Chapter 1

Obliviated and Obscured

"It is undoubtedly ironic that the best lies require an element of truth to work."

General (ret.) Jigme Dorji Wengshuk

Warning: Contains psychological horror elements including sexual assault and memory loss, which may be disturbing or triggering to some readers

Sherrod Howe's smile was grim as he Apparated onto the Rathlin grounds. He was content with himself, having finally reached a critical conclusion. Solomon Kinney could assume forms other than human.

Metamorphmagi were assumed to only be able to take the forms of other people. With concentration and practice, they could shape their features into animal-like forms, for instance turning their nose into a pig-snout, but not much more. This was one of several factors that distinguished them from animagi, apart from the other obvious difference, that metamorphmagi were born that way, unlike animagi who trained to be. Unfortunately, this was not as helpful to Howe as it could be. This still did not tell them what other form—or forms—Kinney could take.

Howe's thoughts were cut short only a second after he popped onto the grounds. He had landed in the midst of sheer chaos. Someone bumped into him; chaotic, panicked voices were filling the air.

"Phillips, Ursula!"

Howe spun around in circles. He caught sight of an Auror moving past him. Aurors were everywhere. Students were being separated out at wand-point. Howe's chest felt like it was being torn open. There was terror on the face of every student he could see.

"Phillips, Ursula!"

"Sherrod!"

Howe spun around once more. Watkins was hurrying towards him, jostling his way through the crowd. The look on his face filled Howe with a dread he had not felt in ages. Jefferson Watkins, decorated military doctor, was one of the bravest men Howe knew. He was a man who took a sniper's bullet in his hip during the Falklands and kept working to treat his patients. His actions left him with a permanent limp, ended his military career, and earned himself the Conspicuous Gallantry Cross.

And yet, the look on his face was one of sheer terror.

"Phillips, Ursula!"

"Watkins, what's happening?" Howe demanded, rushing over to his friend.

"It's the Ministry!" Watkins explained, out of breath and leaning to keep the weight off his bad leg. "They arrived here half an hour ago. Started rounding up the students. They're wiping the Muggle students' memories."

"Why?!" Howe exclaimed, looking around feeling his sense of panic rising.

"Educational Decree Number Twenty," Watkins growled. "Some bullocks about magical and nonmagical students not being allowed to attend the same institutions. They're shutting down the school. Wiping all the memories… Howe… all of them!"

Howe felt a hollowness growing inside him.

"All of their memories…? Who the hell gave that order? Where the hell are the Oblivators? The rules stipulated only memories of magic were to be erased! That's the law!"

"No Obliviators," Watkins explained. "It's the Aurors doing it. I tried to tell them but they said they were under orders. They kept saying it was some drivel about security and 'the greater good'."

"PHILLIPS, URSULA!"

The voice made Howe freeze. He knew that voice. That horrible, sinister, overly girly voice. Dolores Umbridge. Watkins didn't need to say anymore. He knew who was behind this. Howe went to draw his wand but what he saw next made him freeze. Little Ursula Phillips, only fifteen, stepped into the gap between magical and muggle students.

Howe couldn't move. He was too stunned by what he was witnessing. He felt as though time for him had stopped, but everything else was moving. What was going on?

Ursula wasn't a muggle. She was a squib. She was an American Squib. Her father had just died three months ago on the American Eastern Front. She wanted to be a screenwriter. She was currently working on a screenplay about her father's life.

Howe's eyes found Dolores Umbridge. The squat, pink, toad-like woman was grinning smugly at Ursula as the girl stepped forward. Ursula was sobbing.

"Please, I'm a squib… I'm not a Muggle… I'm a squib," Ursula pleaded.

"Well, that's what you would say if you were a Muggle, isn't it, dear?" Umbridge sneered.

Howe's legs jerked into motion. He was running. He was shoving through people. He had to stop this. He drew his wand.

"Oliviate!"

"NO!"

Howe fell to his knees, having just reached the edge of the gap. He was too late. Ursula's teary eyes went out of focus, and she stumbled backwards a little. She sank to the ground and Howe hurried over to her, on his knees. He took the girl's face in his hands, looking into her eyes.

"Ursula, Ursula, please, it's Professor Howe, please…"

Ursula blinked at him, dazed and vacant.

"Ursa-who…?" the girl muttered. "Who are you…? I… it's dark out…"

Howe hugged the girl tight, his face contorted in pain. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" he whispered.

"Ahh, there you are, former Professor Howe," twittered Dolores Umbridge's loathsome voice. "I'm very sorry to inform you, but you are under arrest on suspicion of sedition against the Ministry… I'm going to have to ask you not to resist, or there will be consequences…"

Howe paid no attention to her. His eyes were scanning the Obliviated students. Every face his eyes found was another stab deep into his heart. The eyes were all vacant. They had been made to forget everything. Their whole lives. Complete memory wipes. Only a trained Obliviator, and the same Obliviator who had done the Obliviating, could ever hope to restore those lost memories.

This was borderline murder. The people these children had been were gone forever. They would never be the same again. Most of them would never recover and properly function as people again from this. Obliviating was a traumatic enough experience for normal, short memories. Obliviating over a decade of education from some of these students would be more than their minds could ever handle.

And yet… there was one tiny glimmer of hope. One face above all was conspicuous in its absence amongst the crowd. Finn. They had not yet found Finn. That had to mean he and his brother had done what Howe had told them to do so long ago. He had to get to the castle.

Just one. He had to save at least one of them. He could never stop Umbridge and the Aurors from getting all of them. He was just one man, and Watkins was a squib. But he could save one of them.

He felt Aurors grab both of his arms. They yanked him up, away from Ursula, onto his feet. One of them went for Howe's wand.

Crack.

With a resounding whack, the handle of Watkin's cane struck across the face of the Auror reaching for Howe's wand.

"GO!" Watkins shouted, before cracking his cane across the face of the other Auror holding Howe.

Both Aurors crumpled, crying out in pain. Watkins brandished his cane at another Auror but a jet of red light hit him from behind and Watkins crumbled, stunned.

Howe did not think twice. He pirouetted and spun his wand. He felt tight bands around his body, compressing him needle thin as his body rocketed many times faster than the speed of sound across the island.

His feet hit the ground and he looked around. He was standing amongst the ruins of Bruce's castle. In the distance he could hear voices. All around the dark plain he could see the light of Aurors' wands.

They were searching. Most likely searching for Finn. If they had gotten through the list to Phillips, then they must have passed Negus. At least now he was safe in the castle. He'd told him to run here so long ago. If anything happens, to me or to the school, take your brother and run to the castle, he had told the stubborn boy, save yourself and your brother and run to the castle. They'll take you in.

