A/N: A tip 'o the wand to Moira of the Mountain, for her thoughtful reviews.

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Chapter Eleven -- Another Visitor

"And then I seen his eyes, Albie. . .and I come all over queer, I did. . ."

So had whispered Albert Willitz's gran on every Friday evening of his eighth year, when he had stayed with her while his mum worked at the canteen on the airbase. It was a story he never tired of hearing -- the story of the night his gran had walked home through the blackout-dark churchyard and had seen the Man.

But not really a man, no: she'd seen a ghost or a werewolf or a Nazi or a devil. . .which, she never knew, and Albert never cared. Whatever it was, it was the essence of Darkness, and his gran had seen it, and it had looked at her with its red (or sparking or empty or spinning) eyes and had laughed (or growled or snarled or rasped) and beckoned her to join in its mad revels, but his gran had run, had run like the hounds of hell was after her, Albie, and she had escaped and lived to tell the tale, in all its many versions, over and over to her enthralled and eager grandson. . ."I come all over queer, I did. . ."

And now, more than half a century later, his gran's Man -- or devil -- was standing in the Sciences Hall of the University of the Midlands. Looking at Albert.

Albert looked back into the flat, grey eyes and came all over queer. He did.

The Man was pale as death, with a long curtain of yellow-white hair, and he wore some sort of black cape, and his eyes. . .well, after that first glance, Albert couldn't really look at his eyes.

"You are the porter?" the Man questioned curtly. At Albert's nod, he went on, "I am here to see Professor Morgan."

As if Albert couldn't have guessed. His earlier good opinion of Professor Morgan was now barely a memory. Lady, my arse, he thought. He dug his hands into his pockets and looked away from the Man and wished devoutly that he still had his gran's piece of lucky cowl, saved from her first-born.

"Did you not understand me?" snarled the Man. "I wish to see Professor Morgan. Take me to her."

But here Albert rebelled. Job or no job, eyes or no eyes, he was not going anywhere in the company of Death.

"She's down there," he said, indicating the corridor. "Last door on the left."

The Man glared; then, with a muttered, "idiot," he shoved Albert aside and stalked out the door, his hair and cape flowing behind him.

---///---

Gemma saw him first, the pale-haired man who swept the office with a disdainful glance, but before she could say anything, he pointed some sort of thin stick at Mina and said,

"Good afternoon, Minerva."

The flare of shock in Mina's eyes made it obvious to Gemma that, unlike Ro the bird-woman of a week ago, this man was no welcome visitor. In fact, if it hadn't seemed so unlike her, Gemma would have sworn that Mina was frightened. But that impression lasted only a moment. When Mina spoke, her voice was cool and dry as usual.

"Lucius," was all she said. She didn't seem to find the pointed stick odd at all. Could it possibly be a gun? Or a sword? At the desk across from Gemma, Phil was staring open-mouthed.

"You'll come with me, Minerva, and if you're smart, you'll give me no trouble," said the man called Lucius. "He wants you alive. But he didn't say anything about unharmed."

Mina -- Minerva? -- held out her open hands briefly, as if to show that she was no threat.

"Give me your wand," said Lucius. "Now."

"I haven't one. A casualty of battle, I'm afraid."

Lucius waved his stick and cried, "Expelliarmus!" Or so it sounded to the baffled Gemma. When nothing happened, he smiled an unpleasant little smile. "Well, well," he said, casting his scornful glance over Mina now. "You really have come down in the world. No wonder you need money. Oh, yes -- I traced the money." His lip curled further. "You and Flitwick are good, but I am better. And it wasn't wise of you to let him meet you here; he's a trifle, shall we say. . . conspicuous. Still, none of that matters now, does it?"

Still smirking, he jabbed his stick in Mina's direction. "Stand up, Minerva. Slowly."

Phil chose that moment to find her voice. "Leave her alone!" she shouted, pushing up from her chair. The man turned towards her, stick pointed.

"Lucius! Don't." The authority and warning in Mina's stern voice were undeniable, and rather to Gemma's surprise, Lucius heeded her. In one fluid motion, he turned from pointing the stick at Phil to pointing it back at a glaring Mina.

"If you don't want trouble, don't cause it," she snapped. "Let them be."

After a moment, he inclined his head. "Very well."

To Gemma and Phil, Mina said, "Sit down, both of you. Do nothing, do you understand? Nothing."

Gemma didn't even think of disobeying, and she prayed that for once, Phil would listen, too. She had no idea what was going on, but she could practically feel the danger crackling all around them.

Lucius was watching; he seemed amused. "Always the protector, eh, Minerva? Or do you just like giving people orders?" When she didn't reply, he said, "Let us go, then. Believe me, he will be very glad to see you. He has plans for you."

"May I take my walking stick?" Mina asked. It leant against the wall next to her.

Lucius raised a sardonic brow. "Walking stick?" With a show of false solicitude, he went on, "Oh, dear. Don't tell me you've been hurt? Not more stunners, I hope?"

"It's war, Lucius. Injuries happen."

He laughed. "So they do. Well, then, by all means. . .Professor. Get your stick."

Mina reached for it, but instead of leaning on it, she pointed it at Lucius and cried, "Stupefy!" At almost the same moment, he shouted, too -- a word like "Sectasem!"

Gemma registered the next few moments only in chaotic bursts: blasts of red fire, deafening crashes, a shower of broken plaster, a cloud of dust, more shouting. She saw Lucius drop to the floor, his head hitting the desk as he fell; she saw Mina knocked from her chair, blood streaming down her arm.

Then silence.

From the corridor outside the office came the sounds of raised voices and pounding feet. But before anyone could reach them, Mina lifted her stick, and the door shut and locked before Gemma's startled eyes.

