Disclaimer: Half-stole some headcanons from FiveRiver's story Mortified, which is Very Awesome and you should check it out. I also do not own DP or HP.
Chapter Seventeen
And Out Again
"Danny?" Mom shook him, her face floating into view. "Danny! My baby boy..."
"Let me try, Mrs. Fenton," another voice, reedy, full of warmth and concern, suggested. Hermione? What was she doing here? "Danny? Are you okay?"
He tried not to look at the body. The adults were all crowded around it, whispering to each other. A couple of them had rounded up the other children, turning their heads away so they couldn't see. McGonagall was trying to usher Seamus and Dean out back the previous room.
… Seamus and Dean? Danny thought hazily. What are they doing here?
"Danny, it's okay," she said, grabbing him into a brief, warm, comforting hug, before pulling him away, and drawing his focus back to her face. "Look at me. Please tell me you're okay."
"H-hermione," he croaked.
"Mate, you alright?" It was Ron, crouched next to her, eyes furrowed. The red-head's face was black with barely-hidden anger. The expression collapsed into fear and worry when Danny met his eyes, still shaking.
"I–" Danny started.
"Seamus Finnigan!" Professor McGonagall snapped, and suddenly there was another boy charging towards him.
"Danny, Danny, we came as soon as we thought something was wrong," the boy's usually cheery face was suddenly sober and urgent and he spoke rapidly, spilling, trying to explain, "Nev told us that you were missing, that you were supposed to meet him in Astronomy, but you never came. Hermione kept heckling Sinistra 'till she agreed to tell the Headmaster."
Neville was there too, Danny abruptly realized, and Harry, and even Dad, with his looming figure and face drawn into helpless concern. Somehow McGonagall had drastically failed to keep all the students outside of the chamber room. And his parents...
"That's enough!" the Transfigurations professor snapped as she strode over, with long, steady strides. "Quit crowding him. Bollocks, I sound like Madam Pomphrey. Get – get back there, or else I'll give you all detention for weeks."
In any other circumstance, hearing the severe Transfigurations professor cursing would have sent them all into rounds of laughter. As it was, it only set Danny off laugh-sobbing again – how normal – and they all gave him odd, pitying looks.
He hated that look.
"Out," she said. "What Dumbledore was thinking, bringing children here, I'll never know…" She pinched the bridge of her nose, and when they all failed to move, she gave them all a suitably withering glare. "Out. Now!" She brandished her wand, and at this threat, all of them suddenly scurried back to the room behind the wall of fire, giving Danny mixed glances of concern, sympathy, worry, relief, and nausea.
His parents stayed squat, near him, unmoving, hovering around him, as if hesitant to touch him. He tried to draw strength, warmth from their presence. Enough of Quirrell's words were bouncing around in his head to make it difficult. Mom was going to move forward again, before McGonagall gestured for her to stay out of the way.
"Mr. Fenton," McGonagall said, crouching down to his level, so that she could speak face to face to him, even though he was still collapsed on the floor, supported by only a few boxes and pillows he supposed she must have Transfigured for him. Her eyes shone with concern. "We better get you to Madam Pomfrey. She'll know what to do. Are you hurt anywhere?"
Danny shook his head.
Remus squatted on the other side of him, and whispered ectonum revelio quickly before looking back up. "No ectoplasm in him. What… what happened here?" The man's gaze flickered to Quirrell's body.
"Something Dark," Minverva muttered. "Come on, help me with the students while I levitate him."
With a quick Wingardium Leviosa, Danny was flying. Professor McGonagall mowed through the crowd of Gryffindor students waiting at the door to the next corridor, and Remus ushered them after her and the floating Danny. Slowly, they made their way back to the surface. They passed a room with a passed-out troll, a giant checkerboard, a pit full of strange, curling ivy, and finally, a room with a sleeping three-headed dog who was sleeping peacefully to some music, though three big lumps swelled from each of the dog's three heads.
They got him to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Prompfrey took one look at him before ordering him to chug a number of potions down "for shock" and "a bit of dreamless sleep", and "goodness what happened to you?" She also promptly ordered the crowd out, even his parents, until he was utterly alone, except for her.
When he couldn't stand the loneliness anymore, he closed his eyes, and said, "Please… Can my friends come in?"
The nurse was more than happy to oblige, seeing his expression, but she had only just opened the door when his thoughts drifted far, far away, and the world was swallowed in blackness once more.
