Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling, the wonderful lady who has inspired so many people to try their hand at writing too. Warhammer 40k belongs to Games Workshop who have a very scary legal team. Please don't sue me, I'm not very well off and could only pay you in pictures. I only mean to pay homage to the wonderful, funny, baroque, gruesomeness that is WH40k.

I should also say a big thank-you to my very patient Beta Jacobus-minoris who has read and reread my writing, pointed out my grammatical mistakes, questioned the suitability of some of my wilder ideas as well as putting up with my long winded rants about plot ideas.

Author's Note

Wow. Well this is a little embarrassing. I promised the 8th and it's now the 23rd.

I had a bit of a punch up with this chapter, but I really wanted to get it right so I didn't feel I could rush it. A particular scene was causing me huge troubles, just really not cooperating at all, but a couple of weeks ago I had a little bit of a break-through. "What I finish the chapter at this point instead," I thought and it all sort of twisted into place after that, and also a big chunk of this chapter, 3k or so, had actually ended up in chapter 8 instead. It's much better for it too.

This also means that I won't be posting anything on July 1st (instead I will be going to the dentist, yay!) instead I will post chapter 8 on August 1st.

Anyway, thank-you all for your continued support and patience…and enjoy :-)

Chapter 7

"But why does the DMLE need this," Fudge whined, "you've been doing a perfectly good job with the training halls here," he slumped further into his seat as he gazed round the formal meeting of the Department Heads.

Timothy suppressed a snarl, his face an emotionless mask. Madam Bones wasn't quite so reticent glaring at the shrunken little man. "It may have been adequate in 1750 but the Training Halls here are no longer up to the task of training our recruits to modern standards and haven't been for a long time."

But the Minister was having none of it continuing on, "…but the DMLE's budget won't cover this…and the transport…"

"Weasley," Timothy leant back catching his secretary's eye as Fudge continued to ramble on, "budget plan, please."

Percy began rifling through his impressive collection of folders pulling out a wad of yellow and very muggle paper carefully stapled at the corner. To Tim's concern the younger man was still sporting dark shadows under his eyes, his face so pale his freckles stood out starkly.

To be honest for him the whole incident, despite how upsetting it had been, had barely rated as a Tuesday with Carrow around, but Percy had always been sheltered from all that.

"If you need to talk…" he murmured as Percy handed the budget plan over.

"I'm fine…I'm going to be fine," Percy hissed.

Mr Glossop from Trade and Commerce glared at them.

Percy leant in closer. "Just do the little bastard in," he whispered.

"…so out of the way in Godric's Hollow. Other than the Potter family memorial what else is there? Last time I visited it was sleepier than Hogsmede in the middle of summer," the Minister tittered to himself, his anxious laugh quickly dying in the stony silence.

Timothy slapped the budget plan down in front of Fudge causing the shrunken little man to jerk back in his chair, eyes wide and frightened. "No need to worry about the budget Minister," he gave the man a toothy smile, "we've sorted it all out, right down to the last knut."

"Exactly Minister," Madam Bones smirked, "Mr Carrow is paying for the building and its facilities and is also contributing half the running costs...in exchange for a permanent Auror presence in Godric's Hollow itself."

There was more spluttering and protests from the Minster but he'd already lost and everyone in the room knew it. How had such a weakling managed to get into such a powerful position? Timothy wondered as he glared at the annoying man the meeting grinding on around them. Oh there he was answering his own question, hadn't Lucius Malfoy had something to do with it, a whispered word here, carefully placed gold there…and hey presto! The elections results you always wanted.

The Minister shifted uncomfortably in his chair, eyes flitting constantly to the door. Ah yes, his lunch time pick-me-up, Timothy ground his teeth. What was it now…an entire bottle of elderflower wine from that hag on Crooked alley, which was more than likely fermented potato peelings if half the rumours were true. Apparently the whisky was getting a little too expensive even on the Minister's salary.

As the Minister for Sports and Games finally finished Fudge became increasingly restless practically hopping in his chair as the meeting wound down to its end around him. The moment people began standing and gathering their things he was up, and in a surprising turn of speed sprinting for the door.

"I'll get all this," Percy muttered by his ear, "go get him". With a jerk of a nod Timothy strode for the door, Wulfric peeling out of the shadows and joining him.

oOo

Shockingly Fudge actually managed to get as far as the lifts despite his short legs. Getting to the lattice screen door just as it was about to close, Timothy wrenched it to one side, sliding into the lift beside the Minister, Wulfric close behind him. Fudge backed into the corner, eyeing them warily as Wulfric mashed the button for the Entrance Hall, the werewolf's smile never faltering for a moment.

"Minister," Timothy smiled down at the smaller man, his scar pulling it into something that had Fudge pale-faced and sweating, "I've been wanting to talk to you alone…I have something I need to show you."

Wondering if Fudge would fall for it, Timothy watched the Minister who had now backed into the corner, holding his ridiculous lime green bowler hat in front of him as if he could use it as a shield, his eyes flicking from Timothy to Wulfric who was standing in front of the lift doors in his best "relaxed" stance, amber eyes cool and unfriendly.

"Show me?" the Minister squeaked.

"Yes, show you," Timothy smiled doing his best to imitate Carrow at his worst. Apparently it worked, as Fudge went a funny putty colour, his shoulder blades practically trying to dig their way out of the lift.

"Main Entrance Hall to the Ministry of Magic," the female voice of the lift declared, in far too cheerful a tone.

As the lattice screen opened, Fudge attempted to bolt but Timothy grabbed him, looping his arm firmly through his, pinning the Minister to his side as he marched them through the hall towards the main apparition point. Nobody gave them so much as a second glance as he whisked them away to the Lodge.

oOo

"What are you doing?" Fudge squawked as they went past the kitchens, through the vampires' den. Seeing an increasing reluctance to go on, Faulks grabbed his arm and practically dragged him into the new tunnel system, past the training halls and the Chapel to the little underground railway system. Giving the Minister a shove, he climbed in beside him, Wulfric sitting behind them, breathing down Fudge's neck as he set the conveyance in motion.

As they wound through the tunnels, Faulks's nerves finally caught up with him. Would everything be in place? Would it have the desired effects? Would it make the annoying little man worse? He crushed that train of thought as they barrelled through a cavernous hall that stretched into the distance, huge stone pillars holding up a distant ceiling. Someone had actually managed to get a couple of porta-cabins down there and had set them up near the railway, light streaming from the upper office windows…

No, he needed to keep on track, stay focused on the mission.

Grim faced, he dragged Fudge off the train into the underground network of Aquila R&D labs, past Jon's lair and into the area that originally had been set aside for Carrow's personal use. Part of it had since become the Bio-Mechanical development teams' lair. The rumours that flew around about them were…Faulks didn't really know what to think, but if he woke up to find he'd acquired a few extra limbs he knew exactly who he was going to blame.

Opening a grey fire door, Faulks shoved a still protesting Fudge into the lab beyond, into the chilly fug of formaldehyde and chemicals and something dead, quickly following as Wulfric took up guard outside.

Only to be brought up short by one of the technicians who had apparently decided the best way to show off her new bionic legs to her appreciative colleagues was to do a little jig, the mechanism in the calves and ankles shifting and spinning behind their protective casing as she whirled round…

"Oh…er…Mr Faulks," the technician smiled, obviously flustered, brushing down her skirt, "we're all ready for you."

"Ready for what?" Fudge asked.

But nobody took any notice of him as the technician skittered over to a shrouded lumpen object surrounded by strange machines and banks of instruments her metallic feet clattering on the tiled floor. She pulled aside the shroud, revealing what was once Caspian Glossop, naked as the day he was born, slumped unseeing in a large dentist style chair, straps pinning him in place as he stared unseeing into the distance, drool running down his chin.

Beside him, Fudge tensed. "Wha…what is the meaning of this?" the small man snapped, obviously trying to pull himself together.

"You know exactly what this is about, Minister Fudge," Faulks hissed, bending down until he was almost nose to nose with the shorter man as the technicians began preparing Glossop's body.

"I don't…I don't know what you're talking about," Fudge stuttered, trying to back away, eyes flicking from side to side as he attempted to watch the technicians as they shaved Glossop's scalp and keep Faulks in his line of sight at the same time.

"Oh, I think you do," Faulks slowly smiled.

