The Universe's Mixer

They had changed his medication again. Maybe to keep him from getting overexcited and taking out the TV and security monitors. There was no camera in Harry's room - the device hadn't survived Harry's first glare at it. It wasn't as though he was trying to cause a disruption... only when he was. Just in little ways. To remind himself that he was, in fact, Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, Professional Wizard.

But the medication now made him pretty damn exhausted, and loopy as hell. He couldn't have turned cereal into breakfast in this state. It was a good thing he was in his room, because laying facedown on the bed, his too-long legs hanging off the end, was about the only thing he could muster the energy for.

Until he remembered the small parcel the doctor had given him. Something about positive interaction with a known reclusive that Harry hadn't paid much attention to. A minor reward for good behavior. Save the world a few times, Harry thought, and I didn't get so much as an honorable mention. Talk to a fun girl, get a present. Maybe being a loony isn't so bad.

He grunted his way onto his back, groaned into a sitting position, and took the plain white-paper-wrapped item from his pocket, opening it slowly. Something glittered, and Harry paused, then tore the paper away. Inside was a silver necklace, with a battered silver pentacle amulet. The circle had been hammered in and out and back into shape, but it still fit snugly against the dark, uncut ruby inserted in the back. He held the pendant in his palm, the silver strands of the chain hanging behind his hand, and gently touched the pendant. His mother's amulet. The only possession of hers that Harry had ever known.

Harry became aware of someone looking at him. He hunched, instinctively protecting the necklace, and looked at the doorway. Another patient stood there, this one unfamiliar - but they all were, apart from Fred. Harry glared at the intruder, and gently caressed the pendant in his hand. "A visitor, preciousss," he murmured, his voice coming out like a wheeze from a rasping throat. "What has it got in its pocketses? We finds it, yes. We finds it, and we takes it, precious." The patient widened his eyes and ran off.

[Come on. Wizards can't always fall back on the "Thou Shalt Not Pass" cliche.]

The Man in Black sat patiently on a plush leather chair. Not standard hospital issue in the least, but then again neither was Walter. The hospital garb did not suit him, so it became what he desired. He was trapped in a circle of glowing runes, pale letters of the old ones that understood magick and science were one in the same. He was a captive audience so long as the circle remained powered.

The psychiatrist sat nervously, outside of arms reach stalwartly intent on getting his patient assessment form completed. He was the third today. The first went home after four questions and shot himself in the head. The second dropped his pencil and reached for it as it crossed the protective glyphs. He made a really comfortable chair.

"Date of Birth?" The doctor droned
"March the 4th" Walter replied softly
"Mother's name?"
"Janet Anderson"
The doctor stopped writing.
"That's my birthday and my mother's name." The doctor said nervously.

Walter smiled "I know." looking more deeply into his eyes "Any more questions? Favorite memory? Secret desire? Perhaps... date, place and method of death?"

Shaking uncontrollably, the doctor left leaving the door open.

"How rude...." The Man in Black waited patiently in his gilded cage for his next visitor.