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Danny woke up. He blinked sleep from his eyes, and yawned blearily. What a good dream, he remembered, then felt confused. He shouldn't be having good dreams, should he?
It was dark. He fumbled around, catching the lightswitch by his bedside. The light flickered on, and he saw that all kinds of people had gathered around him as he slept. Some of the Gryffindor boys had curled up in the next bed over, Remus was asleep in the chair, and his parents were of course, steadfastly holding their ectoguns, their backs pressed against his bedside, snoring loudly. At least Mom had taken her goggles off.
"Madam Pomfrey?" he called softly, standing up from the bed, taking care not to disturb anyone. Strange that he was the only one awake.
A sudden terror seized him, and all the events of the past day rushed into him, sending his heart palpitating at a hundred miles per second. What if… what if someone had sent them to sleep? What if –
What if someone were about to attack him?
Attack his family? His friends?
They were vulnerable.
He began breathing rapidly.
"Madam Pomfrey?" he cried out, more urgently. "Are you there?" He stumbled forward, nearly tripping over his Dad's foot.
"Danny-boy?" his dad sleepily asked. "S'okay. We'll get those ghosts for you..."
It was almost reassuring, but not enough. "Pomfrey?" he asked, voice raising in pitch. He began trying to shake Dad away.
"It's okay," the nurse's voice suddenly said, drifting through the air softly, like gentle snow. "Relax. You're safe. They've all had a long day."
If anything, this made Danny more unsettled, and he tried to shake his dad awake again. Oh, what was he doing? He knew Dad never woke up for anything less than a ghost attack. Even if the sky was falling, Dad would keep snoring on.
"Mom," he said, and urgently pulled on her arm. She snapped awake. "Danny? What's going on?"
"It's – it's –" he said urgently, unable to explain it, this feeling of building terror. He whirled around, staring at Madam Pomfrey as she approached.
sLeeeeP, he heard a voice say, whispering, pervasive, like cold snow. He felt his eyes drift shut, body wavering as he stood, before he jerked himself awake. No, no! Not again, he told himself desperately. Take control, take control….
Beside him, he watched as his mom drifted bonelessly to the floor.
"It's okay, child," Madam Pomfrey's voice spoke, but it wasn't Madam Pomfrey. Her voice was deeper, darker, more staticy but soft, a pervasive echo to it. Velvety, cloaked. Black like the night, he thought, though why he thought so he could not say. "You will not come to harm. Did you like my dream?"
"Y-your dream?" Danny asked, voice dry, backing up into the bedstand, casting a fear-filled glance at his sleeping parents, his friends.
He remembered sparks of something. Of flying. Of darting between stone structures and empty green spaces. Sweet dreams. Hadn't Madam Pomfrey given him a Draught of Dreamless Sleep? He remembered that much, at least, now that his head was clearer than it had been yesterday. What was going on?
"Yes," the voice said slowly. "A good dream. You became so lost in it." Madam Pomfrey's head cocked to the side, an eerie sight, unnatural. "My new follower told me of you. A curiosity. Did you know, that you gave that little ghost, a nothing, the power of sentience? Now he chose to become something more than he was."
The voice was silent for a moment.
"Yes, curious," it said at last, slowly.
Then, almost lazily, a shadow eeked out of Madam Pomfrey, until she began to collapse, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. A large black figure, starry like the night's sky, caught her, then gently laid her upon a bed. The shadow turned, revealing red slits for eyes and purple horns curled around where a head should be.
"I am Nocturne," the shadow said, drawing out the words to their full length. "And you are but a human boy. What value is there in you?"
He stepped around Danny, circling him, and Danny pressed himself against the bed rails, shaking, but then looked around, again seeing his family and friends and their vulnerability. They were in danger. He was the only one awake. He had to help them.
"What do you want?" he asked harshly. "What are you?"
The red slits narrowed, and a slow, creeping grin revealed sharp teeth on the monster's face. "Why, nothing but a dream."
The shadow waved its hand, and once again, Danny knew no more.
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Danny woke up. He blinked sleep from his eyes, and yawned blearily. What a strange dream –
He stopped.
That wasn't a dream.
He leapt from the bed, suddenly in a panic. He glanced around, there was Mom, Dad, Remus, Hermione, Neville, Seamus, Dean, all bustling about. Hermione was, predictably, reading a book. Neville, Seamus, and Dean, were chatting about something that made Neville blush furiously. Remus, Mom, and Dad, were engaged in a discussion that obviously involved a lot of show-and-tell of ectoplasmic weapons, by Dad's wild swinging of his gun and exaggerated storytelling gestures.
