Evening, 2nd September, 1892 — The Leaky Cauldron

He had not been entirely certain that Mr. Prewett would indulge him here – and he had drawn the line at showing up at his lodgings instead – but perhaps the man had not said no to the prospect of a drink after work, if nothing else. No matter: he was here, and Savino had taken up a corner table, out of earshot of most people in here, their conversation conveniently drowned out by the constant flow of traffic passing in and out of the Diagon Alley wall.

(Not that everyone else wasn’t talking ceaselessly about the Hogsmeade murders, too.)

There was the Sight angle to address, of course – with all the Seers he knew, surely they could collate something of use to warn of any upcoming attacks – but Mr. Prewett had another field of knowledge Savino was interested in, too. And he – well, he trusted the man. His flat cynicism felt like a sure foundation, somehow. At any rate, Savino had dutifully let the gentleman get through one drink before delving too deep into the topic; but, at a convenient segue, he broached it more directly.

“And is it right that one of the victims was one of your colleagues – an Unspeakable too?” Ernest Mulciber, he meant. (Mr. Prewett might not be able to mention his work directly, but he might still have some insights about the people he worked with.)

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Bernard Prewett/Madeleine Backus

  

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Bernard had not actually expected to recieve a message from Mister Zabini asking to meet. He had rather assumed that they were both playing lip service to the social niceties but he had recieved a note inviting him to meet for a drink. He had been a little concerned that Zabini was going to suggest somewhere stuffy and pretentious like Blacks, but he had been pleasantly surprised to see the selected location was the cauldron.

'Yeah Mulciber, decent chap' he explained, not addressing the fact that he now had the mans job. The move had come quickly, he believed the ministry feared the questions that would arise if there was any perception of 'loss' within the ministry if the post was open for very long. At any other time he would likely have turned it down, but it somehow felt disloyal or excessively quisling to make the job more difficult by refusing it.

'It's been a difficult few weeks,' he didnt work in the investigations, but the seers had all been asked what they had seen, if anything. Bernard had had the bad luck - of seeing glimpses of Hunt's death, nothing of use, but enough to disturb his rest 'Did you see anything of the...incidents?' he asked chosing his words carefully.

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A difficult few weeks was an understatement – Savino had felt the stifling sense of the murders without having even been acquainted with any of the victims, so he had to assume it was far worse for those who couldn’t escape it so well. Not that he wanted to avoid getting caught up in it, necessarily – he wished he could do some good – but at Prewett’s question, he answered with a grimace.

“Almost nothing,” he confessed, with a shrug of near-frustration. His visions about other people never did present themselves in a tidy theme – Carmichael was more likely than anyone he knew to have sensed the murders, and perhaps Prewett here with his pessimistic predictions – and even if Savino watched the cards and the crystal ball intently and kept dedicated track of his dreams, it was difficult to determine if anything had or would crop up that was actually connected. “All I knew was something coming about a severing, back in June,” – and there had been a dismembering incident not long after, the one attack in London – “but of course I had no idea what it meant until it happened. And little enough since – at least not that I can tell.” He sighed. “Have you been getting much?”

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He nodded concurring, 'Much the same' he acknowledged, 'Flashes, nothing useful.' he noted - story of his life. Terrible thing occurs - Bernard sees some of it, not enough to help or make any sort of difference, but just enough to haunt his sleep for weeks. With Meeks he had seen a knife cutting through flesh and blood welling to the surface and a sunset. which could have been anything, any mundane killing taking place anywhere at any time in England. 'Certainly nothing that wuold have amounted to a serious lead, or actionably in any respect.'

'Mulcibers was the worst' he admitted, in an astonishing display of honesty that even took him aback. 'I saw little more than a stone hand grasping the arm of a chair.' it was exceptionally frustrating, especially since he had gone into work the next week to be shown into Mulcibers office, the ministry seeking to ensure that there were no lags in the continuity of administation. He was fairly sure it was only because he had been there longest.

'Makes you wonder what the point of the blasted power is, if there is nothing we can do about it.'

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Savino sighed in deepest sympathy, and took another sip of his drink, trying to buoy himself against the general sensation of helplessness.

“See, I’d hoped if we all –” he and all the Seers and diviners he knew, “– collate the flashes we get, that we might be able to make something more of them,” he suggested. He couldn’t promise that it would work, but at least if they had more of the puzzle pieces to play with, they might feel as though there was some progress in it. Even minor overlapping details or different angles of the future could be the key.

