Chapter Nine: Step Nine: Redefine your Priorities

Tambleford Thaddeus Tanglishire was what you would call, a man of "simple" tastes. He wore the same drab style of robes for every formal occasion, business meeting, wedding, and funeral.

The only set that differed any were the ones he wore to bed, which he paired not with the shiny pair of brown loafers, but a set of overly stuffed, pink, fuzzy bath slippers he'd acquired from a muggle "carriage sale," or whatever you called it. They were strange enough, but the robes he matched with it was oddly patterned and unflattering; he was absolutely sure that if he had ever had a wife, she would have commented endlessly on his lack of style.

Nevertheless, he wore them unfailingly every night, slippers included, as he sat in a soft, threadbare chair near the fireplace in his study and sipped at lukewarm tea while reading or re-reading one of his many encyclopedias, algebra textbooks, or quarterly statements he had collected over the years. Yes, Mr. Tanglishire, head of the Expenses and Savings Department of Parkinson Wizarding Goods Inc. was indeed utterly and inescapably boring. He was old, had no ambitions, and wanted nothing more than to sit in his chair and read every evening until he fell asleep.

The night of October seventeenth was no exception to this drab routine as Tambleford opened the front door to his small, plainly decorated apartment, took off his shoes at the door and donned his large fluffy slippers. He absentmindedly waved at the kitchen, the tea kettle and assortments jumping into their regular routine as he walked into his bedroom and changed.

With a sigh of relief, he settled in his chair and pulled open the pages of Rafflewiffle's Magician's Encyclopedia, Thirteenth Edition, R-S. A merry fire leapt into life in the fireplace as the tea poured itself into a rather beat up tea cup; Mr. Tanglishire reached over and took a sip, then spluttered and set it down as the firelight flicked out.

"Oh for goodness sake," he mumbled and waved a hand, relighting the dark crevice. He pulled the book closer and darted his eyes around the familiar room. The fire vanished a second time and, even though he re lit it just as easily, Tambleford shivered in his chair. When the pipes in the ceiling hissed, he started a bit in his seat despite himself, then chuckled nervously.

"P-perhaps R through S is a bit heavy reading for tonight," he tittered to the empty room as he slapped the book shut. He stood from his chair to replace the tome on it's proper shelf. As he pushed it into place, the fireplace and all the lights winked out simultaneously, dropping the apartment into inky blackness. A small cry escaped his lips in surprise as he tried to command the light to come back. Fear leapt into his throat and he clutched at his robes with a hand.

The house remained dark, the fireplace only smoking feebly, but when Tambleford managed to coax a single light bulb to a mild glow, sweat gathered in his palms and he whimpered softly into the darkness. Incoherent whispers coming for several directions added to his terror and pressed him to the verge of panic.

"Who is it? Who is there?" His voice cracked slightly when he spoke, the whispers laughing quietly in response until all noise suddenly died. He heard the dull thud of a man's footstep and the rustle of fabric. The intruder stayed just out of range of the weary bulb's light; the old man strained his eyes to try and make out the figure standing in the darkness.

"It's nothing personal," the chilling baritone swept up rows of goose flesh along Tambleford's arms and neck, "it's just business." The man stepped into the circle of amber light, his dark skin making the malicious gleam of his smile seem whiter, wand raised. The smell of rosewood and camphor filled the old man's nostrils.

"W-who are you? What are you doing in my home?" Tanglishire's voice raised pitch with every word, some part of his brain commanding him to run yet his legs refusing to respond. "What do you want?"

"Ah," the man smirked and made an elegant gesture with his free arm, bowing slightly, "I want you to suffer." A blinding flash of pain and the taste of blood filled Tambleford Thaddeus Tanglishire's senses as he crumpled onto the floor. The man's cruel laughter filtered through his consciousness as a weak moan escaped his lips.

After several hours, he stepped carelessly over the old wizard, curled and weeping on the floor, and inspected his attire in the reflection of the glass on his victim's book case. Satisfied with what he saw, he turned to leave through the front door. The old man reached out and clung to the leg of his pants, but whimpered and let go at the disgust on the younger man's face.

"What? What is it?" he snarled. Tanglishire flinched and raised his arms to cover his face from view.

