Anam Cara

Nine

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It was like a dream. A terrible dream and I had to wake up, but I couldn't. I was already awake. Images flashed through my mind. I recognized Knockturn Alley, the back room at Borgin and Burke and the poisons in the safe. But these weren't discreetly packed away, these were clearly labeled and the safe was left unlocked.

What are you doing? I screamed the question across our minds.

I'm getting out.

Not like this!

There's only one other way.

You can't do this.

Try and stop me.

Why? Why are you doing this?

Because you are in danger.

How is this going to keep me out of danger?

Without me, you're useless to the Ministry. If you're useless to the Ministry, you'll be safe.

This is insane!

I rushed out of the back room of the shop startling Lacci and drawing the stares of one or two customers. "I have to go out," I said quickly, pulling my coat on as I crossed the shop floor. "You'll be alright a couple of hours? If I'm not back by seven go ahead and close up." I wasn't there for the reply.

I walked quickly down the street trying to organize my thoughts. I had about a mile to do so. As I walked I cast a glamour over myself and began to gradually change my appearance and style of dress. I proceeded slowly, so that it was imperceptible to those I passed on the street but by the time I reached my destination I would blend unnoticed into the crowd.

When I reached the pub it was just getting busy. Like the Leaky Cauldron, it was a wizard establishment but was less hidden and was a favorite haunt for several aurors I knew of who enjoyed the cover of muggle company. I'd been working with a few who I knew frequented the place. As we'd never had direct contact, they'd never recognize me or know who I was. One of them, to my great pleasure, was the young auror who'd taken me to Azkaban, Harlan Thorpe. I went directly to the bar, ordered a drink and started to look out for my associates.

I'd been there about half an hour before they came in. I recognized Thorpe right away, and a quick scan of his two companions told me I had just what I was looking for. I watched as two of them went to a table not far from where I was sitting and Harlan approached the bar to order. I and took a drink as I started to read him. He was nervous, that was evident. But there was a sense of excitement with it and he knew he had a long night ahead of him. I'd use him. I could listen through him, even speak through him if need be.

"I don't believe it," one of the companions was saying as he approached the table. "Why now?"

"Where did this information come from? It didn't come from our usual source."

I wanted an answer to that myself.

"No idea. High up from what I hear. You don't think they're going to tell us do you? We're just the clean up crew."

"This one's different," said Thorpe sitting down with his companions. "I want this one. Badly. He's as rotten as they come. Everyone's know it for years. There were rumors about him back in school, remember?"

"Rumors, Harlan. He was a bastard, sure. We all dreamt of throwing him in Azkaban--and worse-- but you can't do that on rumors. I mean, Dumbledore--"

"This is no rumor." Thorpe leaned across the table and lowered his voice, forcing his companions to move in closer to hear. "Do you remember that auror, the one I took to Azkaban? Big case-- got hushed up quick."

"The bird who used the cruciat--"

"Cruciatus," he sneered. "She brought in three death eaters that night. So what if one was whimpering a bit? But here's what most don't know: before doing that she hauled out one half-dead informer. Or shall I say so-called informer. She probably saved his life."

This wasn't the Harlan Thorpe I remembered. I watched him carefully from the bar. He'd hardened quickly. The job had gotten to him, it always did. I could feel his anger and frustration growing.

"Do you know where she, one of us, is now?" he continued, spitting the question at his colleagues.

"Disappeared, didn't she? Wasn't she teaching at Hogwarts?"

"She didn't disappear. She's dead. And you'll never guess who killed her." He slumped back in his chair and spun his beer mug on the table. "She went to Azkaban for that jackal. And what did he do? The minute the grass started to look a bit greener on the dark side he hied it over to his old Dark Lord and AK'd his girlfriend to prove his worth." His voice trailed off to a whisper. "What in bloody hell did she see in him? Greasy murdering git."

My glass was empty. I hadn't even realized I'd finished it. I signaled for a refill. My eyes were burning, I told myself it was from the smoke in the air, but I knew it wasn't.

