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coriariaChapter seven - Missing
Summary: Snape is missing, and Lupin asks an old friend to help find him.
Warnings: not really, some reference to mental illness
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The world and all recognisable characters belong to J.K. Rowling and I make no claim or profit etc.
Harry pushed Lupin up the ramp and into the entrance of a rather drab muggle building. Lupin’s chair had been transfigured into a muggle wheelchair, which Lupin could move magically, but Harry had been instructed on how to push it when there was any danger they might be seen.
“Get the lift please, Harry.”
Harry pushed the button and waited. When the lift arrived, Lupin pressed the button for three, and the doors closed with a clank. Lupin’s face was tense.
“I always used to take the stairs, but this building is monitored and if we use magic to get up there, someone will be asking questions soon enough.”
Harry watched Lupin, trying not to be caught doing so. His good hand gripped the arm of his chair. Harry had noticed he hated confined spaces even though he’d never admit it. The lift was almost certainly confined enough to upset him. Slowly they were transported, with much rattling and juddering, up to a murky corridor.
“Down to the right please, Harry.”
They came to a door, marked only with a name. Clarridge Prince. Harry looked across at Lupin.
“Second cousin,” Lupin said in response to the unasked question.
Lupin knocked at the door, and eventually a man opened the door a crack to peer at them. Through the gap, Harry could see black hair heavily streaked grey, and a hooked nose. Other than that, he looked nothing like Snape, especially as his face lifted into a delighted smile.
“Remus Lupin!” he said, surprise evident. “It’s one thing to get an owl saying you weren’t dead, but quite another to actually see you. You’re looking…”
His voice faded and his face fell as he stepped out of the office and got a good look at Lupin.
“Like someone tried to kill me?” Lupin responded. Clarridge started to put out his right hand, then noticed the crippled hand in Lupin’s lap.
“Looks like they had a damn good try,” he said gently, looking Lupin up and down. Then he leaned forward and gave him an awkward hug.
“This is Harry,” Lupin said, not giving any further information.
“Nice to meet you Harry, I’m Clarridge.”
He shook Harry’s hand firmly and invited them into his office. The first room was a little cramped, containing a sofa, three chairs and a small desk. He walked through to a much larger, yet more cramped, room beyond. It was dominated by two enormous bookshelves, filled with magical books, muggle books and numerous paper files. There was a much larger and very messy desk, containing a cordless phone, two cellphones, and a strange metal object that Harry suspected could be computer. A selection of mismatched chairs was covered with newspapers ranging from the Guardian to the Daily Prophet. Incongruously, in a cage in the corner, there was a grey parakeet.
Lupin looked at the bird closely.
“Matahari,” he said, delight on his face. “May I show Harry, Clarridge? He won’t say anything.”
Clarridge nodded.
Lupin opened the cage and the parakeet hopped out and onto his shoulder. The bird rubbed its head on Lupin’s cheek and gave a soft hoot. Harry blinked. He was pretty sure that parakeets didn’t hoot.
The bird began to change form, revealing a small owl with a glossy black coat that glimmered iridescent in the light from the window.
“Stealth owl, Harry. Have you ever seen one?”
Harry shook his head. The bird was beautiful. Lupin reached up and scratched it on the side of its head, and the iridescence in its coat began to shimmer in waves down its body. Clarridge began stacking newspapers from the chairs onto the already messy desk.
“Matahari here is highly illegal except in the hands of a few Ministry-approved owners and breeders. Needless to say, Clarridge is not one of these, so please be sure to say nothing about her. As far as the Ministry is concerned, Clarridge has a pet cockatiel in a cage, that’s all. No owl.”
“So,” he said when he and Harry were seated on the tidied chairs, “what brings you here? Are you on a job, Remus?”
“Not really, I’m not really up to that these days. But I am trying to track someone down. A cousin of yours in fact.”
“Well, well, a pureblood Prince lost in muggle land. I wouldn’t have predicted that.”
Harry watched as a familiar sneer appeared on Clarridge’s face. Now he looked like his cousin. There was a slight gloat in his tone, a smugness on his face. No love lost there.
