Experiments

Chapter 22. Experiments

Harry rubbed his bleary eyes and stared at the stripper that, for a moment, he thought was his mum. But as he stepped closer to the small, circular stage and gave her a proper look, it became obvious that this couldn't be Lily Evans.

Yes, the colour of their hair was the same shade of blood-red, and her eyes were green too, but those were the only striking similarities between them. Everything else was different. She was younger for one, and couldn't be any older than twenty-five. Then there was her willowy body clad in black lingerie. Even thoroughly drunk, he was quick to notice the relatively smaller bust that identified her as not-mum.

The differences didn't just end there though. To top it all, she was also wearing square-rimmed glasses.

This woman was definitely not Lily Evans.

Still, mum or not, she was attractive. He couldn't help but ogle at her as she arched her back and slid up and down the pole.

Alas, her technique wasn't arresting enough, and the only two men watching her moved away to stare at some other superior stripper. Now, only Harry remained as her audience. Her deflated expression told him that she wasn't particularly pleased by it.

The reasons for the lack of admirers were obvious to him. She was quite beautiful, no doubt, but so was every single stripper in this club. Unlike her, they were beautiful and skilled. They were sensual and flirty; their dancing was fluid and erotic. They knew how to enchant men's gazes and keep them to themselves.

The redhead's movements, on the other hand, were jerky and ungraceful. But the biggest point against her was that they were half-naked and she had yet to lose her bra. It wasn't difficult to deduce that she was new and shy; her reluctance to take off her underclothes supported his hypothesis. Unfortunately, men would only wait for so long before the teasing became irritating. That's why they were gone. As she wrapped herself around the pole and swayed her hips, he couldn't help but frown at the robotic gesture.

Even her facial expression was frigid.

"No, no, no…" he trailed off loudly, having successfully gotten her attention, his voice slurring, "wrong, you're doing every… everything wrong."

She stopped dancing, staggered by his daring.

Scowling, she got off the stage and came to stand before him. "Who are you? Actually, how old are you?"

Harry's gaze roamed over her drool-worthy body before getting stuck on her pale mounds, barely hidden by the black bra.

"Eyes up, kid!" She snapped her fingers.

He blinked, and his lips stretched into a cocky grin. Showing her ten fingers, he yelled, "Harry Evans! I am fifteen!"

She winced at his loud tone. "Who allowed you in? And please keep your voice down."

"The owner of the club is my dogfather." Harry's knees wobbled from standing for too long. He'd have fallen on his arse if she hadn't grabbed him by his shoulders.

"I think you meant godfather. How much did you drink?" She wrinkled her nose, sniffing near his face.

Harry tilted his head innocently and showed three fingers. "One bottle!"

"You're wasted." She sighed.

"Am not!" He protested before stumbling and planting his face on her squishy breasts. They were soft and warm. Hmm, he was a little sleepy, and this seemed like a good enough replacement for a pillow. Would she mind letting him sleep on them?

She pinched the bridge of her nose and shoved him off. Harry yelped at his noodly limbs that refused to support his weight and almost fell again. Mercifully, she grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the crowd, to the edge of the hall, where couches were lined up against the wall for the exhausted and sloshed.

Dumping him on an empty couch, she loomed menacingly. "Sit here and let me return to my work."

"You're shit… no, no, mega shit at stripping." He cracked up, trying to keep his sentence coherent, his head adjusting against the backrest as he tried to find a comfortable position.

She flinched and tried not to feel down. "Yeah, yeah, don't wander now; just close your eyes."

"Don't go, mum," he whispered longingly as she spun away from him.

"Mum? I am Eve." The redhead rolled her eyes. "You're really plastered. Just go to sleep, kiddo."

He chuckled, not even embarrassed at calling a stranger his mum. "Eve? Like the… the… woman. Yes! The first woman."

"Exactly, the first woman. Yay, you get points. Now, pass out so I can go back to stripping and getting 'easy' money." She smiled self-deprecatingly, shooting envious looks at the successful strippers, who had dozens of people raining money on them.

