Chap. 24: The return, skulduggery, the morning meeting, leaving Venice, bird troubles, and revenge is best served cold.

Saturday, May 6, 2000, 10:35 PM

Harry, Daphne, and Blaise apparated into the sitting room of the Gritti's royal suite, with a small pop. Harry quickly ripped off his bow tie, shrugged off his jacket, and made his way to the mini-bar, to mix himself a stiff drink. Once done, he walked back into the sitting room, sat down on the sofa, unbuttoned his collar, and looked at his wife and their young underworld partner.

"Have a seat, Blaise," Harry said, and motioned to one of the armchairs across from the mirrored coffee table in front of him. "You, Mr. Zabini, have a problem."

Blaise's eyes grew wide. "What?" He also couldn't help but notice the 9 mm Beretta pistol, in a shoulder holster, which was hanging from Harry's left side.

"There is a sanction out on you from Markovic," Harry explained. "I would bet that it is because they know of your involvement in, shall I say it, crudely, putting the shaft to Shevchenko."

Daphne sighed, shook her head, and sat down beside Harry, where she began to toe off her gold pumps. Her feet were aching.

Blaise stared at Harry for a moment, "You're sure?"

"Oh, quite sure. I just sent his assassin packing, temporarily. He also received sanctions on Daphne and I just after yours." Here, Harry took a good swallow of his Rum and Coke, and sat it on a coaster on the coffee table. Harry heard Daphne take in a breath, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw her quickly place her hand on her belly. "The assassin, who they call 'The Dentist,' aka, Karl Bronstein from Geneva, said that he was there tonight, for you, Mr. Zabini, but we also showed up. He thought that he would get a 'threefer' out of it. Tomorrow, though, he will do my bidding, and it will not be pretty."

Blaise knew, then, that he would also have to inform his grandfather in Sicily. If Harry didn't take them out, his family would. It would be a bloody mess, literally.

Harry wasn't about to tell Daphne what else the perverted assassin said. The Dentist had a thing for young women, including the underage. Harry saw the pervert's memories of groping young muggle girls, while under anesthesia in the dentist chair, and sadly, he saw him rape others. The dentist's memories were obscene. Markovic was involved, and his yacht and hotel parties were famous for it. Slip the young girls some Rohypnol, prescribed by a dirty dentist or physician, and they had their way with them. Worse, was them getting the teens hooked on Heroin, or other opiates, where they would withhold it, once addicted, for sex. This was rampant in organized crime, and the Potters knew about it all too well.

What really pissed Harry off, were some of the muggle authorities. Some of the mobsters had figured it out that if they became informants, the authorities, generally in counterintel, would look the other way, and protect them. Also, some of these mobsters did jobs for the authorities, such as targeted killings. It gave the authorities plausible deniability. These mobsters were practically doing these crimes out in the open, with no repercussions, and Harry remembered Dave telling him about running into this across the pond.

Daphne studied her husband for a moment. "What are you going to do, Harry?"

Harry stood, and sighed. "I'll take care of it. You might as well head to bed when you're ready, as I'll be up for a while."

"I should go," Blaise said, and started to stand.

"No," Harry replied, "they know you're here, and there could be others. You can crash on the sofa, and keep me company until I finish getting things ready for tomorrow morning. That reminds me, accio bottle of Chateau Pichon-Longueville Baron 2000." The bottle sailed into the sitting room, and smacked into Harry's palm. It was a nice claret from Bordeaux, which was sitting at the mini-bar, and the bottle resembled the Château Mouton-Rothschild 1945, which was in the box on the table.

Harry didn't find everything that he wanted in the 1945 Château Mouton-Rothschild, up to the 4.5 L Jeroboams, which would have been extremely rare, since only 24 were produced. Restaurants and caterers generally had those, and he had hoped one of the huge bottles would turn up. What he purchased were two 750 ml bottles. However, what he had was easier to copy, and counterfeit.

Daphne couldn't help but ask, "What are you going to do with that?"

"It's going to be a present for our assassin," Harry replied. He knew that Markovic thought himself to be a wine connoisseur, when he wasn't, and that this wine would be very close to the Rothschild in taste. He'd have the assassin make a special delivery. "That is, if my transfiguration skills aren't that rusty."

"What," Blaise asked, "are you going to do?"

"Well," Harry explained, "I just happen to have a very rare bottle of 1945 Château Mouton-Rothschild, and I intend on transfiguring this bottle to look like that, and add a little to the taste."

