Harry Potter is owned by J K Rowling while WH40K is the property of GamesWorkshop. The bits in between belong to me.

Author's note

Here it finally is, the last chapter. I've had beta issues (poorly or working) so I've gone over this as carefully as I can, so I apologise for any really awful grammatical/spelling issues you might spot.

The next Carrow book will be the final one, though I do have plans for a prequel set in the Imperium.

Hope you are all keeping well and safe, using your hand-sanitizer and wearing your masks. The times continue to be interesting, but at least I've been able to go back to work. I really feel for all those whose livelihoods have been affected by this pandemic.

So anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. And stay safe.

Epilogue

"Why can't I go?"

Timothy looked round to find Felix glaring at him.

"You know why," he tried hard to hide his annoyance. Ever since Felix had discovered his planned trip on the maiden voyage of Enterprise, the new ship built especially as a toy for the personal use of the R&D department as far he could tell, the lad had been playing up, demanding to go along too.

"Not until you've completed pressure-suit training," he said for what seemed like the hundredth time. Plus there was the little issue of having a pressure suit specially made to accommodate a tail. Did they stuff it down the trouser leg or did they give it its very own sleeve.

"But they won't let me till I'm sixteen," Felix growled, ears flat back against his skull, giving Timothy's kit-bag a resentful kick. "That's like a thousand years away."

Timothy could only watch in frustration as the boy stormed away in disgust, laces trailing, to glare out of the large window of the departure lounge, a long glass wall that gave an excellent view of the air-field.

Below stood a row of aircraft, among them squat boxy space shuttles, their black and gold livery doing little to hide just how ugly they were.

Around them bustled the ground-crew going about their various tasks. Beyond, one of the more normal short-distance aircraft sedately taxied towards the runway.

On the runway a shuttle rose up into the air, its engine growling a thunderous roar as it sped away, rapidly gaining height as it bulled its way into orbit.

Beyond, out of sight, was the new landing pad that had become quickly necessary for the use of the larger and more space faring craft. Yet another field of dairy cows sacrificed in the name of progress.

Somehow, instead of being on one of the normal shuttles he'd landed a ticket for the maiden flight of R&D's new toy, the Enterprise. At least they hadn't called it the Millennium Falcon or something.

He wondered how much Carrow had been involved in the design. He shuddered to think, though he doubted it could be worse than the airport building itself, where the giant bastard had clearly run rampant.

Hence the columns shaped like heroic figures (gilded of course) that glared down at the passing travellers, making them feel guilty about their excessive duty free binge no doubt, and lots of geometric trim (also gilded) that had been slathered everywhere.

But at some point someone had thought it would be a grand idea to get someone in who actually designed airport interiors, and he, or she had struck viciously, hence the horrific carpet.

Timothy considered the design a moment, it was as if someone had herded in a horde of small children and then force-fed them smarties until they threw up all over the floor.

Carrow had clearly taken this as a challenge, and had retaliated with the most horrific seating, (gilded of course) in an Aztec inspired design to go with all the geometric trim around the place. The designer had clearly seen this as a massive insult and had struck back with upholstery that matched the carpet, and also did absolutely nothing to improve the comfort of said seating, as his behind kept telling him in great and increasing detail.

An elbow caught him unexpectedly in the ribs. "It's going to be fine," Wulfric said, shifting uncomfortably, also plagued by the weaponised seating.

"No doubt," Timothy said. "Are you going to be alright? If he gets too much…"

"I'll ship him off to your cousin," Wulfric laughed.

"Ah…is that the best of ideas?" Timothy was mildly horrified at the thought of a resentful Felix running amok with Tiffany and Tyler in his wake, as around them the neighbourhood burned down to the ground. He doubted Trudi would ever forgive him.

Wulfric shook his head, clearly amused by his worrying. "I'm sure once he realises we're going to be spending time talking to the Bio-mech guys about this thing," he waggled his stump, "he'll be fine."

"Watching you get poked and prodded by those lunatics," Timothy gave him a dubious look. It wasn't his idea of a good time.

"Yeah well, I went and had a chat with them a few days ago, see if they could help me," Wulfric said. "You know the short chubby one…"

Vaguely. On the whole Timothy tried to avoid them all as much as he could.

"…he's gone and replaced his eyes with experimental prosthetics, and err…your name came up."

"No." Timothy snapped. "Absolutely not." Just the thought of someone heading towards his face with knives and pointed impliments made him shudder.

"…departing for Luna Primaris…" the tannoy crackled into life, "…all boarding for Luna Primaris. Please proceed to Gate 1..."

Scooping up his kit-bag, Timothy nearly fell into the seating as Felix roughly tackled him.

"I'm going to be back before you know it," he ruffled the lad's wild hair. "I'll bring you back a moon rock, okay."

Felix gave him a watery smile, ducking and scrubbing at his eyes, pretending the entire thing had never happened.

With a last wave to Wulfric he joined the straggling crowd that was headed towards Gate 1.

It was a motley collection of witches and wizards in traditional robes, complete with pointy hats, nerdy looking types clearly on their way to take part in the many science and technology projects now being set up in Luna Primaris, and a very normal looking couple, boringly average in appearance, which of course made them stand out a mile.

Looked like his weird stalkers were back, MI5…or maybe MI6, or possibly something foreign, he wasn't sure, and in the end did he really want to know?

He certainly hoped they enjoyed their little jaunt to the Moon. Or maybe he was being unnecessarily paranoid, and they were just a completely normal couple, off to have a lovely little get away in a new and daring location. You never knew…

Their boarding passes were scanned and checked, and then they were off across the tarmac in an opened topped passenger bus, heading towards the Enterprise, its giant angular form looming above them, peppered with thrusters, wings a stumpy afterthought, its paintwork gleaming in the sunlight.

It looked like a cross between a ship and a submarine, the whole idea of it being a type of aircraft merely an afterthought, but the colour…

"Why did they paint it bloody red," he muttered to himself, ignoring the unamused stare of the witch who had ended up sitting beside him.

At least it wasn't plastered with skulls, or gilded, or covered with Carrow's devotional texts, just bigger than a jumbo-jet and bright pillar-box red.

They boarded the massive ship via a set of steps that reached up to the underside of the Enterprise in between the middle landing gear that hulked on either side, towers of metal and hydraulics.

