Chapter 7

When Harry surfaced from his slumber it was still completely dark. For some reason, he'd dreamed that his name was being called.

"Harry!" came a familiar voice. Not a dream then. "Are you there?"

He grumbled to himself, and after a moment of indecision, rolled out of bed with an inelegant thump. He staggered across to the chair where he'd dumped his clothes in a rumpled pile and fumbled in the dark to find his coat. After locating the right pocket on only his third attempt, and after putting back the Omnioculars and Weasley fireworks he'd uncovered in his search, he pulled out the communication mirror. In it he found the cheerful face of Padma Patil. From what he could see, she was sitting outside some café in Diagon enjoying the morning sun and a gently steaming coffee.

"What bloody time do you call this?" he rasped, plopping himself back down on the end of the bed.

"Ooh, time zones. Sorry, must have slipped my mind, you know how it can get when you're snowed under," she said, completely unabashed. She took a dainty sip of her drink and eyed him levelly. He'd known he was going to pay for his digs when they'd last spoke. He couldn't muster the energy to be annoyed, which he supposed was probably part of her plan.

"Alright, I get the point," he said as he flicked a hand and a small light appeared and flew over to the bedside lamp which flickered into life. "You win this round, Patil. What do you have for me?"

"Those leaves you found?" she said, her face becoming a little more serious. "Susan and Sprout were both able to identify it as Venomous Tentacula, only, not quite. Seems someone managed to cross-breed it with a lesser known kind of Devil's Snare apparently only found on the north-west coast of North America. We took it to the Grey-hoods and they're not sure but there might also be some Madagascan Dream Grass traits in there. Whoever did the hybridization made a bit of a mess of it though. They reckoned it probably wasn't long for this world."

"I think it was done by a muggle, so that's not surprising. It's probably not so important now, anyway," said Harry, realising with surprise that in only 24 hours the direction of his investigation had changed completely. The fact that it had been hybridised with a Devil's Snare did explain why it had been looking so unhappy under the bright lights set up in the lab. "I was able to extract it from Wayne, and I wiped anything on their computers that they may have been able to get from it too. I'll send the plant along to you once I've had some sleep."

"So how's the search going then," Padma asked, picking up on his meaning. "You found a new lead?"

"Maybe," Harry admitted. As he was already awake, he decided he may as well fill Padma in. Maybe she'd come up with something. "We found some evidence that the restaurant Neville went to was attacked. Or, at least, there was wide-spread damage which he'd fixed up. Well, it was probably him, anyway. It looks like all the staff have been obliviated, too.

"Oh, and some basketcase kidnapped me in a taxi and tried to kill me by crashing his car into the bloody sea."

"He obliviated—" Before she could get started, though, she stopped. It took her a second to process Harry's last statement. "Wait, what?"

"Like I said, I got in a cab and the driver took off before I'd even sat down." He rubbed his forehead where a bruise would have surely been in the absence of the wonder that was magic. "He threatened me a bit, then crashed the car off a bridge when I got sick of listening to him."

"He killed himself?"

"Pretty sure," said Harry without needing to think about it too hard, that wasn't the kind of accident anyone could expect to walk away from. The way the man's body had been flopping around as the car tumbled had certainly not been healthy. "If he did survive, it would only be by pure dumb luck. No way he planned to walk away from that wreck."

Padma's sharp gaze swept over what parts of Harry she could see through the communication mirror. "You weren't hurt? What kind of threats?"

"A few bumps and bruises," said Harry with a shrug. Better to downplay it if he didn't want to be mothered at 5am. He then mimicked the monotone voice of his erstwhile kidnapper. "Leave Gotham or die."—His voice returned to normal—"You get the gist."

"That was it?" she asked, sounding puzzled. "He kidnapped you to threaten you into leaving… then tried to kill you?"

"Well, I think he was actually just going to drive me out of the city and dump me," said Harry. Trying to understand the motives of a madman was always a tricky business. "But when I tried to stop him, he decided to try for a more permanent solution instead. Get this though, whoever he's working with already have Neville."

"Was he a wizard?" said Padma, sounding worried at the thought. Neville was her friend too, all the veterans of the Battle of Hogwarts were close. "How did they manage to take him?"

"Not a wizard," said Harry firmly. That much, at least, he was sure of. "So not a bloody clue, but one of the restaurant's staff might have avoided the obliviation, we're going to see him tomor… later today." He gave Padma a dirty look when he realised he'd have to be up again in a few hours.