Daphne gasped. "Do I want to know?"

"No, darling," Harry hesitantly said, "I don't think you do."

"Well," Daphne said, as she stood, and walked toward the hall, "I'm going to shower, and then, head to bed. Once you're through with your project, please help Blaise get settled in for the night.

Sunday, May 7, 2000

Harry and Blaise were sitting at the dining table, in the sitting room of the Potter's suite, just as the clock turned to 12:00 AM, bringing in a new day. Blaise watched Harry open the wooden wine box, and gently remove the wine bottle from its excelsior nest, then, he sat it on the table. Blaise couldn't help himself, as his eyebrows rose up when looking at one of the most famous V-Day bottles of wine in history. This bottle, though dusty, still had an undamaged label and seal. It must have been kept where it was well protected all this time, Blaise thought.

Harry sat the new bottle of wine down beside it, and the bottles were very close, as well as the corks, and seals. Next, Harry retrieved his tan leather briefcase, which he also sat on the table, and opened it. He removed a stack of paperwork, and an extra pair of glasses, then opened the fake bottom. Blaise watched Harry's arm disappear down into the case, and when he pulled it up, he was holding a black rectangular case, approximately eight inches square, and twelve inches long. It was split, hinged, and latched down the middle, creating two halves.

Harry flipped the latches open on the black case, and opened it. Blaise noticed that each half held several wooden racks, and held within each rack were small lidded phials, holding different liquid substances. They were labeled only with a number, and Harry removed number's one and seven.

"What's those?"

"The first," Harry explained, "is a potion made from the Castor bean, and the second is another potion made from Curare. Both are almost tasteless, and quick acting. Only one-half ml of each, diluted in a quart of any liquid, will kill you very quickly; within five minutes."

"Mother would be proud," Blaise remarked, "and so will my grandfather in Sicily. But two?"

"I want these bastards to suffer," Harry quipped, as he retrieved a pair of latex surgical gloves, and put them on. "They threatened Daphne, and my child."

"Wa - wait... ," Blaise stuttered, "Daphne's preggers?"

"We think so," Harry replied with a proud grin.

That explained Daphne placing her hand on her belly, earlier, Blaise thought, when she was told of the sanctions.

Blaise watched Harry carefully unscrew the caps on the phials, which he sat on the table, and then remove a 2 cc glass syringe. Next, he affixed a long hypodermic needle onto the end, and withdrew the contents of each phial into the syringe, where they mixed, creating 1 cc of a very poisonous and condensed elixir. The first was very similar to Ricin, and the second, a Curare compound, would stop the diaphragm and muscles from working. Harry, then, gently lay the syringe upon the table.

"Phial number one," Harry droned in a very clinical fashion, "will work first, and within two minutes, it will cause a burning feeling in the mouth and throat. Next, it will cause extensive bleeding within the intestines, before the kidneys start to fail. Just as the bleeding starts, the diaphragm will start to weaken, and it will finally quit about three to five minutes later. They'll generally shite themselves with their own blood, then slowly, suffocate. They claim it's quite painful."

Blaise paled at this, and had to hold his right hand with his left, in his lap, to keep it from shaking.

"Yes, Mr. Zabini," Harry said matter-of-factly, "I do not care for those who wish to harm those I love. They took enough away from me during the war, and I'll damn well not allow that to continue unchecked."

Next, Harry placed the Chateau Pichon-Longueville Baron on the floor, between his feet, and waved his hand, casting an engorgement charm on the bottle. It grew until it was approximately three feet tall. The cork had expanded to about two and one-half inches in diameter.

Blaise watched as Harry picked up the syringe with his left hand, and, with a flick of his wrist, a wand appeared in his right. Harry placed the tip of his wand against the needle, and muttered a charm that Blaise didn't catch. The needle gave off a loud, high-pitched, whine, as if it was vibrating, but you couldn't tell it by sight.

Harry held the needle vertically, and down upon the seal and cork of the enlarged bottle of wine. It seemed to just slide though it. Once it was through the cork, Harry pushed the plunger, injecting the 1 cc dose into the wine. Next, he removed the needle, and vanished the complete syringe with a wave of his wand. After studying his work, Harry pulled off the surgical gloves, and vanished them, along with the two empty phials.

Finally, Harry reversed the engorgement charm, and cast a mending charm on the seal and the cork. Once done, Harry sat the bottle back onto the table, beside the Rothschild bottle. He looked at them both, and closed his eyes. After taking a deep breath, Harry opened his eyes, and tapped the Rothschild bottle with his wand, and next, the new bottle. The new bottle transfigured into an exact duplicate of the Rothschild, less the dust. It was a perfect counterfeit. After this, Harry placed the Rothschild back into its box, and turned to give Blaise a shark-toothed grin.