He relaxed. Everything was as he remembered. Yes, this made sense. They brought him to the Hospital Wing, after Quirrell…
He choked, and felt a sour, acid taste build in the back of his throat.
Quirrell.
The dead body.
"That… was Lord Voldemort," he said, hatred in his eyes, as he spasmed in pain –
Danny threw up.
Everybody froze in their conversations, looking at him.
"Oh dear, oh dear," Madam Pomfrey said, bustling over. "Here, drink this. It will help."
It smelled like chocolate milk, and Danny chugged it down. It tasted like chocolate milk too, but he wasn't questioning things right now.
Actually, that was a lie. He was questioning everything.
"Madam Pomfrey," he croaked. "That… that potion you gave me. To return my memories. Of November. Did you, you give me more of that?"
"No, of course not, dear," Pomfrey said, staring at him, bewildered. "That would… That would mix with the Draught of Dreamless Sleep in an awful way and… no, I didn't. Why do you ask?"
"Well," he said, feeling sick again. Madam Pomfrey quickly procured a bag for him, and he gratefully used it. Wiping his mouth, feeling wretched, he continued, "Well, I remember."
Her mouth opened in a little 'o' of surprise. Then she recovered herself. "Well, dearest, that is great news." She took the opportunity to bundle more blankets on him, so that his shivering would stop. He hadn't realized that he had been shivering. "We'll have to talk about that more later, of course, but why don't you talk to your parents and friends for a little bit, hmm? They've been waiting for so long."
"I…" he said, feeling dazed. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea."
With that, she retreated, and all of them surrounded him like jackals at a feast. Though, of course, with much more positive and friendly and loving intention than jackals, because they weren't planning on actually eating him.
… What am I thinking? he asked himself, headache building, as he tried to keep up, answering their questions and allaying their concerns as best he could. He was hugged many times, was embarrased thoroughly by his mother and his dad in front of all this friends, but everyone wore such huge, stupid smiles on their faces as they looked at him that he couldn't help but grin back at them eventually after they had so thoroughly pestered him so much.
Man, he thought, looking at Hermione, Neville, Seamus, Dean, and Remus. I have good friends. His gaze then wandered to Mom and Dad. And a fantastic family too.
Even if they're a little overbearing sometimes.
He frowned, then winced as his headache flared, when he remembered Quirrell's accusation. That they had experimented on him.
No. That couldn't be true.
Mom was just a bad cook, that was all.
… Besides, Jazz ate just as much ectoplasm as he did, and she didn't have any trouble.
He set aside his worries and dark niggling thoughts and brain pain, and tried to smile and enjoy good company as best he could.
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Finals prep had been awful. An utter train wreck. Hermione had thought it would be good for all of them to get back on track to normal things, but he could barely focus, what with all that had happened to him, and his magic seemed no better off. His wand seemed unhappy at him (could wands be unhappy?) and his magic was even more on the fritz than it had been before. Danny, appropriately upset, decided to scowl at… at everything, because he couldn't figure out a way to scowl at his magic specifically. It was just too… abstract.
Yeah. Magic was too abstract to scowl at.
He then realized there was a much better solution to all of this, then pulled out his wand and scowled at it instead. Maybe this would be more effective.
"I won't clean you for a year if you don't behave." He hoped the threat would make it better in time for finals.
… His thoughts had also gotten more winding and ludicrous. He thought it was maybe because he was trying to avoid thinking of anything that gave him that sick feeling in his gut, or that sharp pain in his head.
"Why, when I was younger, I also believed that if I stared at something for long enough, it would spontaneously combust into flame and solve all of my problems. Alas, in my old age, I have discovered that the world is not so simple."
Danny nearly jumped ten feet in the air when he realized who was standing in front of him.
Albus Dumbledore.
"Gah," he said intelligently, then glanced around the courtyard. No one else was there. Other than Remus, of course, who was casually leaning against a column on the opposite side of the court.
"Beautiful day, isn't it?" Dumbledore said, seating himself next to him. Danny gaped at him, before he remembered his manners.
"Er, yes, Headmaster."