Already pale and sweating, Fudge's face went grey.

"I think you know exactly what this is about. After all you hired him to kill me," Faulks snarled.

Fudge's shaking worsened. "You…you can't prove anything."

"I don't need to," Faulks growled, "I have all the proof I need, a signed confession and the memories of you meeting Glossop in the Happy Hag's Button, you offering him money in return for roughing me up, your subsequent meeting at a rendezvous in the alley, the actual exchange of money, the suggestion…or more a hint that my death could only be a highly desirable accident…am I ringing any bells yet?"

Fudge was shaking like a leaf, the loose skin that hung off his chin shivering, eyes wide and horrified his breath shallow and quick.

The sound of a circular saw drew the little man's attention back to where Glossop was sitting. Another technician, a short stocky man with thinning hair and a round face had donned a full face shield, a flip-up plastic thing, while he delicately cut round the top of Glossop's skull, his decidedly non-magical tool going straight through the bone with a grizzly grinding sound.

The cutting complete, the woman with the bionic legs delicately flipped the top of the skull up and off, setting it to one side in a clinical white tray for later. Glossop sat unmoving in the chair, his brain exposed as the technicians prepared a monstrous device that loomed over him, brass arms and tentacles hanging down tipped with hypodermic needles, surgical blades, and strange rune encrusted probes.

"What are they doing?" Fudge whispered, eyes wide with horror, as the arms and tentacles began to shift and move, lowering towards Glossop's exposed brain tissue, and plunging into the brain matter.

"They're transforming him into a sort of flesh puppet," Faulks said, ignoring Fudge's look of uncomprehending horror. "I'm sure you've seen them about. They're something of a speciality of Mr Carrow's."

"Test one…initiating," a third technician, dark complexioned with serious looking glasses, announced.

Glossop's body began to twitch and spasm, his head jerking and shaking as his limbs lolled and spasmed painfully. "That appears to all be in order," the short and stocky technician nodded decisively as he watched another screen, "the general nervous system seems to be in reasonable condition…though there is some damage to his toes…"

"No matter, they're coming off anyway," Bionic legs technician pointed out. "Next test?"

"Of course…test two…initiating," dark, glasses wearing technician said. Glossop's mouth clumsily worked, eyes suddenly snapping open, milky eyes rolling back into his head…

"AaaaaYYyyyyy…"

Fudge attempted to shuffle backwards towards the doors…

"eeeEEEEEeeeeEEE…"

Sensing the escape bid, Faulks whirled, managing to grab the minister by the scruff of the neck…

"IIIIiiiiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIiiiiiiiiyyyyeeeee…"

…wrestling Fudge back round. The Minister was surprisingly strong…and desperate, for his size…

"oooOOOOOooooohhhhh,"

… "no no no no," Fudge shrieked as Faulks pulled him closer.

"YYyyyyyYYYyooooohhHHHHhhhhh."

"Now listen to me," Faulks snarled not letting go of the Minister's arm for a moment, "you thought you could dispose of me through some ludicrous cheap plot, but you forget your place. You're just a puppet for Mr Carrow, nothing else!"

Fudge crumpled in defeat, shaking like a leaf, big fat tears beginning to leak down his cheeks.

But Faulks wasn't finished. "For now, Mr Carrow wishes to leave you untouched, but I swear on my magic, if you pull off a stunt even remotely like this ever again, it will be you sitting in that chair, this will be your fate," he heaved a breath, his anger threatening to bubble over, ignoring the messy sobbing of the Minister, "now watch."

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

The forward ramp of the shuttle craft lowered with an eerie silence that only a near hard vacuum could produce revealing an alien landscape. Stark silvery grey, the boulder strewn plain stretched to the rim of the crater where they had landed, the mountains in the distance that marked its rim reaching for the velvet black of the sky, a deep inky void filled with stars. So many stars, clear and unblinking and the Milky-way marching across the void…

"Are you going to step out?" an excited voice asked over his helmet radio, "some of us want to explore you know."

Glancing over his shoulder the God-Emperor found Arithmancer Strange watching him closely, doing her best to hide her nervous energy.

"I err…" he paused, "maybe you should go first, you did organise this mission after all."

"But we wouldn't be here if you hadn't insisted," she stepped slowly down the ramp towards him, her movements odd in the low gravity.

"Together then," he said. She nodded, the gesture muted by the pressure suit but he could sense her happiness at the suggestion, and so together they stepped off the end of the ramp.

He could feel the dirt crunch beneath his boots as he walked a short way from the shuttle craft, drinking in the desolate landscape, the stark sunlight, the pitch black shadows.

He crouched down, picking up a pebble, running the fine dust through his fingers. The silence was uncanny, he could hear his own breathing and the faint gurgling of the water recycling system of his suit, the excited radio chatter of the rest of the team as they explored. Other than that…nothing.

There was something over there in the distance, he shielded his gaze from the stark sunlight a moment. Ah, the central spire of the crater…one day that would host part of a warding system that would shield this entire crater protecting it from meteor strikes and the like. He knew it with an absolute certainty…

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Never heard of this place before," Wulfric gave the brief a dubious look, "are you sure about this?"

"As sure as I can be," Timothy said as he gave his equipment a last once over, "it's not unheard of for muggleborns to take over an unused building in the non-magical world and re-task it to their purposes. They're all over the place, little enclaves, too small for the Ministry to take anything but the remotest interest in. This one's in Birmingham," he said as he gave his Browning one last check over before holstering it.

"Percy went and checked it out for me," he continued, "it looks like a semi-derelict Victorian warehouse from the outside, but inside, they've apparently divided it up into lots. People have got businesses going. They've even got flats and stuff."

Wulfric grimaced. "Oh, that's not going to be good, lots of witnesses and disruption…"

Timothy shrugged as he surveyed the rest of the team, who looked as if they would have appreciated a few more hours sleep, but were making the best of it. It even appeared as if Chuddy was managing to sneak in a few extra winks while standing up, the new girl looking nervous as to what was going on.

"It's just a chance we're going to have to take. Fortunately, our target has a separate ground-floor entrance, and this early in the morning…it's as good as we're going to get, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't exercise as much caution as possible."

"So why this one, again?" Wulfric asked, obviously unhappy about being up at three in the morning.

"We ruled out or eliminated the other suppliers of that lab. All we're going to do is sneak in, copy all their paper work and order records and stuff and sneak back out," Timothy scowled as he rooted around in the pocket of his great-coat. "Honestly, Wulfric, if you want to go back to bed, just go."

Wulfric reared back as if he'd been slapped, much to the amusement of the others. "Let you go into an unknown situation without me? Hell, no. You'd probably come back missing an arm or leg or something."

Pulling out the enchanted paper plate, Timothy refused to dignify Wulfric's ridiculous fussing with an answer. "Grab hold," he snapped, proffering the object to the team.

"A port-key first thing in the morning. Yay," Athena muttered as she touched the thing.

oOo

Carrow barred his teeth in anticipation. Before the local star Sol had even made it above the horizon he was going to pay this Fox a little visit. The data from the office raid had flagged he/she/it up as a buyer and seller, a conveyer of dubious artifacts, and possibly information too if this one was anything like the "people of business" he remembered from before.

Like a tree when it was shaken, it was always interesting what would fall out and he had particularly good feelings about this tree. He couldn't wait to uproot it.

"Let us depart," he said holding out the port-key he'd had made for this mission. The four vampires who had volunteered for this mission all reached for the loop of rope.

Activated, the port-key whisked them away with a jerk and spinning disorientation, dumping them rather forcefully into an alley. Knee servos protesting Carrow quickly caught his balance even as the vampires stumbled.

The alley was rather dark and still paved in its original blue bricks, rundown Victorian industrial buildings hemming them in on both sides.

Across a narrow road was their destination. The warehouse was much as his initial scouting had suggested. Brick built and sturdy, it wouldn't have looked that out of place on many of the worlds he'd visited, though it appeared to be derelict, or pretending to be at least considering the lit windows. Beyond it lay a stretch of barren open land, decaying tarmac and concrete littered with elders, buddleias forcing their way up through cracks. Behind them was a canal, a shadowy ribbon in the night.

Around them the orange lights of a city lit up the sky with an incandescent glow, the hum of traffic clearly audible despite the lateness of the hour.

