Chapter Three

Chapter Three

He was tucked into the comfortably stuffed, olive reading chair beside his bed when John found him. "Do you think turning the rug will sufficiently hide the spot?"

He scowled when John snorted at him. "I assure you that your rug is once again stain-free. Can we get back to the issue of helping Amanda?"

"I now understand your reluctance in getting those two involved. I'll find another way. They may both leave."

John was not that easily dissuaded. He reasoned and coaxed, cajoled and argued, but Samuel refused to be manipulated. It was bad enough that he was expected to clean up yet another of the Ministry's blunders. Tolerating Potter and Weasley in his home for another minute was beyond the pale.

"Did you leave those two delinquents alone? I've seen first hand the destruction Potter can bring upon an office." Dark eyes locked with toffee brown for a moment before Samuel looked down at the hand resting casually on his arm. He glared at Wolfe until the hand was removed.

Wolfe looked abashed as he stood slowly from his seat on the bed. "Having those two men know that they owe you might bring certain tactical advantages. Don't toss this aside because of old grudges." And then, looking resigned and saddened, he left.

Samuel reached for the nearest item to hurl against the wall. The smooth pottery felt heavy in his hand, and the sound of the shattering vase would be deeply satisfying. But soft words from the door stopped him cold.

"That looks expensive." Potter's voice was so unexpectedly calm that Samuel found himself pointing to the other chair.

"And irreplaceable. Mary sold her pottery wheel last fall."

"You're still an arrogant arse."

"You remain ignorant and sanctimonious."

"The Ministry thinks you're dead." The words were factual and the tone flat. Potter sank into the chair as though defeated.

"Why would they believe such a thing?" Samuel needed to make sense of a world suddenly gone mad.

"Lupin asked me to call off the dogs. I trust him, so I lied. Shall I go back and set the record straight?" Ah, yes. This was the Potter he knew and dispised.

"Are you threatening me?"

"Amazingly, no. Now that Yaxley and Macnair are in custody, we could bring the whole truth to light. Clear your name." When Samuel looked up, Potter's emerald eyes were free of deception. The blighter wanted to offer a deal.

Samuel snorted. "Which name did you have in mind to clear?" Silence followed. "Hmm? I have a comfortable life here. After five years, I'm respected and well compensated. What did I have to show for fifteen years of teaching brats like you?"

"So don't come back. But if you ever wanted to, the slate would be clean. When have I ever offered you anything like this? Merlin, is it money you want? I'll pay your standard patient fees – "

"Do you truly believe that this is about anything as banal as money? Tell me, Potter, how will you feel when Amanda states clearly, in her own voice, that she wants a fresh start? How will Weasley deal with that rejection?"

"I don't think that will happen."

"No? How many victims of sexual assault have you coaxed back into what passes for a productive life? None? What about survivors of physical abuse? Thirty-six percent of my patients turned to drugs because they couldn't deal with those feelings of helplessness. What about magical abuse? She's suffered all three. We don't know what she'll decide she wants when she steps out of her terror or if she will ever make that step. Is that what you want for Weasley? Spend a weekend with the Longbottoms before you make up your mind." He was livid. The golden boy was out of his element, had no idea that life might give him less than he demanded of it.

"I'll admit that losing Hermione was devastating for Ron. But he's stronger now, and I have faith that he'll do what's right for Amanda. Just finding her alive gave him hope; then Remus told us that she is convinced that she's still a prisoner, that you need our help to convince her that she'll be safe. Now you're telling me to leave?"

Samuel raised a hand to speak, but Potter ranted right over his objection. "I know about your success rates, and I have a fair idea of how you get through to your more resistant clients. I don't care. I think you're the only person who can help Amanda, and I'll beg if it'll make a difference."

"Be it on your own head, Potter, when this whole thing goes arse over teakettle."

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Less than ten minutes later, Samuel watched as Potter approached Amanda's side. Her eyes were closed in fitful slumber, but at the sound of his voice, her heart rate slowed and her eyelids fluttered. He let them both cry together for a time and then stepped to Amanda's other side and held her fingers firmly.

She accepted him this time, controlled her breathing and made eye contact. "You're really going to help me? After the horrible scene I made before?"

At that moment Weasley pushed through the door. "Amanda, hey, I can't believe it. I'm so happy to see you... What's wrong?"

Her fingers tightened painfully on Samuel's hand as all her vitals spiked. "Wolfe, take care of Weasley." Thankfully, John pulled the horrified young man out of the room. Samuel fumbled through his pocket for the syringe of sedative, found it, and removed the cap. Practiced as the motion was, it still felt odd with his left hand. He could feel her grip loosen as liquid calm entered her bloodstream.

To his credit, Potter never let go of her hand, despite the anguished sobs from the hall. The sounds drifted further away, and Samuel silently thanked John for handling the young man's very vocal grief. "Can you remove your hand? She's sleeping for now. Perhaps we should discuss what has just transpired."

Potter shook his head. "Maybe you should be the one to talk with Ron. I'll sit with Amanda."

