Harry Potter and the Rising Dark

by RPGIII

The Potter family has been split for five years, with Harry in the US helping the local law enforcement by day and drowning himself in a bottle by night. But now a series of rituals of a dark nature bring the two sides together again to stop the Dark before it's given the chance to expand and rise.

1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

26 Dead

"Fuck you Potter." The red head screamed. "I hate you, I've found someone new, someone better."

The man standing on the doorstep with rain pouring down his face glared at her his eyes desperately searching for someone behind her. "Ginny, I really don't give a shit about you, you can rot in hell for all I care. I just want to see my kids – where're my children?" There was a crack of thunder in the distance. "You can't keep my family away from me."

"No Potter. If I have my way, which I will because you're nothing but a dirty half-blood, you'll never see my kids again." Her hand dived into her robe and her wand appeared, it was dancing with dark red sparks. "Get out of here, Potter. We don't need you anymore."

Under the dancing crimson light the black haired man's face froze. The vibrant green eyes glazed over and his nostrils flared for a second, his pupils seemed to flash a dangerous scarlet. His fist clenched and unclenched.

"Say that again," he snarled, the venom, hatred and fury in his voice made the woman step back – the last time anyone could remember him talking like that was just before he killed the man who had murdered his parents, her knees shook but yet she still held her ground.

"I said get out of here – we don't need you anymore."

"Fine. But tell the kids if they ever need me, if they ever want to see me I'll always be there for them. I'll always be their dad. Fuck you, though Ginny, and fuck England."

He turned on his heel and with a crack that was heard over ten miles away he was gone.

Some Years Later...

The apartment was small, but it had everything a wizard needed. A sofa that folded out into a camp bed, a desk, a TV and radio, a fireplace, a bookcase and his old school trunk. It was dingy, unclean and smelt of B.O, takeaway, booze and cigarette smoke. It made him feel less connected to the life he used to know. The only connection he had to that life were the pictures on the mantle and his old school trunk. Sleeping on the stained, ripped and patched camp bed was a figure wearing ripped and blood stained jeans. A dirty white shirt, a black tie and black woollen knee long coat were dumped over the back of the sofa, his phone and a pack of cigarettes mingled among them. His greying black hair had ash and blood in and his roughly scarred and badly shaven face was covered in bruises and small cuts.

The phone rang shrilly waking the deeply sleeping figure from a nightmare of six years ago. Rolling off of the makeshift bed and onto the floor he rummaged through his clothes until he found the phone. Finally picking it up an answering.

"Potter, talk." He muttered while rubbing the sleep from his eyes and struggling to his feet. On the other end of the phone he heard a woman talk her voice was harsh and angry, though he could also detect fear and anxiety in it as well.

"Potter, I need you at New York Botanical Garden ASAP. You awake and sober?"

Harry grinned, he knew that voice The delicate tones of Detective Linda Phillips. The woman who had been his main contact at the NYPD for the four years that he had been consulting for them, although he preferred to think of himself as an information broker. He helped them for favours or cash and they helped him for his continued assistance, it was a delicate agreement and Harry enjoyed it, it gave him freedom without being tied down and it let him help people without becoming too attached to the world outside his apartment.

"Hello to you too Phillips. I'm awake and sober, though I've got a headache the size of a fucking dragon." He ambled over to his kitchenette and picked up a dirty glass; sniffing it briefly he pulled a bottle of whiskey from a cupboard and filled the glass. "I take it this isn't a social call. What's up?"

"There's been a multiple Homicide. Looks like an Occult ritual gone wrong, but I need an expert's eye on it. Can you make it?" She asked impatiently, there was urgency in her voice that made Harry pay attention, some cases really affected her, like they hit her on a personal level, Harry liked these cases they made her seem more human and less like a robot she usually pretended she was.

Harry quickly downed the whisky in one shuddering as the liquid trickled down into his empty stomach, "Can you send a car for me? My ride was totalled last night, that and I don't think I'm in any state to drive."

Forty five minutes later saw him watching as the country side slid past the him, occasional parts lit up by the flash of the blue and red lights above him. He cast a sideways glance at the uniformed officer that had been sent to retrieve him. The rookie cast a look at him then quickly looked away. The man smirked; it was good to know that he could still frighten some people.

"Are we there yet, mate?" he asked. "I don't appreciate being woken so early in the morning."

