Chapter Seven: Sometimes, We Can't Help
"Gregory Parker?"
Greg glanced at the crowd of people – wizards – outside his door and had an awful feeling about where this was going. "Yes," he acknowledged nonetheless.
"You are under arrest for murder, attempted murder, aiding and abetting fugitives from justice, and obstruction of justice. You have the right to remain silent."
As the American wizard recited Greg's rights and slapped him in handcuffs, two furious young Wild Mages appeared. "Uncle Greg!" Alanna cried, launching forward. "Let him go!"
"Alanna, stand down," Greg ordered before his niece could attack any of the Aurors. "Lancelot, you too," he added, gifting his nephew with his best warning glare. Craning around, he asked, "Could one of you arrange for mio nipotes to go to Kevin and Shelley Wordsworth?"
The American grunted, unimpressed. "Kevin Wordsworth is being arrested right now," he informed the Sergeant.
Greg had suspected, but his heart still sank. "Shelley?"
"No." The speaker stepped forward, betrayal written all over his face. Simmons. "I'll make sure your niece and nephew arrive safely, Parker, but that's the only favor I'm doing for you."
Greg swallowed at the furious expression on the wizard's face and nodded. To his kids, he murmured, "Pack lightly; Shelley can bring you back here for more clothing and anything else once things die down a bit." Distress shone from violet and sapphire; Greg shifted forward, though he was careful not to fight the cuffs. "Hey. Hey. It's going to be okay. Be good for me, you two. I'll be back before you know it."
Alanna blinked back tears and hugged him fiercely; Greg savored her warmth. "Love you, Uncle Greg."
"And I love you, too, mia nipote," Greg whispered back as his nephew joined his sister. "I have to go now," he admitted when the Aurors behind him started shifting unhappily. "See you soon."
Lance leaned up and whispered something in his ear, then stepped back, tugging Alanna with him. Greg kept his eyes on his kids as long as he could, not fighting, but not walking straight either as he was pulled away from his family.
Lou and Spike were lying side-by-side in Spike's room, furiously pounding on their controllers as the cars on the screen skidded around the final turn of the race. "Oh, oh, oh, I got this, Lou; I got this!" Spike cheered.
"In your dreams," Lou gritted back, slamming down the boost button. "You don't have enough juice left, Scarlatti!"
Sure enough, Lou's car zipped ahead of Spike's to cross the finish line first. Lou whooped as Spike moaned and thumped his head on his floor. Outside the room, they both heard Mrs. Scarlatti burst into a flood of furious Italian. Spike's head shot up and the two pushed themselves up at the second sound they heard: angry male voices.
"Mamá?" Spike called, leaving his room with Lou on his heels. "Is everything all right?"
The two cops stiffened at the sight of a crowd of wizards in robes. Spike surged into the kitchen and hurried to his weeping mother. Lou was right on Spike's heels until someone grabbed him; he automatically fought back, only to be wrestled to the ground, cuffs snipping in place around his wrists.
"Lou!" Spike cried; he was about to lunge when four wands pointed at him and he froze, lifting his hands in surrender. "What is this?" he snarked, "The Witching Hour?"
"Cute," a wizard with an American accent drawled as he stepped forward. "Constables Scarlatti and Young, you are under arrest."
Sam and Jules had just gone to bed when Jules' door was forced open and a flood of angry wizards surged inside, shouting and generally making both a racket and a mess. Before either constable could go for their weapons or clothing, they were cornered and covered by at least seven wands. Sam flushed bright red and Jules cowered under her coverlet until a female Auror caught on and banished her male colleagues until the two could at least get dressed.
The Auror's sympathy didn't extend any farther than that, though she seemed to soften when Jules thanked her for the consideration she had shown them. Once the constables were dressed and had shoes on, the rest of the Aurors flowed back in and cuffed the pair roughly, charging them with murder, attempted murder, obstruction of justice, and abetting several fugitives.
