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

Thank-you to my fantastic beta who has carefully checked my commas for signs of cruelty.

Author's Note

To my readers, I hope you and yours, families, loved ones, are safe and well during these interesting times in which we find ourselves.

Who thought going into 2020 that we would end up here, in the middle of a global pandemic, furloughed from work, stuck at home, only able to go out once a day for essential reasons only.

Looking at the news this morning (08/05/20), it appears here in the UK, that we're probably in for another three weeks of lockdown with restrictions gradually relaxing back to some semblance of normalcy. Unless of course there's a second spike in cases. What with one thing and another (locusts anyone?), 2020 just seems to be turning into a really crazy awful year for natural disasters.

Anyway, this is the last chapter of Phoenix Fiasco. There will also be an epilogue which I am currently working on.

Again I hope you are all keeping safe and well, and I hope you enjoy the chapter.

Chapter 10

The bright sunshine did nothing to lift the bleakness of his mood as the port-key dumped them down in a patch of scrubby wasteland, dotted with elder trees, buddleias and broken concrete.

Typical post-industrial wasteland complete with the obligatory railway in the background, Timothy grimaced as he watched a small two carriage train rattle past. This Dark Lady had chosen well it seemed, and now here they were to make her day as miserable as possible.

Or he hoped so, exhaustion pulling at his limbs, threatening to weigh him down. He shook it off, giving Carrow a glare on principle as he strode past, his power armour gleaming in the sunshine, looking even more incongruous than normal, a small blue beetle glinting as it…she, clung to the decorative trim of a pauldron.

He wished Skeeter much joy going with the annoying man, who was clearly still fresh as a daisy, the vampires jogging in his wake as he led them up to the security fencing near to their target, the feed belt on the replacement rotator canon swaying as he walked.

"The Big Guy's not taking any chances," Chuddy muttered, eyeing the large weapon.

"Can't say I blame him," Juno whispered back.

Carrow barely even paused at the fence, simply shoving his armoured fingers in between the galvanised uprights, pushing them aside with ease as he made a gap large enough for him to climb through, the others pouring through after him.

The particular industrial unit the Dark Lady had set her operations up in was on the end of an isolated row of unloved looking brick-faced units, all of them with faded steel shutters and leaking weed-filled guttering.

Hopefully the isolation would play into their hands, Timothy thought as he and his team darted down the side of the building, their target the rear fire-exit surveillance had flagged. Desperate to get into place before someone chanced to look out of a window and witnessed Carrow lurking outside.

The fire-exit had once been painted red, but so much had flaked off, it was now more a dull steel-grey.

They crouched beside it, waiting for Carrow's signal, pale and tired, all of them, Chuddy, Juno, Bradely and himself, sporting injuries, faces unusually grim, the missing team members all too obvious. Timothy sighed to himself as he shifted, gripping his weapons more firmly, of course now they were all exhausted things were bound to go to hell.

He pushed that train of thought firmly away, couldn't afford to be distracted or he'd end up in the bed next to Wulfric at St Mungo's.

oOo

Carrow barred his teeth, blood thrumming at the thought of combat. Bringing the rotator cannon to bear, he fired several short bursts through the flimsy steel roller door that marked the main entrance of this small manufactorium unit.

The faint sound of music and chatter from within abruptly ceased, drowned out by the blessed roar of the cannon…then deafening silence, then faint sobbing, screams…

Shoving his fingers under the roller door, he heaved it up, the thin metal buckling out of shape with a scrunching, tearing, squeal. The vampires poured into the space beyond, quick dark figures with their guns at the ready, intent on revenge for their fallen comrades.

Striding after them, he took in the scramble of people trying to get away, tripping and stumbling over their fallen fellows, the jumble of plywood that partially filled the space, blood smeared on the floor, abandoned equipment…

A heavy load slammed into his side, almost causing him to stumble, rotten bony hands of something not quite human scrabbling at his armour. Carrow bared his teeth in a wild feral grin, blood roaring for the fight.

oOo

The strangers had arrived with a resounding pop just as Ernie had been carefully manoeuvring the fork-lift truck across the yard with its precious cargo of spare parts.

He'd thought it was some bloody kids larking about with fireworks in the middle of the day, but when he'd looked round to give them a piece of his mind he'd been brought up quite short.

The small gathering of dark figures were menacing in their way, but what really took his breath away was the armoured giant in their midst, clearly designed for violence. It must have weighed easily as much as his Renault Clio if he were any judge…except his Clio weren't near so graceful, so cat-like in its movements…the way it tore the security fence apart like damp cardboard, letting its companions stream into the yard, some of whom sported gleaming skull-like masks he saw with increasing alarm…and that fence had survived without so much as a dent when Dan had backed the van into it…

"Ern…come on, Ernie, we need to get out of here," Frank hissed as he sidled round the fork lift, trying not to attract the attention of the armed nutters.

Ernie just sat there mouth open as he stared at the invaders. To Frank's horror, the giant armoured robot thing lifted up an enormous gun that wouldn't have looked out of place mounted on a tank or helicopter or something, and took aim at the steel roller doors of the unit several doors down.

"Come on," Frank said through gritted teeth, grabbing Ernie and bodily yanking him from his seat in the forklift. Scrambling, they ran towards the sanctuary of the workshop. Frank hammered on the button to lower the roller blind, holding the button down with a trembling hand. "Come on, come on," he growled as the thing crawled down at a snail's pace.

"Don't just bloody stand there," he snapped at Dan who was wasting time peering out at the crazy people, "ring the bloody police!"

oOo

The roar of the rotator cannon was unmistakable. With a jab of his wand, Timothy vanished the fire-door leaving a dark rectangle. Chuddy dived through first, closely followed by Juno.

He charged into the dark space, Bradely's heavy footsteps following him, ducking instinctively behind a shrink-wrapped pallet stacked with cardboard boxes, only to find himself nose to nose with a young woman wearing a grubby lab coat over jeans and a cat jumper. She screamed, clearly terrified out of her wits, turned tail, bolting in the opposite direction before Timothy could grab her, disappearing through a gap in the industrial shelving.

"Bloody…" he growled to himself. "Get her, before she warns someone."

In the distance they could clearly hear the sounds of Carrow doing battle with something large and angry.

"I think the horse might have bolted on that one," Chuddy said as he glanced around at the store room. "Wonder what this is all about."

Timothy blinked as he looked around properly, taking in the contents of the shelving, the long table set up for packing small glass jars of bright coloured boiled-sweets, but the place stunk like a fusty old potions lab.

"What the Throne is this all about?" he said, horror slowly building, because he knew exactly what this was about. "They were about to flood the magical world with some sort of recreational drug…"

Juno edged around another pallet, this one partially packed. "Maybe they were going to let them loose on the Muggle world as well. This would be kind of cute looking at a music festival or something," she gave a jar a little prod.

Timothy considered it. Potentially it would be a nice little money spinner, raising funds for all the Dark Lady's plans. And wasn't the thought of that horrifying.

He gave the deserted space a last glance, following Chuddy through the gap lab-coat girl had disappeared through. It turned out to be a crude doorway, crudely tacked together from plywood off-cuts, its surface scratched up and battered.

It led into another storage area filled with cages, familiar from previous lab raids, stacked to the ceiling, but fortunately these ones were all empty, if not particularly clean.

"Err, Boss," Juno said from behind him, and he turned to find her and Bradely standing in the crude doorway still, looking at it with concern.

"Bradely thinks these scratches might be runes of something," Juno said.

