The room he was brought to was obviously meant to for storage. There were shelves, closets and crates loitered around, but they seemed to have been cleared to the side leaving enough room in the middle for two couches that faced each other, separated by a small coffee table. Mark wondered what was stockpiled here and was seriously considering taking a peek when Amy came in. She had a box grasped in her hands and awkwardly adjusted it to get the door closed before setting it down at her feet. "Hey. Have a nice day off? Hope you're ready to get some work done today." She beamed at him and tucked a few strands of hair that had pulled out from her clip behind her ear.
She still didn't know who he was, and despite being here now Mark didn't intend to let her find out too much. Having Moody, Kingsly and Alice know was bad enough, and he had in fact told them everything. The whole night sort of blurred together, but one part stood out clearly.
"Mr. Potter, we recognize that you outlived us where you came from but do not let this belittle the experience we hold in your mind," Kingsly began, "The fact is that you are not ready to take the field of battle in the way you need to right now, in fact you are not even ready to take the field of battle in the position you held six months ago. Once more we must ask you to consider taking Occlumency lessons."
"With one of you?" Harry had asked hopefully, but that was not what they had intended.
"No," Moody responded, "With Amy. She is still the best able to help you deal with your problems and to teach you Occlumency."
"No," he had firmly refused. No way in hell. But he wasn't as used to getting his way as three Aurors with leverage over him were, and that didn't last long, and now he was standing before her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, as he often did when he was nervous and unsure of what to do.
He hadn't wanted to go to her for help, not after the whole Sarah incident, technically not before it either. But he also didn't want to tell that reason to the three aurors bearing down on him. Reluctantly he agreed to give it a trial, a full day at the very least. He reserved the right to decide where to go from there. He could survive one day, after all he was Harry Potter. All he had to do was keep her from finding out about that particular infidelity and keep her from learning his real name.
Amy pulled a stone basin out from the box and set it in the middle of the coffee table and took a seat on the couch to the left, motioning for him to join her on the one across from her as she moved. He recognized the object as a pensive; there was already a memory floating around.
"All right Evans, Moody finally gave me the go ahead to have my way with you so grab my hand and lets get started." She reached her hand across the table. Each nail was tipped gently with white nail polish and she had a ring on one of her fingers, a subtle break in dress code. He grasped what she offered and she pulled him into the memory.
They were on a beach at night; it was just getting cool. In the distance he could see a small fire surrounded by shapes that he assumed were people. "I grew up in California," Amy said by explanation, "This was a beach we lived near."
"Oh," he responded, not really sure what to say but feeling like he ought to say something, "It's nice."
"Yes, and very basic and easy to access in my mind seeing as it involves so many of my other memories. Walk with me." Mark began hurried to catch up with Amy and walked a few more feet to her left than good manners would normally dictate. For her part, Amy did not seem to mind. "Ideally when someone barges into your mind you want to push them out of it. The same goes for when you are remembering something a little bit beyond your capacity to deal with at the moment; you want to force it from your conscious thought. But that is generally something only an extremely skilled occlums can manage. Much easier to master, and a step you can build off of eventually, is to 'find your happy place.'"
"My happy place?" Mark asked dubiously, wondering how this story had started to turn Disney on him.
"Yes. It doesn't have to actually be happy, per se, it can be neutral in tone as well. It mostly has to be simple and without secrets so when someone tries to force their way into your mind you can pull them into here and trap them more or less. It should come from your childhood as well, before you were seven, which gives it a simplistic air. When you get good at it you can keep this place on the surface of your mind at all times, which will help to keep you feeling less stress on a regular basis and will serve as all a person will be able to see in they try to read beyond your eyes. Do you understand what I'm getting at?"
"Yes. But how does this help me with dealing with my past?"
"Just learning to manage how to do this will put you in better control of your errant thoughts and will allow you to sort of set your mind back to default if they get to you if you wish. Grab my hand again, we'll go back to reality."
Soon enough they were in their living room styled storage space on the couches again. "So, Evans, do you have a good memory to use as a default?" She asked and Mark dipped his head down in contemplation. Amy gave him a few moments then gently began to prod him, "A lot of people use simple spaces like their childhood room, or a favorite vacation spot." Mark blushed lightly. No such spot would work for him. But they did give him a good idea for a different spot.
"Ok. I have one."
"Good. Concentrate on it and I'm going to enter your mind. I'm going to bring you with me—it's sort of hard to explain but you'll understand when I'm in your head. Is that all right?"
