Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Samuel cursed himself for a fool. It did not bode well for Amanda's frame of mind that she had abandoned the activity that seemed to offer the most comfort. Storming down the hall he realized he was frightening John, the man was a sickly white color, trailing after him frantically asking for an explanation.

Samuel couldn't name his fear. Wouldn't name his fear. That would make it too real. Right now he was riding a wave of detachment and disbelief.

He didn't know if he knocked on her door or just shouldered on through, but he was suddenly standing in Amanda's room, staring at the handfuls of chestnut hair strewn around her chair. The mirror reflected glazed, haunted eyes surrounded by the worst butchery of a haircut that Samuel had seen on anyone over the age of ten.

When John tried to step past, Samuel grabbed his arm and pushed him out the door. She was still holding the kitchen shears and startling her would not be a good idea.

"Hand me the scissors. Now." Thank Merlin he could control his voice; it was calm and commanding. Clearly the girl thought so too because she carefully placed them, handle first, in his outstretched hand. Okay, breathe, Samuel. Good. Now start dealing with the fallout one step at a time. "Mr. Wolfe, will you help Amanda clear this mess? And John, don't let her out of your sight."

Alone at the kitchen table, Samuel restructured the evening. Mary would be happy to see what she could do with Amanda's remaining hair. Robert agreed to pick up supper for five from the diner. And Troy would be willing to take Jack to dinner at the steakhouse in Helena, by the scenic route. Now Samuel needed only to prepare himself for his part in the evening.

He was amazed that Mary was able to salvage a cute, if very short, hairstyle from the refugee look that Amanda had created. Even so, dinner was a somber event, and Robert and Mary had the dishwasher loaded before Samuel even noticed that his plate had been cleared. He could not say what he had eaten or if it was even edible.

After quick goodbyes, Samuel was alone again with John and Amanda. He swept them both into his office and settled Amanda into the chair. Glaring a challenge at Wolfe, he tore into his locked cabinet and transferred the rack of empty vials to his desk after palming a syringe into his pocket.

He took an extra moment to center his mind before he made eye contact with the girl. He intended to convey an easy competence. Alarming her would only make the process more difficult, so he began with something she would be expecting.

"I need to run some follow-up blood work." He indicated the vials. He didn't want to make her feel bullied, nor did he want her to feel free to decline, so he was already rolling up her sleeve as he asked, "May I?"

It worked. She nodded consent without hesitation. The routine blood work was not strictly necessary, but it did allow a nice segue for the true purpose of this cozy little gathering.

Having finished drawing blood, Samuel pulled the sedative from his pocket and chose a vein. "This will make the last test a bit easier." Easier for Samuel, but he didn't need to share that with her. Keeping his hand on Amanda's arm, he waited to feel the drug start to work. "John, can you slip this into the stand?"

John's face went quite grey as he closed his hand around the tube of still warm blood. Samuel snatched it back without letting go. "Wolfe," he barked at the swooning man, "Sit in my chair, put your head between your knees, and for pity sake, don't forget to breathe." For the love of Pete, the man was about to faint. "John, what are you doing?"

"God, Sev, I'm trying to do what you asked. Is it necessary to yell at me?" Even as he settled into the chair, irritation was staining his cheeks. Good. Pissy was better than unconscious, and now he could focus completely on Amanda.

He felt her muscles going slack as her eyes drifted closed. After a count of five, Samuel spoke firmly. "Open your eyes." She complied easily, and a silent spell later, her mind was open to him.

He had prepared himself for hell. If what he found was less frightening, it was definitely more disturbing. He saw her sitting on the sand at the shore, the sun high in the sky. She was sorting through textbooks in a small dingy room. A young, round Amanda was flying over the handlebars of her bike, then crying over the bleeding scrape on her knee. None of it was what Crane was looking for.

He tried directing the flow of ideas, but only felt himself pushed aside against a giant curtain, the dark fabric woven with the giant image of a tree. And then she was walking through London with Weasley, holding hands and chattering about University. Samuel had seen quite enough. He broke the bond.

"John, there are two vials on the corner of my desk. Can you hand me the red one without dropping it?"

John snarled about ungrateful bastards and warm blood, but he carefully placed the potion in Samuel's hand. It took a few moments for the headache to recede, then Samuel stood and retrieved the other potion.

After tucking Amanda into her bed with a healthy dose of Dreamless Sleep, Samuel returned to the kitchen with John following in his wake.

He'd deal with the kitchen counters later, right now he was busy filling a pasta bowl with praline and rocky road ice cream, several bananas, caramel and hot fudge. He was licking his thumb when he saw John's smirk. It couldn't be helped, so he held out a second spoon and shrugged when John took it.

The kitchen table was as far as Samuel wished to go, and they were scraping the last of the caramel from the bottom of the bowl before he was ready to share his thoughts.

"I don't know, John. They're locked up tight. Maybe she won't speak of the events because she doesn't have access to those memories. Or maybe she's just keeping them from me. Regardless, I have no idea what prompted that little scene this afternoon. And until I do, we're going to have to keep a very close eye on the girl."

"She wasn't suicidal when I brought her here."

"She was catatonic, Wolfe. And she isn't technically suicidal now, I'm simply proceeding with caution."

"Do you think I blame you? Stop right there. I just don't know how all of this works. Allen said I should expect things to get worse before they get better, but I never imagined that she might harm herself."

Samuel sniffed in response.

