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.

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Themis Lyra

  

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As Themis appeared in the fireplace, she was not proud of her decisions. She had left the courtyard with a fluttering of hope in her chest, a dangerous feeling if there ever was one. She'd left the library, left the noise of the city, and found herself pacing in her rooms. What were they doing? Samuel had made clear that she could have no place in his quest, whatever it was. His venture was something she had no business in, he needed to do this alone, and now he had given her a way to see him again. Merlin, what was she doing? Perhaps all things could be forgiven if her first action upon arriving home wasn't to pen a note to her son, telling him not to expect her for dinner; her plans had changed. It wasn't a lie.

She stepped from the fireplace, and her unease grew. She felt the hairs at the nape of her neck respond, felt the first wave of discomfort that told every instinct that something was amiss. The room required investigation, everything about this scenario required deeper exploration, but her first concern was unchanged. Samuel was here and no worse for wear than she left him in the courtyard. It was embarrassing how much that delighted her. "Samuel," She was crossing the space between them without thought and she closed distance too fast, too recklessly. She stopped herself from reaching for him, forced her hand to stop its path toward him. She forced herself to freeze and she felt ridiculous as she stood there, less than an arm's length between them with her hand raised to his face and she couldn't bridge the distance. He hadn't given her permission and in this world, she didn't know the rules. She was at a loss.

Reluctantly letting her hands fall to her side, she stood before him at a loss, begging for direction in every uncomfortable, tense line of her body. She waited, because it was sane, it was correct. She would wait for his move because she was already trespassing, already her presence out of place here. Licking her lips, forcing herself to breathe and to wait, she met his eyes, tension palpable as she restrained herself. "Thank you for allowing me here." She offered quietly, the idea that she cared for manners now a laughable one, but there was no laughter in her face. What had they done, that she felt so unsure in her own skin?

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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She crossed the distance from the fireplace, then stopped, suddenly ground to a halt. Perhaps she was hit by the strangeness of the situation. He caught her wrists, her hands were halfway towards his face before she let them fall away, and he pulled her the last step closer. "This once," he said to her, before he kissed her. Two weeks had passed since the night in the tower, but dipping back into that current of energy was simple. It seemed to always be there. This was why he chose to meet her here instead of going to the castle. Sneaking around the school was tedious, sure—but the main reason was that if he established the precedent for himself to cross over back into her realm again, he knew he would want to come crawling back as soon as things got difficult. He would think about the winding stairs upwards, all the time.

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   Themis Lyra

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This was real. The thought joined the flurry of sensation caused by Samuel's lips on hers. Themis went willingly into his arms, relieved when his response was to pull her in instead of pushing her away. Her hands settled on his chest, one seeking the steady beat of his heart. Whatever he was about, he was here and brilliantly alive under her hands. It soothed a gnawing ache that now seemed to accompany her everywhere: the concern. It joined a stronger, more familiar sensation that she chalked up to motherhood. There was never a moment when the welfare of her son was not on her mind, nothing that could sever a sliver of worry that took root the moment she first held Justin. She’d had a similar feeling for Uncle Horace that was only severed with his death. That somehow Samuel had taken root so firmly in her mind that his wellbeing could somehow concern her to this degree had her puzzled. She’d sat with the feeling for the past two weeks, fully aware of its presence yet unable to understand its cause. Something was shifting outside of her intentions or control, and that something was her deep affection for Samuel.

Fear and longing propelled her kiss, her uncertainty of his safety until an hour before, not easily uprooted. Until now, they had existed in defined spaces: his and hers. Meeting outside of the castle had been jarring and seemed to blur lines she didn’t remember drawing. Here, wherever ‘here’ was, lacked the safety of her tower but also came without the fear of discovery. For the first time, they were alone in a place foreign to her, and there was something to be said for the thrill of danger. She grinned into his kiss, her easy agreement propelled by the idea that just ‘once more’ was a very slippery slope. “Of course, never again.” It was the least honest thing she ever told him. "Sam, I missed you." She confided, the truth feeling heavier now that she spoke it in their private world.