He fidgeted. He wasn't entirely sure how he was supposed to talk with the Headmaster now, after having had deep conversations with the man, and having lived in his side-office bedroom for a week. And, er, of course, after that whole… thing… yeah….
Honestly, how do you speak to anyone after that whole thing yeah?
Danny shook his head, trying to clear his head of all these weird thoughts. Weird thinking, he corrected.
"Are you alright, my boy?" the Headmaster asked in concern, mortifying him even more.
"Yes! I mean, er, it's just – um…"
"Yes?" the man patiently asked.
"Uhhhh."
Danny had absolutely nothing to say.
Quick! he told himself. Think of something!
"So, uh," he said, "Did you know that Quirrell had a guy on the back of his head? Yeah, that was really creepy. I think he was Voldemort. You know, snake guy, killed Harry's parents. He was reaaaally creepy. He wanted to kill me, but luckily I'm not dead, but you know, finals might just do the job! Metaphorically. I mean. Finals don't try to strangle you. Though I mean, no one actually tried to strangle me, either."
My god, that had to be either the smoothest thing or the worst thing he could possibly have said, from Dumbledore's wide-eyed expression.
"I mean," he continued, "I wouldn't have known he was on the back of his head, because in the chamber, you know, it was all just kind of turbaned up, but then a couple of days ago in the Hospital Wing I remembered everything and I remembered seeing the old snake guy on the back of his head. Jeez, I am jabbering, aren't I?"
"Not at all," Dumbledore said neutrally.
"I bet you're wondering why I haven't told anybody this before," Danny continued rapidly. "Well, I have. Except - I think I was sleeping then? Or maybe I did tell you." He shivered suddenly, wrapping his arms around himself, trying to warm himself, even though the sun was out and summer was coming again.. "I think something is wrong with me."
Tentatively, the old Headmaster wrapped thin arms, disguised under voluminous, bright robes, around his student, and patted him softly on the back three times before pulling back. "There, there," the Headmaster said softly, then coughed, clearing his throat. "Don't worry, Daniel. We will do everything we can. Let us, let us walk to Madam Pomfrey, shall we? Just for a quick check-up."
The Headmaster took Danny's arm, and gently led him back into the castle, up the stairs and to the Hospital Wing.
Remus followed, his face drawn into worry.
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Soon enough, Danny was shipped off to Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. There the healers jabbered over him, waved their wands, and generally had very stricken expressions. They cooed over him, and brought him lots of candy too.
Jazz, who had finally gotten permission to Portkey all the way to London in light of recent events, was constantly at his bedside. His parents, too. Danny kept telling them not to worry, but it was like they couldn't help how their expressions sunk into deep, hollowed pits when they looked at him, however they tried to hide it the next with bright, cheery smiles. Jazz was the best of them, at least. She understood what he needed, and she did her best to poke and prod him as all siblings should.
Slowly, the story was revealed.
Danny's psyche had suffered throughout the year, the healers explained. Being possessed by a ghost for a month already had consequences enough - consequences that had scarcely been studied in the wizarding world, for how rare the case had been. The fact that his memories had disappeared during that time was also concerning, and suggested someone had cast obliviate on his already fragile condition. They were unsure of what caused his memories to suddenly return, but most healers speculated that it must have been the trauma of Quirrell's kidnapping that had jolted his memory back into place.
Delia Strout, a healer-in-training with a warm smile and long dark hair, however, had suspected there was more to the story. She pestered and pestered Hogwarts staff for more information, until finally Dumbledore himself came to the hospital once again.
"It just doesn't make sense," she told him. "Obliviation has never caused a psyche break like this. And all documented cases of ecto-ghost possession result in an entirely different set of symptoms. He was having headaches, and I swear, when I took a scan…" She shook her head. "There has to be something else going on here too." She then stared at the man almost accusingly.
In this way, she wrung out the secret of Snape's legilimency from Headmaster Dumbledore, after swearing not to share it for any other reasons than for medical purposes.
Upon learning that Snape had used it on a student, Delia snorted with disgust.
"Well, that explains it," she said. "An attack like that on locked-up memories, with everything else… Honestly, what was your staff thinking? On a student? I have half a mind to report this to the Ministry."
"Healer Strout," Dumbledore replied firmly, "I have the situation under control. I assure you, the professor has been severely reprimanded, and it will not happen again. And for the sake of the students and Danny… it would be best not to draw too much attention to this case."
