December 6th, 1894 — Samuel Griffith's old laboratory, Whitechapel, late afternoon
The shuttered laboratory in Doubt Street stared towards the street from empty windows. The man appearing on its doorstep was no more than a blip to the inhabitants of this magical enclave, there for a second and then gone through the door. Doubt Street had somewhat of a sordid reputation — not as bad as Knockturn Alley, but its location among the squalor of the Muggles living in Whitechapel did not leave the atmosphere of this place untouched. It was like a steady miasma of desperation drifted across the magical barriers and greyed out the houses and the sentient Gargoyls who guarded them.
Themis might see nothing of this, of course. Samuel had recommended to her to take the Floo to travel to this address, and now he stood in the office of his prior laboratory and waited for the flames to turn emerald. It had an eerie atmosphere, this office, he thought. The tasteful and understated air had gone stale with abandonment and now it was, at least in spirit, a ruin belonging to bygone days. It was a place waiting to be dismantled and given away. The past ten years stuck to every surface and empty space that the things he had taken with him to Hogwarts left behind. There were more recent memories, too, none of them bright. In the armchair now relegated to the margin had writhed Don Juan when he forced him off the opium; Samuel saw the scene replay in his mind. He had written to Don Juan a few minutes ago and told him under threat to stay away today. The bed on the upper floor had cigarette burns from when Samuel sat there and smoked, unable to care anymore about the desecration of this former sanctuary of his, while he watched Don Juan dress himself in one of Samuel's shirts. This was no sanctuary anymore.
He craned his neck back and looked towards the dark ceiling. This was wrong. She should not come here; it was a place too sad and too mixed up with things he never wanted her to know about.
Suggesting she visit him here was madness. Yet, he stood at tension for every first green flicker that heralded her arrival. This woman would be the end of him, he assessed grimly. It was entirely ridiculous; he was on edge, here in this place even more than outside in the courtyard. But he needed to see her, out of the public eye. There was a threat of scarcity that drove them, her as much as him, he supposed; as if these opportunities might be counted already.
The flames turned green and he turned around to the fireplace, a sharp sting of anticipation in his chest.
Themis might see nothing of this, of course. Samuel had recommended to her to take the Floo to travel to this address, and now he stood in the office of his prior laboratory and waited for the flames to turn emerald. It had an eerie atmosphere, this office, he thought. The tasteful and understated air had gone stale with abandonment and now it was, at least in spirit, a ruin belonging to bygone days. It was a place waiting to be dismantled and given away. The past ten years stuck to every surface and empty space that the things he had taken with him to Hogwarts left behind. There were more recent memories, too, none of them bright. In the armchair now relegated to the margin had writhed Don Juan when he forced him off the opium; Samuel saw the scene replay in his mind. He had written to Don Juan a few minutes ago and told him under threat to stay away today. The bed on the upper floor had cigarette burns from when Samuel sat there and smoked, unable to care anymore about the desecration of this former sanctuary of his, while he watched Don Juan dress himself in one of Samuel's shirts. This was no sanctuary anymore.
He craned his neck back and looked towards the dark ceiling. This was wrong. She should not come here; it was a place too sad and too mixed up with things he never wanted her to know about.
Suggesting she visit him here was madness. Yet, he stood at tension for every first green flicker that heralded her arrival. This woman would be the end of him, he assessed grimly. It was entirely ridiculous; he was on edge, here in this place even more than outside in the courtyard. But he needed to see her, out of the public eye. There was a threat of scarcity that drove them, her as much as him, he supposed; as if these opportunities might be counted already.
The flames turned green and he turned around to the fireplace, a sharp sting of anticipation in his chest.