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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He felt her grin at his lips and he pulled back to look at her. "I should not have done this," he said, but in his eyes hid a smile. "You show me the limits of my self-discipline."
For a moment, this was where both of them stood. In the middle of the dark room, only lit by the flames of the fireplace. He put his arms around her and listened to the beat of his heart. She seemed to be listening, too. Around them the shuttered laboratory extended upwards and into the depths, meaning nothing to her and too much to him to put into words and explain. It was strange; to make a life last, one needed to put furniture around it. It cost something. His existence as an Alchemist had solidified here, and this place had been a prison. Themis stood in his office, where he had sold his creations to the highest bidder, full of resentment, and her presence threw the loneliness of the past decade of his life into sharp relief. It shone a merciless light too, on the other dark thing that started to root itself in this place.
Samuel was nervous, he discovered. "This used to be my laboratory," he told her, because an explanation seemed obligatory. "For almost a decade, until I closed it down to start teaching. I might as well give you a tour," he said and laughed, because it felt absurd. She was very close. He shifted a little. A feeling rose in him that seemed not decided if it was excitement or anxiety and it mixed together with the dull hunger her absence left in his life. "I missed you too," he said, belatedly. "Very much."

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She did her best to appear contrite, mischief in her eyes, almost surprising herself with the force of it. Playfulness and flirtation had no real use in her world; mischief was something to be tamed and avoided. “And how would that discipline grow if never tested?” She smirked, knowing full well that baiting him was foolish, but the option to keep quiet hadn’t occurred. She would enjoy these moments of connection, of togetherness while she could. The past two weeks reminded her just how lonely she would be when they passed. It was inevitable, the little death of watching him leave. She would fly in the face of it as long as possible, her heart set on the essential nature that she now assigned Samuel.

She was almost embarrassed by her urge to tuck her head against the side of his neck, to breathe in the scents that wove themselves into her memories, firmly planting him there. There was the hint of something she couldn’t place, a scent that didn’t quite fit, but nudged something in her mind toward unease. She did her best to ignore it, locked it away to examine in one of the sleepless nights she anticipated in his future absence. She was under no illusions, he would be gone from her reach as soon as she left this place, his whereabouts again a mystery. The anxiety of loss, the anticipation drove her attention to the present, back to Samuel where he was solid and warm against her. For now, he was here.

Curiosity forced her to turn her attention to the room around them as the significance of the place became clear. His unease was palpable, but she attributed it to the discomfort that came with being forced to dwell in what one used to be. Uncle Horace died eighteen years ago. His study looked the same as the day he died, the room a living shrine to the only parent she had ever known. Themis never knew if she wished to dwell there or pass the room without another look. The past came with thorns, and she doubted if it ever released its hold. “Show me, please.” She urged, not out of politeness but curiosity. She wondered at the clues in this room, all the puzzle pieces that made up the man. She expected nothing more, but his confirmation that she was not alone in her longing earned him the brightest smile. The better part of her was still surprised to have caught Samuel’s attention. She lived on the edges and watched; she planned her movements in the world. There had never been room for ‘missing’ or ‘being missed.’ She missed no one because she needed no one. That thinking had kept her safe most of her life. Nothing felt safe anymore, not since a conversation became an experiment and an experiment became a bond. She kissed the hand she held, encouraging him, his nerves somehow endearing on so sure a man as Samuel. “When did you know that you were meant for alchemy? When did it stop being a talent and become a vocation?” Or, if she was honest, when did the boy she remembered become the man she worshiped? The question she didn’t ask herself: when had she ever been so ready a supplicant?

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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She smiled brightly and if she was unsettled, her relief about being let close by him overshadowed it. Her question made him feel immediately like he was walking out onto thin ice. When had he become the man she thought he was, that was what she wanted to know, was it not? That was impossible to answer without dismantling himself in her eyes. "I suppose it became a vocation in Prague," is what he could say. He did not want to talk about Prague, or Paris. Come to think of it, he did not even want to get too detailed on his time here in Doubt Street.

"I suppose here in this place is where I stopped being an apprentice, in any sense of the word. I became an Alchemist in my own right and discovered much of it was to be about money," he answered carefully. Truthfully, at least. Something in him still held on to the principle of avoiding outright lies in her presence. "Across this desk sat many a familiar face, to whom I sold my creations. Can you guess who I am talking about?"

He leaned back against his desk and he pulled her in by the waist. A familiar position. But the light filtering through the cracks of the boarded up windows to the street was very grey. It had nothing in common with the shine that had clung to her in his office. In this room, both of them looked changed. It was off. He held on tighter to her. It was the only thing that anchored him to her in this environment—his wanting was consistent; it always was. All else was in flux and even this place turned foreign. The dark basement below them seemed ominous and upstairs, the bedroom and bath did not seem to belong to his person at all anymore. Made threadbare and brittle, their emptiness seemed set to attract in something else, something dangerous, that should have nothing to do with her. Perhaps it was not a good plan after all, to show her the rest of this place.

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It was impossible not to watch him. Observation had always been a strength, but there was no effort needed on Themis’ part. He was fascinating. Something changed when she probed into the past, his stiffness a warning that she was edging into dangerous territory. She listened with all her senses for the unspoken pieces of his story. Perhaps, if she was diligent, she could puzzle out his current predicament if she listened properly.

