Rudolph clacked out of the back door of SHOP, flopped down the stairs and let out a forlorn, “WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!” Into the empty air when his hips became displaced from the rest of his body. It took a certain amount of undignified rolling to get back into position and loop the two bits back together. He had an assignment, it was only across the alley, he wasn’t going to allow a bit of faulty wiring to halt his quest. Mustering a level of inner strength typically only reserved for visits to his dear and beautiful Artemis Rudolph pulled himself upright with the aid of a nearby bin and began tottering his way haphazardly over the cobblestones.

Half of his fingers from the left hand had fallen off before Rudolph gave up on banging on the door. Jimmying the handle was a passing thought, until a high pitched whinny caught Rudolph’s attention. The skeleton beamed, jaw falling open joyfully. Fingers forgotten Rudolph again hoisted himself up and onto one of the nearby bins. It tottered, set off balance by his oddly proportioned weight. A fall in the wrong direction would have meant that it was all over but a strong January wind came to the rescue sending the skeleton and all his remaining bits into Jasper Christie’s garden. More specifically right into what in warmer whether would have been a rather well kept rose bush. A few incidental bones feel loose littering the hedge and surrounding path as Rudolph plucked himself from its clutches.

Once upright he clacked over to Pinkies pen, a modestly decorating establishment. Decked in jewels and glitter from end to end. It shimmered like a mirror ball and Rudolph, for a moment thought of how noble Artemis would think he was for his work. Pony regarded skeleton and skeleton regarded pony a series of non-verbal exchanges happened and then Rudolph was prying open the clip holding the door closed. Releasing the majestic steed…he had never ridden bareback but there were few other options. He lacked muscle and reaching Jasper’s window from his earthbound state was impossible. Catching a hold of her flossy mane he flung himself astride her back, clamouring upright and with a cry of “WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!” He ordered her forward.

Granted she wasn’t the fleetest of creatures, and granted it did somewhat ruin the valiant moment in taking 10 minutes to cross from one end of the garden to the other. But they made it in time and now Rudolph was breaking off bits of whatever seemed non-essential. Ribs, mostly and hurling them with all skeletal strength at Jasper’s window.

“WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!” he pleaded to the darkened space as he chucked another rib. He’d soon run out….

“WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!”

Jasper clutched the stem of his martini glass in rage. This day, if it could even be counted as a day since it was barely 4 AM, was not off to a promising start. He had awoken, around twenty minutes ago, to the shrill and horrific tones of Heartbreaker by Mariah Carey emanating from somewhere underneath his bed. Which, incidentally, Cal was conspicuously absent from. He'd been more and more strange lately, even for Cal; off at the lab at all hours, jittery and standoffish at yesterday's New Year's party. His absence did nothing to improve Jasper's already sour mood as he isolated the shrieking falsetto to a floorboard underneath the center of his bed.

When he flicked his wand to pry the thing loose he found an old fashioned Muggle tape recorder underneath, which he recognized as Atlas' from their Hogwarts days. In case he'd forgotten, thw words "Property of Atlas Caedmon" had been helpfully printed in block capitals on the side in biro. Jasper retrieved a pair of shoes from where he'd kicked them off before bed, slipped them on, and stomped the thing until Mariah Carey stopped making sounds like a dying quail. He stood for a few minutes, blinking at the plastic remains and wondering how long the thing had been in his house. He hadn't spoken to Atlas in weeks, since that horrific night with Cal, and doubted the man would have had the gall to break into his house after that. Probably some prank or booby trap he'd set up ages ago and long forgotten in his web of conspiracies and 'research' projects.

Done dealing with the abomination that was Heartbreaker, and realizing he was still a little bit drunk from the previous day's celebrations, he'd retired to the kitchen. There was a note in Cal's small, rapid handwriting. Going to the lab, there's a martini for you in the icebox He opened the door to the fridge, and there was. He wrapped his fingers gratefully around the chilly glass and retreated upstairs, where he intended to finish his drink, have a cigarette, stew about how annoying every person he knew was, and go back to sleep until January tenth.

He'd barely managed to make it partway through stage one of the plan before something clattered against his window alarmingly, followed by Rudolph's shouting, which was nearly as bad as Mariah Carey. Bloody fabulous. Drunk, awake in the middle of the night without a model, and the bloody bone pile wants a pony ride. Jasper pulled the curtains of his bed shut firmly and hoped Atlas would have the sense to come over and collect Rudolph before Jasper sold him to Franz for percussion on their next album.

Rudolph didn't seem to understand the danger, because he continued to yell and bounce bits of himself off Jasper's window, in increasingly desperate patterns. This continued for about half a martini until Jasper resigned himself to combatting the issue with reconnaissance shouting. He pushed back the curtains on the bed, then the curtains covering the window, and shoved one of the panes outward. Rudolph's empty eye sockets looked up at him from the dim yard, along with Pinkie Pie's sparkly pupils. Jasper tossed her a marshmallow reflexively and she neighed in response.

"WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!" Rudolph said, more urgently than usual. Jasper rolled his eyes, martini glass firmly in hand. The wind whipped from somewhere in his rafters toward the window and he shivered.

"Get out of here, you f--king anatomy accessory! It's not the time for bloody pony rides."

"WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!" Rudolph kicked Pinkie, clearly hoping for a dramatic rear, but achieving only a faint bounce since Pinkie really didn't have that much joint mobility.

"Great, fine, start with yourself and get back to me later."

Jasper took another grateful sip of his martini and started to pull the window closed when his back garden lit up rather alarmingly, followed by a loud whoop and the sound of glass breaking. Rudolph's head snapped to the left, Pinkie's following more slowly.

"WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!" This time the words were wavering, panicked. Fantastic, Atlas was doing some kind of dangerous experiment while not minding his undead pets, and now he'd managed to blow something up. There was still flickering light in the garden; something was on fire. Jasper decided he should probably go downstairs and make sure 'something' was not 'the side of his house.' He glanced at the covering of frost on the plants in his garden and gathered up yesterday's tuxedo in lieu of anything more appropriate for the outdoors, abandoning the tie in his hurry to get this over with. The martini accompanied him downstairs, where he was met at the back door of his shop by Rudolph, still astride Pinkie.

"Hello girl." He patted her chilly plastic nose with absent fondness. Rudolph reached out and tugged at his sleeve impatiently, nearly spilling his martini, and Jasper glared at him before snatching his arm away.

"I'm bloody coming, Merlin's beard Rudolph, he catches something on fire every other day, relax."

"WE'RE ALL GOING TO--"

Rudolph's voice died as Jasper rounded the corner into the alley between his house and SHOP and dropped his glass. The sound of the glass shattering followed directly behind the distinctive pop of disapparition. Someone appeared and slapped onto the damp, slick cobbles bonelessly, in a way that didn't especially suggest consciousness. There was a lot of blood on the pavement in a very short time. Jasper's hand extended, trancelike, and his wand twitched. The shards of glass swooped upward from the ground and reformed his drink, which he held absently. He felt suddenly, sharply sober when the thing--person--on the ground turned his head and gurgled.

"Atlas?"

cold.

He is in 4th year and a friendly scuffle with Wendell has just landed him in black lake. There’s seaweed tangled in his legs and ice floating in the water and he’s cold. Memory tells him that any second from now Will, at Jasper’s bidding will pluck him from the water. It’s not happening, instead something is tearing at him and he can’t turn his head to see it. He does not remember this being the way it was, watching the surface of the water slipping away. And just when he thinks his lungs will burst and everything is going dark the world folds.

He is in 7th year and its December; he knows this because there is brightly colored paper everywhere. Reindeer dance over the surfaces pulling mini sleds with fat Santa’s. Carols are singing in the air all around and he knows Jasper is there because there is tuneless singing to accompany it. There is a fire, Jasper is sitting among the packages, diligently wrapping but Atlas doesn’t feel any of the heat from it. He’s cold. Freezing actually. Rising from the floor he turns to see if someone has left the window open, something moves along the outside of the panes and he moves closer to investigate it. The glass cracks, shattering a moment later he turns to warn Jasper but the fire is dead and no one is there.

He is 21, in love, and showing Helena snow for the first time. Her hands are out like a child’s as she darts back and forth, catching the flakes on her gloves and inspecting them carefully. Ever a careful editor she is quick to dispense with the ones that seem plain, or do not meet her standards. They’ve been out for hours but she doesn’t complain and never will. A sound like ice breaking draws his attention and when he turns back she’s gone, nothing but snow, deep and piling around his legs meets his eyes. He calls for her but hears only an echo back.

Atlas?