Bradely nodded, his already pale complexion turning a sickly colour, uncomfortable at being the centre of attention.

"I'll just stay here then shall I," Chuddy grumbled by the room's other exit.

The scratches, now he thought about it, definitely did have a pattern, though what it was he couldn't remember off the top of his head, his exhausted mind insisting that he should stop being cruel to it and do something sensible, like go to sleep.

So he went and inspected the other exit too, peering round an annoyed Chuddy, finding the same pattern of scratching. Hadn't he tried something like this once when he'd just managed to get his very first flat, the one that barely had a bathroom, but it had had a tiny useless closet and he'd…

"Space expansion," he grinned in triumph, ignoring the painful pull of his scars. "They've built lots of tiny rooms out of plywood in a muggle warehouse then expanded them all."

"Oh bloody hell," Chuddy grimaced. "This place is going to be a bloody warren."

"What…what if they get damaged?" Bradely asked.

"Then you'll suddenly find yourself, and everything else in the room, trying to occupy a space the size of a phone-box," Timothy said. Which put some really grim implications on things.

"Ooh. Potentially crunch," Juno grimaced. "Nasty,"

"Quite. Shall we get on," he smiled tightly.

oOo

The artificial construct was based around the remains of a mountain troll, reinforced and augmented until it were capable of matching even his augmented strength.

Normally he'd have been flattered they had gone to all the trouble but currently he didn't have the time for such frippery.

For now he was unable to render aid to the Vampires as they under took the process of clearing out the nearby office, the only bit of the building's content he could see that looked original, its breeze-block walls left unpainted, fighting, struggling figures visible through the office window.

But he was stuck tussling with the animated corpse of a creature too stupid to know it was dead, and far too dim to even put up a proper fight; he forced it round again through sheer physical force, trying to stop the annoying thing from pinning his arms in place, the jumble of plywood spinning past as he attempted to bring the rotator cannon to bear.

Someone had installed a greenhouse in among the wooden jumble, filling it with complicated looking glassware and jars of magical ingredients and chemicals.

The reanimated troll pulled him closer, trying to clutch him to its fetid chest, so he head-butted it, the things' orbital bones snapping with a satisfying crack, its hold loosening.

A commotion erupted behind him, as the fighting in the office erupted out into the unit proper, the windows and surrounding wall erupting out in a cloud of debris, leaving a gaping hole and an expanding cloud of dust through which he could see the body heat of struggling people.

Quickly he twisted in the troll's grip heaving it off its feet, neatly tossing it over his shoulder and into the greenhouse, a look of surprise slowly crossing its stupid face.

The greenhouse exploded with a resounding crash, glass shards peppering its surroundings as the lab blew up with surprising force, purple flames licking across the re-animated troll's torso as it twitched and screamed among the wreckage, the frame of the greenhouse piercing its body effectively pinning it in place.

Pulling the rotator canon round, Carrow ended its miserable existence in a sharp burst of fire, turning the miserable creature's head and upper torso into so much mulch.

Turning, he lunged into the cloud of debris, its nature clearly unnatural as it failed to disperse, instead cloaking the figures within as they tried to make their escape.

A body hit his chest, the unfortunate man peeling off, slumping to the floor completely senseless as the cloud suddenly dispersed revealing the Dark Lady in all her twisted glory.

She paled at the sight of him, taking off like a scalded rabbit, even as he gave chase. As she plunged into the plywood maze his fingers just brushed the back of her robes as she darted round around a corner.

Fuming he tried to following but the corridor was small, even for a normal sized person, and then that was when he felt it just for an instance, the unpleasantly familiar stench, the insatiable and unnatural hunger of Chaos.

Ah. So he was fighting the same old enemy after all.

Turning he found the vampires just finishing dealing with the last of their attackers, sending their trussed forms back to the DMLE with the dedicated port-keys that had been provided for the occasion.

Except for one, the unfortunate who had met his chest plate was still lying on the ground groaning in pain, his blood-red robes crumpled around him. A member of the Dark Lady's inner circle maybe. He flipped the man onto his back with a none too gentle foot.

The man had broken his nose and was sporting the beginnings of two beautiful black eyes, eyes unfocused but still very much alive.

"You are going to listen closely," Carrow said his voice almost gentle as he crouched next to the unfortunate. "I have many questions, and you are going to answer them, whether willing or not."

Terrified, desperate eyes stared up at him. "I won't talk," the man snarled, fear colouring his voice.

Carrow's smile broadened, "You won't have to."
oOo

Most of the rooms they passed through proved to be either for storage, or abandoned in some way, stuffed with so much rubbish little more than a passage remained, piles of junk looming on either side, the broken furniture and other detritus coated in some sort of mental grime that brushed off on them as they searched this place for...searched it for…

"Boss," Athena hissed, "haven't we been past that pile of chairs before?"

"It isn't just me then," Chuddy said, glancing back at them.

Timothy shook himself, glancing around as if for the first time, heart racing. Stupid, stupid trap, and he'd fallen for the sodding thing.

"Err…boss," Bradely stuttered, face pale in the dim light, "can you hear…"

Shouts or screams, laughter if you were being charitable.

"Let's go," Timothy urged them forward.

They followed him, barely able to hide their relief, at least no one commented when he aimed a kick at one of the blasted junk chairs as they went past.

The desperate scream laughter led them deeper into the plywood maze, voices joining the manic din. They burst into a much larger room, a lab full of cages, these ones filled with occupants, several unfortunates hanging from the ceiling by hooks through their ankles.

Among the cages, working at benches were various lab technicians now staring at them in shock, including a woman Timothy assumed was the supervisor. She had been deep in an argument with the cat-jumper wearing lady they'd been chasing.

So sad he had to interrupt them.

"Hands up and on your knees," Timothy bellowed, as the others fanned out around him, moving towards the lab workers, their rifles ready for any trouble makers.

The technicians had frozen, some complying straight away, relief or resignation visible on their faces, cat-jumper lady among them, others putting up brief fights while his team slapped the anti-apparition and port-key bracelets on them, the lab slowly emptying in a series of pops of displaced air.

Around them the people trapped in the cages cried for help, or shouted encouragement in rasping voices, others watching silently from their miserable prisons.

"We're doing great work here, important work and…"

"What?" Chuddy snorted, incredulous at the sheer delusion of this particular individual, "kidnapping people and then torturing them?"

"Come quietly or things will get nasty for you," Athena barked, edging forward ready to shoot the idiot.

"You're all brainwashed," the man stared at them, apparently desperate that they should see his point of view. "We're making a new race here…" his sneaked towards a pocket even as he edged further away from them.

"…improving what humanity can be…" he slung a small glass jar towards Athena, but she managed to bat it away with her rifle, the jar clattering to the floor failing to break, its contents sloshing wildly as it rolled towards a bank of cages.

The man looked at it horrified, tried reaching for his wand instead, but skinny, dirty arms had reached through the cage he'd back into, grabbing at him, the back of his robes, his ankles, a sleeve. He flailed desperately a moment trying to fight of the clasping hands dropping his wand in the struggle.

It rolled away, along the row of cages, until a skinny gleefully snatched it up, the cage's occupant snapping the wand with slow deliberation in front of its owner.

"What…what…" the man stuttered in outrage as Chuddy put the anti-apparition band in place around his wrist. "You can't do this to me!" he snarled.

"Tell that to the DMLE," Timothy smiled sweetly, his smile only growing when the bastard flinched back.

