Harry Potter and the Lake They Call Michigan

Chapter 7 Welcome to the Hotel California

The weirdest thing about my life (and it is mighty weird) is that whenever weirdness happens, it feels comfortable, like waking up from a dream, like déjà vu without the funny chill down my spine. In a situation like that, I get all these crazy ideas that are so vivid and complete, that they feel like memories. This feels just like that.

5:58pm- Room 1539, The Hotel California, Chicago Illinois.

Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, doo, doo, doo, da, doo, doo . . . What is the me of that song? It's been driving me crazy since I got in the car to come here. Time check- 6:02. Is my watch fast? Why am I always late if my watch is fast? Now that I think about it, I haven't been late in a few days. Fraser must have set my watch ahead. Sneaky Mountie. There's plenty of room at the um, um, do, do, doo, do. Mirrors on the ceiling, the pink champagne on ice . . . Why am I singing about a bordello?

Oh, shit! I forgot, I'm supposed to be looking for Black's magic twig-thingy, so it 'doesn't fall into the wrong hands'. He said it was under the bed. Yeah, there it is. What the hell is that noise? It's coming from the desk . . .

Suddenly, the room is just lousy with baby Merlins, all of whom were belched out of an itty bitty hand mirror, which in no way should have been able to be a door for five kindergarten conjurers, let alone taken them transatlantic. Yet, here I am facing what looks like a Halloween party where the prize for most original costume is a sigmoidoscopy, they are all, each and every one of them, dressed as a witch, even the boys.

Freaky thing about memory; I will never forget the word sigmoidoscopy, even though I've never had one- just the idea is that fun. Another freaky thing about memory; this is the moment that the lyric I've been looking for finally comes to me and my mouth carries on without me, singing, "Welcome to the Hotel California. . . ."

So, they're all sort of off balance and before they even get untangled, the tallest one, a kid with hair so red you have to look twice to see for sure that his head's not on fire says, "Er, Harry, why's that Muggle singing?"

Okaay, expecting one greasy haired, fully-grown, wizard-potions guy with a name to match his mood, get a gaggle of Gandalfs in training. The one the smart mouthed kid called Harry, scowls at the first one and points his magic stick at me.

"I hope you know enough to realize your gun is no threat to us. Put it down, slowly." I look down at it, only just remembering that I had it out, just in case.

"No threat, huh? Nice try. I'll keep it, thanks. Now why the hell ain't one of you a magic pharmacist named Snively Snape?" I growl. Shake, wizard larvae, shake!

"Where's Lupin?" he asks. Boy, this kid is either really good with his wand or some poker player. I try staring him down while I work at the best way to crack him and my eyes land on his forehead (well, at least I didn't blink), where a wicked looking scar sits, just like that kid the man-dog Black told us about. . . . Hey, his name was Harry too. . . . Doh!

All this time, the other mini-magicians have just waited for Harry to take the lead, until the little Sabrina, who was mostly hidden behind the tall one, steps away from the group and starts kind of whispering under her breath. Black's boy starts hissing back to her and yeah, they're defiantly talking. Maybe it's like Fraser and Dief, except neither one of them is a wolf, at least not at the moment. I've got to move before they come up with a plan.

I bring the hand holding Black's wand up and say, "Your Godfather says hi."

"EXPELLIAR . . ." Harry starts, but the other girl, a cute, frizzy haired, Wendy the Good Little Witch type, grabs at his arm.

"Wait! Harry, think a moment. How would he know to be here?" she asks.

"What?"

"Look, we know that Snuffles was captured and that Lupin doesn't have his Wolfsbane Potion. He had to send someone else to meet Snape. That or risk transforming, unguarded, in muggle Chicago and going on a lycanthropic rampage. We should talk, not fight," she finishes with a self-satisfied nod.

"Er . . ." the fearless leader says. Savior of the magical world or not, he is still just a kid. I sort of feel sorry for him. His story was something else. I want to tell him everything will be all right, so I do.

"Yeah, what she said." I point to the girl who defended me.

"Er . . ." I guess he's out of his element without an enemy to fight.

"Okay look," I say, "I'm a cop. I'm the one who caught Sirius Black. Then his friend the werewolf showed up and I, my partner and I, found out a whole bunch if stuff that makes us think that Black isn't the bad guy everyone thinks he is, so we're helping him and Lupin out. That way we don't have to investigate werewolf bites all over the city." I nod. "Get it?"

"Er . . ."

"Yeah, so here's the thing; I was supposed to take the potion guy and the potion he should have had to where the werewolf is so he could get his doggy downer, but something tells me you guys don't have Uncle Wolfie's play nice medicine. Do ya?"

"Oh, in all the excitement, we neglected that. What are we going to do? There is no time to brew some for him, even if I had all the ingredients, it has to age for nearly a fortnight for full potency," the curly haired one says.