Padma quirked an eyebrow. "We?"

"I went to talk to Giovanni Zatara's daughter about his mysterious reappearance," said Harry. "She offered to help me with the search. I needed someone who can actually navigate this rathole of a city."

"Is she pretty?" Padma asked immediately. She wiggled her eyebrows. "Is she single?"

"Padma..." Harry began before stopping himself. He wasn't going to play her game at 5am. That was a recipe for losing. "It's 5am, Neville's still missing, and I do not have the energy for this," he said firmly. He was still having to deal with the mess caused by the last time one of his so-called friends had tried to set him up with someone.

"So that's a yes on both counts, then?" said Padma cheerfully. "You know you need to get over—"

He knew she was trying to keep him positive, but there was no way he was talking about that at 5 in the morning. He cut her off. "Good night, Padma."

"Wait!" she called just before Harry set the mirror aside. "We got a fire-call from Carruthers late-on last night."

"Let me guess," said Harry reluctantly, while wishing sincerely that he could go back to sleep. He really didn't want to have to deal with that man's shit, even by proxy. "He told Kingsley to get me to stop pissing in his cornflakes?"

"No, by we, I mean the Department," she said.

That piqued Harry's interest. An official request, then? "That's not what I expected. What did he have to say?"

The suspicion in Padma's voice echoed Harry's own. "That's the thing, he wanted to get his hands on Constantine."

That wasn't something Harry had expected. "Really? Why'd they want him, did he say?"

"Said they wanted to question him regarding the Zatara reappearance." He could definitely understand her suspicion. They'd only just been asked to check in with Constantine by Quahog a couple of days ago.

"What changed?" Harry wondered out loud. "Quahog wasn't all that bothered about it when I spoke to him."

"Well, Carruthers has a bee in his bonnet about it."

"What did you tell him?" Harry asked. He was pretty sure he knew how she'd respond, but he wanted to make sure.

"Told him Constantine's a pain in the arse, but he's a British subject and that MACUSA has no jurisdiction," said Padma, and Harry could just imagine the scathing tone she'd used. "Said we'd be talking to him soon, and if they had any questions they wanted answered they could pass them to us, and we'd consider bringing them to Constantine."

That last bit was a nice touch. A good little diplomatic slap in the face disguised as an olive branch. "Good," said Harry firmly. "I don't suppose he did tell you what they're wanting to ask him?"

"Nope," said Padma before smiling smugly. "He didn't say anything at all, just disconnected the Floo then and there."

"Good job," said Harry. Maybe it was a bit petty, but the thought of Carruthers' face when Padma had delivered her dismissal gave him a warm fuzzy feeling. After a moment's thought, he said, "Maybe do check in with Constantine today then. I want to know what's got Carruthers' knickers in a twist."

"Already tasked Quigley with it," said Padma with a nod. "He'll head along some time this afternoon. Unless you want answers sooner?"

"No, this afternoon's fine," said Harry after a moment's thought. "Let me know if you get anything interesting. Now, I think I have some sleep to get back to."

"Got it. Night, Harry," she chirped, far too upbeat for that early in the morning. Then, with a hint of playfulness, she added, "Remember the flowers. Second date is one of the big ones."

Before his sluggish mind could find a decent comeback, the mirror went clear once more. Harry groaned and fell backwards onto the bed again. He often found himself asking why he kept her on, as mouthy as she could be. No-one else had to deal with their assistant constantly trying to one-up them.

Except, of course, he knew exactly why he kept her on. She was damned good at her job, and having to put up with the occasional jibe or inappropriate comment was a price well worth paying. Her presence meant that Harry had to do very little of the Head Auror scutwork, and he could instead spend much of his time out on investigations. He wasn't sure how long he would have been able to manage, had it not been for Padma.

He sighed and threw the communication mirror back on top of the pile of clothes, and clawed his way back under the sheets. He was asleep again in seconds.

o-o

The next morning, Harry apparated to the Illusionist club hidden safely beneath his invisibility cloak. He quickly located Zatanna sitting on the stage, swinging her legs back and forth. Unlike the previous day, she was dressed in much more casual attire. A simple jeans, t-shirt jacket combo that she still managed to make look runway-worthy.

Harry slipped the cloak off to reveal himself standing a couple of feet away from her.

She jerked in surprise. "How did you do that?"