It’s not her voice and it’s still cold but it’s enough. He’s still disoriented, but makes an effort to see whatever it is that’s questioning him. There’s nothing. No light, no warmth, absolute zero. His vision is cracked around the edges but he sees the silhouette. A man, straight backed, in his right hand he held some sort of goblet.

That’s death. A voice supplied and with it came images of Tarot cards, of paintings. He tries to greet him, to show some kind of respect and instead emits a toneless laughing, cracked around the edges. His head hurts.

The--thing--on the ground, Jasper couldn't stand to think of it as Atlas, made some kind of sound, halfway between the squelch of shoes in mud and fabric being torn apart. SHOP was still burning in the background, the light flickering unevenly over the frost and blood that was seeping slowly toward Jasper's polished shoes. He looked down at those for a moment, just to distract himself from his other option. His mind wasn't willing to think about Atlas yet; all his thoughts echoed silently against whatever part of his brain was blocking that out, lips moving numbly.

"Stop, please." He gestured at SHOP with the hand holding his forgotten drink. He suspected that Atlas didn't give a damn what he was doing, but he felt that it was more normal to explain. "It's on fire-- I need to--"

He shuffled blindly past Atlas and peered through a blasted out, blackened window frame. Whatever had caused the explosion seemed to have burned itself out quickly; there were flames but they weren't raging. Jasper cast a basic smothering spell, the sort of thing you learned in first year potions, and the fire dulled down to glowing coals. He was looking into the kitchen window, most of the furniture was scorched and the remains of some papers, turned to sheets of ash, floated to the charred floor. A puff of smoke floated toward him and he turned back into the alley, coughing, blinking away the bright spots the flames had seared into his vision. Atlas made a kind of hacking, wheezing sound that was repulsively wet. Jasper almost asked him to stop, then realized it was his breathing.

He was going to have to do something, and that meant he was going to have to look. He tried to take a deep breath before he cast the Lumos, but it only brought smoke and the sour iron of blood. In the narrow beam of light Atlas looked bruised and blue, his skin oddly puffy and uneven. His eyes drifted toward Jasper questioningly and his mouth opened. There were not enough teeth and the remaining ones were outlined in violently red blood. Atlas turned his head and Jasper could see a pattern in the chaos of scratches and bruises.

1/2? It didn't register at first, then when it did Jasper had a hard time believing it. A hate crime? Atlas had stepped on toes, of course, but to warrant this? The thought of it made Jasper's stomach turn; he'd never understood the animosity of class, the kind of prejudices that lingered even in generally good people like his parents. He took a tentative step forward, and Atlas turned his head.

Oh f-ck. F-cking hell. Jasper stumbled backward, retching. Where Atlas' ear should have been was not an ear. There was a bin behind him and he leaned over it, certain he was going to be sick for the first time in practically a decade, but he hadn't eaten anything in the chaos of New Year's so he just coughed dryly, the burn of acid welling up in his throat. Atlas made a kind of damp clicking sound and Jasper forced himself to turn around. There was no one else to do something about this. Jasper was incompetent, squeamish about blood, and slightly drunk, but he was the only person Atlas had.

Sh-t.

He could stop Atlas from bleeding, at least. Even Jasper had the capacity for a clotting spell. He cast it quickly, noticed his hand was shaking, and drank about half of the remaining martini before looking down at Atlas. Something was very wrong with his arm that Jasper knew he couldn't deal with. Namely a significant portion of it was not there. He turned to Rudolph; Atlas couldn't be moved this way and he'd need someone else to patch him up before they could get to St. Mungo's.

"Go get my owl. She's in the kitchen, hurry up."

He'd owl Will. The competent one. God knew he was busy these days, but he would still come at a time like this. Rudolph started off slowly, and Jasper made himself go over to Atlas, disgusted when the smooth sole of his shoe slipped on a trail of blood. He had no idea what to say at a time like this, so he mostly concentrated on keeping his face from showing exactly how bad Atlas looked.

"Atlas, I'm so sorry about--everything." He realized he was apologizing in case Atlas didn't survive. "Who did this?"

Death spoke but the words came across wavery and jumbled and Atlas thought to ask him to speak up but something must have caught his attention because now he was moving away. Atlas tried to follow his movements but something was in his eyes and it stung almost as much as of the rest of him. He didn't want to be alone and he was still cold. The rhythm in his chest skipped once, twice and he closed his eyes. For a moment there was nothing just black and that strange struggling set of beats and then a light, white and blinding. They were back and it confused him because he could not recall who exactly they were and why he should be so afraid. Opening his eyes he saw only one figure no longer lit from behind but below, the shadows creeping up over the features of a man's face.

You know him. The voice that he didn't register as his own told him. Before he had a chance to confirm that accusation the light dropped and the figure turned, shoulders blades moving horribly, contorting, Atlas imagined feathers sprouting from those shoulders, when the figure turned he wouldn't be a man any longer but something else something with talons and gnashing teeth. But the world was beginning to knit itself back together and when he blinked again the vision of feathers and bloodied claws was gone. He did know the face, the angle of the cheek bones and the slope of the nose, but he strained to remember it.

Identity became less of a priority when the man's wand tip was aimed squarely at him. Atlas' muscle worked sluggishly, several fingers curling, he lacked the strength and the coordination for any other defense. The spell was cast and Atlas was immediately distressed to realize that the pain had increased. The low level thrumming moving from a deep ache to a blistering heat inside his veins. It hurt but if he could open up one of the wounds just one...idly with the curled fingers of his left hand and began dragging them against of the tears along his leg.
Movement drew his attention and when his eyes roved in the direction of the sound the man was closer than he had been. Things flashed and he saw the face, through a thousand different conversations, with a thousand different expressions, over a decades worth of memories. Jasper. It was Jasper and with the name came a sentence, snarled, “Never speak to me again.”

But he had to speak to Jasper because he needed to warn him. Or...he strained to see better, at least ask him why he was in a tuxedo. Did he ever change?

Atlas, I'm so sorry about—everything. It wasn't Jasper then, it couldn't be because Jasper did not apologize. Ever. And he didn't look so...Atlas couldn't even place the expression. The realization was devastating. Who did this?

“I'm not supposed to speak to you.” He babbled helplessly, it felt like something was forcing its way up his throat. “Run, please...sorry....I'm not supposed to speak to you.” A convulsion rocked through his system moving from toes to head where it rang in his skull for a moment blocking out everything else around him. The pain was a small comfort because until it had happened Atlas might have believed that he no longer had those limbs. When his eyes finally opened again Jasper was still there. Struggling, he tried to lift his head and was rewarded only with a wet tugging, he was trapped.

He tried again, more forcefully. Nothing and his arms wouldn't obey any of the commands he gave them. Trapped and the panic was rising, it wasn't safe here. Someone was here, he startled when he saw Jasper, he'd forgotten that he was there. “Jasper?”

It took Atlas a very long time to recognize him. At first he recoiled, swollen fingers clawing at a cut on his leg, visible through a tear in his pants. There was a kind of flickering terror in his eyes that confused Jasper. He knew he was pretty remarkably incompetent when it came to healing, but he didn't think his skills actually warranted an escape attempt. He started to reach out, to push Atlas' hand away from the wound, but the smears of blood on his shaking fingers kept him away. When he finally seemed to realize that it was Jasper there was no relief on his face, just a new variety of panic.

“I'm not supposed to speak to you.” Atlas gasped for breath and went on, the words garbled by his swollen tongue and missing teeth. “Run, please...sorry....I'm not supposed to speak to you.”

Jasper watched his eyes squeeze shut in agony, limbs twitching. At first the words made no sense, then he remembered their last encounter. Another dark, dank meeting with blood splattered around them. Stay the f-ck away from me, Caedmon. Jasper winced as he thought of himself saying that. If he'd known that it might be the last thing--

Atlas' eyes opened, eyebrows convulsing upward in surprise toward his matted hair. “Jasper?” As though he they hadn't just spoken. Jasper wondered how much blood he'd lost. How much more he could lose before help from Will would be too late. He looked around for Rudolph, but of course he wasn't back yet.

He bent down, elbows balanced on his thighs, trying desperately not to touch the ground or Atlas or anything. The mark on his cheek was clearer at this distance and he felt another vague wave of nausea. He remembered, obtusely, their first day at Hogwarts together, a young, tiny Atlas glancing nervously at Jasper's monogrammed trunk. He'd been nervous around Jasper for the first few weeks, until Jasper somehow managed to prove that he wasn't hung up on Atlas' parentage. Someone else had been, apparently.

