18. Past, Present and Future.

Biting back a groan as his abused head came into contact with the bright light outside of his darkened quarters, Scott prowled through the ship in search of coffee and a sandwich. Damn, but he needed that right now. As if the stress of finding the three missing officers wasn't enough, he had the cursed nightmares to deal with too, which had even started happening when he was awake. Not to mention dealing with the fury of Admiral Archer, who was convinced that Scott had deliberately made the three officers disappear and was hindering the search party in charge of finding them.

That man had become paranoid about Scott since he'd played a part in his prize dog's disappearance. Well, the only part, really.

Stalking through the corridors to the first mess hall he came across, he ordered his sandwiches and coffee and then sat down. His uncharacteristic glare was enough to put off even the bravest of people coming to see him.

Ordinarily, if Scott was in one of his foul moods, Kirk would come over and talk to him – whether he was welcome or not – and listen to any of his half insane with anger ramblings about trainees who didn't know a spanner from a cucumber. Then Kirk would laugh and quip that McCoy was having the same problem in sick bay – at this point he would rub his neck gingerly and ask Scott to guess who got the punishment.

Usually, Kirk never came over to Scott alone, apparently preferring the back up of a trained psychologist who wouldn't make things worse. After all, he hadn't gotten his reputation for trouble making back in Iowa for no reason...

If McCoy was there, he would grumble at Kirk and tell him it was his "own damn fault for being such a pain in the ass and damn easy target" and threaten to hypo the Captain back to the Stone Age if he didn't stop cackling right this second since he was spilling and spraying his food everywhere. Scott would simply sit there and watch them in amusement, always surprised at how easy it was for them to shake him out of his irritated stupor. Then again, it wasn't exactly difficult; he was a naturally cheery person and it was entertaining after all to see Kirk spraying cereal over his CMO as he started yet another laughing fit, while McCoy simply sat there, dripping in fury.

Occasionally, though very rarely since Spock usually worked through part of his lunch break, the First Officer would come down and join them, providing additional support for both the Captain and the Doctor. Which made Scott wonder if he really was that frightening when he was angry...

On such an occasion, Spock would swiftly pat the Captain on the back while at the same time handing McCoy a napkin, calmly telling them both in his own logical way that they were being moronic and should get a grip.

Scott shook his head sadly at the realization that this was not going to happen this time – that he was instead just going to be left to sit here and stew. In the back of his mind, it suddenly occurred to him that he probably should have told their families of their disappearances by now, but he had clung to the hope of getting them back. Besides, it was top secret within the Federation, as morale was still low so soon after the battle with Nero, and the admirals did not want to risk making this information public. He did not doubt though, that somehow Sarek would have already received word of the incident since he held such considerable influence in the admiralty, being a well respected ambassador. That of course led him to wonder if ambassador 'Selek' had heard yet, to which he scoffed at himself and told himself not to be so stupid – of course he had heard; he was an ambassador too and was close to Sarek for obvious reasons. Spock's older self was probably angry enough to blow steam by now, Scott thought morosely. He had managed to lose three very important –

...his mind backtracked. Spock's older self. From the future.

"Bloody hell!" He randomly bellowed to the startled room at large, jumping to his feet and knocking his coffee everywhere. "I cannae believe it!"

A timid looking ensign sitting nearby peered at him. "Uhm...sir?"

"Not now lad! I have more important things tae do!" Leaving a spreading puddle of coffee and confusion behind him, he scampered off to the Bridge, not even stopping to bang his head against the wall in frustration.

"How could I have been so stupid?" He asked a random yeowoman as they both waited for the turbolift.

She gaped at him. "Sir?"

"It was before me the whole time!" He laughed, missing her slightly panicked look.

"Sir, are you alright?" She asked as Scott started hopping up and down on the spot in excitement.

"I did it!" Scott bellowed. "I found a solution!"

"A solution to – sir?" She broke off as Scott randomly hugged her.

"I did it lass!" He sang, spinning her around once before waltzing into the turbolift and shutting the door on her confused face.

"I just hope it works," he added as he stepped off the lift, grinning from ear to ear.

Chekov shot him an alarmed look. "Meester Scott?"

"I found a way to get them all back lad!"

Everyone stared at him as he sat down, astonishment on their faces.

"Lieutenant Uhura," he said happily, "get me Ambassador Selek."

"Aye sir."