Harry fought off the urge to shut his eyes and regarded her with sympathy. "You're beautiful, you know. Most beautifullest among all the strippers. But… but your dancing is garbage. And your expressions are…" he trailed off, trying to find the correct word from his muddy mind, "apathetic. Yes! That's it, apathetic!"

"Thanks for the feedback, kiddo," she replied wryly. "I'll work on that. Now sleep."

Before she could turn away again, he clapped his hands. "Hey, how 'bout you give me a private dance? I'll give you money in return! I have loads of it." He fished out wads of cash from his pockets and waved them in front of her.

She froze at the tempting sight of green notes. There was a lot of it. "Where did you get that much money?"

"Sirius gave it to me." He shrugged, sitting right up, nearly tumbling down head first from the couch.

"Sirius who?"

"My dogfather. The owner. Your big boss." He nodded sagely, slowly sliding down the couch, unable to resist the momentum.

"Must be nice to have a rich godfather who lets minors into stripclubs and allows you to get drunk and waste money." Eve commented with a bite, but she did sit down by his side and yank him into an upright position, saving him from kissing the floor.

"Yep, dogman is great."

"Dogman?"

"He can turn into a big black dog. It's neat."

She gave him a blank stare. "Of course, a totally normal thing."

"Don't be a… dumbo." He snickered, scooting closer and resting his face on her shoulder, looking up at her smugly. "It's not normal. Only wizards and bitches can do that. And you're not a bitch; you a normie."

Her lips twitched from mirth, and she tried not to retch from the stench of alcohol emanating from him. "Oh, woe is me. I really wanted to be a bitch."

"Yep, but don't worry, mum. I'll protect you even though you don't have magic. Just don't go. Stay with me. I'm strong enough for both of us." He suddenly snuffled and hugged her, looking on the verge of tears, his mood doing one-eighty.

Eve awkwardly patted his head. "There, there, Harry. Mom is here, go on, sleep."

Closing his eyes after a satisfied nod, he began snoring.

~xXxXx~

Eve looked at the boy cuddled up against her side. Then she glanced at the cash lying on the couch around him. Picking them up, she began counting. And her eyes kept widening until the last note was arranged in a stack.

'Four grand. Four thousand dollars.'

Sirius Black must be swimming in wealth if he could hand this amount to a kid in a strip club. She had to work two jobs—fourteen hours a day—for a week to get this much. This could help her substantially increase her savings. And then there was her son's, Michael's, eighth birthday coming in September too.

She rolled the stack and snuck it into her bra. Giving him an apologetic look, she pushed him off her and laid him down on his side. Taking a deep breath, she stood up and prepared to go back to the stage and continue her fruitless task to get the men's attention, and hopefully some bonus tips to sweeten the night.

'Don't go.'

Eve cringed when her mind replayed his plea. And this time, it was her own son's voice. Looking up at the ceiling, she closed her eyes and dug her nails in her palms. Groaning in defeat, she slumped down beside him and pulled his head into her lap.

"I'll give you a lap pillow instead of a lap dance," she mumbled, caressing his hair.

There was no response, and she construed it as acceptance.

He slept in her lap while her fingers combed through his hair, her mind getting pulled in hundred different directions.

Honestly, this stripper thing wasn't working out. It had been a week since she started performing here, and while the salary was fine, the tips from the viewers were non-existent. And due to that, her expectations were not met. When she chose to work as a stripper, she had dreamed of easy money, of green bills raining on her, allowing her to accumulate thousands upon thousands of dollars in mere months. But the way it was going, she'd need years to get the desired amount.

'Is it worth it?' A part of her asked. 'Is it worth chipping myself away for money? Is it worth not being able to tuck Michael in for the night? Is it worth missing dinner and breakfast with him? Is it worth barely seeing him? What am I really doing with my life?'

Before the torturous thoughts could drown her in ever-creeping misery, Sarah came to a halt right in front of her. "Oi, newbie, what are you doing with Harry?"