"Eh, don't sweat that. Between Black, my partner Fraser and his wolf Dief, it's covered," I assure them. "Frase has my cell, so I'll just let him in on this little change in casting."

Damn, I hate phones. I dial nine and I get that nasty, whiney, you did it wrong tone that drills through the back of your skull. The adolescent illusionists are all watching me try to read the fine print on the hotel phone and I finally give up and put on my please-kick-sand-in-my-face glasses, so I can read. Duh, dial one nine to dial out. Now I got it. It's ringing.

"Hello, Detective Vecchio's mobile telephone, Constable Bent-"

"Frase, it's me." I can't wait through all the rigmarole he is planning to say as part of 'Hello'."

"Ah Ray, did you find Professor Snape successfully?"

"Uh. . . . No. Someone else showed up instead, a bunch of someone elses."

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, it's all hunky-dory. Is Black two legged or four right now?"

"He is still human. The sun doesn't set for another fourteen minutes. Is there something I should tell him?" he asks.

"Put him on the line."

"All right."

I hand the phone to Harry. "Here, Auggie Doggie, talk to Doggy Daddy." He gives me a queer look, but takes the phone.

"Er . . . Sirius?" His voice cracks with nerves or puberty, maybe both. Pause. "Er, yes." Pause. "I know, but you don't reckon I'd trust Snape to take care of you, do you?" This end of the conversation sounds like a domestic dispute to me, since that means they'll be a while, I take a look at the little wizards while I wait.

There's the Golden Child on the phone, trying to talk his way out of being grounded, the two red heads: Snotty-Too-Tall and Miss I-Only-Seem-to-Talk-in-Secret-Whisper-Language, Miss My-Brain's-So-Full-It-Curls-My-Hair and Bondage Boy back there.

I look at Too Tall and ask, "So, why'd ya' bring a hostage?""What Malfoy? He was trying to turn us in and there wasn't time to do anything else with him," he shrugs, like kidnapping is no big deal. Maybe for magic people it is or isn't- whatever.

"I'm a police officer, you know. I can't really let you keep him tied up like that." I start undoing the gag.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warns.

"Took you long enough, you stupid, goat-loving muggle!" the pale, pointy faced and really, really blond captive spews at me.

"Hey, I'm the guy untying you, a little respect is in order," I tell him.

"Respect? You're helping the murderer, Sirius Black, and you are helping those bloody Gryffindors, even though they kidnapped me and you . . . You're not untying me anymore?"

"First, I ain't any of those nasty things you called me. I may not know how to work a wizard twig, but even I know that goat-loving is as big an insult in your world as it is here. B, I am the law in these parts, so if I think Black and these . . . what did you call them?"

"Gryffindors. It's our school house," supplies the tall one. I think I like that kid. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because he's enjoying my verbal head-kicking of Blondie here. I quickly stick out my hand to him and offer, "Detective Ray Vecchio."

Taking my hand he replies, "Ron Weasley, it's a pleasure." I nod and get back to the albino.

"Where was I?"

"B, I an the law and if I think Black and these Gryffindors . . ." Ron repeats over my shoulder with a grin.

To Ron, "Thanks." To the pigmentally challenged potty mouth, "If I think Black and these Gatordors are the ones on the right side of things, I'll do what I have to help them out. Three, Malfoy is it?"

"Draco Xavier Malfoy," he says with much more pomp than this circumstance calls for.

"Draco? Jeeze, and I thought Stanley was bad. I mean, Draco? Isn't that a dog's name?" Ron is snickering behind me.

"No, it's a ferret's name," he chuckles.

"No, I'm sure it's one of those traditional dog names like Fifi or Muffin," I answer. "So, Fluffy (this name gets a flutter of laughter from the brunette Broom Hilda) three, if you have hope of getting untied soon, you'll button that lip and show a little re-spect." I squint at him. "You got one of those magic wands too?" I ask.

"Harry's got it," the little red headed girl squeaks. I look her over again. She seems shorter than she did when she was whispering secret codes at Harry. Shorter and redder. Oh, she's blushing. Now I feel like a pervert 'cause she's checking me out. Poor kid I hope I'm not her first crush. I'd be a tough act to follow. Okay Ego, that's enough out of you. Don't go all Joey Buttafucco here.

"And you are?" I ask.

"That's Potty's girlfriend," Malfoy sneers, "or is that Granger?"

Ron gives him the hairy eyeball and says, "Pate for the Cotillion, Malfoy. It'll be a much better use than you ever put it to." He turns to me. "She's my sister, Ginny and this is Hermione Granger." He points to the other girl.

Okay, so everybody's got a name, nearly all of them weird, but then I'm not one to talk in that department. Now all I've got to do is figure what to do with them. Let's see, me and five wizard teenagers in the City of Chicago. Better start with pizza. . . .