She made a face at his disappointing discovery; she had learned the same lesson in her practice, but she could only imagine how far unscrupulous money could take alchemy. She thought of his creation, his wax-given life by blood magic. Something turned in her stomach as she considered just how far such power over life could extend. “Oh, I take it you saw many of the pureblood royal houses begging for your services, even if they were too dull-witted to understand the work.” She poured enough disdain into her assessment of their “betters.” In her experience, blood purity had only made room for entitlement and idiocy. She had no doubt of her strength despite her muggleborn father. “And I do hope you made them pay for it dearly.” Her tone was not kind; her assessment vindictive. She wouldn’t deny it in front of Samuel; she was not ashamed of her distaste for the pointlessly privileged.

She gave a small hum of approval when Samuel’s hands tightened around her waist, pulling her close. It felt surreal to give someone any say in her physical autonomy, and the idea of being moved about like an object was deeply unsettling and disempowering. Not so, with the man currently holding her tight against him. She chose this. She had no wish to be anywhere else. She was also honest with herself – the laboratory around her was eerie in a way she couldn’t pin down, something inherently unwelcoming about the place. She was not meant to be here, but Samuel gave her presence legitimacy. He was master here, and she entered on his permission. If only the room didn’t seem half wild somehow.

She watched the warring in his face, questions she knew better than to ask on the tip of her tongue. “You do not have to show me anything you do not wish for me to see.” It was her gesture to him, the gift of his own secrets. He had been brave enough to bring her here, to a place with a heavy past. She would share the weight with him, but she wouldn’t wrestle the past from his hands. She let a hand cup his face, her touch gentle as she hoped to soothe and redirect him. “Show me what you want me to know. Show me something real.”

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Lou made magic!

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His hesitation did not escape her, it never did. When he talked, he could see her work out the things he did not say. Her blue eyes never quite revealed what she thought. They were clear like the sky, and as secretive, although he could always feel where the wave of her feeling was going. She, he thought, enjoyed this. He had let her in and now she would find out—find out something. Whether he wanted to reveal it or not.

He looked up to her, grim and amused at the same time. When he leaned back like this she was a half a head taller. It was something very specific to her, this kind of height was so rare on a woman and her elegant neck was at the height of his eyes. He looked at it with longing. "They paid me a lot of gold. It was never enough." He kissed her neck and breathed in the scent that clung to her skin. It should not be possible that her smell and the warmth that belonged to her skin made him feel a little drunk. There had been a time in his life where he held a sharp disdain for this kind of romantic notion. With regret he tightened his own reins and pulled back to stand up. "Come, I will show you what is left of the laboratory. The way down has some peculiarities. Stay close to my side," he said and took her hand, to lead her to the winding, impossible stairs downwards.

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   Themis Lyra

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Samuel said so many things when he didn’t speak. Most people did, but most people were simple puzzles of their wants and fears. There was no direct answer when she looked at Samuel, not simple response to the question. Every reaction an amalgamation of competing cues. She’d humored him, but he took no joy in it. He had much to be proud of, but there was an uncharacteristic hesitation to declare his brilliance. He was not a humble man; it wouldn’t suit him. This quiet caution felt dangerous, more a hunter considering his approach than a man sharing his achievements. He did not seem capable of ease, his form always appearing ready for action. She wondered at the tightly wound springs beneath the surface, at the energy always seeming just at the gates of his control. She wondered more at her need to draw closer.

She could feel his eyes on her skin and recognized the shiver that told her to cover her vulnerabilities. She felt the impulse to retreat but resisted, more interested in the urge she had to offer him her throat, no matter his intentions. There was nothing subtle or appropriate about how she responded to his lips at her throat, her hand sinking into his hair. She would revel in his attention while she possessed them. They had all the time in the world, and they had nothing.

Her laugh was breathy; attention split between his words and action. “There is never enough of anything, dear one. There never is.” The endearment came easily, affection not fitting to the syllables of his name. She almost cursed as he pulled away, her own distraction and annoyance at the reminder to focus on the task at hand perhaps mirrored in her eyes. There was no helping it; she was becoming what she warned him. Themis was growing greedy. She wasn’t apologizing.

She schooled her expression, his pivot catching her attention as he took her hand. She longed for him, and she wouldn’t shun what she was given. An eyebrow raised at his description of his own realm. “Is ‘peculiarities’ the Alchemist’s word for trap?” That, she would expect. The thought made her grin.

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Lou made magic!

