Kedavra Conundrum
So this is the House/HP crossover fic I was talking about. It's nothing big. Just written to amuse myself, basically.
Disclaimer: The dialogue and views of characters in no way represent my own opinions. Also, the worlds of House and Harry Potter are not mine. I write to entertain myself. Also, this would technically take place before Season 3 of House.
Kedavra Conundrum
“This place sucks.” House limped into a rather large conference room, gave it a withering look, and leaned against his cane.
“It’s not that bad,” Chase argued. He, Cameron, and Foreman were already in the room, skimming through their case files.
“I beg to differ,” House replied. He nodded to the empty tables and dozens of identical, stiff looking seats. “It’s bad enough having jet lag, but this is mind numbing.” He inhaled sharply. “And I miss my board.”
“There’s a whiteboard on the wall,” Foreman pointed out. He and Chase exchanged looks, and Cameron settled into one of the stiff-looking chairs.
“Keen observation,” House answered. “Let’s hope that you keep that eye for detail while looking over these files.”
“The British Health Officials are worried it might be some sort of outbreak,” Cameron said, flipping through a blue folder. “They’ve had more than a dozen people die in the past week. The autopsies suggest no common factor in the deaths.” Her brow crinkled. “In fact, there is no reason to suspect that the deaths are related to any physical problems at all.”
House made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. “Well, there must be,” he said, “or else the British Health Officials wouldn’t have flown us out here with under twenty-four hours notice.” He glanced around at his diagnosticians. “Unless maybe they think we deserve a vacation.”
Foreman wasn’t having any of House’s snark. “People don’t just die for no reason.” He grabbed the blue file from Cameron’s hands. “They must have had something in common.”
“They did,” said Cameron. Everyone looked at her expectantly. “They were all making terrible faces when they died.” It sounded absurd, of course. Her eyes were wide with uncertainty, and she gave a half-shrug.
“You’re joking,” said Chase.
Foreman flipped through another file. “She’s not,” he said, shaking his head. “Each autopsy makes note of it.”
“So,” House drawled, “we were brought here to figure out why everyone is dying of fright.” He bowed his head for a moment, then looked up and said, “Coffee?” He turned to the doorway and yelled at a nurse who happened to be walking by. “Hey, what do you have to do to get a cup of coffee around here?” He turned around to Chase and rolled his eyes towards the nurse, whispering loudly “If she makes an offer, I’m sending you. She’s not my type.”
Chase’s mouth dropped open in protest and House smirked. Cameron and Foreman, on the other hand, didn’t seem particularly amused by House’s comments.
“House,” Foreman warned, but House paid him no mind. Instead, he turned to the nurse and let his blue eyes do the talking.
The nurse’s gaze flickered down to House’s cane, and she offered him an exhausted smile. “I’ll fetch you one,” she said. “How do you take it?”
“Fresh, black, and sharp,” ordered House with a sardonic grin. He twisted around to give Foreman another wicked smile. “Like I like my neurologists.”
“You’re a jerk,” Foreman replied flatly. “Can we start the differential diagnosis now?”
House opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it, snapping it shut. He limped over to the whiteboard and grabbed a marker. “All right,” he said, “we have twelve cases of people dying with horrified looks on their faces.” He lifted his eyebrows. “The latest one happened in the hospital, while the patient was getting ready to check out.”
“Did anyone see what happened?” asked Cameron.
“Nope.”
“It sounds like facial neuralgia,” offered Foreman. “The patient’s nervous system could have been unloading impulses right before he died.”
“Dyskinesia,” Chase mused. “Some sort of chorea, maybe.”
“If that were the case,” Foreman said, “than we would have seen twitching in the extremities, too.” He looked at House. “Could be hemifacial spasming or hypocalcemia.”
“Which could be signs of a tumour or hypoparathyroidism,” House mused. “Since hypoparathyroidism is extremely rare, it would be a strange coincidence to have twelve cases pop up at the same time.”
“It might be metal toxins,” Cameron piped up. “Metal toxicity causes facial spasms, too.”