Athena quickly placed the port-key band on.

"But…" the man stared at him in shock, disappearing with a sharp pop and a small gust of air.

"Let us out…please," a voice rasped from a cage, its owner rattling the bars in desperation. "You can't leave us here…please?"

Other voices joined in filling the dank laboratory with a discordant chorus of desperation.

"We can't leave them," Juno shouted over the racket, "we can't…not really."

Timothy nearly groaned, but she was right. Leaving these people here to suffer for even a moment longer, it really wasn't an option. He strode towards a cage, struggling with the lock a moment. Finding these ones far more secure, and not wanting to waste any more time than necessary, he resorted to just vanishing the entire front, moving to the next as the others helped these victims from their confinement, all painfully thin, malnourished, some having already suffered alterations to their physical forms, not always successfully, all of them naked and dirty, leading to a desperate hunt for something, anything to cover them with so they didn't freeze.

And in the distance, just for a moment, a beat of his heart, came the familiar rot-stench, of all-corrupting taint.

Oh bloody hell, Timothy thought as he mentally jerked away from it, slamming protections in place. If that was the ultimate cause of all this…he dreaded to think what would happen if this Dark Lady could actually call forth such forces.

They were beginning to pass the cage victims out to safety. Now clad in an ill assortment of lab-coats, hastily transfigured blankets and purloined coats, they made a strange procession.

"Aurors," a distant bellow came.

"Typical," Chuddy muttered, "bloody late as usual."

The blanket wrapped man he was pushing along on an office chair coughed with laughter.

Auror Hewitt appeared from the gloom of the junk filled room, blinking in surprise as he took in the dozen or so misfortunates and their wretched appearance, his expression horrified until his professional mental shields slammed into place. Timothy almost felt sorry for him.

"They need medical attention, all of them. Take over for us," he said. "We need to get further into that. This Dark Lady, she's in league with the usual."

"What," Chuddy looked at him sharply, the others looking equally grim.

"I felt it," Timothy explained, heading back towards the lab and the further depths of the plywood maze, "just for a moment."

"Hey. What about this…" Hewitt called out behind them. "You can't just abandon…"

"Should have got here faster," Chuddy muttered as they charged down a short corridor and into the next artificially expanded room.

oOo

The grubby little underling had known very little, he was hired muscle after all, but he had glimpsed things, a secret room accessed through a miserably small hatch in the floor.

Though the idea that they were going to flood the magical market with highly addictive recreational drugs was a little puzzling; a morally dubious way to raise funds to be sure but he was pretty certain that they would have had little joy with it, the market having already been cornered by some of his own employees experimenting and making a little money on the side…the rabbit lady and her friends if the rumour-mill had it right.

No matter.

He shoved forward pushing aside plywood and cheap pine supports, the rickety structure creaking and cracking around him, rooms attempting to snap closed on him, until he shouldered their flimsy shell out of his way.

It was a pity he'd had to leave the rotator canon behind, guarded by Methuselah, the thought of dragging its bulk through this maze had not appealed to him, and so now he would be relying on sword, pistol, his warp-craft and the grace of the God-Emperor, intent as he was on a discoloured steel trapdoor.

Because the underling had known exactly one useful thing, before he had turned his mind to so much mush, the location of this Dark Lady's most prized possession.

A book.

A book of such dark and twisted magic, such enticing enchantments it held her utterly enthralled.

There, a small plain room, he punched a hand through a flimsy wall as it tried snapping shut on him, sweeping the debris out of his way as he stepped into the utterly inadequate space, a stained metal rectangle set into its floor.

The handle was designed for dainty little fingers, almost impossible to for him to grip. Giving it up as a bad job he punched his fingers through the God-Emperor cursed thing, ripping the entire mess away, tossing it off into the surrounding debris.

He tried ripping away at the edge of the trapdoor but the space below was magically created and he could feel its very structure creaking under the onslaught. True, the witch would die if the room did collapse, but then how could she be held accountable for her numerous crimes.

He glared down into the little room, at the pathetic husk of the Dark Lady huddled on the floor, cradling the corrupted book in her arms as if it were a child, rocking and whispering to herself, to it. To his disquiet he could see the surface of its binding rippling as faces momentarily appeared, as well as other things…

Throwing himself down, he reached in, feeling around as best he could, fingers brushing against something solid that flinched at the contact. He grabbed it, ignoring the squealing wail as he yanked the pitiful woman from her bolthole.

She dangled from his fist, shrieking and twisting in the grip he had on one of her horns, the book still clutched desperately in her arms even as she tried to escape his grasp.

The effects of the chaotic artefact were clear to see in her sickly pallor, her wasted limbs, the way her facial features were beginning to warp and twist, her nose looking as if it had been smeared across her face, the pupils of her eyes an unsettling rectangle.

Carrow gave her a good shake, a gentle slap rendering her unconscious, knocking the noisome tome from her grip. He toed the disgusting thing back into the room, reluctant to touch it anymore than strictly necessary.

Tucking her under his arm, he began the chant to call forth the Emperor's Grace, its purifying fires.

Even through the gathering power he felt the God-Emperor's attention turn on him, like a search light, adding his strength to the growing surge of power. It was almost too much but he hung on, heedless of the blood now seeping from his nose.

A ghostly hand gripped his shoulder a moment, shoring him up, helping him gather the growing storm to him.

"Now," the God-Emperor's voice whispered in his ear, and so he let go.

oOo

"What the bloody hell," Juno screamed as she dodged a crumbling, snapping wall, kicking shattered plywood out of her way as she tried, as they all tried to get to safety.

In the distance they could hear something like a bull crashing through the artificially expanded spaces as it went, rooms suddenly jerking sideways as their neighbours suddenly snapped back to their natural size pulling everything around them along too in a chain reaction of snapping cheap pine and splintering plywood.

"It's bloody Carrow," Chuddy snarled, "it's got to be. Bloody bastard, barging in, not thinking…" His swearing became even more creative as some shearing plywood sideswiped him leaving behind needle like splinters.

"We need to get out of this," Timothy said, ducking as more of the wooden supports began to give way, shoving a group of cheap office chairs towards him. "But we need to make sure we go the correct way…maybe…"

"Decide fast," Juno snapped as she only just dodged a filing cabinet.

"There's more light this way," he gestured towards an unpromising pile of debris.

"And there's a breeze…" Bradely tentatively added.

"Bet that's from when the giant twat trashed the shutter," Juno growled shoving past a collapsed phone-box sized room that was leaning in on itself. "Let's go, please, before I decide kicking the big guy in the goollies is a smart career move."

"Might be a bloody queue," Chuddy muttered as he clambered over some loose broken plywood that hid a load of crumpled desks.

oOo

Timothy staggered out of the plywood maze, covered in splinters and dust, coughing and sneezing, the rest of his team stumbling out after him equally unhappy.

"Tim!" a familiar voice exclaimed.

He looked up to find Annie bearing down on him, the gold mask of her protective suit glinting in the sunlight that streamed in through the ruined shutter.

"Are you all right?" she asked as she approached, taking in their appearance. "You look like you've all been through the mill."

"Thanks," Chuddy gave her a tight smile as he tried to get rid of the worst of the splinters.

"I'm glad you're here," Annie said, glancing around nervously. "Things have got a little bit…well, you can see…" she gestured.

Timothy glanced beyond her, blinked in horror. "Oh Merlin," he groaned, almost wishing he was back in the maze of plywood even with Carrow.