"Yes, Sir." The rookie replied his eyes set firmly on the road in front of him. "It's just round the corner."

As they rounded the bend Harry saw what he could only describe as a media circus. A turn style led into the woods was yellow taped off and guarded by several uniforms which was seemingly besieged by reporters, journalists, camera crews and photographers, all of whom were craning their necks, screaming questions and snapping as many pictures as they could of nothing. The uniforms who were getting assaulted by questions stood stoically and silent ignoring them. Harry didn't know if it was because they don't know anything or if it was because they were trained enough not to blab.

As Harry stepped from the car the media vultures saw him and made a beeline for him. He quickly reached for the hood of the hoody that he wore under his beat up trench coat and pulled it up. He had enchanted it himself so no one could see his face unless he willed them to, he did not need not his face be to be caught on film and turn up on the national news.

Harry could see over and beyond the turn style, looking down at the path the numerous footprints and broken twigs scattering it he could tell many people had been down there recently, he rolled his eyes, the cops had probably destroyed most if not all the evidence.

The Officer exited the car and ran to Harry putting up an umbrella for the Harry to shelter under from the pouring rain. Sneering slightly the elder man started walking, following the tracks down the path and deeper into the wooded area. The queasiness that had been in his stomach since he had woken up increased. He took a deep breath in and carried on walking, the sickening feeling increased and started weighing in his gut, turning it inside out. Suddenly it became over bearing, he caught himself against a tree and the contents of his gut ejected itself.

"Fuck." He muttered harshly, coughing up the remains of the booze and takeaway he had digested last night. He turned to the Officer. "What's that?"

The Officer looked startled at being addressed then confused. "What's what?"

"Don't you feel it?" the sickened Harry asked. He rolled his eyes for a second before answering himself, "Of course you don't, bloody rookie."

He dug into the pockets of his jeans and pulled out a beaten up packet of cigarettes. Pulling one out between his lips he stashed them away before producing a zippo lighter and sparking his stick of paper and tobacco. After breathing in heavily and exhaling he continued forward. The heaviness and uneasiness he had started to feel filling the air the further he went. He could see now why he had been called.

There was movement to his left turning he saw her. The woman he had been burdened with as his police contact. He smirked at her. The attractive officer could always been counted on to make his usually bad days even worse, she was like a rose, pretty to the eyes but once you got close you saw the thorns. In her smart, casual and usually practical style of dress she had a police poncho over it protecting her from the rain; the hood was up covering her strawberry blonde locks

"Hello Phillips."

She scowled at him, her eyes taking in his blood stained jeans, shirt and coat, his tie hung loose. Blood and ash still matted his hair. His hangover had caught up with him making him look even more bedraggled than he felt. "Potter, you look like shit." She greeted him.

"Why Phillips, you always know just what to say to make a bloke feel wanted." He told her sardonically. "Had a run in with a couple o' hags last night. Rowdy bitches." He took a drag from his cigarette then pinched it between his fingers. "Now tell me, what happened and why does it feel like I got half of Ireland River dancing on my gut."

"You're a dead beat alcoholic?" she suggested.

"And you're a cold hearted bitch who for some reason hates my guts," he shot back. "Now tell me why is my gut, heart and head telling me to run from this place. Honestly I haven't had this many bad feelings since that time with the coven in Hell's Kitchen."

He wasn't lying; he could sense the perverted wrongness that lingered in the air. A wrongness that could only be brought about by hard-core dark magic. It was why he was here after all, he was a consultant to the NYPD, specialist in magic, and given he was or used to be one of the most powerful warlocks in the world he had magical knowledge in spades.

She looked at him and for a second he could see through her shell, this one had her spooked, and something that got Detective Linda Phillips spooked was not something good. "You're not wrong Potter. What do you know about sacrifice?"

Harry Potter shrugged, "Not much, if the sacrifice is living the rule is it's usually dark magic, I'm going to need to know what or who was sacrificed. Judging from the presence of you I'm guessing human, who was sacrificed?"

She sighed and closed her eyes, rubbing the bridge between them; he swore he saw a tear trickle from the corner before mingling with the rain drops on her cheeks. "I think it would be better if you saw it for yourself."