"Hold on," he said, stopping the spell on her lips, "What did Moody tell you about me?"
"He said that there were some things about you that will be surprising and impossible but I am to keep my cool and not ask too many questions. I'm just supposed to deal with the underlying psychological issues necessary to keep you from killing yourself with grief."
Mark paused for a second, fairly sure he wasn't comfortable with this and not at all prepared. "Ok. I'm ready."
Amy found herself pulling Mark into his memory of a small park. Weeds were pushing through the cracks in the pavement, graffiti spelled words too vulgar for the child's play structure they decorated and all but one of the swing seats were broken, with the wood dangling awkwardly from the chains. Mark took the one functioning swing for himself as she glanced around. "Will this work?" he asked shyly. She was about to ask if there was a happier place that he could think of but the embarrassed look on his face stopped her; it reminded her of the kid in school who never had the money for lunch. She paused for a second too long and Mark shifted his feet across the ground nervously, "I grew up not to far away from here with my relatives."
"It's fine, Mark. Really." The edges of the memory flickered, evidence of a struggle to hold onto it, which showed Amy, more so than anything else, how fragile his mind had become. A dark laughter replaced the monotone noise of cars in a suburb and the whole image flickered. Amy jolted across the gap between the two of them and grasped Marks hand. His face contorted as he tried to hold onto the park. The world folded up around them and even Amy couldn't pull them out of torrent of images.
A basement flooded by filled with instruments only meant to cause pain, something with the consistency that was almost like syrup slithered down her back. She lay nose-to-nose before a garden snake hissing at it curiously as the meaning of what they were saying echoed in the background, I'm Boy, what's your name? There was an impromptu graveyard on the edge of a patchwork house, mounds that had no time to grow grass bubbled around her and she could feel the blisters forming on her hand as she dug into the damp soil. There was a bar and a girl with a hiked up mini skirt that her hands had found their way underneath; teasingly she tickled with her fingers. Finally there was a small room with a cradle viewed in mostly black and white. She could see only two colors amidst the shades of gray; the red hair of a woman pleading for the life of her child and the green light that followed. It all went dark except for the white sound of a high-pitched crackling laugh. Amy wrenched herself from his mind, dragging Mark along with her. They both came out panting.
"I'm sorry," the boy across from her said so softly she thought she might of imagined it. She wasn't looking at him, or she could have noticed his appearance warp for the briefest of seconds before he buried his face in his hands and pulled his image together.
She waited a few more pregnant moments, "That was Sarah." The room stilled as the implications of what that meant. Psychological terms and theories swirled around in her head as she tried to figure out the mature and healthy thing to do. He nodded, barely, and Amy found that she no longer cared about the best course of action. "Is that how you get your jollies, you sick fuck? Twirl a girl around for a night and obliviate her come morning?" She shouted, raising from her seat and rounding the coffee table the two of them without any barrier between them. The boy in front of her didn't answer, didn't even move when she went to strike him, just jerked back as she connected and then lolled forwarded, pinching the bridge of his bleeding nose. "Answer me!"
"No. I didn't mean for it to happen like that."
"Fuck you. What exactly did you intend, then? Force yourself on a muggle like that is considered rape you know. For good reasons. How many other girls have you done this to?"
He looked up at her, shocked at the allegation, and she took advantage of that moment of eye contact to break back into his mind, to the night he lost his virginity to Ginny. They were in a dingy room in Grimauld Place. All the picture frames had been flipped face down and warded to give them privacy and candles floated about in a way that was intended to romanticize the evening, but cast deviant shadows on the furniture with rattling drawers and upon the peeling wall paper instead. It was the first time since being inducted to the order that Harry missed one of the meetings, but it was a first time for a lot of things that night. It was stumbling and awkward, as those moments usually are.
Amy had accidentally pulled Mark in as a presence again and they both stood while his memory filmed on, the participants unaware of the voyeurs. Mark, furious and embarrassed, did the only thing he could think of in such a situation; he tackled his superior, effectively bringing both of them back to reality where he tackled her again, shoving her down across a crate.
