7 am, 3rd September. Parliamentary prison cell

[therealpm]

*Peter wakes up several times during the night.  The bright sodium glare of the streetlights regularly tricking his brain into thinking it's dawn.  Eventually, he gets up, grabs a spare blanket and hangs it on the highest window bar he can reach.  It doesn't block all the light, but enough to let him sleep until morning.

The morning is not a happy one, Peter's mental stock taking: 'Owner: one.  Practically incurable disease: one.  Means to contact George: zero.' does not lend itself to cheer.  Now that he's less furious, he can feel his magic roiling beneath D'Souza's binding, giving him a continuous need to figit or find some other outlet for the pent up force.  He paces the room.*

Comments

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

*Frances wanders in for her shift. Her eyebrows shoot up when she finds the room empty except for their prisoner, but he is still in his cell and the wards appear to be intact.*

Hello, Lord Mandelson.

Does this afternoon find you in a more civil mood?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*He hears footsteps approaching and quickly slots the sheets with equations on them into the middle of the book.

Baroness D'Souza.

...more contained than yesterday, certainly.

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

Good.

John should have spoken with you about this yesterday, instead of dropping it on you and then running off. Did you get a chance to talk this morning?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

He informed me that I would be granted the freedom of the librarian's court, under your supervision, and that until then I should occupy myself with annotating his wife's manuscript.

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

*Frances rolls her eyes*

I'll kill him. All right, in that case I suppose I'd better speak with you.

We had to get the papers filed yesterday, and you were in no condition to make a decision. Someone had to take responsibility or DEFRA would have assumed custody. That is not, I think, an outcome you would wish for. But that doesn't mean you will be stuck with our stopgap measure indefinitely.

Do you want John to remain as your guardian, or should we initiate proceedings for a transfer of o- your guardianship? And if so, do you have someone to transfer it to?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

I would rather not require a guardian at all.

*He shrugs*

At this point, a transfer seems to be equivalent to rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. I cannot see a transfer making any notable impact upon my living conditions- can you?

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

Your guardian has the authority to decide your living arrangements. John would have no right to continue holding you if they could demonstrate they had the means and desire to secure you elsewhere.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

Realistically, DEFRA will not accept any non-magical person as having the means and I will be confiscated.

Therefore the pool of candidates is limited to you, John, Bryant, Cable, or BONE. The latter may be rejected out of hand, Cable is far too busy with BIS, Bryant would be intolerable, and you would simply keep me here as well.

There are no other magi I know well enough to trust with that responsibility.

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

Fair enough. I thought you should be offered the choice.

Would you like to take a stroll outside?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

...some variety of scenery would certainly be welcome.

*He pauses*

I don't suppose you would consider unbinding my magic?

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

Out you come, then.

*It would be troublesome to take down Bercow's wards completely, so she folds them away from the door so Peter can pass through.*

Remain on your best behaviour and I'll consider it.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*He steps out from the cell for the first time in days. It's refreshing. Peter stands a little taller and can't control the slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

D'Souza doesn't seem to have noticed, or is polite enough not to comment. He walks a few steps ahead of her, careful to keep a steady pace. He doesn't need to look to know she has her wand at the ready and he doesn't fancy a hex in the back.

They step into the courtyard and he is struck by the heat. His window faces west, but the rest of the palace blocks the sun for most of the day and the room is always cool. Out here, under cloudless skies and surrounded by stone, it is baking hot.

He smiles and feels his shoulders relax. The court itself is tiny, half the size of his cell, but he isn't hemmed in by a roof and this close to the Thames, with the wind from the east, it's possible to convince himself that he can smell the sea.*

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

*Frances watches him turn his face up to the sun and feels a little stab of pity. Peter was not one of her favorite peers even before he became a werewolf; he was a bloody nuisance as a minister and the instant he was out of office and he could no longer flaunt his ridiculous string of titles at his colleagues he disappeared entirely. And he has not exactly been a delightful charge since his transformation. Still, lycanthropy is not something she would wish on her worst enemy, and he's been cooped up in a tiny room for three days.*

*Even prisoners- proper prisoners, ones who have been convicted of a crime- get to exercise outside. It's a basic human right.*

We could take a walk around New Palace Yard, if you'd like a chance to stretch your legs.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

Hmm?

