Your illusions are a part of you like your bones and flesh and memory.
William Faulkner, Absalom
~~~~~~~~~~

"I am afraid it is not good news." Sandy got straight to it. "It will not be possible to visit your father."

It had all been set. Authorization set. Arrangement made. Healer Misslethorpe had set a time for Orion Gamp to return. Now Orion was here but Sandy had to say no. It was a darned shame. Sandy had put time in to the preparation. The visitor had waited until now. He was prepared to see his father. That took courage.

"Yesterday he showed signs of instability." Healer Misslethorpe explained. He had gone in to see Mortimer. Try to get a read on the wizard. Sandy was a skilled at legilimency. He had always been rather good. He had improved even more in the last few months. He knew Mortimer Gamp was also good at legilimency. And occlumency. You needed talent and knowledge to be Head Unspeakable. Sandy had got to know Yavin Morgenthau a little. There were more than a few similarities.

"Your father has transfigured thew few things in his room." Sandy paused. "Into umbrellas." Great unwieldy umbrellas. Large enough to fit a family under. All black as thunder clouds. He swallowed. "Including my assistant." Sandy was not sure where to look. So he blinked slowly. He made a point of straightening his tie. Even though it was not crooked. "We did manage to turn her back eventually. Thank the stars." It had given her quite the fright. She was not the only one.

Orion Gamp sat very quietly in Healer Misslethorpe’s office. He had dressed a little more smartly this time, by adding a slim suit jacket and a long grey scarf over his worn jeans and grey t-shirt. His loose dark curls settled in an unruly way on the backs of his shoulders. At his feet, beside his boots, was a modest canvas bag. He looked a right modern Bohemian travelling wizard, just short of a suitable hat.

The eldest Gamp sibling sat thoughtfully, stroking his dark beard and contemplating the top of Healer Misslethorpe’s desk. It was a small movement, restrained for Orion. He was prone to grand gestures, lounging on furniture as if he owned the place.

“Umbrellas.” He repeated gently, appearing to run the scene through his mind, building a mental picture of Mortimer surrounded by a set of umbrellas. The healers scrambling round a particular umbrella which had been their colleague a moment before. He wondered what it felt like to be transfigured into a non-living object. Did one just exist or did one retain consciousness? Could one hear or even feel anything? He should be interested to interview the assistant, should he ever meet her.

“I wonder what on earth could have caused him to do that,” Orion commented, reaching under his jacket. He scratched his ribs through his t-shirt, blinking twice. “So there’s no possibility at all?” He looked a little forlorn at Healer Misslethorpe. He had come prepared, after all.

"Not today. No." Said Sandy. "I regret to say that. You must be dismayed. Frustrated." He was sorry to prevent Orion. "If you give me a week. I can organize you to see him. It might not be the same room. But through glass. You see? For your own safety. I do not wish you to become an umbrella too." Or a chair. Or a kitchen sink. What ever Mortimer Gamp decided was object of the day. Sandy wanted to get to the bottom of whether he had control over these transfigurations. A whole year later and he was still doing wandless magic. It was fascinating. ...A terrifying kind of fascinating...

“Oh I don’t think I’ll become an umbrella.” Orion assured Healer Misslethorpe. The hand that appeared to be scratching his ribs closed on his wand instead. The poor healer had no time to react. A flash of red light hit him at the top of his chest, and he pitched backwards, unconscious, the chair hitting the floor. Orion’s attention didn’t linger. He pointed swiftly to the door, locking it.

Orion’s heart was beating quickly, as he got to his feet and peered down at the unconscious wizard. A smile grew across his lips. Sandy’s limbs were heavy, but with a bit of effort, his healer’s robes were tugged free of his body. Then his shoes, tie, shirt, trousers. The healer remained out for the count, unaware he was stripped down to his socks, vest and underpants on the office floor.

Humming, Orion began to undress, discarding jacket, t-shirt, skinny jeans, swapping them for Misslethorpe’s clothes. They were about the right length but a few sizes too large for the writer. As he buttoned the shirt cuffs, he studied the unconscious form on the floor at his feet. Slowly, the shirt filled out, as did the waist of the trousers. The skin of his hands rippled and changed in tone. His fingers faded from weather-worn skin to supple, nimble yet strong digits, with neatly clipped nails. He knotted his tie, long dark curls shrinking away to short, brown hair with no hint of curl behind. Stubble vanished, and humorous, expressive eyes narrowed.

There was a mirror in the office, and Sandy Misslethorpe stepped before it, shouldering on his green deputy-head healer robes. He ran a hand over his hair, tidying it, clenched his teeth, inspecting them with care. He turned this way and that, looking himself up and down in appraisal.

“Good, very good.” He tried his voice, cleared his throat, “no more like this… Hmm?” He queried his unconscious, near naked twin sprawled on the floor behind him, but there was no reply. Sandy looked instead to the time. He tried out the other man’s lignum vitae wand to pack the bag, Orion’s clothes swept in, serenaded by the the chink of glassware from within.

He opened a nearby cupboard, and nodded approvingly at the magically expanded inner. The unconscious body would fit near perfectly beneath spare sets of healer robes and other materials. One foot trailed heavily across the office carpet as the body levitated across. The first time the doors closed, the toes protruded enough to prevent the door closing properly first time.

Sandy’s eyes combed the office, and he righted the chair. A last glance in the mirror, he straightened his St Mungo’s pin on his lapel, hoisted the canvas bag over one shoulder. He inhaled a long, calming breath to steady the jittery nerves. Were they nerves? Perhaps excitement at seeing him again.

“Coming, love.” Sandy uttered with a smile. The door unlocked.


End