Within moments, a familiar face filled the screen. It was more heavily lined and wizened than he knew, but the dark eyes and essence remained the same. "Mister Scott, may I inquire-"

"Ambassador," Scott interrupted, ignoring his resulting look of surprise and amusement, "do you know what happened?"

Everyone blinked and stared at Scott as if he had gone mad, but the older Spock's face had twitched into a half smile. "Mister Scott, I know of a great many occurrences. Perhaps you should be more specific."

Specific. Right. "Have ye heard what happened to the Captain, McCoy and you – or...Spock?" He fumbled, trying to cover his mistake after remembering too late that no one else on the Bridge knew about "Selek's" true identity.

Uhura, ever quick on picking up on the nuances in sentences, gasped. "Are you..?"

"Yes," older Spock replied when she broke off. "I am Spock."

"Ambassador," Sulu cut in, "you can't be."

"I assure you that I know my own identity, Mister Sulu."

"You just disappeared!" Sulu insisted. "You can't be all the way over there as..."

"An old Vulcan?" Spock finished in amusement. "It is quite true, Mister Sulu. I travelled through the same black hole as Nero."

"You're...from the future?" Chekov choked out. "Chto za huy!"

"Indeed, Mister Chekov," Spock said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Can we just get back on topic?" Scott asked above the rising hubbub of stunned voices. Everyone immediately quietened down. "Thank ye," he said wryly, returning his full attention back to the Ambassador. "Sir, did ye ever find yerself in a situation like this one?"

The man on the screen thought deeply for a moment, a frown of concentration almost tugging his eyebrows together. "I did have the misfortune to witness numerous disappearances. However," he added before Scott could get too much more excited, "none transpired exactly like this one."

Scott wanted nothing more than to let loose a strong of swear words, but forced himself to remain in control. "How is this one different?"

"It involves the apparent appearance of magic."

"Vunderful," Chekov sighed under his breath.

"Ye cannae help us at all?"

"Unfortunately not, Mister Scott," the Ambassador said with deep regret, but his face suddenly changed as he appeared to consider something. "However..." he trailed off, deep in thought.

"What?" The bridge crew asked in perfect unison.

He regarded them in amusement before continuing. "It may be possible to locate a collision or tear in the fabric of space."

"You mean..." Scott's mind was whirring as he thought of all the possibilities, "...a hole in time and space?"

"Like in Doctor Who," someone muttered from the science station.

"Who?" Sulu asked.

"Doctor Who," the Ensign repeated.

Sulu frowned. "I just asked you that, why are you repeating it?"

"That's his name!"

"What is?" Sulu asked in frustration.

"No no no no," the Ensign said quickly. "Not what. Who."

Sulu opened his mouth to argue further but was interrupted by Ambassador Spock, who had finally decided to take pity on him, it seemed. "This is reminiscent of the comedy routing performed by Abbott and Costello. The name of the Doctor, Mister Sulu, is Doctor Who."

"Oh..." he gave Spock and the ensign weird glances.

Spock raised an eyebrow at him. "We have merely studied ancient Earth media, Mister Sulu." The helmsman snorted at the use of the word 'studied'.

"Can we get back on track here?" Scott asked in irritation. "Ambassador, how do you know a rip in time and space will be there?"

"You have failed to find them here, have you not?"

"Well..."

"I presume that you have scanned the history banks of the computer in the event that they travelled back in time?"

"Aye...but what if they're in the future?"

"Then one would hope that I would know, provided that they were not propelled beyond my lifetime."

"...Okay. I have too many doubts about that one."

"Mister Scott, after examining the evidence presented to us, we must conclude that they are not here and must therefore be at the origin of your passengers."

"That's impossible! They say they come from a magical world!"

"Once you eliminate the impossible then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth, Mister Scott," the Ambassador said calmly. "It would also be logical to assume that they have in fact been swapped with the passengers, for whatever reason."

"It is nae that simple!"

"Of course not," Spock said in true sympathy. "Such occurrences never are. The only course of action left available to you is to determine the exact origin of your passengers, and to locate it."

"They're more tight lipped than Aldeberan shell mouths, Ambassador."

"That is to be expected. However, you must learn to have faith in your own capabilities, Mister Scott. How much information have they given you?"

Scott sighed glumly, knowing that this discussion was now useless but answering the question anyway. "Only that they think we've stolen their magic, one of them is a 'Dark Lord' and that I am a 'Muggle'."

"I see."

"Do you know what that means, Ambassador?"

Spock looked as nonplussed as Scott felt. "Negative. The term 'Muggle' holds no familiarity with me whatsoever."