His boarding pass was checked yet again, and he found himself being led to his cabin for the next twenty-four hours by a member of the flight crew, her navy blue uniform impeccably pressed, brass buttons gleaming, her lace jabot an immaculate white.

The cabin door clicked shut behind him, and suddenly alone, he sagged, all the stress of the past few weeks piling down on top of him. Maybe, finally, he'd have the opportunity to recharge his batteries.

"Not getting my hopes up," he laughed sarcastically to himself as he stowed his kit-bag in the locker beneath the narrow bed.

Though the cabin was small he suspected he'd got one of the nicer offerings. It even had its own tiny loo and shower, a fold down table and a chair, that looked more like it belonged in a cockpit, the cabin window, its inches thick, multi-layered glass giving a wonderful view of the airfield and everything scurrying away from the Enterprise as fast they could.

A data-screen flickered into life, "…put on your harness. The four point harness is designed for your safety and comfort. Please take your seat and…"

"Yes, yes," Timothy grumbled at the bossy electronic device as he took his seat, placed by the window for maximum view of any disaster that might befall this untried ship, and began wrestling with the harness. He hoped he was getting the right clips into the right slots, because if he wasn't…

The data-screen pinged cheerfully, lighting up in green. "Congratulations, your harness is adjusted correctly," the annoying voice crooned. "For your safety and comfort please do not smoke on this vessel…"

He glared at the bloody thing, resigned to nearly a fortnight of nicotine withdrawal, and no, the patches did not cut it.

"…event of an emergency your cabin will seal itself off and act as a self-contained refuge…"

Wonderful.

"…there are also emergency life-boat pods are located at both ends of each corridor…" the data-slate zoomed in on an internal map of the ship, highlighting their location. He hoped never to step foot inside one, ever.

The safety-briefing rattled on, one of the flight-crew entering briefly to check he was properly seated and strapped in, while increasingly he could feel the ship coming to life beneath him, the throbbing rumble of its engines rising until he felt he might vibrate apart.

The tarmac of the airfield slowly began to fall away, the increasing sprawl of Godric's Hollow coming into view, the distant windows of the Lodge glinting in the sunshine for a moment, as it all fell away, becoming an abstract patchwork of greens and browns, drifting away as the Enterprise began to move, familiar landscape appearing and disappearing at an increasingly alarming angle until it became obscured as the ship entered clouds, the fog outside a monotonous grey.

Beneath him he could feel the engines rapidly increasing their power to an intensity that seemed impossible, pressure like a giant hand slamming him in the chest, shoving him back in his flight chair as the ship cleared the clouds, rapidly leaving them behind, as they stretched out on all sides, gleaming painfully white in the sunlight.

Increasingly he could see the curvature of the Earth, the sky darkening through dark blue to black, stars beginning to appear, flat and unblinking, the pressure pushing him back in his seat finally easing.

To his detached fascination the Earth began to tilt round as if the ship were falling on its side, leaving him looking out a scene of delicate clouds, glittering ocean, a continent smudged with green, brown and yellow, rivers meandering their way to the sea.

He was in space.

The thought seemed unreal, the view too similar to ones he'd seen numerous times on the telly filmed from various space-stations, even artistic renderings from films. Though none were quite so beautiful, he thought as he watched the Earth slide past, oceans gleaming in the stark sunlight, lace-like clouds casting shadows across the bulk of Siberia, glimmering lights of human life beginning to appear as the Enterprise raced round to the night side.

Then something struck him. No Carrow, for an entire fortnight. Timothy began to smile as he relaxed back in his chair. He was sure he would cope.

oOo

Two days all to himself had turned out to be surprisingly boring. He'd lasted the first morning before he'd started looking for something to do, desperately needed something to do.

Bloody Carrow and his "you can rest when you're dead" attitude was apparently contagious.

So far he'd explored the small library (mainly popular novels, especially who-dunnits. Mum would be in heaven). Had his hair trimmed in the tiny little barbers poked into what looked like a storage cupboard, had a workout in the onboard gym, and even had a swim, of a kind, in the zero-g swimming-pool.

That had been an interesting experience.

He'd found his way there, bearing a pair of underpants he'd transfigured into swimming trunks wrapped in a towel, to find a giant bubble of water floating in the tiled space, other passengers swooping and diving through it in an approximation of swimming.

Because it wasn't really possible to swim normally in it, you sort of floated in the proximity of the water and pulled yourself along against it, but if you pulled too hard you would suddenly find yourself free floating surrounded by drifting globules of water.

It had been highly enjoyable.

Looking around for the next diversion he came across an activity he had once dreamed of as a little boy. Of course he signed himself up immediately…

"…just need to check your oxygen levels one last time," the crew member over-seeing this space-walk said, his voice professionally cheerful over the helmet vox.

Blinking Timothy brought up his suit's status in his helmet optics. Yes, oxygen levels were normal, suit pressure was holding, and the thermal circuits were correctly adjusted for optimal comfort.

The freight air-lock they were currently in felt rather crowded with seven people stuffed in it, four passengers looking for diversion and the three crew members there to make sure they didn't maim themselves during the experience.

Despite the cramped conditions, the other passengers were doing their best to give him a wide berth, which considering what they looked like…he glared at the person nearest him, clad in a fluorescent purple pressure suit, who sensed his ire and edged away.

When he'd realised he needed a pressure suit for this trip he'd actually braved the little boutique that had recently opened near the Knight-Market to cater to such needs. The suits on sale had been so eye-smarting he had thrown himself on the mercies of R&D, accepting whatever they could offer him.

It had turned out to be a modified and upgraded version of what the vampires wore, complete with body armour, a revamped life-support system and improved thermal regulation, apparently.

At least it was black. Apart from the helmet.

He'd got stuck with a golden skull helmet, despite his pleading for something nice and plain. Carrow's meddling most likely. Worse, the blasted thing had Carrow's "I" symbol engraved on the forehead, just between the eyes.

He felt like a right idiot in the thing, like a gilded, armoured skeleton. So he'd attempted to soften the look a bit by adding his sash, but it hadn't really helped, so he'd hidden the entire thing under his great-coat. He had a nasty feeling he still looked like a right plonker.

At least he didn't look like an anorexic telly-tubby...or an old shopping-trolley, or even whatever it was the crew were wearing.