"Yeah, it's me. Sorry if you were hoping for someone useful." He put the martini glass down on the cobbles with a faint clink. "I sent Rudolph to get my owl so I can send for help, but we might need to move you to St. Mungo's faster than that. Do you think you'll be able to go if I levitate you?"

He stood again, wavering a bit, and glanced over the fence. No Rudolph. Back down to Atlas again.

"Atlas, I really am sorry. If--look, you're gonna be okay, yeah?"

This was not at all true. Atlas did not have an ear, or many essential parts of his forearm, but Cary Grant and James Bond would not point that out in critical situations. Jasper ran a hand through his hair and tried to think.

"What can I do for you? You probably shouldn't move." He tried woodenly to smile. "If you stay still, at least you won't bleed on my suit."

Jasper swooped downwards suddenly and there was a moment of terrible vertigo before Atlas' eyes adjusted. Things were still going in and out of focus, Jasper clear one moment and then a hazed blur the next. It was disorienting but Atlas found he had no desire to close his eyes, the watery image next to him was preferable in every way to what he was met with as soon as his lids fell shut.

Yeah, it's me. Sorry if you were hoping for someone useful. He tried to laugh, but he lacked the air for it, and the mirth. Instead he just lay there, watching. Jasper's hand stretched out, Atlas tried to see where it was going but the movement sent an electric twinge down the entire length of his right side. It was difficult to hear Jasper, like his voice was coming from a considerable distance, muffled. I sent Rudolph...owl... help....St. Mungos faster than that. Atlas felt as if he was the odd child out in a game of telephone. St. Mungos didn't sound like such a terrible idea, but the mention of Rudolph was perplexing. Atlas shook his head, he didn't understand. The movement placed the back of his skull firmly to the pavement and he found that it was easier to hear Do you think you'll be able to go if I levitate you?

Things were beginning to reassemble themselves in short bursts. He recalled the distance it was to St. Mungos and at the same time remembered Darien Holywell, and Rudolph wearing a small lace bonnet. But he was holding the box with Kate Derum's soul, standing not in the examination room but in the ward where the 4th Unforgivable victims were housed. He knew that it was wrong, told himself so and a moment later he was back in the alley. Something was wrong with him. If the scattered remnants provided by his brain didn't inform him of that fact Jasper's face did. He couldn't concentrate to answer Jasper.

His head lulled back to one side, the Sinistra's (or more likely Apollo) had left their Christmas light display on. The glowing reds and greens reflected off of the cobblestones and across the walls. It was almost like a small personal Aurora Borealis. Atlas, I really am sorry. If... It was the pause that pulled his attention away from the lights, back to Jasper's face which was contorted oddly. Look, you're going to be okay, yeah?.

What was wrong?Something had to be and deeply in order for Jasper to be looking at him the way he was and speaking to him as he was. Atlas shifted on the ground and felt broken glass moves along the fabric of the back of his coat. What can I do for you? You probably shouldn't move.... Jasper was still talking, Atlas knew that much because he watched his mouth but for a few moments he didn't hear it. ...bleed on my suit..

“Sorry....” Eyes roved over the tux, looking for any possible damage. He was coming to realize that he was hurt, rather than just hurting. Redoubling efforts to lift his head proved futile but he did manage to lift his arm in an attempt to steady himself. It hadn't yet reached the throbbing point that was his temple when Atlas stopped and looked at it. Why did it look so odd? He hadn't remembered, he watched the hand and saw a red creature stretching across his skin and heard the gnashing of its teeth. His hand was shaking when he dropped it back down. He hadn't remembered and now he did.

“What's wrong with me?” He looked back at Jasper. Jasper had asked what he could do. “Don't leave.” His voice was dangerously close to pleading. “They'll come back...said it would be my eyes next. I didn't mean...” Another convulsion and another strange and jarring jumble of memory all out of order. “Mungos is far,” It was the most normal his voice had sounded. “Levitation is too exposed, it's too far. I just, just need to rest for a... and then I'll get up.” But if that was possible Jasper would have already ordered him to do it, would have berated and belittle him until he had. Meaning that he couldn't. He was shivering, teeth clacking together.

“It's cold. Why are you wearing a tux? You'll catch death....funny phrase isn't it? Catching death....I thought you were him you know.” The thought suddenly occurred that he could actually be dying and he realized that for all his over thinking of every possible scenario an alley had never really been one of them. He was going to die, in an alley. It was just shaming. "Wendell died in an alley.....Apollo is going to say that I was unoriginal."

“Sorry....”

Atlas' hand, the one attached to the bit of him that couldn't really be called an arm any longer, reached out as though he was going to brush Jasper's sleeve. Jasper stumbled backward on his heels reflexively, catching himself with one hand on the freezing cobbles. When he managed to gather himself and look down at Atlas again, his friend was staring at his arm glassily.

“What's wrong with me?” Jasper decided it might be best not to answer. He was good at lying, but not good enough to make Atlas believe things weren't really, incredibly bad. There wasn't any way to communicate "I can see a bit of the bone in your forearm" that wasn't going to sound at least somewhat negative.

“Don't leave. They'll come back...said it would be my eyes next. I didn't mean...”

He maddeningly neglected to say who would come back. Jasper was still struggling, with the pocket of his mind that wasn't consumed with immediate problems like how to make Atlas have an ear again, to figure out who could have done this. There was always that tiny sector of the wizarding population that was staunchly pureblood, but crimes like this one were incredibly rare. And there wasn't a reason that he could determine to single out Atlas. The man barely even had friends; most people who knew him at all saw him as a sort of harmless eccentric, good if you needed something unusual for a potion or the like.

“Mungos is far. Levitation is too exposed, it's too far."

That was actually a very logical argument, one Jasper should have made to himself. He couldn't exactly saunter through the Alley, trailing Atlas after him as vital bits of his limbs trickled off.

"I just, just need to rest for a... and then I'll get up.”

"I--don't think that's such a good idea, mate." Jasper tried very hard not to look at the way Atlas' leg was bending at a really inappropriate angle. He thought of all the interesting and horrible things that could happen if Atlas tried to stand and put a hand out above him in caution. "We'll think of something else, yeah? Probably better if you stay still"

“It's cold. Why are you wearing a tux? You'll catch death....funny phrase isn't it? Catching death....I thought you were him you know.”

Who? Death? Jasper knew he looked a bit worse for the wear after New Years, but he didn't think it was that bad. Hopefully it was just all the black in the suit combined with the fact that Atlas had sustained some fairly severe blows to the head. Atlas' mouth, whatever part of it wasn't obscured by blood, twisted strangely. He suddenly squinted at Jasper, eyebrows drawn in disapproval.

"Wendell died in an alley.....Apollo is going to say that I was unoriginal."

"It's just what I was wearing at New Years-- my party, you know?" Of course he knew, Atlas was usually in attendance, asking for strange cocktails and pointing out that the Mayans were expecting the world to end on New Years any time now. "I didn't have time to find anything else. Are you cold? Here--"

He fumbled for his pocket square and transfigured it into a blanket, which he settled over Atlas carefully. This was good; it was the sort of thing that people always did in movies when something like this happened. Plus it had the added bonus of putting some of Atlas' more heinous injuries out of sight. That done, Jasper looked about again for Rudolph. Of course he wasn't back; it took him ages to open doors with his fingers always falling off...

"You're not going to die in an alley." As he said this, blood began to seep through the blanket in the vicinity of Atlas' arm. The clotting spell wasn't strong enough for all this; it was really just a quick fix.

"But that means we're going to have to leave the alley, okay? I can--" This was the only way, and Jasper dreaded it. He wasn't sure he could actually touch Atlas-- "apparate you, if you don't move."

He took a deep breath and offered Atlas a weak smile.

"And if you bleed on this suit, you're paying for it."

Jasper sparred a hand to make a sweeping gesture over his chest. Atlas followed the motion as best he could, blinking occasionally in an effort to display an alternativeness that he didn't feel. Each time his lashes swept downward it became progressively more difficult to bully them back open. It's just what I was wearing at New Year's—my party, you know?

That was right, it had been New Years.....it had been yesterday. Atlas could remember the sounds, he'd gone to London to watch the fireworks. It was a first time experience, he'd had waffles, and been coated in confetti and glitter, he'd hated the music....At least it explained Jasper's current attire.