He nodded and followed her. As they reached the peak of the hill the smell hit him. The smell of death mingled with the stench of dark magic, he closed his eyes briefly battling the need to throw up again. Finally he opened them and what he saw was worse than anything he could have imagined. There was a large stone about seven foot by four, candles were set at the four corners, in four pits at each point of the compass were pits were the burnt and smouldering remains of dead animals, all rotten and stinking of dead flesh, off to one side were the rotting bodies of the animals that hadn't been used. Arranged in a pentagram around the alter and inside the perimeter set by the burning pits were the bodies of thirteen naked young women, all with their throats slit and their guts cut wide open. On the alter were thirteen blood stained bundles, though he could guess what they were he had to ask.

"The bundles on the alter?"

"The dead results of the involuntary Caesareans. The oldest being due a week from now the youngest about a month from now." Phillips told him factually. "Any ideas Potter?"

Harry took a deep breath and swallowed. "I'll have to look in my books, but unless I'm mistaken and I rarely am in these matters this was an attempt at bringing a soul back from hell and create it a vessel, using the blood of thirteen first mothers and the lives of those that yet to be." He told her. "It's an ancient ritual, I haven't seen it before, and the last recorded attempt was over a thousand years ago. Hardly anyone today would have the focus or magical power. Even in my prime I doubt I would have this kind of focus."

"So you think this is a wizard committed crime?"

Harry shook his head in negative. "No. All I can smell the death and decay, but no sulphur nor brimstone and nothing's burnt or destroyed apart from the animal carcasses and that's part of the ritual. It's probably a non-magical who got their hands on an old spell book and thought that any old pleb could do it. Lucky really, I'd hate to see the type of monster this ritual would raise."

"Some people do that?" Phillips asked her eyes wide.

Harry nodded, "Unfortunately, some devil worshiping loony sees a way to raise a demon or the dead they do it. It's like we're bored and can't get laid let's have a spliff, a little blood sacrifice, have a wank and delusion ourselves into making a deal with a demon." he sighed. "Stupid fucking kids. What concerns me is the feeling of darkness coming up from it. The power and intent of the ritual was there, but the person performing it didn't have enough power to see it through, that's why there's such a build-up."

Phillips looked at him quizzically. "Meaning?"

"Think of it like whiskey dick or blue balls." He told her. "The set-ups done, hot bird, a bit of Barry playing, rubbers on, the actions done along with the intent but the juice just won't come. If some dark magic was performed here now it would work and it would work well, this place is tainted and it would take some pure energy to cleanse it, I doubt even bringing in the Pope to do some chants would cleanse this place, it'll need a group of pure light wizards to do it."

"You really do have a vulgar way of describing things, you know that Potter?"

He didn't respond, instead he was striding across towards the alter. As he passed one of the forensic investigators he swiped a pair of gloves from her pocket. As he pulled them on he rounded the alter. Trying to ignore the grotesque bundles his eyes scanned over the alter. A bit of paper, a small golden goblet, a flat rectangular box and a long narrow box.

First he opened the flat box, inside was a golden knife. It's handle was carved into a skull with ruby eyes, the blade was wickedly sharp with a runic language Harry didn't recognise going up toward the point. It was also stained brown with dried blood. He stomach clenched at the sight of it, he jaw pulsed as he though the urge to throw up again.

"Shit." He flicked open the long narrow box. "Double shit."

"What is it?" Phillips asked coming up beside him pulling on her own gloves. He pointed at the stick that was in the box. "It's a twig, a carved and polished twig but still a twig."

He shook his head at her. "That's not a twig. It's a wand." He went to pick it up but stopped as under the glove his hand seemed to age and a shudder went through his body. "Damn, whoever used it here may not be a witch or wizard but this is definitely a genuine wand and it's definitely been used to do some bad mojo if the residue is still leaking from it." he passed his hand over it again; his eyes closed muttering under his breath. "This one was deliberately made for evil and dark magic. Pine wood, with death surrounding it…this was carved from a coffin, with a Nundu's heartstring and crystallised saliva core." He shuddered again. "Things like wands are usually passed through families, so the user could be a squib, which might explain the build-up of power and no actual release."

"In English please Potter."

"A really dark witch or wizard either made this wand or had it commissioned. They used it for, I'd say thirty maybe forty years, and they also had a kid during that time. Probably to their shame that kid was a squib," he looked at her, "born without magic." At her nod he continued. "He or she inherited the wand, as it was passed down like that until it reached our Dark Wizard Wannabe. A Squib with a wizard few miles back down the family line, now squibs have the power inside, they just don't have the ability to release it. Sometimes you get people with skills, hypnotists, psychics, spoon benders, magicians who do unconscious magic sometimes just unbelievably lucky people, but that's it."

