Harry Potter and the Lake They Call Michigan

Chapter 6 Mirror, Mirror

The Canadian Consulate, Chicago- 5 p.m.

"Again Ray, I apologize. I assumed that you had been briefed about the jurisdiction issues regarding the Consulate." We are sitting side by side at the bottom of the stairs in the entrance hall. I'm not half as mad as I'm letting Fraser think I am. I kind of like this contrite Fraser, so I'm milking it a little.

"Fraser, they didn't even tell me you didn't carry a gun, remember?" I only found out that little gem last week."

"Well rest assured Ray, your contributions will be noted in the arrest report and I will personally draft a letter to Leftenant Welsh citing your work on this investigation."

"Nah, don't bother, no one is gonna believe this case anyway right? I just wish all this running around had come to something. Welsh ain't gonna like finding out I wasted all this time on what amounts to a letter from you in my file, glowing as it may be."

"Perhaps I could find a way to make it up to you," he says kind of low and whispery. I look up at him and see he is blushing. "Perhaps, I could exert myself in some way that is of benefit to you." Sultry Mountie, who'd have thunk it? Okay, I'll play;

"I don't know Frase, what kind of exertion are we talking about here? Are you offering me some kind of service? Clean my apartment? Wax my car? Polish my gun?" I flash my pearly whites, leaning in, waiting for it; feeling my breathing hitch and my eyes close. The gentle wisp of his breath just reaches my lips before . . .

"Constable," Inspector Thatcher's voice resounds through the hall. He snaps to attention.

"Duty . . ." he murmurs.

". . . Sounds its barbaric yawp," I finish. Smiling, he looks at me and with a sort of a bow, turns on his heel and scurries off. Oh well, it's not like it was actually going to happen, not here anyway. Who am I kidding? It's not going to happen anywhere, not with a . . . er . . . straight shooter like Fraser. We were definitely not on the same page, no way, no how.

I get tired of waiting for what ever it is I'm waiting for and wander back to Thatcher's office to see if there is any chance of snagging Fraser to go and get some dinner or something. As if I don't have enough imagery on Turnbull running around my noggin from the back yard, I hear his voice through the barely latched office door actually flirting with the suspect no; scratch that, the escaped convict.

". . . you made quite an impressive bull." Black makes some reply I can't make out just before Fraser nearly opens the door into me. I duck to avoid it and end up on my knees at his feet.

He looks down at me and deadpans, "Want something Ray?" I climb to my feet taking the hand he automatically offers. "It seems that Ottawa doesn't consider this a priority and as such not worthy of the manpower necessitated for a prisoner transport. We've been ordered to quarter Mr. Black here until the time of his extradition hearing."

"Someone up there doesn't want to spend the weekend working this case up huh?"

"As you say."

"So, how long does something like this normally take?"

"Extradition? Well, a prisoner is required to be presented before a judge within twenty-four hours of arrest, however in this case, as the nearest Canadian court is several hundred miles away and, as you so correctly pointed out, it is nearing the close of business at the week's end . . ."

"Cut to the chase Fraser. How long?" I ask.

"It could take several months, especially seeing as Mr. Black does not seem to have had a trial. Of course, the fact that he is innocent of the crime of which he has been con . . ."

"No, no, no! Fraser, do not do that! Don't make this guy, this murderer, into one of your charity cases."

"Ray, you saw Pettigrew just as I did, how can you in good conscience . . ."

"I did not see 'Pettigrew'. I saw some bald guy in a dress running away from a guy we are pretty sure is a psycho."

Just then, Thatcher emerged from her office, pulling on her coat, followed by Turnbull escorting Black (not so much escorting as escorting). "Constable Fraser, I am turning custody of the prisoner over to you. I trust I can be assured due care will be taken to secure him until Monday morning, when arrangements can be made to transport him to Ottawa."

"Yes sir."

"Goodnight Detective. Come along, Turnbull." She swept quickly out the door followed by a very reluctant Turnbull.

"Um, right, can I go to the toilet now please?" Black asks, drawing attention back to himself.

* * *

"Francis Bacon once wrote that revenge is a wild kind of justice, which the more mans nature runs to, the more ought law to weed it out," Fraser says in response to the wild tale Black just finished spinning over tea and sandwiches.

"Fraser, you already used that quote last week," I complain.

"I apologize, Ray."

"Don't apologize, Frase, just don't expect me to believe the stuff he's shoveling; Pettigrew is a wizard and faked his own death to shift the blame from himself to Black for two other murders, murders that were committed, by way of witchcraft, by the most powerful dark wizard in a century. Oh yeah, and don't forget how the big bad nameless guy was taken down by the infant wizarding Messiah, who just happens to be ol' Muttley here's Godson. This guy is unhinged and you ain't helping him feeding his delusions."

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

"Don't, just don't. . . ."