"I'm sure you have your secrets, like I have mine," said Harry as he tucked his cloak away into one of his pockets.

"That looked like an invisibility cloak," she said, clearly not wishing to let it go. "But I have placed spells on this club that should alert me, even then."

"Seems you were mistaken then." Harry always did enjoy just how much the cloak of invisibility could confuse people who assumed it to simply be a run-of-the-mill cloak. "Now, are you ready to go?"

Zatanna shot him a look that told him they weren't done with their conversation, but she stood up. "I am. And while you were getting involved in Gotham's street racer scene, I got Mikey's address from Paulo. What happened last night by the way?"

"Oh, you know, the usual," said Harry nonchalantly as they made their way out of the club. "Attempted kidnapping by some kind of brainwashed crazy guy who threatened me with suffering and death if I didn't leave the city. And good idea getting the address, maybe I drank too much wine, it apparently didn't occur to me that we needed to actually know where the guy lives."

"That's 'the usual' for you?" Zatanna asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Actually, I'm usually pretty diligent about not drinking on the job," he said, intentionally misunderstanding the question.

Beyond a fractional increase in brow altitude, she didn't react.

"Well, not that specifically, no," Harry admitted eventually. "But it doesn't go completely against the grain of my life."

"Maybe you and John have more in common than you'd like to admit." That one hit a bit close to home.

"Maybe." Hell, it was probably a sight more than maybe. "Okay. I can't deny that we both share an uncanny ability to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But unlike Constantine, when I get into shit like that, I don't think there's any such thing as acceptable losses. My job is to bring dark wizards to justice. Killing is always a last resort, and it means I failed. Me killing them, no matter how much I think they deserve it, isn't justice."

She didn't respond to that, but Harry felt that she understood what he was saying even if she wasn't sure what to say in response. Instead, she flagged down a passing cab and, when they both got in, directed the driver to Mikey's street.

After a few minutes, Harry decided they should probably work out a plan. "Okay," he said, breaking their silence. "I guess Mikey will recognise you when he sees you. How do you think we should play this?"

"I hadn't thought of that," Zatanna said, turning away from the window out of which she'd been gazing. She thought for a moment. "Maybe you should talk to him yourself? Paulo said he's been acting really paranoid after what happened. I'm not sure how he'd react to me taking an interest. If he makes the connection between what your friend did, and why I do for a living, he might clam up. You could pose as a detective investigating what happened?"

"What do you think of my 'murican accent?" said Harry in an accent that even to him sounded more like the bastard child of Texan and South African than anything recognisable.

"Maybe not."

Harry chuckled, having expected that response. "Interpol instead then? "

After a moment's thought, Zatanna nodded. "Much better. I guess I'll just hang around outside and watch for someone else coming?"

"I doubt that's necessary." Whatever it was, it had happened a week ago and the guy was still seemingly untouched. "If anyone was going to go after him, they'd have done it before now."

"I was thinking more about you," said Zatanna, giving him a flat stare. "Or have you already forgotten that some guy kidnapped and threatened to kill you last night?"

"Right, that," said Harry, realising that she actually had a point. "Maybe that's a good idea actually." He could handle himself against a bunch of muggles, but having Zatanna there to warn him would certainly help.

"Tell you what," he said after a moment's thought. "How about you disillusion yourself and come in. I might miss something, so I'd rather have you at least listening in. I'll set up some charms in case we've been followed."

She smiled and quickly accepted his compromise. It wasn't like standing around on a street corner was anyone's idea of a good time anyway.

When they arrived, Harry took a moment to transfigure his clothes into something a little more like what a muggle investigator might wear, and added an Interpol ID too. It wasn't like the guy would check his credentials so they just needed to look the part.

They both hopped out of the cab a short distance from Mikey's address, and made their way towards the row of houses that contained his flat. It was midmorning, and the area was mostly residential. In most cities that would usually mean it would be pretty quiet, with most people away at work.

Not so in Gotham. Even Harry, who was not at all familiar with Gotham's different districts, could see that it wasn't one of the good ones. The houses themselves were a mixture of run-down or well into the process of running-down. There were a few signs of hope though. On their short walk to Mikey's home, they passed by a very new-looking park where a group of youths were playing basketball.

"The Wayne Foundation does a lot of work in neighbourhoods like this," Zatanna said conversationally after she noticed where he was looking. "I have no idea how much they've spent, but it seems like they're announcing some new initiative every week to try and get the poor of Gotham out of crime and into work. The parks like that one are all built by locals, trained and financed by the Wayne Foundation and supported by Wayne Enterprises personnel."