"Aye, well...the four of them have never exactly made any sense."

"Considering their situation I would hardly believe that to be surprising. It is a wise precaution to take when one believes oneself to be in enemy hands."

"Aye," Scott admitted, grudgingly agreeing with the Vulcan, "but it does nae make my job any easier."

"You have all performed remarkably well given the current circumstances," Spock said, allowing his gaze to encompass the room. "Consider it useful practice for the future."

"Why?" Uhura asked, narrowing her eyes at him. "How often does this happen?"

Spock's eyes twinkled for a moment but his expression remained serious. "Suffice it to say that the Enterprise and her crew did not receive their rather unique reputation through simple exploration missions."

"Chyort voz'mi!"

"Indeed, Mister Chekov."

"Are ye sure ye cannae give us any more pointers?"

"I have no additional theories. However, I can transmit to you my research on time travel and alternate timelines. Apart from that...I wish you all the best of luck."

"We need all the help we can get, Ambassador," Scott said wearily, feeling his headache returning with a vengeance behind his eyes.

"I am always available should you need assistance."

Scott nodded as the Ambassador lifted his hand in the customary Vulcan farewell. "We'll be sure to remember that, Ambassador. Thank ye for yer help."

A small smile flickered across the impassive face. "You are welcome. I believe that is the correct expression." With one last nod at them all, he was gone.

"I am receiving his research, sir," Uhura announced.

"Send it to the science department Lieutenant."

"Aye sir."

Sighing, Scott leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose as a wave of pain tore through his skull. He was barely aware of the minutes passing by until he jerked his gaze up at the feel of a hand on his arm, his eyes meeting with Lieutenant Uhura's. "Are you alright?"

"Aye," he answered her whisper, so that the rest of the crew did not hear him. "I just need a wee bit of rest."

"We'll handle things up here Scotty," she assured him kindly. "You go get some sleep. You look like you could use some."

Scott chuckled. "Beauty sleep never worked on me anyway," he joked back, climbing to his feet. "Thank ye lass."

"Just take it easy Scotty."

Nodding his agreement, he stepped into the turbolift and briefly considered going to sick bay. His performance was beginning to be affected by his lack of sleep due to the flashbacks, not to mention the fact that he was fed up with managing the constant headaches. Maybe a sleeping pill or pain relief would help. If anyone asked, he could just tell them that the search was giving him too much stress – which was true after all, just not completely.

Abruptly, he felt intense fatigue crashing into him and he stumbled, catching himself on the turbolift wall before he fell. Bright spots danced in front of his eyes as the pain in his head increased.

A whisper blew into his left ear and he shook his head, trying to get rid of it. "...you..." Eyes widening at the words, he actually swatted at his ear but the whisper laughed.

"...you..." It seemed to fade and then grow, always saying the same word; a verbal finger of accusation.

Suddenly, it exploded into a voice and Scott leapt into the air in shock. "You can't hide forever..." The words seemed to stutter almost like a broken recording, and the last syllable drew out for several seconds – a never ending sigh in Scott's head. "You have to face me," it hissed. Stuttered. Threatened.

"Get out of my head," Scott snapped, hoping he didn't sound as scared as he felt.

A high, deranged laugh. "You have to pay for what you did," it said, the words echoing within his skull.

"I never meant to hurt anyone."

"You did," the words were drawn out and breathy, sending shivers down Scott's spine. "You ruined everything. Destroyed all that was worked for..."

"It was an accident."

Another cruel laugh. "You can't lie to your subconscious, Monty. You have to face the truth sometime." With one last echoing laugh it faded away, leaving Scott sitting on the floor, shaking and gasping for breath.

"Sir?" A pair of boots asked him. Shaking his head in order to clear it, Scott forced himself to look up to find the true source of the voice. A blurred face stared back at him and Scott blinked, relieved to see his revision return to normal. "Sir, are you alright?"

"Aye," he whispered weakly, hauling himself to his feet.

"Do you need any help getting to Sick Bay, sir?"

He waved her off, stumbling out of the turbolift. "I'm alright…" he said, vaguely drifting off as he headed in the direction of his quarters, leaving her standing there.

A voice laughed. "You didn't handle that very well."

"Shut up," he said through his teeth; gritted against the almost overwhelming pain in his head.

"Sir?"

"Not you," he snapped at the confused crowd before him before almost falling through his quarters door. Ignoring their palpable concern, he made his way to the bed and surrendered himself to exhaustion.