Their suits were navy blue, which was fine but then someone had had the bright idea of covering it with the BE airline logo in gold. The effect was unfortunately tacky. He suspected Carrow's influence.

But while part of his mind was jumping with excitement over doing some new and novel, his nicotine deprived nerves were screaming at him all the ways this could go wrong, a suit puncture, drifting away from the Enterprise and being left behind, his suit oxygen supply running out…

A warning symbol began flashing in his peripheral vision, a warning about the rapidly depleting atmosphere of the airlock, screaming at him to keep his helmet on. His excitement built even as his stomach clenched in alarm; no turning back now.

And then the airlock doors drifted open, slow and ponderous, revealing the pitch black of space outside.

Nothing between him and it, the excitable part of his brain giggled even as his nerves silently screamed at him to back away.

"Nothing to worry about," the overly cheerful crew member said, ushering them forward towards the rectangle of nothing-ness, clipping them one-by-one to retractable safety-lines that pulled down from above the airlock doorway.

The other passengers shuffled forward, gingerly stepping out into the darkness, their safety-lines snaking after them.

Timothy watched them go, trepidation building, even as the attending crew member clipped his safety-line to his suit.

And then he was on his own. He teetered on the rim of the airlock a moment, balanced on the edge where the ship's gravity gave out and space began.

The other passengers seemed in their element gently drifting in the void, lazily spinning as the supervising crew-members watched closely.

Feeling intrepid he stepped out into the void, feeling the pull of gravity disappear as he tumbled slowly forward, the red bulk of the ship wheeling past, stars shining brightly in the shimmering darkness, like glitter sprinkled on black velvet, staring back at him.

Lazily turning he took in the ship as it towered over him, a slab of gleaming red, defiant against the darkness, hanging in the void, glimmers of light along its length from the many cabin windows, his safety-line a shimmering silver rope attaching him to the sanctuary of the ship.

It had looked ungainly and ugly on the ground, but here in its element the Enterprise had a striking beauty.

He couldn't help but grin; if his six year old self could see him now…

…and there just peeking out from behind the ship, a small blue smudge, clouds glittering in the sunlight.

Earth hung in the darkness, so small and fragile, just like him, the other passengers twirling gently nearby oblivious, and the ship just a little puddle of life, swallowed up by the sheer vastness of space.

Tiny, insignificant, fragile, and yet it was all related, connected, him, the ship, the Earth and all its living crawling breathing inhabitants, the Sun…everything was connected right down to the atomic level in an intricate cosmic dance.

He could see it so clearly now.

A spark in the distance dragged his attention away from the shimmering fire of life that surrounded Earth. There in the distance lay another world, a very different planet, teeming with strange creatures all going about their business, and beyond that world another, and another…

The Universe was filled with life, with potential. It was dizzying, thrilling, humbling…

And now he was looking, he could see underlying it all what Carrow called the Empyrean, the Warp…a vast churning, shimmering ocean of magical potential…

There were things swimming in it, if you could call it that. Tracking, hunting, he saw, viciously attacking and devouring whatever they could. He watched in fascination for a moment, this strange dance of non-life.

But then one of them seemed to sense him despite its lack of any discernible features, sniffing him out with senses he could not begin to guess at, stalking him across the shifting formless ocean of raw magical potential, racing towards him at impossible speeds, others taking note and joining in the hunt.

Horrified he lunged backwards, scrabbling for something protective, a shielding charm, his wand…desperately he began to recite one of Carrow's favourite prayers…

Something was attempting to get his helmet off. He tried fighting, but his limbs felt as if they were made of lead, heavy and uncoordinated. The atmosphere indicator was red, wasn't it…no, it was glowing a steady green in his periphery vision.

The fight sagged out of him. What was going on?

A gust of air hit his face, slightly metallic from the recycling system, and he found himself blinking in the artificial light of the air-lock, staring up at one of the supervising crew-members who was watching him with concern. His helmet was off, revealing a youthful tanned face, his dark curly hair neatly cropped.

"…you alright?" the man asked, his black eyes worried.

"…" Timothy swallowed, suddenly aware of just how dry his mouth was. "I'm fine," he croaked, "I think."

The crew-man seemed relieved. "We thought you were having issues with your suit, but then you started….glowing. You're one of those wizards, aren't you?"

"…yes…I…" Timothy rasped, his embarrassment increasing as he took in the other passengers all watching him with intense fascination as he sat slumped on the floor of the air-lock.

"Looked like you were covered in St Elmo's fire," his colleague glared at him, her dark blonde hair tightly braided to her scalp to aid in its fitting under her helmet.

If only the air-lock floor would be cooperative and swallow him up. "I am so sorry," he said, "I've caused you a great deal of inconvenience, and…"

"It's not a problem," cropped-curls said as he hauled him to his feet, "as long as you're all right."

"And go to med-bay if you start feeling off at all," blonde-braids glared at him.

"Of course," Timothy nodded, beginning to edge towards the exit.

"By any chance, did you experience a feeling of overwhelming, erm…oneness with the universe, or something like it? Cropped-curls asked.

Timothy stared at him, "something like it."

"Ah," Cropped-curls and blonde-braids exchanged understanding looks. "Looks like you've had a bout of space-euphoria. Don't worry you should be fine, it's very common," blonde-braids actually smiled at him.

"Likely, if you do another space-walk, it won't be anywhere near as strong," Cropped-curls said, his expression sympathetic.

"I…thank-you," Timothy sidled towards the exit, his embarrassment creeping up his spine. "I think it best if I go and have a lie-down," he gave them a curt nod before beating a hasty retreat.

Finally, back in the sanctuary of his cabin he slumped back in his chair. That had been a little too thrilling; if he actually dared he'd be pouring himself a stiff drink right at this moment, but Carrow had rather effectively terrorised such things out of him. What he'd give for a cigarette right now.

The entertainment channel proved unhelpful, full of family friendly movies, documentaries and the like. He felt far too shaken to appreciate such ordinary, everyday cheerfulness.

But buried in the menus he found something much more suitable, a never ending video of a spring meadow, a log fire, a rainy day…

With a sigh of relief he fell into a deep meditation to the sound of rain pattering on a window and the distant sound of the wind in trees.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

It was warm…and dark, so dark. He tried opening his eyes but they felt odd, gummy, as if he'd slept too long. But he definitely wasn't in a bed, of that he was very sure.