Did you give him this? Is anyone else in on this?

His companions looked stunned. "Harlan where did you get this from? We haven't heard any of this."

Harlan picked up his mug and drank before answering. "Tilbury. He helped me on that case."

"Tilbury! You're joking. What did he have to do with that?"

"I don't know. He was involved before I was." He slammed his mug on the table. "He helped get her out of Azkaban. Fat lot of good it did. She have been safer if he'd left her there."

One of the others leaned forward. "Oh, I don't know, Harlan. If it was me I think I'd rather have the old AK than spend the rest of my days with the Dementors."

Thorpe got up suddenly and headed back towards the bar. He ordered two drinks, downed one at the bar in one gulp and started back to the table with the other.

'Go ahead,' I thought. 'Get completely pissed. Get so blind, stumbling, drunk you can't find your way out of here!'

He turned, looked directly at me and headed back. I strengthened the glamour I'd thrown to make sure I wasn't recognized.

"Let me ask you, Ma'am, if you don't mind," he said to me in a bitter drawl. "What would a perfectly normal, intelligent woman find attractive in an ugly, greasy, anemic, acrimonious, misanthropic, bastard who most certainly is a torturer and murderer and has got away with it-- walked free."

I looked at him thoughtfully without saying a word for what felt like an eternity. I wanted to make him squirm. I watched him take another large gulp from his glass.

"Well," I finally broke the silence and answered in a matter-of-fact tone, "with all that going for him, I supposed he'd have to be a damned good fuck."

Thorpe turned scarlet with embarrassment and his companions looked like they would slide under the table laughing. He stumbled back to them and I heard one of them mumble, "Now there's an image I could have done without."

"You deserved that Harley, for God's sake what did you expect?" one of Thorpe's associates laughed when he slunk back to them.

The other snorted into his drink, "Knows just what to say to break the ice does our Harlan!"

"Shut up! Both of you!" Thorpe hissed at them.

I turned away from them shaking my head. I hadn't meant to say that, I really hadn't. The heavy-set woman keeping bar was grinning at me.

"What?" I asked her peevishly.

"Dunno," she shrugged. "I was just wondering if mebee you knew the bloke 'ee was on about." she nodded towards Harlan.

"I can think of a dozen who fit the description," I told her, speaking the absolute truth.

"And 'ow many o' those would fit yours?" she with a leer.

"Significantly fewer."

She laughed and filled my glass. "On the house. For puttin' up with the clientele." She winked.

I raised the glass in a salute as she turned away laughing and took an order at the other end of the bar. I resumed my listening in on Thorpe and his team.

"Your mistake was in your question. You said 'perfectly normal'. Who ever said she was perfectly normal to start with?"

Thorpe sagged in his chair taking merciless abuse. "What the bloody hell are you on about now?"

"Oh Harley, really! You've already said Terrible Tilbury was involved and he's Dark Arts Incorporated! Look at the company she kept! Do you really think she was--with-? It hardly bears thinking about!"

I slammed my glass down, slopping most of its contents onto the bar. I didn't, however, turn around to face them. I couldn't. To make it worse, poor Harlan was still trying to defend me.

"So that makes it all alright then? Very good. That makes our job a whole lot easier, doesn't it? We'll just say she deserved it and leave it at that. The Death Eaters are now doing us a service. Is that what you're getting at?"

Their chairs scraped against the floor as they got up to leave. "Harlan Thorpe, you need a holiday," I heard a quiet voice tell him. "You're on your way to ending up another Mad-eye Moody."

"A holiday. Perfect. I'll do that," Thorpe replied flatly. "Right after this pickup. We have an appointment in Knockturn."

I watched them go, forcing myself to stay put, to not follow them.

There's still time, they're on their way. Leave now!

It's a simple raid. I'll just be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing dangerous.

Please!

Do I have to shut you out?