A knock at the consulate door interrupts my rant and Fraser goes to see who it is. I hear raised voices and get half way to the front door when I see Fraser walking toward me, all tied up, followed by a man holding a gun at his back. I raise my hands and start walking backwards. "Okay buddy, we don't want any blood here. Just put the gun down." I'm searching Fraser's face for the sign, the one that says if he thinks I should rush this guy. No, not yet, b his eyes say.

"Terribly sorry to interrupt, but I'm afraid you have something I have need of. You all right Sirius?" he says, looking past me to Black who has followed me out.

"Just peachy Remus. . . ."

Suddenly everyone is turning to look down thall and I see our gunman is not. He's a stickman or something. He must have bluffed Fraser 'cause all he's got is a little poky job at Fraser's back. So, I jump him.

Picture this. I'm half laying on top of this guy, trying to keep him down while I try and figure out how I'm gonna restrain him when my cuffs are still on Black. Fraser seems to be talking to the air somewhere down the hallway and the two bad guys are picking at each other like an old married couple.

"Lovely job rescuing me there, Moony. What do you do for an encore, teach the Muggles to cast the cruciatus on me?" Black snaps.

"Well, if you hadn't gotten yourself captured in the first place, I wouldn't have had to try to rescue you, not to mention how Dumbledore asked you not to leave Grimauld Place! Next time I'll just let them send you back to Azkaban, shall I? It's not like I expected to see a ghost in a place like this," Stickman declares from beneath me.

"Pardon me, did you say ghost?" Fraser is back from his little mental vacation.

"Yes, oof, careful, I'm a little sore," the guy on the floor complains.

"You mean, you can see him?" asks Fraser.

"Wait, you can see him?" interrupts Black. "I thought Muggles couldn't see ghosts."

"Apparently some of them can," comes a reply from Sticky McStick Stick.

Now, they all stare at the same spot in the hallway like they see something there. It is the same spot Fraser was just talking to. Now I wish I had not tuned him out. Between the wolf, the Inuit stories and his talking to air, there is a lot Fraser says that I don't get.

Speaking of the wolf, Dief comes trotting up with the aforementioned stick in his mouth and lays it next to me like a trophy. He looks up at me grinning like he's some big hero. "Good job there, Dief, you captured a twig." I pick up the stick and pocket it. I pull my gun and slowly stand up keeping Stickboy in my sights. They are all still looking down the hall. Apparently the ghost is a hell of a story teller.

"So, you think your boy here was missed? I don't think I've ever heard of that happening," Black is telling the wall . . . er . . . ghost?

"Frase, what's going on here?" I ask, pulling his knife out and getting to work on his bindings with my left hand while still pointing my gun with my right (not that it matters as neither Black nor the other guy are paying any attention to the gun or trying to make a move to escape).

"Uh . . . well, it looks as if Black's version of events just might be true. In fact, if what my father is saying is correct, I might have missed a rather important opportunity."

"Huh?"

"Allow me to elucidate, my mother was originally from Surrey . . ."

"Um . . . I don't want to be a bother, but there is a pressing issue that I'm certain you'll want address prior to telling the Yank your life story," Floorboy says. I glare at him and take a piece of the rope I just cut off of Fraser and start tying him up. He just keeps on yakking. "I wonder if you are familiar with a piece of cinema entitled 'The Wolf Man'?"

"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 . . ." I mumble. Damn if I don't regret ever memorizing that now.

"So, you understand the concept of a werewolf?"

"Save your breath, we know all about the animal transformationist over there." I gesture at Black.

"Ah. No, you misunderstand. I'm referring to myself. You see, I am an actual werewolf. I can't control my transformation as Sirius can and tonight is a full moon."

"Like I'm supposed to believe that. Pfft, pull the other one . . ." I start, but Fraser nudges me and points at Black. Oh, zoinks! Black is not Black anymore. I mean he is black and I guess he is still Black too but . . . he's a dog, a big black dog, the big black dog. Shit, it's true. It's all true. That means . . .

"What do we need to do to secure you?" Fraser asks the werewolf.

***

I'm sitting here in the same friggin' room in the Hotel California waiting for some guy named, get this, Severus Snape to come through the looking glass. Could this get any weirder? Could this get any weirder? Now, let's see how does this hallucination go again? Right, magic is real. Those two British guys are wizards who turn into a dog and a wolf. The convicted murder didn't kill anyone and the 'live dead' guy (who turns into a rat) did. Wait, wait, there's more. Fraser has been haunted by the ghost of his dead father for the last two years and oh yeah, he's a wizard. That makes two 'dead' guys running around Chicago.

I check the time; eight minutes to six.

Now, Fraser is waiting in the same crypt we spent all day in last week, hoping that he, Black and Dief can control a full blown, honest to God, werewolf. It was hard to get Fraser to agree to that, but it was the only choice;

"Ray, we really shouldn't move the prisoner out of the consulate. We can't take him across international borders without . . ." he stops to watch me open the front door and I step out saying;

"America." I step back in, "The Dominion of Canada." Step, "Land of the Free." Hop, "Land of the Freaks." Skip, "Home of the Brave." Jump, "Home of the Beaver. He's under arrest in both countries Frase, it don't matter if we move him, as long as we can justify it to Thatcher."