This made slightly more sense and it was certainly a more of a comfort than the idea of Jasper living his life permanently encased within a suit. Let alone a tuxedo. Atlas didn't see how he could have stood it. Jasper's love for suits was in direct contrast to his hate of wrinkles. He had worked for three years one a anti wrinkling charm and as far as Atlas knew he had never managed to perfect. He'd come close of course but then Wendell had convinced him to take Divination and many of his little projects had been forced to fall to the wayside. To wear a suit all the time he'd either have to abide the wrinkles (something Atlas wasn't sure he was capable of) or else expend some time between models, the shop, and his night life to work on the project again. It seemed unlikely.

I didn't have time to find anything else. Atlas felt guilty all over again. For dragging Jasper out of bed, and then out into the cold and....and it seemed odd because Atlas had never felt guilty about that sort of thing before. It had never mattered. Are you cold? Here...

He nodded, ignoring the way things inside of his head seemed to slosh around unpleasantly. Jasper snapped something out of his pocket, the flourish a bit more sloppy than it was under normal circumstances. He fiddled for a moment and then a heavy weight settled over Atlas. When he lowered his chin to examine the item something scratched pleasantly against the bottom of his chin, a blanket. The damp and cold was still seeping into his back but it did lessen the feeling of the wind against the open wounds spanning the length of his body. Carefully he curled the fingers of his left hand around one of its folds rubbing th fabric back and forth, concentrating on the feel of it against his palm.

You're not going to die in an alley. Still rubbing his looked back at Jasper, he was getting difficult to hear again, some of the words coming in at a lower tone but Atlas doubted it was Jasper's doing. “I'm not entirely sure about your assertion, Jasper.” He muttered into the blanket, slowly trying to tuck his limbs in, feeling them twitch back in response.

But that means we're going to have to leave the alley, okay? I can----apparate you, if you don't move.

It was, perhaps, the greatest admission of friendship he had ever received from the man. It was as if the rift that had been torn between the two all those weeks back had closed a fraction. Atlas found little time to ponder it though because it also brought the necessity for such a transfer to the fore front. Jasper wasn't waiting for help, which meant that the situation didn't allow for it. He could feel his clothes sticking to him, though the liquid had rapidly succumb to the cold; making things brittle, drying and then freezing it. When he looked back up at Jasper he was greeted with a pale imitation of the smile that had sold a million galleons worth of pebbles.

And if you bleed on this suit, you're paying for it.

Atlas gave it a moment of thought, looking over the tux. He wasn't a great judge but he knew Jasper and he knew the ungodly prices he would spend on something if he was going to be seen in it. “Maybe I should just die....” He cracked a smile but it was agony and a moment later he had to let the expression drop.

He drew in a few careful breaths and released his grip on the blanket, setting his palm against the stone, he barely felt the cold anymore. Pressing down against it he hoisted himself upwards a few inches, bracing on one elbow. Spots scattered over his vision, and more of the sound and light of the alley drained out of his vision. “Do my best to keep my fluids to myself...no promises. Jasper...if....if the worse happens theres a vault in the study. Its isomorphic controls but I'm sure the Ministry could get in with some doing. If something happens, just dispose of it? My mother doesn't need an index of the all the contraband I've had running through the shop all these years....”

“Maybe I should just die....”

Atlas managed to smile, wincingly, then let it fade. At least he still had the capacity to make fun of Jasper's wardrobe. He shivered under the blanket and Jasper realized that he was lying directly on the cold pavement. Definitely not good. Atlas tried to sit up and Jasper resisted the urge to push him back down when he wavered and blinked.

“Do my best to keep my fluids to myself...no promises. Jasper...if....if the worse happens theres a vault in the study. Its isomorphic controls but I'm sure the Ministry could get in with some doing. If something happens, just dispose of it? My mother doesn't need an index of the all the contraband I've had running through the shop all these years....”

"Yeah, of course." Jasper swallowed, balancing on the edge of tearing up at the thought that he might actually need to go through Atlas' things. God, he really couldn't cry. He'd never cried in front of Atlas, hadn't cried at all since before Hogwarts. It would be the surest sign for the other man that things were dire. Possibly Atlas would interpret it as a sign that he was already dead. He made himself speak, just to fill the time until he could muster up the will power to touch Atlas and get them to St. Mungos.

"I'll take care of everything, yeah? When you're in hospital you can make me a list. I'm sure Rudolph will help me if I buy him some spats." Jasper suspected that a lot of the 'taking care' might involve trying to do repairs on SHOP before Atlas came home to a burnt out husk. If he came home. F-ck.

"Right, just--" Jasper put a hand out; it hovered until he managed to find a part of the blanket that wasn't near any blood stains. As he recalled, Atlas' left shoulder had looked passably intact so he chose it as their point of contact.

"Okay, don't move."

He tightened his fingers and flicked his wand, and a moment later then appeared in the fluorescence of St. Mungo's. There was a small line at the reception desk and Jasper had landed them at the front, accidentally knocking a over a middle aged Wizard who appeared to be suffering from some kind of hex that changed his skin color. There was a displeased murmur from the line and the Witch behind the desk stood up to glare at him sternly.

"Sir, you'll have to join the queue at the--"

Jasper held up a hand to silence her and noticed a rime of blood on his fingertips. Failure in that case. French cuffs, too. He gestured downward at Atlas, who was in the same position on the floor that he'd assumed in the alley. The Mediwitch glanced down at him and paled, and Jasper mirrored her glare back at her.

"I'll get a doctor out immediately. What happened?"

"I'm--" Jasper glanced down at Atlas, who seemed in no state to answer-- "not really sure."

Yeah, of course. Jasper's voice sounded almost fine, just a little cracked around the edges. Thats how everything seemed to be at the moment. When he took a moment to swallow Atlas watched the bob of his Adams apple and did his best to forget the waver that had been in his voice for the brief span of those words. It was rather easily done because he had never once heard Jasper's voice do that. I'll take care of everything, yeah? When you're in hospital you can make me a list. I'm sure Rudolph will help me if I buy him some spats.

Had he really been thinking about it Atlas would have informed Jasper that it might take a bit more than some fancy new duds to enlist the skeletons help. It was well and good when it was work he wanted to do ,alphabetizing the already numerically organized library or rearranging the possessed coconut collection, but try and get him to do something useful and it was something akin to herding cats, or climbing a wall that shot lightning, was made of tigers and was also on fire. Not to mention if there was any sort of lifting involved you were likely to spend more time on reassembly than on getting any actual work done. The offer was the important thing though.

Right, just--- There was an awkward fumbling pause during which Atlas wondered if maybe he should offer up a few options to Jasper. 'Well sir we have our pinkie option, minimum contact but maximum probability of splinching'. For the spirited man we have the foot option, although you might just end up at your destination with only a foot; the connection is a bit shotty at the moment you see.' Jasper's hand clasped onto his left shoulder and Atlas resisted the urge to flinch away from the fingers that were painfully close to his fractured collar bone.

Okay, don't move. He didn't nod, it wouldn't be good to disobey Jasper at this juncture. Instead he merely looked at his friend and kept a tight grip on the blanket waiting for the tug and subsequent fall of apparition and promising himself that it really wasn't going to be that bad.

He felt when they landed, another hard cold floor but this time the lights were bright, blinding in fact. He didn't like them. Jasper's hand came off his shoulder and it was like he had lost his grounding. Their were words being passed back and forth over them but they suddenly seemed less important, muted. They came across was murmurs, as if through a wall. He was bleeding again, which he was aware of only because he could feel the pain in his veins lessening as the poisoned laded liquid made its way out. Atlas was relieved but a nagging little part of him shouted that he shouldn't be, that he should be terrified. He glanced up blearily at Jasper, who's head was up, mouth moving. For a moment an attempt was made to understand what he was saying but then it felt better just to lie there and let things pass.

Later he wouldn't remember the medical team arriving, or being lifted from the floor. He wouldn't recall how he'd panicked and struggled against the group of unfamiliar people surrounding him, touching him. He'd only remember the lights overhead and the feeling of dread and blind terror.



The nurse exited the emergency wing and carefully picked her way across the waiting room looking for the man she was supposed to collect. This wasn't normally one of her jobs, she never worked reception but her fellow colleagues had seemed at the end of their ropes and insisted she should be the one to speak to him. He had come in roughly 17 hours ago, with a horrifically wounded man in his wake and after 45 minutes of questioning (which had turned out to be useless as he was devoid of any clear cut information) he had been stalking around the waiting room. Doing just that, waiting, but he didn't seem to be very acclimated to that process.