He could still see Finn's nine-year old face. I'll keep my brother safe, Mr Howe.

Mr Howe. Finn had called him that for years. At first because he didn't know any better, later because he thought it annoyed Howe. Howe never minded. If anything, it made the boy even more endearing to him.

Howe didn't particularly care to be a professor. The school had chosen him, that was as much as he knew. His only ever concern was the safety of the students. It was Watkins who ran the curriculums, composed and conducted the end of year symphony, wrote the letters to parents…

Howe had failed. He had failed so spectacularly he still did not feel the full effect. Somehow, the Ministry had outmanoeuvred him. He had been so caught up in trying to track down Kinney and Voldemort that he had overlooked them completely. He had fought a war on too many fronts.

There was a shuffling sound behind him. Howe spun around. Finn was standing there. He had a large stick in his hands, wielding it like a club.

Finn's face broke into relief when he realized it was Howe. Howe, however, felt anything but reassured. Instead, he now felt rage.

"Why are you still here?!" he demanded. "Why aren't you in the castle?"

Finn blinked in confusion. He looked around at the crumbled, ruined walls.

"What you mean?" Finn asked. "We are in the castle."

"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO LET THEM IN!" Howe roared into the darkness. "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO SAVE THEM IF THEY CAME! I TRUSTED YOU! YOU SWORE TO ME!"

"Professor Howe?" it was Colm's voice now.

Howe was fuming. He had kept their secret for so long, and they had betrayed him. Just when it mattered more than anything to him in the world. They had turned their backs on him.

Howe stormed over to Finn and Colm. The boys were looking at him with mixed expressions of confusion and fear. Howe conjured a jar in mid-air, caught it and tapped it with his wand, putting an unbreakable charm on it. It was about to carry the most precious cargo Howe had left.

There was only one thing he could do. Time was short. The Ministry would find them any minute. He couldn't take Finn or Colm anywhere. Colm had the trace on him, and the Ministry would detect magic being done around Finn as well. They couldn't go on the run, and they couldn't hide.

"Finn," Howe said, placing his hands on the sides of Finn's head as he had done with Ursula only minutes before, looking into the boy's blue eyes with all the seriousness he could muster. "You have to trust me… I'm going to save you, but you have to trust me."

"S-save me?" Finn spluttered, more fear coming to his face now. "Sir, what are you talking about? What's going on?"

"No time to explain," Howe said, unscrewing the lid of the jar. "Colm, watch what I'm doing very carefully. Your brother's life depends on this."

Colm sniffed. The boy was barely keeping it together.

"Colm," Howe said, doing his best to sound as calm and collected as he could in the face of losing one of the two closest people he had ever known to sons. "You have to be strong. You have to be brave, now. I can't stop what's going to happen, but I can save your brother. And so can you. It's your turn to take care of him. Watch carefully…"

Colm sniffed again and choked back a sob, but he watched. Howe gave Finn a serious, but confident look as he touched the tip of his wand to Finn's left temple. He closed his eyes in concentration, and drew the wand away. As he did, a shimmering, gossamer thread of memory trailed from the wand's tip. Howe put the tip of his wand into the jar. The strand of memory disconnected from the tip of the wand, dangling into the jar.

"What the hell is that?!" Finn exclaimed and tried to pull away, a hint of panic in his voice.

"Stay still," Howe ordered.

There was no time to explain thoroughly, and no time to be gentle. He had to do this as fast as he could.

"I'm taking your memories," Howe explained as he slid his wand tip along the strand of memory, pulling more and more of it into the jar, as if unreeling a roll of string into the jaw. On and on it went now, as if flowing.

"Taking my what?" Finn asked, his eyes wide. "What's happening? What are they doing to everyone?"

"Everything but genocide," Howe muttered.

In the distance, Howe could hear voices. He looked over his shoulder. The lights from Aurors' wands were getting closer. They must have heard him shouting. He grimaced returning his attention to his work. The jar was only a quarter full, but it was filling at a good pace. The jar should be big enough for all his memories. At least his memories as far back as the Aurors were likely to wipe. They needed more time.

"Colm… come here," Howe said, gesturing the boy over.

Colm stepped up to him, trembling slightly.

"You see what I'm doing…?" Howe asked, doing his best to sound calmer.

"Y-yes," Colm stammered.

"Keep this going… this is the only way to save your brother. This is your brother's life going into this jar, do you understand?"

Colm choked back another sob and nodded. Howe hugged his arm around Colm's shoulders and kissed his forehead. "You two are the closest I've ever had to sons, I've always been here for you… but now this is the best I can do for you. You have to be strong for your brother… you have to find him after this is over and give him back his memories."

"S-sir?"

Howe indicated for Colm to hold the jar. The boy took it, his hands still shaking.

"Take them all. Every bit of the memories. Keep it going until they stop. It shouldn't be long now. When they come, hide that jar. Keep it safe. That's your brother's life."

Howe turned, and tightened his grip on the wand as he started walking towards the oncoming Aurors. His wand crackled and sparked as his rage began to grow.

"I'll stall them…"

Howe stole one last pained glance over his shoulder at the boys. Colm was putting himself to the task that Howe had given him. Finn was watching Howe. The expression on his face was one of pain and betrayal. Howe grimaced.

"Goodbye…"

Meanwhile, on a deserted London street, Aello hefted her shield higher on her shoulder. It was wrapped in canvas, Aello hoping it would look like a giant plate or tray of some kind, rather than what it truly was. Hidden underneath it was her sword, its handle up, just protruding over her shoulder for easy access, though also covered with a flap of cloth.

Beside her, Professor Cato sighed in a resigned way.

"So… this is it…"

Aello grimaced. He was going to get emotional again. She hated when he did that. He had also become gushy with his pride after she was selected to be the champion for Mount Phoenix.

It wasn't that Aello didn't appreciate his confidence in her, or even his fatherly attitude. She just didn't know how to respond to such an authority figure giving himself over to emotions so readily. She wished he would be more like his son, Marius, who was also standing with his father, wishing her farewell. Marius tended to listen first, then act or speak.

"You are sure you do not want to return with the rest of the school?" Professor Cato asked, for what felt like the one-hundredth time.

"Yes, I am sure," Aello said. "I am on my own now…"

"That is not true," Professor Cato said. "And you know it is not. And it never has been."

Aello gritted her teeth a little. It was difficult for her to think that way. As far as Aello was concerned, she had always been alone. But Viktor…

"Yes," Aello said curtly. "But I need to move on. I need to… just time for a quiet life."