Eve snapped out of her musings and sprang to her feet, letting Harry's head land on the couch. Thankfully, he didn't wake up. "Nothing, Sarah. He fell asleep after asking for a private dance."

Sarah was one of the longest-working strippers here, and all the others instinctively respected and revered her. The brunette was also the best friend of Grace, their manager. So, having a good relationship with her was a must for continued employment.

"Ah, Harry still has energy to get another stripper. My my, such an energetic boy." Sarah giggled and hauled Harry up. "Help me get him to that private room."

Eve sidled up to his right side and half-carried him to the private room, where the two women laid him down on the red settee. "You can go now. I'll look after him so he won't wander away again."

She smiled nervously and hurried off, wondering whether she should give his money back.

Shaking her head, she climbed on her uncrowded stage and began dancing, deciding the boy was rich enough to misplace a couple of grands. But she'd make good use of it. She'd buy Michael a great present. It was surely a better use than spending it on a stripper. The mere thought of his beaming smile filled her with warmth.

Although the warmth didn't last for long.

Even as her chest ached at resuming this meaningless task, she danced. Just because there was no audience didn't mean she could sit down and laze around. This was a capitalist country. Nothing was free. She had to become useful and attract attention, or else Grace would fire her and hire a new stripper. After all, there was no shortage of pretty women selling their self-respect for 'easy' money. But bills needed to be paid, and Michael needed to go to school. And savings need to keep multiplying for a better future.

So she danced and winked at the couple of men who came around to watch her. She took off her bra and threw it at one of them, giggling at his awestruck look and shaking her bare breasts to bewitch them some more.

She was an adult with responsibilities—had been since she became a teenage mom—and adults didn't have the luxury to second-guess their decisions. They didn't have the freedom to dream of an easier life. So even though every fibre of her being wanted to quit this secondary job and manage her life with only the normal job, she knew the price of her desperate wish. And it was too expensive to buy.

Thus, her humiliating work would continue.

~xXxXx~

"My head." Harry grabbed his splitting forehead once waking up; someone was hammering a phantom nail right in his skull, and no amount of groaning was scaring it away. An amused laugh drew his attention towards the two people sitting on the settee some distance away from him.

"Here, drink it." Sirius tossed him a small yellow vial. "It should help."

And it did. It instantly did. His headache disappeared in seconds, and he rose with a grumble. "What's the time?"

"After seven in the morning. The club is closed; only we three are left here." Neville chirped up, literally glowing from happiness. Harry wondered why.

"Even Grace is gone. And it's time we return too." Sirius yawned, standing up and stretching his back.

Harry nodded and got up too, trying to tame his wild hair. "I can't remember shit, and my body is screaming at me. I must take a three-hour long bath soon."

"From what we heard, you wandered off and tried to snag another stripper. But then you dozed off on her." Neville snickered, appearing uncharacteristically smug and peppy this morning.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "I remember now. You weren't here when I woke up, so I went out to find you two. Why weren't you here?"

He couldn't recall much of what happened after that. Surely, he didn't find his mum dancing amateurishly on the stage. Because that's what he felt had happened. His mum was who knows where, trying to find a way to gain her magic. Neither was she interested in becoming a stripper, nor were they in a financial crisis requiring her to resort to this career. Must be his drunken delusions.

"Well, after you passed out while getting fucked," Sirius started humorously, "Neville somehow managed to convince the grouchy one to have sex with him. And I went away with Grace. We chose different rooms for privacy because, believe me, not everyone is like the great Harry Evans, who can start rutting anywhere, unmindful of the presence of his godfather and best friend."

Both Neville and Harry blushed for different reasons.

"I was drunk, and Sarah was wild. It wouldn't have happened otherwise." He made an offhand excuse, trying to sound confident and unrepentant.

"Of course."

Only when he got back to the island would Harry realise his money was gone. And he would reluctantly end up blaming it on his drunkenness.

~xXxXx~

Tying her long red hair in a loose bun, she signalled for Alice to follow her. The two friends then made their way downstairs, their footsteps echoing loudly in the house.