Chase ran his finger down the page. “Tox screens were negative.”
“They could be wrong,” Cameron argued. “Or they might not have done a complete toxin scan-“
“--Unfortunately,” House interrupted, “the latest patient is dead, so we can’t ask him any questions.” He swivelled around on his cane. “We can, however, do an autopsy.”
The nurse returned to the room, holding a large cup of coffee out to House. “Dr. House,” she said politely, “your coffee.”
“Thanks,” House said, going over to grab it. He immediately took a sip, sighing contentedly afterwards. Cameron, Chase, and Foreman were all watching him expectantly. “What are you waiting for?” House asked, lifting his brows. “Suit up.”
* * *
The body was laid out on a table in the morgue. Foreman pulled the sheet from the body’s face, and Cameron hovered anxiously behind him, peering over his shoulder.
House whistled.
“Wow,” he whispered in a sarcastically awed tone, “it’s too bad he’s not living anymore, Chase.”
Chase glanced at House with a questioning look. “What? Why?”
“He could have given you hair tips. I thought your hair was nice, but it’s nothing in comparison to this.”
Foreman snickered at Chase’s scowl.
“He’s so young,” Cameron murmured.
The body was of a blonde haired, seventeen-year old boy. He’d been taken to the hospital after being found in a nearby park with multiple lacerations, a couple broken ribs, and a concussion. The hospital had treated him for everything, and was preparing his release documentation when a nurse had found him on the hospital floor.
The boy’s face was frozen in a half-snarl.
“Does he look frightened to you?” House asked, cocking his head to the side for better inspection.
“He looks pissed off,” Foreman amended.
A dried, crusted cut split the boy’s upper lip, and another one looked marred his fair cheek. His ribs were bandaged, but he was obviously perilously thin; his skeletal frame was clearly visible under his pale, parchment-thin skin.
Cameron grabbed the boy’s forearm and ran her thumb down it. “Look at this,” she said, flipping the arm over so that the boy’s palm was up. A tattoo of a black skull with a snake slithering out of its mouth was clearly visible.
“Gang sign?” House mused, giving Foreman a fleeting glance.
Foreman made a face. “No American gang sign,” he answered, “which would make sense since we’re in Great Britain.”
House turned to Chase. “Why are you looking at me?” Chase asked, furrowing his brow. “I don’t know what it is.”
“It could be an ancient prison tattoo,” House replied. “Considering your ancestry, I thought there might have been a chance you’d recognize it.” The corner of his mouth twitched.
“I don’t,” snapped Chase.
Cameron traced the tattoo. “It might not be a gang sign. Maybe it’s just a tattoo.”
“So the rebellious son goes to get a tattoo that will make mummy faint-hearted,” House said. “Her beautiful boy marred by snakes and skulls.”
“You have no idea,” a low, silky voice echoed from behind the team of diagnosticians.
Cameron hissed in a sharp intake of air and House spun around to get a better look at the visitor. “Who are you?” House snapped.
A man with long, black, greasy hair and a large hooked nose approached them quickly. “I suppose being a medical doctor spares you of dealing with common courtesies,” he said. “If that’s the case, I’m sure there will be no surprise when I reciprocate your lack of courtesy, as I am…” he stopped short of the diagnostic team, eyeballing them severely before continuing, “…grieving.”
Cameron dropped the boy’s arm and straightened up. “Are you his father?” she asked quietly.
House looked sceptical. “If he’s the father,” he said to Cameron, acting like the sullen-faced man wasn’t even present, “I’ll take your clinic duty for the rest of the month.”
“I’m the father,” the man said. His eyes glittered strangely.
House narrowed his eyes threateningly. “You’re lying.”
“Does your medical field have ways of making you tell the truth?” the man challenged. He’d locked eyes with House and lifted his eyebrows meaningfully. Cameron watched them, biting her lip.
“Sodium Pentothal,” House replied. “Truth serum.”