"And how are we to justify moving him to Inspector Thatcher?" Fraser asks.

"How are we gonna justify Lon Chaney Jr. over there marking his territory all over the Queen's bedroom? C'mon she don't care as long as any credit for the arrest goes to her. Well bring him back at first light."

"Ray, what about the graveyard's caretaker?"

"Don't sweat it Fraser, we bring along a working bottle of scotch and he won't see anything."

"I'm not sure we'd be doing him a service encouraging inebriation like that Ray." The wolf whines and Fraser answers him, "No, I don't think we have time to stop at a florist shop. Time is of the essence."

"You're a lupine mouth? That will be quite helpful," Lupin, the werewolf says.

"Pardon?" "Huh?" Fraser and I talk at the same time.

"You understand the wolf when it talks to you, and it understands you, correct?" Lupin asks.

"Well, yes."

"Then you are a lupine mouth. It is a very rare gift. You must be quite a powerful wizard."

"He talks yippity yapp to the wolf and what? That means he's got magic he doesn't know about?" I wonder out loud.

"Yes!" both Brits squawk.

Gryffindor Common Room- 11:15 p.m.

Tap, tap, tap. She stands there, foot going, arms akimbo, wearing a look I'd only ever seen on Mum (the one she gives the twins when they have actually outdone themselves), waiting. My sister, the witch.

"Um, yeah, so . . . Go to bed Ginny!" I try for authoritative, but get whiny. She doesn't even move, so much for being a prefect.

"So, who's going to explain? Or should I say, which one of you is going to think up a lie first? Don't bother, I know about how you are always sneaking out. Do you think no one notices? Of course, I know that you only ever break rules to fight dark wizards or protect someone. Whomever it is, I can help protect them, I need to help. I'm tired of waiting at the side."

"Ginny, Mum would kill me if I let you do anything dangerous."

"So, you admit you are doing something dangerous. Do you think I don't know danger? I know darkness. I knew Tom Riddle; I nearly died down in the Chamber of Secrets. As much as Harry is the Boy Who Lived, I am the Girl Who Lived!"

"We don't have time to argue this!" interrupts Harry. "Ron, Hermione, go and pack anything you think we might need for this. I'll talk to Ginny."

When I come back down to the Common Room, I can hear that Harry and Ginny are speaking in Parseltongue. I didn't know Ginny could still do that! I'm not sure, 'cause it's hard to tell with Parseltongue, but I think they are fighting. If they are, I think Ginny is winning. Hermione joins me on the bottom step and we enter the common Room on eggshells. Hearing us, Harry turns to us and says, "Ginny's coming with us." The look on his face makes it clear that there would be no questioning the decision.

So, here we are sitting in the trophy room, waiting out the last few minutes until midnight. We've put on robes and cloaks because Hermione informs us that "Chicago in October is like Hogsmeade in January. The location is such that the jet stream combined with the proximity of Lake Michigan can produce tremendous amounts of snow, unequalled at that latitude." Blah, blah, blah- it's cold there- got it.

Suddenly Malfoy is here, waving his wand about and threatening to turn us in to Umbridge. Harry moves faster than I can think, casting Tarentallegra followed quickly by a binding charm. Before I even have my wand out, Malfoy is tied and gagged.

"Well done, Harry," I can't help but gasp. "Now that we've shut him up, what do we do with him?"

"Fred and George mentioned there was a vanishing cabinet somewhere on the fourth floor," Ginny suggests.

"No, there isn't time," Harry counters.

"Harry's right, plus there would be a whole lot more trouble when he was noticed among the missing," Hermione adds.

"That's it then," I conclude, "We'll just have to take him along and hope we can find some way to deal with him in Chicago."

"Right," Harry agreed looking at his watch. "Any of you have a working watch?"

"Why do you keep wearing that one if it doesn't even work, Harry?" Ginny asks, exasperated, as she pulls out a small round pocket watch, "Oh, it's time. It's one minute 'til." We all grab on to the mirror and Harry pulls on Malfoy until his shoulder is brushing the back of the portkey. Portkey?

"Um . . . Are we sure this is a portkey?" I ask, "Are we sure it doesn't work some other way?"

Hermione suddenly gets this funny look like she's just discovered something and is now about to head for the library and says, "Oh . . . oh, oh! Look in the mirror, make sure to look in the mirror." We all do and Harry pulls on Malfoy again, facing him the right way.

"You too Malfoy, wouldn't want to leave you behind."

This is no portkey. There is an enormous sucking sound like someone is draining the lake through a very long half-blocked hosepipe. I feel as though someone has cast a jellylegs curse on my whole body. Suddenly the room turns inside out and when it reforms, it was not the trophy room, but the muggle room from the mirror. Blimey, but my head hurts.