A Model

Chapter 8

Midnight Oil

The silence of the hospital room was periodically broken by the soft sigh of a blood pressure cuff. Dr. G. David Merriman stared helplessly at his sister, his face lit by the screen of the heart monitor. The lights had been turned down in the room, probably more in deference to the lateness of the hour than the needs of the occupants. Atropos Merriman obviously didn´t need any help staying asleep and her brother wasn´t likely to start snoozing no matter how dark they made his surroundings. He´d been sitting wide-awake in the dimly lit room for some time.

David had been intending to call his parents for several minutes. He´d even vaguely wondered about the long distance phone service available in a Casualty Ward, but all he´d been able to do was sit in the dark room and listen to bleeps and hums.

It shouldn´t have been so very difficult. The doctors had assured him that Atropos would recover. Lost blood had been replaced and the wounds had been carefully stitched closed. He himself had been able to see that she would be fine eventually. It should have been easy to simply call their parents to inform them of the incident and assure them that Atropos was alright.

Except she didn´t look alright. Wires and tubes spread out over her body, each performing their required task to perfection, each making her look as if someone had decided to rewire his sister and hadn´t quite finished the job. He had seen it on many others; he knew what each machine was doing; knew that they were proof of the approach of good health; and he felt miserably helpless and frightened.

As the blood pressure cuff began to deflate again, Dr. Merriman let out an answering puff of air. He had to tell them.

Mother will be furious.

Though Domicia Merriman had long since adjusted to most of Muggle life, she had always disapproved of "the Muggle healing arts," declaring that they relied too heavily upon sharp pointy things when a good potion could do just as well. Now, for his sake, she normally kept her criticisms to a minimum, but David could imagine her outrage when she found out that not only had Atropos encountered a sharp pointy thing in a Muggle shop but been subjected to them again in a Muggle hospital.

Grimacing as he pulled himself up from his seat, he glanced down at Atropos again. If he was honest, he also had to admit that he was frightened by the revelation of her vulnerability. He was her older brother and had always felt vaguely responsible for her on some level, but magic had always blurred his sense of duty. He still vividly remembered the only time Atropos had used her wand on him in anger. The reason for their argument was long forgotten but he never forgot the sight of his arm being covered by purple pustules. Their mother had burst into the room at his first wail of terror, sweeping swiftly out again dragging his nine-year-old sister with her and leaving his healed arm in her wake. Atropos´s magic tutor had locked up the wand for several days afterwards and, though he never found out what their mother said to his sister, she never used the wand against him again. But even knowing she would never harm him or work magic on him without his consent, there was still that knowledge of her power.

Power that had been subdued, apparently quite easily, by a knife thrust in a quiet shop.

It was horribly unsettling. David swallowed unhappily and reached out to squeeze his sister´s hand. The heart monitor bleeped back at him. He shook his head and made for the door.

Mum and Dad will know what to do. The childish thought was immeasurably comforting.

As he walked towards the door, he glanced briefly out the window of the room. He stopped and frowned. Atropos´s room was the one closest to the night nurse´s desk, which was visible from where he was standing. Through the window, he could see a man speaking quietly to the nurse. David didn´t know if it was the man´s posture or some other clue that made him stop and stare but he soon noticed a visible oddity.

The man was wearing trainers. Their perfect whiteness shone foolishly under the cuffs of his painfully correct wool trousers.

Dr. Merriman smiled faintly as he heard his father´s voice, struggling to sound stern, Don´t you laugh at your uncle Nicodemus. Your mother´s relatives don´t know what we regular people wear.

The man in the gray suit was plainly magical. That, or he is a businessman who enjoys a brisk jog to the hospital at 4 am.

Feeling immeasurably relieved at the thought of some wizardly help, he began to reach for the doorknob only to turn the motion into a quick backing away from the window. He was grateful he had done so when the man at the desk casually turned his head towards Atropos´s room. Dr. Merriman´s stomach began to perform acrobatics as he backed himself further into the darkness.

David had seen the man in the gray suit smile as a he spoke to the nurse while his left hand rested casually on the desk. He had also seen the glitter of a knife in the other hand that hung at his side.