Professor Cato put a hand on Aello's shoulder. Aello felt her body tense. She didn't like people touching her. That is, she didn't until Viktor.

"Good luck, then, Aello," Professor Cato smiled kindly

"Thank you, Professor."

"Good luck, Aello," Marius said under his breath.

Aello nodded down to him. Marius rarely opened his mouth fully when he spoke. He never wanted people to see his teeth. Aello supposed she could respect that. Magical attitudes weren't as enlightened as they liked to pretend.

Aello turned without another word and headed down the escalator into the tube station. She surreptitiously tapped her wand on the turnstile and passed through. The turnstile monitor didn't notice, his nose buried in a newspaper.

As it was almost eleven at night, the platform was deserted. Aello furrowed her brow. Something was wrong. There should at least be someone here.

Where others would have frozen to assess the situation, Aello knew better. The moment she heard the scuff of a boot-sole pivoting on the stone floor behind her she acted. Aello knew the sound well. She ducked and rolled, drawing her sword as her assailant's sword flashed through the air where Aello's neck had just been.

Aello rolled to her feet, ready for the next attack. It came just as quickly as the first. From the sound the sword made as it slashed through the air from the first attack, her attacker was right-handed. Aello pivoted to the right, turning her back to her attack. With a resounding clang, the sword-blow rebounded off Aello's shield on her back as though it were a steel turtle-shell.

The reflected blow staggered her attacker. Aello pivoted back and swung her own blade upwards towards her attacker. Aello hoped the retaliation from an unexpected direction would fool her attacker, but unfortunately, the attacker managed to recover their footing in time and dodged the blow.

Aello locked her eyes open, unblinking. Their feet moved with practiced grace, as if dancing as they circled around and around. Swords flashed and swirled through the air, never touching as they darted and dodged around each other.

It was not just bad form to use one's blade to block another, it was foolish. With edged swords such as theirs, hitting blades against each other's dented the blades and damaged them. It was better to dodge, swerving and moving until you spotted an opening.

Aello did her best to keep her eyes on her attacker's body rather than the head or feet. It was easy for an attacker to jink or jerk them and trick you into making a mistake.

Her attacker was dressed in slate grey, which blended in well with the shadowed concrete, and her face was covered in a hood. She was wearing a form-fitting top, hardened leather bracers on her forearms, loose-fitting slate-grey pants, and black boots.

Her attacker didn't need the hood. Certainly not to hide her identity from Aello. Aello knew who it was the moment she had heard the boot-scuff. She had been training (and fighting) this attacker since she was old enough to hold a sword.

However, knowing her attacker was no comfort. Her name was Hip. If they had sent Hip after her, they meant to kill her, and they had sent the best weapon they had.

Aello continued her counter-attack. She had to keep Hip on the defensive. Hip struggled with defence. Hip was an arrow, a weapon you aimed at your enemy and fired. She attacked without conscience or hesitation.

Things were not yet in Aello's favour. She could keep attacking yet she was also carrying her shield. It slowed her down, and would wear her out faster. It was now her stamina versus Hip's weakness on defence. Aello had to make this as quick as she could. Her shield would now become a weapon.

Aello exhaled sharply, as if about to make a move. Hip took the bait and took a step backwards. So did Aello, putting distance between her and Hip. Aello gripped the edge of her shield through its cover and bent forward and down as fast as she could, heaving with all her might. The shield flew straight ahead, catching Hip hard in the chest, just under her throat. Hip gasped and collapsed backwards, the heavy shield landing on top of her.

Aello kept her sword pointed at Hip, keeping her covered as she leaned down, a hand on her knee to catch her breath. Hip was trying to reach her sword, which had fallen out of her hand, clattering a few feet away. It was useless. Hip couldn't hope to reach it in time. Aello was sure at least one of Hip's clavicles was broken. The shield weighed just under thirty pounds, and Aello had thrown it with all the strength she could muster.

Aello stepped on Hip's outstretched hand. Hip winced, her face still covered by her hood.

"Tell Atanea I'm sorry I lived…" Aello panted, getting her breath back. "Honestly, I did not expect her to try this… but I have killed three acromantula in the last year, beat a dragon, and defeated another twenty-foot acromantula and survived it kicking me in the chest and breaking all my ribs… I guess I am just not that easy to kill." Aello snorted. "It is funny… I am not staying anyway… I was coming back to tell her that."

Aello was distracted by the sound of voices and feet. A group of chattering teens were coming through the turnstiles. They stopped at the sight of Aello and Hip, gawking stupidly at the swords. Beside them, the monitor was gawping. Aello was sure he had seen the entire fight. Aello glared and raised her sword towards them.

"Fuck off."

They didn't wait. The teens and monitor turned and scrambled back up the escalators. In spite of it all, Aello snorted with amusement as she watched the operator slowed by his awkward attempt to go up the down escalator.

Aello returned her attention to Hip. Hip was clutching her chest just below her throat, gasping in pain.

"Tell Atanea I have something for her. Some information. I know one who has found out how to beat death. He's unlocked Herpo's secret. Her deepest desire. In return I want my mother's remains sent to Bulgaria. Undamaged. I will send an owl to tell Atanea where to send them."

Aello took her foot off of Hip's wrist. She picked up her shield, kicked Hip's sword down onto the tracks, and headed off towards the escalators.

"Oye," the Police Constable said, spying her from the top of the escalator. "Stop right—"

"Obliviate," Aello said lazily, flicking her wand at the him. The policeman stopped in his tracks, his eyes going out of focus, and a lazy smile coming over his face. Aello kept walking past him onto the sidewalk.

"What… what was I doing… how did I get here?" she heard him mutter behind her as she rounded the corner into an alley.

Professor Cato felt a bit diminished inside as he and Marius walked away from the tube station. He remembered, all too well, Aello's first day at Mount Phoenix. That was when he still taught Potions, before becoming Headmaster. He'd never forget that look of determination in her face, her drive to be the absolute best in everything she tried. And if she couldn't be the best, then to at least do her absolute best.

At first, Professor Cato had just thought it was part of her natural upbringing as an Amazon, but as he got to know her over the years he realized it was something deeper. It was something engrained deeply in Aello herself: an unstoppable need to prove herself.

Professor Cato sighed.

"She's going to be okay," Marius said.

Professor Cato smiled down at his son. "I know, my boy… I know."

"I'm going to miss Aello," Marius admitted. "She always looked out for me, and stuck up for me…"

"Aello is an incredible woman," Professor Cato agreed.

"Quite so."

Professor Cato froze. He knew that voice all too well. It was a voice he dreaded.