Now to deal with the wards on this place. Arm stretched out in front of him he inched slowly forward until there was a fizz of energy, blue sparks flying off his fingertips and dancing up the back of his gauntlet.

Fascinating. If he turned his head slightly the warehouse looked dark and abandoned, looming over them, a derelict shell, but if he turned his head slightly the other way…the damp stains and ferns lining the drainpipes vanished, some of the windows showing glimmers of light behind closed curtains.

"Ingenious," he smirked, but not infallible.

Delicately he teased the glimmering matrix of the ward apart allowing Annie and Caroline to hop through closely followed by Methuselah, Edwin hesitating for a moment before leaping through. As Carrow let the ward flex back into place it wobbled a moment before settling back into place.

Predictably the entrance to this place was depressingly small, he glared at the door ignoring Annie's quiet cough of laughter.

oOo

The canal glittered orange before them as they landed on a brick paved tow-path lined with buddleias and barren looking elder bushes. Beyond stretched the lights of the city, a faint hum of traffic audible, even this early in the morning.

Did the non-magical world ever sleep? Don't be silly, Timothy reprimanded himself, it was probably all delivery lorries, people on early shifts, and things like that at this time of night.

The warehouse itself did look semi-derelict, though some of the windows appeared to be lit up. Something odd was going on here; Timothy moved his head slowly back and forth as he squinted up at the looming building. One second the windows were broken, boarded up, or empty gaping holes, and now they were whole, some showing signs of life.

"Boss, you all right?" Chuddy muttered in concern from where he squatted next to a sizeable buddleia.

"Yes…yes, of course. What do you see?" Timothy said quietly. "What do you see?"

Chuddy was silent for a moment. "Great big ruddy old warehouse, with some of the windows boarded up. Doesn't look like anyone's home…but if magic's involved, that don't mean much."

"Someone's got an illuminated star in their window," New Girl said. The others stared at her. She shrugged smiling awkwardly

Huh, one heck of a muggle repelling ward; Timothy looked up at the building with renewed appreciation. Seemed it was mixed with a more general warding scheme too, which was kind of suspicious. Were people trying to hide illegal activities, or did they just hate the Ministry and the Magical mainstream that much?

So what else had they set up? Timothy pulled out his wand and began investigating, ignoring the exasperated sighs from behind him; best to take some time rather than walk into an intestine expelling ward.

"Okay…I think the muggle-repelling ward extends out to this fence," he said indicating the sad line of posts that were attempting to hold up the ivy draped chain-link. "There doesn't appear to be anything more dangerous…all right, Wulfric, New Girl grab a non-magical and we'll lead them over," Timothy said, grabbing Chuddy's hand as he did so. Chuddy almost protested, but gritted his teeth and allowed himself to be led through a nettle infested gap as he kept his eyes tightly shut.

"Oh...oh," he exclaimed as they arrived on the other side of the ward, "it's not boarded up now."

Timothy almost smirked as they made their way round the warehouse to a steel roller shutter that was obviously the entrance to a delivery bay of some sort. Next to it was a fire door, steps complete with bright red safety rail.

"They're complying with building regs," Athena pointed out as Chuddy cautiously made his way up the steps to check the door out.

"All good, boss," Cuddy muttered after his careful examination of the door.

Swiftly they got into position, Chuddy crammed into place on one side of the door, Timothy, Juno and the rest crouched on the steps, weapons ready as Wulfric cast a vanishing charm on the bright red steel door.

As the door disappeared, they poured in, splitting up into pre-ordained groups as they explored the space beyond.

A delivery bay served by the large roller shutter, behind which was a large empty space of cracked concrete floor. Beyond, the space had been filled with large industrial racks, steel framed the shelves formed by pallets. The shelves themselves…Timothy turned on the spot, taking in the multitude of strange bubble-wrapped shapes and boxes looming out of the dark, rammed and stuffed on the shelving wherever they would fit.

There were even several pallets of boxes and even wooden crates at one end. One of them had an orange pump-truck stuck under it ready for use. From the smell there were a certain amount of potions ingredients being stored here. What, Timothy had no idea, but he doubted they were all entirely legal.

Wulfric came round a stack of shrink wrapped boxes, Chuddy trailing in his wake, obviously uncomfortable as he glared into the shadows among the oddly shaped packages.

"Anything?" Timothy muttered.

Wulfric shook his head.

Sighing, Timothy moved cautiously to the small and extremely flimsy looking door that led deeper into the building. All they needed to do was find where the records were kept. Accounts, orders, anything really, so they could duplicate them and see if they could piece anymore together of this Dark Lady…or find some of her actual followers instead of the people she farmed stuff onto. Blasted sub-contracting muggle tendencies. Did anyone work for her directly?

There was a small group with the symbol of Saturn tattooed on their wrists who he was pretty certain were her lackeys, but there were so many strange little groups like that round the Knockturn area, disgruntled, disenfranchised people looking for a little power and payback. Interestingly quite a few of them utterly hated Carrow due to his numerous reforms affecting their recruiting abilities.

He checked the others as he reached for the door handle. It was almost scary how everything was going to plan.

oOo

A steel security door was easily pried from its frame, to reveal…Carrow ground his teeth in frustration as he heaved himself along the small corridor cursing ancient humanity and their stunted proportions. To his relief, things did improve a little after an agonisingly small doorway he had to contort himself through in a most undignified way that the vampires endeavoured to ignore.

Painted bricks, thick with white gloss, cast iron pillars, brick barrel vaulted ceiling, a staircase that wound upwards, narrow and not at all inviting.

"We can check up there, Boss," Annie said in an almost conciliatory tone.

Carrow gave the stairs a nasty glare; he would not be defeated by mere architecture. He glared round at the various doors that were poked into odd places. Obviously this hadn't been the original configuration of the warehouse's interior, its new residents' requirements leading to a series of awkward compromises.

Beside him, the vampires spread out, ghosting around pillars as they peered into odd shaped corners and listened at doors.

"I do believe I have found it," Methuselah piped up, looking slightly more himself, "Renard logistics." He pointed to a plain grey door someone had attached a crude sign to, little more than a piece of plywood decorated by someone of questionable artistic abilities.

Doing his best to hide his frustration, Carrow made his way over, sliding as best he could between the cast iron columns.

"Renard Logistics," he read out, "You've got it? We'll shift it!"

Carrow glared at the door. It proved to be locked, so he shouldered the flimsy thing out of the way as quietly as he could, shoving his way through, plasma pistol at the ready for whatever dubious protections and booby traps he may find. You never knew when the God-Emperor would be generous in his bounty.

Some sort of work area; Carrow glared round at the room as the vampires fanned out around him, a long work bench was set against one wall and there was racking stuffed with all sorts of packaging brown paper and bubble wrap lined envelopes to collapsed cardboard boxes. Mail order business, maybe; he took in the row of perches above, each with its little dish holder for water, owl order too it seemed. Several doors, one of them in a glass screen wall that lead further into the building, its textured glass panels dark in the peeling worn wooden frame.

The place was truly uninspiring, nothing but a shabby working space and an office; he poked one of the flimsy door open, filled with box files and paperwork waiting for attention…there was something here, just on the edge of his senses. He reached out with his mind…something dark and rotten, hiding in the shadows…over there…he turned…

"Who…who," a male voice blurted out doing a passable imitation of an owl, "who are you? We're…we're closed…we're…we're…"

Carrow turned to find a short man in plain robes, glasses perched on his nose, staring down the barrel of Annie's gun, his eyes wide as a bead of sweat made its way down his temple. Behind him, one of the doors was open, leading into a small office. It was almost impressive that this unimpressive scrap of humanity had managed to hide quite so thoroughly from them.

The little man's eyes flicked to him and then back to the weapon as he shuffled backwards until he could go no further, fumbling at his robes in a seemingly nervous gesture. Or maybe he was activating a panic alarm or alert of some kind. Carrow tensed, stalking forward his armour's servos hissing in the tense silence.

A crack of apparition confirmed his suspicions. Gesturing to the vampires to take cover, he dived for the space beside the main door, pistol ready.

"Pete, you okay?" a female voice called. The owner of the voice paused in the doorway. "What the hell…GET AWAY FROM HIM! HE'S DONE NOTHING…"

Carrow watched in amusement as the not particularly tall woman stormed into the room, her robes flapping around her jean legs, red plait bouncing angrily on her back as she stomped up to this Pete and shoved herself forcibly in front of him, not once breaking the flow of her rant.