Some sort of casket maybe, so small he could barely move his arms up to his face it was so confining, liquid sloshing around him…

His mind jolted at the thought.

Liquid.

He was surrounded by it. It filled his mouth, his nose, his lungs, his eyes…

He panicked, thrashing against his confines as best he could, his heartbeat echoing in his ears, oddly doubled.

But then the liquid began draining away leaving him coughing and gasping, cringing back as a blast of frigid air hit his face. He blinked hard, frantically trying to see around the blinding light what was trapping him so securely still, flinching back as something rough and coarse wiped at his face. He tried escaping the unpleasant sensation that was making the skin creep along his spine, but whatever was doing it took no notice of his protests.

At least he could finally open his eyes, the light still painfully bright for a moment, a vague impression of a rough concrete ceiling then a face swam into view, a man peering down at him in concern, his dark hair twisted up in a ridiculous knot on the top of his head, held in place by a pencil of all things.

Bewildered, he slipped back into the warm comfort of the darkness.

When he woke again he found himself lying in a bed, a blanket tucked around him, the texture like sandpaper against his skin, though when he checked it seemed like a completely normal blanket.

But his hand…he inspected the appendage carefully, and then the other one. Disturbed, he threw back the covers to find his legs similarly afflicted, overly large and covered in soft blonde hair, like he'd been badly flocked.

He must look ridiculous.

At least someone had given him some clothes. They'd dressed him in rather basic grey shorts and a t-shirt thing, which just raised even more disturbing thoughts.

The arguing broke threw his growing panic. It was clear the two verbal combatants were doing their best to be quiet, but were failing miserable.

Curiosity rising he slipped from the bed and peered round the corner. There at the end of a long room were two figures, deep in a hissed conversation.

One of them he recognised, the bloke who'd peered in at him when he'd been in that liquid filled place. The man was wearing a white lab coat, like a mad scientist stereotype, underneath which he wore a bright pink t-shirt and faded old camo trousers that he'd had rolled up to mid-calf. The hair that had previously been in a knot now fell around his shoulders, glossy black curls gleaming in the artificial illumination, the pencil now tucked behind an ear as this strange man placated and soothed an even stranger and more menacing figure swathed in black robes.

Looked just like a film bad-guy if ever he'd seen one, straight out of Flash-Gordon, he grinned, all he needed was a pointy beard. He blinked in surprise; his eyes must be playing tricks, because those robes weren't plain after all, but patterned with a design of skulls surrounded by leafy foliage, like the man (he assumed) had stolen the curtains from a particularly morbid Victorian Undertaker.

It wasn't doing anything to dispel the evil-villain image at all.

Definitely someone he didn't want to get too close to, even more than the lab-coat bloke, who looked inoffensive enough, but there was just something about him, something not right that niggled at the back of his mind.

So he wasn't going to go that way then.

He looked around the room increasingly desperate for a way out. There were alcoves lining this boring grey room, alcoves just like the one he was currently trapped in, each one simply furnished with a bed and a small cupboard. Most were empty, but some weren't.

He wasn't alone it appeared, but the others involved in this weird nightmare were either still asleep in their beds, or just beginning to stir. No help there then.

But beyond the alcoves, to his relief, was a doorway, which led who knew where, but it had to be better than here, hadn't it. So, cautiously, checking the two arguing weirdos were still distracted he silently padded away.

It wasn't as if he'd got anything to lose, was it.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

The view was stunning in a brutal sort of way, a stark landscape of craters, towering pillars of rocks and vast plains slid past, features vaguely familiar from Astronomy class, the Enterprise now safely in orbit around the Moon.

He'd been invited up to the bridge to witness entering orbit by the Captain. Timothy wasn't quite sure why, but he'd happily accepted. He was on holiday after all, in a way, his first since…since…the summer after he'd finished Hogwarts, and Mum and Dad had taken him and Mattie to Tenerife for a week, their very last family holiday together as a family. It had been fun, and very hot and he'd got horribly sunburnt.

It had also been a long time ago, it felt like a different lifetime, when he was young and innocent and never met the bloody murderous giant.

They were moving into the shadowed side of the Moon now, a velvety blackness sliding past, broken only by a tiny spider-web of glimmering lights that appeared to be occupying a crater somewhere near the equatorial region. Lunar Primaris he assumed.

It looked so isolated and lonely in the vastness of space, filled with stars that seemed to stare back at him expectantly, drawing him towards them…

With an effort Timothy tore his gaze away, busily tamping back memories of hungry hunting things, turning to the bridge of the Enterprise. It was a lot more cramped than he'd been expecting (he blamed Star Trek for that).

Underneath the looming meters-thick windows was a U-shape of control panels, a dizzying array of buttons, levers and displays he had no hope of understanding, the crew strapped into their restraint chairs working away as they prepared the Enterprise for landing at Lunar Primaris.

Perched above them, on a raised platform accessed by ladder-like steps, surrounded by its very own bank of displays, buttons and levers was the Captain's chair beside which he currently stood.

And of course Carrow had managed to sneak in his own personal little touch, as behind the Captain's chair, looming over everything was a large gilded Aquila that glared down at them disapprovingly.

"You won't want to miss this."

Timothy jerked slightly, looking round to find the Captain smiling at him. (The man's name eluded him at the moment and he was too embarrassed to ask)

"Quite something, isn't it," the man gave him a quick grin, "but the best bit is coming up…just now." He nodded towards the ridiculously thick windows.

Timothy dared to look, just as the Sun appeared around the edge of the Moon, blinding him for a moment until some light-reactive treatment on the windows responded, dimming the glare to bearable levels.

Hanging in the darkness was a slim crescent that glimmered blue, small and frail in the void.

Swallowing back the vertigo that threatened, Timothy tried a smile, the motion pulling uncomfortably on his scars. It came out wrong of course, the Captain doing his best to hide his wince.

"It's…beautiful," he tried, feeling the word somehow inadequate.

"It certainly is," the Captain sighed. "Hah, when I retired from BA, I thought I was just going to be working for a little local airline…and then I get Star Trek. Pity about the uniforms though," he glared down at his navy jacket.

"Though I suspect I've got off lightly." He glared at Timothy, "so how did you get a black suit? The plainest I was able to get was bright red; makes me feel like I should be driving for Ferrari or something."

"I err, got this through work," Timothy admitted with a tight smile.