"M-master, why are you leaving?" he sobbed into his hands, then reached for him again, but stopped short, cringing. "Don't leave me, master! I'll serve you, I promise, j-just don't go!" The unwavering subservience in the older man's voice made a twisting smile creep onto his face. He turned to look out the door and, seeing the sky beginning to lighten through the entry of the hallway, opened it and stepped outside. He turned back to the figure that had begun weeping again and calling for him to come back and not to leave him there alone.

"Yes," his servant quieted immediately at the sound of his voice, "you will serve me." Tanglishire scrambled and clutched the hem of his pants, kissing them and trembling anew.

"W-what shall I do, master?" He looked up and the dark man with adoration. The man smiled again, a vicious gleam in his eyes.

"You will tell them... everything," he leaned closer and spoke in an almost confidential tone, "tell them what I did to you, tell them what I will do to them... and you will tell her that I am coming." His slave looked bewildered and began groveling again, wriggling uncomfortably on the floor.

"B-but, master, who should I tell? There are so many people..." He whined and began begging for forgiveness at the look on his master's face. He spat his response and slammed the door behind him as he stepped into the hallway, striking the old wizard in the face with it.

Pansy shifted uncomfortably in her office chair, scowling at the statements in front of her as she heard the creak of the door opening. Her eyes flicked up and she smiled briefly as Williby shut the door behind himself and walked to his customary seat, but frowned when she remembered to be angry with him.

"Good morning,Madam," he said cheerily. She grunted a response and wrote some figures on a scrap of paper. He sat there, looking merry and biding his time until she finally slapped the pencil down onto the desk.

"What?" she snarled. He pretended shock and she glared at him. Williby smiled and she felt her features soften. Almost.

"Yes," he said in almost a sing-song voice, "I am dying at last." She refused to look sad and instead turned back to her papers.

"Don't have to be so bloody cheery about it," she grumbled. He stood up and walked over to her side of the desk, ignoring the indignant expression she put on.

She frowned again and opened her mouth to protest as he leaned over and gathered her into a hug. Her eyes filled with tears, more crying, as she felt the heat of his fever almost scalding her through their clothes. He was careful not to touch her with his bare skin and instead of kissing her cheek as he had when she was younger, Williby merely patted her back with a clothed wrist and then pulled away.

"Now now," he said, seemingly chipper, "if anyone should be happy for me, it's you, dear." She prentended not to hear, but when she looked back to her papers, the words and numbers blurred. Pansy nodded only slightly, not trusting her voice, and didn't look up to see if that was enough. She heard him sigh and caught a glimpse of a weary smile through her lashes before he turned away and headed back towards the door.

"You know," he said over his shoulder, "in all of my many, many years I have never met someone more gracefully stubborn than you are, Madam." She looked up to see the door click softly closed and allowed herself a small smile as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"I'll miss you though," she said quietly to the empty room as she wiped at her face with the back of her hand.

Neville snorted and started upright in his chair. The delicious smell of bacon and eggs filled the room, and he looked around to find the source of the accosting aromas.

"Well, well, well! Good morning there, Longbottom." Draco was standing next to a stove that Neville didn't remember transfiguring, as bright and chipper as he'd ever seen someone who'd downed a bathtub's worth of alcohol the night before. In response to the cheery greeting, he groaned and threw the blanket over his head. Malfoy laughed as he had the blanket pulled away and through the air to a far corner of the room with a flick of his wand. "Wakey, wakey. Eggs and bakey!"

"What?" Neville blinked at him, still half-asleep. "Oh," he grunted, "you made breakfast, right?" Draco confirmed it and practically threw him a plate. He ate quickly and grunted thanks. The eggs were burnt slightly, but he decided not to mention it.

"I didn't know you could cook, Draco," he frowned, "but you didn't have to." The blond looked insulted and gasped dramatically, then flashed a wide smile.

"Mostly I learned because Hermione wouldn't leave me alone about it," he flopped down onto the bed, laying on his side and adopting a falsetto and perching a hand on his chest, "'Cooking is an art; using magic makes it lose its meaning.'" Neville coughed and hid a smile; that sounded like something the woman would say.

"Also, though," Draco picked at invisible lint on his shirt, "it's a thank you."

"Eh? What for?" Neville felt his brows come together. Draco laughed out loud at the expression that graced the gardener's face.

"Because," he took on an exaggerated tone,"if some bloke had shown up at my door at one-or-two-something in the bloody morning, probably singing some bloody awful song and stinking of enough alcohol to land a dragon, I would have- Well, let's just say I wouldn't have let him borrow my jammies." Neville looked for something to chuck, but came up empty handed and settled for a sardonic look. He opened his mouth to say something when there was a soft knock at the door next to his chair.