“Well, technically, it’s a half-blood Prince lost in muggle land,” Lupin responded and Clarridge’s expression changed to one of concern.
“Severus. What’s happened to him? Is he alright?”
“We’re not really sure, but he hasn’t been well.”
Lupin paused.
“Actually, it’s more that he hasn’t been coping well, to be honest. Not for some time. Have you seen him?”
“I managed to find him nearly a year ago, and I take the train up to see him every few weeks. After a couple of visits, he actually let me in, and I sit on the sofa while he scowls at me for twenty minutes or so. If I’m particularly lucky he insults me as well. Sometimes I don’t know if he’s entirely sure who I am. Sometimes he speaks to me as if I was a wizard. I’ve had to contact St Mungo’s several times when he’s been ill, mainly from not looking after himself.”
Lupin nodded. That explained who had been checking up on him, and had got him to hospital when needed.
“He’s having trouble with his memory. He really wasn’t in good shape a few days ago, so we brought him to our place. He came willingly at first, but then he got upset and took off. He hasn’t been home and we haven’t found him in any of the magical places that a troubled wizard would normally show up.”
“And so the next step is to come and see me. You want a small favour, I suppose.”
Lupin smiled.
“Of course.”
Clarridge fiddled with the computer for a few minutes, before writing down a number and handing it to Lupin.
“This is the closest to you. Do you want to make the calls? You always were so convincing.”
Lupin picked up the phone and dialled.
“Hello, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’m trying to track down my brother-in-law. It’s possible he might be with you.”
There was a pause.
“Yes, of course. However it’s unlikely he will be there voluntarily. He may have been brought in by the police, that’s happened a few times. It’s just that he can be quite uncooperative about giving his real name. I’m concerned that he may have been admitted without anyone knowing who he actually is. So I’m really asking whether you have any unidentified patients, or patients where the circumstances of the admission are somewhat confused and you are trying to track down their family or regular psychiatrist.”
Lupin paused again and Harry looked at Clarridge, who whispered to him “muggle mental hospitals. Wizards and witches sometimes end up there, trying to tell people they are magical and getting pumped full of antipsychotics. There’s quite an art to rescuing them, and Lupin’s one of the best.”
Harry raised his eyebrows and turned back to watching Lupin, intrigued by any revelation of his past life.
“Alright, well thank you for your assistance.”
Lupin hung up the phone and shook his head. Clarridge handed him another piece of paper.
Three more phone calls went the same way, but neither Clarridge nor Lupin looked too concerned.
“There are a lot of mental hospitals out there, and wizards can end up nearly anywhere in Britain, unfortunately.”
“Would you like me to do a few of the calls on the other phone? This report can wait.”
“Thanks, that’s very kind.”
Clarridge took a few numbers and a cellphone, and moved to the other room. Harry sat watching Lupin continue the phone calls.
Harry had lost count by the time one call started to go differently. After the story about unidentified patients, the calls usually ended, but this time Lupin stayed on the phone longer, began answering more questions.
“Yes, I’m afraid that has happened a few times over the years. He stops taking his medication and things go downhill from there. When he disappears, we have a hell of a job finding him.”
Another pause.
“He’s schizophrenic. Also, although it looks like he stopped the ziprasidone at least a month ago, I think he’s been taking a pile of other stuff, sleeping pills, painkillers, anything apart from what he actually needs.”
Pause.
“About five nine. Black hair, shoulder length, brown eyes, pale skin. He’s got a scar on the inside of his left forearm where a tattoo was removed.”
Pause. A long pause this time.
“Stephen Prince. Good luck getting him to answer to it though.”
Clarridge came through from the other room and listened.
“I’d like to come and confirm if it is him, if that’s convenient. And if at all possible I’d like to get him back home and under the care of his regular psychiatrist. Or at least transferred to a hospital closer to home.”
Pause.
“Andrea Black. I can send through some details if that helps.”
Pause.
“I’m not quite sure, a couple of hours probably. Can I call you back to confirm?”
Pause.
“Oh, of course, sorry. John Howell.”
Pause.
“Thank you, thank you so much.”
Lupin put the phone down.
“He’s near Reading. I said I’d call back and let him know when we’d come. Clarridge?”