"Is it working?" Harry asked. Despite the newness of the park, the rest of the neighbourhood still looked pretty seedy. The group of youths in the park wasn't the only one. There was at least one other similar group clustered around the mouth of an alley on the other side of the road. They weren't even trying to hide the fact that many of them were carrying guns tucked into their waistbands.

"In places. Problem is, if you come from one of these neighbourhoods, and you come into some money? Everyone knows it. Suddenly, your rent goes up, and you start having to look over your shoulder when you walk down the street. The people who made that park?" She pointed over at it. "They probably either had their money taken off them somehow, or they upped and left before it could happen. Either way, the money doesn't stay here."

"Why do people live here, then?" Harry asked, trying to understand how a city like Gotham could continue to exist in the state it did. "Why haven't they all just left? Why didn't you?"

They were nearing the block, and so they stopped briefly by a corner, so that Zatanna could step out of sight and cast her disillusionment charm. Before she did, though, she said, simply, "I'm not sure. Have you ever heard that song, New York state of mind? Edih em morf thgis. Maybe it's like that."

When she finished speaking her incantation, she faded from view so that her final words were issued from seemingly thin air. Once again, Harry didn't recognise any of the words she'd used. Perhaps he should ask her some time where she had learned her magic.

"Okay, looks good," he said to the empty space where Zatanna had been. There was just the slightest shimmer in the air betraying her presence, but only to the trained eye. He tapped her hidden form with his wand, careful not to poke her too hard. "Revelio certis."

A faint light, visible only to Harry, revealed her outline. "Okay, I can see you. You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," said Zatanna's voice. Despite being able to see her outline, it was still strange, like talking to someone's shadow.

They continued the last few meters to the building that Mikey called home. It was one of the less run-down buildings on the block, and in it it was possible to see the echoes of glories past. It had once had elaborate stuccos over each window, but the passage of time, and the people of Gotham had not been kind. The ever-present dirt and grime of the city had turned them a mottled grey, like much of the rest of the city, and there wasn't a single moulding that didn't have some kind of damage from bullets or other weapons.

Still, none of the windows were smashed and the front door was sturdy and properly locked. Harry buzzed Mikey's third-floor flat.

"Yeah, who is it?" came a worried sounding voice. It was slightly garbled by the low-quality speaker on the secure entry system, but it was understandable.

Harry used the tone of voice he always used for official business. "Hello Mr. Young. I'm Detective Thomas with Interpol. Can I come up?"

If anything, Mikey's voice sounded more worried. "Uh, Interpol?"

"It is concerning the unusual events at La Sal last week."

"Oh, wow, I was sure the woman on the phone thought I was crazy!" Harry was relieved that the man had actually made an attempt to report what had happened. It meant he didn't have to come up with a plausible explanation for how he'd found out. A moment later, the door buzzed and Harry pushed it open. He pushed it wide enough, and held it just long enough for Zatanna to slip through behind him.

He took a moment to cast a quick detection charm on the door, so that he'd be alerted if anyone came through it before turning and looking around.

The inside of the block wasn't much better than the outside in terms of damage and general decrepitude. It was, however, pretty clean. That probably made it a pretty good place to stay, in the grand scheme of Gotham housing.

After climbing the stairs, Harry placed another detection charm at the top of the stairwell before continuing to Mikey's door. He knocked firmly, and even before the third knock, it was pulled open a crack. A face, pale and drawn, peered out between two separate chain locks.

"Hey, you don't mind showing me ID, yeah?" he asked as his eyes darted around the corridor, as if searching for the squad of goons Harry had brought with him.

"Of course," said Harry in a tone of voice that was meant to suggest that it was an everyday occurance. Harry had learned long ago that people who thought the world was collapsing around them would often cling to the smallest indication that it wasn't. A calmly confident tone of voice could net an awful lot of trust from a certain type of person. He handed across his transfigured credentials.

"Sure, seems okay man," said Mikey after giving the fake badge a once over that lasted only a fraction of a second. "Gimme a second."

The door slammed shut again, and it was shortly followed by the sound of clattering chains. A couple of seconds later, it sprung open again, and Mikey quickly ushered Harry inside. Realising that he'd try and close the door the moment Harry was through, he stopped just inside the open door. "Thanks for agreeing to see me," he said to the nervous man.