"Done."

Blaise looked wide-eyed at Harry, and then, back at the counterfeit bottle. "They said that the Yanks had trained you both well, but I didn't know that you were as advanced at this, well, shall I say, jiggery-pokery?"

"Oh, Mr. Zabini," Harry chortled, "you have no idea. When Kingsley said that he would put a stop to crime, as well as the dark wizards doing business in the UK, he damn well meant it. When it comes to assassins, and those that pay for sanctions, we have a protocol for what to do, and this is one of those cases." Next, Harry gave a yawn, and stood. "Let's get you settled on the sofa for the night. Tomorrow will be a long day for both of us."

Harry walked back into the small dressing area, and opened the armoires, finding an extra blanket. He walked back out, and tossed the blanket on the sofa, which already had several throw pillows on it. Just as Blaise stood to make his way to the sofa, Harry spoke up. "By the way, Blaise, I owe you some money."

"What?" Blaise was confused.

"Yes," Harry said, as he withdrew € 10,000 that was banded in a stack, from his money belt, and tossed it to Blaise. "I cheat at cards."

Blaise thought back to how lucky Harry had been at Baccarat, and laughed. "How did you do it; legilimency?"

Harry gave him another sharky smile. "Oh, that, and I used a bit of wandless magic; a switching charm to get the card that I wanted from the shoe. Goodnight, Blaise."

Blaise snorted, grinned, and watched as Harry casually strolled to his bedroom, to join his new wife. Well, Blaise thought, as he made himself comfortable on the sofa, at least Harry was honest about it.

Sunday, May 7, 2000, 6:59 AM

Harry walked out of the hotel's lift, and into the lobby, looking for the corrupt dentist. He also wanted to make sure that nobody was around when he approached his mark. Harry found him setting in one of the high-backed chairs, facing the sliding entrance door that led to the private dock, on the left. The assassin was staring straight ahead, not speaking to anyone, and ignoring everything around him. Harry cautiously approached, but found him still fully under the curse. "Follow me."

The Dentist stood, and followed Harry back into the "Explorer's Library," where he sat down beside Harry on the dark burgundy sofa under the Doge's portrait. Harry withdrew the shrunken bottle of wine from his pocket, unshrunk it, and showed it to the assassin. "Do you see this bottle?"

The Dentist looked at the bottle, and gave a nod of his head.

"You will apparate to Montenegro immediately after leaving here. Once you are there, you will wait until it's dark, and you will proceed to..."

At 7:45 AM, Harry walked into the sitting area of his suite, and found Daphne and Blaise sitting at the dining table, having a conversation about their days at Hogwarts. Harry walked over, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

"We were reminiscing about Draco's days of being a total tosser, and how he's changed," Daphne said, as she bent over and gave Harry a quick kiss on the cheek. "Business finished?"

Harry sighed. "It is for now." At this, Daphne nodded. "Mr. Zabini, you would do well to leave for your yacht, today, and hightail it to the Caribbean. Don't go near Jamaica for a while, as one of our marks might be there. I hear Nassau is a fine place this time of year, and if you're looking for gambling, might I suggest The Atlantis at Paradise Island? The Ocean Club Marina might be able to handle your yacht."

Blaise's eyebrows shot up at this. "You don't say."

"Shevchenko," Harry explained, "might be in Jamaica as I speak, and believe me, he's going to be sought out after tonight, and by people from his own clique." When Blaise gave him a questioning look, Harry drew his index finger across his throat. "I believe your family calls it a Sicilian necktie?"

Blaise grimaced at this, and turned a little pale. "I think I'll take you up on your recommendation, and head out this evening."

"Good man," Harry replied with a grin. "However, before you go, I'll call room service, and have breakfast sent up for three. Afterwards, Daphne and I will have to start getting our things ready to leave at eleven. Tomorrow, we'll be back at DOCS."

Harry pulled out his secure cell phone, flipped it open, and ordered a full English breakfast for three, with tea. He explained that they had a guest tourist visiting them that morning. Next, he called Seamus.

Harry listened as the private line rang twice, before it was answered. "Seamus?"

Daphne looked over at Harry, wondering what was up.