"That's private," he gritted out, his eyes shifting back and forth from green to black as he lost control to his emotions, his face contorted with strain. Amy flipped them around and wound up on top, trying to pin his arms up while hitting him at the same time in a way like she used to do with her older brothers, but much angrier and violent now. But he was much bigger physically and he quickly threw her off of him, dropped his shoulder and tackled her once more, landing them both on the couch. She kneed him in the crotch as they went down and used the moments he was dazed to push him to the side; he rolled from the couch, arms swinging wildly up to try to catch something as he went down and missing. His head, on the other hand, caught the corner of the table as he dropped, and the back of it landed solidly on the concrete floor. The pensive shuddered and fell upon him. The room spun and Mark knew no more.
When she heard the dull crack and the thud that followed her senses came back to her. "Jesus fucking Christ!" she cursed and shoved the coffee table out of the way so she could kneel by her charge. She checked the ABCs and let out the breath she had been holding when she realized he wasn't dead. A couple of charms ensured that he would stay stable for a few minutes, more or less. Then she bolted from the room in search of a more experienced healer, wondering how the fuck she was going to explain this one.
When Mark woke up he was back on the couch, this time with no one beneath him. Alice was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, wiping his forehead with a damp cloth. He could hear Moody chastising Amy in the corner, her whole face, dipped low in shame, was flushed, as was her neck and chest that was visible before it disappeared beneath her shirt and. He could see his blood on her, as well as tear stains that did not belong to him. She let out a poorly stifled sob.
Alice softly asked how he was feeling in a tone he could not decipher, and he wobbled his hand back and forth like the deck of a boat in a storm to indicate so-so. Moody finished his tirade with Amy and she stalked out of the room without sparring him a glance and apparated away right outside the door. Alastor, in turn, rounded on him.
"What in the devil's name did you get yourself into this time, Pretty Boy?"
"Amy told you about Sarah then?" he asked quietly. The look Alice shot him, filled with disapproval, answered the question.
"It came up," was her terse response. "Just tell me what the hell were you thinking, Harry? Even if we put aside the obvious moral issues at hand, there still remains the fact that you practically raped the poor girl. Merlin, what would your mother say?"
He felt the bottom of his stomach twirl and drop away. "I didn't rape her. I was upset and I went to a pub and got drunk and I don't remember what happened next, I just know I woke up naked in her apartment feeling really sick. My disguise must have fallen sometime during the night because I looked like I'm supposed to, like Harry Potter, and she remembered all of that and knew my name. I couldn't let her know that."
There was a moment when no one spoke and the only movemen't came from Moody's eye as it swirled sickeningly and wildly in its socket, "Hmf. I can't believe I'm saying this but it's probably better that way," Moody gruffly put in.
"Alastor! How can you say that?" Alice looked up shocked, "I can't imagine what that poor girl must be going through."
"Regardless of what it is she's safer not knowing, especially since she has had other contact with the magical world through Amy. Besides, if he blacked out and she didn't he must have been much more drunk than the girl, technically she took advantage of him."
"Still, it just seems so callous," she said softly.
"What do you want the boy to do? Apologize to the girl?"
"I already did," Harry injected, earning incredulous glances from both Moody and Alice, "Not as Harry Potter, obviously, but there's nothing wrong with Mark doing so, we are technically the same person."
"I'm racking my brain but I can't think of any way you could have managed that without causing more problems."
"Well, she knows about magic from Amy, so I found a way to meet up with her as she was coming home from work yesterday—"
"Great, now we're going to have to deal with stalking charges," Moody interrupted. Alice quickly hushed him and motioned for Mark to go on.
"—On my day off and explained that I was a wizard, I got drunk, I told her something it was dangerous for her to know on accident and I had to erase that knowledge from her mind. I don't think she quite knew how to take it, just walked around me and went inside."
Alice leaned back after this revelation, resting her weight on her palms behind her hips and Moody pinched the bridge of his nose. "Damn it, Pretty Boy, it is too early in the week to be dealing with all this. Are you sure she doesn't know anything serious? Good. Just be more careful in the future, for Merlin's sake," he paused and sucked in a big lungful of breath that he let drift back out slowly, "your expected back her tomorrow, as is Amy. My suggestion is that you tell her the truth about it all as you two are expected to work together. Who knows, perhaps having to deal with you all the time will teach her how to control her own damn temper," he finished, obviously putting strain on his own anger in turn. Then he simply spun on his heel and strode from the room. More slowly, Alice got up to follow him.
"You've probably had enough for the day. Go home and get some rest, Harry."
Mark watched her go for a bit, still firmly planted on the couch, scared and embarrassed to do what he knew he ought to do, but as she was just about to cross the threshold he bolted up and stopped her. "I'm sorry I've disappointed you so much since I got here," he said shyly.