“Child’s play,” the man retorted. “A simple barbiturate that produces anaesthesia. I may lose my inhibition, but I will not lose my self-control.”
It was at this point that House decided to pop some Vicodin. He swallowed it down roughly. “Want to prove it?” he asked.
The man snorted. “I don’t have time for silly games. I’m collecting my…son’s...body.” His emphasis on the word son ensured that Cameron would keep her clinic duty for the month.
“I’m sorry,” said House, giving the man an insincere smile, “but you can’t. We’re going to do an autopsy.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”
“You don’t have much choice,” House replied snidely. “Now if you’ll excuse us-“
“I will not,” the man said sharply.
Wincing, Cameron left the table and approached the man hesitantly. “Mr…” she began.
“Snape,” the man offered. He barely even looked at her. His dark eyes were boring a hole into the back of House’s head.
“Mr. Snape,” she continued, “your son’s death was unexpected, I know, but we have reason to believe that it might have been caused by metal toxins, or-“
“-Metal toxins?” Snape repeated, laughing derisively. “I assure you that he didn’t die from toxicity.”
Cameron blinked furiously, cheeks flushing pink. She never responded well to challenges. Chase watched her out of the corner of his eye and then cleared his throat gallantly. “It may also be some sort of neurological disorder,” he said. “We need to investigate, especially if it’s viral. There may be a chance that it’s an epidemic. People’s lives are at risk.”
“People’s lives will always be at risk,” scoffed Snape. “And cutting up his body is not going to give you the information that you’re seeking.”
“Why is it you’re so sure?” asked House. “Do you know how he died?” He gave Snape an insolent look. “You do have a certain serial killer look to you.” He tapped his lips with his index finger. “What’s your middle name? I wonder how it will sound in the papers.”
“So amusing.” Snape heaved a large, weary sigh. “But I did not kill him.”
“Right,” House muttered.
“If you’re his father,” Foreman asked suddenly, “then what does the tattoo on his forearm stand for?”
“It’s the Chinese symbol for peace,” replied Snape dryly. “Or couldn’t you tell?”
Foreman bowed his head and gave a disgusted chuckle. “Listen, I don’t know who you are, but you need to go.”
“I don’t think so.” Snape began to push up the sleeve of his left forearm. “Here,” he said, shoving his arm out at Cameron, “look.”
“You’ve got one too,” she murmured, gazing at it. She reached out to touch it, adding, “It looks like it’s inflamed.”
“DON’T!” barked Snape, tugging his hand back and covering the tattoo once again with his sleeve.
“Did you use a sterile needle?” she continued, and then glanced at Foreman. “It looked like an infection.”
“Could be viral,” mused Chase.
House was still looking at Snape as though he were an amoeba under a microscope. “Is it a gang tattoo?” he inquired. “Maybe some sort of ritual for a homosexual society?”
Snape choked, his gaunt face blanching. When he finally replied, it was in a low, sinister voice. “You have a lot of nerve.”
“And you have an infected tattoo that links you to someone who died of unknown causes.”
“We were not as close as you suggested.” Snape looked repulsed at the thought. “I made a promise to his mother.”
“Let’s hope that you failed her,” House answered, indicating the dead body. “Does she have a tattoo, too, or were you simply his mentor?” he guessed. “Part of some sort of fascist group, maybe?”
“Don’t do this,” pleaded Cameron, glancing from Snape to House and then back to Snape again. Snape was looking mutinous.
House paid her no mind. “You exposed him to something terrible. It looks as though you’ve got it. Dozens of other people are being affected by it.”
“It’s-not-a-disease,” breathed Snape.
“I think I’ll be the one to decide that,” snapped House.
Snape shook his head, taking another step forward. “I’m taking him. He can’t stay here.”
House positioned himself in front of the cadaver, pointing his cane at Snape’s chest threateningly. “Over my dead, crippled body,” he replied.
Snape thin mouth curled into an acerbic grin. “That can be arranged,” he replied silkily.