One of the sleek, bored looking owls her company used was tapping impatiently at the window. Pansy pushed herself up from the work piled on her desk and walked quickly over to open it. The bird dropped the letter into her hand and yawned as she scratched a proffered spot on its neck and deftly opened the sealed envelope. She quickly read the missive, then narrowed her eyes and read it again.

"'Dear Miss Parkinson, there is an incident taking place at the office and your presence, though not necessary, is requested immediately.
Head of Security and Safety Measures, Jenice M. Radlin' "

Pansy swore under her breath, the owl giving her a wry look. She called in one of the maids, and told her to inform everyone that she was to be gone for a few hours to attend to an emergency regarding the company and to hold lunch for her until she returned. The owl was still pecking at the food and water that had been set out when she apparated with a loud crack.

"Come in," Draco chimed before Neville could answer. The brunette shot his guest a look as the door opened that quickly turned into a smile.

"Williby! What are you doing out here... wearing that?" Draco interrupted Neville before he'd had a chance to speak again, and this time Neville threw the blanket he'd been using. Then he turned and got a good look at the man. He was wearing what looked like a too thin cloak over a set of early summer robes. Heat radiated from the old man standing there, making Neville sweat.

What in the-

"Master Neville," he paused and added, "and Master Draco, of course, I have come here only to say goodbye." Draco mimicked his host's unabashed puzzlement. Neville reached out to touch him and drew his hand away with a short cry. The tips of his fingers were burned pink and raw. The air around him wavered. Draco gasped and took a step backwards. Williby smiled sadly at both of them and then left, the door closing swiftly behind him. Neville and Malfoy stared at each other, disbelieving.

"I know what he's dying from!" The blond spoke in a whisper, voice full of awe and his eyes wide. Neville somehow managed to keep his mouth from hanging open.

Pansy heard the satisfying click of her high heels echo off of the floor as she walked towards the tall red headed woman wearing a security uniform that concealed all of her well-toned body but her wiry muscled arms that were crossed in front of her chest. She quickly stood up straight from her slouching position as soon as she recognized Pansy and greeted her with a clipped, low voice.

"Good morning, Madam," the security chief repressed the urge to salute. Pansy nodded, returning the greeting silently.

"Mrs. Radlin, may I ask you what occurred here that I had to be summoned?" She dropped the tone of her voice in such a way that let the other woman know she was not in trouble. Jenice had been the former captain of Pansy's Quidditch team, and it showed in the way she handled her staff. The taller woman pursed her lips.

"I think you need to see for yourself, ma'am," her mouth turned down into a frown of uneasiness. Pansy almost pinched the bridge of her nose but instead sighed quietly.

"Just tell me what's going on," she said evenly, drawing a deep, calming breath.

No point in getting hysterical over something sma-

The head of security swallowed visibly and raised a hand helplessly in the direction of a stretcher being carried past by two orderlies wearing St. Mungo's uniforms. The figure on it was writhing and yelling incoherently; Pansy gasped, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth when she recognized him as one of her Board Members.

The man pushed against the restraints, glassy eyes bulging out and his hair matted; he didn't seem to take notice of anything until the orderlies passed right next to her. His gaze focused on her and he snatched a hand out, grabbing roughly onto her wrist and wrenching a cry from Pansy as he pulled her forward.

"My master, he is coming for you; he hurt me, he told me to tell them," he swung back and forth from sobbing to hissing, then he started yelling, loud enough that his voice bounced off of the walls,"He is coming for all of you! You'll see!" His voice quieted back to a whisper, so quiet that Pansy would have missed it if he hadn't still been holding her close. He started to weep.

"I've done as you asked, master. I was good... Please, let me die? Let me die!" He started to wail and beg, pulling against the restraints with renewed fervor. Pansy felt the unfamiliar jolt of nausea wrench in her gut. One of the burly men had managed to pry Tanglishire's hand off of her wrist and she stood there, rubbing it. She felt a sweeping chill raise the hair on her arms and neck; as Jenice asked her if she was all right, she nodded and shivered once more. Her eyes followed the tortured creature through the glass doors, watching in silence as the ambulance swiftly drove away. She shuddered, collecting herself and turned to question Radlin.

Well, hysterics never solved anything anyways.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that J. K. Rowling has created.