"Lord Darius…" Professor Cato muttered, before slowly turning to face the ancient vampire lord who now stood in the dim light of a streetlamp behind them.

He wore a sharp, black tuxedo, complete with a top hat, a blood-red cummerbund, and was leaning on a heavy, silver cane. The aged vampire was grinning at him, his upper face clouded in shadow by the brim of his top-hat. His glinting black eyes were just visible, as were his far too prominent canines and sharp incisors. Professor Cato's eye twitched at the sight of the teeth. They were Marius' teeth.

Lord Darius smiled his sly smile that always gave Professor Cato a chill.

"And how is my great-nephew?" Lord Darius asked as he turned his gaze down to Marius.

"Fine, Great-Uncle Darius," Marius replied.

Professor Cato sniffed. The look of affection Lord Darius had for Marius unsettled him. It had nothing to do with the fact that Lord Darius was a vampire. It was Professor Cato's uneasy feeling that Lord Darius only saw Marius' mother's side when he looked at his great-nephew.

"What can I do for you, Darius?" Professor Cato asked.

Lord Darius turned his glinting black eyes up to Professor Cato.

"You? Nothing, my dear man."

At that moment, a group of teens passed, heading down into the underground station. Lord Darius chuckled darkly, watching them go.

"What…?" Professor Cato asked, suspiciously.

"They're about to run into an interesting sight… your prize pupil is in the middle of a sword duel with another of her kind. By the sound of her attacker, I think this is meant to be to the death."

"What?!" Professor Cato gasped.

He reached for his wand but Lord Darius held up a hand. The old vampire's head was cocked to the side, his eyes narrowed as he listened hard.

"No, no… no need. She won. Your faith in her is entirely justified," Lord Darius confirmed, smiling pleasantly.

Professor Cato tightened his lips, sliding his wand back into his pocket.

"Why was Aello fighting another amazon?" Marius asked.

Lord Darius shrugged. "Who can say? They are an odd breed. Speaking of breeds… you know why I'm here, Aelius."

Professor Cato's hand gripped a little tighter on Marius' shoulder.

"Yes… I know…"

"Know what?" Marius asked.

Lord Darius smiled kindly at his great-nephew. "Why, you are coming of age in the vampire world, my boy. It is time you learned how to live amongst your own kind."

Marius looked up at his father. "You mean…?"

"I mean that you are to remain here in Britain with me."

"We never agreed to that," Professor Cato growled.

"Unfortunately, it is not entirely your say. Marius will begin undergoing his changes soon. He may be a dhampir, but—" Darius was interrupted as the teens went running back past them, terror on their faces. Darius cleared his throat. "—the vampire in him is still evident. He will start to hunger soon. He needs to learn what it is to be a vampire, and to deal with the changes that are going to be affecting him soon."

Lord Darius slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and drew out a roll of parchment. He held it out to Professor Cato.

"I have already done all the proper paperwork with Lady Janna, head of your area's coven."

"You don't own him, Darius," Professor Cato said, moving between Lord Darius and his son. "You're not taking my son away from me, like you took Vita…"

Lord Darius' eyes narrowed. "I did not take Vita away… your wife volunteered to help drive out the remnants of The Nameless One's forces. She wanted to avenge her father. And if you think I felt nothing at the loss of my only brother's only child, you are gravely mistaken…"

"Father…?"

Professor Cato looked down at his son. He had been about to begin berating Lord Darius but the look on his son's face disarmed him at once.

"I… I want to stay, father."

Professor Cato's heart sank.

"You… you do?"

Marius nodded. "Yes, father… I'm the only one of my kind at Mount Phoenix. I… I need to learn, don't I?"

Professor Cato tightened his lips, fighting down his emotions. This night was already taking the closest thing he knew to a daughter. Now it was trying to take his son?

Lord Darius leaned forward on his cane. "Yes, you do, my dear boy. I promise you, Aelius, I am not stealing him away. He may visit you anytime he wishes, and you may visit in turn. He's just going away to school, as many of the other children in your own school do."

"You are keeping him here, where You-Know-Who has returned," Professor Cato retorted.

"Who better then to prepare him for what is to come than a vampire who just celebrated turning sixteen hundred fourteen?" Lord Darius chuckled, indicating his tuxedo. "And his contingent of Horsemen?"

Professor Cato sighed. There was nothing Lord Darius could say that he could trust, but he wasn't going to tell his son no.

"All right," Professor Cato said.

"He can travel home with you for the summer," Lord Darius said. "He will begin schooling at Rathlin in the fall."

"Rathlin?!" Marius asked, stepping past his father, looking up at Lord Darius with disbelief and excitement in his eyes.

"Yes indeed, my dear boy, I have already arranged it with Sherrod. You will attend the night-classes with the other part-humans there. Other vampires, merfolk, fae…"

"Father!" Marius exclaimed, spinning around and holding the front of Professor Cato's jacket, shaking it in his excitement. "Rathlin! I am going to go to Rathlin! I can learn how to play even better there!"

Professor Cato did his best to smile. Despite his apprehensions, who was he to keep his son from his true passion? How readily he remembered playing the piano for Vita, her swollen belly pressed against the side of the piano so little developing Marius could hear true art. Little Marius, named for his deceased vampire grandfather…

"All right," Professor Cato agreed. "All right…"

He turned a scathing eye on Lord Darius. "Just do not make me have to bury my son as well…"

Ludo Bagman was having the night of his life. He was free. After so long he was finally free. Every knut of his debt to the goblins was forgiven. He'd beaten them at their game.

Harriet Potter had reached the Tri-wizard cup first. That had been the conditions of their bet. One or two had tried to cheat him, saying that Solomon Kinney—disguised as Cedric Diggory—had gotten there first when he turned the cup into a portkey, but their leader Orgnak couldn't ignore the fact Kinney was not in fact a Triwizard Champion, and so even if he had touched the cup it would have meant nothing.

He had to give Orgnak credit. Bagman didn't think he would have been so ready to let go of so many galleons were he in the goblin's shoes. He supposed finally receiving his brand new American-made wand had put him in an unusually good mood.

Bagman hummed loudly to himself as he meandered down Diagon Alley. It was almost midnight. High time he started heading back for home. He drew his wand to Disapparate, and promptly dropped it.

"Whoops-a-daisy," Bagman chuckled drunkenly as he tried to bend down to pick up the wand.

He supposed he would have to take the Knight Bus home. Bagman managed to get hold of the wand and rose. He stared for a moment at the figure that was now standing in front of him, only a few feet away.

It took a moment for the surprise to hit Bagman and he jumped. "Blimey, where'd you come from?"