From his vantage point he could see the nurse shaking her head. It was so far beyond late that it really could be considered early. Visiting hours were obviously over. But he doubted that the man in the gray suit would allow that to stop him. Dr. Merriman felt cold fear settle through him. He had found the idea of Atropos being the victim of a random stabbing disquieting, but the thought of purposeful violence from a wizard source was incalculably worse.

David hazily knew that wizarding world had its own dangers. He had received hints of what they might be through the low-voiced talks his parents had that resulted in their father taking a post with the embassy in Austria and their mother choosing a house there that could be "easily warded." He knew more clearly from the talks she had begun giving him after that - warnings against people in white masks and places to hide if these people came. However, when he was in his teens, his parents had relaxed and had begun visiting England again, seeming to forget, and he had relaxed and forgotten too.

But now the gray suited man was cajoling the nurse and would be walking through the door soon. He fought down a hysterical urge to run out of the room. David took a deep breath and looked down at his sister, lying helplessly in her bed with breathing tubes in her nose. She couldn´t be moved and she couldn´t defend herself. That meant the first option for dealing with dangerous wizards was unworkable. He couldn´t run away or hide; he was Atropos´s only protection.

Calming himself, Dr. Merriman sat down in his chair. He would wait with her. And it might be nothing. For all he knew, the man wasn´t a wizard or the knife wasn´t a weapon or the weapon wasn´t meant to be dangerous. He repeated these unconvincing thoughts over and over in his head. Rubbing sweaty palms down his legs, he glanced at Atropos again. He desperately wished she could wake up and deal with a situation she was far more qualified to face. Angrily shaking his head, he clenched his hands and straightened his back. He wouldn´t be much use if he looked and acted paralyzed with terror.

At least he hasn´t hurt the nurse. Maybe he´s not planning on leaving a trail of corpses. And he hasn´t used magic, which might mean - I haven´t the slightest idea.

The door swung open and the man in the gray suit stepped in, stopping with surprise at the sight of Dr. Merriman next to the bed. He seemed to recover quickly though and a socially concerned smile appeared on his face. "I do apologize. I heard about Miss Merriman´s accident and wanted to see her. I didn´t realize she had visitors." His voice was soft and smooth.

David cast about for something to say, hoping to keep the man talking long enough for him to think of something to do. "Oh quite alright! I´m not really a visitor. My name is Dr..." His nervous speech was cut off.

"You´re her ... doctor?" the man sounded pleased, pausing only briefly over the apparently unfamiliar word. "Then you can tell me of her condition. Of what use are these potions?" He had walked closer and was now gesturing at the I.V. bag.

All doubt of the man´s identity and danger fled from David´s mind. Not only was he clearly a wizard, but, this close, he could plainly see a wide brown stain on the sleeve of the suit. Dr. Merriman´s experience with old blood was extensive. He could recognize it when he needed to.

Deciding that any information he possessed that the wizard didn´t was good to have, he didn´t correct the man´s mistake.

"Condition?" he asked innocently. He had encountered enough wizards to know that they often assumed that lack of magic signified lack of anything resembling intelligence. It had been galling, but now he was grateful for it. The heart monitor bleeped encouragingly at him.

The wizard arranged his face into an expression of concern but his words were cold. "Whether or not she will recover," he said shortly. His eyes were fixed upon Atropos.

He needs to know if he has to finish the job!

David grasped at the only idea he could bring to bear. Struggling to sounding mournful and sympathetic instead of desperate he shook his head. "I am afraid her injuries were too great. Its only a matter of time now." When the man´s eyebrows twitched in response he sighed dramatically. "You must understand, that there is a limit on what medicine is capable of."

The wizard smiled back thinly, plainly holding back a sneer. "Quite." His left hand moved up to his right sleeve - the place where Dr. Merriman knew the knife was hidden. "But one can never be sure can one?" The man sounded calm and deadly. He fixed his eyes upon David´s. "I would appreciate it if you allowed me some time alone with Miss Merriman."

Now David would never allow an unidentified person to sit alone with one of his patients under any circumstances and he certainly wasn´t going to allow an assassin some time with his unconscious sister. He cast about for a reason, his wild thoughts interrupted by the nurse´s shout.

"You´re not allowed in there! What do you think you´re doing?"