"If this guy is descendant from a Wizard how did he know the ritual?" Phillips asked.

"Well the family legend of the witch or wizard was passed down the lines as was the wand. Finally it reaches our guy, who is probably born with a screw loose and a superiority complex. He figures let's do some witchcraft just like my great-great-great ancestor did…where would you go for information in this day and age?"

"The internet." Phillips concluded.

"Exactly." Harry picked up the paper and waved it at her. It was a computer printout and even had a diagram of the circle around them, "Amazing what people are putting on the net these days. Usually the wizarding world has techno savvy employees who scan for this stuff, but sometimes stuff gets through the cracks. This is the wizarding world not doing their jobs."

"Amazing. Why couldn't our guy just surf for porn like everyone else?" Phillips muttered.

"Our guy get a stiffy by surfing for sacrificial rites and ways to raise the dead." Harry suggested with a shrug. "Now we need to find the i.p. address of this site and who visited it, then we'll go through all of those in this area. While you're doing that I'll go to the Wizarding Law Enforcement Office in Manhattan and report the site and get them to close it down."

Phillips nodded. "Sounds like a plan, Potter. What do you want us to do with the wand?"

"Get a box that's lined with lead or proofed against radiation leaks and put it in that. Do not, I repeat do not touch the wand, not until I'm there. With that much residue who knows what it'll do, but it won't be good. When I get a chance I'll dust it for prints." He smiled, "I do like working on cases."

Phillips looked at his in confusion. "Why? Someone died."

"Gets me out the house, gets my worries out my head, let's me do what I enjoy best."

"Which is?"

He grinned at her. "Helping people. It reminds me there are still people worth saving. Right I'm off home, need to get into my Wizarding best in case I need to rip someone a new one. I'll see you back at the station in a few hours, Phillips."

She nodded to him and watched as he walked away and out of sight down the hill.

Stepping into the shower room he ran a comb through his tangled hair and washed his face. Giving it up he started to run a shower. His body was a litter of scars, the one on his head that had made him famous had faded of course, and it had been since he had killed Voldemort. He shook his head trying to rid himself of the decades old memory. That had been almost twenty-six years ago. So much had happened since then, his marriage to Ginny, the birth of his three kids that had been amazing, then a happy but seemingly brief time of family and belonging.

Then it all came to a screeching halt when Ginny declared she wanted a divorce five years ago. Everyone took her side of course. No one saw her for the money digging shrew she was, well almost no one. Harry's Godson Edward 'Teddy' Lupin had stuck by Harry, as had one of Ginny's brothers, George, but all the others had all but abandoned him. He closed his eyes. His eldest son James would be twenty now, a tear dropped from Harry's eye, he had been following in Harry's footsteps of wanting to go into magical law enforcement.

Harry rubbed his eyes, Albus had been thirteen when Harry was forced to leave, Harry had never seen his sons fourteenth birthday, something he hated. And Lily. His Lily Luna would be sixteen, a sweet sixteenth without her dad. Suddenly Harry lashed out, a fist powered by magic smashing into the clean tiles of his shower, over and over again, without realising it Harry bellowed in rage. The tiles cracking under his blows and his skin breaking as he punished it. Finally he stopped looking down at his bloody hand with small shards of tile wedged into it he cried. Sinking down into the shower tray to cry for his children, for his family and for what the cheating shrew he called an ex-wife had done to him.

He walked dramatically from the floo connection of the Manhattan Law Enforcement Office with his head held high, his hair had been brushed back but his rough beard and ragged tired look remained. A blood stained bandage was wrapped around his hand, but other than that he looked every inch of the powerful wizard he used to be. His black robes billowing behind him, the Potter crest over his heart, he had even gone to the effort of strapping on his old wand holster on his forearm.

Gazing around intently he took in the room that he had only been in once before. It was a high ceilinged room and looked like a cross between a old wooden panelled study and the bull pen of the police department. The room was devided into cubicles in which grunts, trainees and pencil pushers ran around talking, exchanging papers and going about business. Directly in front of him was a wooden reception desk. The girl behind the desk was no older than twenty; she was applying nail polish in a bored sort of way. Walking to stand in front of her he cleared his throat and she paid his no heed. He snorted this was the sort of girl he could imagine Lavender Brown becoming, an airheaded receptionist.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

She waved him off as if she were having an important conversation. He sighed.