*He considers it, finger stroking one cheek thoughtfully*

It would be very welcome-

*He indicates his clothes, rumpled from sleep and 3-day stubble.*

-although given the large number of tourists in London at present and my somewhat recogniseable features, I would prefer to look less like a vagrant first.

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

I think we could manage not to look like anything at all.

*She casts a spell and they both disappear from mundane view, although it's easy enough for her to track Peter by the glow of the spells around him.*

Shall we?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*He nods, and leads the way, once again aware of the wand pointed right between his shoulderblades. They have to step aside for a few scurrying civil servents en route- rumours of ghosts are so tiresome, but eventually they find their way out into the forecourt.

It is loud, and something inside him, something that wasn't there less than a week ago, cringes away from the din. He tamps it down and wonders whether he could transform voluntarily - something to be investigated later, perhaps.

They walk around the court twice, inspecting the fountain and the flower beds. It is pleasant, compared to the cell, but Peter still feels trapped and the heavy-barred fences do nothing to alleviate it.*

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

*By the second circuit of the little garden Frances can tell Peter is getting restive. The chance to go outside has shaken him out of the sulk he was in when she first arrived, but what he really needs is something she cannot give him. Something he may never have again, if the cure goes awry.*

We should head back.

*She's been letting him decide what they do, but she makes this an order. She knows his pride won't allow him to ask for more time away from his cell, and it seems cruel to put him in a position where he'll feel compelled to send himself back inside.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*He clenches his jaw, but says nothing, walking back to his cell as steadily as before, always two steps in front. By the time they reach the door, his mouth is a thin line of displeasure. However long they were in the court, it wasn't nearly enough. Still, he waits patiently as Frances waves aside the wards, and steps inside without prompting.*

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

*She lowers the wards behind him and restores him to visibility.*

If you clean yourself up perhaps John could be persuaded to take you out for a proper dinner tonight. With your magic bound you're not much of a flight risk, and he owes you an apology.

*There's an edge in her voice that suggests this apology will be forthcoming whether John feels moved to make it or not.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter inclines his head.*

I will need a razor.

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

You do, rather.

*Frances thinks for a moment. Shaving is not something she feels capable of doing magically without inviting unpleasant accidents, especially not when it involves someone else's face, and the Campbells had, with what for them constituted uncommon good sense, omitted the item from the toiletry kit they provided.*

*Ah well. She can always summon John's. She's used the toilet in the Bercows' flat before but she's never paid much attention to John's shaving supplies, so it takes her a while to locate them. But after a few moments of mentally groping through his cupboards a half-empty bag of disposable razors and a can of shaving cream appear in her hands.*

*She picks out a razor, gives it a dubious look, and hands it through the door to Peter along with the shaving cream.*

Here. Bring the razor back when you're finished, please. All of it.

*She leaves the obvious threat- that if he can't prove he can be trusted with it they'll leave him to spend the next two months looking like a hermit or a Liberal Democrat- unstated.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*He nods. He hasn't just spent the past half hour being good as gold to throw it all away on such an obvious deceit.*

Thank you, I assume these are John's? Would you mind providing a mirror over the sink as well, please?

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

They are. I'm sure he'd be happy to donate them for a good cause.

*Unlike shaving, a mirror is easy enough to supply through magic. She waves her wand and a rectangle of air above the sink becomes perfectly reflective.*

I don't know why we didn't think of doing that earlier. There's no danger of you shattering that and turning it into a shiv.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*He deadpans,*

I'm not Gordon.

*then picks up a suit, and wanders into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him and showering quickly.

The room's sink has no plug, perhaps John thought he would use the chain as a garrotte, which makes things somewhat more difficult; and when Peter looks at the mirror he sees it has no depth. He is careful not to let his disappointment that the mirror is air rather than glass show (because if several years in New Labour teach you anything it's that people are always watching) and instead focuses on removing his unwelcome beard as efficiently as possible.

Shaved and suited, he exits the bathroom and hands the razor back; his face a picture of perfectly poised politeness.*

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

*Frances accepts the razor and sends John's shaving cream back to his flat, since she doesn't know if he has a second can. Besides, Peter can probably think of a way to fashion shaving cream into a projectile weapon, if he is sufficiently bored and motivated. Judging by his impeccable behaviour over the past few hours, he certainly is.*

Do you feel a bit more yourself? You look it, anyway.