"At least you don't look like you're wearing your dad's old snow-suit," the Captain pointed out. "Shame about the Napoleonic Gestapo look though."

Timothy gave him a painful smile.

oOo

Typically there was a queue to disembark, probably one of the most garish, colourful ones he'd ever had the misfortune to find himself in.

Timothy glared at the back of the witch in front of him, safe in the knowledge that the gold skull-helmet of his pressure-suit would hide his distaste of the lime-green paisley horror of an over-suit she had apparently decided was ideal for her little jaunt to the Moon.

Ah yes, he could really see her aching need to look as if she was wearing cheap ghastly 70's curtains that any self-respecting charity shop would immediately dump in the rag-bin.

Seemingly sensing his wishes, his helmet optics helpfully supplied targeting crosshairs centring on her head, her back. He blinked them away irritably, glaring further along the queue, reluctant to admit he was really just nervous about where he was about to step.

A wizard had perched his pointed hat on top of his bubble-style helmet, probably held in place with a sticking charm, and there was a witch further towards the front who'd done something similar with a flowery bonnet.

Only in the Wizarding World… what was it about magic that seemed to destroy any sense of taste, or common sense, or…

His train of thought was derailed by the sounds of raised voices, the people in front of him craning their necks, standing on tip-toe to see what was going on.

There ahead, near the front of the queue were two figures clad in bulky white pressure suits. He squinted suspiciously, the sensors of his helmet obligingly zooming in.

He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

This strange pair had somehow got their hands on the sort of spacesuits that he was certain had been used for the Apollo moon landings, right down to the sturdy overshoes that protected the suit itself from being punctured by stray moon-rocks. He almost expected to see the NASA logo on a sleeve.

Who would wear such things? A thought struck him. The boring couple, who may or may not be secret-service. Unless they were familiar with Godric's Hollow they wouldn't know that Aquila Ind. had spawned yet another little start-up company offering a strange and esoteric product for sale. Clearly they had improvised.

They looked so bulky and awkward, their life-support systems rearing up behind their large bubble-style helmets…life support systems…were they even compatible with the Aquila Ind. standard?

"…aren't compatible with our life-support system standard," the flight-crew member was practically shouting, her face flushed with frustration.

So, probably not then.

"I cannot allow you to go out there wearing suits that don't meet our standards," she glared up at them.

There was a muffled reply.

"Only if you sign disclaimer forms," the crew-member huffed, "and only if the Captain agrees. His decision is final."

She led them away and the queue shuffled forward, on its slow way off the ship, their pressure suits examined for any possible issues, the different vox-channels explained, their boarding-passes being checked yet again.

He'd almost forgotten his excitement at finally getting to walk on the Moon. His first steps brought him up short. Lit only by starlight and the sparse sprinkle of artificial lighting from the small settlement, the world he now found himself in was utterly alien.

Stark and barren, the rock-strewn floor of the crater Lunar Primaris sat in stretched out to the distant crags that marked its perimeter, the central spire looming up towards the star studded heavens.

And the silence…his breathing sounded almost thunderous, blood rushing in his ears, a distant river, the life support of his suit humming and gurgling, but the people bustling past, heaving luggage, waving to friends...in complete silence.

"Fine place to gawk," a voice crackled over the public vox-channel.

Timothy turned to find a middle-aged man glaring at him through his bubble-style helmet, though he quickly jerked back, hurrying away as quickly as he could given the constraints of the low gravity.

He shook himself, trudging rather bouncily after the other passengers, grateful for the practice in the zero-g room back home. Moon gravity took some getting used to.

They made their way towards the space-port terminal though it looked more like a bus-station to him, a series of open, brightly lit platforms with benches, a crowd of colourfully suited figures waiting. A pressurised building sat beyond them, "air" traffic control he assumed.

Did he go in…or…

A waving figure wearing purple robes over their pressure suit caught his eye. They held up a data-slate with "Faulks" scrawled across it in lime-green writing and then his helmet-vox crackled into life.

"Mr Faulks, I hope you had a good journey," Senior-Arithmancer Strange said as she bounced towards him.

"Fair, fair," he smiled. Suddenly realising she wouldn't be able to see it he nodded instead.

"Good, excellent," Strange said as she led him through the space-port. "You know, you've timed your visit just right, just at the end of Long-night."

"Long-night?" Timothy stared at her, puzzled.

"It's the Full Moon at the moment," her tone was a little bit patronizing he thought as he did some mental juggling, his brain struggling to remember everything about Astronomy he'd ever been taught, and then it struck him.

"I'm going to see the Sun rise, aren't I?"

"Exactly," Strange said. "We always have a little bit of a party when…Good Merlin, what are they wearing?

Timothy turned, only to see the possibly-boring-couple, still in their NASA style suits, slowly bouncing their way through the space-port, tugging along their suitcases, clearly quite dazed about what they were seeing.

So they'd managed to sweet-talk their way off the Enterprise then.

One of them attempted to pick up a rock, the bulky suit hindering their motion, causing them to pitch slowly, face-forward onto the ground, bouncing gently.

"Oh wonderful," Strange sighed, "tourists."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"…hmmm…the next item on the agenda then…so the DVLA said no to the flying cars then," Maria Curtis looked up from her data slate.

"Fraid so," Franklin swiped another biscuit from the plate that perched awkwardly on the corner of Percy's desk. "Seemed to be worried about how high they could go, all sorts of muttering about changes to highways infrastructure. Bit of a worry that they could be classified as aircraft, after a fashion. Sort of like helicopters." He brushed biscuit crumbs off his lab-coat onto the carpet, much to Percy's annoyance.

Above, the ceiling-putti rustled and shifted as they chased around the ceiling with their ribbons, others squabbling for the best roosting spots on the ledges to view the activity below them.

"Sort of an invitation to uncontrollable joy-riding I suppose," Dalziel said, "the test-driver wasn't keen on getting out of test vehicle B. Spiky one with all the back vents," he said at Percy's questioning look. "Kept saying he needed to take it round the circuit one more time. Heck, if we ever do manage to get these flipping things to market he'll be first on the list for one."

"And then jet-bikes," Dalziel murmured happily, eyes misting over.

Percy ignored him. He was sticking to a nice broomstick thank-you. Merlin couldn't make him get in one of these death traps.