"Sorry, Mr Bagman," the man said in a rough voice.

The start had brought Bagman a bit more to his senses. The man in front of him was having trouble breathing, and had a slightly stooped posture. He was wearing a long, tattered coat, and his hair was dishevelled.

"I don' got any money," Bagman lied.

"Don't want money, Mr Bagman," the man said and held out his right hand. As Bagman looked down at it, he realized the man was missing his left arm.

"I just wanted to shake your hand… I was a huge fan of yours back in the day. Still am. You were a legend sir… a legend."

"Oh," Bagman slurred, smiling a bit in relief. "Oh of course, always pleased to meet a fan."

Bagman clasped the man's hand tightly in his own. He was out of debt, and people were remembering his glory days. What could—

Bagman grunted. Something hit the centre of his chest, hard. He looked down and saw the man had stuck out the stump of his left arm, and there was a long, silver rod projecting from it, sticking straight into his chest.

The rod retracted, and Bagman could see it was a blade, its tip now red with Bagman's own blood. His knees gave out. The world was starting to go grey as he fell to his knees on the hard cobbled street. His breathing was ragged.

Bagman was dead before his body hit the ground. Bart Crouch gazed down at the old Quidditch hero's body. He felt hollow inside as he stared. He had meant it. He had been a huge fan of Ludo Bagman's back in the day. So much so that he had once suggested to old Augustus Rookwood to try to recruit Bagman into the Death Eaters. He'd just killed one of his childhood heroes.

It was necessary. He had to prove himself. If he couldn't be tough enough for Kinney, he couldn't be strong enough to teach The Dark Lady and guide her on her path. He needed to cut all ties to his old life. He needed to finish Kinney's last assassination for him, to prove he could do so without apprehension. He did not trust easily, Solomon Kinney.

Bart coughed. His lungs had not healed right after the damage Kinney had wrought on them. He clutched the stump of his left arm where the slender, folding blade had just retracted. It still pained him as well. It had only been two days since Kinney had hacked it off with a medieval hand-axe.

Bart walked towards the nearest alley. Diamanda was there waiting for him.

"It's done…" Bart muttered, holding back another cough.

"Well done," Diamanda said, and set a hand on Bart's shoulder. "Still having trouble breathing?"

Bart gave her a condescending look. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Diamanda ignored his snide comment. Instead she inspected the contraption on his arm. Bart had to give her credit, her technical knowhow with gadgets was astonishing. The spring-loaded wand holder she had made for Kinney was impressive, but it was a tinker-toy compared to the hidden blade she had installed on Bart's severed arm. Bart was especially impressed at how quickly Diamanda had made it.

As she inspected her work, Bart studied Diamanda's face. She was a unique beauty. Her features were sharp; her cheekbones high. He couldn't be sure just how old she was. There weren't many lines on her face just yet, but her hair was already mostly grey.

"Worked like a charm," Diamanda observed.

"Of course, it did. You made it," Bart said.

Diamanda gave him a cold look. Bart didn't know why he got such a rise out of trying to flirt with Diamanda. Something about the way her eyes burned never failed to get him going.

Diamanda snorted. "Do it."

Bart smirked, drew his wand, and aimed it into the sky. It was time to cause a little chaos.

"Morsmordre!"

Laughter and shrieks of delight filled the air. Solomon Kinney smiled softly as he watched his son getting ready to board. Gideon had begged Solomon to ride with him, but he couldn't. He had work to do.

People were giving him bemused looks as they passed. He supposed he did look rather odd in the long black coat, that had once been Mad-Eye Moody's, when the temperature and humidity were both in the high eighties. It was an easy enough charm to make the coat cooler inside, and it stood out just enough to let his contact find him.

His eyes scanned the crowds as they bustled by. Ah, Muggles. So oblivious, but so industrious. They walked about completely unaware of the terrible war going on right under their noses, content to blame all the disasters on hurricanes, earthquakes, tornadoes, and wildfires.

And yet they built this place with their hands and minds. They erected structures that stretched hundreds and sometimes thousands of feet in the air with their hands and grit. They built bridges that spanned miles of open water and deep canyons. They could speak to one another in real time across the entire planet. Truth be told, Kinney was having a hard time differentiating Muggle engineering from magic anymore.

They were most industrious when they had to be, Kinney knew. Their so-called "World Wars" in particular. In 1937, the world's air forces were starting to transition from chugging, piston-engined bi-planes to monoplanes. Only ten years later they broke the sound barrier in level flight. Ten years after that, they put an object in orbit around the Earth.

War.

War changes everything.

It was time the magical world got with the program. Thanks to Kinney, it already was; at least here in the US. It seemed like only yesterday he was masquerading as a civilian in one of those little hold-out towns in North Dakota.

That was all it took. One little curse. One dead Secessionist soldier, and the kindling was lit. Then a single bomb in a Muggle sports stadium in Chicago, and the fire became an inferno.

It would be coming to Europe soon. It was inevitable now. Voldemort was back. The British Ministry was eating itself trying to cover its ass in the fallout of the raid on Rathlin Island. The Aurors who had carried out the raid on Rathlin Academy had been sent to Azkaban, right alongside their latest catch, Sherrod Howe and his lackey, Jefferson Watkins.

The Magical ministry had worked with the Muggle ministry to blame the attack on the Provisional Irish Republican Army, a paramilitary force from the little nation of Ireland. They were calling it a chemical attack, one which caused the loss of memory in all the students of Rathlin Academy of the Arts. As a result, relations between Ireland and the United Kingdom were strained to the breaking point.

Ripples in a pond. A single curse. That was all it had taken. A single curse and the world was on the brink. What new changes were going to come from this? How was the world going to mould itself anew?

Kinney's right ear twitched under the brim of his hat. His contact was coming. His ear popped back into a human form as he turned and smiled into the sweating face of Lucius Malfoy.

Malfoy dabbed his forehead, looking around the area with disgust. Kinney couldn't help but curl his lips in amusement at the sight of proud, regal Lucius Malfoy in poorly chosen Muggle garb. He wore a pink Hawaiian shirt, yellow track pants, Birkenstock sandals and a wide, white, Panama hat.

"Seriously? Do you British wizards even try?" Kinney asked with amusement.

"Shut up," Malfoy snarled. His eyes passed around the crowds, narrowed in disdain. "I can smell their stink…"

"I think that's your own stink, judging by your pit-stains," Kinney observed.

"Is that why you picked this place? So you could insult me where I couldn't retaliate?"

"Mr Malfoy, do you really think there's the slightest chance I'm afraid of you?"