Jules kept her eyes forward, refusing to flinch, even when the cuffs were tightened to the point of almost grinding her wrists. Sam, likewise, threw his shoulders back and tossed his head high, his most emotionless, Squib Squad mask in place. Neither said so much as a word to the Aurors arresting them. Jules looked back at her house as she and Sam were dragged outside, wondering if she'd ever see it again, but she still kept quiet.
Sophie was feeding Izzy when the rap on the door came. Ed strode to the door, reared back in surprise, then opened it. "What's going on?"
One wizard stepped forward. "Edward Lane?"
"Yeah."
The wizard signaled his teammates. Sophie nearly screamed as two of them forced her husband to his knees and cuffed him. Clark darted in, sliding to a stop in shock. "Dad?"
"Clark, stay with your mother, stay with Izzy," Ed ordered, plastering indifference on his face. "Let these guys do their job."
The foremost wizard chuckled darkly, then reeled off the charges. Beyond flexing his hands, Ed refused to let any of the wizard's words impact his sniper's mask. He didn't fight as he was dragged to his feet and out the door, though he looked Sophie in the eye, trying to communicate how much he loved her, loved their family.
She returned his gaze fiercely, silently promising to wait as long as it took for him to come home. Clark, hovering behind her, met his Dad's eyes with his own promise watch over his mother and sister.
Wordy had just taken his evening dose of meds when the knock at the door came. "Shel, I got it," he called, heading for the door. He opened the door, blinking at the crowd of wizards on his front step. "So much for hiding," he remarked, cocking a brow.
"Kevin Wordsworth?" the most officious one demanded.
"That's me," Wordy confirmed. "Something wrong?"
He wasn't expected to be covered by three wands and ordered to his knees. He swallowed, but obeyed, bringing his hands up and interlacing his fingers behind his head. The constable didn't fight as one hand, then the other, were pulled down and cuffed by one of the Aurors as the charges and his rights were reeled off by another.
Shelley, hearing the commotion, arrived in time to hear the list of charges; she gasped, but Wordy didn't bother to protest them. He'd get his chance, he knew, but not yet. Instead, he focused on his wife as he was pulled up; Shelley surged forward, pulling her husband's head down and kissing him fiercely before he was yanked out of her grasp and out their front door.
As Wordy was led away, he spied Simmons and Sar…Greg's kids walking towards his still open door. The kids looked devastated and Simmons' face was expressionless. The brunet constable felt a lump in his throat. It wasn't just him this time…it was all of them…
The man who entered Toronto's St. Mungo's did his best to hide his utter disgust at his surroundings. Typical, how the wizards had all these fancy, magical miracles, but they wouldn't use them to help anyone except the chosen few. He traversed the hallways, searching for the destination he'd been given by his contact…one of the few wizards who understood what it was to be on the outside looking in. Who understood his family's hatred towards anything and everything magic.
When he arrived at the room number, he was taken aback by the quarantine sign outside the door. Then he smirked. So, there were diseases that wizards feared and shunned. He hid nearby, watching as several wizards entered and exited the room, bustling back and forth in an effort to save their patient. When the flow slowed, the man left his hiding spot and hurried inside.
Red light played on his face and he reeled back in fear, staring at a wizard on one of the beds, his features frozen and still. The man frowned; the wizard was wearing regular clothing. Curious, he tiptoed over to the wizard and pushed at him. He hissed as the red light stung his hands and shoved him away, as if it knew he was a threat.
The man snorted, then reached down to retrieve the syringes he'd been given. Surely his contact wouldn't mind if he used one of them on the wizard in front of him… But the red light slapped even harder at the syringe he tried to stick in the wizard's throat, hissing outrage and giving him a shock that quite literally made his hair stand on end. When he tried a second time to insert the syringe, the entire syringe shattered.
He swore, leaping back away from the bed as the scarlet light swirled faster and it seemed to the man that the light sneered at him as it intensified enough to hide the wizard's features. The man turned away, his gaze falling on the other wizard. The one he'd shot the night before…the one who'd been getting too close.