"Excuse me?"

She waved him off again, this time shooting him a scowl. He finally lost it. He could feel it brewing inside him since this morning, being around that much magic, especially dark magic had called to his power, all the power that steamed from his negative emotions and it had finally boiled over in anger, regret, shame, heartbreak and misery.

"LISTEN YOU STUPID AIRHEADED BINT!" he bellowed, pulling all the magic around him into a visible aurora which was glowing around him in a swirling pattern of deep green and red. "YOU ARE DOING NOTHING IMPORTANT BUT YOUR FUCKING NAILS, NOW UNLESS YOU WANT ME TO CURSE THEM OFF THEN SHOVE THEM SO FAR INTO YOUR EARS YOU WOULD HAVE A REASON TO IGNORE ME YOU WILL LISTEN. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

All the office stopped what they were doing, they could feel the magic rolling off of him, and items were shaking from the magic in the air. The receptionist looked scared stiff, her nail polish bottle had imploded, nothing more than shattered glass and a small puddle of polish remained. All the Officers were running towards him with their wands out, they seemed ready for a battle. Every fibre of Harry was begging him to give it to them. He turned to them; they froze in their tracks at his gaze. His emerald green eye glowing dangerously, daring them to start something. He took a breath. Then out again.

"Now all I want is to talk to whoever is in charge, I have had a very harrowing day so far and your ignorant receptionist has not made it any better." Harry said clearly to them, he put his hands up in a sign of peace making sure everyone in the crowded room heard him and saw his gesture clearly.

"I'm in charge, what seems to be the problem Mr…?" a large black man stepped towards him, a robe thrown over and an official looking business suit.

"Potter. Harry Potter." Harry told him. Everyone froze. Inside he smirked; even across here he was well known for his Boy-Who-Lived legend. "Yeah, that Harry Potter." He looked at the receptionist and sneered. "Want to pay attention to me now?"

The man walked forwards. "I'm Fredricks Limicks. How can I help you Mr Potter?"

Harry sighed. "You may or may not have heard but I am the magical consultant in one of the local non-magical precincts." He pulled out the badge that the precinct had presented to him. "We have recently had a multiple homicide which I believe was the work of a squib attempting to perform a Dark Arts Ritual of the Necromancy variety. Thirteen pregnant women were killed, cut open and their yet to be born offspring extracted, all part of an ancient and extremely dark ritual. Thankfully due to the nature of the murderer there were no results rendered, though the place will need to be cleansed or cornered of from the public until the aurora of darkness has passed, from my experience and opinion this could take a number of years, maybe decades." He told the man who nodded.

"Understood, is there anything else?" Limicks asked seriously.

"Yes," Harry answered. "Though we might want to take this to a more private setting." He said glaring at the numerous eyes that were still on him, the receptionist seemed to have disappeared.

"Very well, follow me to my office."

Limicks lead Harry into a small office that was practical and held little to no personal memrobllia apart from a small family photo on the desk. One wall was entirely books and another was covered in certificates and medals. Harry glanced at them and saw the American equivalent of an Order of Merlin second class. He nodded at it. "Impressive." He noted.

"Thanks, though to be honest I only put them there to intimidate anyone that might think they can out rank me. Though you might give me a run for my money given your reputation from the UK."

Harry smirked. "I'm not that guy anymore. I'm not interested in a dick measuring contest. I do what I need to do to get the job done." Harry pulled out a copy of the printed pages he had found on the alter. "This was recovered at the scene, a print out from an internet page detailing the stages of this ritual. I thought you might like your techs to look at it and delete the site and pull the author in for questioning, once the N.Y.P.D office I'm with are through with him or her of course." He smiled and ran his hand through his hair. "It is the American Law Enforcement office's job to scan and moderate any sites such as this is it not?"

Harry passed the sheet to the man, who scanned it with his eyes, which widened in shock and revulsion. "Someone actually tried to go through with this?"

"It was not a very pleasant scene. Any magic user would be able to feel it in the air; if you do send men to investigate make sure they know what they're doing. We also found a wand at the scene and a ceremonial dagger; I'll let you have them once my team have dusted them for prints and I've researched them thoroughly."

