Thankfully, Ash's rover hadn't been impounded. It was parked far away enough from the raid, to be excluded from the drug search. Reuse dropped him off and followed him back to the house. Ash got out on stiff legs. A night in the slammer wasn't nearly as bad as a morning about to explain himself to Foster. Either way, his body didn't like it. His joints were reluctant to climb the steps of his screened-in porch. His stomach gurgled threateningly. As he entered, Reuse behind him, he looked up to see the curtains move in his dining room. He had to remind himself, this was still his house. No matter how much persuasion Foster had over him, he would not tolerate anything less than mutual respect. So he kissed that fucking boy, so what. The kid is a grown man and frankly, it wasn't any of Foster's business if they wanted to get technical about it.
The silhouette is what stopped him. It always did. Foster was standing in his favorite place. His coat was anvil dark, and just as heavy, against lace drapes that glowed with morning light around him. He kept his back to Ash, who stepped cautiously into the room.
Ash was trying to think of a way to begin, when Foster said without turning. "Let us skip the pleasantries. I have given you every opportunity to disassociate yourself from my past, my challenges, and my crimes. In your muggle zeal, for what your compartmentalized mind thinks of as adventure, you have been a stray on my heels. Since you were prominent in my recovery, I thanked you with my silence and what I could give of my company. I've paid you in gold and hoped that you were not foolish enough to want more.
"When you continued to pull at my hem like a beggar, I made a place for you in my affairs. It was more to keep you busy, and it allowed me the freedom to step clear of your constant requirement for my attention, than a show of favoritism. If I have you following my every move, I might as well make use of you. In a moment of need, I brought a boy into your home and exposed my identity and my world to your discretion. In a single night, you've undone a tapestry of trust that it took two years to create. I shall not weave another."
Foster didn't fool Ash. Yes, Ash dreaded what was coming, but Foster's body and manner were too sublime to Ash, to pretend the wizard wasn't sexy as hell. An angry Foster just seemed to make it worse. And Ash's experience with angry spouses, two wives, had him remembering the best make-up sex he'd ever had. He deliberately made light of Foster's intimidation by seeing his ex-wives standing with their hands on their hips, berating him for some other failure. It eased the knot in his stomach and gave him familiar ground to stand on. Foster was just a diva of an ex on steroids. Nobody used clothes to advertise capability the way he did. Diva. Ash wasn't going to be cowed by that.
He replied in his steadiest voice. "I screwed up. So what. It's not like I did it on purpose. If your magic mirror showed you that I was with this boy, did it also show you that I didn't have a clue this was the same guy you brought here? He was unconscious the last time I saw him. Prior to that, I'd only just seen his charred body a few days before. You can't accuse me of doing anything wrong, when I hardly knew what I was doing."
Foster turned, pinning Ash, not with his stare, but with his tone. "You went looking for any connection to me that you could find. And you found him, and quite a bit more. Didn't know what you were doing? Sleepwalked your way into his lecture, did you? Force-fed the necessary potions to give you the sight of a wizard for one day, were you? You and he just happened to show up at the same filthy muggle raid?"
Ash stopped him right there. "Hey! I learned last night, that that is not a nice word. It has two G's in it for a reason. And muggles are not filthy. That's racism."
Foster had to blink at the irrational pride Ash displayed, like a three year-old having learned to tie his shoe.
He said slowly, "One evening spent among my kind, does not qualify you to comment on our culture. There are worse names reserved for people without magic, I assure you, and that is one of the kindest. As for filth, I was referring to the drug and needle infestation that accompanied your fun-filled evening and had you sampling the body fluids of every male you came into contact with. Not exactly what I want for that boy I saved, and not a sterile environment at all for a doctor, so yes, my choice of words are appropriately accurate to the discussion. And I never signed any agreement to your concept of racism, or the mass commitment to make it a point of so much focus, so do not hold me accountable for solving your culture's problem with race. That is your demon, not mine. I will not waste my energy justifying or condemning all the forms that walk this Earth. We are here. As the students say, deal with it."
Ash stepped forward. "That's right. You're a teacher. I learned a lot about you. That boy is crazy about you, and you won't even let him know that you're alive. Why not? You're a hero to those people?"
"Let us stay close to our subject. I am here because I have something to protect, and you are standing before me because you have violated that something."
