A Place of Contemplation
by Jardyn39
Chapter 2: The White Room
As soon as Harry slid his key into the wonky cylinder lock to his bedsit door, he had a feeling he would find an unexpected visitor inside.
Sure enough, he found a familiar figure sitting in his only chair.
"You're late, Potter."
"I didn't realise we had an appointment," said Harry hanging his jacket up on a lopsided coat hook.
"There's something wrong with your fridge, by the way."
"Really?" asked Harry with concern, walking over and opening the age yellowed refrigerator door. The light came on and the insides appeared cool. Ice was still caked around the ice box.
"This seems fine. Why did you think it was broken?"
"Well, it doesn't fill itself up again after you take things out."
Harry looked again and groaned.
"No, this is a Muggle fridge. I can't believe you ate my dinner. Those sausages were all I had! I'm starving too."
"They looked rather appetising on the packet. They should have given more specific cooking instructions, though."
"For sausages? I was looking forward to trying them too. What did they taste like?"
"I've no idea. I wasn't hungry; I just got bored waiting for you."
Harry counted to ten.
"At the risk of sounding rude, what the hell are you doing here?"
"To give you your potion, of course."
"Why?"
"You know full well you must take the draught at the appropriate time in the lunar cycle."
"I mean, what is the point? It hasn't worked, has it? I'm never going to get my magical powers back. Isn't it time we gave up on this muck?"
"Minerva insisted you continue the entire course to the end of the treatment."
"That's Professor McGonagall to you, Snape," Harry said coldly.
Snape smirked at him and placed a smoking cup between them on the table.
"Drink it at once," Snape ordered.
"It's different from usual. I can smell that from here."
"Of course it is different. Each cup you take contains a stronger version of the active ingredients. If you took a strong dose without becoming accustomed to it, you would die from poisoning."
Harry grabbed the cup, fully aware of the promise he'd made to Professor McGonagall.
He downed the ghastly liquid in one gulp and slammed the goblet back down on the table which wobbled slightly.
"I should perhaps have warned you about certain side effects that you may experience this time," said Snape, standing and taking the goblet. He looked like he was fighting not to smile.
In his head, Harry tried to say, "What?"
He was quite unable to speak though and he felt his knees buckle under him as he fell heavily to the floor, sending dust flying into the air.
"Well, enjoy the remainder of your evening, Potter. You'll need to take a supplemental potion during the day tomorrow. I have made arrangements for it to be delivered to you. I would recommend you take it as directed, or the consequences may be fatal.
"By the way, both the tin of potatoes and that tin of salmon in that cupboard are months past their use by dates. You might want to consider throwing them out. The tin of corned beef is fine, though. Unfortunately, you appear to have mislaid the key."
*
Harry broke out of his paralysis at eight thirty the next morning, but it was past nine o'clock before he was able to finish dressing and head out of the door.
He was in a towering temper, and he almost slammed the door off its hinges.
He had spent the entire night fully awake, completely unable to move and plotting terrible revenges upon Snape.
It was a terrible irony that the one person he loathed more than anyone else from the magical world was the only person from that world who knew where he was living these days.
Professor McGonagall had made him promise to keep taking the series of potions in a vain attempt to lift the curse. She had assured him that Snape would never reveal his whereabouts to anyone, including herself.
By now, though, Harry was convinced he was suffering for no reason at all. Voldemort hadn't placed a curse on him to shield his powers; he had simply drained him of them. There appeared to be nothing left to restore.
Harry only remembered that he was supposed to buy himself a suit when he was on the bus and fumbling for his bus pass. It took him a moment to remember where the money had come from.
He got off early and headed for the store that he'd bought all his work clothes from, a place recommended by Brooke after his interview. He ran through the open doors and straight up the stairs to the First Floor.
Most of the clothes he'd bought last time were off the peg. He was hoping to be lucky this time. If he'd had the time he would have tried somewhere cheaper.
To his amazement, they appeared to be expecting him.
The senior assistant, who had served him before, handed him a pile of clothes and pointed him towards the changing rooms.
They had a conversation through the curtains as Harry dressed himself. Not only was there a respectably plain suit, but also a shirt and tie.
"Mr Brooke called us this morning," advised the assistant. "We had your details from when you were fitted out before, Sir. I trust Sir approves of the style?"
Harry pulled the curtain back and said, "These are great! The trousers are a little long, though."
"Stand on the stool and I'll pin them up temporarily. You can drop them in for a permanent adjustment later, when you have more time."
Harry looked at his watch as the assistant worked quickly. It was half past ten.
"I need to hurry," said Harry to himself.
"Mr Brooke has sent you a cab, Sir."
"Really?"
"Would Sir like to pay at the Cashier while I wrap your old clothes, Sir?"
"Um, thanks. Thanks for everything."
*
Harry jumped out of the cab and paid the driver before rushing up to the offices on the First Floor. At the top of the landing he tried to compose himself.
He made a valiant and utterly unconvincing attempt to casually walk into the back office. To his relief, though, it was once again deserted.
He walked over to his desk and removed his jacket before opening the window.
The cool fresh air relaxed him as he caught his breath properly. The sound of laughter reached his ears. He wondered where it was coming from. Possibly one of the meeting rooms, he decided.
Harry realised that all the papers and ledgers that he'd been working through had all gone. His desk was completely bare. Even his pens had gone.
The office door opened and Harry turned around.
Her face was smiling and rather red, but tears were forming in her eyes. By the time she reached him, Molly Weasley was in floods of tears.
"Oh, Harry," she sobbed. "I've been so worried about you."
Harry felt his throat tighten as he returned her hug and he realised he was feeling quite tearful too.
After a long moment, she pushed him away and said, "Let me take a proper look at you. You're so thin! But you do look smart, Harry."