Malfoy stared at Kinney, unable to tell if Kinney was bluffing or not. Malfoy seemed to err on the side of caution. It was a wise move; Kinney never bluffed.

Malfoy took a deep breath and spoke. "They say you do anything for money."

"That depends very much on the 'anything' and the 'money'."

"He… the Dark Lord… he has my wife."

Kinney raised his eyebrows. So Voldemort's taking family members of his Death Eaters hostage, now? Fascinating…

"I suppose after Bart's little stunt he's having an even harder time trusting you loyal Death Eaters than normal?" Kinney asked, dark amusement thick in his tone.

"'After Bart's little stunt'… you mean his little stunt you facilitated!" Malfoy snarled. "You're pulling every one of his little strings. Anyone with half a brain can see that!"

"Of course I am," Kinney agreed. "I think even Bart knows that, and he's quite happy with it, because he thinks it'll get him what he wants. Bart's a good boy… but his time in Azkaban and the years he spent under the Imperius Curse definitely loosened a few screws."

Kinney leaned back on the railing around the ride. "So, Voldemort has taken your wife to ensure you don't do exactly what—I'm guessing—you want to talk to me about doing. So… what is it you want me to do, Mr Malfoy?"

Malfoy's jaw tightened. "The Dark Lord is… he is not himself. Something about him is off. He is… paranoid. He has occupied my house and sits in his room with his snake, muttering to all hours of the night—"

"And so you've lost faith in him…" Kinney observed.

"He lost me the moment he took my wife…"

Kinney cocked an eyebrow. "Really? I took Bart's left arm and he has not yet abandoned me."

Malfoy's expression bore the slightest hint of amusement. "I know… I was there when we found it… but now—thanks to you—he thinks I cannot be trusted. He himself ordered me to pay you, and then turned around and blamed me for my 'convenient' absence during the vampire attack!"

Kinney smiled darkly. "I imagine so. So, you want me to free your wife…"

"Of course I want you to free my wife!"

"Yes, but what do I get in return? That is an acceptable 'anything,' but now we need to talk the 'money'."

Malfoy's throat tightened. He reached into his pocket and drew out a slip of parchment, handing it as discretely as he could to Kinney. Kinney took it and read. Another amused smile curled his lips as he read the figure.

"Oh, Mr Malfoy… this isn't nearly enough."

"But—"

"Not all 'money' is money, Mr Malfoy," Kinney said, tearing the parchment into little bits and letting it fall to the ground. At once, a flock of pigeons fluttered down, pecking at the pieces, hoping to find bits of food.

"Then what is your price?" Malfoy asked.

"You want me to provide you a service… you want your wife back… hmmm…" Kinney's smirk grew. "Then I want a service from your son."

Malfoy spluttered. "What?! I'm not trading my son for—"

"Oh no, no, no, Mr Malfoy," Kinney shook his head. "You misunderstand. I'm not interested in a hostage. They're tedious and messy. But I need eyes on the ground inside Hogwarts. The Ministry is going to start taking the place over soon; I need to know what's happening."

"Why my son?" Malfoy asked, his eyes narrowed.

"Because you won't be able to run to the Ministry and win their favour by telling them I'm spying on Hogwarts without incriminating your own son."

Malfoy snarled. "I thought you said my son wouldn't be a hostage…"

"Oh good!" Kinney grinned. "You do get it! It gets boring always dealing with people too stupid to realize they're being played. But I wouldn't classify him as a hostage… I think collateral would be the more appropriate term."

"Once my wife is free, Draco is also free?" Malfoy half-asked, half demanded.

"Of course."

"How soon will it be done?" Malfoy asked.

"As soon as feasible," Kinney replied.

Malfoy opened his mouth as anger washed over his face again but Kinney held up a hand to stop him.

"Your wife is important to you, Mr Malfoy, correct? Then you should not care how quickly it is done. It is more important to you that this is done right, not fast."

Malfoy slowly closed his mouth.

"Yes…"

"Good, then we have an accord. I have no other plans at present, so I shall set myself fully to finding and freeing your wife. In return, Draco is to send me weekly reports on everything going on in Hogwarts, no matter how small."

"Where shall he send the owls?"

"You let me and Draco worry about that," Kinney grinned. "He's my employee now."

Kinney could tell Malfoy was aching to draw his wand and try to curse Kinney into oblivion. He can try, Kinney thought, but it will be a mistake.

"But I am not unreasonable. I will even throw some sugar on the deal. Hogwarts once had Hogsmeade weekends. The town should be rebuilt shortly, and I'm sure they'll resume those. They'll want to make everything appear as 'back to normal' as possible.

"On those weekends, I will meet with Draco in Hogsmeade and teach him what I know. I will make him a match for any of your precious Dark Lord's Death Eaters. I will have him train with Bart as well… he'll teach Draco everything to know about Death Eaters. You get your wife back, I get eyes on the inside at Hogwarts, and your son learns advanced, powerful magic to defend himself from what's to come. I'd say you're coming out ahead when all is said and done. Is that acceptable?"

Malfoy's look softened. Kinney could tell this certainly was acceptable to him. Slowly, and reluctantly, Malfoy held out his hand. Kinney shook it. As they shook, he couldn't help but notice Malfoy's eyes widen at the sight of Kinney's slightly red right hand. He still had not quite been able to get the blood off of it after dealing with Bart's unartful amputation. Not that he had been trying very hard.

Malfoy let go of Kinney's hand quickly. He turned and walked off behind a nearby concession area. As soon as he was out of sight, Kinney heard the loud crack. No one else jumped. Kinney was sure they thought it just the popping of a balloon.

Behind him, the ride began to slow. Perfect timing, Kinney thought. He grinned as Gideon came running towards him.

"That was great, Papa!"

"Excellent!" Kinney laughed, kneeling and hugging Gideon tight. "What ride do you want to go on next?"

"Over there!" Gideon said, pointing over towards Magic Kingdom. "I wanna go on Space Mountain! Some of the other kids in line were talking about it!"

"Of course," Kinney grinned.

Together, Kinney and Gideon headed off towards the venue.

Gideon gave his father a hopeful little look. "Would… would you go with me this time?"

Kinney sighed, sadly. "Oh, I don't know, my boy… I think I'm a bit too old for this sort of thing."

"Nuh-uh, Papa!" Gideon declared. "You're like the strongest guy in the world!"

Kinney laughed. "Well how could I possibly say no to that?"

"Awesome!" Gideon grinned, taking Kinney's hand and starting to run towards the venue.

"Oof, hold on," Kinney said, stumbling a bit, staggering.

