A thick fog of some unidentified substance swirled lazily in the cramped apartment of 221B Diagon Alley. It only grew thicker with time, as the windows were all firmly closed and the ventilation spell had worn out long ago. Unlike normal fog, this one held a weird smell of something alike dead fishes and sugar pastry mixed together.

Soft sounds of boiling liquids came from the kitchen area, where the smoke was considerably thicker. An unpractised eye wouldn't have noticed the tall dark shape moving expertly around the small kitchen table in the centre. On the surface were multiple cauldrons filled to the brim of boiling potions, spread out ingredients, strangely shaped tools, and empty jars and vials ready to be filled.

The shape wasn't just a shape. In fact, it was a grown man wearing very dark clothes and a concentrated frown on his face (as he should; he was after all brewing several different potions at once). What he was doing was risky, and others would call him crazy, but he wasn't called a Master for nothing.

He was just about to get to the part where he needed to add diced hippogriff eyes to one potion and stir clockwise fifteen times in another one, when the sound of the door to the apartment opening reached his ears. He sneered angrily, and was going to snarl to whoever it was, that any draft in the room could potentially destroy hours of work, but thought better of it.

Only two people besides himself ever barged into the apartment without knocking. One was the old widowed landlady, Mrs Francis Harper, and the other was his employer and Lord, Tom Riddle.

"Severus?" came a distinctly male voice from the living room, which was also a hallway. The apartment wasn't very big, and therefore one room had to work for multiple uses. Such as the kitchen being more of a potions lab than an actual kitchen, for example.

"In the kitchen, my Lord", replied Severus in a voice made as monotone as possible to hide his undeniable frustration at being disturbed in the middle of his work.

Steps moved towards him in the fog. Soon he could make out the face and form of his Lord through the thick fumes.

Riddle stood still for a while and looked over the contents in the cauldrons. He picked up a stray toad skull near the edge of the table and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger.

"Choking potion?" he asked and met the Potion's Master's eyes. Severus tilted his head slightly down in submission.

"Thrombus draught, my Lord. Choking potion require bird skulls, not toad." There was no rise of any eyebrows on his part, of course.

Riddle didn't answer. He simply placed the ingredient back on the table and pulled out a chair, in which he sat down gracefully.

Severus let a few seconds tick by, but when it became clear that the detective would remain silent, he returned to his work with a fervour. One more minute of waiting and they could expect three rather impressive simultaneous explosions.

Half an hour went by until Severus came to a stage where one potion was complete, two needed to cool without magic and the other four would be left to boil undisturbed for a minimum of forty five minutes. The now rather greasy haired man took a step back from the table, made sure everything was as it should, and sat down in a chair opposite to Riddle.

It didn't surprise him that the man had sat there for the entire half hour he'd been working. Sometimes Severus would leave early in the morning, leaving his Lord sitting in one of the armchairs by the fireplace. He'd come back that same night, or even the next day, and find Riddle had barely moved.

"Arabella Figg came by this morning", said Riddle suddenly, breaking the silence. Severus turned to look at him, but the man was staring intensely at the cupboard under the sink.

"Squib?" questioned Severus, recognising the name but only vaguely.

His Lord nodded and rested his elbows on each armrest. His hands met under his chin, pressed together in a gesture that was familiar to his assistant. It was a sign Riddle was in deep thought.

"Muggle raised or magical?"

"Raised in the Wizarding World until it became apparent that she was a squib. She's been living in the muggle world for the larger part of her life", explained Riddle absent-mindedly. "Very familiar with the magical world, however."

"And she brought a case?"

"Indeed."

"Anything of interest?" The fog thickened further, making it hard for him to see more than Riddle's profile. Without an air-cleaning spell put on his mouth and nose, Severus would've had problems breathing. Despite him working in the kitchen quite often, he'd never seen his Lord using any similar spells. Perhaps the foul air didn't bother him.

"A series of murders in muggle London", the man said. Severus studied him. There was no wall between the kitchen and the living room, leaving it all an open area. It was daytime yet, and the light streaming in through the windows in the living room was dulled down by the mist. Nearly no light reached the kitchen area. Riddle's unclear silhouette against the dull shine gave the man quite the aura.

"Muggle, my Lord?" Severus was only slightly taken aback, thanks to his Occlumency shield helping him repress feelings.

"Exactly my first thought as well, Severus." Riddle finally glanced up at him. "But it seems there is more to this case than I first anticipated. The first four victims were muggles, the last one a wizard. The Killing Curse was used on them all."

"Has the wizard been identified?"

"Rufus Scrimgeour."

Severus blanched. Scrimgeour? That was... unexpected. Not only because he was the Head of Auror Department and a skilled wizard, but also...

"What was Scrimgeour doing in Muggle London?" he murmured, mostly to himself. As an Auror, Scrimgeour should've had very little to do with the muggle world in general. Especially in London. When Death Eaters attacked, it was mostly in smaller villages or places of importance to the Light side and the Order of the Pheonix. How had Scrimgeour ended up dead in London?

"He was intoxicated", Riddle told him. "The body was found in an alley not too far from the Leaky Cauldron, propped up against the wall behind a garbage container. There was dried blood in the crime scene, but not wound on the corpse. The frozen expression of fear on his face points to the Avada Kedavra."

Severus scowled thoughtfully. The blood suggested a fight; either a drunken brawl, a surprise attack or a planned assassination gone wrong. Next to no wizards or witches had business in London, so the chance of Scrimgeour running into someone with magic was slim.