"Yes, Seamus," Harry said, "I want you to retrieve the next few days newspapers from Montenegro, Ukraine, and the Gleaner from Jamaica, starting tomorrow morning. Also, get in touch with Gareth, and tell him that if he should happen to hear of something occurring within those three nations, to contact DOCS immediately. Also, tell Kingsley that something black is in the works."

Daphne watched as Harry gave a few "uh-huhs," and a "that's right," before ending the call. She slightly licked her dry lips, and swallowed the bile rising in her throat. "Black, Harry?"

Harry nodded, and Daphne paled. Black meant a black operation, and many times, death was involved. What she didn't know about, was the amount of total chaos that Harry had just unleashed upon the wizarding mafia of Eastern Europe.

"It's going to be biblical," Harry stated.

Harry and Daphne boarded the "Il Doge," after checking out at 11:45 AM, and after they had brought their luggage on board. Both took a seat in the back, and were given a flute of Bollinger champagne, each. Daphne barely sipped hers, as the boat pulled away from the dock, on its way to take them back down the Grand Canal, and over to the Zitelle docks. Both couldn't help but take in the sights of the gondolas, and ancient buildings one last time.

Finally, Harry took a sip of his champagne, and looked over at his new wife. "Ready to head home, dear?"

Daphne thought about it for a bit. "In some ways, yes, and in some ways, I'm not. I wish we had more time to explore just a little bit, but I do really miss our manor. It's home, and I do love our home."

Harry nodded, but looked up at their pilot, hoping he wasn't listening, and muttered, "I'm looking forward to not having to take a boat everywhere we go, and having to walk everywhere after that."

Daphne grinned, sat her champagne down, and reached over to give Harry a kiss. It was a long one, as the boat turned in a curve to the right, making its way past the Church of San Giorgio Maggiore.

It wasn't long until the boat docked at the Zitelle dock, where the Potters deboarded, and took hold of the handles on their luggage. When the boat left, making its way back to the Gritti Palace, they walked down the foundation to the wrought iron gate in the brick wall, which was beside the Bar Zitelle. Harry made sure that nobody was looking, and gave a slight wave of his hand, causing the gate to open. The bushes bent away from their path, as they walked though, and they made their way to the back of the small terrace. Here, Harry shrunk their luggage, and put it in his jacket pocket beside his shrunken briefcase, and beside the wooden wine box.

When Harry made sure that nobody was looking, he reached in his other pocket, and pulled out a piece of rope about twelve inches long, which Daphne took hold of with Harry.

"Ready?"

Daphne gave Harry another kiss, which lasted about as long as the one on the boat. "Ready!"

Harry grinned. "Take us home!"

Harry and Daphne felt a tug behind their navels, as they were pulled up into the swirling portal that appeared, and the two Potters disappeared in a flash.

The Dentist arrived with a loud pop, in Montenegro, and made his way to rent a cheap hotel room for the night, which was close to one of the three underbosses that worked for Markovic. The other two lived close by, and Markovic lived in a town about twenty-four kilometers away. Renting the room was evidence that he was in town, and close by to the three underbosses, which he would kill that evening.

Inside the dirty dentist's head, his real personality was fighting a losing battle, while trying to take back control of his actions. It wouldn't work.

A portkey portal opened up over Potter Manor, just above their roundabout, and the manor's owners seemed to walk down an invisible staircase, from the sky. Once they were on the ground, they noticed that it was a very cloudy day, looking like rain. Just as they started to walk toward the entrance, both heard a chilling and mournful cry, which seemed to be coming from their roof. Here, Harry and Daphne looked at each other, and quickly made their way inside.

Once the newlyweds made it to the great hall, Harry called out, "Kreacher - Winky!"

The two elves appeared in front of them at once, with two small pops. Winky was rubbing her hands, looking worried.

"Master and Mistress being home!" Both elves said at once.

Daphne looked at the two elves, and asked, "What is that wailing sound?"

"Oh, mistress," Winky whined, "it be's an Augurey, and it be's up in the owlery in the attic!"

Harry and Daphne's eyebrows shot up at this.

"Kreacher has tried to shoo it off, but it refuses to leave," the old elf said.

Daphne quickly looked at Harry. "You don't think...?"

"Well," Harry sniggered, "they are in the Phoenix family, and you did free the poor bird."

Daphne stuck her tongue out at Harry.

"Winky," Harry said, as he unshrunk their luggage, "please take our luggage to our room."

Winky did just that, and apparated with a small pop.