"…AND AS FOR YOU, YOU OVERGROWN LUMP, YOU'RE NOT EVEN AN AUROR, SO HOW IS THIS EVEN LEGAL?"

Carrow scowled in annoyance. Of course this was legal, he was doing this in the name of the God-Emperor, for the good of humanity, no matter how small the action…

There was movement on the other side of the glass screen wall. Without a thought he charged forward…

oOo

There was a distant sound almost of splintering wood. He shared a look with Wulfric, "did you hear what I heard…"

Muffled voices, followed soon after by shouting, angry, frightened shouting. Timothy shared horrified looks with Wulfric, grabbing the door handle and wrenching it open, indicating to the others they should stay put.

"Is that supposed to happen?" he heard New Girl ask as he stormed down the corridor on the other side, his browning held at the ready. This was bad, this was very bad.

The shouting had resolved into a female voice, angry and frightened as it bellowed at something unseen, vague shapes visible through the glass panelled screen that formed the corridor wall, the brown paint peeling at the edges. He slowed to a halt; maybe he'd been a little hasty. Maybe someone had just dropped something a little exciting. Heavens knows there must be plenty of opportunities in a place like this, all they needed was someone to try juggling an erumpet horn or something, but in case it wasn't…maybe they should retreat, leave as if they'd never been there…

He began to back away…with a thunderous crash, the glass screen exploded behind him. Whirling, Timothy, browning at the ready, came face to face with the largest pistol he had ever seen, a pistol that was horribly familiar.

Icy green eyes stared back at him, as he did his best not to flinch or waver. Seemingly satisfied, the plasma pistol withdrew. Carrow smirked down at him, his smile broadening as he took in Wulfric and the other members of Timothy's retinue as they stood at the other end of the corridor, weapons ready.

"I am taking it," Carrow rumbled, "that you are not investigating corrupt accounting and bribery within the Department of Muggle relations, not to mention the distribution of morally corrupting material."

"Ah, no," Timothy said as he tried to get his heart rate under control, "no, we were following up a lead from…"

"Sir? Oh, hello Timothy," Caroline said as she leaned around the ruined edges of the glass screen. She was about to say more, but was abruptly shouldered out of the way by a shorter woman, who crunched angrily through the broken glass in heavy boots, her open robe flapping around her jean clad legs.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" she snarled pointing an angry finger at Timothy, "wait a minute, you're the Giant Weed's little friend, aren't you?" Glaring over his shoulder, she snarled in disbelief. "Oh, for fuck's sake. What is this? Does it look like I've got a revolving door or something? What the hell are you lot here for anyway?"

"Confiscation of morally corrupting material," Carrow rumbled.

The small angry lady gave him a sarcastic look. "Seriously, was that all you could come up with? What about you? Any stupid excuses?"

"A possible dark lady," Timothy glared back determined not to back down. If he didn't let Carrow get to him, he certainly wasn't going to let someone who barely came up to Carrow's waist succeed. The angry lady gave him a nervous angry frown and a questioning shrug. Carrow, on the other hand, cocked his head, clearly interested.

"Curly horns from an experiment that went wrong...farms her dirty work out to other people," Timothy explained, "possibly has a group of nutty followers stealing victims for her in the Kockturn area…"

The angry lady frowned. "Oh, her," she sneered. "I'm not associated with her, I'll have you know…acquired some stuff for her once. Never doing that again. The bitch never paid for her goods so I withheld them, and then of course, she got nasty…"

"You're the Fox," Carrow stated behind them.

The woman, the Fox, rolled her eyes. "Well yes, bit slow aren't you," she sneered over her shoulder at Carrow.

Timothy narrowed his eyes. "What did you acquire for her?" he demanded.

The Fox shrugged with a huff. "Just some…what do you call them, like blank ward stones or something? I highly doubt she was going to use them for wards, though."

"What else?" Carrow asked in a rumbling murmur sidling closer, "there was something else wasn't there?"

The Fox swallowed nervously, grimaced trying to keep up her air of ritous fury. "Fine," she said through gritted teeth, "there was a hideous little statue, looks like a mound of melting slugs…but the bitch never paid for it so she never got it…and we got stuck with it."

"There's something really wrong with it," Pete said, round face pale, "nothing's gone right since."

The Fox glared at him and he quickly shut up.

"I will destroy it," Carrow announced into the uneasy silence.

"You can?" the Fox's voice cracked, "you can do that?"

"We've tried everything," she said, "blasting hexes, dropping it into a furnace…sulphuric acid for fuck's sake."

"We didn't try Fiendfyre," Pete said, "but…but that was more because of burning the building down. Our luck has been so bad…"

"Where is it," Carrow growled, "it is nearby. I can feel it." He turned slowly on the spot, glints of warp-fyre beginning to spark off his psy-hood. "I will make a path to it."

"No, no," the Fox rushed past him, "no need…just," she began heaving at an old set of shelving full of stuffed manila folders and piles of paperwork, "…just behind here."

She jerked out of the way as enormous metal gauntlets reached over her head grasping the side of the bookcase and shifting it to one side as if it weighed nothing.

A gust of air rushed out of the space beyond bringing with it the stench of rot and dying things. But Carrow was undeterred, the Purgatus of St Seraph more energetic now as it slithered around his torso, glowing softly in reaction to the taint in the air.

The space beyond had once been a part of the office before it had been blocked off, the foul object sitting on a bench in the remains of a cardboard box that had become damp and blackened with mould, slowly falling apart as it decayed, mingling with the slimy remains of some paperback books and an old telephone directory. The bench itself was also suffering Carrow saw, ropes of mould hanging of its underside even as the infection had crept up the wall, beginning to make its way across the ceiling.

He had arrived just in time it seemed.

Prayers of purity armoured his soul against such taint, and as he began his chant gathering the blessings of the God-Emperor to himself he could almost pinpoint the moment when the cursed thing realised its doom was at hand, rearing up, collecting itself in an attempt to strike at this new threat. But it was already too late as he released his gathered pool of purity the wave of cleansing energy blasting away from him in all directions rattling the walls and windows around him. Above he could hear faint cries and shouts as people were abruptly woken from their slumbers.

Carrow breathed in deeply, relishing the scent of ozone the air held now, eyes sharp for any remaining threat but, he stirred the dust that was all that remained of the bench, it appeared to be eliminated, the ceilings and walls now just stained grey were the threat had been crawling. He touched the stain a moment ready for any hint, any shadow or threat, but no…nothing.

A groan came from behind him and he turned, blinking in surprise at what he found.

"A warning would have been," Caroline snapped as she pulled Annie back to her feet. One of Timothy's soldiers was propping him up while another was dabbing urgently at the blood that was now sluggishly oozing from his nose.

"I'm fine. Honestly," Timothy muttered as he slowly pulled himself to his feet, "just caught me by surprise is all."

"Surprise?" the Fox muttered as she staggered over pale and dazed. Peering around him her hard face broke into a desperate grin. "It's gone, finally. It's gone…it's bloody gone."

To Carrow's acute consternation the small women flung her arms as for round his waist as she could reach. "I could bloody kiss you right now," she announced.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

What the heck, the God Emperor jerked out of his slumber staring suspiciously in the direction of the flare of energy. What was darling Xander up to now…but it hadn't felt strong enough to be World War Three starting so there was that…

Groaning he rolled off the bunk. If he was up he was up. When they had been designing the Luna habitation modules there had been much debate about what the interiors should be like and so each one had come out rather different as they tried out various ideas. He'd ended up with the one from when they had got a magical tent maker involved. It was rather like staying in a slightly downhill seaside boarding house. The Belfast sink in the kitchenette even had a little gingham curtain on elastic to hide where the bucket lived underneath.

Three cups of coffee and a quick breakfast later he was busily struggling into the tight confines of his pressure suit while reviewing the itinerary for the day ahead on his data slate. So much to do and so little time, though it looked like some of the results had come in for some of the initial mineral sampling they had been doing around the site. Some of them looked very promising too.

