Inner Demons

Inner Demons

"Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!
A farewell, and then forever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerful twinkle lights me,
Dark despair around benights me."

Robert Burns

***Chapter Two***

2008

James Evans ran his fingers through his messy sandy brown hair in a last ditch attempt to look presentable. He'd been toying with it (an unconscious habit of his) all day in his frustration and it now stood up in all directions in sheer protest at the abuse. At 27 years of age with a steady job as Chief Detective of the Police Homicide Department in the relatively peaceful city of Melbourne, James was a normal young man with sandy brown hair and warm brown eyes. Getting out of his car and lugging out his briefcase, he went to the door and after a minute of fumbling in his pockets for his keys, he unlocked the door, disengaged the alarm and stepped into his house. An empty bird cage stood by the door and he stopped briefly to peer into it before he shrugged and walked into the kitchen.

James had just fixed dinner when the sound of the door closing with a slight bang caught his attention. A voice called to him from the hall.

"Is that dinner I smell on the stove?"

A minute later, a tall, brown haired man entered the kitchen. He grinned winningly at James and dumped his bag on the floor, but not before hanging his stethoscope on its hook with almost obsessive care.

"I swear you love that stethoscope more than you love me," joked James, putting down the wooden spoon he was holding.

"Well I've had it for longer than I've had you, haven't I?" retorted the other man, coming to wrap his arms around his waist. He leant in for a kiss. "Don't worry, I promise I still like you."

"You're just saying that because I consistently have a meal ready for you when you come home from work." James laughed and kissed him back. "I love you too...especially because your desserts are far superior to any of my own." He raised an eyebrow suggestively.

"Hold that thought. Let me have a shower and I'll be ready for dinner...oh and take out those contacts - I like seeing your amazing eyes."

James smiled and obligingly removed his contacts, dropping them into their case and taking out his glasses. Then, reaching into a pocket, he drew out a wand and tapping his head muttered finite incantatum. After a moment, in the place of James Evans, stood a young man with the same messy, but now inky black, hair and startling green eyes. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and the hero of the Great War that had ended Voldemort's three decade reign of terror, ruffled his hair with a hand and turned back to the stove. Tapping the sauce and spaghetti with his wand, he placed a stasis spell on it to keep it in perfect condition, listening to the sound of the shower water and to slightly off key singing. He smiled.

*

As Harry made dinner, he couldn't help thinking what a long way he had come from the boy who had defeated Lord Voldemort. The Great War had left Harry tormented and guilt-ridden, transformed from a confident young man to one who was insular and self conscious. After he had left St Mungo's Hospital he immediately made plans to get as far away as he could to escape the guilt, feeling that the Sorting Hat had ultimately been right, he was no Gryffindor. Gryffindors didn't run away from their troubles, they faced them straight on. Maybe he was supposed to be in Slytherin after all, or Hufflepuff...in fact he wasn't sure if he deserved to be a wizard at all. Setting up an account for himself under a new name, he transferred money from his parent's vault to the account and immediately arranged to buy a flat in the furthest place he could imagine going - Australia. Within a week, fully aware of the massive surge in public grief and shock at his disappearance, James Evans left England with the intention never to return.

Coming to Melbourne had been a slight shock - the people were friendly, the weather was awful and best of all, no one knew him at sight. His new appearance was based on people he had known in school; Seamus' sandy hair, Hermione's brown eyes and even Ron's freckles - all serving to make him unrecognisable. In the Muggle world people passed him by without a glance, and in the Wizarding community, where he would sometimes spend time, people would no longer beg him for his autograph. For the first time since he was eleven years old, Harry felt free.

Living as a Muggle, with only Hedwig to keep him company in a tiny flat in the outer suburbs, Harry quickly came to realise that his skills were limited. Muggles would probably not accept 'proven ability to fight and defeat Dark Lords', 'excellent Seeker' or even 'can perform a superior Levitation Charm', as relevant job skills. So he chose a profession that he knew he at least had some experience in - detective work. How many times had he, Ron and Hermione used their intellectual skills - intentionally or not? In their first year it had been saving the Philosopher's stone, in their second it was the Muggleborn students from a basilisk and in their third it was Sirius from, well, everyone.

He had been worried, at first, that without his two best friends he'd be useless but as it turned out, he was genuinely good at what he did. He joined the force at a young age and quickly rose to become the youngest person to head the Homicide Department in half a century. He had the highest solve rate in the department and was called in to take over cases that had others baffled. He kept the streets free of serial killers, sex murderers and psychotic slaughterers. He found his work hard, frustrating but ultimately satisfying. And besides, an exhausting day at work kept the nightmares at bay.