She stopped and took a steadying breath, "Harry, you should be—and I know you are—ashamed for what you did to Sarah, but that was only one mistake. You haven't had an easy life and I know that both of your parents would be proud of the man you've become despite that incident. Talk to Amy, work with her, and get better. Get some rest until then. You're going to be all right, we all are," she said and then angled his head down with her hands so she could give him a motherly kiss on his forehead. Mark smiled softly.
Amy apparated to just inside her apartment and slid down the door to her haunches and wondered how she let things get so far out of control—my god she had given the boy a concussion and knocked him out cold. A head peaked out from behind her roommate's door.
"Hey there, what are you doing back here so early?" Sarah asked, coming over and crouching down by her friend.
"Could ask the same of you," words were finally understandable through the girls sobs.
"Just thinking some things over, you know. Ran into the boy I slept with when I came home late last night from work. He apologized and explained some stuff. Just mulling it all over, you know?"
"You ran into Evans?" she asked, incredulous.
"You figured out it was him then, eh? I told him I wouldn't say anything. He looks up to you I think, or something," she smiled with a rueful shake of her head and pulled her friend up and dragged her into her bed. They were both exhausted. "You look like hell. Do I need to get us ice cream and a trashy romance novel or is the plan to just crash?"
"Oh no, you don't get off the hook that easily. What did Evans say?"
"He waited for me, and introduced himself when I came in, mentioned that he was one of your sort. Said he had to apologize for the other night, that both got really drunk and fooled around and he blacked out. In the morning he realized he had let something wizardly slip that he couldn't have other people know and so he erased my memory. He honestly looked awful about it. I still haven't forgiving him for it, or myself for that matter, but it's good to know what happened."
"What did he let slip? That he was a sex fiend," snapped Amy grumpily.
"Well obviously I have no idea. When he assured me that he had no STDs I just went inside and that was the end of it. How'd you find out?"
"It came out when I was doing some special work with him. I beat the fuck out of him for it too." Silence fell and neither one knew what to say for a couple of awkward moments, the sort of moments where suddenly you find bits of lint and threads that dangle from the frayed edges of your shirt quite fascinating. "Chick flick then?"
"Now you're talking! Go get changed first, you look disgusting."
The atmosphere was much less friendly and cheery when Amy and Mark met up the next day. They both sat opposite each other, edgier than the couches dictated as fitting. No word was spoken for a good five minutes; Amy stared at Mark and Mark studied his worn chucks, both waiting for the other to decide how to approach the other. In the end Mark acted first, slipping one hand behind his back and the other to his forearm to draw his wands from his holsters and he carefully, so as to not appear threatening, set them on the table with the tips pointed in his direction. His back settled against the back of the couch. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions," he stated, almost needlessly. His companion's head dipped up and down in agreement. He fumbled a bit with the bottom button of his shirt, nervously. "You can ask them now if you want, and I'll do my best to answer them. Moody told you everything said here is to remain confidential, right?" There again he was answered with a barely perceivable nod of her head, a slight dip that set her ponytail swaying ever so slightly.
He went back to waiting, and when his patience was finally rewarded it was not the sort of question he expected at all. "Who were the people you were watching?"
A dark blush crept up his neck and face, staining him. "I beg your pardon."
"In the memory, before you tackled me. Who was that couple?"
"That was my fiancée and I. And honestly, it was a very private moment and I don't think—" she cut him off.
"No it wasn't. That man looked nothing like you. Who the hell were you watching fuck?"
If possible his face turned an even darker shade, rivaling the deep, cherry-juice color of the rug at his feet. "Er, right. Here's where it gets complicated. I'm a metamorphagus. Mark Evans is my disguise."
"A metamorphagus?" There was an obvious tone of disbelief in her voice. "Like that other trainee, Tonks?"
"Yes. She's actually the one who figured out I was one; I hadn't picked up on the signs. Then she showed me the ropes afterwards." A pause followed this statement as Amy thought over what the trainee in front of her was saying.
"I was under the impression that you didn't know anyone when you entered this program."
"Well, see, that's not entirely the case. I know quite a few of them, it's just that they have no clue who I am." A perfectly defined eyebrow arched over one of Amy's blue eyes. "I'm not making much sense, am I?"
"No, not really. As far as I can discern you're still a dick."
"Er, right. Let me explain. Are you familiar with Morgana's law on time?"
"No, not really."