"This," the voice echoed in his head, "will be fun."

Scott groaned and clutched his head as his surroundings melted away. This was definitely getting out of hand.

"Doctor!" Scott burst through the doors of the Academy Sick Bay breathing hard, eyes darting around for anyone who could help him. "I need help here!"

A frazzled looking man came running out of a side door, an alarmed looking nurse on his heels. "Alright son," he said, grabbing Scott's arm and dragging him further inside, "get on that table and we'll see what's wrong."

He shook his head and jerked his hand free of the man's grasp. "Not for me. My friend."

"Where?"

"Busy getting beaten tae a pulp," Scott said frantically.

"I'll call a security guard," the nurse said, running out of the room.

The doctor held up his index finger. "One moment. I'll gather together some things and rouse another doctor. Why they all chose now to take a break…" his voice dimmed as he hurried into another room.

The woman ran back in, a security man following her, a phaser on his hip. "What's the situation cadet?" The man asked as the nurse hurried off to help her boss find his kit.

"There's a whole crowd of cadets," Scott said urgently, "all of them against Tohn."

"Tohn?"

"My friend," Scott explained. "The one who's getting attacked."

The doctor hurried back into the room, dragging another doctor behind him. The second man looked as though he had just been woken up from a nap after finishing the night shift; his clothes were rumpled and the eyes beneath the messy hair were struggling to remain alert. Both doctors carried reassuringly heavy looking bags and behind them, the nurse reappeared with a colleague, a stretcher balanced between them.

"Alright," the security guard said, "where is he?"

"Follow me," Scott ordered, tearing out of the room and down the many corridors, fear clogging his throat and chest, making it almost impossible to breath. For a moment he thought he had taken a wrong turning since there were no sounds of a struggle, but he saw a crumpled body and knew that he was right. He just hoped he wasn't too late.

Guilt clawing at his brain for running away, he dropped to his knees and reached out to cradle the broken mess that had been his friend. "You left him here," something whispered.

"Don't touch him," someone barked. "We need to assess his injuries first."

Scott obediently stood back and out of their way, his eyes drawn to the scene no matter how much he wanted to tear them away. He watched as the doctors gently prodded Tohn's blood splattered trousers, trying to see where the break finished, not yet trusting their tricorders with such different physiology. He watched as Tohn's swollen eyelids flickered and his abused mouth contorted into a frown of pain. The cadet was barely recognisable; bruises littered the areas of flesh that could be seen through the torn uniform, some limbs bent at uncomfortable angles.

"Broken femur," one of the doctors muttered and Scott saw the nurse write it down.

"Dislocated jaw and shoulder," the other added.

"Four broken fingers. Presumably from trying to block blows."

"Severe bruising. There might be internal haemorrhaging…"

"We'll have to get him back to Sick Bay to be sure…"

They both exchanged glances and then looked up at the security guard, motioning faintly in Scott's direction. The guard caught on immediately and grabbed Scott's arm, trying to drag him away. "Come on, cadet."

"No," Scott said firmly, struggling to stand his ground as the burly man continued to push him.

"Cadet," the second doctor said firmly, "there's nothing more you can do here. You need to return to your studies."

"Are ye kiddin'?" Scott asked in disbelief. "Ye want me to just bury my face in books when my best friend is injured?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," the doctor snapped as they gently transferred Tohn to the stretcher, ignoring his moans of pain.

"Can't ye at least let me see him to sick bay to see if he's going tae be alright?"

"Cadet…" the doctor broke off abruptly as his colleague put a hand on his arm.

"Actually Marcus, he has a point. We both know that if we force him to leave now he won't concentrate on anything. It would be better to put his mind at ease."

"Fine," the man grumbled, "but any consequences are on your head, not mine."

"You worry too much Marcus," the other doctor berated gently as they lifted the stretcher off the ground gently. Their assistants immediately moved to pick up their bags, placing stray pieces of equipment inside.

The security guard ran in front of them as they hurried Tohn to the hospital wing, yelling for people who were going to classes to mind out the way or they would be joining the Gaaran in the sick bay before they could blink twice. As people leapt aside around him, Scott allowed the world to melt away until all he saw was the stretcher in front of him, and the limp hand that dangled over the side.

As soon as they burst through the doors to sick bay, the doctors started bellowing for all information on Gaarans to be drawn up and given to them as soon as possible, since it was obvious that they might have to operate.

