Three

Late August, 1981

Salem, Massachusetts

"Come in." The sharp voice replied to the knock on the office door.

The dark-skinned man seated at the desk looked up as the newcomer entered his bright, spacious office, and he frowned. Kojo Bungawunga was not in the mood for this nonsense today. Why do I always have to come down on him? Over and over and over? Why can't he just...I don't know, stay in line for once? I'm getting damned tired of this.

Truth be told, after eight years of working with Simon Nigel-Nickerson, he still had no idea what went on in the man's head.

There was no denying that the man was good. Too damned good. In eight years of service with the American Magical Law Enforcement Association, Simon had proved himself to be deserving, and more, of his Special Agent status. He had become one of the most formidable, and famous, Magical Law Enforcement Agents in the United States.

But he was a maverick, no two ways about it. And after what had happened on his last case, Kojo's patience was near an end. Things had to change.

"Sit down," Bungawunga barked. He flattened his palms on top of his desk, and fixed the agent with a glare.

"I'd rather stand," said Simon mildly, in his lazy drawl. His blue gaze was amused.

"I didn't ask your opinion. Now sit down or get out. Frankly, I don't care which you do, at this point." Bungawunga leaned back in his comfortable leather chair, and folded his arms, glaring pointedly away from Simon and out the window. After a moment, Simon sat down, a thinly-disguised sneer on his face.

Not yet thirty, Nigel-Nickerson looked much older. His long, lean frame was hidden under layers of bulky clothes, and a long, ratty coat. Bungawunga wondered why Simon didn't just buy a new coat -- he'd been wearing this one ever since he had met him, and it was getting to be disgusting. Simon's thin face was prematurely lined, on the forehead and around those soulful turquoise-blue eyes. Frown lines, and smile lines.

Simon's hair looked as though it hadn't been brushed in years -- chin-length and shaggy, with outdated sideburns that stretched down to his chin. Bungawunga often thought that Nigel-Nickerson reminded him of a blonde, street-bum version of Clint Eastwood.

"What can I do for you, sir?" Nigel-Nickerson asked in his soft drawl. Bungawunga had never been able to place the accent. He knew that Simon was originally from upstate New York, but his accent -- a curious mix of British and Southern, contrasting oddly with his precise speech patterns -- was hard to place. Combined with Nigel-Nickerson's soft, gravelly voice, it could be very mellow and very soothing. Right at this moment, however, Bungawunga was anything but soothed.

"Try smartening the hell up, for one thing," Kojo snapped. "What the hell happened in Ohio?" He slammed his hand on the thick paper file.

"It's all right there, sir," said Simon, nodding his head at said file. He stood there patiently, keeping calm.

Kojo made a sound of disgust. "I'm getting a little tired of perps ending up dead before we can prosecute."

"At least you don't have to worry about them re-offending," Simon pointed out. He offered Bungawunga a small smile, and raised his eyebrows. "A permanent solution, so to speak. Much easier on the innocent."

"It's not funny!" Bungawunga roared. A sweep of his hand , and a quick wind slammed the door shut. "You're a law enforcement agent, not a blasted vigilante!" He stood, pointing at the younger man. "One more toe out of line, and I'll drum you right the hell off this force! You'll end up issuing parking tickets in Kalamazoo for the rest of your useless life, you hear me, Nickerson? Do you hear me?"

Simon jammed his fists into his pockets, and sighed. "I hear you, sir."

"Then prove it!", Bungawunga snapped. "Lucky for you, we're short-staffed. A case has come up, and I've got no one else to assign to it. Otherwise, I'd put you on traffic detail."

Simon grinned. "I'm a lousy traffic cop, sir."

"You're not much good at anything else." Bungawunga shook his head, irritably. "Fine. Read this." He tossed a file at Simon, who leaned back in his chair and swiftly scanned the contents. After a few moments, the agent looked back up at the director, an intrigued expression on his face.

"That's...weird."

"Yes, it is, isn't it? Canadian MLE is assigning someone to work with you on this, as it's international. We're to Apparate to their Toronto office at two-fifteen for a full briefing. And do me a favour?"

"Certainly, sir. Name it."

"Try not to get anyone killed on this one."

There was a pause -- then, Simon grinned mischievously, and saluted. "Aye-aye, sir," he said smartly, turning on his heel and exiting the office. He could just hear the director's voice behind him.

" Blasted smartass."

xxx

Constable -- no, make that Detective, Junior Grade -- Lucie DeGrace sat in the large, intimidatingly-immaculate briefing room located in the Toronto Canadian Magical Law Enforcement Headquarters, fiddling nervously with a pen. Despite it being summer, the air conditioning system had rendered the room freezing -- or was that just her nerves? And the silence was oppressive -- she was sure that one could hear the proverbial pin drop in here, even on the drab carpeting.