Delia stared at him for a long moment. Then she snorted again, then strode out of the room. "Well, I suppose I'll leave you to it, Headmaster," she shot, emphasizing the title doubtfully, before softly closing the door halfway behind her.
Dumbledore turned to Danny, who had been pretending to be asleep.
When a minute passed, and the headmaster didn't say anything, Danny decided his ruse was up and peeked his head above the blanket.
"Good afternoon, Danny," the headmaster said evenly, a smile creasing his face.
"Good afternoon, headmaster," Danny mumbled. Then he looked off to the side, away from the man. "So it was Snape that did that to me?"
"I'm afraid so, at least in part."
The headmaster pulled up one of the room's three chairs, and set it next to Danny's bedside. His family was conspicuously absent. Dad and Jazz had gone home, for her school, after a week had passed and they were assured that Danny was recovering well. Mom had just left to get him some food. Did the Headmaster know? he wondered.
"You said that you punished him for it," Danny said, continuing the line of conversation. "Snape."
"Yes."
Danny grimaced. "He's still going to be at Hogwarts, though, isn't he?"
"... Yes. For all his flaws, Severus is a good man, and a good professor."
"He's a bully," Danny said angrily, looking at the headmaster. "How good can he be if he's a bully? He docks points from the Gryffindors unfairly all the time, and he keeps picking on Harry. Okay, so the love of his life died in the way, but that doesn't mean he can just… vent it out on other people like this!" If his hands weren't trapped beneath his blanket, he would have thrown them in the air to punctuate the statement.
A silence.
"... Remus told you."
"Yeah," Danny scowled. "He thought I had a right to know something, after Snape did that."
A longer silence. Dumbledore stared intently at him.
"Why are you here anyway?" Danny asked. He shifted on the bed so that he could stand straighter, and crossed his arms, meeting the man's stare. He was abruptly aware of how small he was, and how young, compared to the deep fathoms that broiled in the headmaster's eyes.
"Healer Strout was quite persistent," Dumbledore said, smiling. "And I also wished to see how you were doing." He leaned forward, and his expression turned quite serious. "There is one mystery that the healer did not consider, however. My boy, do you know why your memories returned that night?"
"So you came here to question me," Danny said, feeling defiant and upset.
Dumbledore wore a genuine expression of hurt, before it eased away into crinkled lines and Dumbledore steeped his hands together and turned his gaze away weightily.
"It was not my intention," the headmaster said softly, "to do so. Still, if it would not greatly burden you, would you answer one question for me?"
Danny nodded reluctantly. He supposed he couldn't see a reason why not. This was the headmaster, after all.
"You told me you wished to stand up to your fear, and that ghost. I suspect that that night, you fought and won."
Danny thought about it.
It was true, wasn't it? It had been horrifying in the moment, but it had happened. He had stood up, and said no. Even when he had been so afraid, thinking that he was going to die.
"I did," he said, almost smiling, a budding feeling of triumph in him. "I did fight it. I fought it and won." What a marvel that was.
"Then you are an experience richer for it."
The headmaster stood slowly. "I'm afraid that it's time to take my leave. Hogwarts, to my great misfortune, doesn't seem to run itself."
"Wait," Danny said urgently. "I also have a question."
The headmaster paused.
"Why did Quirrell attack me? Why was… Voldemort on the back of his head?"
The headmaster looked down at him through moon-eyed glasses.
"I'm afraid that's a mystery left for another time."
Danny at first felt shock at the abrupt response, then anger. He was just about to respond, when -
Mom came back in, holding a plastic bag full of noodle soup. She stopped short in the doorway when she saw Dumbledore, and cautiously set the bag down on the floor next to her. Something about the tension in the air sent her hand straying to her hip, where her ecto-blaster was, and watching Dumbledore acutely.
"... Mr. Dumbledore? What are you doing here with my son?"
Dumbledore smiled at her genially, looking the part of a harmless, eccentric old man in his hazard rainbow robes and moon-eyed glasses. "Why, I was just about to leave."
He stood, and as he walked past her, he gave both of them a genial nod. His eyes met Danny's, and Danny thought he saw something of regret in that expression.
Then the man was gone, and the atmosphere loosened. Mom picked up the plastic bag, then brought it to his bedside. The tension was forgotten with her next words.
"Good news," she said, smiling, ruffling his hair. "The healers said you can be discharged tomorrow."
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Soon enough, Danny was back home now. It was strange, to call this London house home. He had only been here for a month, before he left for Hogwarts.