The scene played out as though it were in slow motion. Snape reached inside his jacket, wrapping his long fingers around something. Chase dashed out and grabbed Cameron in a bear hug, spinning her around so that she was shielded from whatever Snape was revealing. House was simply wondering how the lunatic got past hospital security.
“Lookout!” Foreman yelled, grabbing House by the arm and yanking him out of the way. “He’s got a-“
“-Wooden stick,” House said breathlessly, tottering sideways. He lost his balance because of Foreman’s tight grip on his arm and fell against the dead boy on the table. The adrenaline was pumping through his veins, and he found himself chuckling.
Foreman’s grip faltered, and he looked to see if what House said was true. Cameron and Chase were also gaping at Snape disbelievingly. Snape was standing, feet apart, holding a wooden stick pointed directly at House’s head.
“He’s insane,” panted House. “Foreman, go call for someone on the psych unit.” He gave Severus a bemused look. “You’re not going to say Abracadabra, are you?”
Snape smirked triumphantly, and for once, House felt very insecure. “No,” Snape said assuredly, “it’s called Obliviate.”
* * *
“Wasn’t there supposed to be a body down here?” Foreman asked, scratching his head.
“That’s what the nurse said,” Cameron agreed, nodding. “She told me it was laid out for us.”
Chase walked around the room, trying to open the lockers. “Well, he’s obviously not here,” he announced, leaning against a long, empty table in the middle of the room.
“That’s odd,” mused Cameron.
House leaned on his cane. “Looks like someone misplaced a body,” he said, clucking his tongue in mock disappointment. “Clearly, the Brits are ages ahead of us in organization.” He turned to Chase. “Maybe you should have a talk with them about it.”
“Why me?” asked Chase.
“They’ll understand you,” House replied matter-of-factly.
Chase gave him a tired look. “I’m Australian.”
House shrugged. “Close enough.” His blue eyes sparkled humorously, and he started to limp towards the doorway. The others followed him, shaking their heads.
“Looks like we have a little time on our hands,” House continued, walking out into the corridor. “Do you think they get General Hospital here, or should we take a break and visit a pub?”
Disclaimer: The dialogue and views of characters in no way represent my own opinions. Also, the worlds of House and Harry Potter are not mine. I write to entertain myself. Also, this would technically take place before Season 3 of House.
Kedavra Conundrum
“This place sucks.” House limped into a rather large conference room, gave it a withering look, and leaned against his cane.
“It’s not that bad,” Chase argued. He, Cameron, and Foreman were already in the room, skimming through their case files.
“I beg to differ,” House replied. He nodded to the empty tables and dozens of identical, stiff looking seats. “It’s bad enough having jet lag, but this is mind numbing.” He inhaled sharply. “And I miss my board.”
“There’s a whiteboard on the wall,” Foreman pointed out. He and Chase exchanged looks, and Cameron settled into one of the stiff-looking chairs.
“Keen observation,” House answered. “Let’s hope that you keep that eye for detail while looking over these files.”
“The British Health Officials are worried it might be some sort of outbreak,” Cameron said, flipping through a blue folder. “They’ve had more than a dozen people die in the past week. The autopsies suggest no common factor in the deaths.” Her brow crinkled. “In fact, there is no reason to suspect that the deaths are related to any physical problems at all.”
House made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. “Well, there must be,” he said, “or else the British Health Officials wouldn’t have flown us out here with under twenty-four hours notice.” He glanced around at his diagnosticians. “Unless maybe they think we deserve a vacation.”
Foreman wasn’t having any of House’s snark. “People don’t just die for no reason.” He grabbed the blue file from Cameron’s hands. “They must have had something in common.”
“They did,” said Cameron. Everyone looked at her expectantly. “They were all making terrible faces when they died.” It sounded absurd, of course. Her eyes were wide with uncertainty, and she gave a half-shrug.
“You’re joking,” said Chase.
Foreman flipped through another file. “She’s not,” he said, shaking his head. “Each autopsy makes note of it.”