It was the morning of the second day of their stay. By now, Alice was thoroughly informed and prepared for what she had to do, having read all the plans and objectives for this experiment. Her friend waved her wand and chased away the shadows as soon as they entered the dark room. The long basement lit up, revealing the gaunt prisoners.

They glanced at the three men chained against the furthest wall, pale ghosts who had not experienced the warm kiss of the sun since the year nineteen-eighty-one. They wore magical steel bracelets on their four limbs, which were chained to the stony wall behind them. And since they were gagged, no angered screams or heartfelt beggings were spewed.

Peter Pettigrew was a short, mousy man with receding hairline, and his watery eyes provided an obvious clue on which spectrum he sat. Augustus Rookwood, on the other hand, glared at them scathingly, making it clear he'd kill them the first chance he got. Surprisingly, it was Harold Greengrass' gaze that was most unnerving. Unlike the other two, he neither showed weakness nor anger, but pure manic lust. The way his eyes bored through their dresses and looked at their bare skin underneath was deeply revolting. And they had no doubt he would turn the tables and chain them instead if he could.

Where Peter would run away and Augustus would choose to kill, Harold would enslave them until he was done playing with their minds and bodies—until he was done wrenching every ounce of pain and pleasure from them. Only then would he give them the sweet release of death.

He was an animal in that way, perhaps something even worse.

"Merlin, Harold! You know how to make ladies feel special." Lily smiled sharply, walking over and squatting down near him. She wrinkled her nose at his body odour, and slightly moved away.

She might need to bathe again.

Muffled sounds came as he tried to say something.

"You want to talk? Oh, you want to sing us a poem?" Lily's eyes gleamed as she pulled the gag from his rotten mouth.

Harold wetted his dry throat and offered her a charming smile. Maybe if his once handsome appearance wasn't skeletal or his teeth weren't black, it would've made some maiden blush. Unfortunately for him, Lily was way past her blushing maiden phase.

In a soft whispery tone, he proclaimed, "Lily Potter, I didn't think anyone would ever surpass the O grade. But you've surely grown prettier than the prettiest. Time has only made you more ripe in all the right places. I assign you the S grade for succubus, whose beauty instils despair even in the hearts of perfect Veelas."

She arched her eyebrows and glanced back at Alice, deciding not to cave his skull for calling her a Potter. "You were right. He really grades women as if we were NEWTs subjects."

"He is worse than Voldemort." Alice glowered at the man.

Harold smiled softly. "I'll take that as a compliment, ladies. Perhaps you should unbind me. I promise not to hurt you, and I'll help you in all your endeavours. All I ask is the blessing to be in the presence of such exceptional beauties."

Lily and Alice shared a look.

"Why, Mister Greengrass, thank you for your assistance." She beamed and unbound him, taking off all the restraints, even his magic-inhibiting cuffs.

Like a wild animal, he pounced on her with an exuberant cackle, less to harm her and more to touch her. Before he could even close the distance between them, a red jet of light struck him. "Crucio!"

Lily's smile didn't disappear even as the man screamed his throat raw at her feet, his body twisting and spasming in a way that would scare the muggles into calling exorcists. "That's enough, I think."

Alice cut off the spell and came to stand beside her, her eyes full of disgust. "We should start; I don't want to be in their company more than I have to."

"Of course. Make the circle that we talked about. I'll chat with Augustus in the meantime." She nodded, standing up and stepping over the quivering man, taking a moment to kick him in the nuts. Then she kneeled before the rogue unspeakable. "Let's talk magic, Augustus. People like us always enjoy conversations like these."

Even when his gag was out, Augustus remained silent, waiting for her move.

"You know, purebloods give so much importance to blood, as a proof that blood is magic and magic is blood. As if magic comes directly from blood itself. For a long time, I believed it too. For years, I thought the source was really blood. But recently, I've developed a new thesis. Would you like to hear it?"

Augustus simply stared at her.