Limicks nodded. "Okay, thanks for the advice. We'll share anything we find with you and I'm sure you'll do the same. Anything like this magical committed or not reflects badly on the community. A scene like this could raise the possibility of witch fear starting up again, especially with the current political climate in the non-magic world."

Harry smiled. "Honestly I've been with the force for three years now and most of them still don't fully trust me, though I am glad that those in authority have been made aware and have people like me in quite a few precincts."

"God bless America." Limicks grinned.

Harry laughed. "If only the democrats back home followed by example." He put out his hand to shake the man's. "It was nice meeting you Mr Limicks. I'll share anything with you I can. Tell your receptionist sorry, she tried my patience at a bad time."

Limicks chuckled. "Honestly she needed a wakeup call, might make her more alert."

Harry sat the bar sipping the glass of bourbon, the amber liquid swirling around in his glass, his mind working on the puzzle that had been presented to him. The murderer had come from an old family before it squibbed out on magic, that meant money which was how the wand was afforded, either that or the family were wand crafters, the wand was a work of art even if it was pure evil. He sighed; the only two wand crafters he knew of were of Ollivander and Gregorovitch, neither of which would deal in the Dark Arts that it would take to manufacture such a dark and volatile wand. What he also wanted to know was who or what had the wannabe necromancer intended to raise.

"Bollocks to it." he tilted his head back and slammed back the drink. Wiping his mouth he signalled to the bartender for another.

Pulling a napkin towards him Harry drew a pen from his pocket and started sketching a bird's eye view of the scene. He needed to go there again, although he didn't want to he needed to map out the flows of the magic, something was not right and he wanted to know what. Digging into his coat he found his phone and flipped it on. Punching in Phillips number he put it to his ear and waited.

"Potter, what do you want?" she barked at him before he could speak.

"I need to go back out to the scene." He told her. "And I need to do this now."

"Why are you telling me? Why don't you just go out there and do whatever you need to do alone?" she snorted. "Do you need big bad cop lady to hold your hand?"

"Nope, not sure I'd be able to find it again."

"You're drunk aren't you?" he noted the resigned tone in her voice.

"Little bit. So can you pick me up from Finnegan's?" he asked hopefully.

She sighed deeply. "I suppose, I'll be there in half an hour, no more alcohol."

She hung up. Harry downed his last drink.

Half an hour later Harry was waiting outside the pub when Phillips pulled up in her beat up old Cadillac. Climbing in he grinned at her, a look of revulsion spread across her face and she smelt the odour of cheap after shave and whiskey coming off him.

"You know Potter, if I actually gave a damn about your well-being I would stage an intervention." She told him sternly.

Harry smirked. "Fortunately for me you don't so yippee."

"So what do you need to go out there for?" she asked him.

"I need to see if I can pick up anything from the flow of magic. It's going to be hard but hopefully I can pick up on the exact order things happened." He paused. "I went by the local magic cop shop and told them, the big boss told me they would help when they could and that the wish us luck in catching the guy." He smiled and stretched in the seat, his back and neck giving a loud crack. "What about you?"

"All thirteen women were in their late teens early twenties and all first time mothers. They were also all registered at with the same Doctor, A Doctor Gregory Lechkov. He's gone missing, couldn't contact him we also went by his offices, he's cleared out and taken all the notes of the women with him."

Harry processed the information. "Lechkov? What is that Russian?"

"Bulgarian. Why?"

"That was the home base of a Dark Lord a few decades back during the second world war. That area's always had a reputation for Dark Magic, it wouldn't surprise me if the family was part of that Dark Lords army." He sighed. "When I was working in England I went over a couple of times to assist on some international matters. I could probably call in a few favours if you wanted me to; track down the name and family history."

"How quickly could you do that?" Phillips asked.

"Give me an hour maybe two with Floo connection and I would have something. Either answers or people after my blood," he grinned at her, "I know which you'd prefer Phillips."

"I would like nothing more than to watch you burn Potter, but honestly you're a lot more tolerable than most of your kind I've met and I can't deny that you get the job done."

"Why Phillips I do believe you almost gave me a compliment." He smirked then looked at her again. "Do you have a coffee?"

A/N: Next chapter we will meet the kids and find out more about what split the family apart.