Marauders - Always - Part One

Sanctuary

Harry Underhill sat on the floor of his living room a bit after half seven, sipping imaginary tea from a tiny china cup patterned with roses. He wore his best suit and tie and even a top hat, which was perched upon the very top of his head in a most fashionable way. Beside him sat Leopold the Lion and Poppy Pig, whose sewn-on smiles were bright as their button eyes stared straight ahead. Straight across was Marjorie, who was doling out generous spoonfuls of imaginary sugar to stuffed dog named Mr. Pistachio.

"Would you like one lump or two, Daddy?" Marjorie asked primly.

"Two please," Harry Underhill nodded and held out his cup. Marjorie stuck her spoon into the empty cup in her hand and was surprised when she managed to shake out two very real cubes of sugar - her eyes going wide. "It's like magic!" Mr. Underhill declared as Marjorie laughed.

She poured Leopold what had to be the lion's third cup of imaginary tea. "Tough day at work, 'ey?" Underhill asked him, raising his teacup in commiseration with the stuffed beast, who stared ahead as always. Underhill wondered if the toys moved and talked in Marjorie's mind. He'd never been very good at imagination the way Marjorie was. When he'd been a child, he'd been more the rough and tumble, sports-playing sort.

There was a knock at the door that interrupted the tea party and Harry Underhill glanced at the clock on the mantel over the fireplace as he pushed himself up from the floor, his brows cinching together. "Marjorie," he said in a very serious tone, "Please go upstairs and wash your face and get changed for bed. Pick out a story and Daddy will be up shortly."

"Okay." Marjorie grabbed the arms of her three stuffed animals and obeyed immediately - they had a very well established and well practiced code. If he told her to go and wash her face, Marjorie was to go upstairs, lock her bedroom door, and wait quietly. She was to stay there until he came, knocked twice, and recited the first two lines of their favorite bedtime storybook.

Harry Underhill waited, listening to her foot fall up the stairs and across the hallway, before he went to the door, wand ready in his hand, and peered through a tiny peek-hole like the ones Muggles used. Outside a man lurked on the doorstep - directly beside him, a woman holding a small girl, and on the man's hip, asleep against his chest, a small boy.

Underhill hesitated, wand held at chest level, and opened the door just far enough the chain caught it from going further, wand tip poking out the gap as he leaned to look out at them. "Who are you?" he gruffed through the gap.

The man's eyes met Underhill's, even as he brought his hand up to cover the boy's head protectively. "My name is Carl Lyson. We spoke briefly in Blackburn a couple of weeks ago." He nodded to his wife, who pulled one of Underhill's Ministry issued business cards from her pocket and held it up for him to see. "You said if I - if I had information about the werewolves in Blackburn to seek you out."

Underhill's eyes moved over Carl Lyson, over the child on his hip, over the desperate look of fear on his wife's eyes and the child on her own hip.

"I'll give you information in return for sanctuary," Carl said. "For me and my family."

Underhill hesitated.

"Please," Carl Lyson begged.

"How do I know this isn't a trap? That you're not all death eaters, or enemies, trying to get in the door? Looking for an invitation to cross the threshold - a very vampiric practice!" Underhill said.

Carl's eyes were sad. "I have information about vampires too."

The  child against his chest stirred then, and yawned, adjusting the placement of his face and Underhill could see the boy's features, a perfect blend of his mother and father. Underhill's eyes moved to the girl.