Maybe he should have wrangled himself onto Mr Faulks' Moon trip, but then there wouldn't be anyone left to hold the fort and act as a buffer and filter between Mr Carrow and the rest of the world.

He would just have to endure.

"Maybe," an idea occurred to him, "maybe we could use them as transport on the Moon."

The others turned to stare at him, and he had to stop himself from flinching back. "I mean…"

"No, no," Franklin smiled, "good idea lad. Not like the engines on those things need oxygen to run…"

Percy frowned as a faint shuffling filtered in from the hall, like something very large trying to move very quietly.

"…and they wouldn't have problems dealing with all the deep dust drifts either," Franklin said. "Never thought I'd be in such a way-out situation, planning stuff for day to day use on the Moon…" he laughed.

Curtis and Dalziel smiled politely. "Try spending more time with Mr Carrow," Dalziel said. "He'll change your perspective on what's normal."

The rustling came again. His back prickling with unease, Percy reached for the desk drawer where he kept the small pistol he'd been given by Timothy for "just in case". Good, it was loaded.

"Is everything all right," Curtis eyed the pistol warily as he stood.

"Yes," Percy glanced at her, "yes, it's just…" he sidled towards the open office door, keeping the pistol down and hidden by his side.

He peered cautiously down the hall, not at all sure what to expect. Maybe it was just Artemis up to something. He jerked back in surprise, the pistol coming up reflexively.

Standing in the corridor, looking totally out of place and miserable, as he righted an ornament on one of the many sideboards, was an enormous man, almost as tall…no, Percy corrected himself. This man really was as tall as Carrow, maybe even a little taller, and almost twice as broad, solid with muscle to a comical degree.

This giant stranger had apparently been trying to sidle down the hall as quietly as possible, until he'd been thwarted by a figurine. But he seemed to be unused to his enormous body, oddly clumsy on his tree-trunk like legs, thick and meaty, and incredibly hairy.

Merlin was the man hairy, and very, very blonde. In fact, Percy pondered, he looked remarkably like a picture of a yeti he'd once seen, except albino. His eyes, on the other hand, were the most beautiful shade of cornflower blue he'd ever seen, full of worry, anxious, something utterly wild and dangerous, lurking in the depths.

Trying to relax and keep as calm as he could, Percy did the only thing possible given the circumstances.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" he asked.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

The stars above were blazing fires in the darkness of the sky, under the influence of his helmet's night optics. Around him the silver desert stretched away in all directions, strewn with rubble and boulders,

The silver desert stretched in all directions, strewn with rubble and boulders, undulating hills that hid craters, the horizon so much closer than he was used to.

Beneath his feet Timothy could feel the throb of the mining crawler's powerful engines as it made its slow and ponderous way across the lunar landscape, churning up dust and rocks as it continuously fed its furnaces where the raw iron ore began the process of being turned into steel.

From the observation deck at the top of the behemoth vehicle he could see the distinct track it left behind in its never ending search for iron; an unnatural straight line of churned up dust shining brightly white in the starlight, cutting through the undulating landscape like a knife-slash.

The mining crawler, officially called Prospector, unofficially know to its crew as the Churminator, a large hermetically sealed industrial building hanging low on enormous tracks, it had much in kin with a small oil-rig. Below, were housed all the machinery that processed the ore, the furnaces, the large fusion engines that kept the behemoth moving.

Above was the control centre, space-expanded storage areas, and the crew's living quarters consisting of dormitories, a kitchenette and living area. Though pretty cramped for the half-dozen crew, they had still managed to cram in a small gravity controlled gym to help them maintain their muscle mass and bone density.

It was cramped, dirty and extremely dangerous, but the crew seemed to be thriving, bizarrely cheerful as they churned their way across the Moon on a six months mission.

"Quite something isn't it," Strange nudged his arm, and he turned to find her helmet optics turned to him, watching him expectantly. Beyond her stood the Operations Supervisor, a short stocky woman who had managed to pour herself into a turquoise pressure suit covered in dancing hamsters. Fortunately they didn't show up too well under the night optics.

"Yes. Yes, it is," he said, suddenly realising he'd been quiet for too long. "I, er…" he descended into awkward silence.

"It's alright Timothy," Strange gave him a pat on the shoulder. "It can be quite overwhelming at first, being on a different planet. Definitely discombobulating."

"Tell me about it," the Supervisor laughed, her voice crackling over the helmet vox. "Honestly, the first week I was here I nearly walked out an airlock without my pressure suit…"

They stared at her in horror.

"…and now I get terrified if someone just opens a door and I haven't got my helmet on. Honestly, you'll get used to it really quickly. Though I agree, views like this, absolutely stunning."

"What about…" he jerked a hand towards the tracks now marring the landscape.

"Yeah," she shifted, "we're trying to keep it mainly in one area…but I know what you mean…maybe we can flatten it…"

"One thing we've been very clear on is no littering," Strange said, "everything we have here is a finite resource so…best to recycle it…"

"See," he could practically see the Supervisor's smile in her voice, "first Luna-conservationist."

"Huh," Timothy stared at the passing hillocks, "just seems a pity to mess this up really."

"Know what you mean," the Supervisor said "I come up here every day. Always gives me a little thrill knowing that no one else had see this before, that there's no one else for miles around…"

"Any problems with the larger boulders?" Strange asked, as the Prospector crawled its way past a rock the size of a large house.

"Occasionally, but we've developed tactics to deal with them…" the Supervisor said, the conversation rapidly moving on, she and Strange discussing some of the unforeseen problems that had arisen, the quality of the ore, production quotas…

Timothy could feel his brain slowly switching off. He knew he should be interested really, but there was something about geology that really made his brain want to go elsewhere.

So he went back to the slowly passing hills, the boulders, the vast star-lit sky. In the distance he could just catch a glimmer of something at the horizon. Was there another crawler there, with its flood-lights, or…

"What's that over there?" he asked, pointing.

The two women paused in their discussion of maintenance issues to look.

"Ooh!" the Supervisor squealed, the helmet-vox screeching and crackling with distortion.

"First-light," Strange shouted, bouncing on her heels. "How wonderful, the Sun's back!" she cooed as she enthusiastically waved to the little glimmer of light peeking over the horizon.

"Did you capture the helmet feed?" the Supervisor asked. "We always like to see First-light."

"I, err…probably," he said, a bit overwhelmed by her enthusiasm.