Someone had called the police, who'd sent out the Armed Response Unit, who quite clearly weren't happy, what with the Aurors who had also turned up in force clad in their official red robes, and who were busily glaring back, fingering their wands.

Not to mention the rotator canon, currently being enthusiastically guarded by Methuselah. Fortunately the argument between the old vampire and the police appeared to be only verbal. So far.

And there appeared to have been another laboratory stashed away somewhere because more unfortunates had been pulled to safety and were now being tended to by, Timothy winced, muggle paramedics. He had to admit he was very impressed at their professionalism as they tended to people with surgically induced deformities, extra limbs grafted on that appeared fully functional, without so much as a flicker.

There in among the hunched blanket swathed figures of the lab escapees Rita was sat, her dicta-quill scratching its way across parchment as she interviewed several of the unfortunates, a women with at least four arms, wrapped in a foil blanket, gesticulating wildly as they talked.

Standing in the middle of all this chaos was Amelia Bones herself, looking particularly grim, deep in conversation with a man he could only assume was in charge of the non-magical police. Both looked distinctly uncomfortable with the entire situation, a situation he wanted nothing to do with.

Considering how much chaos there currently was, it was likely he could just fade into the background and leave Carrow to deal…

"Timothy!"

…or maybe not. The others hid their smiles, almost, Cuddy giving him a sympathetic clap on the back as he shuffled off to his doom.

"There you are Timothy," Bones glared at him, "I'm assuming you got the rest of the rooms in that mess clear."

The police officer glared at him suspiciously, expression increasingly incredulous as he took in his outfit, the blasted dolman, the stupid sash, the sword…

Unable to escape the inevitable Timothy shuffled over, feeling his doom hurtling toward him…no, that wasn't right. He jerked round staring towards the mutilated wood pile that had been rooms, unseeing, flinching back as he slammed his mental protection into place as hard as he could, the sensation of rage, of unnatural hunger, of stinking decay, filtering into his mind, muffled now…

"Timothy," Madam Bone's voice sounded distant "…are…okay…"

But there was a light growing, like a small sun, blazing, pure, growing…threatening to consume all…

"Oh bloody Throne!" Timothy snarled, physically jerking back, turning to the motley gathering. "Everybody down! NOW!" he roared, throwing himself to the ground, as around him people scrambled for the exit.

The blazing sun of power suddenly expanded, erupting violently into a pillar of blinding light that hammered upwards through the roof.

Overwhelmed, Timothy covered his head as best he could dazed and reeling as dust and pieces of roofing material fell around him as the roar of released power went on and on, screams and shouts barely audible over it.

And then it stopped, the silence shatteringly loud, dust and debris pattering down around.

Groaning, Timothy tried moving. Nothing seemed to hurt more than it should, and so he risked getting up, stumbling to his feet, to find the others pulling themselves to their feet also, brushing dust off, pulling debris away.

A thunderous, heaving crash came from the remains of the room-maze. Timothy jerked round, weapons at the ready, Chuddy and Juno crouching nearby, their rifles ready to fire at whatever. Nearby, the Aurors and armed police joined them…

Carrow emerged from the tangle of wooden debris, the limp body of a woman tucked under one arm, his normally pristine power armour dusty and scratched. The green lenses glared down at their disordered response with amusement.

"Excellent," the armoured monstrosity boomed. "Though I applaud you on your…readiness, I'm afraid the danger is over, for now."

Timothy allowed himself to relax slightly, Juno and Chuddy grumbling to one another under their breath as Carrow strode past, debris crunching to dust under his boots as he went.

"Ah, Madam Bones," Carrow boomed, "I have the miscreant safely in custody, alive I believe."

Timothy watched as Carrow proffered the unconscious women to the head of the DMLE, her sickly body hanging lifelessly form the giant's fist. Blood seeped sluggishly from her nose, one leg looked broken jutting at an odd angle.

Madam Bones looked torn between relief and shouting at the giant idiot, her muggle counterpart looking utterly horrified.

"Cornwall," one of the muggle police people snarled pointing an accusing finger. "You're the one responsible for that bloody mess. Don't know what you did to that mine but the bloody place is still on bloody fire…"

Timothy could only groan in frustration, as all around him pandemonium broke out. Later he could only put it down the level of distraction, the accusations and recriminations being thrown around, and an actual attempt at arresting Carrow (a memory he would treasure for ever) that the minion of the Dark Lady had nearly got away.

"Look," Juno hissed, jabbing him in the ribs, "I swear he just crawled out of the rubble."

Timothy glanced where she was gesturing, catching a glimpse of dirty blood-red robes ducking behind a fallen chunk of roofing, popping up again closer to the shutter.

Instincts yammering at him that this one was up to no good he followed cautiously, dodging around a clump of Aurors who were busily admiring the argument between Carrow and the muggle police.

"You! Stop where you are," he roared as he broke into a jog shoving past some armed police, skipping round busy paramedics, but the strange wizard predictably ignored him, ducking through the broken shutter.

Snarling, Timothy dodged after him just in time to see the man duck through the hole Carrow had made in the security fence, swearing a storm as his robe caught on sharp metal, yanking it free with a nasty tearing sound. Timothy dived through after him, nearly tripping over a loose lump of concrete.

Haring across the scrubby wasteland, he scrambled over a chain-link fence and shoved his way through the screen of leylandii that had been planted on the other side. Timothy heaved himself over, and shoved through the trees as quickly as he could, the branches scratching and tugging at his hair and clothing, and out into the car-park of a large out-of-town shopping centre.

Desperation lending him speed, Timothy took off after him, keeping low as the wizard began to slow down to a trot and then a quick walk as he attempted to blend in with the wary shoppers. Until, of course, he looked back over his shoulder.

Snarling in frustration, Timothy could only watch as the man slammed through the double doors, their automatic opening mechanism too slow to keep up with him, bowling people over in his wake.

The shopping centre seemed to be a mid-eighties affair with "fun" pastel coloured fittings in geometric shapes to enliven its otherwise generic design. Sort of pseudo classical, Timothy thought distractedly, as he dodged around a family with a double buggy.

Heaving for breath, the escapee was obviously beginning to panic, looking around wildly for an escape route in such unfamiliar territory…and then he tried running up the escalator. Not familiar with them, he stumbled, falling flat on his face, pulling himself up and scrambling the rest of the way.

Timothy charged after him, taking the steps two at a time, desperate to catch this person before he could do something dangerous. The man, only yards away now, exhausted and beyond desperate, was actively panicking. Snarling, he grabbed the nearest shopper, a middle-aged man who obviously enjoyed his food. Grabbing him around the neck, he spun round, wand stabbing painfully into the sweating man's neck, shoppers scrambling out of the way, shouts and screams as they begun to realise the danger of the situation.

"Stay back," the wizard snarled, "I'll do it…I really will."

Timothy didn't even hesitate, the blue warp-fyre pooling in the palm of his hand with barely a thought. With a flick of his wrist he flung it at the wizard. The moment it left his hand, he realised his mistake, the eyes of the muggle going wide with shock. But it was too late, the small ball of blue fyre hit the wizard in the right shoulder, moving through flesh and bone alike, the smell of burnt bacon wafting into the air as the wizard collapsed to the floor with a terrible scream, leaving his shaken captive standing there, gawping like a dazed fish.