"Yeah, quick, get in so I can lock the door again," Mikey said. Every second the door remained open he became more jumpy.

Fortunately, Harry felt Zatanna slip through the doorway behind him as the man spoke, so he stepped out of the way, and let Mikey relock his door. In addition to the two chains, there was a builtin lock, plus another three yale-type locks. One of the chains, and two of the yale locks were clearly new.

It took Mikey a few seconds to get through all the different locks, and Harry used that time to take a glance around the flat.

It was messy, but it looked like the kind of mess that was recent. There was a small pile of pizza boxes and other take-out remnants beside a full bin bag in the hall that suggested the reason for the mess was that Mikey hadn't done anything but stew for the last week or so. The smell of nervous, unwashed human clung to everything.

"Thanks for believing me, man," said Mikey, turning away from his now securely locked door and drawing Harry's attention back to him. "Never met anyone in Interpol before. What does that mean?"

"Well, what you reported was exceptional," said Harry, quickly concocting something that sounded reasonable. "We thought it deserved an exceptional response."

Despite the obvious need for her to remain silent, Harry heard Zatanna chuckle and whisper into his ear from mere inches away, "If you do say so yourself."

Harry kept his face serious and continued. "I'm part of a task-force that investigates reports of supernatural events. They're more common than you might think." In a way, Harry thought, he was actually telling the complete truth. "Do you mind if we sit down? I have some questions for you."

Mikey, who'd been staring at Harry a little blankly up until that moment, jumped and realised that Harry had a point. "Yeah, yeah, of course. Come in!" He led Harry into a fairly cramped living room.

Somehow, someone had taken a room barely large enough to swing a kneazle and managed to fit in both a chair and a sofa, in addition to a tiny kitchen, which had been squeezed into one of the corners. There was an old-looking TV in another of the corners, which was showing a silenced news report. Mikey quickly moved over to where the remote had been dropped, and turned it off. From the quick glimpse Harry got, the report was something to do with a muggle space-ship accident, though there was a shot of a strange man in red and blue tights, which seemed pretty out-of-place.

Deciding it was some strange muggle or American thing, possibly a movie, he decided it wasn't important. Harry took a seat. He saw Zatanna's outline move to stand out of the way by the TV where she could glance out the window to check for anything untoward.

Once Mikey had sat down, Harry sat forward and turned to face him. "Now, Mr. Young. Would you mind telling me, in your own words, what you saw?"

"Uh, this isn't gonna get me in trouble or anything, is it?" Mikey said, looking unsure.

Harry produced his most reassuring smile. "Nothing you say will get you in any kind of hot water. We just need your help to track down the people who did this."

"Sure, sure," said Mikey as he nodded rapidly enough that Harry was worried his head might fall off. It seemed likely that Mikey was perhaps not the most stable man in the world even before he'd seen the laws of physics get casually violated. "Well, I was working the bar, y'know. It was a pretty normal night really, until there was this walk-in couple.

"Usually, the boss likes to keep a couple of tables free, for the high-rollers, y'know? Well, this guy must have been one of them, cos he flashed some cash and Paulo was all over him."

It was pretty likely that the man he was talking about was Neville, but it paid to be sure. "Can you describe… Actually, wait" —He fished around in his pocket until he found Neville's picture and pulled it out— "Is this the man you saw?"

"Yeah, sure." Mikey's head bounced up and down again. "That looks like him. You run into him before?"

Harry tucked the picture away. "Lets just say that we're acquainted," said Harry vaguely. "Now, please continue. Sorry for the interruption."

"No problem. Anyway, your man got him and his lady some seats and sat down. Dunno what they ordered, but I know they got a bottle of a real nice Rioja. Guy had good taste at least. Pretty girl too.

"Anyway, maybe fifteen minutes after they came in these goons in creepy fucken masks come in the door. They all had like machine-guns, man and everyone just fucken freaked y'know? Well, they fired at the ceiling a bunch and everyone shut up real quick. I just hid. No way I was getting involved in that shit again, y'know? Like, right under the bar, I squeezed behind some old casks, and watched through a gap.

"At first, your man didn't do anything. Didn't even see how he reacted 'cos of everyone else losing their shit, y'know? A couple of the guys in masks ran through to the kitchens and pulled out Mila, Jerome, Alphonse and the rest and put them with the others. Then the bossman of the goons started shouting at everyone. He wanted some chick called Clara, and he said he'd be on his way. Well, no-one said nothing, so he pulled up some little girl and said if Clara didn't step up, the little girl would have her true face revealed or some messed up shit like that. I mean, fuck, man, that guy was fucken' off-the-rails crazy.