Beneath their feet the crawler began shuddering as if the ground below had suddenly decided to take on the qualities of an ocean, undulating and rocking, shaking the large vehicle uncontrollably.

He sank to his knees, gripping the railings tightly as the shaking went on and on, the crawler grinding to an abrupt halt.

To his acute embarrassment, Strange and the Supervisor seemed quite unfazed, riding out the shaking as if used to it.

"Just a Moon-quake Timothy," Strange's voice crackled in his ears. "Nothing to worry about really. You soon get used to them."

"They go on for longer than earthquakes though," the Supervisor chimed in. "Not that I've ever really experienced an earthquake myself."

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

"What do you mean a private project?" Curtis glared down at him, her expression terrifying enough to peel paint. "And you knew all about it."

Percy did his best not to slide any further down in his chair. Right now, given a choice between Curtis, or Mum on a rant after the Twins had pulled some awful stunt, he'd much rather face Mum.

"Yes, I know," he flinched away from the collective glares of Curtis, Franklin and Dalziel.

Behind them the blonde man-mountain watched in fascination.

"Honestly Perc," Franklin shook his head sadly, "I expected this sort of thing off the Big-Man, but you and Tim…"

Curtis raised a critical eyebrow, "and the people Bio-Mech do things to?"

"Are all volunteers and know exactly what they are getting into," Franklin glared at her. "Plus they get state-of-the-art prosthetics out of it."

Curtis seemed ready for an argument but Percy interrupted before they could really get going. "If we'd stopped the process, all of the, er…volunteers would have died, and some of them have, since…because of the process…"

They were glaring at him now, horrified.

"The Professor made it very clear," Percy struggled on, worried that he was making things worse, "the whole thing is highly experimental…with a low probability of success."

"I like being alive," the growling rumble of a voice put Percy in mind of two friendly mountains rubbing together. "M' glad you didn't stop it."

They turned to find bright blue eyes watching them intently.

"M' Andy," the Man-mountain rumbled placidly. "M' happy you didn't stop it. Don't know 'bout the others though."

The silence was deafening.

"We're going to have a little chat with Carrow about this," Curtis said through gritted teeth, her expression promising pain to whoever crossed her.

"And don't think you're getting out of it," she jabbed Percy in the chest with a neatly manicured finger. "None of this "I'm only a secretary" nonsense. You're involved in this mess too."

As if he'd personally assisted the giant bastard in selecting his victims or something, Percy glared after her as she swept from the office intent on hunting Carrow down and making him hurt.

oOo

The Training Hall rang with the clatter of practise weapons and deep, unfamiliar voices, Mr Faulk's team sounding positively squeaky in comparison as they shouted out instructions and encouragement to the two combatants who circled one another below in the duelling pit.

The new astartes were making up for their clear lack of skill with such delight and enthusiasm in the sheer act of fighting, it made Percy feel distinctly uncomfortable.

Andy sidled over, an expression of childish curiosity and delight on his broad face as he took in the combat. He seemed almost shy as he joined the other bio-engineered men, but they seemed welcoming enough. At least he was going to be okay, Percy thought.

And another positive, if you could call it that, it seemed that Cedric Diggory had survived the process, but of course that meant informing his parents. Which was going to be about as much fun as having your toenails torn off, he thought as he turned away with a sigh. Maybe he could find some way of palming that responsibility off on Carrow.

There had been twenty of those great sarcophagi. He'd seen them, Tim…Mr Faulks had taken him to see them, lurking in the Under-workings beneath R&D, surrounded by a cat's cradle of cables and pipes, and who knew what.

Twenty. But he could only see four…and Andy, which made five. What had happened to the others? Had they not made it…not survived?

Healer Savage was standing outside the Medical room, glaring at them, but it was a little more half-hearted than usual.

Curious. More than a little eager at distancing himself from the nearby violence, he sidled over.

"Brilliant, isn't it," Savage growled quietly as he approached. "More of the fucking psychos. And I thought it was bad enough having Carrow around…"

Percy nodded along to the man's rant. Beyond him, in the Infirmary, he could see a hulking figure stretched out on the examination table, covered by a sheet.

"What…Is it?" he asked, a nasty suspicion niggling at his mind.

"Yeah," Slaughter glanced back at the covered body. "One of them didn't take his transformation too well. Decided he'd rather be dead," Slaughter sighed heavily stroking a hand down his face, looking more tired than Percy had ever seen him. "He managed to get into the Under-workings, took a nose-dive into that really deep bit, must have fallen twenty, thirty feet easily, straight onto his thick skull. Snapped his neck. He was still alive when we found him…"

"That's awful," Percy stared at him appalled, lost for words.

"The big bastard took it really badly," Slaughter jerked a hand towards the doors and the Chapel beyond, a place Percy normally avoided like the plague, especially since the being of Carrow's veneration actually had his own lab on the premises, and was always open to visitors, offering them tea, coffee and jaffa cakes.

Curious, Percy made his way to the Chapel, sidling round the door.

Carrow had been kneeling before the altar, desperate for answers from his God. The "deity" in question was crouching awkwardly beside him, attempting to offer some sort of comfort. Around them, the walls of the Chapel rustled with activity as the various warrior-saints and terrible creatures depicted there, jostled for a better view.

"Why? Why did he jump?" Carrow came as close to begging as Percy had ever heard the man coming.

"Maybe…I think he possible found the changes to his body incredibly distressing and overwhelming," Professor Schmidt offered. "And he dealt with it in the only way he could think of at the time, I suspect."

Percy nearly leapt out of skin when Curtis appeared beside him, her expression grim.

"I was going to give him a piece of my mind, tell him what a pig-head idiot he is," she said quietly, "don't think I need to now, not with that poor lad having taken a leap like that."

"True," Percy muttered. Though he suspected it would take a lot more than that to get it through to Carrow that his wasn't the only way. The large man was currently accepting a very awkward hug off the Professor, looking very much as if he didn't quite know where to put his arms, or quite what he was supposed to do. It was one of the saddest things he'd ever seen.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

The Sun sat on the horizon, finally clear of the encircling crags, sending stark black shadows lurching across the crater, out-lining the boulders and rocks that littered the crater-floor.

