Seeing the Sights

Chapter 7

Monday and Tuesday: Seeing the Sights

The observation deck of the John Hancock Building, at ninety-four floors, isn't the place to be if you're not fond of heights. For that reason, Hermione and I stood a respectful foot or two away from the windows, while Remus was virtually nose to nose with the glass.

"Incredible view, isn't it?" he enthused, looking down at the expanse of big city and the vastness of Lake Michigan.

"Just out of curiosity," I said, glancing around to make sure we weren't being overheard, "how high can you fly on broomsticks? This high? Higher?"

Remus looked as though the question had never occurred to him.

"I don't know that anybody's ever really measured the distance. What do you think, Hermione? Have you ever run across it in any of your books?"

The girl shivered slightly. "I've never checked," she said. "Brooms aren't my preferred mode of transportation, to be honest."

Remus grinned. "Whatever happened to Gryffindor bravery?"

"I can be perfectly brave on the ground, thank you."

I laughed. Laughing felt good. Wandering around like a carefree tourist felt good.

After one last fruitless session of brainstorming, Remus and I had decided to temporarily shelve the problem of getting him back into Britain and enjoy the trip instead. While I intended to take Billy up on his offer to search the house for Marvy's wand, right now everything else was on the back burner. I still held out hope that Marvy was looking out for us and some way around the problem would present itself at the right time. Sometimes the answers aren't staring you in the face; sometimes you just have to wait for them.

It was another hot day, and our immediate priority was to get Remus some summer clothes. The plan, which had made perfect sense back in our London flat, was for him to transfigure his regular clothing into something cooler and more comfortable once we arrived. But then Dillard Breckinridge showed up before Remus had the opportunity to make any wardrobe alterations, and now he was stuck with London-weight shirts, sweaters and trousers.

A trip to Marshall Field's yielded the necessary items. I wish I could have seen the look on my face when Remus emerged from the dressing room, clad in his new Muggle summer clothes; I don't know how werewolves normally dress in the States, but I imagine he'd create a sensation in Britain if he walked down Diagon Alley in his blue polo shirt and khaki shorts.

"This is a little tricky without a wand," he muttered to me. "I've always adjusted the clothes myself if things didn't fit quite right."

"It looks like they fit," I said, trying to keep a straight face. "Do you want me to find some different sizes for you?"

"No, I think these'll do. I'm just accustomed to adjusting them a bit."

"I think we've found our secret weapon," I murmured to Hermione as Remus went back into the dressing room. "All we have to do is dress everyone in the Order like that and Voldemort will laugh himself to death."

Hermione dissolved into a fit of the giggles.

We strolled down Michigan Avenue, doing more window shopping than the real thing. I found a few items for the flat; too bulky to carry back, I arranged for them to be shipped to Britain. They would arrive shortly after we returned home – presuming we returned home, of course.

Hermione's attention was caught by one of the teen clothing stores, and Remus and I trailed inside in her wake. She browsed briefly, selected a few summer items, and looked around for the dressing room. A smiling saleslady pointed the way, then glanced in my direction.

"Would you like to go along to help your daughter?" the woman offered.

Before I could answer, Hermione stopped in her tracks and turned around.

"She's not my mother," she said, sharply enough that the saleslady was left with no doubt that the two of us were unrelated.

I managed a gracious smile and told Hermione that Remus and I would wait outside. Hermione, I was sure, had not intended to be rude to me, yet that's exactly how her retort came across. Remus had the same impression.

"Well," he said as we walked back onto the sidewalk, "that certainly came out of nowhere, didn't it?"

"I think the saleswoman caught her off guard." I shook my head. "It's just not possible that she's gone through all the stages of grief yet. She's still keeping it bottled in, isn't she?"

Remus, meanwhile, had spotted the display windows of the next shop and was tugging me by the hand to have a look. I glanced up and caught a glimpse of the marquee: Tiffany's.

"Remus," I said warningly, "don't start."

"Start what?" he said lightly.

"Your 'Kailin Should Have a Nice Wedding Ring' thing."

Remus ignored me. "Now that," he said, pointing to an elegant diamond ring in the window, "is what I would buy you if I could."

"And why would I need that?" I asked rhetorically.

"I didn't say you needed it. But you certainly deserve it." He paused. "I just wish I could buy my wife a diamond like every other man," he finished softly.

"In the first place," I pointed out, "not every man buys diamonds for his wife. And in the second place, it couldn't take the place of a family heirloom like this." I fingered the thin, simple band on my left hand.

"Family heirloom, yeah," Remus said, the lines around his mouth deepening.