He could do it, he'd been doing it more and more often, as he got deeper into the fold, drawing his curtain between us when there were things he didn't want me to see, to hear, or to feel. He did it for my protection, that I understood, but the void it left was physical--like being blind in one eye, or deaf in one ear until the veil was lifted.

I slid off the barstool and headed, rather unsteadily towards the door. Without thinking, I started walking in the direction of the hidden portal that would take me into Knockturn Alley.

Ten minutes later, I stood looking at a wooden wall, one that looked for all intents and purposes like a temporary construction site barrier. It was covered with tattered posters for plays, exhibits, circuses and various other entertainments, some that had ended their runs years ago. One, a flash of vibrant color advertising "Professor Mysterios! Amazing Feats of Prestidigitation!" was barely noticeable under a yellowed notice seeking a lost dog (Larj Black Lab. Ples Call we miss him!) was what I was what I was looking for. A nudge and I'd be through.

Don't you bloody dare!

The thought was so powerful it came through with a stabbing headache. I turned, and leaned my back against the wall.

If they take you to Azkaban--

They most certainly will take me to Azkaban! I'm counting on it. Go home. Wherever that is now, go home! Leave this to me.

Fortunately for me, I was in a part of the city where it was hardly unusual for passers by to see a woman (probably drunk) leaning against a dilapidated wall.

Severus, they're after you for murder! If you go to Azkaban you won't get out again. If you go behind those shields--

Leave this to me! I don't have time for this! Minutes--they'll be here. If this goes wrong, shields will be the least of my worries.

And he was gone.

The curtain dropped. Even if I pressed through the portal into Knockturn Alley, I'd never have found him before Thorpe and his team had moved in on their raid. There was nothing more to do but go back to the shop, or home, and make my regular contact with the ministry for the latest information on raids and arrests. That was a report I was not looking forward to seeing.

Ten

Five days had passed and I had nothing. Not one word about a single raid, inspection, or arrest in Knocturn Alley that day, that evening, or that night. I combed through every ministry report and used the new thaumic interface technology they'd given me to go through every case report that I could get access to (and that was many more than they knew about). I found nothing. It was as if I'd imagined the whole episode. I would have begun to convince myself that I had except for one thing. I hadn't been able to pick up even the slightest trace of Severus since he'd pulled the curtain on me as I stood at the wall between us.

The Ministry of Magic was of no help at all, denying any knowledge of any action that evening. I contacted Thorpe, through our usual indirect channels and received no answer at all from him or the other members of his team. I hadn't slept or eaten, and the psychic strain of constant seeking was showing manifesting itself in a tremor in my left arm and hand.

Kenny's eyes looked as if they were going to pop out of his head and onto his desk as he watched me try to sign for some papers that had been left with him. He finally reached out and held the clipboard steady himself. "Clare, what's going on? Pardon my Francais," he whispered looking around to see if anyone was around, "but you look like shit and what's with the shaking? You look like an escapee from a rehab clinic."

I looked up at him. There were two of him for a moment, then they merged together again into the one. "It's the job, Kenny."

"Bullshit! You run a bookshop. The worst you could expect from that is eyestrain and curvature of the spine. When was the last time you ate? When was the last time you slept?

I continued to stare at him and raised my hand to my hair. "I don't know," I said. "I--"

I'd noticed Lacci had been encouraging me to stay in the back, assuring me she'd take care of everything out front but I was so busy with my own business I didn't even think she was trying to hide me. I was suddenly overcome by an overwhelming sense of shame, pain and helplessness. I wanted to tell him everything. There'd be no harm in it really, he wouldn't believe a word of it anyway and it'd give me a chance to unload some of the weight. "I can't tell you Kenny. I wish I could," I whispered and moved towards the elevators.

"Eat something!" he called after me. "I'll order something in for you."

I must have dozed because I was jolted awake by the door buzzer and Kenny's voice announcing he was sending up the delivery of Chinese takeout he'd ordered. I opened my door just wide enough to take the bag, and pay the kid. The smell of the food made me feel nauseated at first then, oddly, famished. As I dug into the food I decided to do something I'd been putting off but could put off no longer. I had no choice but to go directly to Tilbury. And Tilbury being Tilbury, there was no better way to reach him with important, confidential information than with muggle e-mail. I switched the ministry terminal over to my cover, shop account.