Next, Harry unshrunk his briefcase, and the wine box, which he sat on the floor, making it easy for Kreacher to reach. "Kreacher, my dear old friend, please take my briefcase to the office, and the wine box down to the wine cellar. Be very careful with that wine, and put it in a safe place, as it is very expensive. I'll come down later to move it, and place it in a warded rack."

"As master wishes," Kreacher said, disappearing with his briefcase.

"Well, my dear," Harry grinned, "ready to make a trip up to the second floor?"

"Did anyone ever tell you, my dear husband," Daphne scowled, "that you could be a bit impertinent when you want to be?"

Harry barked out a booming laugh, and took Daphne's hand, as they made their way to the east stairs, while both, jokingly, were poking fun at each other on the way up. God, Harry thought, he really did love his wife!

The two stepped upon the landing, and into the small hall on the second floor, where the wailing was getting louder. They made a right into the small TV room, and walked trough the old game room, then, opened the door to the attic. When Daphne stepped inside, a huge brown bird, which was resting on one of the tie-beams, took flight, and came straight for her. Before she could move, it softly landed on her shoulder.

Daphne turned her head to the right, and the Augurey seemed to give out a happy "gobble," much like a Turkey, though it looked to be closer to an Eagle, before it rubbed its head against Daphne's cheek.

Harry chortled. "Well, my dear, it looks like you might have a new familiar!"

Daphne sighed. "I have no idea how to keep an Augurey! What am I to do?"

"We'll take it downstairs, and I'll conjure it a roost," Harry explained, "then we'll look over the library. If we can't find anything on it, I believe we'll need to visit Hagrid. I've been putting that off, so we might ought to do that anyhow."

"You think?"

"Yes," Harry grinned, "and if anyone will know about them, it will be him. I'm not sure if we can apparate with him on your shoulder, though."

Daphne stuck her tongue out at Harry, again.

Harry and Daphne apparated to the front gate of Hogwarts, which they approached. When close to the wards, Harry held up his hand, and sent a pulse of magic into them. "Someone will be here before long, so, don't worry dear."

Daphne took Harry's hand, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

They waited about five minutes, and finally saw Hagrid coming into view, walking toward the gate. He seemed to stop, and squint at the two, trying to recognize who it was. They could tell when he did, as a huge grin appeared on his face, and he began to walk at a fast pace toward the gate.

"Harry and Daphne Potter!" Hagrid exclaimed, "Whatta' ya' doin' here?"

"We came to see you, Mr. Hagrid," Daphne replied, and gave a curtsy.

"Aw, now, I'll have none of 'at, it's jus' Hagrid," the half-giant chortled, as he opened the gate. "How ya two been keepin'?"

Harry and Daphne walked up to the huge grounds and keys keeper, where Harry gave the man a one-armed hug. "Just got back from our honeymoon, to be honest. Daphne, though, had a bit of a surprise after we got home."

"Did ya, now," Hagrid said. "Wha' happened?"

"I freed an Augurey," Daphne replied, "not long back, er, Hagrid, and I know nothing about one. It came to the manor, and took up home!"

"Well, come on, an' follow me," Hagrid said proudly. He was very chuffed that they came to him. "We'll have a cuppa, an' talk abou' it."

Harry and Daphne followed Hagrid back to his hut at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and just as Hagrid grabbed hold of the door's handle, a loud bark sounded from inside.

Daphne stopped in her tracks. "What's that?"

Harry grinned, and pulled her forward. "That's Fang!"

"Fang?" Daphne had a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"He'll be right happy ta see ya, Harry!" Just as Hagrid started to open the door, he muttered, "He's gettin' old, though."

When the door opened, Fang came out, but not in a run like he used to. He went as fast as he could up to Harry, squatted, and leapt up on his hind legs, his front paws on Harry shoulders, licking him everywhere he could on the face.

"Oh, Fang," Harry said, as he started petting the huge Boarhound. Harry noticed that he was getting grey in the muzzle, a sure sign that he was getting old. Harry was now nineteen, and Hagrid had Fang since Harry was eleven, so he had to at least be nine years old, if not more. "Come on, boy, let's go inside." Here, Fang hopped down, and followed the Potters into Hagrid's hut.

Daphne took everything in, as she sat down in a chair beside Harry. She noticed salted hams hanging from the joists, and a lot of Unicorn hair hanging from one in the corner. She noticed the huge bed in the other corner, with a huge hand-made quilt on it. She also noticed that the man kept it clean, with his bed made, and that every pot, pan, dish, and cup were shining clean. The only thing laying out was the Daily Prophet, which was at the end of the table.