I knew what he was thinking: that even though my wedding ring had passed down through several generations of his family, it would never be regarded as a fabulous piece of antique jewelry. The ring was plain and worn and did nothing more than convey the message that I was married. Though we lived comfortably enough on my salary and his dole, Remus still felt the sting of not being able to afford a nice ring of my own choosing.

We'd had this conversation more than once. I was in no way a jewelry fiend and asked positively nothing of him in the way of gifts; it was merely the idea that he couldn't buy it that troubled him. And now that the Ministry had cut off his monthly dole as part of the deportation, it was even less likely that there were any diamonds in my future.

"Okay," I said, willing to play the good sport. "Let's pretend we just won the lottery. What would you buy me?"

"Oh." Remus looked surprised when I didn't continue my usual practice of denying the need for expensive gifts. "Uh... well... that one for sure." He nodded toward the ring that had initially caught his eye. "And maybe those earrings to go with it."

"As long as they're gold and not silver," I reminded him. "I'd hate to have you nibble on my ear and have your lips swell up to the size of dinner plates."

I'd always heard stories of silver bullets being used to kill werewolves. On one of our first dates, long before I knew of Remus' lycanthropy, I discovered that he was hypersensitive to the metal when a silver pitcher rubbed against an open wound on his hand. It wasn't until March, when I was closeted with Poppy Pomfrey for the better part of a week, that I discovered more about werewolves and silver intolerance. There was nothing magical about silver bullets, silver knives, or silver anything, I learned. Poppy explained what happened when a werewolf was exposed to the metal, and I translated it at once into Muggle medical terms. What she was describing was a full-blown anaphylactic reaction.

"Lips the size of dinner plates," Remus mused now. "That would be a sight."

I laughed. "I used to have a pair of silver earrings, you know," I told him.

"What happened to them? I never saw you wear them."

"You happened to them. I threw them out. I wanted you more than the earrings."

Remus chuckled at this news. "I don't know, maybe the earrings were a better deal. At least you could take those back to Britain."

We were supposed to avoid this subject, yet it was a good thing if we could laugh about it. "Hey, that's it! You could transfigure yourself into a pair of earrings. Oh, wait – I forgot. No wand."

"Bloody hell. I was sure you were onto something."

We were both laughing now. For a few more minutes we studied the jewelry in Tiffany's windows, and finally Hermione emerged from the clothing store with a bag of purchases. The girl spotted us at once and hurried over.

"There you are," she said breathlessly.

"Did your things fit?" I asked politely.

"They did – quite nicely, in fact." Hermione hesitated, dragging her eyes up to meet mine. "Kailin, I'm really, really sorry. What I said back there about you not being my mother... It came out rather badly. I wasn't trying to be a prat, really I wasn't."

"I know," I said, nodding. "And you're forgiven. Say, anybody for a boat ride on the Chicago River?"

The sightseeing boat tour gave us a chance to rest our tired feet before hiking back to the car and fighting the rush hour traffic out of town. By the time we made it back to Rockford, I had to head straight for the hospital after dropping off Remus and Hermione.

Once more, I found Billy in improved condition. Roger was there, and the three of us had a pleasant visit. But by the time visiting hours were over, I was more than grateful to leave the hospital and head back to the hotel. I don't know why I allow myself to be convinced that there are more than twenty-four hours in the day, but it was becoming a habit. At least, I thought, I had the foresight to leave two days at the end of the week where I'd have nothing to do but crash before returning to work on Monday.

Remus was stretched out on the bed, reading this morning's newspaper, while through the adjoining door I saw Hermione on her bed, her nose in a book. She looked up long enough to inquire what adventures I had planned for us tomorrow. Adventures? I nearly groaned aloud. Staying in bed all day sounded like a better idea to me, but I told her that we could take in some museums. We were discussing which ones to visit when Remus called our attention to an article in the paper.

"Did you read this?" he asked me.

"I barely had time to glance at the headlines this morning," I said. "Why? What is it?"

"The headline reads 'More Unexplained Murders in Britain'." Remus glanced over the top of the paper at us, then continued reading. "The discovery of two bodies near the village of Little Hangleton brings to six the number of unsolved murders in the vicinity over the past week. In all cases, there was no readily apparent cause of death, nor does there seem to be a connection between them. According to some residents, flashes of green light have recently been reported in the vicinity, but police have declined to say whether this phenomenon might be connected to the deaths."

Hermione looked stricken. "Voldemort," she whispered. "Little Hangleton... That's where he's from, isn't it?"

Remus nodded, frowning. "Well," he said wearily, "at least we know he hasn't been sitting on his arse while we're away."

"Let me see," I said, reaching for the newspaper and scanning the article for myself.

How odd, I thought, to be sitting here in the middle of the United States and have Voldemort intrude. I was struck immediately by how small the article was; it was nothing more than column filler, while it would have been a screaming headline in the Daily Prophet. Voldemort was literally a world away, and the thought was very, very comforting.