First they had informed him that he couldn't smoke, then that he couldn't drink, nor do both together. Some of the staff had been rather forceful about it and the man had been forceful right back. She supposed that they should be showing some compassion. He was clearly concerned, inquiring as to any progress at the head desk and refusing to leave the area. She reached the waiting room and spotted him immediately, blinking in surprise. Jasper Christie? He had sold her and her husband their wedding bands years ago. It was just after the place had opened, during the grand opening actually, when the prices had been such that they could afford them on her husbands low level Ministry salary. He had seemed so jubilant then, now he was standing, though a bit unsteadily, picking at his cuffs in agitation and looking as if he had no idea what to do with himself.

It wasn't a shock, he was completely out of place in the garishly lit entryway of the hospital. Biting at her lip she plucked up what confidence and patience she had at the end of 12 hour shift (all the time reminding herself that he had been here longer) and strode over.

“Mr. Christie?” He turned and looked her over but said nothing she took that as a cue to continue. “Would you like to come with me sir? We're bringing Mr. Caedmon out of anesthetic and some of the medical staff think it would be best that someone familiar be present.” She turned partway around and waited for him to fall into step beside her before making her way back down the wing from which she had just come. He didn't seem in the mood for conversation and she had little idea what she could have said anyway.

The injured man's family had been unable to be contacted and she had been slightly perplexed to see that Mr. Christie had been registered as an emergency contact right along with them. “He's going to be fine given some time.” Stopping in front of one of the many nondescript doors that lined each end of the hallway she removed her wand and opened a series of locks. “Security policy,” She added lamely as she pushed open the door to admit them.

Under normal circumstances she would have said the man lying in the bed in front of them was quiet handsome, as it was though. She did her best not to grimace. One armed was swathed in bandages from fingers to the shoulder where one of the staff members had found traces of what appeared to be an animal claw. It was still being examined. Most of the smaller abrasions to his face and head were gone, the ½ sign that had been carved and then burned into one cheek was still a visible angry red but it too would fade over time with the proper care. There had been other tears and the body could only absorb so many healing spells at a time, so those had been sutured shut for the time being. The ruins of his knee had been treated and then set in casts. It was horrific and the silence only made it worse. She caught Christie's eyes glancing at the right side of his head, bandaged as well. “We found the ear in his shirt pocket.” She began, looking at the space as well.”It was severed by some sort of blade, non magical, we were able to fix it. A week or so and no one will be able to tell it was ever off.” A pause. “It was actually good that the clotting spell broke....their was some sort of curse on the blood. I've never seen anything like it. It was killing him, we had to replace it three times before everything was out.”

She stepped away from the man, closer to Caedmon, lifting up and looking over the chart at the end of the bed for a moment. “It's best if he stays calm. Theirs some strange brain activity, which could be a variety of things really....we won't know until hes awake.” She set the chart back down and swallowed, doing her best not to look. “If he needs anything someone will be right down the hall at the nurses station. The sleep droughts and spells should be wearing off in a few minutes....I'll leave you to it.”



I need to replace the lights in here.... was the first coherent thought Atlas had as he clawed his way back out from the strange series of nightmares he'd been experiencing. His eyes opened, adjusted, focused, unfocused and then he was starring up at a ceiling. A ceiling because it was obviously not his own. Where his ceilings were perfectly smooth, widdled down after one too many sleepless nights waking up to trace patters that weren't there, this one had pock marks and jutted places where the Spackle was left rough. For a moment he imagined it was Helena's ceiling and he inhaled deeply expecting to smell the sea and the clean washing scent that clung to every bit of bedding in the house. Instead he smelled the unfamiliar scent of hospital linens, over clean and starched within an inch of their threadbare cotton lives. When his chest worked it hurt, sharply and he was forced to expel the breath before he could really identify anything from it.

This wasn't home, he swung his head around, one direction and then the other. A table at his bedside stacked with bottles he didn't know, there were tubed running down from somewhere above him snaking under a thick layer of bandages completely obscuring one arm. He looked at the left, which did not match it's mate but there were bruises. He was investigating them carefully when his head swung around again and he saw Jasper. This wasn't his house either. “Jasper?” His voice sounded like he had gargled with razor blades, rather felt like it as well. He went to run a hand through his hair and met with a sizable lump near one ear....ear....his mind skipped over the word as he proded at the thing.

Ear. Like the sound of your own voice do you? He was breathing rapidly. His stomach lurched and for a moment he thought he might be sick. “Oh god.”

Jasper didn't wait. It went against something that was woven deep in his genetic makeup. Other people didn't seem to understand that waiting was an absurd social construct; there was no actual reason to stand around in queues besides a fear of a few people glaring at you. Unfortunately there was no queue to jump in the St. Mungo's waiting room. After they'd taken Atlas away, kicking and twisting until someone wisely cast a mild sedating spell, a stern looking doctor and an equally stern man in a suit had asked him into a small, incredibly bland office and peppered him with suspicious questions.

In the panic of finding Atlas, it hadn't occurred to him that "Just picked him up in the alley behind my house" might be a rather suspicious explanation for how one found a grievously wounded individual. In the end he'd been forced to agree to limited legilimency, a difficult decision considering he'd spent years training against any sort of mental intrusion. Once the two men were satisfied that he really had just found Atlas in the alley, they let him go back to the waiting room.

In retrospect, it might have been more interesting to chat a bit more with his questioners. Jasper had never actually spent any time in a hospital; normally he just poked his head in while Apollo got some sort of quick treatment for whatever glitter related incident had occurred at a party. He watched the sun slowly brighten through the small window, back tightening incrementally in his uncomfortable chair, then watched it crest in the sky and descend again. He attempted to have a cigarette, then a drink, and was rebuffed each time. (Honestly, such ridiculous rules.) In desperation, he wandered down the hall to the snack machine and stared at it in disgust before returning to the waiting room and standing aimlessly, examining the damage to his shirt.

“Mr. Christie?”

Startled, he turned to see a harried mediwitch beside him. She was studying him with an odd mix of curiosity and pity.

“Would you like to come with me sir? We're bringing Mr. Caedmon out of anesthetic and some of the medical staff think it would be best that someone familiar be present.”

He nodded, too exhausted to respond, and followed her down a maze of halls, his shoes painfully loud on the tile in comparison to her rubber soles. She smiled at him firmly as she tapped open the locks to Atlas' door.

“He's going to be fine given some time.” Jasper may have found this comforting if her next words hadn't been, “We found the ear in his shirt pocket.”

She went on to explain something more, but Jasper was still focused on the fact that Atlas' ear had been in his pocket. He wondered if he looked half as green as he felt, and hoped he could tone it down before Atlas woke up. The nurse pattered on about "strange brain activity" and anesthesia then drifted away when it became apparent that Jasper was paying little attention. He sat down in the small chair beside the bed and waited, glancing over Atlas' many bandages.

Bandages were a terrible sign in wizarding medicine. A red flag that showed something was so bad that magic couldn't fix it. Jasper remembered coming home from a Muggle neighbor's house once with a band-aid covering a cut on his finger. His mother had panicked, called his father at the Ministry with concerns that Jasper would lose the finger entirely.

After the promised few minutes, Atlas' head shifted on the pillow. He looked around the room in confusion before focusing on the man beside him.

“Jasper?” His hand drifted up to his bandaged head before Jasper could restrain him, and a nauseous look contorted his damaged features. “Oh god.”

"It's okay," Jasper filled in quickly. "They--put it back, it's going to be like new. You probably shouldn't touch it.

"You feeling all right?" He paused. That had been idiotic. "Of course not, what a sh-t thing to say. I'm rubbish at this stuff, I'm just sitting here mourning the loss of my cufflinks and I've barely slept in three days.

"Anyway, the nurse says you're going to be fine once you have 'time.' If you need to come stay at my place, you're welcome." He glanced down at the many injuries left unhealed. "As long as you need, if you promise to stay away from the closet."

He sighed, one palm coming up to lean on. "I'm really glad you're all right. If you don't want to talk about it yet, that's fine, but everyone has been desperately trying to figure out who did this to you."

It's okay. It wasn't. It wasn't at all in fact and Jasper seemed to know it at least if the slight circles under his eyes and the green tint of his skin was any indication. Of course, if could just be the lighting he supposed which was truly garish. Surely that could be easily improved...Atlas stopped looking at Jasper, focusing on the lump occupying most of the right side of his head. They put it back, it's going to be like new. You probably shouldn't touch it. A final gentle tug at the bandaging and Atlas retrained himself, taking Jasper's carefully delivered advice and letting his hand fall back to his lap. One distraction was quickly replaced with another as Atlas went about inspecting himself. He knocked against the heavy insect like shell of whatever was around his leg. A faint hard sound echoed back from beneath the covers and he blinked down at it trying to reconstruct exactly what had happened to it. Next he moved on to a closer inspection of his unbandaged arm. Holding it up and turning it this way and that in the light. Faint markings were visible, little half circles where teeth had bit in, he wished they had wrapped that arm as well.