Ash held up two fingers, his index finger on each hand. "Harry Potter is no saint. That kid knew what he was doing. I didn't learn to kiss like that until I was in my thirties. Did you rake him over the coals like this?"
"I am referring to my trust. Mr. Potter's honor is subject to another conversation and another time."
"Oh."
"However, since the two share a side on the same coin, I do admit you have crossed a line with me. You have wanted to be in my thoughts, well you are in them. I've thought extensively of what I would do if I could not convince you to stay in your world, and leave mine and Harry's alone."
Somewhere in the building threat, Ash realized that Foster might actually have the power to read his mind. Hadn't he been thinking about occupying Foster's thoughts all night, and how satisfying it was to think that, while riding home with Reuse?
"Can you read my thoughts? Is that how you knew I was with Harry yesterday?"
Foster could've smirked, but he didn't. He could've laughed at his display of abilities, abilities that were childhood lore to someone like Ash. But he didn't. He moved forward, his coat swaying subtly from his hips and down his calves, as he met Ash halfway across the room. His mouth was a straight and serious line and his eyes ignited with something that was almost like a gift. Something Ash had been wanting to see directed at him, holding only him in its focus, and zeroing on him with velvet black mystery and intent. In that moment, he was the object of Foster's singular attention and it somehow mattered more than a million moments of scattered and fuzzy thinking that didn't have the strength to burst into full blown desire.
Fear and excitement held Ash to his spot. He knew Foster was going to touch him before the wizard ever reached out. In that moment, they were already connected and Ash knew that Foster was about to hurt him. Really hurt him. If he thought he could've survived it, he would've bent Foster to him with all of his weight and used the last seconds of his life to prove that he was in it for love. He would make no move to defend himself. But he knew, while they appeared equal in stature, that's where the resemblance stopped. If Foster had a lesson to teach, he was going to.
"Are you going to kill me?" Ash asked.
"We shall see," Foster took his arm. In that next instance, the two vanished from their spots. The room resumed its empty lean, as morning shadows behaved like sun dials against the walls, and breakfast settings were left untouched.
From the kitchen where she'd listened, Reused frowned at the empty spot. She took a fork to her skillet of eggs and told herself that Foster wasn't going to hurt Ash. They'd come back and they'd all have a nice breakfast. She really tried to make herself believe that.
There was nothing to reference. Nothing to anchor him. Not even darkness. The change happened so fast, he could only find words for the swirls of color, compression that seemed to flip his body, and the complete absence of gravity, when he stood on solid ground again. Hardness beneath the soles of his feet, told him he had solid ground beneath him. But his legs, shaking from undecided signals sent from his brain, weren't so sure. He stood across from Foster and rushed his vision to adjust to the dark space around him. Foster appeared in no hurry, and waited for him to figure it out.
Slabs of bedrock glistened wetly. His eyes registered sparse lighting from both torches and lamps. Soft glows illuminated upholstery, benches, complex formations of glassware, burners and tables filled with what looked like a chemist's staging area. Only cast iron cauldrons were out of place. There were small ones, organized to size on tables, and very large ones that could not fit on any table, but had to rest on the floor. Paintings that looked like replicated masterpieces climbed their way up cylindrical stone masonry, each spotlit in its frame by some cordless radiation of light.
Ash realized where he must be, and hurried to memorize details he instinctively concluded he'd never see again. He ignored his body's trembling protest of its treatment in the aftermath of apparating. His nostrils recognized deep, subterranean earth and drafty mildew, all mixed with herbal infusions and clove-tinged aromas he could not place. Burnt sage, roots and powdered incense came to mind.
Foster's hearth, lit with inviting embers, sat low and cozy in the open space. Free-standing cabinets with grill workings and glass faces protected grimoires and artifacts locked inside of them. Tapestry patterns decorated natural fibers of expansive wool carpets. The space was so large, where one room-sized square footage ended, another floor tapestry began, creating a chessboard of evenly toned mandalas, lotus glyphs, and wards in symbolic form. Ash couldn't know what it all meant, but he knew it connected Foster to his magic, and for some reason he was being allow to see it.
While he was getting his bearings, Foster must've moved away from him. He now stood some distance away in the workshop part of the room, his shoes sanding softly against bare rock as he paced and waited for Ash to come to his senses. Ash noticed a flash of tin and copper cookware hanging above a water trough and realized this was also Foster's kitchen. No doubt the set up worked the way a wizard needed it to work, and its rustic lack of modernization was actually more efficient than anything Ash had in his home. He'd kill for one evening, one shared meal here, even if he had to get in that hazard zone of experimentation, called a kitchen, and make it himself. But he was pretty sure that wasn't why Foster had brought him there.
