What I probably should have done was just apparate away. That time of night with that type of eyewitness, nobody would notice. But if Bob was right that I was very close to burning out my ritual to hide the Trace, apparating even a short distance would probably do me in. I needed to have enough juice left in the tank to get out of England, and that might mean magically confounding a passport control person at the very least.

So, like an idiot, I decided I'd try to deal with the problem without magic. And since I was being dumb, I tried out acting dumb, "What?"

"Seen you go in the building, didn't we?" insisted the large leader of the group of punks. They didn't look much older than me, kids without sufficient parental supervision. Much like myself, really. "Bet there's some lovely prezzies in there, to find. So hand over."

Even if I'd been the kind of person to just let a group of wannabe criminals go nuts stealing other peoples' Christmas presents, I honestly didn't want to waste the magic opening back up, and I didn't even have any fake keys to throw them to try to get away while they tried. Next tactic, lying, "I mean, I was just dropping off some sandwiches for my dad and the other night guard, so if you want to knock, they could let you in…"

By this point, the six of them had spread out around me, trying to cut off any means of escape. I had even the biggest one on stride length, but I wasn't exactly in good enough shape to be sure I could beat them at a half mile sprint back to civilization. I really needed to take up running one of these days. The leader scoffed, "Only night guard I ever seen in there is black, guv. Pull the other."

"Adopted?" I shrugged, sizing up the kids around me. At least compared to back home in America, I didn't have to worry much that anyone had a gun, but knives can be just as bad if the wielder is crazy and close. And at least half of them were small and rattish enough that I'd put my money on me in a fight, and that they'd break if I could take down the bigger ones. Unfortunately, that left the bigger ones.

"Only askin' one more time, guv," the leader growled, approaching within ten feet of me. I'd stepped out into the road so I wasn't backed against the fence, and they hadn't managed to totally surround me. But it was coming, and it was time to seize the initiative.

Magic and modern technology don't really mix. I don't know that anyone at Hogwarts understood muggle technology and science enough to give a totally plausible explanation, but the most likely I'd heard was that it did something to screw up how electricity worked. Most muggleborn eventually gave up on modern conveniences, because they'd be fine walking around but doing magic in the house would inevitably blow out their air conditioner or lights.

I, as has been noted, didn't have much in the way of magical finesse, and that meant I was particularly hard on electronics. I quietly hissed, "Ventus!" and subtly tilted my staff to cause a distracting chill breeze to roll across the group, with the center of my focus on the second-biggest guy, carrying the boom box. It suddenly wailed with unexpected feedback right into the guy's ear, then popped and started to smoke.

In the moment everyone was distracted by the wind and the haunted portable stereo, I leaped forward and swung. Wizards of the past didn't just carry staves because they had a lot of room for runes, though that was a big factor, but also because they were multiple pounds of solid wood with reach. The leader had gotten close to try to threaten me, but not quite close enough to punch me. That happened to be exactly close enough for me to hit him.

My aim was good and I got him solidly in the side of the knee, following through with the under-handed strike to knock his leg out from under him. While the biggest guy was falling onto the pavement and the second-biggest guy was still focused on his fried stereo, I took a step and nailed the third-biggest guy in the stomach with the top of my staff.

And, congratulating myself on the three biggest threats down in three seconds, that was where things stopped going well for me.

It turned out I'd badly underestimated the stick-to-it-iveness of the smaller boys. While I'd fully committed both ends of my staff to striking, the boy furthest to my right had dashed in and kicked me in my own knee. I was moving so it was a glancing blow and didn't floor me nearly as well as the leader, but it hurt like hell. The kid on the far left had palmed a rock, and flung it at me from so close he could hardly miss. Again, I was lucky to be moving so it didn't nail me in my head, but it glanced off my left shoulder and drew a grunt of pain.

The leader had just hit the ground and was dazed, and the guy I'd gotten in the gut was staggering back trying to catch some air, but the boy with the boom box finally got it through his dumb-looking brain that violence was happening, and that his expensive toy was probably now so much trash. So he started swinging it at me.

At least I'd pegged one of the small ones right, since he was hanging back not doing anything until it looked more sure for his side. That left me backpedaling on a hurt knee trying to avoid an oversized rectangle of metal and plastic swinging like my own personal pit and the pendulum and trying to keep a guard up against the kids that had actually hit me. A couple swings with the staff forced back the one who'd kicked me, and I staggered in between him and the guy I'd gut punched to put them in between me and my stereo-wielding assailant.

Suddenly clear of the semi circle and pointed in the direction out, I tried just running, but my newly-injured knee immediately let me know that I wouldn't get far that way. It also apparently looked weak enough to the gang member who'd been hanging back, and he made his own rush in to show how tough he was and took a swing. I managed to bring my staff around in a guard, and he squealed when his knuckles hit oak, but the sudden twist put even more pressure on my knee and it shot little knives of pain up my leg.

I turned and realized the leader and the other kid I'd hit were about to recover and looked pissed, the boom box guy was slowly switching from swinging to charging, and the three little ones were getting ready to flank me again. My surprise was wearing off, and I was about to get the shit kicked out of me. No choice but to risk magic.

Waiting for my moment, I muttered, "Depulso! Flipendo!" The banishing charm shoved the boom box hard into its wielder's chest, causing a grunt and another small explosion as all the D batteries inside decided to catch fire. The knockback jinx threw the just-standing leader into the third biggest kid who'd gotten his wind back, both of them going down with a meaty thump. Finally, with a wide, "Ventus!" and a double-handed shove downwards with my staff, I called a blast of air straight out from me toward all the kids, blowing the ones still standing off their feet.

The fight appeared to be over and they'd probably play it off as a bunch of really bad luck rather than magic so I wasn't going to have rumors making it back to the aurors. But I also felt like that last spell ripped a blanket of wool off of me that I hadn't realized I'd been wearing, almost certainly signalling the end of my ritual and the return of the Trace. Damnit.

I hobble-ran away from the groaning toughs trying to figure out how I was going to get out of Britain without being able to use magic at all.