You feeling all right? Atlas barely had time to glance up before Jasper had corrected himself. Of course not, what a sh-t thing to say. I'm rubbish at this stuff, I'm just sitting here mourning the loss of my cufflinks and I've barely slept in three days.. Jasper's face demonstrated the second fact well enough and had added support from the window behind him which was dark. Jasper wiggled for a moment and then, placing both elbows on the arm of his chair he waved his wrists. The white sleeves were rimmed with a rusty dried pigment that Atlas quickly recognized as blood. His blood. Thankfully Jasper, having made his point, put them away a few moments later.

Anyway, the nurse says you're going to be fine once you have 'time'. If you need to come stay at my place, you're welcome. Atlas left off carefully feeling his way around his midsection to gape at Jasper who wasn't looking at him per say, more over him. As long as you need, if you promise to stay away from the closet. Something had happened, that much he was certain of and whatever it had been had somehow caused what must be a grevious amount of damage both to him and to SHOP. He should know what had happened....he did know it was just slow to surface. Why was Jasper looking at him like that? And why was he here? Atlas had never thought to have the other man speak to him again let alone open his home to him.

I'm really glad you're all right. If you don't want to talk about it yet, that's fine, but everyone has been desperately trying to figure out who did this to you.

everyone. He swallowed staring down at his swollen hands for a moment. Thinking. Things were jumbled and his head hurt tremendously, so did everything really but it seemed to be localized there. talk. Mr Caedmon. You have lovely eyes. Tell us what you know.. He clamped his eyes shut and ground his palms against the sockets as things began to fall back into place. He should be dead, they had meant to kill him, promised as much, god he should be dead. Tears were coming up completely unbidden and unwanted, he ground his hands harder trying to get rid of them before Jasper could see. It was a stupid gut reaction, ridiculous. He hitched in one breath, let it out, inhaled again. Rinse, repeat. As he was dragging on hand down the length of his face, making sure that nothing remained on his face his fingers brushed skin that was oddly textured and stung fiercely. Suddenly he wanted to see what he looked like, he turned as much as his ribs and back would allow and swept a few of the bottles aside. One or two fell to the floor, the rest he moved with a degree more care, he'd have to inspect them later. Most of the medications handed out my Mungos resulted in the equivalent of a liquid lobotomy and he'd had enough of that.

True to English form the medication had been positioned on a tray, a silver one, not the best mirror but good enough. He was shocked at how difficult it was to lift it, even more shocked by what greeted him. He didn't recognize himself; his skin was an unhealthy jaundiced shade, eyes sunken in. He looked as if he had been ill, very very ill. Turning his head he caught sight of what his fingers had run up against. For a moment he starred, blinking away the last vestiges of salt water and sleep. With one finger he traced the mark again and tried to determine how it might have gotten there. It's meaning was not difficult to determine. “More 3/4s actually....” He muttered, letting the tray fall rather than expend energy holding it.

With one hand he worried the mark experimentally. Had that been what happened? A pureblood act of aggression, unwarranted and unexpected? It didn't seem likely and it didn't feel that way either. Something easier first. He looked at Jasper.

“You came and found me? No...thats not right is it...something in between. Why didn't you go home?” In reality he was glad Jasper had stayed. As it was, with a familiar and trusted person in the room he felt on the verge of panic. To have woken up entirely alone...but he had to ask anyway. “How long have you been here?” It was an easier question than how long have I been here.

Another shuddered breath and he wet his lips, remembering a moment later the sensation of biting through them. “I....I'm having some trouble remembering. There were....” closed his eyes, forced his mind to think about it, counted. “Four of them I think. Were there when I got home, waiting.”Blinked, jaw working uselessly for a moment. “I thought they were burglars...” Several images he'd rather never recall again flashes across his vision, the faces going by quickly. He rubbed at his eyes again, pointedly not looking at Jasper.

“What do they have me on? I feel like I'm thinking through jello....I don't remember.” He wasn't sure if it was a lie or not. “What happened? Where's Rudolph? I am so sorry Jasper.” So sorry. He's said that to someone else recently but that memory seemed to be balled up with the others, packed densely against each other to the point where they were difficult to bring up.

Atlas seemed determined to catalogue every one of his injuries, running his fingers over the bumpy plaster of his cast then holding up his good arm for examination. (Good there was a relative term; it looked like it had only been mauled by two or three dogs.) He stopped when Jasper asked again what had happened, visibly upset. When he brought up his fingers to rub at his eyes fiercely, he brushed the marks on his cheek. Jasper tried to put out an arm to restrain him from holding up the reflective surface of the tray, but his extreme lethargy was no match for Atlas' panic.

“More 3/4s actually....” He muttered, letting the tray fall. His fingertips lingered around his face as he continued, forehead creased with suspicion. Jasper liked to see that. It was an Atlas expression that he was familiar with.

“You came and found me? No...thats not right is it...something in between. Why didn't you go home?”

Jasper wasn't sure, honestly. Various doctors and nurses had told him he could do so for a few hours while Atlas had been in surgery, but he'd been stayed by the lingering fear that Atlas might not make it. He would have felt like the worst friend in the history of human association if he let his friend live his last few minutes alone because he'd gone home for a nap on the study sofa.

“How long have you been here?”

Another question he didn't know the answer to. Jasper glanced down at his watch-- a new platinum Patek-Phillipe, a Christmas gift from his father.

"Eighteen hours. You'll have to excuse me if I'm not looking my sharpest."

There were a few moments during which Atlas seemed to forget that Jasper was in the room. His eyes focused on something in the distance. Jasper remembered the expression well. He'd first seen it at Hogwarts when he'd talked about girls, and it had reappeared later in life during the early stages of Jasper and Helena's fake flirtations. Just a subtle way to tune the world out. The silence was brutal; Jasper was concerned that without direct, constant sensory input he would nod off in his seat. But he desperately wanted to know who had done this to Atlas before he went home, if only to know what he had to guard against as well.

“I....I'm having some trouble remembering. There were....” closed his eyes, forced his mind to think about it, counted. “Four of them I think. Were there when I got home, waiting. “I thought they were burglars...”
"
He drifted off again, in confusion this time. They would have to wait for a real explanation. Jasper's mind started to volley questions about how someone had managed to break into SHOP; he could barely get in when he had Atlas' permission. There had to have been some extremely complex magic involved. Frighteningly complex, in the hands of people who could do something like this.

“What do they have me on? I feel like I'm thinking through jello....I don't remember. What happened? Where's Rudolph? I am so sorry Jasper.”

"Don't worry about it, relax." He put a hand gently on the shoulder that wasn't bandaged tightly and encouraged Atlas to sit back before picking up the tray and returning it to its place beside the bed. "We'll sort it eventually. God knows what kind of pain killers you're on. Probably something left over from the filtering potions too-- you blood was poisoned."

Jasper felt like his brain was moving even more slowly than Atlas'. He sifted through for further answers.

"Rudolph is...probably still trying to open my kitchen door. I'm sure he'll go bother Arty eventually if he can't get in. Maybe we can get him to form a portrait of the culprits from his finger bones or something.

"Look, I hate to nag, but can you remember anything at all? These two old blokes questioned me like I was the one who did this to you. Luckily I have a lot of practice looking innocent, but the sooner you can file a report on this the better. Will can look into it, or maybe he'll make a lackey look into now. Either way, that old chap in the lab coat will stop thinking I mauled your arm then set myself up as the concerned friend. I think he was gutted when I finally agreed to legilimency and he discovered that I wasn't a psycho pureblood killer."

Eighteen hours. You'll have to excuse me if I'm not looking my sharpest. Eighteen hours....that was an exceptional amount of time in terms of magical medicine. Eighteen hours and he still looked like a poorly costumed stunt double in a 1940s monster movie. That did not bode well for whatever had greeted Jasper in the alley nearly 24 hours prior. He thought maybe he should apologize for that but the conversation carried on. The fact that Jasper had remained in a hospital (a place that through what Atlas suspected was an evolutionary advancement was naturally feared by most rational humans), with dirtied cuffs the day after New Years with what Atlas could only hazard would be little sleep and a hangover spoke volumes to the amount of worry Atlas must have caused him to experience.