He swung his head towards the window and gasped. Half a dozen people in dark blue robes - he recognized Atropos´s colleagues with relief - were making their way towards Atropos´s room, ignoring the nurse´s outraged yelling. He heard a soft curse next to him followed by a popping noise and whipped his head back, only to stare at empty space where the man in the gray suit had been standing. He gaped helplessly and tried to step forward, only to bang his legs against his sister´s bed. His sudden sense of disorientation was increased as the blue-robed Academy members burst into the room, shoving him rudely aside to get to Atropos.

Light-headed from the lightening fast shift from horrible peril to relative safety and total confusion, he only had time to make a befuddled protest as oneiromancers roughly pushed expensive and delicate equipment to the side in their haste to get to Atropos. Dr. Merriman soon found himself being born away by an oneiromancer he vaguely recognized. His questions were ignored or cut short as the wizard began quizzing him on "who in the Hospital they would need to `obliviate´ for security´s sake."

By the time he tore himself free from the wizard and returned to the room, he found only the nurse, who stood in Atropos´s hospital room and asked frantic questions of security guards regarding the loss of a hospital bed and EKG machine. She did not recognize him or understand what he meant when he asked after his sister.

It was clear that the Academy cleaned up its messes quickly. He swore under his breath and went off in search of his car. Not only did he have no idea where they had taken his sister, but, he had had no chance to warn anyone of the man in the gray suit. Not that they wanted to listen to me anyway. Oh no! Why would we pay any attention to a Muggle? I am going to need to contact mother and father as soon as possible. Maybe Mum can come up with some way of informing them. Or Atropos can tell them.

The dull headache that was his usual symptom of having to deal with magical affairs began to pound behind his eyes.

* * *

A warm fire burned cheerfully in Dumbledore´s office and tea had been set out in a tray. Councilor Tiresius held a warm cup in one hand, a Turtle Toffee in the other, and fought a losing to battle to keep a disgruntled expression off his face. However foolish it might be, he couldn´t help but feel that Dumbledore wasn´t acting nearly as remorseful as he should be.

Tiresius had spent the last night convincing the Council to allow Merriman to return to Hogwarts for her treatment and then spent the early morning transporting her there. He´d arrived at the Headmaster´s office ready to receive a humble apology for not only losing their recruiter within weeks of getting her, but also for forcing Tiresius to waste an entire night struggling to hide from his colleagues the fact that Atropos was needed at Hogwarts for more than recruiting.

Instead he had gotten a warm expression of thanks and an offer of sweets.

Somehow he found Albus´s gratitude far less gratifying than his guilt would have been.

The only good to be found in the whole sorry mess was that it allowed him to speak privately with Dumbledore about the new intelligence regarding Selim Crowlet without having to concoct an excuse for the Academy´s benefit. His colleagues who had helped move Merriman were safely ensconced in the Hospital Wing under the unfortunately mistaken impression that he was giving Dumbledore the harangue of his life.

Setting aside his teacup, Tiresius glumly finished his toffee and tried to focus his thoughts on less selfish matters. He had reached an age where a night without sleep made him feel slightly ill. The scruffy phoenix seated next to Dumbledore let out a weary sigh the perfectly mirrored his mood. He rubbed his eyes only to discover that the toffee had melted enough to make his hand sticky.

Preoccupied with finding a napkin, it took him a few moments to notice Dumbledore smiling expectantly at him across the desk. He realized that he had been asked a question. "I´m sorry?"

The blue eyes glinted with humor. "I asked whether or not you were able to deal with the Muggle Hospital people adequately. I have people at the Ministry who could help with ... clean up."

Glad for a question with a clear answer, Tiresius waved his still sticky hand. "Academic Merriman´s brother was with her when we arrived. He was useful in finding the people that needed to have their memories altered."

At this Dumbledore straightened in his seat. He sounded slightly concerned. "Academic Merriman´s brother is here? Is he planning on staying for ..."

Tiresius snorted. Does the man think I have no sense of discretion? "Of course he isn´t here, Albus. I wouldn´t take a Muggle to Hogwarts! We left him at the Hospital." He sat back in his seat and reached for his teacup again.

"You left him at the Hospital." Dumbledore was frowning at him. He seemed troubled. "And vanished with his sister. Won´t he be concerned about his sister´s whereabouts and health?" he asked evenly.