"Bullocks, I was hoping you did because I don't know enough about it to explain it properly. Basically it states that time is rigid and tends to follow a singular path regardless of what you do. The time turner was based off of this theory as it followed that any short jaunt into the past was predetermined and was meant to make the present possible, a conundrum of course but one that persisted for decades without any noticeable flaws. However the time turner was later improved into a form capable of breaking that path and thus allowing a traveler to change the past and create a new future."
"Nothing like that exists, Evans."
"Of course not, not now, but just shy of a decade down the road there exists a variance of reality where it will be created."
"That's quite a story to believe. But say for a moment that I do, what circumstances would ever exist that would send anyone hurdling years into an uncertain path?"
"The return of Voldemort and his victories that cast him as the supreme figurehead of the wizarding world."
"And who are you in all of this? The genius who stumbled upon this innovative invention?"
"No. She was…She was murdered. Hermione was murdered. I am Harry Potter, Commander in Chief of Dumbledor's Army, or I was before they were all killed, when there still was one. Right now I'm not quite qualified for anything, I believe that that is where you are supposed to fit in."
His heart was pounding in his head; he counted the number of beats it gave, pulling blood in and pushing it out in turn, while Amy sat across from him simply staring. He was in the hundreds when she reacted; standing up jerkily she opened the door, turned as if she was going to say something, thought better of it and left. His breath made a whooshing noise and it left his mouth.
There was a spell once, or there would be in a year roughly—the Weasley twins had invented it whilst they were supposed to be doing something else in a class—that allowed you to see your breath as if you had been smoking or were out in chilly weather. They had used it to blow smoke rings while holding rolled up pieces of parchment between their fingers. It had nearly given McGonagal a heart attack when she first saw them, thinking they had smuggled in muggle weed or cigarettes, and they found it hilarious when she, greatly flustered, was unable to give them a detention when their innocence was proven. Amy gave him the same sort of look when she came back in a few moments later, almost annoyed that her perceptions were wrong.
"I think it would be easier for now if you just stayed in the persona of Mark Evans, otherwise you're not going to be the only one here in the need of help," her breath left her in that deep whooshing noise as well, somehow the day had already become long so early in the morning. "Now, let's start with your default once more."
Again they found themselves in the park. "All right, Mr. Evans, I need you to concentrate very hard on this one scene, though I think I'm a bit more prepared to pull us out if you start blinking again." The scene wavered and Amy laid her hand on her charge's back drew small circles to calm him and the park became solid once more. "Good work. Now, I want you to gently shift focus to a scene here from when you were small."
At first nothing happened, as Mark struggled with the effort of simply keeping this one scene from dissipating. Then the world melded again, as if they had suddenly looked at it in the reflection of a spoon, and when it returned to normal the season had changed to the oppressing heat of summer and there was a small boy with a garden snake. There wasn't an inch of fat on the child's body, and with his shirt discarded in the humidity Amy could count each individual rib. The snake lay the across the length of the boy's torso with it's head raised to look into the green eyes of its companion. They were hissing at each other.
"The champion of the light is a parselmouth?" Amy asked in a voice that implied a sly wink, "What would the Prophet say?" The joke was lost on Mark, however, who was hardly paying attention to jabs when the amount of concentration necessary to hold this scene caused beads of sweat to form on the fringe of his hairline. Amy noticed this a pulled him back out. They were on the couches again and he was panting heavily.
"And I thought you were in shape, Evans," she joked. Again he didn't rise to the barb and Amy's brow furrowed. She pulled the coffee table away and sat before him, looking into his green eyes, placing her hands on either side of them. "Just breathe, you got it, there you go."
Slowly he calmed down. "It's not funny," he intoned softly, "I—" he started and then seemingly lost the words necessary to continue. He swallowed and started again, "I can feel it, all the bad stuff, crushing down like a heavy weight trying to come in. It's like my mind is constantly under attack. It isn't easy." He closed his eyes heavily, and when they opened again they were dark, which wasn't something she missed this time.
"I'm sorry," she said with sincerity. "Does it make it more difficult to hold your appearance like that?"
"Sometimes," he admitted.
"You can let it drop. I won't flip on you."
"Well, now that we've established that," he said wryly, thinking back to their taxing encounters over the last few days. She smiled at his poor attempt at a joke. His wands were still on the table, one got re-sheathed and he took the other one and added some wards to the room, before putting it away as well. Then his disguise fell, slowly peeling away from his head to his feet.