"Um, this is new today, actually. I think it was in your honour," he added with a smile.
"Now, before I forget," she said, producing a small green bottle and handing it to him. "Severus said you must take this in one swallow after a meal at precisely seven minutes past three this afternoon. He said the time was very important."
"Is that British Summer Time or Greenwich Mean Time?"
"Gosh! He didn't say! Whatever shall we do?"
Harry grinned at her stricken face and said, "Its okay, Mrs Weasley, I was just kidding."
She slapped him playfully on his arm.
"Honestly," she said with a smile.
"Snape didn't happen to mention if there would be any side effects with this dose, did he?"
"Well, sort of. I mean, when I asked he just sort of grinned. I'm sure it won't be anything too bad-"
"Or he'd want to witness it himself?" Harry finished for her, holding the bottle up to the light.
"I do wish you two would make up your differences."
"Why?" Harry found himself asking.
"Well, Severus could do with some support right now and so will you when you recover and rejoin the magical community."
"Mrs Weasley, I'm not going to recover," Harry said gently.
Knowing that more tears were coming he held out his arms and they comforted each other.
"So much has changed, Harry. You just have to recover, you just have to."
*
After several minutes, Mrs Weasley composed herself again in time for Brooke to pop his head around the door and say, "We ready? Come on, we have a table booked for lunch."
As the three of them walked along the busy high road to the hotel restaurant, Harry reflected on how much he had missed Mrs Weasley. He had hated distancing himself from her, but she seemed to accept that he felt the need to do so.
She had diplomatically not mentioned anything about the others, perhaps fearing Harry's reaction.
Harry himself was unsure how he would react to news of his friends. A short while ago, he would have reacted badly. Now, he wasn't sure.
The only thing he was sure of was that it was time to stop hurting Mrs Weasley. She was clearly worried about something. Perhaps it was time to rejoin the magical community after all, magic abilities intact or not.
*
They entered the tiny bar immediately inside the entrance to the hotel restaurant. They had entered down the steep basement stairs that avoided the main hotel entrance.
"Three dry white wines, please," asked Brooke.
"Hang on!" said Mrs Weasley, producing a long list in Snape's spiky handwriting. She quickly scanned the list. "No, white wine is fine, Harry."
"What's that Molly?" asked Brooke.
"This is a list of everything Harry can and can't consume in case the, er, medicine is affected."
"Oh, I see."
"Would you like to have your drinks at your table, Sir?" asked the barman.
"Yes, that would be fine, thanks."
"Very good, Sir. Please go through. I will bring your drinks through at once."
*
"I'm so glad you could come, Molly," said Brooke smiling. "I hardly spoke a word to you at the weekend. I suppose that's the price you pay for being a favourite Aunt."
Mrs Weasley smiled warmly at her cousin.
"How is everyone?"
"Oh, same as usual. I hardly see them at all, actually. They're usually off doing their own things. Still, it's nice when those that can make it get together for lunch."
Harry listened as Mrs Weasley and Brooke recounted their childhood misadventures together during their summer holidays. It sounded like an incredibly carefree existence. It also sounded like the Ministry didn't quite regard underage magic with such seriousness as they had with him.
They finished their meal shortly before three o'clock, when Mrs Weasley began to glace at her watch every ten seconds, between straining to see the clock on the wall.
Brooke smiled at her and stretched.
"We've booked a room for you here, Harry," he said. "Unless, you'd rather just collapse at the table?"
Harry snorted.
"Somewhere private would be better," he admitted.
Brooke gave him an appraising look and said, "Well, Harry. It's been a pleasure. I'm sorry that we'll be losing you."
"Losing me? I'm not sure this is going to work, you know?"
"Will that make a difference? I'm not sure it should. Somehow, I feel that the Dark Art of Accountancy isn't really for you."
"Harry's usually fighting the Dark Arts, actually," quipped Mrs Weasley.
"If you don't mind, I'll have your things packed up from your bedsit and send them on to Molly. I'll pay off any rent you have outstanding."
They stood and Brooke extended his hand.
Harry shook his hand, and Brooke said, "I'll see you soon, Harry, I'm sure of it."
"Thank you for everything," said Harry.
Brooke took a step around the table and kissed Molly.
"Will you be okay?" he asked gently.
Mrs Weasley nodded with a tearful smile.
Brooke gave her another reassuring hug and said, "Go up that staircase. It leads directly to the hotel reception."
They parted and Brooke went to pay the meal bill.
At the hotel desk, the young receptionist confirmed Harry's details and handed them a room key.
"Is there anything to pay?" asked Mrs Weasley uncertainly.
"Oh, no," she advised with a smile. "Mr Brooke has paid in advance for two weeks and has made arrangements should you require the room for longer. Enjoy your stay, Mr Potter."
They walked towards the lift, and Harry was about to query why they had booked the room for so long, but Mrs Weasley warned him not to say anything.
They got to the room.
Inside there was a single bed, a wooden chair and a side table. On the table was an ornate clock showing the time just after three o'clock.
There was no other furniture in the room at all. Everything in the room was entirely white, including the walls and carpet. There were no curtains hanging against the single window, but the glass was a white opaque that looked quite unnatural.
"Harry, please lie on the bed and relax. We don't have much time. I promise we'll talk properly after."
Harry took off his jacket and sat on the bed.
"I've got to go. I'll seal you in, so you won't be disturbed. The whole room is sealed, actually."
She hurried back towards the door.
"Good luck, Harry, dear," she said shakily before exiting. Harry listened as he heard the squelch of the door being sealed.
Harry pulled off his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt. He might as well be comfortable.
He sat on the bed, potion bottle in hand, waiting for the second hand on the bedside clock to reach precisely seven minutes past three.
Harry swallowed the potion in one, and was unconscious before he hit the bedclothes.