He tried to think, slowly unclogging stoppers in the drains, and cleaning out the gears in his mind, making every attempt to get the machinery running again. Don't worry about it, relax. Jasper placed a hand carefully over one shoulder and applied slight pressure and rather than fighting against the grip Atlas allowed himself to be ushered back down onto the pillows. With Atlas' attention elsewhere Jasper maneuvered the other hand to lift the tray from where it had been dropped unceremoniously onto his lap. He had to lean a bit to it, which applied more pressure to the shoulder almost to the point of pain but Atlas didn't complain, for once glad for the contact.

We'll sort it eventually. Atlas didn't know what Jasper might be referring to, it seemed to him that they might have a few things to sort through before they were done. God knows what kind of pain killers you're on. Probably something left over from the filtering potions too—your blood was poisoned. That was disconcerting to say the least. His skin itched suddenly, twitching in places and he found that he did recall feeling as if his veins had been filled with lava rather than their normal pleasant and simple blood, with just a dash of iron. With his right hand he clumsily reached out and slid a few of the bottles still on the nightstand onto the blanket, carefully poking them until he could see to read some of the labels.

Rudolph is...probably still trying to open my kitchen door. I'm sure he'll go bother Arty eventually if he can't get in. Maybe we can get him to form a portrait of the culprits from his finger bones or something.. That was just what he'd need really. Arty coming in, with a dejected and put off Rudolph in tow, and lecturing him about the proper times to allow the skeleton out for a visit. There was something important about what Jasper had just said, but his mind was still rebooting slowly and when Jasper continued talking it seemed more important to focus on the words rather than let them fade into the background of the room.

Look, I hate to nag, but can you remember anything at all?

Jasper went on to describe what had clearly been an interrogation at the hands of some of the hospital staff. His tone was flippant and conversational as if the whole event hadn't ruffled him in the slightest. Why would they have thought Jasper had any involvement? I think he was gutted when I finally agreed to legilimency and he discovered that I wasn't a psycho pureblood killer. There was a moments pause where Atlas blinked at his friend owlishly. He couldn't say that he forgot Jasper's status very often, especially around his parents who still had the ability to reduce Atlas to a timid mess, but he hadn't given the matter any real serious consideration since the first few awkward months of First year. Jasper didn't parade around in dress robes all the time, or wear odd fobbish bows in his hair, and Atlas was fairly positive that there had never been a creature born who could care less about government policy concerning land ownership, inheritance rights, and family documentation than one Jasper Christie. He attended some of the functions but Atlas had long suspected a great deal of that was dictated by the desires of his parents (if he wasn't going to produce enough grand children to populate a quidditch team the least he could do as be seen in a few of the 'right places'). Less importantly was the fact that Atlas felt, in a fight, he would have been able to hold his own against Jasper.

They must have pressed hard for Jasper to concede to legimency. His mind was something akin to a bear trap and Atlas had a certain degree of reverence for the time it must have taken to make it that way. Reverence was balanced with a healthy degree of fear for anyone who attempted to traipse in unwanted. Jasper had a worlds worth of secrets he wanted kept away from the light, but a desire to cleanse the world of those who didn't posses a quality of breeding that he himself didn't actually place stock in was not one of them.

Whatever was keeping his mind in a vice grip let up the tinnest bit, Atlas bullied it. That was really all it took with most time, minds were strange and irrational things. Memories seemed to be blocked, as if someone had placed red tape over them and that alone was enough to send off warning alarms. Atlas didn't tend to corral his thoughts that way and he was rubbish at blocking memories. There was the chance that trauma had something to do with it but it wasn't fair that Jasper should be under such scrutiny. If the only way to relieve that was to provide the factual answers to the questions posed he'd deal with a little trauma. Jasper looked about ready to give up, or slump out of his seat and melt down to the floor to take a nap, it was fortunate that Atlas managed to get his brain to cooperate.

He took some measured breaths and, ignoring Jasper's attempt to prevent him brought a hand up to worry at the mark on his face. “This is wrong.” His index finger traced the 'two' back and forth. “This wasn't blood motivated, an added bonus I guess but not the primary factor.” He remembered the disgust on the red heads face how the man hadn't wanted to touch him, as if Atlas wasn't worth the time. “They wanted the spell....Garrow's spell.” He tripped over the words, remembering again Jasper snarling at him (and rightly so), how wrong he had been, how much trouble the f-cking thing had caused. “I don't know how they knew about it. I haven't told anyone. I....” He needed to stay on track and focus, parts were still fuzzy.

“Four of them, knew I was there, I must not have reset the locks correctly when I left. No ones robbed the place since the bandits chased those kids off 2 years ago, careless.” It was embarrassing in hindsight, exceedingly so. “I didn't think to attack first, dumb enough to ask what they wanted. I lost my wand, the first one...a red head. He... they wanted to know about the spell. What it did, how it did it and I didn't want to say. One of them was a tall man....ginger. F-cking sadist. Two women, one of them was a small thing she hung back and...” It was the only name he could apply to a face. “Patrick Everand. He just stood there Jasper. Just watched, like it was a spectacle. None of them spoke to me except to ask questions.”

Carefully, he picked at the bandages along his right arm, “Did they find the Dilabo?” He didn't know if Jasper would recall the creature from textbooks in Defense Against the Dark Arts Classes. “The pictures don't do them justice...It's what did this.” He indicated his arm. “But I didn't tell them anything.” It seemed important suddenly for Jasper to understand. “They asked me what I knew and I told them, just everything and nothing. They should have been more specific. That's when he did this.” He tilted his head, shaking it a bit, making sure the gauze didn't touch Jasper's hand.

“Then the woman...she wasn't a woman. Something else entirely. She seemed nice. She told me that they would take my eyes next and I...” He swallowed painfully. “And I couldn't...I let them into the basement. I tried to get away, their were security measures but I didn't get to them in time. I think I triggered one or two, yours was one I think.” He remembered the talons sinking into his shoulder and a high pitched 'caw' going through the air. “I made the woman...the veela angry. She'd been protecting me from the other one, the ginger. She didn't anymore after that.” Wetting his lips he tried to piece the rest together feeling progressively more guilty as he did so.

“Once they had...finished with me she got the girl. They had the notes but they couldn't read them not without me, so they just went in and took what they needed. And it hurt Jas. Worse than anything else they did.” The realization that he was shivering came as little surprise. “I tried to stop them, understand? I don't know how they knew and god they hated me.”

“Rudolph would be useless in identifying anyone present. He would have been with....” Atlas trailed off as the last of gears in his head kicked back sluggishly into action. “Margot.” now he did feel as if he would be sick. He retched painfully but there was nothing to come up. “I told her never to leave the house, it's safe, I don't know what drew her. She...I think she was trying to save me. I told her I was sorry. They didn't trust me, they wanted to see if the spell would work. Just a muggle, what did they care?” He could hear the hysterical bend to his voice, “I don't know what made them leave....I thought they'd kill me. She gave Everand a gun but he didn't shot. Why didn't he? They wanted me dead...I...I got her soul into something. The same container as Derums...I'd been keeping it to run some tests. I triggered an alarm for the aurors. She'd be in the basement, should have been protected from the blast. Did they bring her in? Do you know?” He tried to get up, pressed back against Jasper for a moment when the other man prevented it.

“I didn't mean to f-ck it all up Jas. I didn't. I knew they would kill her anyway if I told them...and I knew and I still let them get the spell. Why did I do that? Pointless....”

Atlas' hand came up to touch the raw marks on his cheek again and Jasper felt too exhausted to stop it. He slumped back in his chair to listen when Atlas started speaking. His head had started the faint, fuzzy pounding that would eventually form his post-New Year's hangover. Thankfully he had a feeling he wouldn't have trouble sleeping it off. If he ever got to sleep.

“...This wasn't blood motivated, an added bonus I guess but not the primary factor.”

Why then? It had to be something even more sinister if they'd used blood crimes as a coverup.

“They wanted the spell....Garrow's spell. I don't know how they knew about it. I haven't told anyone. I....”

Sh-t. Everything came back to that stupid spell. Atlas' increasingly bizarre behavior, his loss of magic, the disaster at the Ministry and that abomination in his basement, everything with Cal that had led to their falling out, and now this. He wished he could go back to when Atlas had first confessed everything that had happened and force him to leave it alone. It had been tucked away in Jasper's mind as just another of the famous Caedmon conspiracy theories, but now it was ballooning alarmingly into reality.

Atlas went on to haltingly describe what had happened. Jasper listened without recognition until--“Patrick Everand. He just stood there Jasper. Just watched, like it was a spectacle. None of them spoke to me except to ask questions.”