"So then your man's girl stands up, and she's fucken shitting herself, y'know? Like she wanted to faint, but she fucken stood up and said that she was Clara. Fucken balls on that woman, man. Your man tried to stop her, but she just shoved him off. Brass ones, y'know? Anyway, a couple of the goons grab her, and the boss goon just laughs like full blown crazy fucken laugh, y'know and says he'll have fun with both of them once the boss has got what he needs.

"Well, that's when the shit really hits the fan. Your man stands up, and he was pissed, y'know? He pulled out this honest-to-god wand, like a wizard or some-shit, y'know? And the two goons holding her were straight up blasted, man. They went flying, y'know, no lie. Like, right into the wall. The other goons opened fire with everything they had, like bullets flying everywhere man, like a Tarentino movie or something, y'know?

"When they stopped shooting, your man was still standing there, like it wasn't no thing. Then he shot like all these lights from that wand of his, and when they hit the goons they were down like instantly. Lights out, y'know? It wasn't more than a minute and all the goons were down, but everyone was still losing their shit and the restaurant was fucked, man. Like completely trashed, y'know?

"So he waves that fucken wand again, and all the broken shit comes alive and, like, fixes itself. Like shards of glass flying through the air and suddenly becoming bottles again. Not a chip on them man. Even the spilled wine just like flew up from the floor and straight back into the bottles and glasses, y'know? If I hadn't seen it myself, I'd think I was crazy man.

"Then your man fucken disappears the goons, like completely gone no muss no fuss y'know? And turns to everyone else and says something, like obliterate, or something, yeah? And suddenly everyone just gets up and sits back where they were. Like nothing had ever happened, they just started talking again, like they'd never been interrupted, y'know? Fucken crazy shit."

Harry had remained silent through Mikey's increasingly excited recital of what had happened. In the circumstances, it had actually been remarkably coherent testimony. It was clearly some kind of catharsis for the man to get it all out in the open, as he issued a big sigh when his story finally subsided.

"That is quite the story," said Harry, trying to digest everything that had been said. There was a lot to take in. It seemed his assumption about the bad guys going after Neville was wrong, and it had been Clara they were after, though quite why Harry had no idea. It wasn't surprising that Neville had stepped in like he did. The casual mention of torture and murder was not something that Neville would ever have allowed to pass. Some things stayed with you, Harry knew.

"Shit, you believe me though, right?" Mikey said, suddenly looking worried again. "I know it's crazy, man, but you have to believe me, y'know?"

"I do," Harry soothed. "It's just a lot to take in. I'm amazed you managed to keep it together so well."

"Hey, it wasn't my first rodeo, y'know." In Gotham, that could mean anything from having a bit of a checkered upbringing, to being a regular breaker of fingers for the mob. Harry decided it was better not to press.

"Well, your testimony is remarkable," said Harry, it never hurt to stroke a witness' ego. It often made them even more willing to please. "So what happened then? Where did the man go?"

"I dunno man," said Mikey, shaking his head sadly. "He just went out the door and that was it. Left his lady friend with the bill too. She was pissed."

Then where could he have gone? It was likely that he had only captured the attackers rather than killed them. Neville may not have been an Auror, but he understood what reasonable force was, and a group of muggles, no matter how well armed, could never really be armed well enough that a well trained wizard couldn't put them down safely. If he had captured them, then they were surely the key.

"What about the goons?" Harry asked, deliberately using Mikey's own term for the attackers. "Did you recognise any of them? Or anything about them?"

"Nah, man. They were all wearing those creepy fucken masks," Mikey said with an emphatic shake of the head. It was possible he was simply staying quiet out of fear of repercussions, but Harry believed him. It was unlikely a regular barman at a fairly up-market restaurant was regularly involved in the violent crime scene. At least, no more involved than the average Gotham citizen. "Like all different ones y'know? I been out of that game ever since I got out. Not any gang I know that's for sure."

As he spoke, there was a squeal of tires on the road outside, and Harry saw Zatanna's outline jerk and the curtain twitched aside, fortunately unnoticed by Mikey. A moment later, Harry felt his downstairs alert ward trip once, twice, a half-dozen, more? Zatanna suddenly broke her disillusionment spell and materialised in the room.