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"Something like that," he answered with a smile while they descended the steps into the dark. A few times over the years he had gotten into trouble with intruders. He suspected that one of his clients supplied them with information about his whereabouts and about the valuable loot that was to be had in this place. With time, those problems took care of themselves. He held her hand and veered left off the steps through the wall and into the dark. It was a dizzying feeling, walking into nothing. At one point they turned and found themselves back on the stairs. He held out his arms to help her skip the last step that was indeed trapped. He did not want to let go of her. They arrived in his old laboratory, which seemed to belong to a different world than the narrow rooms upstairs. It was dark and sprawling and seemed to carry the weight of the earth, as if it was thousands of feet deep under the surface. It was not, but it was a place of magic with dimensions that made little sense. His offices in Hogwarts were hardly comparable. Surprisingly, it was not cold down here. It was temperate.

In the center of the room the floor lowered into a pit where the remnants of a massive circle lay in the dark, painted on the floor with a dark substance. With a move of his hand, lights across the room ignited themselves, as did the fireplace. For a moment, a metallic smell was in his nose, but it might be a memory. Samuel's gaze drifted across the stone tables and shelves. "I sold quite a bit of it," he said to Themis. "But this is where I spent most of the past decade."

In its heyday, this laboratory ran like a well-oiled machine producing unspeakable things. He thoughtfully looked at the circle and tried to remember what the last of his work here entailed. He could barely recall. The time spent in this laboratory seemed like one uniform, endless night. He never even got the idea to miss it since entering his new position—although he sometimes missed the possibilities this place held. As a teacher it was unlikely he would need them.

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Themis didn’t fear the dark. What an irony that would be. She greatly disliked enclosed darkness; distinctions mattered. There was something about not seeing the sky that went against her nature and demanded rebellion. She felt it in every potions class as a girl and in the subterranean libraries she visited as a scholar; Themis needed the heavens above her to feel at ease. She accepted this and moved beyond this unfortunate aversion when confronted, but her grip tightened on Samuel’s as they descended, her body tensing against a perceived threat. This she did not like at all, but he would have to pull her another mile before she swallowed her pride and begged to stop. Thankfully, he stopped her and pointed out a particular stair before stepping down and reaching back for her. She balked at the notion of needing such accommodation but sought his arms without hesitation. When he placed her on solid ground, it took her a beat too long to let go of his arms.

Once she was at least nominally convinced there could be something more interesting than his eyes to see in their new surroundings, she looked away, breaking contact with him. She regretted letting go.

Magic pricked along her skin like static as she stepped deeper, the tang of magic pulling at something that left her unsettled in the best of all possible ways. Whatever was done here left traces in the room; the laboratory itself a scar in the earth. How was an Astronomer meant to find power here? Why did she care?

For a moment, Themis was at a loss as she considered her surroundings. She had no context for this place or situation. She didn’t know what this situations was. There had been no preparation for this and, for just a moment, she blamed Samuel for the contention. Her frustration evaporated before it truly took root as Themis considered the area. There was nothing haphazard about the place they stood now; no lapse in oversight. While all information told her she stood at the core of the earth, Themis knew they could not be too far from the surface. She did not know why she knew; only that she did and somehow it was true. As she considered the space around her, Samuel summoned light. Visibility only added to her unease. There was something compelling about this labyrinth, but how could anything thrive here? One might argue that no one had. There was no forethought when she went back to Samuel and took his hand.

Hand tightly in his, Themis stepped closer to the pit in the floor. She wasn’t certain if she wanted to be right or wrong in the next minute. “That’s blood magic.” It wasn’t a question, nor was it a judgment, merely an observation.

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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"It is," he confirmed. On some of the tables around were circular indents of varying sizes. No silvery lines there—blank canvases to paint with his gruesome, most loved medium—charmed to keep the blood from going off or drying out. They were empty now. He cleaned them all before he left this place. Some of his instruments held circles made with silver and unicorn hair, just like in his office. He did not like working with dragon heart—phoenix feathers were impossibly expensive and hard to get. Blood was plentiful. He could always get more, make more. It was as cost-efficient as it was unpalatable.

"I do not intend to teach that to my students," he said, observing her carefully. Her hand still held his and that gave him a sense of security that even if this was unpleasant to run into, it would not scare her away just yet. "Nor do you have to have anything to do with it, if you do not wish to."
Not all blood alchemy was forbidden. It was such a niche case that legislation barely covered it. The Ministry, of course, kept close tabs on his work here in Doubt Street. Samuel was much closer acquainted with the unspeakables than he wished.
"Every Alchemist has a medium that most suits them. This is mine. It is what I do best. Blood is fickle and has many unexpected trappings if used in magic like this. But it is a pure conductor; every blood of a magical creature is. We are magical creatures."
He squeezed her hand lightly and glanced towards her. He studied her profile to read its expression, set against the darkness of this place. A being from a different sphere, for nowhere was further from the sky than down here. She wanted to see something real, and this was that. As real as he could give her without letting go of the narrative.
Samuel wondered if she could read in him his love for his craft; he only really loved it in its dark depths. Who could care about turning dirt to gold when confronted with creating life in all its ugly, precious complexity? There was a price to pay, of course. There always was.