“And I thought of trying to – See the murderer more clearly, if not the victims,” Savino admitted, sharing musings that were not yet well-formed. The deaths had all looked entirely different, so they were hard to link – but if it was the same person behind them all, perhaps they could find a clue to their identity in their visions. But as well as trying to plumb the depths of divination to pin them down, one could not forget natural observation – “You don’t think...” he added tentatively, because he’d heard rumours about who Law Enforcement was investigating but did not want to offend, “– what with Mulciber, you don’t think it could be someone you know at work?” No one else would know as much as Prewett did about the Unspeakables under suspicion.

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'Do I think government workers are capable of killing people?' he scoffed 'It's the cruelty that makes it unlikely.
I don't want to think of anyone I know being capable of something as cruel as what was done to that poor boy' he shook his head, feeling disgusted at the mental image of that boy that had cut himself to pieces in the park. His stomach threatened to spill it's contents and he took another long draw on the cigarette hoping the tobacco would take the taste of bile from his throat.

'Sounds like a decent plan' he nodded, 'How many do you know?' he asked, taking a cigerette out of his silver cigerette case, he offered the other man on, before lighting his own with a touch of his finger, 'Seers that is' he asked, picking a bit of errant tobacco from his tongue, before flicking it aside. 'Might be possible to use a ministry room if we wanted to organise something proper to collate all that we've seen'

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“I did hear rumours about a Mr. Carrow,” Savino said, a slight flush coming to his cheeks, but otherwise unabashed enough to explain himself – “and a Mrs. Lestrange.” Both related to Prewett’s department at one time or another – but maybe rumour was all it was, and it was as ludicrous to believe them as anything that came out of Witch Weekly.

Still, people were often blind to things right in front of them because of what they wanted to think. But perhaps Prewett was right; perhaps they would get further on the merit of their Sight than on Savino’s hitherto untested detective talents. He took a cigarette.

“A few,” Savino offered, as he lit it and put it to his lips. “You’ve heard of Carmichael, I suppose,” he said, “and there’s a fellow called Dodonus.” They were both in upper class society to some extent, so might be names Prewett had at least heard of. Savino paused before mentioning Miss Reid,  and thought better of it: he fancied she would not forgive him to have her name bandied about or her nature publicised any more than it was already. “And there’s Miss Urquart; she’s a rather good diviner.” She was not a Seer, but she could usually get a sense of things from the Tarot. (And then there was Dot, who was neither a Seer nor someone he could casually mention – but she was clever.)

“Anyone you know?”

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The ministry was a buzz with rumours - everything from that the murders were being committed by Justin Ross to eliminate his political enemies to the ministry covering up vampire attacks with these outlandish deaths. The later he believed more readily than the former. There were people in the highest parts of the ministry that he could believe were capable of murder - Ross didn't make his top 10 choices. Certainly, there were those in his own department of whom he could believe the worst.

'They sound like good choices' he concurred. Bernard didn't really spend that much time with other seers, mostly because he was terrified of what they would tell him, as though they would see some part of him that even he didn't want to see, some dark vision that he was ignoring or turning his head from.

'Perhaps given the sensitive nature of this one, it might be better if we met at the Hogsmeade hotel? Or even a muggle one? he said, aware that he was one who had suggested the ministry, but as he contemplated the killers potential ministry connection he thought it might be better to not bring such an obvious group of investigators together. 'Or a muggle hotel, where we might meet in more privacy, and without the scurtiny of the wizarding world' he said, as much musing to himself as anyone else. He was a man of enough means that he didn't mind bankrolling their little investigative club if others were prepared to offer their skills.

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Ah, so Prewett had reconsidered the offer of a Ministry room. Savino was, on the whole, rather relieved about that: of course he didn’t want to seem too much like a paranoid, anti-establishment, conspiracy theorist type; but in this case, it certainly seemed safer. (And he’d have offered his house, of course, if the danger of his mother prying wasn’t altogether worse.)

“Yes, somewhere muggle wouldn’t hurt,” Savino agreed. Not that they had anything to hide, themselves; but even here, an innocuous corner of the Leaky Cauldron, could strike up a rumour or two if it wished.

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'I know a place in London, near the Savoy, decent place, never seen another wizard there before.' he flicked his cigerette into the gutter where it sputtered, hissed and went out. 'They've a good dining room, good scotch.' this was noted incidentily, possibly because he was thinking of his stomach as they spoke, and the thought of The Queen Anne's private dining room and it's superlative menu made his stomach growl.

He stood, 'I'll send you an owl when details' he affirmed, 'Might be able to make a regular enough thing of it.' He surprised himself at his eagerness to expose himself to the company of others - especially other seers and yet here he was. Although the feeling might well pass when he got something to eat himself.

Bernard stood, intent on satisfying the demands of his stomach.

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wrap?

  

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