Tiresius shrugged. "I imagine so. But Academic Merriman´s mother will be informed about her daughter´s condition. I am certain she will speak to her Muggle ... connections about the situation."

Dumbledore dropped his hand onto his desk with a light thump. "These connections being Academic Merriman´s father and brother?" Now he sounded tired.

Tiresius raised his eyebrows. "Yes," he answered slowly. He couldn´t understand the Headmaster´s preoccupation with trivialities. His mood softened somewhat when Tiresius saw Dumbledore wearily rub his forehead. The man was, after all, even older than he was and was no doubt accustomed to being still asleep at this hour. He´s probably trying to keep all of his facts straight. Merlin knows I feel ready to begin forgetting a few things!

Deciding to bring the conversation back on track Tiresius shrugged. "But Merriman´s Muggle relatives don´t really matter. To tell you the truth, her brother was quite rude to me when I was asking about which nurses needed obliviating."

For some reason this made Dumbledore chuckle and shake his head. "I am afraid, Tiresius, that that doesn´t really surprise me." He lifted a hand to stroke his beard thoughtfully. "No matter. I will speak to her brother."

Tiresius blinked. Speak to him about what?

But Dumbledore was continuing calmly. "What was it you needed to tell me?"

The oneiromancer pushed aside his confusion and leaned forward in his chair. "You know of Selim Crowlet?" He spat the name out.

The hand on the beard froze briefly and then resumed its motions. Dumbledore was smiling faintly into his beard. "I know the name, yes." His voice was devoid of expression.

Tiresius grimaced. It would be just like Albus to know everything there was to know about Crowlet. Selim and his extra-organizational research was probably the worst embarrassment the Academy had suffered since the Wendelin fiasco.

He kept his voice carefully businesslike as he talked. "Our people have been keeping an eye on him since he was ... cast out." He lifted his tea to moisten his dry throat. "Walden Macnair has been frequenting his home in London and there have been other visitors as well. We can only assume that he is starting the work we interrupted sixteen years ago."

Dumbledore calmly sipped at his own cup and considered. Fixing Tiresius sharply in the eye he, he said, "What does the Academy plan to do?"

Tiresius winced and tightened his hand into a fist. He couldn´t look at Dumbledore when he answered. "Councilor Bertand has decided to ... wait." He was aware of a sudden motion from Dumbledore but continued to address the right hand wall. "He has decided that He Who Must Not Be Named is not a sufficiently powerful threat to justify action. He announced that you, Albus, since you couldn´t be trusted with Academic Merriman´s safety, could not be trusted with correct policy." Tiresius began to speak furiously and more quickly. "He even implied that this attack on Merriman was some sort of complicated Muggle plot." He finally got enough rage together to meet Dumbledore´s eyes. "He has decided to wait indefinitely." Tiresius let out a bark of laughter. "He decided lots of things."

Dumbledore in turn was gazing out the window, his eyebrows drawn together. Fawkes had flutter into his lap and was offering soft cooing noises. He looked back at the oneiromancer. "Actually, Tiresius, he only decided one thing - he hates me more than he fears Voldemort." His hand gently stroked the phoenix´s head. "What horribly unsurprising foolishness!" he said with a sigh.

Tiresius took comfort in offering information. "He probably has begun Mr. Potter´s model already, Albus. Though his adjustments to the usual modeling process and his ..." it was hard for him to admit the next, "skill at creating models make it difficult to gage his progress." His voice brightened. "Though I imagine it will a difficult model considering that young Harry is strange to him."

Dumbledore reached out to grab a toffee. He frowned at the sweet as if it were offering information he didn´t like. "Can we be certain he didn´t progress far enough with James´s model to use it for Harry´s?"

Tiresius started. Sometimes he forgot that Dumbledore had taken the oneiromancy exams. "If he had had the chance to build a model of James Potter, he surely would have used it!" He ran a hand through his hair. The Academy had always been grateful that they had intervened before the model of James Potter had gotten underway. It was horrifying to think that their good work was being canceled by the Head Councilor´s personal dislikes. "Did the late Mr. Potter show any sign of ... tampering?" he asked flatly.

Dumbledore grimaced around a chewy bite of toffee. "None. But I suppose that Imperio also had victims we were unaware of."