She had been transferred from CMLE beat cop in Cape Breton to the Toronto office just four days ago, and she still had to pinch herself sometimes, to make sure that she wasn't dreaming. Detective, at last!

At twenty-four years old, she was the youngest detective on the force. The last few days, she'd done nothing more than move into a shabby hotel downtown, explore the city a bit, and review endless documents and manuals in the training room at headquarters. It was just a few hours ago that the cop manning the front desk -- Jeff, or Jake, she couldn't remember which -- had found her and informed her that she was receiving her first assignment today, and that she was to finish reading the orientation manuals by that afternoon.

Thank Merlin for speed-reading, she thought now, still nervously tapping her pen on the table top. She hoped that she hadn't missed anything vital. The important thing, however, was that she had finished, and had shown up early for the briefing. Quite early, in fact. She was the only one in the room.

The door to the briefing room slammed open, and Lucie jumped. However, she hastily composed herself, and stood up, as the CMLE Director Of Operations walked in.

"DeGrace," he said, nodding brusquely. He was one of those types that looked as though chiseled out of granite. He reminded her of her great-great-great-great grandfather, whom she had spent her teenage years being raised by. If you could call the occasional grunt and snarl "raising".

"Director Spencer," she said, holding out a nervous hand.

He stopped and stared at her, appraisingly, for a moment. Then, with grudging approval, he took the offered hand and gave it a firm shake, which she returned. He held her gaze for a moment, then nodded again, briefly.

"Sit down, Detective DeGrace. Gentlemen," he said, indicating to the men who followed him into the briefing room. "Please be seated."

Feeling more confident, Lucie sat down and folded her arms on the table, pen in one hand and a pad of paper in front of her. She took a moment to examine the newcomers.

Two of them, she recognized, with a small thrill, were from the Homicide Division. Was her first case to be a homicide investigation, then? The third man, a handsome black man, she recognized from pictures as Kojo Bungawunga, Director of the American Magical Law Enforcement Association. The fourth man, she didn't recognize at all, and she stared at him frankly, wondering what his story was. He had an interesting look to him.

For one thing, he looked like a street person. Or would have, if not for that razor-sharp blue gaze that was examining her from head to toe. As their eyes met, he held her gaze for a moment, then his own gaze flicked away, his face grim.

Lucie rather got the impression that she had been measured, and judged, and had been found wanting. It didn't bother her. One thing that she had learned, early during her Academy days, was that she had to be her own biggest cheerleader, if she was going to succeed. Lucie was used to standing on her own two feet.

They took seats around the briefing table. "Lady and gentlemen," said Spencer, "Allow me to introduce everyone. I'm Alan Spencer. This," he indicated the man to his left, "Is Jim Clark and next to him is Samson Dubear, captain and commander, respectively, of Homicide Division. Kojo Bungawunga, Director of the AMLE, and Special Agent Simon Nigel-Nickerson, also of AMLE. And not least, Lucie DeGrace, Detective Junior Grade. Today's her first day here at CMLE Toronto."

"I apologize," he continued. "I don't mean to disrespect the American delegation with, and forgive me Detective, but Ms. DeGrace is the greenest of rookies, and I apologize for putting you all in such a situation. However, Ms. DeGrace has compiled a highly-respectable record in four years with the Cape Breton MLE as Constable. We're dreadfully short-staffed at the moment, with all our more experienced personnel involved in other cases." He looked directly at Simon. "Any objections, Special Agent Nigel-Nickerson?"

Lucie said nothing, did not even glance at the special agent. Nigel-Nickerson! She'd heard of him at the Academy -- apparently he was a real hell-raiser, but he had a reputation for leaving no case left unsolved. She couldn't believe her luck -- her first case, and she was working with someone of his stature! Surreptitiously, she pinched herself again.

Nigel-Nickerson was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "No. No problems. Any problems with you, Ms. DeGrace?"

Lucie finally looked at him, and smiled. "Not at all, Special Agent," she said, trying to contain her excitement. If she did well on what was obviously going to be a high-profile case, it could make her career. Simon Nigel-Nickerson could turn out to be the world's biggest jerk, and she didn't care -- she still would make damned sure that she had no problems. This could be her big chance! And she'd learned, long ago, not to take things personally on the force.

"Right, then. Down to business." All heads turned to Director Bungawunga, as he pointed a hand towards the blank wall. Immediately, the lights in the room dimmed, and a small projector on the table in front of him activated. An image appeared on the wall, of a pretty wooded area. Lucie could see a large brick building in the background.