"I wonder..." Remus had climbed to his feet and was rummaging through his suitcase. He finally pulled out one of the brochures that Dillard Breckinridge had given him. "What say we take a little trip into the American wizarding world tomorrow? I'd like to find a newsstand."

Instead of heading for a museum the next morning, the three of us drove to Navy Pier. According to Breckinridge's information, a bookshop called Spellbound was the portal to the Greater Chicago wizarding shopping district. Just as with the Leaky Cauldron, Remus and Hermione could spot the shop door in the midst of the busy Muggle shops. I would have walked right past it.

The bookshop was large, and I heard Hermione gasp in pleasure at the array of shelves and their contents. It seemed that American wizards had taken a page from the newer Muggle bookstores, what with comfortable seating, refreshments and a vast selection of reading material, and I said as much to Remus. Remus looked at me in amusement and posited the notion that perhaps the wizards had come up with the idea first. That silenced me for a while.

While Remus made a beeline for the periodicals and newspapers, Hermione headed for a large section entitled 'Study Aids'. I settled for walking about, looking at the patrons. American wizards, I decided, looked quite different from British wizards. There were a few traditional robes and pointed hats in view, but not many. Was that due to the warmer climate here, or just a different culture? Also missing were any grizzled, menacing types along the lines of Mad-Eye Moody. This place reminded me of a college bookstore more than anything, with all varieties of casual and offbeat dress, full of people who felt no need to march to the latest dictates of style.

"Here's this morning's edition of the British daily, sir," I heard a young man say to Remus, handing him a rolled paper. I wandered back to rejoin my husband.

"Here," Remus said, indicating a table where we could sit together and read.

* MUGGLE DEATHS EVIDENCE OF FRESH DARK LORD ACTIVITY *

Her words were echoed by...

"Taken ill?" Remus repeated suddenly, a frown on his face. "What's that about?"

I continued to read while he went back to find the man at the front desk.

"Excuse me," I heard him say, "but do you happen to have any back issues of the Daily Prophet? Anything from the past few days?"

It was several minutes before Remus returned to the table, clutching two more editions of the newspaper. Sunday's paper contained the headline he was looking for:

*MINISTER BONES' CONDITION WORSENS*

Madam Bones' newly-appointed Special Assistant, Lucius Malfoy, stated that business would continue as usual. "Madam Bones is fortunate to have a highly qualified team of advisors in place. We will do all in our power to ensure that there will be no lapse in leadership." In addition...

Remus exhaled heavily and leaned back into his chair. "Malfoy," he muttered.

I took the paper from him and continued the article, hoping to perhaps find a medical clue to Amelia Bones' ailment. But there was none, and when I finished reading I looked up to find my husband looking equal parts furious and despondent.

"What did you find?" Hermione turned up, carrying a large tome entitled Acing the Test: You Can Pass Each and Every Time.

Without saying a word, Remus showed her the article. Her face paled.

"So," she said grimly. "What a coincidence that Madam Bones happens to fall ill just as Malfoy is named a Special Assistant."

"How?" I asked, my voice hushed. "Do you think she could have been poisoned?"

"Possibly," Remus said. "Or perhaps under the Imperius Curse."

"You know," said Hermione, "we should try to owl Professor Dumbledore or Mr. Weasley, now that we know how to gain access to the wizarding world here. I'm sure the messages are still being censored, of course, but we could at least tell them where we are and what we know."

Remus and I exchanged exasperated glances. We'd been desperate to find an owl the other day, to let the Order know of his plight. Dillard Breckinridge had literally handed us the answer, and in our exhaustion and despair we'd overlooked it.

The wizarding post office was about a block down the shopping strip. According to the sign above the door, this was the Main Branch for the Chicago Area Wizarding Mail Services. One look made me wonder just how Muggles like myself could fail to notice the hundreds of owls flying about, yet I knew if I asked Remus I'd get the same answer I always got ("It's magic"), so I kept my questions to myself. Obviously however they did it, it worked, because I grew up outside Chicago and never once heard a news report about owls taking over Navy Pier.

After debating who should receive our message, Remus dashed off the briefest of notes to Arthur Weasley, then showed it to Hermione and me for approval.

Having a great time, except have been banned from returning to Britain and had my wand confiscated. Rest of party will return as scheduled. Hope to talk with you soon.

Well, I thought, that summed it up in a nutshell.

"With luck," Remus said, "it'll be intercepted and read. If I do find a way back, I don't intend to broadcast it."

That taken care of, we left the wizarding street behind and returned to Muggle Chicago to take in the museums. We were all deep in thought, however, preoccupied with the events taking place several thousand miles away.