saying in mild remonstrance, "Denial is the surest sign. You're in the right place."

Cameron laughed at the defensive posture Harry took. He waved to the man and explained, "Jim, he really isn't. He's just a guest of mine here."

"If you say so, Cameron," replied Jim. "I still say there're two types of people – those who have the Program and those who need it."

"I know, Jim," said Cameron understandingly. "That's one of the reasons Harry is here – I've been helping him with a program."

"Lucky lad, then, to get on a program before hitting bottom. Stick with Cameron, son, he knows of what he speaks."

Jim went up to get the meeting started as Cameron steered Harry first to get a styrofoam cup of coffee – so strong Harry nearly choked on it – and then to sit in a couple of chairs Mrs. Figg had saved for them.

"There's a kind of missionary zeal to those who have turned their lives around, Harry."

"No kidding," said Harry in mild sarcasm.

"Those who have made it in the program were those who realized that they were staring death in the face, and were willing to give up everything in their lives they had foolishly clung to in order to embrace life. You came to me in much the same attitude."

"Not without reason."

"Aye, but so many people would have turned away from what was staring at them. You accepted the facts and you have proved willing to do whatever it takes to find that strength within you."

"You say that, and yet I don't feel any more up to the job than when we started."

"The Headmaster has assured me that it will help you put all the pieces together – if you get the chance."

Just then the meeting got started. There were some prayers and recitations at first, which reminded Harry of the church service he went to with the McMillans. But after the opening rituals, people were invited to speak about their problems with alcohol and their efforts toward recovery. Harry wasn't sure if it was more harrowing listening to the appalling things people had done on alcohol or drugs and the repulsive states they found themselves in as a result, or listening to the tales of efforts made to turn themselves around. He had trouble believing people could survive many of the things he was hearing, and yet, except for the new people, most of whom were clients of the Mission, most of the people were cheerful, sincere, warm, and serene.

Near the end, Jim asked for anniversaries. Harry watched as in turn several people arose – the very newest got a white poker chip to signify a new beginning, a commitment to try to live without alcohol. Others got chips for a month without drink or drugs, or three months, or other periods. All were greeted with cheers and applause for every milestone reached. Then Cameron rose up and came to the front.

Jim handed him a blue chip and they gave each other a bear hug.

Jim looked Cameron in the eye. "I was wondering how long ye were going to lie doggo on us."

"Speech, speech," went up the call. Cameron turned and faced the meeting.

"It's good to be back. Where I work, it's not always easy to get to meetings. This," he held up the chip, "represents 27 years without a drink or a drug."

A thunderous ovation ensued. Harry stared open-mouthed.

Cameron briefly described his problems with alcohol like it was a form of possession. Then he concluded, "By the grace of God, I hit bottom while still in my 20s. There have been some trying times – worst of all, the deaths of people I loved – but I've had some good people around me, and of course God will never abandon me, and I'm here to say: it can be done!"

Again there was thunderous applause. At least half of those at the meeting insisted on shaking Cameron's hand or hugging him as he made it back to his seat. Mrs. Figg stood as he approached and threw her arms around his chest, and laid her tear-streaked face against his chest.

"Ah, Cameron, I'm so proud of you! I'll never tire of coming to your anniversaries."

Harry was still staring silently, in shock. Cameron winked at him.

"Just something I thought you ought to know."

Finally the weather warmed a bit, the ice melted and the streets dried. Although the clients were encouraged to stay, few did: they resented rules and walls and had already tolerated such more than they cared to. It was still not until the day after New Years' Day that the three of them were able to have a relaxed dinner at the house. Harry was so wound up with frustration at the way the clients had treated them that he said nothing all the way back from the shelter and during preparation for dinner. When his help wasn't needed, he sat in the parlor staring into the fire and tossing a couple months of junk mail into the fire piece by piece, watching it curl and burn.

At dinner, Cameron passed around glasses of red wine – taking grape juice for himself - and then raised his glass for a toast, "Thank you, Lord, for the opportunity to serve our fellow man."

"Hear, hear," said Mrs. Figg.

Harry set his glass down without a sip and glared.

Cameron smiled both knowingly and mischievously. "Something wrong, Harry?"

"How can you say that? Those were the rudest bunch of people I have ever seen. They were foul, abusive, crude, unappreciative, disgusting, and vile."

"Harry, did you expect people who live in the alleys to be sweet and well-spoken?"

"They could at least be civil. They could at least cooperate a bit! They could at least keep their bloody hands to themselves!"

"Actually they can't," said Mrs. Figg. "They are very, very sick, by and large. They aren't really in control of themselves. Harry, there are a few people who live on the streets who are reasonable, decent human beings who just don't want to live normal lives. But that's a very small portion. And it's not that the rest of these people are simply unable or unwilling to work. If that were there only problem, they could go on assistance, have a government apartment and at least be comfortable. The vast majority live on the streets because they are addicts, or schizophrenic, or otherwise insane. Some hear voices and even talk back to the voices. Many of those who were there kept sneaking out even during the freezing rain to get their drugs or alcohol. We turned a blind eye on that, because as bad as those things make them, they are much more cooperative if they aren't in withdrawal."

"Harry," added Cameron, "if it weren't a life or death threat, most of them would not even come. And even with the foul weather, many had to be run into the shelters by the bobbies just to keep them alive."

"If they don't want the help, why do you keep doing it?"

Cameron smiled. "Because they need the help. They may not see their need, they may not appreciate the effort, but still their lives are precious, every one of them, and so long as there is life, there is hope. Hope that they will stay alive for a bit longer and start to realize that they can get help and do better. Many of the volunteers you met used to be clients. So was I. We sobered up, or got psychiatric help or got off drugs or alcohol, whatever was hindering us. And now we have productive lives and decent homes and give time to help those who are like we were."

"Can't you make them get off the drugs or get help?"

"People keep trying different ways of making people stay sober or keep on their needed medications. Unfortunately, experience has shown that rarely lasts. Success is rare unless the clients are motivated."

"Yes," said Mrs. Figg, "so you try to keep them alive and show them that their lives can get better. Many are lost, but quite a number come around. And even for those who never straighten their lives out, we ease their burden and make their poor existence a little better, and that much is good too."

"So even though people don't see their need and don't appreciate what you're doing, you keep at it."

"Exactly."

"You taught me that when we do things for the least among us, we do it for God."

"He is in all of us, and loves all of us."

They waited as Harry thought. Finally he nodded his understanding. He picked up his glass of wine and said, "It helps to now have a human face to it. Thank you, God, for the opportunity to serve our fellow man."

Cameron and Mrs. Figg raised their glasses with him.