Summary: Snape is missing, and Lupin asks an old friend to help find him.
Warnings: not really, some reference to mental illness
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The world and all recognisable characters belong to J.K. Rowling and I make no claim or profit etc.
Harry pushed Lupin up the ramp and into the entrance of a rather drab muggle building. Lupin’s chair had been transfigured into a muggle wheelchair, which Lupin could move magically, but Harry had been instructed on how to push it when there was any danger they might be seen.
“Get the lift please, Harry.”
Harry pushed the button and waited. When the lift arrived, Lupin pressed the button for three, and the doors closed with a clank. Lupin’s face was tense.
“I always used to take the stairs, but this building is monitored and if we use magic to get up there, someone will be asking questions soon enough.”
Harry watched Lupin, trying not to be caught doing so. His good hand gripped the arm of his chair. Harry had noticed he hated confined spaces even though he’d never admit it. The lift was almost certainly confined enough to upset him. Slowly they were transported, with much rattling and juddering, up to a murky corridor.
“Down to the right please, Harry.”
They came to a door, marked only with a name. Clarridge Prince. Harry looked across at Lupin.
“Second cousin,” Lupin said in response to the unasked question.
Lupin knocked at the door, and eventually a man opened the door a crack to peer at them. Through the gap, Harry could see black hair heavily streaked grey, and a hooked nose. Other than that, he looked nothing like Snape, especially as his face lifted into a delighted smile.
“Remus Lupin!” he said, surprise evident. “It’s one thing to get an owl saying you weren’t dead, but quite another to actually see you. You’re looking…”
His voice faded and his face fell as he stepped out of the office and got a good look at Lupin.
“Like someone tried to kill me?” Lupin responded. Clarridge started to put out his right hand, then noticed the crippled hand in Lupin’s lap.
“Looks like they had a damn good try,” he said gently, looking Lupin up and down. Then he leaned forward and gave him an awkward hug.
“This is Harry,” Lupin said, not giving any further information.
“Nice to meet you Harry, I’m Clarridge.”
He shook Harry’s hand firmly and invited them into his office. The first room was a little cramped, containing a sofa, three chairs and a small desk. He walked through to a much larger, yet more cramped, room beyond. It was dominated by two enormous bookshelves, filled with magical books, muggle books and numerous paper files. There was a much larger and very messy desk, containing a cordless phone, two cellphones, and a strange metal object that Harry suspected could be computer. A selection of mismatched chairs was covered with newspapers ranging from the Guardian to the Daily Prophet. Incongruously, in a cage in the corner, there was a grey parakeet.
Lupin looked at the bird closely.
“Matahari,” he said, delight on his face. “May I show Harry, Clarridge? He won’t say anything.”
Clarridge nodded.
Lupin opened the cage and the parakeet hopped out and onto his shoulder. The bird rubbed its head on Lupin’s cheek and gave a soft hoot. Harry blinked. He was pretty sure that parakeets didn’t hoot.
The bird began to change form, revealing a small owl with a glossy black coat that glimmered iridescent in the light from the window.
“Stealth owl, Harry. Have you ever seen one?”
Harry shook his head. The bird was beautiful. Lupin reached up and scratched it on the side of its head, and the iridescence in its coat began to shimmer in waves down its body. Clarridge began stacking newspapers from the chairs onto the already messy desk.
“Matahari here is highly illegal except in the hands of a few Ministry-approved owners and breeders. Needless to say, Clarridge is not one of these, so please be sure to say nothing about her. As far as the Ministry is concerned, Clarridge has a pet cockatiel in a cage, that’s all. No owl.”
“So,” he said when he and Harry were seated on the tidied chairs, “what brings you here? Are you on a job, Remus?”
“Not really, I’m not really up to that these days. But I am trying to track someone down. A cousin of yours in fact.”
“Well, well, a pureblood Prince lost in muggle land. I wouldn’t have predicted that.”
Harry watched as a familiar sneer appeared on Clarridge’s face. Now he looked like his cousin. There was a slight gloat in his tone, a smugness on his face. No love lost there.