He was standing in the habitat airlock waiting for the green light to come on indicating when all the air had been pumped out when a sudden realisation hit him…this was going to turn into a small town quite quickly…and eventually a city…with everything you would expect to find in such places, including schools…and small children…and television…and someone in the future was going to come up with a children's program specifically aimed at those children …with nasty ear-worm songs about such things as pressure suit safety…

He grimaced as the outer airlock doors snapped open, the cheery little tune about put your helmet on and click clack goes the catch rattled around his head.

The sunlight was stark, unfiltered by any atmosphere, the visor of his helmet quickly compensating for any glare, revealing the austere grey landscape of the crater in all its stark beauty, the low crags that marked its edges rearing up against the velvety black sky. It didn't matter how many times he looked at it he still couldn't get used to being able to see so many stars…and the Milky Way…

He shook his head, time to get to work.

This was going to take some getting used to, he waited for the light for the airlock door for the main lab they were still setting up to turn to green. The whole fiddle with the doors, but he hadn't been able to figure a better, or safer way to do it. Maybe faster, more efficient pumps, he thought as the light flicked to green and the lock on the door spun to the open position. Something to think about, but for now, he stepped into the airlock, they were all just going to have to become incredibly patient with doors.

"Professor Schmidt."

He turned as he removed his helmet to find Strange standing there smiling up at him, still in her pressure suit which she had covered with a open fronted robe, a mug of tea clutched in her hands.

"Sleep well?" she asked, "should be getting the next shipment of equipment coming in today."

"Hopefully they'll have packed some decent coffee," the God Emperor said, "plus we really need to do something about setting up that communications relay Earth side."

"Very true…have you noticed the way the dust is getting in," Strange said, "I'm certain all our work and habitation units are air-tight and safe, but the dust…it's already building up in the corners."

I suppose we're treading in a certain amount…" the God Emperor said, "it's interesting though, I was washing it off in the…"

The floor began to undulate beneath them, bucking and shaking in long waves, equipment around the lab rattling, a pencil rolling off a nearby counter and on to the floor.

"Merlin," exclaimed one of the lab technicians as the shaking died down, "what was that?"

"A moonquake," the God Emperor breathed, "we need seismometers…and dampeners for the buildings."

"I'll put them on the list as urgent," Strange said.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

At least the overpriced coffee was nice and hot, Timothy thought as he took a sip, grimacing at the bitter taste. Though considering the cost you'd expect it to be better quality and come in a gold plated cup. And poor Wulfric was missing all this, having been pulled away by his handlers for something yet again.

Around them the Weapons Expo was packed pre the official opening as people milled around making last minute changes to stands, tweaking displays, dusting already immaculate equipment. Among them mingled the odd VIP customer, let in before the masses for their exclusive previews.

The stalls looked almost the same as last year too, grey, beige, anonymous low key, except for the one with the performance clothing that had gone for silver fittings and a back board with a print of a sunlit alpine scene.

"Pushing the boat out a bit, aren't they?" he nudged Maria Curtis.

Curtis, looking severe and professional in a navy blue dress-suit and pearls, gave the stand a critical once over. "It looks rather smart, I think…and sensible too. You could wear their products while mountain climbing, or arctic exploring I suppose."

"Hmmm," Timothy agreed, "we've kept to much the same as last year, haven't we?"

"As long as Carrow hasn't interfered," Curtis sighed as they turned a corner towards the section of the convention devoted to personal armaments. "I've done what I can to keep him at bay, but you know…" she rolled her eyes. "Even though he's at that school he's still managing to interfere in things, sending demanding messages all the time. That blasted satellite link…what were you thinking."

Timothy hunched his shoulders, as if he'd had anything to do with it, "complain to R&D because I was not involved…at all. And if you think that's bad, there was an incident down in Cornwall. He set something on fire, in a way, and it's still burning."

"What," Curtis stared at him.

"Caused a little bit of an upset with both the, err," he glanced round cautiously, "DMLE and the regular police. People from the local village keep trying to get near to take pictures. It's causing some real headaches."

"Blasted man," Curtis grumbled, "and I thought teaching would keep him out of trouble for a little while."

Shame about all the poor traumatised children, Timothy grimaced as he sipped the awful coffee, "as if he'd let a little thing like that get in his way. I wouldn't be surprised if he was using it as a recruiting opportunity actually, with the senior years. All those young people heading out into the world wanting to make something of themselves and then Carrow just happens to be there offering them opportunities they'd be hard pressed to pass by," he scowled to himself just as a horrified squawking came from somewhere ahead in the crowd.

Nerves jangling Timothy craned his neck half expecting to see Carrow up to no good, because who else would cause trouble at a place like this.

"What has he done now," Curtis growled her pace speeding up. Timothy chased after her.

Ahead a small knot of people suddenly ducked, one of them frantically swatting at the small flying object which turned, cheeped in recognition making a bee-line straight towards Timothy much to his resigned horror.

One of Carrow's creations, a servo-skull, this one made from a cat's skull covered in intricate golden filigree, the incised runes across its cranium glowing a soft blue. The brass tentacle that hung down from where its lower jaw should have been clutched an object almost as large as the servo-skull itself.

Curtis took one horrified look at the thing. "That bloody man," she snarled storming off, the small crowd leaping out of her way.

"Wait," Timothy called but the servo-skull jerked to a halt in front of him at that moment, the magical devise issuing a triumphant beep as it thrust its load towards him. Puzzled he took it and regretted it instantly. On the front of the leaflet was a lurid image of the Gilded Lily (ruddy ugly thing) driving through a giant laurel wreath while firing most of its guns. Underneath…

…the glorious Thunder II Class tank…built under the auspices of the Emperor of Mankind…crush the enemies of Humanity…

"Of all the…" Timothy groaned. Obvious magical devise at a muggle weapons fait delivering leaflets that if they didn't get Aquila Ind. banned outright it was going to be a very close call, and probably some very fast talking on Curtis's part.

Would anyone notice if he just cleared off home, he glanced around to find himself being stared at by rival-company people and VIPs alike.

The servo-skull chirped an enquiry.

"You only had the one leaflet to give out?" he asked it trying to look unobtrusive as he sidled away. The servo-skull peeped happily waving its tentacle, clearly very pleased with itself.

"Yes, yes you did, you did a very good job," Timothy said and the blasted object preened happily. "We'd best get back to our booth," he sighed wondering if this was the only thing Carrow had managed to do.

Oh the stomach clenching anticipation as he waited to find out, he chuckled darkly to himself as he made his way towards the Aquila Ind. booth, the servo skull now clinging to the epaulette of his coat allowing itself to pulled along.

The Aquila Ind. booth was much as he had expected, grey arched panels and glass displays with antique gold fittings, the latest models of Cadia and the new energy rifle proudly on display laid out tastefully on crushed grey velvet. But in front…he put a hand over his eyes. Maybe he was hallucinating and it would just go away.

No. No such luck. At least it explained the bloody leaflets he supposed.

The Gilded Lily (or as Carrow preferred to call her the Spear of Retribution) sat there in all her glory, her black paintwork polished to a glossy sheen, her rows of rivets glaringly obvious, her gilded decoration shimmering in the artificial light, swags of flowers draped across her front and along her sponsons, giving the air a hint of rose and jasmine. He watched in horrified fascination as the florist and her assistants held up an enormous wreath to Carrow.

The large man who currently looked as if he'd escaped from a best dressed Satanist competition plucked the floral creation from their hands effortlessly, slipping it over the barrel of the forward facing plasma gun.

"Is that satisfactory Sir?" the florist asked as Carrow stood back to admire the effect.

The florist pulled a disposable camera out of her pocket as her assistants began to clear up their equipment. "Okay if I take some pictures?" she smiled up at Carrow. The large man apparently agreed because she was soon snapping away, a manic gleam in her eyes as she did her best to capture the Gilded Lily in all her floral glory from every possible angle.

Oh brilliant, Timothy thought, he could just see the woman's portfolio "…weddings…birthdays…funerals…and look, decorative wreaths for your personal tank, suitable for every occasion…" He had a feeling she wasn't going to get much call for it.

Seeing an opportunity he stalked forward ignoring the sniggers and whispered comments from the gathering crowd. "Sir, I thought we'd all agreed that it would be best to leave the tank proto-type at home," he said trying to ignore the excited commotion the Gilded Lily was causing.

"Ah, Timothy," Carrow smiled down at him, all predatory teeth. "Doesn't she look magnificent? I was quite right that we should have her as the centre piece of our display."