Perhaps the reason he had rocketed so quickly though the ranks was because he took three times as many cases as any other detectives and worked feverishly until the wee hours of morning to finish them, something he would rarely do at Hogwarts, and only then at Hermione's constant insistence.

"Go home, Evans." his superiors would say, exasperated but secretly admiring the young Brit's tenacity.

"I will in a moment, sir," would be the reply - but the moment would quickly stretch into hours.

After a while, his superiors had stopped bothering. Little did they know that the nights after solving a case were the ones that Harry dreaded the most. A quiet period invariably left him waking up screaming in the middle of the night, tormented by images of the dead faces of Sirius, Hagrid and the hundreds of others who gave their life in battle. He also had nightmares of Ron, Hermione and even Malfoy dropping dead at his feet, eyes glassy and empty. He started visiting his doctor, who diagnosed him with 'acute insomnia related to post-traumatic syndrome' and prescribed sleeping pills. The doctor later sent him to sleep clinics and after reports of massively disturbed sleep, he had prescribed stronger and stronger drugs, none of which had worked. It was times like this that Harry almost wished he had Snape to brew Dreamless Sleep potions for him...almost.

Despite his job satisfaction, every night Harry would come home to an empty house and even Hedwig couldn't pull him out of his loneliness. He missed Ron, Hermione and all the friends he had left behind...he missed the gentle Hagrid who would listen to all his worries ...and he missed Sirius who could always be relied upon to cheer him up. Sometimes he wished he had never run away - then the guilt would come flooding back like a cancer which festered in him and ate away at his soul until he felt there was nothing left of him to feel guilt. He was always wrong though because it always came surging back.

It was around the time that he was plunged into the blackest depression that he was in charge of case where a young man had been severely beaten, and Harry had taken him to the Alfred Hospital Emergency Department where team of doctors and nurses awaited him. As the residents got to work inserting IVs and a catheter, the senior doctor moved aside to talk to Harry about the patient. Sitting in the tearoom later, Stephen Bates and James Evans quickly discovered that they had a connection and attraction sprung up between them. His relationship quickly gained him notoriety at work that he didn't want. The police force was progressive but homosexual detectives were uncommon and Harry found himself to be the subject of many whispered hallway conversations. At Hogwarts, similar scrutiny would have destroyed the little self-confidence that the younger Harry had, but now older and wiser, Harry simply waited for the hubbub to die down. Three weeks later the incident was all but forgotten.

Harry found in his partner an intelligent, funny and caring person and finally got the companionship that he had yearned for. When Stephen was with him, Harry's nightmares grew less frequent, though they did not vanish all together - a lifetime of guilt left its scars on his soul. To the delight of his superiors, Harry now had an excuse to return home because now he had someone to return home to. Thoughts of England slowly fading, he at last felt normal; he had a job that he enjoyed and someone who loved him and whom he loved in return.

*

His shower finished, Stephen, Harry's partner of five years, re-entered the kitchen - no longer in his work shirt and trousers but wearing a far more relaxed t-shirt and tracksuit pants. The house that they had moved into three years ago was in the suburb of Balwyn, close enough to their respective work places to be convenient but far enough away that they could maintain the illusion that they were getting away from work.

"Hmm, much more sexy than your other look," he murmured, burying his face in Harry's dark hair.

Harry looked at his partner, the urge to grin maniacally bubbling up inside of him. "What, you didn't find me sexy before you knew what I looked like?' Harry's tone was teasing.

"Your hair and eyes were different but you've still got that gorgeous accent...and your amazingly hot body." Stephen winked and walked to the TV.

It had been about six months into their relationship before he had told Stephan everything: who he really was, his background, why he ran away, and most importantly, that he was a wizard. The other man had taken it surprisingly well, Harry supposed it was the open-mindedness inherent in doctors, but he had since insisted that, at least when he was with him, Harry remove all the Glamours and be who he really was, though it had taken him about a month to get used to calling him 'Harry' and not 'James'. It was strange, mused Harry watching his partner's retreating form, they had only been together five years but at times he felt like he had known him for a lifetime. Scrubbing at his hair with the towel, Stephen flicked through the channels on the TV and paused for a moment as the ever-frantic doctors and nurses of 'ER' scrambled around on the TV screen.

"Ouch...." he grimaced, towel and hair forgotten, "that intubation was completely botched! God, what's he trying to do? Perforate the patient's diaphragm?"

