Harry Potter and the Lake They Call Michigan

Chapter 5 Detentions

Chicago- 3pm in the car

So we're in the car making our way across town to squeeze one of my informants about a burglary case that is about to fall apart and Fraser brings up the werewolf thing again.

"You know Ray, myths of lycanthropy date as far back as ancient Rome. They are likely related to the story of the she-wolf and the twins Romulus and . . ."

"Frase, I think I've had enough of wolves for a while, okay?" I interrupt. A disgruntled whine comes from Dief who is lying in the back seat. "Not, you furball," I toss over my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Ray." He says that, but I know he won't let it go so easily. He has some reason, some moral or something that he wants to make sure I hear about, whether I like it or not. We ride in silence for a while. Not long.

"Ray, is there a moratorium on Shakespeare as well?" Snarky!

"Yeah! You know me Frase; my favorite Shakespearian actor is Bugs Bunny." I know he knows what I'm talking about. I made him sit through a couple of hours of Loony Tunes just last week. I got tired of explaining so much.

"2b or not 2b, that is the question," he mimics in a perfect Mel Blanc. "I admit I found the use of homonyms quite clever. The deliberately ambiguous use of the graphemes '2' and 'b' in the stead of the verb 'to be'. . . ." At that point I stopped listening. Graphemes? Leave it to the Mountie to dissect Bugs. Eww! Dissect bugs. Even Dief is complaining.

"What do you mean like yesterday?" It takes me a minute to realize he is talking to the wolf, who answers.

"Yipp snarl woof."

"You mean to say . . . Oh dear!"

"What is it Frase?" I'm actually waiting for him to translate wolf for me.

"Capitol B Ray, Capitol B!" he's speaking Canadian again.

"Huh?"

"Turn the car around Ray; I know how to find Black." So I do it (off a cliff, I tell you!). He's talking to Dief again; "Oh, of course you don't spell and grammar was never your strong suit."

"Roof yipp yipp snarl."

"Now Dief, I'll thank you not to insult Ray's colloquialisms. They make his speech quite colorful and he is still far more linguistically proficient than you are."

"Fraser, do not defend me to the wolf."

"As you wish."

So we go back to that dismal alley where we let the big black dog go. We follow Dief, again sniffing out the trail, as Frase is trying to convince me that Black turned into the dog. I ain't buying it.

"Just 'cause you imagine the wolf told you that the guy is a werewolf, doesn't mean he is. It just means you need your head examined."

"Not a werewolf, an animal transformationist. Many cultures have legends detailing powerful magicians or shamen who could take animal form; the Massai tribe in Africa, the Inuit, the . . ."

"Do not start with the Inuit, Fraser!" I warn.

"There are more thing in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." More Shakespeare.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, and 'Even a man who is pure in heart and says his prayers at night, may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright . . .' These are stories Fraser, fairytales, myths and legends designed to keep kids from wondering off at night or taking candy from strangers. They ain't real!"

"The consensus among folklorists is that there is a component of truth at the core of all myths."

"We're here. I'm officially lodging a complaint on this one. You're wasting my time chasing around after your zombie hunting were-dog, Frase!"

Dief has led us to the doors of the Hotel California. We go inside. The woman behind the front desk looks like she might start getting huffy about Dief, so I flash my badge and she backs down. Dief leads us to the elevator (surprise) and we get on. Hey look at that it actually moves when we push the buttons. First floor, the wolf doesn't get off, second floor ditto, third through fourteenth nada; fifteenth he leads us to a room.

"Okay, we got a room. Nothing says our guy's in there but just say he is. How do we get him out?" I ask.

"Perhaps housekeeping. . ." he starts.

"One; we don't got a warrant and B; I just don't see a judge taking the wolf's word on this," I interrupt.

"We could knock," he says.

I consider that a moment. He is probably not in there. We knock and John and Sarah Tourist are gonna open the door looking for their room service order. Then Fraser will see how much he ain't in there and maybe drop this whole damn thing. Of course if he is in there, he could start shooting but I don't think that is all that entirely possible so I agree.

"Okay, we knock." We knock. I pull my gun. Better safe than dead, right. The door opens and Holy Flerking Snit it's him! Luckily Fraser is not as shocked at that as I am and has him pinned to the wall and ready for cuffing in a Tuktoyaktuk minute.

I read him his rights and we take him to the car. Dief won't get in. "Alright I give, you were right, Dief." No action. "Come on, don't you want to get credit for the arrest? I'll give you the collar." Humor's not working either. "Donuts?" In he goes. I should have known- got a pissy wolf? Donuts required.

We settle in the car and Fraser glances at the clock. "Oh dear, Ray is that the correct time?"

"Fraser, you set the clock. You tell me."

"I hadn't realized it had gotten so late. Would it be possible to make a short stop at the Consulate on our way to the precinct?"

"I don't know Fraser, standard operating procedure, field manual chapter seven. The arresting officer shall transfer the suspect to the nearest station house for processing . . . with dispatch." I can't keep the laughter out of my voice.