“So,” House drawled, “we were brought here to figure out why everyone is dying of fright.” He bowed his head for a moment, then looked up and said, “Coffee?” He turned to the doorway and yelled at a nurse who happened to be walking by. “Hey, what do you have to do to get a cup of coffee around here?” He turned around to Chase and rolled his eyes towards the nurse, whispering loudly “If she makes an offer, I’m sending you. She’s not my type.”
Chase’s mouth dropped open in protest and House smirked. Cameron and Foreman, on the other hand, didn’t seem particularly amused by House’s comments.
“House,” Foreman warned, but House paid him no mind. Instead, he turned to the nurse and let his blue eyes do the talking.
The nurse’s gaze flickered down to House’s cane, and she offered him an exhausted smile. “I’ll fetch you one,” she said. “How do you take it?”
“Fresh, black, and sharp,” ordered House with a sardonic grin. He twisted around to give Foreman another wicked smile. “Like I like my neurologists.”
“You’re a jerk,” Foreman replied flatly. “Can we start the differential diagnosis now?”
House opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it, snapping it shut. He limped over to the whiteboard and grabbed a marker. “All right,” he said, “we have twelve cases of people dying with horrified looks on their faces.” He lifted his eyebrows. “The latest one happened in the hospital, while the patient was getting ready to check out.”
“Did anyone see what happened?” asked Cameron.
“Nope.”
“It sounds like facial neuralgia,” offered Foreman. “The patient’s nervous system could have been unloading impulses right before he died.”
“Dyskinesia,” Chase mused. “Some sort of chorea, maybe.”
“If that were the case,” Foreman said, “than we would have seen twitching in the extremities, too.” He looked at House. “Could be hemifacial spasming or hypocalcemia.”
“Which could be signs of a tumour or hypoparathyroidism,” House mused. “Since hypoparathyroidism is extremely rare, it would be a strange coincidence to have twelve cases pop up at the same time.”
“It might be metal toxins,” Cameron piped up. “Metal toxicity causes facial spasms, too.”
Chase ran his finger down the page. “Tox screens were negative.”
“They could be wrong,” Cameron argued. “Or they might not have done a complete toxin scan-“
“--Unfortunately,” House interrupted, “the latest patient is dead, so we can’t ask him any questions.” He swivelled around on his cane. “We can, however, do an autopsy.”
The nurse returned to the room, holding a large cup of coffee out to House. “Dr. House,” she said politely, “your coffee.”
“Thanks,” House said, going over to grab it. He immediately took a sip, sighing contentedly afterwards. Cameron, Chase, and Foreman were all watching him expectantly. “What are you waiting for?” House asked, lifting his brows. “Suit up.”
* * *
The body was laid out on a table in the morgue. Foreman pulled the sheet from the body’s face, and Cameron hovered anxiously behind him, peering over his shoulder.
House whistled.
“Wow,” he whispered in a sarcastically awed tone, “it’s too bad he’s not living anymore, Chase.”
Chase glanced at House with a questioning look. “What? Why?”
“He could have given you hair tips. I thought your hair was nice, but it’s nothing in comparison to this.”
Foreman snickered at Chase’s scowl.
“He’s so young,” Cameron murmured.
The body was of a blonde haired, seventeen-year old boy. He’d been taken to the hospital after being found in a nearby park with multiple lacerations, a couple broken ribs, and a concussion. The hospital had treated him for everything, and was preparing his release documentation when a nurse had found him on the hospital floor.
The boy’s face was frozen in a half-snarl.
“Does he look frightened to you?” House asked, cocking his head to the side for better inspection.
“He looks pissed off,” Foreman amended.
A dried, crusted cut split the boy’s upper lip, and another one looked marred his fair cheek. His ribs were bandaged, but he was obviously perilously thin; his skeletal frame was clearly visible under his pale, parchment-thin skin.
Cameron grabbed the boy’s forearm and ran her thumb down it. “Look at this,” she said, flipping the arm over so that the boy’s palm was up. A tattoo of a black skull with a snake slithering out of its mouth was clearly visible.