"Will he be alright Doctor?" Scott asked anxiously before they took his best friend through the doors to the operating room.

The first doctor stopped and regarded him with something dangerously akin to pity. "I hope so son, but we don't have nearly enough information on their physiology. We haven't been sent all of it from Gaaran medics yet..."

"Do yer best Doc," Scott said.

The doctor favoured him with what was surely meant to be a reassuring smile, but which came out more as a grimace. "I will son. Don't worry."

He disappeared through the doors and for a brief moment, Scott was tempted to follow him, to stand by his friend's side as he was operated on, but he knew he would just get in the way. A feeling of helplessness washed over him, drowning him.

"You abandoned him," something hissed in his ear, but he barely noticed. All he could do was stare at the closed doors before him.

"Here," a man suddenly said, making Scott jump, "have a chair."

Scott numbly gave his thanks and sat down, desperately trying to stop his hands from shaking. The man smiled slightly at him, making Scott feel even more nervous since there was yet more pity in this man's eyes, before hurrying back over to where he had been working before.

For hours, people rushed around him as though he were invisible. Occasionally, the doors before him would open and a nurse would come bustling out with bloodied operating equipment, drop it into an area to be sterilised and then go running back in with another piece of equipment. Sometimes, Scott heard the occasional bleep or alarm from beyond the impenetrable doors, perhaps signalling his friend's deteriorating condition.

He didn't dwell on that, instead focusing on the fact that this was Tohn, that his friend couldn't, and definitely wouldn't, give up. He'd fight until the very end, probabilities of survival notwithstanding. But most of all, he hoped that he wasn't actually as helpless as he felt, that Tohn had somehow picked up on his mental presence and latched onto it, using him as a reminder that he had something left to live for. Someone waiting for him.

Yet no news came. He leaned back and sighed, waiting for the tortuously slow hours to pass, listening to the ticking of an old clock as it counted down the time left until someone came out of the room and told Scott the news that he had been waiting to hear. He half expected the clock to stop, like a heartbeat, when the doors opened once more and the two doctors came out, but it stubbornly kept going.

He barely dared to breathe as the two men came up to him and he stood up, legs shaky and barely able to hold him. They said something, but he could not hear them, all he could hear were the words whispered by the voice in his head, the everlasting accusation that this was his fault, that he could have prevented this. Crying with emotion, he collapsed into the chair behind him and barely felt the concerned gazes of the two men above him.

Tohn was alive.

oOo

The Dark Manor was bustling with activity, the loyal servants to the Dark Lord running around furiously, paper being sent flying after various people, blood curdling cries filling the air. No one seemed to notice him as he steadily made his way past the full torture chambers and towards the room where he knew he was needed. That suited him fine; it gave him a chance to collect himself before plunging himself into this.

The doors flew open before him at the flick of a wand and he strode in, ignoring the fact that most of the people assembled in the meeting room immediately leapt out of their seats and muttered greetings to him. He knew that some were terrified of him, and that they would obey his every whim, but such a thing never gave him any pleasure. Though he usually gave off the appearance of someone hungry for power at Hogwarts; demanding that all things be done to his satisfaction or else, he really detested the fact that these people were terrified of him to the point that they would go out of their way to please him. Unfortunately, that usually meant death for anyone who got in their way in doing so, and those innocent people weighted heavily upon his conscience.

The only man who was not terrified of him turned around, a sneer on his face. "So the esteemed favourite finally arrives."

Snape inwardly rolled his eyes at the man's attitude. The world could be falling around them and this man would still take the time to insult anybody who crossed his path. "I have been busy at Hogwarts, as you well know, Dolohov."

The man snorted. "So you say."

"I'm sure that, were he here, the Dark Lord would agree that it is necessary to keep an eye on what the enemy is doing," Snape said quietly. "They are after all a suspect in this whole fiasco, or had you forgotten?"

"Of course I didn't forget," the man spat, glowering at Snape from across the room. "But the Dark Lord is mistaken in trusting you. You could have been doing anything."

Snape's expression immediately turned cold. "You dare to question the Dark Lord?" He hissed, stepping slowly towards the man and watching as everybody else scuttled out of their way. "He will hear of this, Dolohov."

The man's eyes showed terror now, but the face remained arrogantly assured of itself. "And who do you think he'd believe, Severus?" He spat.

Snape considered him a moment before finally deciding that arguing with the Death Eaters really would not get his job done any faster. Giving him another brief, narrowed eyed glare, he dismissed the man with a swirl of his robes, turning around to face everyone else. "Well?"