I stared at the simple message a long time before sending it, it's implication was entirely too clear. The last words I'd 'heard' before losing contact echoed through my brain, If this goes wrong, shields will be the least of my worries. What if it had gone wrong? What if that's why I couldn't raise Thorpe? The words seemed to flicker in front of me.

Contact terminated--duration 5 days.

Ministry Contacts unresponsive. Pls. Advise

There were only two possibilities for the silence. The first, of course, was that whatever the plan was, it had succeeded and Severus was at Azkaban and shut off from me by the strong shielding that surrounded the place. The second was that he wasn't. That didn't bear thinking about.

I bit my lip, and sent the e-mail. I didn't know how long it would be before he'd see it, nor did I know if he'd even respond to it. I hated having to turn to him, I still had a hard time trusting him.

I gathered up the remains of the takeout, went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. I had to get some sleep. I'd been putting off forcing the issue but knowing I had nothing left to do now but wait, the time had come. I opened a cupboard door and took out my spice-rack. That is, to an unpracticed eye, it appeared to be an ordinary spice rack, but a careful inspection of the handwritten labels would reveal that one would be unlikely to use the contents of any of these bottles in an ordinary recipe. As the kettle began to hiss on the stove I ran my finger along the rows of bottles. I picked out a bottle of dried wormwood and heard, far off in my mind a child's voice reciting, "Artemisia, Asphodel; asleep or dead but who can tell?"

Towan Cowley. I tried to shake away the memory. 'What did you tell them?'

I replaced the wormwood and picked out a bottle of henbane extract. I'd get a night of dreamless sleep with no hangover with a few drops of that in a cup of chamomile tea.

It was hypnotic, watching as the chamomile worked its way through the infuser. I counted out the drops of acid yellow extract and watched them fall from the glass dropper into the carafe, swirling and disappearing into the pale greenish infusion The subtle science of potion making in a teapot.

***

It took two more days, two more days of silence, but I got an answer. Of sorts. A cryptic message that was nothing more than an address and a time. I was being granted some sort of audience. The morning ticked by excruciatingly slow. Finally I made my way to the café that was to serve as the meeting place.

I entered the crowded place and scanned the room. My heart dropped when I spotted the couple who'd 'handled' me originally. I made my way over to them in a barely controlled fury.

"You!" I hissed. "Why did he send you? And why did I have to resort to this?"

They gave me their bland smiles and signaled that should sit and join them. "Who did you expect?"

Truth be told, I hadn't really expected anyone at all. I had expected to be completely ignored. So I decided to ignore that question and launched straight into my own.

"There was supposed to have been a raid--an arrest. There's no record, I've searched every file!"

"There will be no record. No file," answered the wizard. "There was no arrest."

My thoughts started swirling, but he continued, "We thought you'd know. You can block each other's thoughts?"

I snapped to attention. "For hours, maybe. Not days! It's been a week! He could never keep--"

"Listen, dear--just listen," the witch interrupted. Again I realized I'd never learned their names. "There was no arrest. Do you understand me?" she leaned in close to me and placed her hand over mine.

"But--"

"He's safe, perfectly safe. In our custody."

"Azkaban?" As unpleasant as that thought was, it was undeniably safe as long as one avoided the Dementors.

The wizard nodded. "What you will hear, or read, shortly is that a quantity of contraband was intercepted in Knockturn Alley. That contraband was traced back to its owner who was detained for questioning."

I sat listening in stunned silence remembering the work we'd done in Borgin's office.

"As it happens, that the amount and complexity of some of the poisons found in the subject's possession may require the questioning to take rather a long time," he continued. "After which, it might just turn out to be nothing more than a misunderstanding." He gave a wry smile. "Some people do have the most extraordinary hobbies."