Timothy resisted the temptation to go and find a wall to knock his head against. "Until we're thrown out and banned for violating the rules of the convention," he said instead, "this could be construed as glorifying war!" he gestured to the armoured abomination, its gilded putti giving him reproachful looks.

"Not bloody likely," an older gentleman in a dark suit muttered slightly too loudly. "Nice rivets," his colleague smirked.

Timothy ignored them. "See, the organisers are here already," he gestured to where Curtis was attempting to do damage control with several people in logoed polo shirts and lanyards with staff ID cards.

"I doubt we'll get many orders for tanks anyway," he said as the argument between Curtis and the organisers escalated, though Curtis seemed to be gaining the upper hand.

"Maybe, maybe not," Carrow seemed utterly unfazed. "I have made sure the sales staff have been suitably educated as to her not inconsiderable abilities, and I have leaflets that I have had distributed. Those who to live to wage war will see her for what she is." He turned to admire the tank once more tweaking the gun barrel wreath until it sat just so.

"Yes, about those leaflets," Timothy growled as he brandished the blasted thing, the servo-skull tugging at his coat collar as he stepped closer.

"Right," Curtis stormed back over looking both furious and triumphant, "it stays, but those bloody things don't," she pointed an accusing finger at the servo-skull still clinging to Timothy's great coat. "Round them up and get rid of them," she said jabbing Carrow in the waist, "and don't do this again!" Turning on her heel Curtis stalked off, presumably to find something nice and calming, like more horrible overpriced coffee, Timothy assumed.

Carrow watched her go expression unreadable.

"Sir, the leaflets," Timothy hissed, glaring as icy green eyes turned towards him. "Better hope Curtis doesn't get her hands on one. They're potentially another issue."

The large man shifted, seemingly torn between puzzlement and annoyance as he glanced around the large hall. "This is a fair specialising in instruments of war. We are here to show off our products and procure sales to ensure the future of Aquila Ind. Are we not?"

Timothy nodded slowly wondering where Carrow was going with this and whether he should be making a run for safety.

"As are all the other businesses here," he flung out an arm gesturing towards the expanse of the crowded hall.

"They are," Timothy agreed suspicious.

"Then why all this ridiculous tip-toeing around the obvious? We are all selling instruments of war to those who which to wage war or protect their people from the predation of others…"

He was pretty certain that Carrow was actually missing a very large point here, Timothy tried to get a word in sideways.

"No," Carrow raised an admonishing finger, so large it would have been comical if he didn't know those hands could crush his skull with little effort. "This is like dealing with the very worst jelly spined, sycophantic of politicians who dance around a difficult issue never resolving anything and failing to please anyone but themselves and their supporters. I refuse to deal with it."

He turned in a swirl of embossed leather cassock, the beads of his finger-bone necklace rattling. "I will inspect the booths," he strode away disappearing among the crowds.

Turning Timothy found himself alone with the crowd of gawkers, the ugliest most floral tank in the world and the blasted servo-skull. "Looks like it's just us then, gathering your friends up," he sighed.

The little servo-skull gave him an encouraging cheep.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

McGonagall shook her head in amused frustration as Finnagn left the office. Run a pub indeed. She had a suspicion that the young man would quickly find the day-to-day minutiae of running his own establishment not nearly as exciting as he thought…that's if he didn't drink the place dry…

Now who was next…ah…Hermione Granger…

McGonagall sighed heavily as she looked up at the young woman sitting across her desk. Hermione had been such an energetic and inquisitive child, definitely an asset to Gryffindor house. Now she was steadily growing up into a cold and stony faced young woman, Carrow's finger prints clearly all over her, from her stony stare to the frankly ridiculous get-up she had recently taken to wearing under her school robes.

And of course her desires for her future…

"So you will be working for Mr Carrow when you leave Hogwarts," McGonagall looked sharply at Granger over her glasses.

Granger gave her a sharp nod.

"Doing what precisely," McGonagall asked hoping that she didn't really find out.

"I will be his apprentice," Granger said. Which was supremely unhelpful and considering what she knew of Carrow, worrying. Was she going to be invited to the girl's funeral at some point in the not too distant future? She fervently hoped not.

Granger scrambled to fill the silence. Nice to know Carrow hadn't managed to completely warp the girl.

"I'll be learning how to track down and…eliminate threats to the human race," Granger said, leaning forward her face intense, "threats that might otherwise be completely overlooked, go completely undetected."

"Right," McGonagall did not feel at all reassured. "Have you through about which NEWTs would suit your…career path best?"

Granger nodded and began reeling off an ever increasing list, "…and Arithmancy is potentially very important. I was thinking of History too but I'm not sure how useful it will be…maybe I could self study…"

McGonagall pursed her lips, "it is probably best to limit yourself to four NEWTs, a maximum of six. Anything more than that I think even you will find quite taxing."

Granger nodded reluctantly.

"And have you thought of any alternatives…in case your apprenticeship doesn't go as you hope?"

The girl actually an expression for the first time in the meeting, annoyed with an under-current of worry, but still…an expression. "Maybe the Aurors…or the Ministry…"

Which would also probably entail working for Mr Carrow in some way if Albus's complaints about the Wizengamot were to be believed.

"I Was thinking ore of an alternative that didn't involve Mr Carrow," she suggested gently.

Granger was definitely looking confused now, "I…er…hit-witch?"

McGonagall sighed. Carrow had a lot to answer for.

Who was next on her list…ah yes…Neville Longbottom. She remembered Frank and Alice so well, and wasn't that a tragedy.

Young Neville had been so nervous and unconfident when he'd arrived at the School, but he'd been sorted to her house, and then when he'd become involved with the Defence Club and their particular brand of insanity he'd blossomed into a confident young man.

His parents would have been so proud. Such a pity they weren't in a position to help their son pick his NEWTs…

"I err…I want to be a plant collector," Neville said, "you know…travel to remote places looking for rare and unusual plants…and maybe I might discover something that's never been seen before…take cuttings collect seeds…bring them home. That sort of thing," he shrugged.

That was a pleasant surprise. "Not Carrow's company then," she asked curious as to his reasons.

"Er…no," Neville grimaced. "Just no…he's too…" he waved a hand as he struggled for the right words. "I don't think I'd deal well with the things he fights…mentally…if that makes sense."

So Longbottom had his mother's common sense. She gave him a small smile, "of course you'll want to take Herbology. Your predicted OWL grade is excellent…have you thought of taking charms as well. I would have thought it a most useful and practical skill for you. I've also noticed since achieving your animagus transformation your Transfiguration grade has improved by leaps and bounds and so I would be very happy to see you in my NEWT class."

Neville gave her a small delighted smile…

Patil was next, who was refreshingly normal for a young lady her age…

And then there was the gap where Harry Potter should have been. She sighed to herself memories of the boy bitter-sweet. How in Merlin's name had he grown up into what he was now? She hurriedly jerked away from that train of thought and the unpleasant places it lead. Who was next…Mr Thomas…

…who also turned out to be refreshingly normal wanting a career making racing brooms…

…finally, the last one, Ronald Weasley. The last member of the trifecta of horrible in the Gryffindor fifth years, who had turned into a most serious and rather driven young man, his days of slacking off with his friends far behind him. Definitely a welcome contrast to the Twins. Mind you, they'd calmed down quite a bit these past few years too…

"I want to join the Aurors," Weasley stared at her.

"Not Mr Carrow then?" McGonagall asked.

Weasley actually winced. Interesting.

"Er…no," he shifted uncomfortably, "Carrow is…"

"Not Harry?" she suggested.

Weasley's pained expression deepened, "no…no he's not. I err…rather not work for Carrow," he looked almost guilty. "He's a bit too bonkers for me."

"I want to make a difference, help people, catch bad guys…sort of like Carrow does…but less intense…so I thought Aurors," he shrugged, "I've certainly got some relevant experience."

"Your Defence grade is certainly high enough," McGonagall nodded, "you're going to need Potions too. I'm sure you understand how strict Professor Snape is about these things…"

Weasley nodded.