"Hey, I'm sorry, okay? This is the blasted Ministry's fault. They should have been more focused on tracking down those animals. She disappeared in broad daylight, from Diagon Alley."

"I don't need to be protected. By you or bloody Potter."

"I just can't help but think that I could have prevented all of this, if I'd brought facts to light right away."

"John! Save it for your priest or your shrink. I can't deal with your misplaced guilt as well as my own. But for what it's worth, I wouldn't have gone back. I still won't. Let Potter and Shacklebolt sort it out."

"Samuel..."

"No. It was wrong for me to bark at you. I'm sorry."

"Pardon? I must have misunderstood."

"Oh, shut it, you great poof. I'm not going to say it again."

"Not even if I...." As John whispered the rest in his ear, Samuel felt his face grow hot. The kitchen suddenly seemed quite small, but moving to the deck didn't seem to help either. John still knew all the right buttons to push to leave Samuel breathless and dizzy.

"Maybe. Perhaps you should find out," Samuel said even as he shifted out of John's reach and stepped to the rail.

"You're a bloody tease, Samuel Crane."

"Says the man who was just offering to trade favors for a repeated apology." But he was already turning back to John. "I'm really making an arse of myself, aren't I?"

The man was little more than a shadow in the dying light. "You once told me that 'mind magic' left you with a niffler in your skull. I'm sorry you had to do that again." The shadow was guiding him to sit on the bench and firm hands began working the knotted muscles between his shoulders.

"Hurts at the base of my skull, C1, or C2 I think..." Pain was making him whine like Weasley. God, Samuel, shut up.

"Shh... Do you feel how much tension you're carrying? Relax your arms and shoulders. I'll get to your neck soon enough." As the warmth of the fingers worked through the knots and cut through years of resentment, suddenly it was easier to accept that he was lost. Lost from the carefully constructed distance that protected him from the hard, cold world. Lost from the ruthlessly controlled facade he projected to the masses. And lost from the need to protect himself from John. "Let's move somewhere that you can lie down. Hmm?"

"Wouldn't be so tense if you would do this every night." The words were out before he could stop himself. He could feel his muscles tightening again with his cringe. Damn, damn...

"I'm sure we can work something out. Come on now, let's get you to bed. We've got an early drive to Missoula in the morning." And Samuel forgot to be annoyed.

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That night, he woke in a cold sweat to the silver light of the growing moon. He couldn't breathe and his heart was racing as his past weighed heavily down on him. There was a snore as the weight shifted and he gasped for air. Not his past weighing down this time, but John.

"Gerroff me!" And he shoved the man away, hard.

"Sev? What's up?"

"You're crushing me, that's what."

The wolf didn't release him, but rolled to his side, pulling Samuel with him. "Samuel. Your heart's racing. Are you all right?"

"If you must know, I was dreaming of Prague." Silence pressed between them as John must have been remembering that botched drop as well.

It was supposed to be easy. That passing of information. Two nondescript men, meeting in a foreign town full of tourists. A hunted man and a sometimes beast sharing a hotel room for one night with no fanfare. Plenty of time to compare notes, pass a potion, make amends.

How Moody had learned his whereabouts, Samuel still wondered. He was expecting John when the Aurors blasted down the door. Vicious curses were thrown by both sides. The third floor window was his only escape. And then he was hunted in earnest.

Where better to disappear than to the ghettos filled with the dregs of humanity, most of them looking to disappear as well? The next five days were spent blending in with prostitutes and drug dealers. Only the roughest crowd would sufficiently dissuade the rabid Aurors on his tail. Even the smallest spell could attract deadly attention, so Samuel survived by his wits alone.

He watched the moon wax full with the Wolfsbane still hidden in his pocket, wondering where John Wolfe would hide. He cursed his foul fortune, he cursed he empty stomach, and he cursed Alastor Moody. Then he found the nastiest bint in the ghetto and threw himself on her dubious mercy. Vena had him running drugs through the worst parts of town in exchange for food well past its prime, and protection from 'Interpol'.

As the moon waned, so did his hope. This time he'd carried a name. It was vital that Lupin be told the identity of the mole within the Order. If John didn't find him soon, Samuel would have to risk discovery and arrest. He'd send the name to bloody Potter if he must.

He was renting an owl in Warsaw when Wolfe grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out of the shop. Haggard and haunted, John could still easily overpower the battered, hungry fugitive.

As soon as they had slipped into the gloom of the alley, Samuel felt the sharp tug of the Portkey that dropped them inside the 'safe house'. He had barely found his feet when John was shoving a satchel into his hands.

"I'm done with this cloak and dagger business. The risks are too great and the rewards, paltry by comparison. For good or ill, this will all be over within a fortnight. Take the boy and go. Your new identities and contact are in that case. Don't take time to pack."

He frantically slipped the greasy takeout menu into Wolfe's hands. "The name of your mole. When you feel merciful, remember the Creeveys." He paused a moment, then decided. "Perhaps you should let Alastor handle it."

And then the wolf was gone. Leaving him with a lonely, broken child and a trail of breadcrumbs leading to the new world.

He took a moment to anchor himself in the present, focusing on the soft bedding and warm arm pinning him against John's body. "I've long wondered, would you have helped me leave the continent if Moody hadn't found me?"

"What? I'd had those papers for weeks when you contacted me to set up the drop. Bloody Alastor."

"You do know that man is psychotic, right?"

John simply snorted.