He gave Ash a minute to take it all in.
"This is your home. What am I doing here?"
Foster looked like he was actually going to enjoy answering that question. He took his time. Something that could be thought of as a smile, lifted the corners of his mouth. But his tone held no humor in it.
"You wanted an invitation to my dwelling, Mr. Hastings. I have escorted you here myself."
A smart ass to the last, Ash ignored his fear and tested how much rope he had. "No one will find my body here, I suppose, huh?"
"No one will find your body, Mr. Hastings, because no one will look for it." He advanced towards Ash.
"I swear, if I die here, I will do everything in my power to haunt you. I might be mortal. I might be a dumb, magicless muggle, but I believe the spirit survives death and I will do to you in death, what I can't do to you in life. You'll never be rid of me."
To his surprise, Foster stopped a foot away, stricken. "Congratulations. You have succeeded in astonishing me beyond my capacity to comprehend such face-saving arrogance. You would command the power to reach beyond the veil of life and death, and yet your only objective would be to disturb my sleep with your bothersome, spectral longing. I'm flattered, but your lack of ambition is the real tragedy in that scenario."
Ash wasn't finished. "I'd bend you over your Bunsen burners and ride you till you begged for my forgiveness."
Either Foster was going to laugh, or Ash was going to die. Something had to give.
Far from laughing, Foster grabbed Ash's collar and they were gone. In that next instance, splashing water slapped Ash's eardrums and thundered down the walls around him. Tons of rushing water echoed with reverberating, spanking slaps as it landed in gushes into an open pool below. Ash flailed, finding no stability around him as he and Foster balanced on a ledge of exposed rock. Foster was the one who balanced, as Ash's footing shuffled to find the best purchase on the slippery surface. Foster continued to hold his collar, and this time Ash clung to him, not eager to fall into the pool many levels below.
From that vantage point, his panicked mind recalled the rooms and levels Resuse talked about. There were indeed spirals of smaller rooms built into the rocks. Steps, starting narrowly from the base of Foster's kitchen, wound up along the wall and looped through openings where they disappeared and reappeared again as they came back out of the wall. Foster obviously didn't need stairs to navigate his dwelling and Ash wished he had more time to simply stand in this place in awe, instead of fear.
He gripped Foster's wrist with one hand, and strained to hold onto his coat with the other. He felt Foster pushing him backwards while holding him upright.
"Why are you doing this? I didn't hurt the boy." His feet refused to take him backwards, but struggled to keep him balanced. Every inch cost him as he wrestled Foster's bulk and found himself losing ground. Foster's steps carried them both to the edge. If Ash had wanted to, he could've thrown them both into a chasm that was only meant for him. Instead, he held on to Foster. Dizziness and panic rose notches as Foster's thighs brushed his and forced him to the very edge. He stepped on Foster's shoes to keep from falling and tried not to look down.
Their faces were so close, Foster's breath warmed Ash's skin when he spoke. "When I brought Harry to your home, I warned you not to touch him. Perhaps I didn't make myself clear. Don't touch him. Ever."
"I had no idea who I was kissing in that dark room. You know that was an accident."
"Yes, I know. And I am preventing any more of them. You see, by attending his lecture, you have inserted yourself far more deeply into my world than I can allow. I'd hoped you would behave yourself and leave everything as you found it. But apparently, your curiosity has cost you."
"No, Foster! You are what's costing me. Don't kill me. Please." His grip on Foster shook. He didn't notice what the waterfall was doing until it was too late.
"If I wanted to kill you, they would've discovered your corpse in your holding cell this morning. I brought you here, to show you this. Look around you. You wanted to see magic, Mr. Hastings. You wanted it in your life, up close and personal, as it were. Well here I am. This is my dwelling. This is my magic. Drink your fill. You won't be seeing much else for quite a while. And even that possibility could die with you."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to take pity on you. I'm going to give you some much needed time to think about whether you really want to play with magic and wizards. But most of all, I'm going to give you time to think about whether you really want to cross me ever again. Never involve yourself with Harry Potter again."
"I won't. I promise."