“Well, technically, it’s a half-blood Prince lost in muggle land,” Lupin responded and Clarridge’s expression changed to one of concern.
“Severus. What’s happened to him? Is he alright?”
“We’re not really sure, but he hasn’t been well.”
Lupin paused.
“Actually, it’s more that he hasn’t been coping well, to be honest. Not for some time. Have you seen him?”
“I managed to find him nearly a year ago, and I take the train up to see him every few weeks. After a couple of visits, he actually let me in, and I sit on the sofa while he scowls at me for twenty minutes or so. If I’m particularly lucky he insults me as well. Sometimes I don’t know if he’s entirely sure who I am. Sometimes he speaks to me as if I was a wizard. I’ve had to contact St Mungo’s several times when he’s been ill, mainly from not looking after himself.”
Lupin nodded. That explained who had been checking up on him, and had got him to hospital when needed.
“He’s having trouble with his memory. He really wasn’t in good shape a few days ago, so we brought him to our place. He came willingly at first, but then he got upset and took off. He hasn’t been home and we haven’t found him in any of the magical places that a troubled wizard would normally show up.”
“And so the next step is to come and see me. You want a small favour, I suppose.”
Lupin smiled.
“Of course.”
Clarridge fiddled with the computer for a few minutes, before writing down a number and handing it to Lupin.
“This is the closest to you. Do you want to make the calls? You always were so convincing.”
Lupin picked up the phone and dialled.
“Hello, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’m trying to track down my brother-in-law. It’s possible he might be with you.”
There was a pause.
“Yes, of course. However it’s unlikely he will be there voluntarily. He may have been brought in by the police, that’s happened a few times. It’s just that he can be quite uncooperative about giving his real name. I’m concerned that he may have been admitted without anyone knowing who he actually is. So I’m really asking whether you have any unidentified patients, or patients where the circumstances of the admission are somewhat confused and you are trying to track down their family or regular psychiatrist.”
Lupin paused again and Harry looked at Clarridge, who whispered to him “muggle mental hospitals. Wizards and witches sometimes end up there, trying to tell people they are magical and getting pumped full of antipsychotics. There’s quite an art to rescuing them, and Lupin’s one of the best.”
Harry raised his eyebrows and turned back to watching Lupin, intrigued by any revelation of his past life.
“Alright, well thank you for your assistance.”
Lupin hung up the phone and shook his head. Clarridge handed him another piece of paper.
Three more phone calls went the same way, but neither Clarridge nor Lupin looked too concerned.
“There are a lot of mental hospitals out there, and wizards can end up nearly anywhere in Britain, unfortunately.”
“Would you like me to do a few of the calls on the other phone? This report can wait.”
“Thanks, that’s very kind.”
Clarridge took a few numbers and a cellphone, and moved to the other room. Harry sat watching Lupin continue the phone calls.
Harry had lost count by the time one call started to go differently. After the story about unidentified patients, the calls usually ended, but this time Lupin stayed on the phone longer, began answering more questions.
“Yes, I’m afraid that has happened a few times over the years. He stops taking his medication and things go downhill from there. When he disappears, we have a hell of a job finding him.”
Another pause.
“He’s schizophrenic. Also, although it looks like he stopped the ziprasidone at least a month ago, I think he’s been taking a pile of other stuff, sleeping pills, painkillers, anything apart from what he actually needs.”
Pause.
“About five nine. Black hair, shoulder length, brown eyes, pale skin. He’s got a scar on the inside of his left forearm where a tattoo was removed.”
Pause. A long pause this time.
“Stephen Prince. Good luck getting him to answer to it though.”
Clarridge came through from the other room and listened.
“I’d like to come and confirm if it is him, if that’s convenient. And if at all possible I’d like to get him back home and under the care of his regular psychiatrist. Or at least transferred to a hospital closer to home.”
Pause.
“Andrea Black. I can send through some details if that helps.”
Pause.
“I’m not quite sure, a couple of hours probably. Can I call you back to confirm?”
Pause.
“Oh, of course, sorry. John Howell.”
Pause.
“Thank you, thank you so much.”
Lupin put the phone down.
“He’s near Reading. I said I’d call back and let him know when we’d come. Clarridge?”