Harry smiled to himself as he rummaged around in the cupboard for cutlery. Stephen was a self-diagnosed obsessive compulsive and hated the tiny details that the doctors on the show got wrong. He claimed to hate the show but inevitably it didn't stop him from watching it.

"Come on, dinner's ready," he called.

Denouncing it as utter nonsense and finding nothing else of interest on the other channels, Stephen switched off the TV and picked a CD to put on, instead.

"How was your day?" asked Harry as he undid the stasis spell on dinner and served it onto two plates.

"Bloody awwwful." A yawn bisected the word awful, drawing it out. "Four intubations, two overdoses and a million other cases. And what's worse Richards from orthopaedics was on so we had about half a dozen ortho patients waiting while he stuffed around doing God only knows what." He threw up his hands in exasperation then paused and smiled apologetically at Harry. "Sorry, I guess you don't need to hear this."

"You can vent all you like, with me, you know that." Smiling, Harry levitated the plates, the cutlery, two glasses and a bottle of wine to the table. Another flick of his wand lit the candles on the table.

"Even after four and a half years, I love it when you do that." Stephen looked as delighted as a kid seeing his first magic show as he plucked the bottle out of the air and poured the wine. "You're awfully useful around the house!"

"Ah, so that's why you agreed so readily to move in with me," he teased "for my wand skills."

"You have more wand skills than one." The brown eyes blinked innocently while Harry snorted into his wine.

"My, you are happy to see me today."

"Let's finish dinner and I'll show you just how happy."

*

They lay in bed a few hours later, Harry's dark head pillowed on Stephen's chest while Stephen massaged his shoulders with his free hand.

"You're so tense. Your muscles are all bunching up."

"After what we just did I'd be superhuman not to be all tense," joked Harry, raising his head to kiss his partner's neck.

"Ha ha..." his tone was sarcastic but smiled anyway, "seriously, tell me what it is. Is it something to do with work?"

Harry was silent for a long moment then nodded. "You know that case I was telling you about?"

"The Western suburbs sex murderer?"

"That's him. Well we've found him."

"That's great news!" When Harry was silent, Stephen looked down questioningly at him. "Isn't it? I mean you've been working on it for three months."

"Yeah...it's good news. We have the warrant for his arrest. I wanted to be there when the nailed the bastard but the Chief's ordered me to go home and leave it to the others." Harry's voice picked up volume and aggression. "I've worked my ass off to be there when they slapped the cuffs on that fucking bastard and they won't let me be there! I want to see every minute of fear that he's inflicted on others, on his face and they won't bloody well let me be there!"

"Shh...you've done all the hard work. Besides you'll be there for the interrogation won't you?"

"Yeah...I guess..." Harry sighed. "Sorry...I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"Hey, I'm here to listen to you, love." He kissed the dark hair. "I don't just love you for your body, I love you because in spite of all that you've been through and seen, you still care. That's a very rare quality, I've found."

Harry lifted his head, smiling, and leaned forward to kiss him. The kiss deepened and soon enough they found themselves grinding against the other.

"Not..." gasped Stephen breathlessly, "that I don't love your body...mind you."

Harry moaned softly, sealing his lips over his lover's. "Must be those...wand skills..."

He felt himself nearing the brink and he pressed his hips to Stephen's with greater urgency, judging by the way that his lover was digging his fingers into his back that he too was nearing his peak. It was that moment that the phone rang noisily. After a brief scuffle to disentangle themselves from the sheets, each grabbed for the phone on his side of the bed.

"Doctor Bates!"

"Detective Evans!"

They had decided when they first moved in together, that they would get two separate lines installed in the bedroom for each side of the bed - one number for the Police Department and the other for the Emergency Department. A relieved Stephen put down his receiver and rolled back onto the bed, catching his breath, then watched Harry's flushed face as he tried to hold a conversation while simultaneously attempting to consume greater than normal amounts of oxygen. He was fighting a losing battle.

"Yes...Jones? Oh...yeah I'm fine, I was just...working out." The green eyes looked over the bed in amusement. "What is it?...You got him?! Are you serious?...Oh, right stupid question, of course you are. How did it go?...Four people? Are they alright?...Good, but the bastard has a lot to answer for...Sure, I'll be right in...Right, see you soon."

He hung up and turned to Stephen, eyes alight with excitement. "They got the guy! He managed to injure four officers but they're alright. They want me to come in for the interrogation."