Still, it was nice. He couldn't practice magic, but his parents and sister were pampering him almost to the point of being irritable. It was like the bullying incident all over again, except they were hovering even more.
Which was fine, in Danny's opinion. He thought he deserved a little pampering, and he made up for it by trying to help out in the kitchen when no one else was watching. He knew they would tell him he shouldn't do any chores, but it did feel good, to be out, doing something normal.
This year had been an utterly bizarre series of events. To receiving that letter, being told he was a wizard, meeting Hermione, being sorted into Gryffindor, somehow turning Filch's cat green, flying, being possessed, Neville's friendship, the Christmas debacle (every Christmas was a debacle in the Fenton household), the portal, Remus, Quirrell's kidnapping... Man, the list went on and on.
He didn't know if it was because of what the healers at Saint Mungoes did to heal him, or if it was just because he was at home, but it all didn't feel real. Like it was so distant. Like now, he could just curl into the sofa with a warm cup of tea, and feel at complete peace...
The phone rang.
He jumped up, cursed, and almost spilled his tea. He set it on the counter, then ran to the phone. Who was calling?
"Hello?" he asked, nervously dancing from foot to foot.
"Danny!" a loud voice exclaimed from the other side, sounding exuberant. "You're alive! Man, I was worried sick. I kept trying to call after we played Doomed before Christmas, but only your dad ever answered your phone and you know how he is and you were never online. What happened? Did you go off the grid or something?"
It was Tucker. Tucker from Amity Park. Tucker, his best friend, Tucker.
Tucker who he hadn't talked to ever since he left. Not directly, anyway. There were only IM's and the comm over Doom.
Danny groaned, before a small smile started on his face.
"More than off the grid," Danny said emphatically. "I think I've been off the plane. You know, it's super sketchy stuff so I can't tell you all of it, but let me tell you, it's been crazy…"
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Vlad Masters, billionaire and founder of DALV Science Corporation, steepled his hands together, a frown maring his respectably aged face, his head deep in thought.
It had been simply wonderful to have Maddie and her daughter Jasmine over to visit. Her husband (he cursed the word) had been much less pleasant, with his oafish behavior, but he supposed it was a necessary sacrifice in order to see his beloved's visage, after so long.
But why now?
Maddie had had the tact to disguise it as a social visit, but Jack, predictably, had announced that they were here to consult him about the idea of building another ghost portal.
How outrageous! Did they not know how much the last one had cost him? How long he had spent in the hospital, suffering alone, while the people he had thought to be his two best friends simply abandoned him, gallivanted off to who knows where to have their happy marriage, their happy children, their happily ever after -
Vlad took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Patience, he told himself. They would not be happy for long. If he had his way, Maddie would happily be in his arms, and that oaf, Jack Fenton, who he was sure was the reason for their lack of attendance at his hospital bedside, would be dead.
He still felt rather queasy at the thought of actually killing someone, but surely this was justified. Perhaps, if he wasn't up to it in the moment, he could settle for utter defamation and ruining all hopes of a good career for that…
He took another deep breath. He had gotten distracted. What had been the question?
Ah, yes.
Why now?
Why after all these years, did the Fentons decide to return to him? What had made them start to dream of another ghost portal? Was it their lack of funding? Did desperation drive them to building another ghost portal?
He felt his eyebrows furrow in concern at the thought. He had seen their accounts (secretly). They didn't look good, especially after they moved to England. What if Maddie, and the children, became destitute?
It was this thought, this worry, that had led him to offering them money… a research grant, if you will. But Maddie, beautiful Maddie, was stubborn and refused to take money from a friend.
It was honorable, but he wished that she had accepted it. He knew that others wouldn't be so generous, especially when ectoplasmic research was considered with such skepticism. It was unlikely that he would even be able to draw his own partner's interest towards them, given the low reputation of the field.
He sighed, as he found his thoughts were only spinning in the same old circles, coming to no new conclusions.
"I hope you know what you are doing, Maddie," he said, feeling his heart ache with loneliness and weariness, wishing for a future that he knew could never be.
But he was damned if he wouldn't try.
With that, his resolve firmed, and he began to set his papers to order, determined to find a way to pull the right strings, the right people, into place, so that he could obtain his greatest desire.
Now, who do I know in London…
He thought of a recent acquaintance, a pale-haired businessman with quite the lucrative business in the gold market, and smiled.
-end-