Amy surveyed the man who was now in front of her; there was a definite aura of haunted-ness that was hidden when he was Evans. His complexion was lighter too, and he had shrunk a few good inches. His face was almost too lean and angular, with elfin cheekbones and a strong forehead casting shadows on the bottom half of his face. And despite the fact that his appearance now was definitely more normal she could pick up traces of what would have him noticed at every wizarding location he frequented. There had been a picture of the boy in the paper, holding a Nimbus 2000, when he had made his house team prematurely; she had glanced at it about a week ago. The shock of hair was the same, though it had transformed from simply unkempt to an attractive bed head style that was obviously effortless now, though it had probably caused him considerable grief in his younger years. The green eyes had only changed in focus as if their gaze had gained a stronger purpose. And then, gently raised upon his forehead was a thin line that was lighter than the rest of his pale face; of course there was the scar. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.
"All right then, now that that's taken care of," she babbled slightly before sitting herself back on the edge of the coffee table, so that now there was nothing between them except a thin wall of air, "Same exercise again, focus on your default, 1, 2, and 3."
The world he thought up held better this time, whether it was because he had done away with the added strain of keeping up his guise or if it was because he had just done it a few times by now he wasn't sure. All he knew is that there were a few more details placed into the grains of the wood and the edges seemed to contort and peel threateningly a little less. Amy gave him a proud smile. "Okay, same drill. Show me what you've got."
This time the Harry that came out was older. Thirteen or fourteen, she guessed, but his oversized, puppy hands and dapple of spots across his nose and cheeks. Some pudgy kid with a few lackeys showed up on the scene and started tempting him. He whipped out his wand and said something back, threateningly; Amy couldn't make out the words exactly. The image was too much work to hold for Harry to pull it in clearly. The pig-kid cowered away from the tip of it, his friends baffled by his response and they all disappeared quickly. The scene set up to play again.
Amy's finger's intertwined with Harry's more firmly, just in case; his hands were warm and sweating a bit. "Good work, now take us back to your default." The image warped out and then snapped back in place like elastic to the original, empty park. He had the most violent shifts of any mind Amy had ever been in. She glanced at him briefly pulling them both back into reality to properly survey her young charge. His shirt was soaked with sweat, his hair as well, which was plastered down across his forehead, obscuring his famous scar. "Breathe with me." Slowly he calmed down.
"All right there, Evans. I think that's enough for today." Harry nodded and pulled back on his guise, which held for a few minutes and then slipped right off. He then bent over a puked on the floor before him; it was mostly just water, colored slightly orange with a few splotches of different consistency.
"Sorry," he said weakly and pulled out his wand to clean it off. Amy stopped him before he had a chance, thinking he was in no condition to perform any magic, even the basics of cleaning. She did the job for him.
"Have you had breakfast yet?" was her demand, he shook his head in reply, miserably holding his stomach. "When was the last time you ate?" he shrugged his shoulders in response. Did he have dinner yesterday? Lunch even? Fuck, after this morning he could barely remember yesterday, let alone the very insignificant human things he may or may not have accomplished. His companion sighed and glanced at her watch; Sarah wouldn't be home for another few hours and he was in no condition to be left alone or taken out, considering he still looked like an overgrown savior of the wizarding populace. Fuck. "Take my hand."
Side-along aparation and the image of this dinning room were almost enough to make him retch again. Amy quickly handing him a bucket as he began to look green once more, "just sit down and the table and I'm going to cook you up something real quick so that I know that if I send you home you aren't going to die somewhere. That would be hard to explain, especially after yesterday."
In the other room a microwave began to whirl as Amy banged around in the cupboard. In a few minutes a beep rung out, causing Harry's head to give a heavy throb and Amy emerged from the kitchen a few moments later with two bowls of soup and a plate of toast for them to share. "Eat up and keep it down, Harry. They don't pay me enough to have you upchucking this stuff at my table, all right?"
He did manage to keep it down, and even managed to switch his appearance back to Evans securly, though he kept the bucket firmly pressed between his thighs just in case and kept quiet while he sipped through his first and second helpings of soup. He was on his third, with Amy already finished with her meal and bewitching the plates to wash themselves in the sink, when the door slammed open. It was a small apartment, so the view from the entrance was clearly visible from where Mark sat at the table. Sarah was early, and when she arrived home, dirty, exhausted and all around pissed off and glared instinctively at Mark across the flat all he could do was swallow awkwardly.