Stephen laughed at the sight of Harry looking about as excited as a kid on Christmas Day. He knew how hard Harry had worked on this case and now that it was over, he was looking forward to having him home more often. Not that he could talk considering the odd hours that ED kept him working to but recently Harry had been more absent than he had been.

"Well, I'll see you in the morning then." Stephen smiled. "Wake me up when you get home if I'm still asleep and we'll celebrate."

Harry smiled, genuinely touched by his partner's understanding of the situation - lesser people would have let him go but not without great reluctance.

"Sorry about this...you know I'd much rather stay here."

"Of course I do Harry." he smiled, mischievously. "Besides, you can make it up to me next week when I'm on call."

"Gladly. What would I do without you?"

Stephen smiled and pulled him down for a quick goodbye kiss, but Harry leaned into it, pushing them both back down onto the bed in a tangle of naked limbs.

"Don't you have to go and interrogate?" The tone was teasing.

"It can wait," grinned Harry.

*

A few weeks later, Harry came home from work, rather exhausted. He checked the mailbox but save for some junk mail, it was empty. Walking inside, he checked on Hedwig but she hooted sleepily to his touch and tucked her head under her wing. No new mail from the Wizarding world either then. Harry yawned - yesterday had been Stephen's birthday and both had stayed up late to...celebrate. Grinning, he put down his bag on the kitchen bench and opened the fridge to pour himself some juice. Draining his first glass, he refilled it and walked to the dinner table upon which lay his present to Stephen and next to it a letter marked with his name in Stephen's neat, cursive handwriting. Opening it, he sat down on the couch to read.

Harry, (it said)

Sorry I'm not here to greet you but I was called in to ED just after you left - Kieran's sick (lucky bastard) so I get the short end of the stick.

Anyway, I guess I just wanted to write to you because I don't think I thanked you properly for last night. First off, the sex last night was amazing! Didn't know you had it in you...or me! (Harry chuckled at his partner's intentional double meaning). Secondly, but more seriously, the Present.

The present in question had been an album of photos of their years together redone Wizarding style. It had taken about a month to compile the photos and get the Wizard photographer on Yarra Lane, the Melbournian Diagon Alley equivalent, to redevelop them - but it had been worth every minute of effort that it took.

Second only to you I have never had anything which I will treasure so dearly. Seeing the pictures move has brought back so many wonderful memories in a way that normal - or I should say Muggle - pictures could never do.

In the five years that we've been together I don't think that I've said anything that expresses the extent of my love, affection and admiration for you. I wonder if there's a way that I could say it infinitely to you but I guess that you can see it in my eyes every time I look at you, just as I do in yours.

We've had our ups and downs, I suppose that's normal, but no matter what happens remember that I love you and will always love you.

Gosh...look at me. It started as a simple letter and I've waxed on for a bit haven't I? Still, I meant every word.

Love you,

Stephen

P.s. I finish at seven tonight so meet me in front of the hospital and we can go out for dinner...something on Southbank maybe? Your turn to pick!

Harry grinned and folding up the letter carefully, placed it on the coffee table. He'd have to show Stephen just how much he loved him, tonight. He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece which read 5:39, giving him enough time to have a shower, change into something casual and pick a restaurant. Getting up, he didn't even notice when he started humming.

*

When Harry pulled up in front of the hospital the first thing he noticed was the crowd and a few police officers struggling to maintain control over the mass of bodies and TV reporters who were swarming around the entrance like flies to rotting meat. Harry felt a dread growing in the pit of his stomach and spreading to his limbs like a cancer. With total disregard for the traffic rules, he parked the car where it was and dashed out, ignoring the indignant police officer who hurried over to him. Pushing his way forward he was momentarily blinded as he caught the glare of camera lights full on. One of many news reporters looked grimly into the camera, valiantly ignoring the hubbub behind her.

"In breaking news a gunman has just opened fire inside the Emergency Department at the Alfred Hospital no less than twenty minutes ago. As you can see behind me, police are already on the scene but their attempts to enter the building have been repelled by the threat of hostages. Reports from witnesses state that the gunman had been demanding violently to see a patient in the Emergency Department and when security was called he pulled out a shot gun and began firing. The identity of the attacker is as of yet unknown as is the status of the hostages, amongst whom are at least six children. We'll keep you updated as the news comes in. Back to you in the studio, Kerry."

Gunshots! The dread within him surged and with renewed energy he pushed forward.

"I'm sorry, sir, but this area is off limits." A young, nervous looking police officer placed a hand on his shoulder, gently but firmly.

In frustration Harry whipped out his badge. "I'm Detective Evans, let me through!"