Oh Merlin…the Statute of Secrecy…

Stomach feeling as if it had just been plunged into the depths of the Antarctic, all he could do was carry on. "Excuse me, please," he said, face rigid as he held in the gibbering horror that threatened to overwhelm him. The traumatised muggle just stared at him uncomprehending, so Timothy stepped round him. The escapee lay groaning on the floor, clutching at his wounded shoulder, so he pulled him by the good arm, collecting his wand and patting him down for any more concealed weapons. The last thing he wanted at the moment was a fight with a desperate idiot armed with a knife. Heaving the still uncooperative and swearing prisoner round, he found the one person he didn't want to see coming up the escalator.

Why was it always him.

"Ah, Auror Hewitt," Timothy hid his grimace, "I do believe this fine gentleman is yours to deal with."

"What the bloody hell did you chase him in here for?" Auror Hewitt hissed, glancing around suspiciously, clearly uncomfortable surrounded by so many muggles.

"I didn't," Timothy snapped feeling quite indignant, as if he'd do something so bloody stupid. Auror Hewitt sneered as he and a colleague secured the prisoner, stalking off with the still struggling man, aided by some of the armed police, as the entire ruddy circus descended.

He went and slumped on a bench leaving them to it, oblivious to the scandalised looks an old lady and her friend were giving him, shock giving way to hysterical calm, exhaustion pulling at his bones now he wasn't racing around doing stupid things. It would be so pleasant if he could just stay here a moment, not have to move, not have to deal with this gigantic mess.

Hands grabbed him under his arms, hauling him to his feet, and he suddenly found himself being dragged to a sprawling balcony café by Chuddy and Juno, Bradely following behind.

The café staff looked appalled at their sudden appearance. He couldn't blame them really; the others were dirty, covered in dust, sporting small injuries, and hauling weapons, and he doubted he looked much better. Though an abortive attempt by the café to pretend they were shut was a little too much.

Chuddy shoved him none too gently into a chair with a good view of the floor below, the motley collection of Aurors and police officers now in some sort of argument with the shopping centre management, being gawked at by bewildered shoppers.

Before him coffee appeared, closely followed by plates of sandwiches.

"Eat," Juno prodded him.

He needed little instruction, his appetite suddenly kicking into gear with a vengeance, the sandwiches seeming to evaporate before him, so quickly he barely tasted them.

"Glad that's all over," Juno said, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. "Can't wait to get home and have a shower. Get rid of some of this ruddy dust. Should we be worrying about asbestos?"

"Vanishing spell," Timothy muttered around the last of the sandwich. "Should get rid of the worst…hopefully."

"A bath." Chuddy announced, "I'm having a bloody bath, nice and hot. Soak all the dust out."

"You think…" Bradely said, "do you think they've got cake?"

"Excellent idea that man," Chuddy said.

Bradely bounced up from his seat with a happy smile, Juno following after him back to the counter demanding something involving cream.

Timothy startled at the nudge to his ribs.

"What's getting you down…other than the obvious," Chuddy asked, looking at him with a surprising amount of concern.

"Sleep…just need sleep," Timothy sighed. "I used magic in front of muggles," he blurted out. "I didn't think, I just reacted, I…"

Chuddy blinked a moment, snorting with laughter. "Really? The big man blew the roof off an industrial building with just the power of his giant ego, in front of all those people…and you're worried about…what was it? One of your little fire-ball things?"

"But…" Timothy started to argue back, but his brain refused to cooperate. There was definitely some sort of flaw to Chuddy's logic but he was far too tired to make the effort to work it out.

And then cake appeared in front of him, a Danish pastry stuffed with fruit and glazed with so much sugar he could practically hear his pancreas screaming in horror.

"Eat your cake," Juno told him. "Whatever you're stressing about, let Carrow deal with it," she jabbed her chocolate éclair with a fork.

"Done your share," Bradely said around a mouthful of crumbs.

Carrow dealing with it…that's what he was worried about, he muttered to himself, but they weren't taking any notice of him.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Someone had managed to winkle the Minister out from whatever bolt-hole he'd crawled into after his "act" of bravery. They'd also divested him of the cheap whisky that his nose insisted the man had been indulging in, and now the pathetic little lump was slumped down in his official chair as Minister of Magic, barely aware of his surroundings, a far cry from his passionate entreaties to "make an example" only that morning, barely even twelve hours ago. So much had happened so quickly, such a pleasant change…

"Gentle witches and wizards," Dumbledore's artificially enhanced voice echoed around the chambers of the Wizengamot, the nervous chatter of the gathered assembly dying away. "We will begin this emergency meeting of the Wizengamot with three minutes of silence in memorial of those who have perished within this building under such terrible circumstances."

Fitting, Carrow thought from where he stood by the Minister's seat, still clad in his armour, still stained from the battles of the day. And he wasn't the only one, he saw as he surveyed the silent gathering, many of whom had bowed their heads in respect. Those who had been present during the Ministry attack were still in rumpled clothing, some of it still sporting damage, bandages and minor injuries clearly visible, Dumbledore still had blood in his beard, and Timothy, standing beside him, was, despite his best efforts covered in dust, swaying on his feet from exhaustion.

Of the rest, many appeared to have been on their way to bed when they had received the summons for an emergency meeting, resulting in a wide variety of nightwear to be visible, peeking from under hastily thrown on official robes.

The silence dragged on, broken only by the odd sniffle, a choking cough as someone covered up a sob. These were people not used to adversity, their reactions one of shock and horror, when really the violent invasion and the problem with the lift were no worse than a minor riot he'd witnessed in the main hive-city on Civitas IV. He was obviously going to have to work harder at toughening them up…

"Thank-you," Dumbledore broke the silence. "Now, on to the first order of business of this emergency meeting of the Wizengamot…"

"Yes, the first order of business," Madam Bones butted in, ignoring Dumbledore's glare completely. "I do believe it is high time for us to reinstate Mr Carrow as Senior Under-Secretary. He had been given his medical clearance, so now it is time for us to regain Mr Carrow's singular, and solid, presence…"

Fudge stirred from his stupor long enough to give him a terrified glance, a susurration of noise building as the gathering began voicing their opinions.

Dumbledore looked like he'd swallowed a lemon for a moment. "Indeed. Though Mr Faulks had been doing a most excellent job, I agree it is time Mr Carrow returned to this most august body."

Carrow smiled as he was sworn back in with the minimum of fuss, Timothy gladly relinquishing the role, his face almost grey he was so exhausted.

"Go home," Carrow growled to him under cover of the polite applause that had broken out. "Rest."

Timothy glared up at him. "I'm fine…but I will sit down." Turning, he stalked away to an empty place on the benches near Madam Bones, slumping down with a barely perceptible groan, sagging when he seemed to feel no one was watching.

The Senior Warlock called the gathering to order then. "And now for our second order of business…the invasion of the Ministry. As I am sure you are all aware, work continues even as we speak to free the trapped and injured in the Atrium, the DMLE, healers from St Mungo's, and many, many volunteers from the magical community, all working together to save the lives of our colleagues, friends, families…"

Dumbledore paused a moment, seeming to need to gather himself, "work is also underway to unblock the old stairway entrance to the muggle world, thanks to the sharp memory of Madam Bagshot who was able to lead us to its location. This is helping to facilitate the evacuation of the injured…and the deceased…"

"What about this Dark Lady," someone shouted from the back. "I heard tell she's been captured."

Whispers erupted as Dumbledore glared up at the mass of seated Wizengamot members, adjusting his glasses. "That is indeed true. She is currently being held by…"

But whatever he was about to say as the Wizengamot erupted, members and department heads leaping to their feet, as they loudly proclaimed their opinions on what exactly shout be done with this most reviled of prisoners, summary execution for the main, how terribly predictable…and dull.