“Gang sign?” House mused, giving Foreman a fleeting glance.
Foreman made a face. “No American gang sign,” he answered, “which would make sense since we’re in Great Britain.”
House turned to Chase. “Why are you looking at me?” Chase asked, furrowing his brow. “I don’t know what it is.”
“It could be an ancient prison tattoo,” House replied. “Considering your ancestry, I thought there might have been a chance you’d recognize it.” The corner of his mouth twitched.
“I don’t,” snapped Chase.
Cameron traced the tattoo. “It might not be a gang sign. Maybe it’s just a tattoo.”
“So the rebellious son goes to get a tattoo that will make mummy faint-hearted,” House said. “Her beautiful boy marred by snakes and skulls.”
“You have no idea,” a low, silky voice echoed from behind the team of diagnosticians.
Cameron hissed in a sharp intake of air and House spun around to get a better look at the visitor. “Who are you?” House snapped.
A man with long, black, greasy hair and a large hooked nose approached them quickly. “I suppose being a medical doctor spares you of dealing with common courtesies,” he said. “If that’s the case, I’m sure there will be no surprise when I reciprocate your lack of courtesy, as I am…” he stopped short of the diagnostic team, eyeballing them severely before continuing, “…grieving.”
Cameron dropped the boy’s arm and straightened up. “Are you his father?” she asked quietly.
House looked sceptical. “If he’s the father,” he said to Cameron, acting like the sullen-faced man wasn’t even present, “I’ll take your clinic duty for the rest of the month.”
“I’m the father,” the man said. His eyes glittered strangely.
House narrowed his eyes threateningly. “You’re lying.”
“Does your medical field have ways of making you tell the truth?” the man challenged. He’d locked eyes with House and lifted his eyebrows meaningfully. Cameron watched them, biting her lip.
“Sodium Pentothal,” House replied. “Truth serum.”
“Child’s play,” the man retorted. “A simple barbiturate that produces anaesthesia. I may lose my inhibition, but I will not lose my self-control.”
It was at this point that House decided to pop some Vicodin. He swallowed it down roughly. “Want to prove it?” he asked.
The man snorted. “I don’t have time for silly games. I’m collecting my…son’s...body.” His emphasis on the word son ensured that Cameron would keep her clinic duty for the month.
“I’m sorry,” said House, giving the man an insincere smile, “but you can’t. We’re going to do an autopsy.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”
“You don’t have much choice,” House replied snidely. “Now if you’ll excuse us-“
“I will not,” the man said sharply.
Wincing, Cameron left the table and approached the man hesitantly. “Mr…” she began.
“Snape,” the man offered. He barely even looked at her. His dark eyes were boring a hole into the back of House’s head.
“Mr. Snape,” she continued, “your son’s death was unexpected, I know, but we have reason to believe that it might have been caused by metal toxins, or-“
“-Metal toxins?” Snape repeated, laughing derisively. “I assure you that he didn’t die from toxicity.”
Cameron blinked furiously, cheeks flushing pink. She never responded well to challenges. Chase watched her out of the corner of his eye and then cleared his throat gallantly. “It may also be some sort of neurological disorder,” he said. “We need to investigate, especially if it’s viral. There may be a chance that it’s an epidemic. People’s lives are at risk.”
“People’s lives will always be at risk,” scoffed Snape. “And cutting up his body is not going to give you the information that you’re seeking.”
“Why is it you’re so sure?” asked House. “Do you know how he died?” He gave Snape an insolent look. “You do have a certain serial killer look to you.” He tapped his lips with his index finger. “What’s your middle name? I wonder how it will sound in the papers.”
“So amusing.” Snape heaved a large, weary sigh. “But I did not kill him.”
“Right,” House muttered.
“If you’re his father,” Foreman asked suddenly, “then what does the tattoo on his forearm stand for?”
“It’s the Chinese symbol for peace,” replied Snape dryly. “Or couldn’t you tell?”