"This," said Bungawunga, "is a clearing in the woods behind the Salem Wizards' And Witches' Institute, in Salem, Massachusetts. And this," he tapped the projector, and the next image came up. They saw a battered young woman in a hospital bed. "This is Caroline Skyland, of Maine. She's a first-year student at the college." He tapped the projector two more times, and two photos appeared, side by side. "This is Olson Carter, of Kentucky, and this is David Garrett, of Vancouver. They are also students at the Institute, and they are missing. One or more is presumed dead."

He tapped the projector off, and raised the room's lights again, and turned to face them. "This is not, strictly speaking, a homicide case as of yet. But it may well be."

"According to Caroline Skyland, she and Olson and David were gathering some herbs in the woods two days ago. She was reaching for something just slightly out of her reach, and both of her companions were holding on to her, trying to help her retain her balance."

"With no warning, a flash of light -- a ring of blue flame, as she says -- appeared, and the next thing that any of them knew, they were being pulled -- along -- for want of a better word. Caroline says that it felt like a portkey, but it also felt strange, as though the portkey was malfunctioning. Apparently it was a rather rough ride, as you can see from her injuries. She's reported that she and the other two students were all pretty beat-up after that wild ride, and not from any treatment that they received afterwards."

"After a few seconds, the three of them landed in a large, wood-panelled room, where a wizard stood there, staring at them in shock. He identified himself as 'Lazerus', never giving his last name."

"He and his Goblin servant fed them, and was quite kind to them, questioning them very thoroughly about who they were and where they came from. They answered his questions. He even answered a few of theirs. For instance, according to him, they were in the Hogsmeade Woods, at his manor -- Dragonwoode Manor, and the date was August twentieth -- in the year eighteen-ninety."

Kojo Bungawunga paused at the expressions of disbelief and amazement on his listeners' faces. "There's more. This "Lazerus" explained that he had been experimenting with some ancient Egyptian texts, and had accidentally discovered these time-travelling portals, as he called them. Yes, Detective DeGrace?", he said politely, as Lucy held up a hand.

"Excuse me, sir. When you say Hogsmeade Woods, are you referring to the Forbidden Forest in Scotland? I attended Hogwart's, sir."

"It is believed so, yes."

"But no one lives in the Forbidden Forest, sir. Although there were rumours, when I was a student, that a dark wizard once made his home there, and that the woods were cursed, and his home was destroyed, lest his dark secrets be revealed...at least, those were the rumours...", she trailed off, disconcerted by the attention that she was getting. She felt a flush creeping up her neck, but willed herself to maintain eye contact and not duck her head. "Forgive me, sir, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Fascinating," said Nigel-Nickerson. "We've been searching old maps, and old records, to try to find out who this 'Lazerus' might be. Do you remember hearing any names, Lucie, or anything that might help us?"

"No," she said, thinking hard. "No, but my grandfather has lived in Hogsmeade for -- well, for a very long time," she said, with a grin. "And my uncle is Headmaster at Hogwart's. We can talk to them, see what we can find out."

"Albus Dumbledore is your uncle?" Kojo Bungawunga said, staring at her in surprise.

"Yes," Lucie said. "It may be difficult to get hold of him, and my grandfather, as they're both heavily involved in the Order Of The Phoenix Resistance movement."

"Yes, quite," said Bungawunga. "See what you can do, though. In the meantime, I'll finish the story. So Caroline said that this 'Lazerus' offered to send them back to their own time, one by one. Not together, for he wasn't sure of himself, with these unfamiliar spells. He said that he would send Caroline first. Lazerus left the room, to make preparations."

"However, when she was alone with her schoolmates, one of them warned her not to go -- he said that he was certain that he'd heard of this 'Lazerus', and was certain that he was up to no good. He warned Caroline to stay with them, that they needed to stick together. When he returned, however, Lazerus insisted that she attempt the return. Her schoolmates resisted, and Lazerus attacked them with his wand." Bungawunga sighed heavily. "She didn't recognize the spells that this man used, but -- she feels certain that one of them was a killing curse. She thinks that David Garrett is dead."

There was a brief silence. Then, Bungawunga activated the projector once more. A drawing of a handsome, dark-haired man appeared on the wall.

"This is the description that she has given us. She has said that this drawing is very accurate."

Lucie gasped.

"What is it, Ms. DeGrace?" Simon Nigel-Nickerson stared at her intently. "Do you know this man?"

"I...I don't know him, no," she stammered, staring at the image. "But my uncle does...or did. I've seen an old photograph of him, with my uncle, in his study at Hogwart's."

"Has your uncle ever mentioned anything about that picture? About the man posing with him?" Simon leaned forward, his gaze locked on her.

"Just once," Lucie said, trying to remember. "He said that it was an old friend -- who had gone sadly astray -- but he never mentioned that his name was Lazerus."

"He referred to him as...if I remember correctly...Grindelwald."