It was breathtaking in its stark beauty, Timothy paused a moment, as he took in the silent silver-grey landscape before him, his breathing thunderous in his ears, as he struggled up a slope of dust that shifted and slid under his feet sending small rocks tumbling past him.

Ahead of him Strange had crested the small hill and stood waiting for him.

And it had seemed like such a good idea when he'd agreed to her suggestion to take a walk around Lunar Primaris, a nice break just to take in the landscape.

They couldn't go far due to the limitations of the oxygen they carried, but it was still good enough for two to three hours of walking.

It seemed it was a popular activity too, as they joined a trail that wound its way out of Lunar Primaris into the wilderness of the crater, an undulating plain of boulders, rocks, dust and smaller craters, some barely an inch across he was fascinated to see.

They also weren't alone. Ahead on the trail were two familiar NASA style suits, the boring couple again. He slowed his pace, Strange glancing at him.

"Everything all right?" she asked.

"Yeah," he muttered, "just…" he nodded towards the bouncing white suits. "Just want to avoid them. They're a bit…"

"Ah," Strange sounded completely sympathetic, "you know, it was a matter of weeks before we got the first sight-seer, wandering around the place and getting under foot, not really familiar with their pressure suits…where on Earth did they get those suits?"

"Hmm…America? " Timothy said, "certainly they look like the ones used by NASA."

"Really? I did not know that…fascinating…the muggle space program. I read up on it a little when we started building our own space-craft. Truly, the rockets they built were quite remarkable. Going up into space on a giant explosive, but I think our way is a lot safer," Strange said.

Timothy rolled his eye at the usual dismissive Wizarding attitude to anything muggle, though he had to agree with her about safety. Better the Enterprise than a Saturn rocket.

The odd couple were now taking turns posing by a large boulder while the other took photos. Maybe they were just harmless tourists, and he was being a paranoid weirdo, but if it quaked like a duck…

"Never mind. If we go this way," Strange drew his attention to a less travelled path, "we'll get an excellent view of the town, and no sight-seers under foot."

And apparently a great bit hill made of dust.

"Hurry up Timothy," Strange's voice crackled over his helmet vox.

"I'm coming as fast as I can," he growled as his feet slithered in the fine dust.

A rock tumbled towards his helmet and he caught it in reflex. Dark grey and an interestingly random shape…and he still hadn't had an opportunity to find a nice moon-rock for Felix.

Another one caught his eye as he scrambled further up the slope. No, he discarded it, too boring.

Or maybe this one. If you put your head on one side and squinted it almost looked like a lion…

"You absolute tourist," Strange's laughter crackled in his ears, "honestly!"

"I promised Felix I'd bring him back a nice moon-rock," he said with great dignity as he crested the hill, joining her at the top, his prizes clutched to his chest.

Strange shook her head. "With the number of people picking up moon-rocks as mementos there's soon going to be more of the stuff on Earth than the Moon itself."

He ignored her, carefully stashing his prizes in the pockets of his great-coat, turning his attention to the view. Below then lay Lunar Primaris, a colourful splodge in the silvery grey plain of the crater floor, now illuminated by the newly risen Sun, which sat just above the crags, sending stark shadows across the crater basin.

In the distance, the central peak of the crater stabbed up towards the stars its shadow pointing towards the small human settlement like an accusing finger.

"What's that?" he asked pointing to a gleaming dome-like structure that sat on the edge of the settlement.

"That? That's the Moon-garden. Some of the bio-science people wanted to see if they could grow plants here, how they fared and so on. Not to mention testing the shielding technologies we've been developing, and methods for recycling organic matter…and it's also proved interesting from a mental health point of view too…"

Blinking, he commanded his helmet optics to zoom in on the glinting dome.

"…thought it was a bit mad at first, but it's actually turned out to be incredibly useful."

There was a blurred rush that made his eye water, and then he was left staring at one of the most incongruous things he'd ever seen.

Someone had converted one of the larger craters that littered the plain, nearly twenty feet in diameter, into a garden. Nine large standing stones had been erected around its perimeter, heavily carved with runes and sigils in a complex of nested seals that glittered in the deep shadows.

They were clearly responsible for holding in the dome of artificial atmosphere that covered the little garden. It had a central patio he saw, made from genuine moon-gravel probably, surrounded by the planting. None of it had really had an opportunity to get established yet, though when it did he was sure it would look beautiful.

He was certain he recognised a couple of the plants from some very distant herbology classes, honking daffodils, hellebore…and there were roses too…and a very ordinary looking garden shed. Someone had painted it blue and white, they'd even put gingham curtains up in the window.

Next to the dome sat a habitation unit, its roof patterned in dizzying red and green spirals, a short tunnel connecting it to the greenery filled dome. A thought struck him, "so…what do they do about Long-Night?"

"Another very interesting project," Strange said as she strolled along the crest of the hill. "Some of the team have even turned it into a bit of a competition, see who can produce a lamp that most closely reproduces sunlight. It's harder than you think…and then of course they try them out on the plants, measuring growth, die-off, that sort of thing…we mustn't linger Timothy. Remember to check your oxygen supply."

Grumbling to himself he checked his oxygen levels as he followed her. Still more than half left, but she'd been very firm they have enough oxygen left to make it back to safety, in case of an emergency.

A flashing light on his data-slate caught his eye, and he pulled it out, flicking it open to find Percy had left him a message.

"Carrow's babies have hatched."

He drew in a sharp breath, that was just fan-bloody-tastic, he swore under his breath, his good mood crashing down around his feet into the lunar dust. Hadn't he been told that they would take at least another two or three weeks, before they were ready for removal from their tanks…had something gone wrong?

"Are you all right?" Strange's voice, full of concern, cut through his thoughts. Startled, he jerked away from her as she reached for his shoulder.

"Yes, I'm fine," he said, even as his heart pounded in his chest. "Just…some troubling news, about Carrow," he added darkly.

"Everything about Carrow is troubling," Strange said. "Best we don't linger…think oxygen Timothy."

Sighing he followed her along the path and back towards the colourful buildings of Luna Primaris.

"Whatever it is he's done now," she said as they walked along, "it's not like you can do anything about it, is it?"

He'd got to admit it, she was right there. Gazing up at the stars and the arching band of the Milky-way that strode overhead, he was literally on another world, might as well relax and enjoy his last few days here before he had to face the shower of hellish something Carrow had managed to unleash now.

Now if he could just have a cigarette…