First, Daphne felt something on her leg, and she quickly looked down, only to find Fang resting his chin on her thigh. She couldn't help herself, so she scratched the huge dog behind the ear, which made his rear leg rise, and start to scratch at the air. It made her chuckle.

Next, Hagrid sat a huge mug of tea in front of her, and she watched as he walked to the end of the table, where he pull up his britches, and took a seat.

Hagrid looked the newlyweds over, and grinned. "Ya both doin' well, by the looks of it! Course, ye' oughtta be, bein' two of the brightest this school has ever produced!"

This made Daphne blush, and Harry grin.

"Thanks Hagrid," Harry said, as he blew on his tea to cool it off enough to take a sip of it.

Hagrid noticed this, and he looked over to Daphne. "Might wanna let that cool off, Mrs. Potter, as I like mine a spot hot!"

"Thank you," Daphne said, as she continued to pet Fang. "If I'm to call you Hagrid, you should call me Daphne."

"All righty," Hagrid said, with a grin. "Now, what's this problem ya' havin' with this Augurey?"

"Well,..." Daphne began to explain. It would be the edge of dark before the two Potters were walked back out to the gate. Daphne had a lot of fun, she found, by simply asking questions about a multitude of creatures, as well as Hagrid filling her in on Harry's schoolday antics in the forest.

It was 8:00 PM in Montenegro, when "The Dentist" entered the front foyer of Markovic's palatial manor. Just outside, nobody noticed him dump his pistol, silencer, and three empty magazines. Next, he was shown to the kingpin's office by a rather young looking maid, but try as he might, he couldn't fight the curse to warn her.

When he walked through the door, the curse forced him to smile, and wave around the bottle of wine that he was given, at Markovic. "Sir, I have come to report that I was successful in fulfilling all three sanctions late last night, and that I brought a gift so that we could celebrate."

Markovic looked pleased, and again, Bronstein tried to fight the curse, but it was useless.

"If you would have someone bring us two glasses," the Dentist stated, "I have here, with me, a very rare bottle of 1945 Château Mouton-Rothschild that I stole from a mark not long back. It's time to celebrate!"

"No need," Markovic crowed in broken English, "as I happen have some wine glasses in my credenza, so have a seat!"

As Markovic retrieved the glasses from the credenza behind him, Bronstein, not being able to stop himself, tore off the seal, and using his wand, withdrew the cork.

Markovic placed the two glasses on his desk, and Bronstein filled them up to where the curve in the side just started to taper to the top. Next, he sat the bottle down on the desk, and held up his drink toward Markovic. "Salute!"

Both men gave a quick sniff of the wine, and took a huge sip. "Now," Markovic said, taking another large sip, "tell me what you did to each of them."

Bronstein, horror filled, and not being able to stop himself, started telling Markovic the tall tale that Harry ordered him to spiel. As he talked, they both drank more. In reality, what Harry told him to say, was exactly what he did to the three underbosses.

At about three minutes into the conversation, Markovic opened his mouth, and brought his hand to his throat. "Why! He roared.

Bronstein sat just there, straight backed, not saying anything, with his glassy eyes staring straight ahead, though he felt the same burning pain, too.

Markovic leapt from his chair, trying to make it to the door, but collapsed on the priceless Persian rug under his desk. He managed to roll onto his back, where he looked over at the still unmoving dentist. He couldn't speak, and his arms began feeling heavy, and weak, as his gut started to rumble and cramp. Finally, he soiled himself, and a pool of blood started to stain the back of his shirt, his pants, and the priceless rug. The cramps in his bowels were immense, but he couldn't scream, and now, he could hardly breathe. The last glance that he had of The Dentist, was of him just setting there, staring at nothing, with blood dripping from the leather chair he was seated on, to the floor. Markovic took his last weak breath, and knew no more. Bronstein followed not seconds after.

Fifteen minutes later, the young maid opened the door, and screamed. She slowly walked over, and looked at the horrid scene. On the desk, and beside a bottle of Rothschild wine, was a business card that belonged to Anatoli Shevchenko, of Odessa Potions Exports, and it had a drop of blood on it.

-=QE=-

AN: In the last chapter, I made a mistake, and left the word, Jeroboam, in Harry's discussion with Daphne at the table. I had copied and pasted that, and forgot to delete that off the end, so I did that this morning. A Jeroboam, of course, wasn't what he purchased. Sorry about that, and it was corrected. I just didn't catch it after I first posted it.