"I'll take that as yes." She smirked, amused by his silent treatment. "You see, I think we are all wrong. I think the source is not blood but an otherworldly plane from which we draw our magic. It's like a different immaterial world connected to ours. And we, the magicals, are the threads that connect these two worlds, pulling its power here in the material world. We are not of this world, I think. Or maybe we are halflings, half-otherworldly, and half-humans. What say you?"

"I say you're full of shit." Augustus croaked finally. "How would you explain mudbloods?"

Not taking offence at the demeaning term, she questioned instead of answering, "How would you explain muggleborns? If blood is really the source, then how do muggleborns get magic?"

"Simple. They are either descendents of exiled squibs or products of rapes and memory charms. You should already know that by now, trainee," he spat disparagingly.

"Doesn't that mean there's no such thing as muggleborn? Then why keep up this charade?" Lily pointed out their hypocrisy, always curious about this particular case of doublethink.

Augustus snapped his mouth shut and took a moment to reply. "Purity matters. The purer the blood, the more powerful the witch and the wizard."

"Dumbledore and Voldemort will beg to differ."

"They are anomalies. They don't prove anything."

"Fair enough." Lily stood up, giving up on discussing it with him, and approached Alice, who was done making a circle from Harold's blood. "Let's see what the real truth is."

She forced Harold into the circle and put a bowl in front of him. "Stun him and start the ritual."

~xXxXx~

Alice had been confused when she got the first letter in April. The sender was Lily. It asked her to keep her schedule open for the entire summer. Soon after, Potter's letter followed, informing her of the paid leave she would be getting.

Some might have tried to subtly decline the plea for help, considering how dark and illegal this whole affair was. If someone even caught wind of this, her reputation would be ruined. But Alice had agreed instantly, not caring about the repercussions if others ever found out about it.

A way to help Lily get her magic? Damn yes! It was the least she could do to pay up for all that her friend went through in her place.

She had unintentionally summoned the demon that accursed night—even now she wasn't sure how she had been able to do that.

That Halloween, she had been too angry and heartbroken to think things through. So, when the demon had asked her desire, she quickly demanded Voldemort's death—the man who was responsible for her husband's murder; the man who would've continued hunting them due to that stupid fake prophecy.

Did she know that it would result in the massacre of Hogsmeade? Yes, she did. Belphegor had informed her of the price beforehand. But were the lives of strangers and acquaintances more precious than the safety of her own son? No, and so she agreed, sentencing hundreds of wizards and witches to death. Indirectly killing innocent children who had no faults.

Still, she did not really regret the deal. She was sorry—deeply sorry—for what she had been responsible for. Sometimes she even woke up late at night, the screams and sobs of innocent civilians ringing in her ears, taking away her peace and sleep. But in the end, the deal with the devil killed off the dark lord and freed her son from his shadow.

It was worth it.

The only thing she regretted was the blame that fell on Lily. She hadn't meant to make her the villain. She hadn't thought for a moment that people would jump to conclusions and make her the scapegoat. But that was what happened. It was the only thing she would wish to undo if she ever got sent back in time.

She'd not be weak and take the blame instead of silently watching from the sidelines as her best friend was forced to flee and hide.

This guilt was the reason she had been so eager to help her friend. Perhaps it would be her repentance. Maybe she could finally come clean after that. Then again, it'd be risky. Lily would either try to kill her or would relate to her situation and end up forgiving her. It could go either way. But it was a concern for the future; now was not the time to worry about it.

As she unfurled the page and began the strange, long spell, she hoped this would work out and grant Lily her magic back.

"Istre dae Mageci, Vistre dae Somnu. Avier dae Mageci, Suvier dae Somnu. Kinech vae…" She chanted as she had practised before, enunciating each word properly. The letters were in English, but the language was unknown to her. It was neither Latin nor Greek, and she decided not to question its origins. She was going to do what was asked of her and leave the thinking part to the expert.

The circle on the floor glowed, and a soft red mist formed inside—around Harold Greengrass.

Lily's smile widened as more mist was produced. That must mean they were on the right track.