"I know you won't." Foster's fist pushed at Ash's chest, separating their bodies. "You hid me. You let me recover in your home because you had never held magic in your hands before. The healer in you, wanted more. Now that you know what to look for, you would've sniffed Harry out of a thousand mediocre wizards, to own some of that strength. Let it not be said that I never gave you the magic you so desperately wanted from me. Whether or not you can withstand it, is up to you."
Ash could not maintain his grip. Foster seemed to push him in slow motion and he used his last seconds to grasp the ungraspable. Shoved, his fingers curled around empty air.
By then it was too late to question how the waterfall swelled along the walls and flowed against gravity around them. He was already falling into its whirlpool. A vacuum of tidal waves engulfed him. They churned on themselves, rolling his body inside of them. In the eye of the storm, a tornado of hydrogen and oxygen molecules, buoyed by Foster's magic, he fell and continued to fall. He remained conscious, holding contact with Foster's gaze until the water washed it from his sight. Instead of succumbing to darkness, everything got brighter. Molecular bonds broke around him, releasing an effervescence so white, it hurt his eyes and scrubbed his mind free of all critical thinking.
At what point his free-fall turned into floating, turned into treading water, and riding currents by feel instead of sight, he didn't know. He kept falling.
Eventually, the water cleared again and he found himself looking through murky depths of nothing. He discovered himself standing on wet silt. He patted his body, pinched his skin, and sucked air deeply, to prove to himself that he was still alive. He had to be alive. He was wet and cold and shivering. Looking up, he saw the opening of the maelstrom that had spit him out. It continued to churn waters that would've crushed his body under normal circumstances. Looking up was like looking out of a reverse water globe. All the blue, light-filled water remained on the outside of a dome, as if an ocean floor had created an air bubble just for him. And there he dwelt, not knowing how to wake up. Not knowing how he was still alive.
In this timeless place, it took time to realize that this was his prison. Shifting light and shadow were his only entertainment as his watery atmosphere continually transferred fog-like illusions and shapes from one side of the globe to another. Was he at the bottom of Foster's waterfall pool? He didn't know. The silence was so expansive, so dominating over anything seen, he couldn't imagine anywhere on Earth being connected to this place.
Where was he?
Shadows rose close to his dome of air, like giant faces peering in, but revealing no features. This went on for so long, he wondered if he was really existing in a jar, captured by Foster and toyed with until his terror was supposed to drive him mad. But he knew as he thought it, that wasn't Foster's style. Whatever this was, he was here for a reason.
He didn't know where the chair came from, but when he looked behind him it was there. Waiting, expecting. Four legs planted in the silt as if it had grown out of it. He meant to avoid it, but he stood for so long that his legs hurt and he ended up sitting there, thinking of all things, about the kiss that had gotten him imprisoned yet again. He chuckled, not willing to give the absurdity of his situation anything else. It was only when the water began to take on a red hue, that he had to fold his arms and pay attention to the underwater weather. Things moved. Currents sped up. His bubble widened and the red deepened, bleeding through sheets of racing, circulating power. Again, some chemical reaction illuminated the transparency of the waters and Ash was able to see long range distances of ocean topography around him. It was beautiful. Frightening, terrible, and beautiful. As his eyes adjusted to a world of infrared, the chill in his spine told him that he was not alone. But the shapes of the creatures swimming around him, were not human. No where near. And some of them, he knew could never be found where he came from.
It was time to admit that this wasn't a dream. He was too uncomfortable for it to be a dream. And he wasn't dead. And red oceans did not exist on Earth. Those creatures swimming just within the vicinity of his air dome, were larger than whales. At least, that's what their shadows suggested. He was no stranger to scuba diving, having grown up off the coasts of Melbourne and the beautiful reefs there. So he knew alien life forms when he saw them. He knew what belonged on this planet and what didn't. He knew that Foster's magic had cast him out of existence and out of his life. But he was still upright and aware, and he didn't know what to do with that information.
Would he freeze down here? Would he starve? Would the same enchantment that held him prisoner and made sure he'd lived to know it, make provisions for keeping him alive?
When he couldn't fathom the answers to those questions, he removed the thing poking him in his ribs. He'd forgotten about Harry's wand. He held it, rolled it between his fingers, and wished to god that he knew how to use it.
A/N: There will be a total of four updates tonight, or in the AM hours. The next two chapters will center on Draco and Harry. This is number 2 of 4 updates this evening. :-)