Walking up to the wizard, he pulled out his second syringe. "Say 'good-bye', wizard," he taunted, sinking the syringe into the wizard's neck and depressing the plunger. He yanked it out and let it fall to the bed, then headed for the door. "See you in hell."
The door slammed behind the stranger.
"I have had word," Moffet informed his four guests. He smiled as they snapped to attention. "The Muggles have been arrested as of this evening and the case against them is proceeding nicely. My contacts have also arranged for the worst of the Muggle-Lovers to be quietly…dealt with…in the meantime." The doctor's smile turned vicious. "With this lesson before the magical governments of the world, it will be decades before any are fool enough to repeat this…experiment."
Laughter rose, forcing Moffet to stop. Loki smacked the table, drawing attention to himself. "I confess," he drawled, "I was uncertain how successful your plan would be. This…this is glorious. I only wish I could have been there when those miserable Muggles were arrested and dragged away by those blood-traitors in Toronto."
Rastaban banged his mug on the table, adding his own approval. "Maybe now that Muggle spawn can pay for stealing our family!"
Rudolphus didn't speak, but his eyes glinted with savage delight.
Anderson recalled them with a quiet cough. "I believe, gentlewizards, that Dr. Moffet was not quite done."
Moffet traded a razor-sharp smile with his fellow sociopath. "Quite so, Auror Anderson," he agreed, pacing the front of the room and gesturing to the ceiling with his wand. A white screen lowered into place and an image appeared on it. "Given that these Muggles are from Canada, they will be taken to McKean until trial," he announced. "I have arranged for them to be listed as too dangerous to house closer to the actual trial, which will be held in Toronto. Additionally, my contacts have ensured that the McKean guards are well aware of who, precisely, they will be guarding."
Anderson gave a bark of laughter, drawing curious looks from his fellow escapees. He smirked triumphantly. "The guards won't be pleased with a group of Muggles who killed three of their own," he drawled.
"Correct," Moffet rumbled, reclaiming attention. "Now, as to your revenge…we must be careful to ensure that we do not disrupt the chain of events. In fact, I hope to make this look as if the four of you attempted to 'rescue' the Muggles, thus sealing their fate."
Eagerly, the wizards leaned in.
In a small hospital room, two men lay on beds that were set on opposite walls. There was no sound in the room, save for the quiet hum of monitoring spells. Another man entered the room quietly, his gaze flicking to one bed before he moved to the other.
"We got 'em, Giles. I know you believed in them, but look what they did to do to you. I couldn't support them after that, I couldn't." The man regarded his friend, vaguely disappointed when Onasi did not reply. Leaning closer, the man whispered, "One thing still doesn't make sense, Giles. You shouldn't have been there…what were you doing in the Auror Division that night, huh?"
Brown eyes opened a sliver, then the alarms went off. The visitor was roughly escorted out of the room as the Healers fought to save the desperately injured man. Unnoticed by any one, however, was a small syringe that rolled, unnoticed, under the patient's bed.
The black and white helicopter lifted off, turning towards the sunset. Behind the pilot's controls, Dr. Moffet smirked. All was going precisely according to plan…
"Doctor?" one of his crew asked. "What now?"
Moffet considered a moment, tilting his head to the side. "Phase one is complete," he purred, pushing the helicopter's controls forward. "Phase two…is just beginning…"
His thumb moved to a red button and pressed down firmly. The chopper leapt forward, screaming skyward as a wolf's howl echoed through the evening sky. As the aircraft rose through the night sky, blackness swirled over its hull and another snarl was heard…the snarl of a rabid wolf…
~ Ad Alia
Author note: To Be Continued...
Stay tuned for next week's epi...oops, story, as we dive into "Shadow of the Hawke" on Tuesday, May 28th, 2019, right here in the Flashpoint/Harry Potter crossover archive. In the meantime, any reviews will be much welcomed, but, as always, flames will be fed to my Death Knight's Netherwing. *wink*
See You on the Battlefield!