"We have been unable to locate him," someone muttered, looking down at the floor.

The bumbling, incompetent fool. "I can see that, Mister Pettigrew, but what have you done about it?"

Dolohov scoffed from behind him and Snape turned to face him. "The brilliant little spy doesn't know?"

"Of course not," Snape snapped. "I can hardly monitor our own activity from Hogwarts without Dumbledore getting suspicious."

"How convenient."

"Arguing amongst ourselves," Snape said, "will not get our Master back any quicker." He turned to face the people around him once more. "Well?" He repeated.

"We've tried many spells," Dolohov finally said when no one else answered. "None of them have worked."

"Which ones have you tried?" Dolohov did not answer and Snape sighed. "Dolohov, you will remember that the Dark Lord left me in charge in the event that something should go wrong during his experiment? Unless you want to suffer my displeasure, I would suggest telling me of what has been happening."

"As the person in charge," Dolohov said obstinately, "you should know."

"I do not have time for games. The Dark Lord could be anywhere and it is our duty to bring him back."

Dolohov stared at him before apparently deciding that he did not want to face their leader's wrath when he returned. "Pettigrew has the list of spells."

Peter Pettigrew hesitantly shuffled towards Snape, a single piece of paper in his shaking hands. Snape snatched it from him, cursing the fool's slowness. They did not have years to do this. "Is this all?"

"We have been very busy with...other tasks," the man stammered.

Snape stared at the three spells written on the piece of paper. "Even by your standards Pettigrew this is ridiculous."

"I just write down what the Masters tell me!"

Dolohov immediately walked forwards and grabbed the man by his collar. "Are you calling the Dark Lord's favourites incompetent?"

"N-n-no..."

"Then just what were you saying, you slimy piece of filth?"

Snape flicked a wand almost lazily and forced the two apart before Dolohov could pulverise Pettigrew. "As I said, fighting amongst ourselves will not help the Dark Lord's return. Mister Pettigrew, what were the other tasks?"

"The interrogation of suspects, sir," the man stammered.

That would explain the screaming. "Have you gathered any useful information?"

"We're working on it," Dolohov snapped. "There's only so much persuasion you can give before you have to try out new methods."

"Or," Snape added, "from the level of decay I can smell in the air; new suspects. I would be careful with your methods, Dolohov. You do not want to kill people who could potentially have useful information simply because you decided to lose your temper."

"Maybe if you made a better truth potion," Dolohov spat back, "I wouldn't have to."

"There is nothing wrong with my potions," Snape drawled. "It is merely the suspects that you pick out. They cannot reveal anything if they have nothing to reveal. If the potion does not tell you anything, then do not waste time torturing them to death. We do not have centuries with which to work."

Dolohov scowled and Snape sighed at the piece of paper. "I can tell you with certainty that we are running behind, thanks to your tendencies to go off track and not concentrate. Dumbledore has already attempted and discarded twice as many spells as these," he snapped, throwing the parchment back at Pettigrew, who actually squeaked while trying to catch it as it flew through the air. "I have of course been made privy to a few and have written them down," he continued, "for you to examine."

"How do we know they will work?"

"They won't."

"But-"

"I have already told you, Dolohov; Dumbledore has discarded them, which means that he considered them to be unsuitable. Yet there are elements within the spell structure that he believed to be useful. However, he did not give me any specifics. It is our job to find the useful elements and put them together to retrieve the Dark Lord, before Dumbledore does the job for us."

"Why would the batty old coot want the Dark Lord back?" One of the Death Eaters – a new recruit, Snape remembered – scoffed.

Snape waved his wand and sent the man crashing backwards into the wall, knowing that the Dark Lord's ranks had come to expect this level of punishment. "Imbecile," he hissed as the new recruit got shakily to his feet once more, rubbing his head. "Dumbledore wants to return the three men who appeared when our Master disappeared."

"They switched places?" One of the Death Eaters asked nervously.

"Precisely. Perhaps there is some hope for this miserable excuse of a search team after all," he said quietly. "In trying to return them, he will retrieve our Master."

"And kill him," Dolohov muttered.

"Which is why we must find the counter spell before he does," Snape added. "I have a few hours before I must return to Hogwarts, during which I will help you with the search. However, I will expect you all to continue the effort after I have gone." He waited for them all to nod before sitting down at a nearby table. "Good. Now, let's begin."