"Very well Ray, I'm sure I can smooth things over with Inspector Thatcher when I report for duty tomorrow." Ooo, he played the ice card.

"Nah, I'm just yanking your chain, we can stop."

"Thank you, kindly."

When we pull up next to the Canadian Consulate I ask, "So, what's the Ice Queen need? You forget her dry cleaning again?"

"Constable Turnbull needs . . . It's not important. I'll just be a minute." He gets out and starts across the street.

Black, who has not said word one yet, pipes up, "Um . . . As we might be a while, could I get out and stretch my legs? Maybe go to the loo? I was asleep when you knocked so I didn't get a chance." I look back at him.

"No."

"I'm afraid I'll mess your car."

"You think I haven't heard that one before?"

"It is rather urgent."

"Not my car. You piss in it, I just sign out a new one."

"Oh." Then the wolf jumps into the front and starts making intimate with my ear, which I figure means he wants to 'use the loo' too.

"Okay, okay Dief, just stop slobbering on me." Out we go, into the Consulate and down the hall to the can.

"Uh, can you take these things off?" He gestures with is cuffed wrists.

"No."

"Oh." Pleading look on his face. The bathroom doesn't have a window. Even a big black dog couldn't get out.

"Fine, but I don't want any crap from you. I am being a nice guy, so be good." He nods and I reach for my keys. He makes a run for it as I look down to try and find the handcuff key which is never where it is supposed to be. In a flash he is down the hall and making for the back door. Dief is right behind him and I dart after them. Where is a Mountie when you need one? I know there are at least two of them around here. As I clear the back door I see Turnbull grab Black by the shoulders and twist him down to the ground. It is just then that I realize Turnbull is in a skirt 'cause I'm getting mooned. Oh, not a skirt, a kilt- worn in the traditional manner.

I realize Fraser is standing behind me when he speaks. "That was quite disturbing." Yeah, if anything will get an impolite reaction from Fraser it's unexpected nudity.

"You can say that again," I say and we trot down the steps to take back my prisoner. Thatcher who was on the far side of the small patch of grass that comprises the Consulate's back yard meets us next to Turnbull who is now sitting on top of an unconscious Black. Considering what we just saw, that is even more disturbing.

"Constable, who is this man?" Thatcher demands.

"Detective Vecchio, Sir?"

"No, not him, him!" She points first to me and then to Black.

"Sirius Black, Sir,"

"Ah. And how did he er . . . come to be sprawled underneath one of my constables in the back garden of the Consulate?" I can't believe she stopped and thought about it and then still went with the word 'come'.

"Ray?" Fraser looks to me like I know what is going on.

"Uh, I brought him in to use the ca . . . er washroom. This is what I get for being a nice guy. So, Turnbull you trying out a new look for the Uniform?

"Ray, I'm certain that the R.C.M.P. would not be so impractical as to ask officers to wear such little leg protection, especially those posted to the far northern detachments. A nice floor length perhaps . . ." Thatcher stifles a laugh, but Turnbull blanches, stands up, straightens his skir . . . kilt and says;

"Decidedly not Detective. I would not presume to alter the Uniform. This is my family's tartan."

"That's a relief." I'd never get anything done with the chance of seeing so much of Fraser so close at hand. Brain, don't go there please. "So do I even want to ask?" I ask.

"The cattlemen's association is going to be in town and I'm preparing a special presentation. I am a descendant of the Scottish Nobleman William Turn e Bull who got his name by wrestling a charging bull to the ground and turning his head thereby breaking his neck. Thus, he saved the life of King Robert the Bruce who commemorated the event by renaming him. William Turn e Bull was also famous for going into battle with a big black dog at his side. Constable Fraser was late for his cue as the raging bull so I assumed that this man was standing in his stead. Inspector Thatcher was gracious enough to stand in for the King." It's official; all Canadians speak in soliloquies, even Turnbull.

"So okay, thanks for grabbing him. I'll just uh . . . Let's get him back in the car."

"I'm afraid I can't do that Ray" Fraser says.

"I concur. By rights he is a Canadian prisoner now," Thatcher adds.

"Um, I already arrested him. He's mine."

"He is on Canadian soil and therefore if he is in anyone's custody it is mine." Thatcher is suddenly in my face. Well as much as a Canadian can be which is to say, not really.

"I'm taking him." I pull Black, who has regained consciousness, to his feet.

Fraser puts his arm on my elbow and says, "Ray, Inspector Thatcher is correct. The Consulate is legally considered Canadian soil. Since he is in our custody, he can't be taken out of the Consulate without extradition papers."

"So I have to what, get an expert on international law and a judge to get my prisoner back?" I'm stupefied.

"In point of fact Ray, he is not wanted by American authorities so he needs to be extradited to Scotland."

"So, the lawyers need to sort it out and after that I don't even get him back?"

"I'm sorry Ray."