"Last spells?" he asked finally, knowing his Lord most probably knew already. He always did, somehow.

"Diffindo, Lumos, and a breath freshening charm. We can assume there wasn't a real duel going on before he died. Very little harm was done to the walls of the alley, proving the point." Riddle paused, looking away from his partner and to the lighter living room. He let out a small huff of air, causing the fog in front of his face to swirl. "I felt the remains of two magical auras; Scrimgeour's and someone else's."

"You didn't recognise it, my Lord?"

Silence. The soft bubbling of the boiling potions was the only sound penetrating the suddenly very quiet atmosphere. The sound that Severus usually found relaxing now made him feel uncomfortable and tense. The silence stretched between them, like a muggle rubber band. In the end, it was the Dark Lord that snapped it.

"I'm not sure", he said softly, in a not-so-soft way, if that made any sense. He spoke slower than usual, as if he was unsure of what to say. "In some ways it felt familiar, but at the same time new. It was... different."

Nothing more was said after that. Riddle stood from the chair and retreated to his barely used bedroom without another word. Severus sat alone for a while longer, pondering his Lord's new case and how the man had acted, before casting a tempus. Almost forty five minutes had passed. Severus returned to his brewing, working mindlessly.

It came as no surprise when he several minutes later noticed he was one frog skull short. The Potion's Master gave a snort. He could only hope this didn't turn out to be one of his Lord's new obsessions. After all, Severus needed those skulls.

~~~!~~~

"Lestrange."

Rabastan Lestrange looked up from the criminal records of a recently caught Death Eater spread out on his desk. The file was a mess, which was more than he could say about the Auror Department it belonged to. The war had made a dent in the Ministry and this was one of the places where it had struck hardest. The Department lost an average of four Aurors each passing month, making it about one a week.

The voice calling his name belonged to Chanter; an older female Auror with a Pureblood background, though she herself was a half blood. His office door was cracked open, allowing the woman to peek her head through.

"Yes, Chanter?" he said politely with only the faintest hint of a drawl in his voice. But what more could one expect of him? He'd been stuck there for too long to not be bitter about it.

"Dennis is waiting for you to clear the office, sir. You need to move", said Chanter. Her voice was rather clipped, which fit her as she was a rather strict looking woman. No wonder she was a distant relative to Minerva McGonagall, professor in Charms at Hogwarts. He wouldn't be surprised if that was the reason for the Auror's surname.

Rabastan often enjoyed the witch's company, but now a deep scowl forced its way onto his handsome features.

"Have I been fired?" he questioned, rather harshly but not angrily. Inside, he started forming a plan. If he'd been found out, he'd need to escape quickly. And he'd have to find his Lord and... probably explain why he lost his position. The Dark Lord wouldn't be happy with him.

Chanter raised her eyebrows, as if surprised. "You haven't been informed, sir?"

Rabastan's scowl deepened further. "Informed about what?"

His colleague sighed irritatedly and slipped into the office, closing the door behind her. She wisely kept her distance from his desk, and he noticed her left arm was tensed and ready to go for her wand. He would've smirked at her paranoia, but he wasn't in the mood any longer.

"Auror Scrimgeour was found dead early this morning in London", said Chanter, looking him right in the eye but keeping her voice low in respect. If it was for him or for Scrimgeour, Rabastan didn't know. Maybe it was both.

Rabastan didn't show any emotion when he asked, "Has Kingsley been told?"

As Scrimgeours second in command, Kingsley would take over as Head of Auror Department if the current one died or disappeared. Therefore, it came as a bit of a surprise when Chanter said,

"No, sir." He knew he wasn't imagining the trace of disappointment and a bit of trepidation in the witch's voice. "Auror Kingsley has been away on a mission for over two weeks, sir, and is not expected to be back in another month. We haven't been able to reach him."

This new information had Rabastan sitting a little straighter in his office chair. Had he been a dog, his ears would have perked and his tail wagged slightly.

"And Moody?" He almost didn't dare to breath when Chanter didn't answer immediately. She stared at him long and hard, and he was about ready to growl at her and demand she answer when finally she spoke.

"He hasn't been in for a while", she said slowly. She seemed suspicious, and Rabastan forced himself to stay less obvious. She continued, "The Minister himself deemed Auror Moody as unfit for the job after the last couple of years. When he comes back, he's under order to take some time off." It was quite visible on her tone that she disapproved.

The younger Lestrange's eyes widened slightly when he realized what that meant. A strange shine filled them and he made himself look down at his desk again to make sure he didn't reveal anything to Chanter. His pulse raced a little faster and a satisfied smirk threatened to break out on his face.

From the door, he heard Chanter take a deep breath and officially announce the great news.

"Well, you're third in line. Congratulations, sir, you're the new Head of Auror Department." He nodded absently. Seconds later the door opened and his colleague left the office.

Rabastan finally let himself smile. When he did, it was broad and wolfish and full of shark white teeth. Oh, his Lord would be so pleased. And his brother. He'd tell Rodolphus soon, tonight maybe, and they could go out and have a few drinks in celebration.

The Death Eater at the Auror's office chuckled darkly. He'd said before that the department was a mess, right? Well, it wasn't anything near the compete chaos he'd turn it into very soon.

The Ministry wouldn't know what hit it until it was too late.