And so it was Samuel who found Wolfe's note leading him to the diner.

"What do you mean, you won't serve us?"

Oh, crap. Weasley was about to make a scene at the bar, and John had clearly discovered 'the list'. Bess was honoring the deal she had made with Samuel by not serving alcohol to Wolfe; Weasley was a serendipitous inclusion by virtue of sitting with the man.

Irritation flashed in John's eyes. The game was up, and there would be hell to pay, but right now he needed to focus on the younger man. Hopefully the wolf would let him. He spat one word to John, "Later," and turned his focus to Weasley the whiner. "Bess is only following my request that she not sell spirits to my guests. You know the purpose of my clinic; no doubt you can see the wisdom of such an arrangement."

"You're here to vouch for us now. I need something strong to calm my nerves." The whelp was trying to force his hand. Fine. That allowed Samuel to take issue with Weasley's escapism.

"I don't think it's wise for you to imbibe tonight, Mr. Weasley. Alcohol is a mild depressant, and you hardly need to add fuel to that emotion right now. We can discuss this further in my office." Focus on the boy; save your displeasure with Wolfe for later.

And in less than twenty minutes, Weasley had agreed to seek solace with his parents for a time. Molly might act like a mother hen, but that would likely work to her son's advantage in this instance. And Samuel could always have John check on the boy in a day or so. If John was still speaking to him.

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"...can't believe you don't trust me! For God's sake, Crane, I was mortified. Just call me a drunk in front of Ron and Harry – " Wolfe had given up the pretense of sitting and was pacing the floor like a Jackal in too small a cage. Samuel finished his second recitation of the Hippocratic Oath, and he found his temper was at its farthest end.

"If you'll recall, I covered for your sorry arse with Weasley. I already regret that decision. A bar was the last place that boy belonged, and you know very well how quickly drinking took over your own life. Who better to explain than you? And now you've no one to blame but yourself if Potter hears you raving like a maniac, shouting things you would rather keep between us."

"Of course I'm shouting. I'm angry, furious, livid. I can't believe you told Bess. Who else have you told behind my back? Does this entire town know? Have you sent an owl to Skeeter? Christ Almighty, it's my life. Let me choose who and when to tell. Are we going to draw little charts with stair steps now, push me to find religion, make me tell all my friends?"

Three timid knocks sounded on the door. "Remus, I already knew," said a tired looking Potter. "After we lost Albus, it was hard to miss. I just didn't know how to help without making you mad."

Samuel snorted as he sank back into his chair. "Clearly I have no better idea, as he's angry, furious, and livid with me."

"Better you than me. Um, no offense."

"Harry, thank you for the reality check, but I really need to hash this out with, um, Samuel. I'll talk with you tomorrow." The angry fire remained in John's eyes, but at least now he didn't seem quite as explosive.

Potter closed the door quietly, and Samuel braced himself for another tirade. "You know very well that I haven't pushed you into any twelve step program. And I've been very patient until now, but I must tell you, you're acting like an arse." Take the bait, take the bait, take the bait.

"You're right; you haven't pushed me into a program. As a matter of fact you haven't pushed me at all. Do you even care why this all started? Do you know how horrible it was to feel you slip away, to wonder if you'd maintained your cover? To know that you could never come home, even if it all went to hell?"

He was pacing a tight circle, and one carefully timed step placed Samuel directly in his path. Crane yielded to the shove, but at the last moment, Wolfe wrapped his fingers around fabric and pulled him back sharply by his shirt. Samuel steadied them both with one hand on John's chest.

"We did it for Harry and Troy, remember? We all knew the price, and as adults we chose to buy them a few more moments of innocence. Neither child a murderer... Can you begrudge that for either boy?"

"I know, I'm sorry..." John's voice cracked.

"In a way, he saved us both as well."

"Sherbet lemon?" The chuckle was decidedly bitter.

"You are well aware that I can't stand the flavor. Too cloyingly sweet, but I don't suppose I've ever told you that I keep a handful in my desk for the scent alone."

"I would never have suspected a respected psychiatrist to do something so mental."

"We all have our foibles. Which brings me to the very pointed question of what you will now employ as a coping strategy while you continue to grieve for Albus." And soon he was behind his desk again, skirting the line between lover and councilor, guiding John carefully to one single realization.

"I can't do this with you."

"Which part?"

"I don't know about the rest, but therapy for certain."

"Thank God you noticed. Now can I refer you without hurting your pride?" Samuel knew he was holding his breath, but couldn't risk tipping the scales of this delicate balance.

"Fine, who and when?" And the uneasiness between them abated somewhat.

But Samuel held up his hand as John followed to his bedroom door. "Can we revisit this moment after you've spoken with Alan? I'd like to get my feet back solidly into the grey instead of the blatantly unethical."

As he watched John walk desolately down the hall, Samuel reminded himself of the problems with blurring the lines between lover and 'shrink'. When he pushed the door closed, it felt as though three grown men were pushing against him.