"Sulekh dae Turien, Nulekh dae Eviri. Rijnie dae Uru, Vijinie dae Ru. Jevik vae…"

The red mist suddenly enveloped the entirety of Harold. It rushed into his body from everywhere. His nostrils, his eyes, his mouth, his everywhere. And a soul-crushing sound left his lips before he tumbled sideways and lay there, unmoving.

The mist was no more, or if it was, then it was only inside him.

The chanting had stopped. Lily and Alice looked at the dead body expectantly, while Peter and Augustus gawked at them with horror-filled eyes.

Suddenly, a clump of gold-red oil seeped out of Harold's back and plopped into the empty bowl.

Lily picked up the bowl with trembling hands and ingested the oil after only a second of hesitation.

She froze and let out a shriek.

Before Alice could run to her, the redhead stopped her with a shake of her head. "I'm fine. Kill Augustus. This borrowed magic won't last long."

Alice snapped her wand towards Augustus without any question and said the dreaded words. "Avada Kedavra!"

~xXxXx~

Her body felt like it was trying to move in two different directions at the same time. Her eyes blurred with two different visions. One, her vision, and the other, his vision. All her senses were going haywire, influxed with two energies. But her ritual was successful. She now had magic, however temporarily.

She had the magical soul—for the lack of a better word—that would aid her in her experiment. These few minutes were all she needed to find the source of magic.

She shook her head when Alice started to move towards her. "I am fine. Kill Augustus. This borrowed magic won't last long."

And wasn't that the truth? She had bound Harold's soul with hers. But it wouldn't last long. She barely had two to three minutes before it would break free and go wherever souls went after death. If she didn't have anyone to live for and was some mad scientist, she would've happily hitched the ride with it and seen what awaited everyone after death. But she had the will to live and didn't want to risk her life; that's why she caged this soul and turned towards Augustus as the Killing Curse hit him. The only objective of this whole experiment was to reach the source and see if it was possible to resume her connection with it.

Her eyes snapped close, and she pushed her consciousness inwards, through the cracked golden expanse of light that led to Magiscape. Usually, she wouldn't feel the tug that pushed her consciousness to that immaterial plane, but with the borrowed magic of the captured soul, she was able to jump into Magiscape.

The familiar sight of the golden sea and churning mist overhead brimmed her heart with warmth. But unlike always, her golden silhouette was tinged with red. It must be mirroring Harold's magic.

This simple observation confirmed her fears. Her form here was still golden, which meant she still had her own magic. It was just that something had revoked her right to use it. She was not a muggle; her silhouette would have been grey if she had been. That was a little consolation though.

Using Harold's magic, she sprouted a single, thick tendril. Instead of golden, it was blood-red. Taking a metaphorical sigh of resignation, she moved the tendril towards Augustus' silhouette.

Her plan was to use Harold to sprout the tendril and latch onto the crumbling magic of Augustus as he died. She wanted to see where it went once magicals died. And if her guess was correct, it went back to the source. She would use that moment to latch onto it and ride it wherever it went. It would give her an insight on how to get back her power. It would bring her to the true source; after all, this golden sea must have come out from somewhere.

Her tendril rushed forward as Augustus died. His silhouette flickered and formed a round golden globe.

As it fell into the sea, her tendril lurched forward and attached itself to it.

But as soon as the red tendril touched the surface of the globe, her awareness went blank, and she was sucked into a black hole.

It was a lot like passing out. Since she was in an immaterial place, it was a bit different from the physical sensation.

And when she woke up, she was in a whole different but familiar place.

~xXxXx~

"Lily!" Alice caught her as she flinched and went rigid before falling back.

She gently lowered her down to the floor, ignoring Peter's muffled, frightened screams. Her hand pressed on her breast, and she hoped for a heartbeat.

There were none.

Alice bit back a sob and kept shaking her.

Suddenly, Lily's body contorted and began folding like a piece of paper. It kept on folding until it was a palm-sized clump of flesh before even that disappeared, leaving her staring at the empty space in terror.