"What's wrong, Papa?" Gideon asked, worry all over his face.

"Something super heavy… holding me down…" Kinney grunted, acting as though there was a great weight upon his left side. "Can't… stay standing…"

Gideon blinked with worry as Kinney reached into his left pocket, giving a few overly exaggerated tugs before yanking out a letter. He doubled over once more, pressing the letter to the ground, as though it still weighed a tremendous amount.

"Whew, this is a heavy letter, my boy… it must not be addressed to me," Kinney observed as Gideon looked on with confusion. "Why… would you look at that? It seems to be addressed to you…"

"To me?!" Gideon asked, staring with wonder. "No one's ever sent me a letter before…"

"Well, now they have…" Kinney chuckled. "Maybe only you can pick it up?

Gideon knelt down. Kinney let go of the letter and stood to his full height. As he did, his back cracked and he winced. He was getting a bit old for this, wasn't he?

Gideon picked up the letter and read the front. "Gideon Hithersbee? But my last name isn't—"

"It is for now," Kinney smiled. "Your real last name would make people a little suspicious, wouldn't it?"

"P-people where…?" Gideon asked.

"Open it and see," Kinney smiled.

Gideon opened the letter. As he read, his face began to glow with surprise and delight. "Hogwarts!" Gideon exclaimed. "I'm going to Hogwarts?!"

"You are," Kinney laughed, staggering back as Gideon threw his arms around Kinney tightly.

"I'm going to be with other kids my age and study magic and everything?"

"And everything," Kinney replied, hugging Gideon back. "You'll have to pretend Diamanda is your mother, of course."

"Of course," Gideon said. "Thank you, Papa… thank you…"

"You're welcome, Gid…"

"I love you, Papa."

"I love you, too, Gid."

A catastrophe. An utter catastrophe. That was all Fudge could think as he shook hands with the tall young man before him. He did not know who had put it in the mind of his Aurors to wipe all of the Muggle children's memories, but it was the biggest disaster of his career.

He would never forget the look on Dolores' face as she came to him after the event. I tried, Minister, I tried to stop them, but they just wouldn't listen. All those poor children, their minds gone forever!

Fudge should be celebrating. Dumbledore was gone, and Howe was in Azkaban along with his sidekick, Watkins. The grievous threat to magical secrecy that was Rathlin Academy was now closed. Instead, Fudge had the heads of at least a dozen foreign governments breathing down his neck. The Aurors had wiped the memories of nearly six-hundred muggles and squibs. Gringotts was threatening to leave Britain altogether for the USA, where they were about to be given wandrights.

Wand rights? To Goblins? This was just madness. On top of that, there was the murder of Ludo Bagman the very same night. Not only that, but whoever had done so had cast the Dark Mark over the body. Now, while the Prophet was still willing to go along with Fudge's story that Kinney was making it look like You-Know-Who was back just to scare people, many of the smaller papers were starting to buy Dumbledore and Howe's ridiculous lies. Even the Quibbler was producing record sales. Xenophilius Lovegood had been forced to rent a building and more printing presses to keep up with demand. The Quibbler!

Now he was dealing with the fallout of the Vampires. They had closed their office in Whitechapel to the Ministry, and were refusing to open it again until Fudge accepted that You-Know-Who was back—on no evidence whatsoever—and Fudge apologised for attempting to have the head of their coven arrested.

What was happening to the world? Everything was being turned upside down because of this damned war in America. For years, everything was quiet; peaceful. Now a representative of everything that was crumbling Fudge's happy little world was standing in front of him, looking down on him with cold, accusatory eyes, as if everything happening was somehow Fudge's fault.

Fudge wasn't entirely sure what the fuss was about in the first place. Most of them were just muggles, after all. They did not even fall under any of the magical governments' jurisdictions. The Americans, however, were the most outspoken and angry on the matter. While most of the Obliviated children had been British, the second highest number had been American. And despite their being Muggle, the MACUSA and President Shensuken were most displeased.

And so that was how Fudge found himself standing in his office, face to face with an American war hero who had been sent with a delegation of witches and wizards from around the International Confederation of Wizards to 'monitor the situation.' The man was young, mid to late-twenties at most, and dressed in a smart, military uniform.

His eyes were sharp, and smart, darting around studying every detail of Fudge's office. He had a strong jaw, which looked even more prominent from a five o'clock shadow. His hair was a crew cut, just growing back from having been shaved.

"Well, I must say, Captain Kane, tales of your exploits in the papers certainly keep us on our toes, even over here in Britain."

"Thank you, sir," Captain Kane replied.

His voice was curt and harsh, as if he generally spoke in a tone no quieter than a roar. He was an officer, Fudge knew, and a decorated combat veteran. He must be better acclimated to shouting orders over the pitch of battle than chatting in quiet offices.

"I… I must say, I'm surprised the ICW put this team together so quickly," Fudge said. "It's only been a week… and I would think the ICW would send… well… a rather less partial delegation… considering…"

Captain Kane's eyes were boring into Fudge's. "Your Aurors wiped the memories of six-hundred and seventeen children in under an hour, Mr Fudge," Captain Kane said coldly. "Six-hundred seventeen. One hundred thirty-two of them were Americans. Muggles and Squibs. I want to be very clear with you on those numbers, because based on your comments in the newspapers, you haven't quite grasped that."

Fudge's knuckles whitened on the arms of his chair.

"Squibs fall under magical jurisdiction, Mr Fudge. Your Aurors Obliviated foreign citizens. People who trusted them for their protection. And even if Muggle's don't fall under our jurisdiction… I'm sure you'll forgive us for feeling a bit… united with our fellow Americans in the wake of this tragedy…"

Fudge did his best to keep his feelings down. It was as though Kane had read his mind. Howe and Dumbledore always did the same thing.

"Furthermore, the ICW is concerned over how close this comes to a breach of the International Statute of Secrecy," Captain Kane went on. "They are concerned over how many Muggle governments are trying to look into what happened."

"Yes, yes, of course," Fudge conceded. "I must also say I'm surprised they sent you, of all people, Captain. I imagine there are far more pressing matters with the war for you to handle."

"President Shensuken hand-picked me, Mr Fudge," Captain Kane replied. "He knew about my sister. And… I think they're looking to give me a furlough as much as getting to the bottom of what went wrong. After Bakersfield, they're worrying I might be losing my edge. They sprinkled a lot of sugar on top of it, but I've dealt with enough 'command' to read through orders."

Fudge was trying to think fast. He had to buy himself time until he could get to the bottom of this, himself. He had to show the ICW that he was still in control of this situation.