The oneiromancer snorted. "Selim´s model isn´t Imperio, Albus. It controls the will, not the desires." He flicked a biscuit crumb from his sleeve. "You would have known if Crowlet had James Potter modeled out."

The Headmaster nodded slowly, accepting Tiresius´s explanation, his eyes staring into the middle distance. "Harry is a strong-willed young man," he said softly, "He was able to withstand the Imperius Curse on his first try. Perhaps he will be strong enough for this as well."

Tiresius´s head shot up. "You´re going to tell him?" He sounded incredulous. Tiresius had a strong policy of keeping everyone else´s knowledge to a minimum.

Dumbledore´s eyes turned back to his. A faint smile hovered about his mouth. "Oh, I think the time for keeping Mr. Potter in the dark has long passed, my friend. Now he must be told everything." His head cocked to the side and his smile became more obvious. "If only because it may confuse the ermm ... Former Academic Crowlet´s model making process."

Feeling obscurely insulted, Tiresius opened his mouth and then shut it. He couldn´t argue with what was true. Setting the half-eaten toffee on the tray he got up. "I should see how Academic Merriman fairs." Dumbledore was smiling at him. He sighed. "I imagine that Bertand´s decision means that I am still going to have to keep contacting you through Professor Snape?"

"Yes, I am afraid so." Albus was bent over his unhappy bird. He got the feeling that the man was laughing at him. Tiresius gave one hard look at his old friend and former teacher and then walked to the door. He never got the chance to open it though because a man dressed in the most heavily darned robes he´d ever seen shoved it open, nearly smacking Councilor Tiresius in the nose. The two stared at each other for a moment when Dumbledore´s voice cut through the startled silence. "Academic Merriman is in the Hospital Wing, Remus. Apparently she was attacked by ..."

He didn´t finish because "Remus" whipped around after the first sentence and disappeared back down the stairs, appearing to take them two at a time.

Tiresius looked over his shoulder at the benignly smiling Headmaster and strongly remembered the man´s reputation of omniscience. He allowed a real smile to show on his face. "I won´t ask how you knew what he wanted to know, Albus ..."

Dumbledore beamed back. "Good! It should be quite obvious. That was Mr. Lupin, the secretary," he finished helpfully.

Tiresius laughed in response. "And when a werewolf barges into your office early in the morning you immediately assume he worried about his ..." He mentally cast about for a polite word to describe Atropos Merriman, "disagreeable boss?" he finally managed.

For some reason Dumbledore´s eyes flashed angrily. But he only said simply, "Yes," and took another healthy bite of toffee.

Shaking his head and feeling no less mystified, Tiresius turned away and walked down the steps at a more moderate pace than the deranged werewolf-secretary.

* * *

Harry wearily stifled a yawn as he trudged after Ron and Hermione through the empty halls. In the silence of the corridors their walking seemed to produce the same amount of noise as a brass band. This early in the morning even the ghosts were elsewhere resting or at least not actively traveling. The Fat Lady was unabashedly snoring when Hermione shoved her portrait open.

Harry had returned the night before from his talk with Sirius feeling as if he´d spent hours crying and doing complicated arithmetic. The combination of accepting Sirius´s continued criminality and trying to understand exactly why it was necessary had left him exhausted and utterly unprepared to explain the situation to his waiting friends. He had felt almost grateful that Ron´s battered face had managed to completely distract Gryffindor Tower, and, more importantly, Ron and Hermione, from his ostensible visit with Dumbledore. This wasn´t surprising either - by the time he had returned Ron nose had swollen to twice its original size and one of his eyes was turning an unpleasant shade of purple.

Hermione, with desultory help form Harry and the Twins, had convinced Ron to go to visit Madam Pomfrey. The process of getting Ron to the Hospital Wing and then dealing with the mediwitch´s carefully nonspecific questions handily distracted both Ron and Hermione from their subdued friend´s silence. When it was announced that Ron would have to wear a wad of gray plaster over his nose for the rest of the night, Ron´s unhappy reaction provided another distraction. The setting plaster completely covered Ron´s nose, making him look as if he´d smeared extremely lumpy porridge over his face. It also blocked his nostrils, hopelessly clogging his air passages and giving his voice a stuffed-up quality.