"You're currently receiving a solid EE for Potions. With a little bit more effort I'm sure you'd be able to pull that up to an O…"

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Castle Street…why did he always save Castle Street for last Timothy grumbled to himself as he jogged round the corner on to the steep road that wound up the hill towards the Lodge, passed the garden with all the honking daffodils. He was certain the lady who lived there was actually a muggle. But what did he do? March up her front path and demand she grub them all up…or worse report her to the DMLE… no, he huffed to himself, best to pretend he couldn't hear the soft discordant honking as he ran past.

At least it wasn't as bad as the old gent on the council estate who'd actually succeeded in attracting fairies to his garden. The results were beautiful but legally…absolute bloody nightmare. How could he tell this man in his seventies to destroy his pride and joy, the thing he lived for? In the end he just couldn't and they'd gone away hoping the neighbours would think the old fellow had somehow managed to attract dragonflies to garden…or maybe they would just chalk it down to Godric's Hollow being a generally odd place.

He drifted past a privet hedge with lobelia trying to squash out from underneath like a purple floral waterfall lost in thought. Two months till Hogwarts finished and Felix returned from his first year, hopefully with his eyebrows.

And of course that meant that darling Allesandor was also going to return in two months time when his convalescent teaching post finished, and he would come back, and so would the nosy vampires, and Artemis…

Well that had spoilt the mood…

Something slammed into his back sending him flying into the pavement with grazing contact. Looking up he was just in time to see a flurry of colour on a hover board bounce off the bonnet of a police car that had pulled out of a side street.

"Brilliant, just bloody brilliant," he grumbled as he pulled himself to his feet inspecting the damage. Grazed knees, there was even a trickle of blood down his shin, his right elbow felt like it had been completely skinned and his chin, he gave it a cautious prod, well that stung, he winced his fingers coming away bloody. Blast it.

"Are you all right Sir," a concerned voice asked.

Looking up Timothy found a police man watching him with concern, a big burly no-nonsense looking bloke with close-cropped hair who was watching him carefully.

Timothy blinked at him one eyed. "I'm fine," he tried a reassuring smile rather impressed at the way burly-copper managed to hide his wince.

"If you're sure…I do have a first aid kit in the car," burly-copper said over his shoulder as he strode back to the patrol car.

Timothy sighed, he really was fine. It was just some little grazes, he'd had far worse injuries…

Burly-copper reappeared bearing a green plastic box in triumph. "This won't take a minute Sir," he said pulling out some alcohol wipes. Timothy tried backing away as politely as he could but then found himself trapped against the hedge, his knees now feeling as if they were on fire as burly-copper attacked them with his instrument of torture. That was when the other police officer, who reminded him of a whippet returned, the hover board tucked under his arm with its owner trailing beside him reluctantly.

He…or maybe she looked pretty typical for the young people he'd seen wandering around the town recently, metallic blue baggy shorts that came down to the knee and clashed violently with the loose hooded jacket who's garish pattern bounced, flashed and wriggled as if it were trying to escape its two dimensional confines. And then there were his/her trainers. The silver blocky things didn't have laces, instead there were a row of catches up the front of each shoe their geometric shapes flashing and changing colours at random. A ridiculous fur hat with cat ears and a stripe of metallic blue face paint across the cheeks of the youth finished off the odd ensemble.

Timothy blinked, face carefully blank at the definitely magically influenced outfit. Probably best not to draw too much attention to it.

"Do you understand why we stopped you today?" whippet-officer was asking.

He or she looked sullen and maybe a little worried as they shuffled under the officer's gaze. "Yeah," they finally muttered.

Whippet-officer held up the hover-board dubiously, "that was extremely dangerous what you did on your conveyance. Not only did you collide with a moving vehicle you also knocked over a pedestrian…"

Now the definitely worried youth actually looked round his (or her) eyes going wide with fright as they sucked in a breath the cat ears of the ridiculous fur hat folding back.

Brilliant. An emotions broadcasting hat. Probably from the Knight Market, it would certainly take some pretty nifty charms work to make and he was pretty certain this young person was about as magical as a brick.

"I'm so sorry Sir," they stuttered, "I was late for collage and…"

Muggle, timothy internally sighed.

"…I was rushing and…"

"I'm fine," Timothy hurriedly tried to reassure the youth before he/she dissolved into even more dramatic emotional displays. "Honestly, it's just some grazes…"

"Aren't you one of the people from Aquila Industries," Burly-copper said his body language shifting to low grade suspicious as he paused in his painful ministrations to Timothy's elbow.

"Yes," Timothy reluctantly admitted wondering where this was going.

"Lots of funny rumours flying around about that place," Whippet-copper said as Burly-copper slapped a fresh alcohol wipe on the graze on his chin. He only just managed to suppress a yelp of pain the distant rumble of a shuttle taking off vibrating the ground a moment as it arced up into the heavens.

"So where's that going then," Burly-copper asked as he jabbed at his chin with the wipe.

"The Moon…probably," Timothy managed to get out through gritted teeth.

Burly-copper stared at him, "normally I'd think you were having me on, but we just stopped a kid on a hover board, so…"

oOo

Could this morning get any worse Timothy grumbled to himself as he made his way up the front steps of the Lodge trying to let himself in as quietly as possible.

Anyone about…he scanned the oak panelled space of the main entrance hall, the many disapproving Potter portraits glaring down at him for having disturbed their rest.

Good, no one in evidence. Taking his chance he walked quietly towards the stairs intent in his rooms and a nice hot shower.

"There you are!"

Timothy turned just in time to see Healer Slaughter bearing down on him. "I've been looking for you everywhere. Where the hell have you been?"

"Running," Timothy edged away up the stairs, "I went for a jog like I normally do in the mornings." He glared back.

"Except this morning you decided to do it on your knees," Slaughter lunged, grabbing hold of him and began marching him through towards the kitchens and the Undercroft.

"Is this really necessary?" Timothy hoped he didn't sound too much like he was whining.

Slaughter shot him a look. "I needed to talk to you about the new girl. Finally figured out what's wrong with her, why she keeps collapsing the way she does," he grunted as he shoved him into a chair, turning to gather supplies.

Did he dare make a run for it, Timothy gave the door a longing look. On second thoughts, maybe not, he caught Slaughter's expression as the man turned hands full of various potions and lotions.

"New Girl has an illness uniquely all her very own," Slaughter said as he dumped his supplies on the counter turning to him with a small vial that he shoved into his hands.

Reluctantly Timothy downed the dark green concoction, an anti-infection elixir he was far too familiar with, grimacing at the sensation and taste of slimy old cabbage slid down his throat.

"It's her blood sugar levels," Slaughter turned to him holding a brush and a small bowl filled with a green mixture, "she can't seem to maintain them the way she should. Fascinating hey?" Slaughter said as he dipped the brush in the green mixture slapping it on a grazed knee with excessive force Timothy thought as he tried not to cringe away, his left knee feeling as if it was being set on fire for the second time in only an hour.

"So…like diabetes," he managed to get out through gritted teeth, his eye watering with the pain.

Slaughter paused in his ministrations, "diabetes mellitus…hmmm. It's possible. But there's the added complication of what was done to her, how has that affected her body, is it really an issue with the function of her pancreas? And do the pancreases of vampires, or even vampire like creatures function in the same way as that of a regular person…"

Slaughter moved from his right knee to his elbow, Timothy bighting back a whimper.

"Can't wait till the Coven returns soon. Did you know vampire physiology is a mainly uncharted field? So it'll be interesting to compare the blood sugars of a healthy vampire with our young lady. Shame I can't dissect one of them. It would really help with the study."

"I think they would probably object pretty strongly to that," Timothy winced as the brush rasped his elbow.

"Standing in the way of science that is," Slaughter grunted, "also…New Girl needs a proper name. She can't remember her's at all…had her memories scrambled by those bastards..." Slaughter looked at him expectantly.

"I'll er…see to it," Timothy hissed.

"Hey Tim…what the hell have you done to yourself now," Wulfric's voice came from the door and Timothy groaned. Just what he needed. Turning his head awkwardly he was just able to see Wulfric marching towards him a look of concern and anger on his face.

"I'm fine, hones…oww," he yelped as the paintbrush suddenly swiped across his chin the raw skin protesting the treatment. "I just got knocked over that's all…"

"You were supposed to be going jogging," Wulfric jabbed a disapproving finger at him amber eyes flashing, "not whatever this is," he gestured angrily at Timothy's knees. Okay, Timothy conceded they did look bad, though being coated with stinging green sludge really wasn't helping. He ignored Slaughter's amused smirk.