"What the bloody hell. . .?" Phil, dust-covered, crawled out from behind her desk.

Someone was banging on the door. "What's going on? Are you all right?"

"We. . ." started Phil, but Mina waved the stick and said, "Silencio." Though Phil's mouth continued to move, no sound emerged.

Meanwhile, Mina called out, "We're fine, Gordon. Leave us, please. I'll take care of it."

"Min? Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'll be in touch. Soon. Please. . .go now." Gripping the edge of her desk, she pulled herself from the floor.

"Well, if you're sure. . ."

"I'm sure."

Gemma could tell that it was taking all of Mina's energy to answer. Her face was grey with pain, and her left shoulder looked a mess; blood had already soaked her torn sleeve and was beginning to drip on the carpet. Lucius's stick must have been a gun after all; only a bullet could have done that sort of damage.

"Mina, here, let me help you; Phil, ring for an ambulance. . ."

"No. No ambulance." Mina lowered herself into her chair and, with her good hand, began tracing the wound, murmuring softly to herself. To Gemma's speechless amazement, the jagged cuts began to knit; the bleeding slowed, then stopped.

Phil had come to stand over the fallen Lucius, her mouth working soundlessly. Mina waved her hand, and Phil's voice switched on like a radio.

". . .you were a killer, I knew it!" she was saying. "He's dead!"

Mina shook her head. "Merely stunned. He'll be fine." Her face gradually lost its deathly pallor, and she rose, stick in hand.

Gemma felt the reaction begin to set in. Her hands shook; tears stung her eyes. "Mina, what is this? Tell me what's going on here. Please."

Mina looked at her with something like regret. "I'm sorry. But I can't explain."

Reaction had set in for Phil, too. She was livid. "What do you mean, you can't explain? You'll explain to the police, by god, because I'm going to ring them. . .What the hell do you think you're doing?" Her voice rose to a screech as Mina pointed her stick at Lucius once again. Phil lunged at Mina, who turned the stick towards her. To Gemma's relief, Phil stood still immediately.

"I will not hurt you, Miss Benton-Smith. Or you, Miss Braithwaite," Mina said. "Or even Lucius. You have my word." Her mouth twisted wryly. "For whatever that's worth to you. But I need to get myself and Lucius away from here, and if you try to interfere, I shall have to immobilise you. So stand back, please."

Suddenly she inhaled sharply and clutched at her shoulder. Gemma saw that her wound had reopened; it was bleeding heavily again. "Damn you, Lucius," Mina muttered. "I should have known. . ." With one sweep of the walking stick, she caused silvery cords to appear out of thin air and bind his body.

"Holy shit!" Wide-eyed, Phil grabbed Gemma's hand and started dragging her towards the door. Gemma was afraid, too, but not of Mina: she was afraid for her. It was Lucius, not Mina, who was the menace; she was sure of it. She turned back to the injured woman.

"You're bleeding. Let us help you. . ."

But Mina didn't seem to be listening. She pointed her stick at the gouged plaster and then, closing her eyes, she visibly gathered her strength. Again, Gemma heard the soft murmur. The plaster miraculously repaired itself; the dust in the room disappeared. Another pointing, another murmur, and the blood on the carpet vanished.

Moving to her desk, Mina swept all her papers into her leather bag and tapped it with the stick; it immediately shrank to a size small enough to fit in her pocket. Then she tried healing her wound once again; she was less successful this time, but the bleeding did stop briefly.

Gemma and Phil watched, astounded. Gemma felt simply too dazed to move or speak, but Phil finally whispered, "Are you from another planet?"

This brought a brief smile to Mina's lips, but then she swayed and grabbed the desk for support.

"Mina!" Gemma's paralysis broke; she hurried to put a steadying arm around the older woman's waist. "Will you please sit down?"

Mina disengaged herself gently. "Thank you, but I must finish -- while I'm still able." She took a deep breath. "I need you to do something for me. . .Please," she said, looking straight into Phil's mulish face.

"Yes," said Gemma firmly. "Of course we will. Just tell us."

Mina removed the now-bloody tartan muffler from around her neck and tucked one end into Lucius's collar; the other she closed gingerly into her left hand. Her shoulder had begun to bleed again. She glanced at the wall clock, and Gemma was astonished to see that it was only 2:30 -- a mere twenty minutes had elapsed since Lucius had entered the office.

"Please say, '2:00 p.m. Wednesday'," Mina instructed. They did so, and she held out her good hand. Gemma grasped it; after a moment, so did Phil.

"You won't remember this afternoon," Mina said softly, "and I won't see you again. But I thank you very much, Gemma, my dear." Her lips quirked. "And Phil, of course." Then she smiled at them both, the warm, rich smile they had seen only once before, on the day the bird-woman came.

They couldn't help but smile back.

Picking up her stick, Mina tilted it towards them. "Obliviate," she said. A second later, her muffler glowed a bright blue, and she and Lucius disappeared.

---///---

Gemma stared around the office; something felt odd. Why were she and Phil just standing here, grinning?

"Where's Mina?" she asked. "Wasn't she just at her desk?"

Phil shrugged. "Gone for tea or something. Or maybe she's off to meet Ro. You just wait: I'm going to get her to introduce us, see if I don't. I'll get their story. I wonder if it will be anything like that film -- you remember it, Caged Heat?"

Gemma managed not to roll her eyes. "Why don't you ask her when she gets back? I think you should."

"You do?" Phil was clearly suspicious.

"Definitely," said Gemma, trying not to laugh. "I want to see if this will be the time she really does tell you to fuck off."