"Yeah, whatever."

Hogwarts Castle 9p.m. the Potions Dungeon

I was sitting in the potions dungeon for detention harvesting eyeballs from pickled newts. Be glad you have never had to hear Snape say the words 'harvesting eyeballs'. If that was creepy, the description he gave me as to how to do it was downright grotesque;

"Grasp the body firmly in both hands, head up and gouge your fingers slowly into the edges of the sockets on either side. If you do this correctly the orbs will pop gently out, but remain attached, dangling by the optical nerves. If you do it incorrectly you will either hear a crunching noise meaning you have crushed the skull, which has its own uses and is worth quite a pretty knut, or you will hear a splattering noise meaning you have burst the eyeballs. I recommend that you avoid that as the pickling brine concentrates in the optical fluid and it is quite noxious. Next. . ."

"Don't we need gloves then Professor?" I asked.

"One simply cannot achieve the required deftness when wearing gloves. Of course, one doesn't need gloves if one merely does it correctly," Snape snapped. Deftness? Is he daft? "As I was saying, next, use your scalpel and sever the nerves. . ."

I couldn't listen any longer, my stomach was already churning and I hadn't even opened the jars of newts. My system has been a little touchy ever since second year anyway. Newts, slugs- apparently my stomach doesn't see a difference. After Snape finished he went into his office but left the door open so he could 'keep me in line'.

Now, only three bottles into the sixteen he has given me to 'harvest', I have raw and swollen hands but I haven't complained. That is what Snape wants me to do so he can take more house points off for cheekiness.

Suddenly I'm hearing something strange. That's Lupin's voice. It must be Snape's fireplace. My eyes grow wide with concern at what I hear. Snuffles has been arrested by the Chicago police! Lupin was asking Snape to come help. They have some kind of traveling spell set up for midnight, but tonight's a full moon and Lupin doesn't have any Wolfsbane Potion.

Just then Snape slams out of his office, stopping only to lock it and brushes briskly passed us, saying "You are dismissed. Go back to your house before I deduct points for lollygagging around my classroom." Pausing in the corridor, he adds, "Now! Before I decide to make you finish your task tomorrow night along with de-spiking puffer fish all evening."

I hurriedly gather my belongings and follow him out of the door. He rushes down the corridor and out of sight. I head hurriedly towards Gryffindor Tower.

This feels like old times. Harry, Hermione and I are all under Harry's invisibility cloak trying to silently walk the corridors of Hogwarts. Harry is in front, Hermione behind him and I get to feel up . . . er, bring up the rear. Her hair is in my face and it smells like raspberries. It is really difficult to not lean in and inhale deeply.

Just as we approach the door to the potions dungeon Harry stops. I look over Hermione's head to see Malfoy sneaking along the wall past the door. I guess he thinks Snape is inside the classroom. We wait while he passes us and goes around the corner. Then Harry tries the door. It is locked. Hermione pulls her wand, points it at the knob and says, "Alohomora." The lock clicks open and the door swings open a few inches.

We peer through the crack created by the ajarness of the door to see the classroom, at least, is empty. Harry pushes into the room and we make our way to the office. It too is locked and sounds unoccupied. Hermione does her thing again, but it doesn't work so Harry pulls out a knife and shoves it into the lock and we are in. Harry pulls the invisibility cloak off of us and starts for the desk. Hermione searches the shelves full of potions ingredients and I try by the fireplace.

Something shiny catches my eye and I see that over on that file cabinet is a little hand mirror. Not exactly something I would have expected Snape to keep on hand as he seems not to even bother with washing, let alone primping. Lockhart, he is not. I walk over and pick it up. How odd. It doesn't hold my reflection. Instead I see a sideways room. I turn the mirror so it looks right and see two large beds with a table between them. On the wall is an atrocious painting of a duck that isn't moving; like a muggle painting. Yeah, that thing on the bedside table is definitely a fellyfone.

"Hey, I think I might have something here," I say and they come over to me. I hand the mirror to Harry so he can see and Hermione and I look over his shoulders.

"I think you're right Ron. Snape did say something about a mirror, and this is defiantly showing a muggle room. Let's go." He strides over to the desk and pulls the invisibility cloak open so we can all crowd under it together and we go. As we make our way out into the corridor I stumble into Hermione's back.

"Ooh, Ron! You've bruised my ankle again. We have got to stop doing this. We are getting too big for all of us to fit under here anymore," she states.

"Stop, yelling at me, it was an accident, I am sorry, but this portkey is more important that your ankle. We only have an hour left to get ready for this," I reply.

"Shhh!" Harry chides us and we fall silent again. The rest of the journey back to Gryffindor Tower is no trouble and we pull the invisibility cloak off just inside the portrait hole.

"Huh, and you were worried about me losing points for Gryffindor by being late for lights out. If that isn't the pot calling the caldron black I don't know what is," The voice of my little sister Ginny calls out of the darkness of the common room. Damn, caught in the act.