"It's only a matter of time before you come back with only one leg, so next time I'm going with you," Wulfric glared at him daring him to disagree.

"I was just running," Timothy glared back beginning to get annoyed, "it was an out-of-the-blue accident…"

"Ah Sir, I've got some papers I need you to look at," Percy's voice drifted closer. "Oh…ah…am I interrupting something?"

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

"This has got to be one of the worst things we've ever done," Neville grumbled as he trailed after them.

Ron hushed him, though he too didn't look happy his face deathly pale beneath the grease paint. Hermione glared at them over her shoulder hefting her energy gun meaningfully. As they approached the Centaur village she signalled them to fan out.

"This is all going to end in tears," Neville muttered to himself as he gave his battered Cadia a last check over quickly taking cover among the undergrowth.

oOo

It was such a lovely Saturday afternoon, Remus sighed to himself as he stretched the kinks out of his back. From his desk in the History classroom he could catch a glimpse of the lawn rolling down to the lake and the edge of the Forbidden Forest itself, all if it looking so bright and inviting, late spring flowers everywhere, the trees a strident green their leaves fresh and new with the promise of summer.

And here he was stuck inside supervising a bloody detention. Stepping over Padfoot who was fast asleep and doing a very good impression of a flacarty rug he took a stroll around the classroom, taking a surreptitious glance over Creevey's shoulder as he passed. Mr Creevey seemed to have started quite neatly with his five hundred lines of, "I must not run through the corridors while carrying stolen weapons," but over time the boy's handwriting had degenerated into a barely legible scrawl as he tried to stretch out his hand undercover of the desk.

Maybe that would teach young Colin to run through the corridors with a war-hammer he'd obviously stolen off one of the suits of armour, Remus snorted to himself as he casually strolled past the row of high arched windows. Maybe they needed to encourage the armour to be more aggressive…and hopefully Colin would find something more productive to do with his time…except he was a hardcore Defence Club member and busily dragging his little brother into their particular brand of insanity…

Sudden movement caught his attention and he glanced out of the window just in time to see members of the Defence Club scrambling out of the Forbidden Forest at full sprint in a disorganised panic he'd never seen before. The reason why soon became clear as a number of Centaurs broke through the tree-line cantering after the retreating students brandishing short swords and small shields, though several were taking aim with recurve bows.

"Oh they haven't," Remus breathed, of all the stupid things they could have done. Ten guesses who put them up to it and they all began with…

"My bloody godson put them up to this didn't he," Padfoot muttered right by his ear. Remus bit back a yelp but couldn't help barking his knees on the stone work.

"Mr Creevey I think we're going to have to finish your detention early," Remus said as he headed towards the classroom door not bothering to look back, "it appears some of your friends are about to be in a great deal of trouble."

"What if they actually managed to injure one of the Centaurs? Sirius muttered as they made their way towards the main staircases.

"They better bloody hadn't," Remus growled dread beginning to build in his gut as he went down the main stairs as fast as he could against the tide of agitated students.

The Castle resembled a kicked-over bee hive as they finally made it to the Entrance Hall just in time to witness the Headmaster storm past, his face a uncharacteristic mask of fury.

"This is all Carrow's doing I'm sure of it," Snape's voice came from behind them. Remus glanced over his shoulder to find the normally sour man trying to hide a smirk. Predictably Sirius was straight on the defensive. "I've got nothing to do with this…or him….how do you know anyway?"

"Something I must have overheard," Snape smirked as he strode past them towards the chaos.

oOo

"Nev was right," Ron groaned as he realised they were now surrounded by a group of very angry Centaurs all brandishing weapons of various kinds, mainly swords a tiny and unhelpful part of his mind supplied. Oh look and haven't they got a really nice long reach with them too.

"Ripper," he yelled as he ducked under a vicious blow stumbling back into an angry and sullen Neville who was refusing to talk to them and had changed into his bear form to make this even easier. "You need to do something," Ron screamed, "this was your idea." He blocked another blow, parrying it with his Cadia, jabbing at the furious horse-man with his bayonet as the being reared flailing his hooves.

"I don't think I'm going to have to," Hermione shouted back, "Carrow's here…we just need to hang on…a little longer."

"Err…Hermione," Ron stuttered as he dodged a slashing sword, "Dumbledore's here too and he looks furious."

There was a thunderous series of explosions as the Headmaster swept past them placing himself very firmly between them and the angry Centaurs.

"This will cease now." The Headmaster wasn't exactly shouting but his voice definitely had that quality Mum's had got the few times the Twins had really overstepped the boundaries…a chill swept down his spine as Dumbledore turned and looked at them his expression angry, concerned and just plain disappointed.

"…the actions of these individual students does not represent the School, are not sanctioned by the School…"

"We demand restitution," the oldest Centaur bellowed, "this was an armed intrusion into our village, an affront, they were hunting us."

Ron felt his mind begin to wander as the adrenalin began to wear off leaving him shaking and woozy. Desperately he tried to rally himself, focus on his surroundings, what was it Carrow was always saying…"ONLY THE DEAD MAY REST," or something….

"…and you will have it," Dumbledore was saying, his voice hard and cold. "It is quite clear who the ultimate author of this latest fiasco is…Allesandor Carrow."

"The Abomination," the oldest Centaur snarled rearing back.

Suppose that was one way of looking at Carrow, Ron chuckled to himself, a little concerned at the way his vision was starting to go grey around the edges…and why was everything going fuzzy like that. Fortunately the Centaurs didn't seem very interested in them any more…much more concerned with attacking Carrow…except the big guy could look after himself…probably even enjoy a jolly little punch up with a bunch of man-horses.

"Ron," a concerned voice said though it seemed to be coming from a way away. Greg's voice swam into view looking uncharacteristically worried, "did you know…arrow in your…leg…Ron?"

He looked down, the world swaying a moment with the motion. Well Bloody Throne, he stared at the arrow in consternation. When had that happened? He stared at the offending object which stuck out from his thigh at a jaunty angle, its fletching a cheerful vibrant shade of green. Best to get that out maybe, he thought about giving it a tug but someone who looked suspiciously like Uncle Sev wouldn't let him.

Mum was going to be so angry when she found out about this.

oOo

"Wait," Remus called, alarmed as Snape dodged in among the Centaurs towards the knot of students and the wavering Weasley lad. Where was his Gryffindor courage when he needed it? Steeling himself he followed ducking as he felt a short-sword brush the top of his hair.

"Need any help?" he asked as he collapsed to his knees by Snape who was already tending to the Weasley boy, the youngest one he thought, Ron…Ronald?

"You can shut up for starters," Snape growled, "and put pressure here." He indicated the gauze pad he'd placed over a slash wound to Weasley's shoulder.

"What about that?" Remus eyed the arrow currently sticking out of the boy's leg.

"Leave it," Snape said, "we've got more important things to worry about...like he won't bloody stop bleeding…and I bet some of the others are hurt too."

Remus did what he could, following Snape's instructions as closely as possible, attempting to stay calm despite the agitated Centaurs pawing at the ground behind him. Something primal inside him really objected, demanded he turned and faced the threat…he didn't really want to consider where those instincts came from, did his best to push them down, smother them…

"Wha…woah!" Sirius exclaimed beside him.

"Shut it Black," Snape glared up at the annoyance but Weasley groaned and shifted then pulling his attention away much to Remus's relief.

"Mooney," Sirius hissed, "look!"

Remus was on the verge of telling Sirius exactly what he thought of his interruption when he looked in the direction the annoying man was frantically pointing. His eyes widened in shock as he was just in time to see Carrow bowled over by a tree trunk the Headmaster had apparently summoned, though he was rapidly back on his feet in a superhuman blur of speed.

"You are suspended," Dumbledore's voice rang out.

Remus stared shocked until Snape hissed at him angrily. He hurriedly reapplied pressure to Weasley's injury.

"…cannot in all conscience allow you to continue teaching if this is what you encourage your students to do," Dumbledore sounded utterly furious. Remus peered between the legs of the milling centaurs, he could already see that behind Carrow's angry mask the gears of his mind were turning, busily working on turning this entire situation to his personal advantage.

"Merlin curse it," Snape growled, "I had two sickles on the bastard making it to the end of the year."