"DESIST," he bellowed, the resulting silence ringing.

"Thank-you Senior Under-Secretary," Dumbledore said. "As I was saying, we have the perpetrator of the attack on the Ministry, and many of her co-conspirators, in Ministry custody, thanks to the quick actions of Mr Carrow."

"Execute them," a shout came from the back, to much approval.

"Give them the Kiss!"

"Push them through the Veil!"

"We'll be doing no such thing," Madam Bones bellowed. "She, and all her underlings will be given trials. Fair trials. In the face of such heinous actions, justice needs to be done, but it needs to be thorough, transparent, not some knee-jerk reaction. I for one, have no desire to see a repeat of the mess that occurred at the end of the last war."

Some of the more level-headed began to settle down, but there was still an undercurrent of dissatisfaction. He made a note of their names and faces, for future reference.

"I heard tell," another voice shouted out, "that muggles were involved in the arrest."

Bones was giving him a very pointed glare as derisive muttering swept across the gathering.

"That is correct. Non-magical law enforcement did assist with the arrest of the Dark Lady and her minions," he strode forward into the centre of the floor. "As well as a number of paramedics, medicae specialised in emergency medicine in the field," he added as many of the members stared at him blankly. "Their assistance was much appreciated…"

There were a few derisive snorts and smothered laughter, cloaked mutters…

"…little more than children…"

"…stupid savages…"

"…helpless, what could they possibly do…"

"...as it will be, in the future," he glared the naive idiots daring them to object, but of course they did, the brighter ones quickly realising the implications of his statement, their voice shrill, more joining in as they caught on but Dumbledore called them to silence like the bunch of rowdy children they were busily imitating.

"The capture of this Dark Lady is not the end," he growled, staring up at the crowd of bewildered faces, his godfather's face a pale worried oval among the sea of maroon robes and badly concealed pyjamas.

"She has significant links to the non-magical crime world, which need to be dealt with, hence building a cordial working relationship with regular law-enforcement who have the expertise…"

"Isn't this a violation of the Statute of Secrecy?" a wizened voice demanded.

Carrow looked across to find one of the older members of the Wizengamot standing, glaring down at him with thinly veiled distrust. Ah, Linnaeus Acerbus, a cantankerous old traditionalist who lived out of sheer spite.

"They have all sworn oaths of secrecy," Bones snapped. "On top of all the other oaths of discretion and secrecy they already follow as part of their professional duties."

"Whatever that means," Acerbus sneered against a background of whispers, "Still I notice there is no mention of the violation of the Statute Mr Faulks is directly involved in. Will he not answer questions?"

To Carrow's faint amusement Timothy had slumped down further on the bench, his head tilted forward, chest rising and falling gently as he slept, overcome by exhaustion.

"It appears Mr Faulks will not be answering questions," Madam Bones said.

"Typical," Acerbus said, his disgust plain. "Young people, always skirting their responsibilities…"

"I can assure you Sir," Carrow growled, "that Mr Faulks has done much to earn his rest..."

"Gentlemen," Dumbledore interrupted. "If we can continue with the meeting please."

Acerbus grumbled to himself but sat back down. Carrow ignored him.

And so the arguing and bickering went on for another excruciating hour as he and Bones attempted to drum up a vague understanding of what was going on into their thick stubborn insular heads, aided and abetted occasionally by Dumbledore…

There was also the small matter of the book. Who had given it to her, a clearly tainted artefact? Was this deliberate…or had she acquire it by accident…but his instincts screamed this was no random incident, that this had been an attempt at producing another infection similar to those he'd already destroyed.

This was the work of that God-Emperor cursed Chaos cult again; he swore on the Golden Throne that he would destroy them utterly, no matter what it took…

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Hey Tim," Wulfric's normally cheerful voice sounded uncharacteristically strained, putting Timothy on alert.

Even Athena's attempt at a cheery wave was lacking, her shoulders hunched as she huddled on the end of Wulfric's bed, against all sorts of hospital regulations no doubt, looking very odd in a St Mungo's issue dressing gown, a white waffle weave thing that was a little too large.

He glanced around the private room the Healer-Assistant had led him to, but it seemed fairly standard fare for St Mungo's, pale green walls, old fashioned hospital furniture, a fake window showing a lush green landscape looking over a small river, pleasantly sunny with birds flitting past. There was even an en-suite bathroom he could just glimpse through a door.

Obviously Carrow had spared no expense when it came to the care of his subordinates, except that didn't explain the tense atmosphere of the room.

"I have brought supplies," he said holding up the two bags he'd pretty much had forced into his hands by Juno before he could leave the Lodge. "This one I believe is yours," he suddenly found himself in a short tug-of-war with Athena.

"Did Juno get my clothes?" she asked already rifling through.

"I…I assume so," Timothy said, handing the other bag over to an amused Wulfric.

"Real clothes," Athena triumphantly pulled out a colourful bundle, bouncing up and storming off to the privacy of the bathroom. "Don't mind me."

"So…," Timothy began, "I err…"

Feeling awkward he sank into the visitor's chair doing his best to ignore Wulfric's amused grin.

"How are you?" he asked, as Wulfric pulled the day's edition of the Daily Prophet out.

"My injuries?" Wulfric frowned down at the paper, "crap…what happened?" he held up the paper. Timothy winced as he took in the large moving photo of the inside of that blasted warehouse, debris piled up, dust particles dancing in the shaft of sunlight that streamed in through the enormous hole in the roof.

"Ah…yes," Timothy shifted uncomfortably on his chair, "Carrow…" he gestured helplessly.

Thankfully Wulfric seemed to understand, "you've got to admit Skeeter's getting pretty good with a camera…" He held up the paper at an image of one of the lab-victims, her delicate face expressive as she silently talked, her multiple hands clutching a very muggle foil blanket round her.

"She is…and how are you?" Timothy persisted, "or do I have to check your medical notes…" he reached for the clip-board that hung on the end of the bed-frame, nearly falling off his chair when a pillow struck him in the head.

"Seriously, I'm…we're fine. Athena's pretty much all healed…don't know why she's still here really…" Wulfric paused, drawing a breath, "I've lost a leg Tim."

He pulled back the blankets to expose his legs, his right, whole, still sporting bruises, and his left, abruptly halting just above the knee, swathed in bandages.

Mentally Timothy reeled, guilt and horror piling down on him even as his traitorous mind shoved one particular image at him…

"Next full-moon…you're going to be a tri-pod werewolf," the words slipped out before he could stop them. "Err…sorry," he stuttered, appalled at himself.

Wulfric stared at him a moment, clearly torn between punching him in the face and …a cough of laughter surprised him, leaving Timothy watching in concern as the werewolf succumbed, his amusement gradually fading into tears.

"Sorry," Wulfric wiped at his face. "Needed that. Everything's been…just…too much these last few days. Really missed you, you know…"

"Finally," Athena said as she burst out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam. "I feel like a human being ag…"

The door to the room slammed open as Healer Slaughter stormed in, his face purple with rage, the door slamming shut behind him in an act of accidental magic Timothy was sure.

"Those bloody idiots," Slaughter screamed kicking out at the wall. "If this goes on I'm going to smash their bleeding heads in."

"Easier to hex them," Wulfric said.

"Boils on their bum-holes," Athena helpfully offered.

"Don't tempt me," Slaughter barred his teeth in a death-head grin.