Foreman bowed his head and gave a disgusted chuckle. “Listen, I don’t know who you are, but you need to go.”
“I don’t think so.” Snape began to push up the sleeve of his left forearm. “Here,” he said, shoving his arm out at Cameron, “look.”
“You’ve got one too,” she murmured, gazing at it. She reached out to touch it, adding, “It looks like it’s inflamed.”
“DON’T!” barked Snape, tugging his hand back and covering the tattoo once again with his sleeve.
“Did you use a sterile needle?” she continued, and then glanced at Foreman. “It looked like an infection.”
“Could be viral,” mused Chase.
House was still looking at Snape as though he were an amoeba under a microscope. “Is it a gang tattoo?” he inquired. “Maybe some sort of ritual for a homosexual society?”
Snape choked, his gaunt face blanching. When he finally replied, it was in a low, sinister voice. “You have a lot of nerve.”
“And you have an infected tattoo that links you to someone who died of unknown causes.”
“We were not as close as you suggested.” Snape looked repulsed at the thought. “I made a promise to his mother.”
“Let’s hope that you failed her,” House answered, indicating the dead body. “Does she have a tattoo, too, or were you simply his mentor?” he guessed. “Part of some sort of fascist group, maybe?”
“Don’t do this,” pleaded Cameron, glancing from Snape to House and then back to Snape again. Snape was looking mutinous.
House paid her no mind. “You exposed him to something terrible. It looks as though you’ve got it. Dozens of other people are being affected by it.”
“It’s-not-a-disease,” breathed Snape.
“I think I’ll be the one to decide that,” snapped House.
Snape shook his head, taking another step forward. “I’m taking him. He can’t stay here.”
House positioned himself in front of the cadaver, pointing his cane at Snape’s chest threateningly. “Over my dead, crippled body,” he replied.
Snape thin mouth curled into an acerbic grin. “That can be arranged,” he replied silkily.
The scene played out as though it were in slow motion. Snape reached inside his jacket, wrapping his long fingers around something. Chase dashed out and grabbed Cameron in a bear hug, spinning her around so that she was shielded from whatever Snape was revealing. House was simply wondering how the lunatic got past hospital security.
“Lookout!” Foreman yelled, grabbing House by the arm and yanking him out of the way. “He’s got a-“
“-Wooden stick,” House said breathlessly, tottering sideways. He lost his balance because of Foreman’s tight grip on his arm and fell against the dead boy on the table. The adrenaline was pumping through his veins, and he found himself chuckling.
Foreman’s grip faltered, and he looked to see if what House said was true. Cameron and Chase were also gaping at Snape disbelievingly. Snape was standing, feet apart, holding a wooden stick pointed directly at House’s head.
“He’s insane,” panted House. “Foreman, go call for someone on the psych unit.” He gave Severus a bemused look. “You’re not going to say Abracadabra, are you?”
Snape smirked triumphantly, and for once, House felt very insecure. “No,” Snape said assuredly, “it’s called Obliviate.”
* * *
“Wasn’t there supposed to be a body down here?” Foreman asked, scratching his head.
“That’s what the nurse said,” Cameron agreed, nodding. “She told me it was laid out for us.”
Chase walked around the room, trying to open the lockers. “Well, he’s obviously not here,” he announced, leaning against a long, empty table in the middle of the room.
“That’s odd,” mused Cameron.
House leaned on his cane. “Looks like someone misplaced a body,” he said, clucking his tongue in mock disappointment. “Clearly, the Brits are ages ahead of us in organization.” He turned to Chase. “Maybe you should have a talk with them about it.”
“Why me?” asked Chase.
“They’ll understand you,” House replied matter-of-factly.
Chase gave him a tired look. “I’m Australian.”
House shrugged. “Close enough.” His blue eyes sparkled humorously, and he started to limp towards the doorway. The others followed him, shaking their heads.
“Looks like we have a little time on our hands,” House continued, walking out into the corridor. “Do you think they get General Hospital here, or should we take a break and visit a pub?”