Everard? Really? Jasper knew he was involved with crime, of course, and with the Syndicate. But something like this? Everard seemed like essentially a good kid. He'd done Jasper a huge favor taking on that duel a few weeks before. It seemed so unlikely that he'd be involved in torturing and terrorizing eccentric shopkeepers. Jasper supposed he didn't know the man that well, but it seemed distinctly strange.

“Did they find the Dilabo? The pictures don't do them justice...It's what did this.”

It took Jasper, lost in his own thoughts, a moment to realize that he was supposed to answer the question. When he looked at Atlas' bandaged arm and connected it with the word Dilabo his stomach lurched. That was truly horrible, a kind of advanced torture that most wizards would never even consider, practically on par with Unforgivables.

"No, it was gone when I--" he managed to choke out before Atlas went on.

“... I made the woman...the veela angry...Once they had...finished with me she got the girl..."

The veela? Jasper's brain was having an impossible time ordering all this. When had a f-cking veela gotten involved in the story? He needed time to organize everything that Atlas was saying, but now that he'd started the words were pouring out and Jasper was scared to stop him in case he lost whatever trigger had gotten him to begin.

“Rudolph would be useless in identifying anyone present. He would have been with... “Margot.”

Oh, God. Distantly, he could hear Atlas gagging over the sudden pounding of his pulse in his ears. Margot. He hadn't even thought to look for her when he found Atlas. He'd been so groggy and panicked. The house had been significantly burned out, the explosion a quick flash-- if she'd been inside-- Jasper let his head drop into his hands briefly. She was such a nice girl. Like everyone involved in this, she hadn't deserved it.

“She...I think she was trying to save me. I told her I was sorry. They didn't trust me, they wanted to see if the spell would work. Just a muggle, what did they care? I don't know what made them leave....I thought they'd kill me. She gave Everand a gun but he didn't shoot."

There was something else glaringly wrong there, but Jasper barely had time to process it. Why would Everard have a gun? He was a proficient duelist, as he'd proved on Jasper's behalf. There would be no reason--

...I got her soul into something. The same container as Derums...I'd been keeping it to run some tests. I triggered an alarm for the aurors. She'd be in the basement, should have been protected from the blast. Did they bring her in? Do you know?”

Her soul? Jasper thought again about that night in Atlas' basement, the horrible wavering light in that box. Imagining Margot like that made him feel lightheaded. He hoped it at least hadn't been painful for her. Eighteen. He'd joked about it with Atlas, but that was so young. He should have remembered, looked for her.

"I don't know. I'm sorry, I should have thought about her--"

“I didn't mean to f-ck it all up Jas. I didn't..."

"What else could you possibly have done? Four people, or Veela, or whatever, there was no way you could have fought them all. As for Margot, you can't blame yourself for whatever happened. I'll go check with reception and see if she was brought in, try to round up some kind of Squib papers for her if she has been..."

Jasper trailed off, mired down in the thousand things he needed to think about and his utter inability to do so in his current state.

"Then I might go home and try to sleep. I'm really sorry, but I'm incredibly knackered and useless to you until I sort that. Will you be all right for a few hours? Do you want me to call anyone? Your mum should know eventually." He stood slowly, mind still racing. "This just doesn't make sense--the Veela? And, are you sure it was Everard?"

What else could you possibly have done? Four people, or Veela, or whatever, there was no way you could have fought them all. As for Margot, you can’t blame yourself for whatever happened. I’ll go check with reception and see if she was brought in, try to round up some kind of Squib papers for her if she has been…

Atlas ruminated on this for a moment considering what possible alternatives could have been to the events of roughly 24 hours prior. While there was a chance that he would have been able to disarm maybe one of them the eventual outcome would have been the same. One of him against four of them, one not even human, Jasper was right. On the topic of blame however Atlas suspected that however many times he heard that it wasn’t his fault he’d never quite be able to make himself believe it. Especially if the damage done to Margot at their hands was too much for her to recover from.


Jasper looked perhaps more disheveled than Atlas had ever seen him and that was including the several encounters he had had with the Syndicate before employing Sergei's assistance. The typically perfectly ruffled hair was out of sorts, posture off, and when Jasper's hand came up to scrub across his face Atlas could see faint stubble. Although his eyes kept drooping Jasper managed to keep up his dubious expression. Something he had said had apparently rang wrong.

Then I might go home and try to sleep. He didn't add, 'that is if I don't collapse in the hallway on my way out' but Atlas was mildly concerned that could be the case. I'm really sorry, but I'm incredibly knackered and useless to you until I sort that. Will you be alright for a few hours? Do you want me to call anyone? Your mum should know eventually. Several bones cracked as Jasper rose from his seat, stretching in order to be able to stand up straight. This just doesn't make sense—the Veela? And, are you sure it was Everand?

From his position back against the pillows Atlas nodded solemnly. “It was him.” He tapped a finger against the side of his temple. “Can check if you like. One veela she was,” He paused trying to find the correct word and just ended up pursing his lips in frustration. “I had never even heard of this kind of behavior from them. Not that we wizards have ever taken much time to study them beyond just looking I suppose. She was definitely the leader.”

Jasper wobbled where he stood, catching himself on the back of the chair he had been occupying moments before.

“Be fine.” Atlas replied, looking around the white walls and the abrasive lighting and singluar barred window. It was a lie but if he thought about it enough it could turn out to be true. “Mum's in Ireland for the New Year, visiting with some relatives....” For a moment he considered telling Jasper not to tell her but then he thought about what she might think if she heard about the incident from another source first. “If you could send something along to my grandparents I'm sure they'll get in contact with her. If you could keep from mentioning the more horrific details I'd appreciate it.”

“You will check about Margot though? I hate to ask but could you keep an eye on Rudolph...he's nowhere else to go really and hes banned from the hospital. Makes people uncomfortable apparently, don't see why. You will be coming back? And,” There was a pause in which both of them regarded each other for a moment before Atlas piped up again, striving not to choke on the words. “I need to speak to Will.”

Jasper stopped and leaned against the back of his chair when he finally mustered up the energy to stand, blinking at the sterile white wall above Atlas' head. Things kept getting added to his mental checklist and he was concerned that he would just black out on the way home and forget them all while he was sleeping in a bin someplace. Number one on his list was stagger home, followed closely by remove disgusting clothes and collapse face down on the bed for twenty hours. Then he could deal with the rest of this mess tomorrow, after a shave and a new tie and another martini.

He wouldn't be telling Mrs. Caedmon right away, even by proxy through Atlas' grandfather. The last thing Atlas needed was her breathing down his neck as he tried to recover. And Jasper didn't want to deal with her questioning; she was a rather frightening character, the utter opposite of his mother. He had traumatic experiences of the Caedmon house as a child; all the unprotected corners and readily available sharp objects. A wonder his mother had let him play there, especially after Atlas' mother told her that "injuries build character." Jasper was fairly certain they only built scar tissue.

“You will check about Margot though?"

That he would do, on the way out. Poor girl. He desperately hoped she was in the hospital now and they'd been unable to ID her. If they had it was going to take some serious coverup work.

"I hate to ask but could you keep an eye on Rudolph...he's nowhere else to go really and hes banned from the hospital."

This sounded like the most unfortunate task so far, but Jasper nodded numbly. He couldn't really say no. Rudolph would just want to ride Pinkie around anyway, and he could make a quiche. Maybe they could even go harass Arty. It could be the bright point in his week. Plus he'd be useful for taking care of Atlas once he was released from St. Mungo's.

|You will be coming back? And, I need to speak to Will.”

"Yeah, I'll be back as soon as I can."

Will? Unusual request, but Jasper nodded. "I'll owl him. He'll be here in five minutes, you know Will. Probably have to take off from his afternoon reading to orphans or something. I'll see you later mate, try to get some sleep yeah?"

He managed to fumble his way down the hall to reception, where there was thankfully no report of any other patients from Atlas' house. Jasper suspected that's what Will would be dealing with; he'd have an easier time shielding Margot's identity from officials. On the way home his mind shuffled through all the information that it couldn't absorb in his current state. Everard confused him the most. He'd been at the bloody New Year's party; Jasper had a hard time believing he'd said goodnight then traipsed across the alley to torture one of his childhood friends. It was just illogical. Then the veela-- Atlas was right, the behavior was so atypical--

The thoughts looped around in his head, getting tangled hopelessly in his tired mind as he mechanically opened his door and shuffled up the back stairs, too tired to even take them two at a time as he normally did. Today was normally the start of his after-Christmas sale, but there was just no way. He drew the blinds, sent a scrawled note to Will, then folded up in bed without even managing to roll up his ruined cuffs. His last thought was that Atlas would be getting a bill for the bloody tuxedo.