Madam Pomfrey had calmly ignored Ron´s grumbling and told him to return in the morning. With this behind him, it was easy for Harry to brush off Ron´s questions. Promising to talk later, he´d asked about Crabbe and Goyle´s strange attack and though Hermione´s eyes had narrowed at him suspiciously, she was sidetracked by Ron scratching at his porridge-plaster-nose-clogger. The argument that followed resulted in Ron´s insistence that the "bogie-catcher" be removed as early as possible. This meant that Ron would be waking with the sun and naturally also meant that Harry and Hermione would be getting up too, at an indecently early hour of the morning.

Harry got no sleep that night. Sirius´s unhappy explanation rolled around in his head adding itself to his normal catalog of sleep deprivation topics. Red-eyed and too exhausted to consider lying in bed any longer, Harry got up at the same time as Ron the next morning.

His friend had obviously gotten as little sleep as Harry, though his reasons were more physical. Ron´s throat rasped when he spoke dried out from his enforced breathing through his mouth. Even Hermione, normally galvanized by the chance to be punctual, had looked puffy around the eyes when they met her in the common room. They´d walked towards the Hospital Wing in relative silence, Hermione leading the way.

When they reached the last turn in the corridor, Harry allowed himself to fall behind his friends. While he rubbed at his gritty eyes, he heard Ron mutter a low-voiced apology to Hermione for stepping on the back of her robes. With the Hospital Wing doors in front of him, he was plainly anxious to get there quickly.

Hermione´s murmured response was completely ignored though when they actually entered. The place seemed to crawling with people. A group of witches and wizards, all in identical dark blue robes were clustered in one corner, all talking at once. Madam Pomfrey was in a heated discussion with another wizard dressed in the same blue, but with an odd cap set on his head. They were both gesturing furiously. While Harry watched the wizard made a violent motion and managed to knock his own cap askew. Even worse, they saw Professor Snape standing slightly apart and scowling at a clipboard.

As they moved closer they could see what it was that was causing the disturbance. Hermione let out a confused and horrified gasp that was echoed by a muffled yelp from Ron. Harry completely understood.

Academic Merriman lay in a Muggle hospital bed, with tubes and wires running over her body. An I.V. was attached to her arm and various machines that Harry recognized vaguely from hospital shows and movies were haphazardly grouped around her. None of them were working, of course. One, which Harry thought might be a heart monitor, even had its electrical cord torn in half.

While they were watching, Madam Pomfrey broke off her argument with the wizard to call over her shoulder, "Severus! Have you figured out what sort of potions the Muggles have been giving her? I can´t adequately treat someone if I don´t know what they´ve been given!" She turned at looked pointedly at the wizard in front of her. "Or if I don´t know what´s been done to them already."

The wizard in the cap looked ready to stamp his foot with rage. "I told you, madam. These are all Muggle machines. I don´t know what they do!"

A blue robed witch, who Harry realized must be an oneiromancer, pointed at the I.V. "Do you suppose that this is blood draining device? A leech machine, maybe?"

Professor Snape opened his mouth, probably ready to point out the bag of clear liquid attached to Merriman´s arm, when Hermione´s voice piped up next to Harry. "Actually it´s used to feed and hydrate her. Since she´s unconscious." When the people in the room turned to stare at her, Hermione´s voice wobbled slightly. "And I think that they sometimes put medicine ... potion in it too ..." Now she completely trailed off. Ron, after gazing at her incredulously, was staring at his feet and hiding a wide grin.

Harry snorted slightly. Leave it to Hermione to get every teacher in the room looking at her, he thought, caught between fondness and exasperation. Though Harry had to admit that someone had to tell them what an I.V. was and, with Snape standing around, it was far better her than him.

Her information seemed to have rendered the adults speechless. Finally, one of the oneiromancers, who had been frowning at the dark screen of the heart monitor, asked incredulously, "Sick Muggles eat through their arms?" A muffled titter sounded after that.

Hermione seemed caught between pleasure at being able to share knowledge and indignation on behalf of Muggles everywhere. She blushed angrily. "They need the food in their blood. That´s what the tube does. It also is used to ..."

Snape´s smooth voice cut across the room. "Miss Granger, though I do not doubt that you are well-versed in ... Muggle practices, perhaps you should save your lectures for those with the time to listen to them."