"Precisely who needs boils on their…bum-hole?" Timothy asked watching them suspiciously.

Athena and Wulfric looked furtive under his scrutiny, but Slaughter heaved a sigh, his rage wilting away. "Bloody pure-blood bigotry," he snarled.

"He's a werewolf," he jabbed a finger at Wulfric. "I've already stopped some uppity little dick-bag from giving him a silver-based healing elixir…while he was unconscious."

Wulfric went very pale.

"And she's a muggle, they barely consider her human," he jerked a thumb at Athena.

Athena sneered. "As if having a wand makes them superior. They'd all be helpless without their silly little sticks."

"I should be insulted," Slaughter bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile, "but I'm not. Bloody wand up their back-side idiots that run this place think they're blocking beds for the more deserving gentle-witches and wizards injured in the Ministry," he sneered.

"I can understand them being upset, all those injured people," Athena folded her arms, "but did they have to be so fekkin rude about it. I'll happily give up my place to someone who's worse hurt, but to be told I don't deserve a bed in the first place, just because I can't fart sparkles out of a stick." She scowled.

A knock came at the door and Slaughter wrenched it open, the healing assistant on the other side jerking back in surprise as he loomed at her.

"That better be what I think it is," he growled as he grabbed the clip-board she warily thrust towards him.

"Sign here for their release," the witch snapped.

"Merlin's staff, it is the release papers," Slaughter said with fake cheer as he scrawled his signature. The witch ignored him, glaring round him at the occupants of the room until she caught Timothy's expression, flinching back, giving Athena one last glare before grabbing the clip-board and storming off.

"What's her problem," Athena said scowling at the now closed door.

"Probably didn't like your muggle clothes," Slaughter said.

"Hey, I'm dressed witchy style," Athena protested gesturing down at her outfit.

Timothy considered her outfit a moment. Baggy silver trousers that tapered to the ankles, a large sweatshirt with an all-over animated image of the night sky, the moon just beginning to make its appearance at the bottom, oil-slick coloured puffy looking trainers that shifted colours as she fidgeted under their attention. She'd even piled her blonde hair up in a messy knot held in place with what Timothy believed was a scrunchy.

"No," Slaughter said, "not really."

"In the Hollow maybe," Timothy said.

"But the Hollow doesn't really count," Wulfric pointed out, "it's a weird Carrow infected anomaly."

"Well, look at that," Slaughter laughed, "so we've found the one place Carrow hasn't managed to get his slimy tentacles into, more's the pity."

oOo

They really hadn't thought this through, Timothy sighed as he watched Wulfric eyeing up the main stairs of the Lodge, the gap where his leg should have been painfully obvious now he was up on crutches.

"Maybe the back stairs," he offered, then winced. The back stairs (originally for servants) were narrower and steeper than the grand, heavily carved, oaken sweep of the main stairs.

Wulfric hopped round on his crutches. "I'm not going to be defeated by bloody stairs," he snarled. "If I have to go up on my arse I will. I am sleeping in my own bed tonight. No matter what."

"I could animate a chair and…" Timothy suggested but Wulfric cut him off.

"No. I'm getting upstairs under my own steam…it's just…" he hopped closer, "maybe if I…" he nearly dropped a crutch reaching for the banister.

"Here, hold these," Wulfric shoved the crutches into his arms.

"Arse it is," he hopped forward, folding forward awkwardly, only just avoiding mashing his face on the steps as he caught himself with his hands. Flipping himself round to sit, he levered himself up to the next step, Timothy slowly following as he settled into a rhythm, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as he sped up.

In the distance came shrill giggles, a shout of "Artemis!"

"Oh Merlin," Wulfric chocked off laughter as the tiger in question poured round the dog-leg of the stairs, a bolster held in her jaws.

"Isn't that from the long-gallery," Timothy said as she oozed past him with her prize.

"Looks like it," Wulfric said. "Aren't they supposed to be like…antique or something, like hand-embroidered 18th century…one of the English Heritage people gave me a lecture about it, but I must admit, my brain turned off part way through."

Artemis had flopped onto her side now, sprawled across the tiled floor of the entrance hall, grasping the bolster with her front paws so she could better pedal at it with her hind limbs.

"I don't think it's going to be antique for much longer," Timothy winced at a particularly ugly rending sound.

"We didn't give it to her!"

Timothy looked round to find Felix glaring at him defiantly from the dog-leg, ears flicked back against his skull nearly hidden amongst his shaggy black hair. He plodded down towards them, the laces of his trainers flapping, Tiffany trailing in his wake.

He blinked as he took in her appearance, lime-green trainers, orange leggings and an enormous pink t-shirt patterned with unicorns and robots that moved like a drug induced hallucination.

Clearly a Night-market offering, it made Felix's bright red top with a roaring lion on the front look positively plain in comparison.

"She's more than capable of getting into trouble all by herself," Timothy said as the pair shuffled closer.

"In fact I recommend you both scram before house-keeping find you and condemn you by association. Carrow's probably in the training hall, maybe he'll let you practise some sword-play if you ask nicely."

The children looked at one another a moment before charging past, generating enough noise for a small herd of elephants as they sprinted for the kitchens and the Undercroft.

Timothy watched them go with a sigh. Behind him there was a nasty rending noise as Artemis disassembled her prize.

Something prodded his shin catching him on a still sore bruise and he flinched, looking down to find Wulfric attempting to kick him with his remaining foot.

"Hey Tim," he grinned. "Race you."

He took off, scrambling awkwardly round the dog-leg, levering himself up two, even three steps at a time. Timothy trailed slowly after him; it was something when the so-called invalid had more energy than him.

oOo

"What's that?" Caroline eyed the cup of frothy, pink tinged beverage Annie had placed in front of her warily.

"It's a sanguine-o-chino," Annie smiled as she sat down, gracefully spreading the skirts of her dress as she did. A dress that looked, in Timothy's opinion like a cross between a meringue and something a Victorian doll would wear.

He wasn't going to tell her that though, he valued his life.

"It might be Sanguine," Methuselah took a sip of the frothy concoction with a dubious expression. "I suspect it has had more to do with sugar than blood."

"So if we have to peel Annie off the ceiling…" Athena laughed, ignoring the little vampire's indignant glare.

"Can vampires get fat?" Juno asked. "Because if that's got loads of sugar in…"

"…Wh..wha…what if you only drank from people with high cholesterol?" Bradely offered, the discussion quickly degenerating into a discussion of the dubious merits of blood as a source of nutrients.

Timothy leant back in his chair, letting the friendly argument of the others wash over him, gazing up into the branches of the magically maintained orange tree that took centre stage in the café at the centre of the Night Market.

Above him, among the leaves, a trio of tree-fairies performed a dizzying aerial dance, their wings shimmering in the artificial illumination as they viciously fought, falling until they landed with a thud on the table nearly knocking the tongs from the sugar bowl.

Hissing and shrieking, their voices so high pitched they were barely audible, the trio of fairies tussled amongst the crockery until the loser pulled away, its wings slightly bent as it staggered into the air, Chuddy lazily swatting at it as it flittered past his face.

The café had allowed them to push a couple of tables together to accommodate them all, but still, despite their number he was still painfully aware of the missing faces, the new girl who they'd barely knew anything about, had barely got to know, she'd barely figured things out herself…

No Edwin asking where his sister was…no Natasha, wandering off trying to bite random people…no Charles even…

He almost fell out of his chair as a very pointy elbow jabbed him hard in the ribs. Looking round he found Wulfric smirking at him. "All right there?" the Werewolf asked, "nice bit of wool gathering you were doing there."