Vaguely aware of the apologies of the young officer, he hurried forward and was stopped again, this time by a familiar face.

"Jones! What's going on? How are the hostages?"

"God only knows, boss," Robert Jones shook his head grimly, "I've been here since this fiasco started. We've tried to get in, even called in the negotiators, but the guy keeps threatening to blow out the brains of his hostages. I think he's already shot a few people."

"Bob...Stephen is in there!"

"Shit." Genuine sympathy flooded the other man's face. "Hell I'm sorry James..."

Harry looked around desperately until his eyes fell upon a fire truck, which was standing by, made more conspicuous by the lack of ambulances, which had all been diverted to other hospitals.

"Hey...I've got an idea." He pulled Bob forward through the crowd to the fire captain who was pensively watching the situation. "Captain? I'm Detective Evans."

"Detective. What can I do for you?"

Harry pointed up to the helipad above their heads. "Do you think you could get us up there?"

*

Fifteen, agonising minutes later three men crept forward, guns drawn towards the upper entrance to the emergency department. Harry motioned the other two men to take the stairs down to the main level while he searched for a grate. Spotting one, he looked surreptitiously around then drew out his wand.

"Evanesco!"

Obligingly, the grate disappeared and he ducked into the vent. Casting a Silencing Charm on his shoes, he shuffled forward until he came to the first air vent and peered down into it. In the room below, two people stood huddled in the corner, one crying and the other looking frightened. The next gate: same story of crouched figures. The next: third time lucky. This room was the doctor's office and conveniently enough it was empty. - the doctors must have rushed to help when the shooting started. Vanishing the air vent with his wand, he peered cautiously down then dropped silently, gun at the ready. Dropping into a crouch, he inched forward into the next room...and quickly held his fingers to his lips as one of the residents, whom he had met before, started in surprise.

"James..." the girl whispered. "What..."

"Shh...Where's Stephen?"

Her eyes widened and she shook her head.

"I...I don't know...But oh James...He was looking after the patient...he...they were in the resuscitation unit...Room 2...I wanted to help but then the shooting started and I..."

Feeling a lump of fear rising to his throat he quietened her with a quick gesture and she obediently fell silent. Now knowing his destination, he kept low and moved. Across the room he saw Bob and the other officer look to him for directions and he pointed towards the room. The fifteen metres to the resuscitation unit felt like five hundred but as he neared he could hear a soft sobbing emanating from the room in question. At least there was someone alive in there.

"Shut the fuck up!" The gravelly voice that spoke was followed by the sharp sound of a slap and then muffled crying.

Lip curling back in anger, Harry motioned to the other two to take position by the door and lifted three fingers. They nodded, watching him carefully, every muscle tensed. One finger dropped...then two...

"NOW!"

They burst into the room, weapons raised.

"Police! Drop the weapon! Drop the fucking weapon!"

The gunman, caught offguard, turned...and it was at that moment that Harry caught the sight of the bloodshed in the room. Two women, both nurses, were grasping each other both of them sobbing. Of the four others, their blood now stained the crisp white vinyl floor, spreading out like wine being spilt on a pristine tablecloth. One woman, the patient, lay dead on the trolley while a young man, a doctor that Harry didn't recognise, lay slumped over her, his blood mingling with hers. By the door, a hospital security officer lay crumpled like a rag doll. And in the centre of the room, in front of the bed lay the final figure, shot as he had attempted to shield the patient from harm.

"Stephen!"

Spurned into action by the depthless horror in Harry's voice, the gunman raised his weapon and fired. But even as the officer beside him fell, Harry's arm was already up pumping bullet after bullet into the killer, hearing a scream rise up, only to realise that it was his own.

"James!!" Two strong arms wrapped around him, shaking him. "James you got him! Stop!"

With an agonised cry of grief he broke away from Bob and rushed forward, pulling Stephen's limp form into his lap, feeling as though his heart had been wrenched out of his chest.

"No! No Stephen!" the cry ripped from his throat. "Stephen!!"

He buried his face into the dark hair, remembering how only last he had held him and now....

"No...."

He cried, pleaded and begged Stephen to come back, to wake up and tell him to stop being so silly - and if he had lived he would have done so had Harry called for him so distraughtly. But the dead were selfish and did not return no matter how desperately they are needed, no matter how wholly they are loved. Not Hagrid, not Sirius and not Stephen. Hugging the familiar form to his chest, Harry put his face down on his shoulder and did what he had not done even after his godfather had been torn away from him; he cried.