The Universe's Mixer

The only certain thing in life is change. Most of Harry's changes, lately, hadn't been good ones.

Maybe this one wouldn't be good either... but it didn't have that feel to it.

He took forty minutes shaving and putting on his nicest clothes, which amounted to jeans and a t-shirt that had actually been ironed. He didn't have any cologne, so the deodorant and soap would have to do. Harry didn't allow himself to think about what was going on. In a dream, if you ever start to realize it's a dream, poof! It's gone. Harry didn't want that to happen.

After that, waiting for Murphy to come back, he spent a while just... breathing. She'd said an hour. That would be fifteen more minutes. So Harry listened to the water around the boat. The ticking of the clock. The peaceful silence. Drinking in the comforting sense of solitude all around.

( Screw this Zen crap. )

"You can't let these delusions effect you like this, Harry."

"Yes, sir." Harry's voice was soft, as though trying to apologize for it's baritone quality.

"You already brought yourself harm. Look at what happened to your hands."

Harry's eyes remained locked in place, staring at the ink blotter on the doctor's desk. He wouldn't meet anyone's eyes, not directly. He didn't let his sight drift to his mangled left hand, the burn scars that covered the skin and had melted to the bone in areas. Nor did he look to the thick cuff of bandages around his right wrist. The infirmary had called it friction burns, from slipping out of the leather straps.

"I know, sir."

"And the business with your foster father..." The doctor trailed off, leaving the rest of the sentence unspoken after the way Harry's eyes shut and his jaw tensed. "Well. Perhaps that's for another day." When Harry's expression didn't change, the doctor sighed, and looked over the file on his desk again. "I'm willing to give you another chance, Harry. But if you don't stay on your medication, you may have another episode. And then I'll have no choice but to keep you confined to maximum security."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Very well." The doctor pressed the intercom on his desk. Immediately, the speaker issued a high-pitched squeal of static, making the doctor flinch. He tried again, and the speaker fizzled and died. With a sigh, the doctor stood and went to the door, calling an orderly to take Mister Dresden to the common room. As such, he missed the way Harry opened his eyes, looked at the faintly smoking speaker, and smirked.

Harry was wheeled to the common room, since the medication he was being given made him too unsteady to walk. He thought he looked foolish sitting there, his well-over-six-foot frame in a chair made for average-or-smaller framed people, being pushed along by a five-foot-four orderly. He nearly got up to help, but he was rather firmly pushed back into the seat when he tried. So instead, Harry watched the scenery. Watched the number of guards, orderlies, and nurses. The gates they passed through. The positioning of the security cameras.

His mind was fuzzy from the drugs, but that was a temporary thing. If he played along for a bit, he might get his medication reduced. Then he could learn more about whatever the hell was going on here.

He was left in the chair, turned towards the television set. There were others watching, and Harry didn't feel like spoiling everyone's day, so he looked around. There was a clock on the wall beside him. Slowly, with effort, Harry began to gather his will. Normally this would barely take more effort than simply tossing out a hand to direct the magical aura he naturally carried with him, but the medication was messing with his ability to focus even that much. After a full minute of effort, Harry stared at the clock and whispered "Hexus."

The ticking stopped abruptly. Harry settled in his chair and wondered how long it would take before the television died.