She wasted no time. "We've got company. Maybe eight men with machine-guns, all wearing masks."

"Shit, fuck!" Mikey said, jumping out of his chair and tripping over his own feet to tumble to the floor. "The fuck is happening?"

"It's okay," Zatanna said in a soothing voice. "We're here to help you. But I suggest you find somewhere to hide."

"You're that magician chick the boss is always going on about," said Mikey as he looked up at her from his position sprawled on the floor.

Harry felt the men in masks pass through his second alert ward. "No time. Hide, now," he said, pointing at the kitchen, which was just a little more out of the way than the rest of the room.

No sooner had the man scrambled to his feet that there was an earsplitting burst of gunfire which likely shredded the door on its hinges. Harry looked at Zatanna, and indicated towards the cowering Mikey. There was no time for words as he ran towards the hall, even if she would have been able to hear them over the gunfire, but his meaning was clear. Keep Mikey safe.

Even as Harry moved, even before he made the hall, his wand was in motion. The chair and sofa both sprung to life and jumped towards the hall, Harry right behind them.

Whatever the masked men had been expecting, a rabid couch was not one of them. They let loose again into the body of the rapidly approaching piece of animated furniture but it completely ignored their bullets. A couch has no really vulnerable spots. No heart, no brain. It would keep moving until it was completely destroyed, or Harry released the spell.

The first two men who'd made it through the door quickly found themselves pinned beneath the heavy sofa. The many locks and chains that Mikey had installed proved a boon to Harry. Though the door was hanging loosely in three different pieces, it still clung to the doorframe on both sides, and was almost certainly the reason that only two men had managed to get through.

Before the third could clear the door, he was hit by the red light of a stunning spell. This seemed to cause the men to realise that the direct attack wasn't likely to work, and instead Harry saw one of the remaining men toss a trio of grenades around the corner.

Working quickly, Harry transfigured two of the grenades into cricket balls. The third was instantly jumped on by the single-seater chair. The thick, well aged leather, combined with heavy pile cushions contained most of the blast, though the seat's animation broke.

Another two flashes of red light splashed against the men pinned by the sofa, putting an end to their struggles. Harry then directed the sofa out of the door. It was much too small for the rampaging couch to get through quickly, but it dealt with that problem by simply ripping out a large part of the doorframe.

Harry took the opportunity afforded by the distraction that caused and apparated to the top of the stairs. He found himself surrounded by three more masked men who jumped and cried out at his sudden appearance. Their moment of distraction was enough, and a moment later the sofa barrelled into them with reckless abandon. It once again caught two of them in something not unlike a flying tackle. It, and they, crashed through the bannisters, and down the stairs. The remaining man standing beside Harry barely managed to get his gun around before he joined his stunned brethren on the ground.

Harry did a quick count and realised it only came up to six. Zatanna had said eight. He'd felt eight. The moment that that realisation hit him, he heard an explosion from one of the flats next door to Mikey's, and he ran as fast as he could towards the source of the noise.

In the flat, which was blessedly empty of its normal occupants, he found a hole that the remaining men must have blasted in the wall in their attempt to reach Mikey. He apparated back into the living room, wand at the ready, but lowered it with a puff of exhaled breath when he surveyed the scene.

Both men were laying on the ground right next to the hole they'd blown in the wall, bound and gagged like they were the bad guys in some kind of cartoon. Zatanna stood over both of them. She was covered in dust and debris from the exploding patch of wall which must have caught her by surprise. There was a cut on her face from a piece of flying timber stud, but she was otherwise unhurt.

"We good?" Harry asked, his breathing beginning to return to normal.

Zatanna's eyes widened, and Harry realised she was looking behind him. He wandlessly conjured a shield, knowing that one of the men thrown down the stairs by the couch must have managed to get free. The shield proved pointless, however, as even before Harry had fully appreciated that something was wrong, Zatanna extended a hand and said a single word, "Peels!"

There was a thump, and Harry turned to find their last attacker unconscious on the floor.

He was just about to thank her when another voice broke through the silence. It was Padma, through the communication mirror. "Harry, is now a good time to speak?"

He couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled to the surface upon hearing her entirely innocent question. A few seconds later, he was joined by Zatanna and soon they were both doubled over with laughter.

Mikey, however, didn't see the funny side. "What the actual fuck is going on!"