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   Themis Lyra

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“I did not say to hide it from me,” she reminded him as her eyes continued to make sense of the clues around her. “I have some theoretical understanding of the topic but no practical experience.” Her curiosity had acquainted her with magic best left to books. There was dark magic in astronomy, and curiosity had taken her there. She thought about her orientation to this discovery. She knew that Samuel had some experience with blood magic; he wore the proof across his skin. She hadn’t run from him upon discovery. “I dislike the binary approach to magic. It is too simplistic to separate magic into good and evil. It seems that our magic is in our blood, somehow. It stands to reason that we could harness that same magic outside of the body. There’s nothing inherently unethical in its use. As long as it is freely given, why not?” She voiced her thoughts as she considered the cavern around her. He’d answered the most important considerations before she had them. He wasn’t giving this power to children, and he wasn’t forcing his magic on her. It was her decision to know more, if she wished. Themis had never rejected an opportunity to learn in her life.

“Does the blood’s source impact the quality of the magic? Would your blood produce a different sort of magic than mine? If the blood in your veins is the same as the conductor, does it serve as an amplifier?” Magical creatures. They were magical creatures. She looked back at Samuel and considered him as such. He was a primal force beautifully contained in a human form. His magic seemed like an extension of himself, a medium he could mold like clay. That his strength was blood magic felt right to her. Samuel was a creature of fire and the earth. The cavern around them didn’t suit her, but Samuel seemed carved from the stone around them. He was meant for dark, tangible things beyond her understanding. She was almost jealous at the thought. She considered the change in his posture between here and upstairs. He was still wound tight, but there was confidence in his voice: ownership. He cared about his craft; he took pride in it. He was at the top of his field and took the time to invite her into his world. She was an amateur, fully aware she stood before a master. It was as humbling as it was attractive. “This fuels you.” She observed, the revelation further endearing him to her.

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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"Yes, the source does impact the quality. Everyone is different. So is the magical potency of their blood. Some cannot get much use out of it, even if they can call on powerful magic just fine." He had theories on why that was, but no firm answers. Looking at her now, he felt morbidly curious to which type she would belong. "And it is always easiest to work with your own. Although some creatures are known to have very potent abilities tied to their blood. This came from a dragon," he said and nodded towards the pit on the floor.

Samuel observed with much affection her curiosity and her insistence to be unbothered by the brutality and inherent violence. He watched the pride of her bearing, as she looked around the realm of his past. Irrationally he thought, that if anyone could renew what it all meant, it was her. Or was he thinking about himself, instead of this place? If she went along with him the dark ways too, how would they change? Maybe it would start to make sense. It had so far all been for nothing; for duty and money, for trying to mend something that could not be mended; it could only be dismantled. All his creations he abandoned to the undeserving.
"What fuels me? My blood? It ought to."
He grinned. "There is more to this place, upstairs. But that is just where I lived my ordinary life. Nothing very exciting."

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She considered his explanation and wondered how she would fit into the equation. If dragon blood could gouge out stone, what was her blood capable of? Did it feel the same as the silver and unicorn hair Samuel was teaching her to use? Would she be able to handle the possibility of disappointing results? Themis couldn’t shake the urge to find out.

“I meant you enjoy your art. You’re passionate, it drives you.” She answered his smile with a retort and a vexed face she didn’t mean. “It’s admirable.”

As much as the laboratory had her on edge, Themis wasn’t ready to leave. Part of her longed to see what he considered ordinary life. What was mundane to him? Perhaps, if fate were willing, she may someday ask. There was an added danger to seeing him at ease and at home. It made for outlandish thoughts and hypothetical considerations she refused to entertain. Somehow, she felt safer here, her skin buzzing with residual magic.

“I want to know what it feels like, with my blood.” It took her a moment to look at him, her request now consuming the air between them. “Will you show me?” She forced herself to meet his gaze, her eyes bright at the prospect of discovery. She let him see the anxious undercurrent mixed with adrenaline, her excitement bubbling up at the hint of new facets to learn. Standing in the belly of the earth, Themis had the notion that perhaps, they could shake the world. She eagerly wished to try.

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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