Harry saw Ron reach out and touch Hermione´s hand as they both stiffened with outrage. It was typical Snape to take what you had and then charge you for it too.

Fortunately for Gryffindor House, Madam Pomfrey was so relieved at the chance to have someone who knew what the tubes stuck in Merriman´s arm and up her nose were for that she spoke up before Ron could say something both impolite and richly deserved to their Potions teacher. "Come now, Severus. It was you who suggested we roust poor Professor Dexter out of his bed. Now we don´t need him!" She fixed Hermione with a delighted and slightly desperate eye. "I am certain Miss Granger can help us with these - these things." Her wide gesture took in the whole set of wires, tubes, and burnt out machines.

Harry couldn´t hold back a snicker as Hermione opened her mouth and was in turn tugged closer the Academic Merriman´s bed. When the oneiromancers made to trail after her, Madam Pomfrey spun about. Her voice was dangerously level. "It is very early in the morning and Academic Merriman seems unlikely to expire in the next few hours. If you would be so kind as to wait somewhere else, I would be very appreciative."

The capped wizard seemed on the brink of offering a protest, but one look into the mediwitch´s eye seemed to decide the matter. Gathering his robes around him, he led the group of wizards and witches out of the room. One sniffed audibly at Ron´s gray-smeared face in passing.

As Harry and Ron listened, Hermione began a careful explanation of what each machine was for. She also explained that they all could be removed safely since most weren´t functioning at all. Ron, apparently resigned to not having his nose-stuffer removed anytime soon, plopped onto a hospital bed. He leaned his head against a pillow and watched Hermione talk.

Harry couldn´t help but fidget. He didn´t quite want to leave Ron alone, but Hermione´s explanation was painfully boring, like listening to instructions on how to dress one´s self. On top of which, the leisure time allowed him to begin thinking about Sirius again. He almost wished that Snape, who had given them both a hard glance and returned to reading Merriman´s chart, would begin tormenting him. At least then he could have felt ill-used instead of useless.

It was an immeasurable relief to see Lupin burst into the Hospital in the middle of Hermione´s third explanation of electrical cords. He had plainly been running and spared Ron and Harry only a single glance before he hurried towards Academic Merriman´s bed. Professor Snape had looked up with a sneer at his entrance and seemed ready to say something snide when Remus gasped out, "I only just found out she was missing and the Headmaster told me where she was. Who attacked her?" Taking in the full effect of the tubes and wires Lupin looked utterly confounded. "My God! Were they torturing her?"

Harry could hear Hermione´s frustrated sigh from across the room.

* * *

At the quiet house in London with the rain cloud hanging overhead, Selim Crowlet put the finishing touches on his last cardboard cutout. A child´s watercolor box sat next to him, the red and orange paint almost entirely used up. It had taken him all night to finish and position all of the cutouts.

He had learned of Lucius Malfoy´s attack on his counterpart at Hogwarts - Crowlet always knew what was going on around him - and was vaguely pleased that she would have a delay put to her work. Unlike his master, he did not rely on Lord Voldemort´s unmodelability to guarantee his success. He knew he was probably quicker than this oneiromancer because he was quicker than everyone but he liked to think that he had been given yet another advantage.

Carefully cleaning his brush, he set the cutout aside to dry and looked over at the model. He felt a surge of satisfaction that he had long ago forgotten. It was when he worked that he realized that he hated the Academy more for denying him the worked he loved than for stripping him of the prestige that work had given him. He still blamed himself for underestimating their lack of imagination.

Shaking aside his anger with practiced ease, he checked over the other cutouts that had been carefully positioned to catch the light correctly. This model had been interesting to make. It had been a long while since he had been able to work so heavily with light and shadow, but the subject seemed to revel in it.

The boy spends his life under the shadow of five impressive brothers and what does he do at the first opportunity to escape? He finds someone with a shadow so broad and long that it would take a hundred Head Boy brothers to equal it. Fascinating.

After he adjusted the angle of one of the cutouts, he walked across the room to check the maroon book with blank pages. He hadn´t set up a reading glass. After all, he wasn´t particularly interested in information. When the time came for words to be written in the book it would be Selim who wrote them. Or, perhaps more specifically, the Dark Lord.

* * *