"…better design it ourselves, don't you think Timothy?" Juno was looking at him expectantly.

"I erm…" Timothy shifted awkwardly under the scrutiny of the others. "Sorry, I was…"

"Off in his thoughts," Wulfric smirked at his discomfort.

"Right," Timothy gave him glare that he completely ignored. "You were saying…" he gestured to Juno to continue.

"Yeah," Juno scowled over the table at him. "It's a given really that Edwin, Natasha and…the new girl are going to get some sort of memorial in the chapel. The Big Twat's going to insist…but maybe we should pre-empt him, design it ourselves."

"So we don't end up having to look at something dripping with bloody skeletons or something," Athena glared into her coffee.

"A nice plain plaque," Timothy said. "I'm sure if we put it to him the right way…"

His attention drifted as Chuddy put forward his very strong opinions on Carrow as a memorial designer, the others quickly joining in.

And so he found himself watching people passing by, the Night Market slowly filling up as the evening crowds starting pouring in, an odd mix of non-magical, wizards and witches not even trying to pass as ordinary, and various magical creatures, all clad in their idea of finery as they drifted among the many stalls, meeting friends, buying potions and other items of dubious origins.

He frowned as a group of giggling young women teetered past in towering heels, all with fluttering butterfly wings sprouting from their backs, in a rainbow display that contrasted with their silver dresses.

And they still didn't know what sort of long term effects these potions had on the non-magical, at all…

"…coven is dissolved."

Timothy's attention snapped back so fast he nearly got a crick in his neck, as a ripple of disbelief spread around the group.

"What?" he growled in disbelief.

"As of this evening," Annie smiled sadly, "the others have already left, but…but we decided to stay." She exchanged a glance with Caroline.

"We like it here," Caroline said, Annie nodding. "We like…all of you…"

"And working with you," Annie smiled, "we like working with you too."

Athena enveloped in the smaller women in a hug, Juno bouncing out of her chair to join in with Caroline.

"I want a hug too," Wulfric demanded, pouting as the ladies laughed at him. Athena humoured him, coming round to envelope him too, much to his delight.

Timothy turned away from the revolting display of emotion.

"Why?" he asked Methuselah.

Methuselah gave him a quizzical look.

"The coven…" he tried to clarify, "why…"

"Oh," Methuselah smiled in understanding. "Vampires tend to be rather solitary creatures, so for us to group together, we do it mainly for protection, from other vampires, those who hunt us for our worth on the apothecary shelf, those who just don't like vampires…it is almost unheard of for a vampire to die of old age, most barely make fifty years…"

"So…" Timothy frowned, puzzled, and a little alarmed.

"Yes, the coven was very much Charles and Edwin's," Methuselah continued. "Edwin managed to hold us together after Charles met such an untimely end, but when he died it was only a matter of time."

"That's sad," Timothy winced as Wulfric yelped. Athena had put an arm around his neck and was attempting to give him a friction burn on his head.

"Yes, I suppose." Methuselah nodded, "though I'm surprised we lasted as long as we did."

A chair clattered as Wulfric tried to get to a laughing Athena, wobbling to his lone foot as best he could, swiping at her ankles with his crutches as he told her exactly what he thought of her.

It was only a matter of time before they were asked to leave, Timothy winced, seeing the café staff glaring at them, edging closer, as Athena danced away from Wulfric, leading him on a slow and limping chase around the table, much to the amusement of the others.

"See, just like the Coven," Methuselah smiled. "Honestly lad," he patted his arm, "we're going to be fine. Here," he held up his cup of frothy coffee scented blood, "a toast to endings…and new beginnings."

Solemnly they clinked their cups together even as Wulfric hobbled behind them, still in snarling pursuit.

"To new beginnings," Timothy said, desperately ignoring the racket, "may they be bland and boring."

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Er…am I in some sort of trouble?" Matthew asked nervously as he discreetly eyed the parcel on the Adjutant's desk, trying not to draw any more attention to himself than necessary. The bloke standing in the corner was obviously military police, but as for the woman in a discreet charcoal trouser suit, he had no idea, except she was possibly one of the most boring looking people he'd ever seen.

"Not exactly," the Adjutant smiled at him over steepled fingers, but you could be was merely implied. "It appears you have received a parcel, and it's not from your wife or mother. Well, are you going to open it?" He pushed the parcel towards Matthew with a predatory smile.

Maybe Timmo had finally snapped and sent him a box of scorpions or something. Matthew gave the brown paper wrapped parcel a wary once over, before gingerly unpeeling the paper at one end. It failed to explode, bite him or otherwise move in any way.

After that it became quickly apparently the sender had absolutely no idea how to wrap a parcel and they were absolutely doing it for keeps, using whatever had been to hand, including what looked like an entire roll of duct-tape. Swearing under his breath, he finally pulled the last of the packing free to reveal a hefty leather bound tome and a neatly folded letter sealed with a blob of red wax imprinted with…he tilted the thing in the light…a skull superimposed on a stylised "I"

"Oh bloody hell," he muttered unable to hide his dismay. Now he looked, yeah, bloody double-headed eagle embossed on the front of the book surrounded by a stylised laurel wreath. Gingerly, he cracked the letter open.

"…much pleasure in reading the rough draft of your treatise…"

Oh…oh, bloody buggering fuck.

"…it is a pleasure to see such a desire to broaden your knowledge of combatting the more elusive and heinous of Humanity's many enemies. To assist you in your endeavour I have gathered together some of my thoughts on the topic…"

Timmo must have given the giant freak that copy of the zombie hunting manual, and this, he eyed the book suspiciously, this was the violent bastard's response…oh fuck.

"…you will excuse my ramblings. I could not help adding the odd anecdote to illustrate my methods…"

Right now the box of scorpions was looking like a fantastic idea. Matthew ran a hand down his face, trying to fight down the bubble of hysterical laughter that was trying to burst out.

"Aren't you going to open it?" the boring woman asked, far too eager looking for Matthew's liking.

Expecting something horrifying to crawl out, he carefully lifted the cover, feeling slightly foolish when only a title page of sorts was revealed.

An Illustrated Treatise of the Combatting

of the Numinous and Daemonic Enemies of Humanity.

By the Grace of the God-Emperor of Mankind.

Inquisitor Allesandor Darius Carrow.

Opposite was a highly detailed and gruesome ink drawing of a man in armour that bore a passing resemblance to Carrow's monstrous suit, locked in fierce combat with a horrific amalgamation of tentacles and mis-jointed limbs.

Next to it was a small note, "Bit of an exaggeration", written, to Matthew's bemusement, in red biro. He blinked, feeling almost sun-dazzled; the handwriting, it was almost as if it were trying to lift off the page, it was so full of energy.

Blinking rapidly, he wrenched his eyes away from the page, only to find everyone leaning forward, attempting to read upside down.

"Numinous and daemonic…" the MP muttered, "what?"

"I know this looks beyond weird," Matthew tried to explain, "but this had a lot to do with that incident that I can't talk about at that place that I can't mention."

"Right." The Adjutant seemed completely unimpressed.

The boring woman pointed a trembling finger. "The red handwriting…whose is it?" she snapped.

Matthew scratched his head, squinting at the page once more. "I don't know…err, it does say something about…comments and amendments courtesy of the God-Emperor of Mankind, true ruler, protector and guide of Humanity…er, what?!"