"Well, I'm certainly not going to be the one to interfere with the ICW's investigation," Fudge said. "Nor to try and strain relations with the MACUSA any more than it already has been."

"Hm," Captain Kane muttered.

Fudge felt even more frustrated, having no idea what Captain Kane meant by that response. Fudge sighed and sank into his chair. It was time to try one of the older tricks in his book.

He needed to disarm Captain Kane; get him to see reason. While it was often best to show strength and conviction, Fudge did find it useful sometimes to look quite the opposite, to appear human and relatable. It tended to get people to put their guards down, so they could better be reasoned with (and manipulated if need be, like Fudge needed right now).

"How is your sister, Rachel, incidentally?" Fudge asked. "I haven't had time to visit Hogwarts since this debacle began."

Captain Kane raised his eyebrows.

Oh yes, Fudge thought, I know who your sister is. I remember all their names. There are more than a few things about my time in office I'm not proud of, but no one is going to take helping those children away from me. No one.

"She sounded well, the last time she wrote me, Mr Fudge," Captain Kane said. He sounded more relaxed, pleased to talk about his sister.

"Excellent," Fudge said, allowing himself a shadow of a smile.

"Though she was upset about finally seeing our brother, Blaine."

"Oh…?" Fudge asked. "You'd… you'd think that would cheer her."

"Not after Bakersfield, Mr Fudge."

"I see… he was there… was he?"

"Yes, sir. He lost an eye there. And mentally, he's… no one who entered that battle came back out again."

Fudge blinked a couple times. He wasn't sure exactly what Captain Kane meant by that.

"I see… yes… terrible battle, Bakersfield… terrible…" Fudge shook his head.

Hundreds had died in that battle, according to reports. By the end of the fighting, combatants were reduced to bludgeoning each other with any blunt instrument they could get their hands on as weapons.

"I know, sir," Captain Kane said, his tone cold. "I was there."

Fudge tried not to grimace. This was going from bad to worse. He needed his secret weapon to salvage this. He had been building this ever since he received word that Captain Kane would be leading the ICW team.

Fudge sighed again, leaning forward on his desk. "I'm not going to lie to you, Captain Kane, the situation here in Britain has been stressed. We brought those children here, and it brought your war to our shores with them."

Captain Kane said nothing to this. His face seemed to have no tells as he looked back into Fudge's eyes. Certainly not someone to play chess with, Fudge thought. But Fudge had his hook, and he was going to give it a tug.

"Solomon Kinney came here… and we have reason to suspect that not only was the former headmaster of our prestigious magical school, Hogwarts, working with him, but so was the headmaster of Rathlin Academy. Things at Rathlin… they… they got out of hand. No one is going to deny that. But right now, Magical Britain needs your help, not accusations. Dumbledore is still at large, as is Solomon Kinney."

Fudge gave another sigh for dramatic effect. "We are afraid that certain staff at Hogwarts are still in league with Dumbledore. We believe they may be trying to train the students into a sort of resistance movement…"

"I see."

"Our suspicions were aroused when the current Headmistress hired the brother of Dumbledore to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts. Not only is he the brother of this fugitive, but he has his own criminal history. Needless to say, we intervened to have him removed as a teacher forthwith. I have placed a few trusted members of my staff in the school, including my own undersecretary."

"I see."

Fudge gripped his hands tighter on the arms of his chair. Captain Kane's attitude was so passive it was impossible to tell what he was really thinking. It was like trying to derive meaning out of a blank canvas.

"I have provisionally placed my undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge, in that position, however… if you and your government would find it agreeable, I would like to offer the position to you."

Captain Kane raised an eyebrow. Fudge still wasn't sure what it meant, but he had at least coaxed something of a reaction out of the man.

"And why would you want to offer this position to me, Mr Fudge?"

Damn, Fudge thought, he's still suspicious.

"You're a decorated soldier, Captain Kane," Fudge explained. "Your knowledge would certainly be highly valued amongst the students. Plus, there's the added benefit of being able to see your sister daily."

Captain Kane said nothing, but Fudge could tell he was digesting this information thoroughly. Captain Kane leaned back in his chair.

"I will have to clear this with the MACUSA and the ICW, of course," Captain Kane said.

Fudge felt himself click his heels together in his mind. I've got him, Fudge thought, feeling a deep sense of relief.

"Of course, Captain, of course," Fudge conceded. "You'll be working very closely with the Ministry on this, which is why you are here in the first place, is it not?"

"Yes, Mr Fudge, it is."

Fudge pulled over two glasses and his whisky decanter. He poured them each two fingers. Captain Kane lifted his glass and sniffed it.

"Hmm, this is Muggle, isn't it?" Captain Kane asked, glancing up at Fudge.

Fudge raised his eyebrows, impressed. Captain Kane must have quite the refined palette.

"Correct," Fudge smiled. "Bell's is the brand. Quite popular amongst the Muggles, I'm told. I first picked it up from the previous Muggle Prime Minister. Strong woman, she was. I remember the night I introduced myself to the one who took her place. He tried to throw me out the window!"

Captain Kane's face did not even make the slightest hint of a smile. Fudge cleared his throat awkwardly and raised his glass to Captain Kane.

"To cooperation."

Captain Kane clinked his glass against Fudge's.

"Cooperation."

Newt Scamander wiped his forehead in the summer heat. It was the middle of July, and a drought had hit the London area, lasting so long that the city's Muggle government had banned the use of hosepipes until it passed. He was already irritable; his arthritis was acting up. It had gotten so bad over the last few years that Newt had been forced to retire his rehabilitation service. He took a forlorn glance at his old suitcase. So many wonderful memories.

Tina was sound asleep upstairs. Newt's lumbago was making it harder and harder for him to sleep at night. During all his years of dedicating himself to the care of animals, Newt had forgotten to take care of himself in the process.

Newt sipped his tea. It was hot, which didn't help in the heat, but he could feel the soothing effect on his joints.

His eyes popped open as Tina's guest detector jingled. Newt stared at it. Surely no one was calling on them at this time of night. The little bell bounced and jingled again on its hook. Newt got to his feet, and shuffled towards the door. No sooner had he reached it than there was an urgent knock on the door.

"Mr Scamander? Mr Scamander are you in?"

Newt opened the door. He found himself face to face with a young, rather stricken looking Auror. Newt was quite taken aback. It was the youngest Auror he had ever seen. He looked to be barely out of school. The Ministry must have become desperate for new blood after the Rathlin calamity. The Auror's face broke into relief.

"Oh good, you are. I'm so sorry to trouble you at this time of night, Mr Scamander, but—"

"Who is it, darling?" Tina called from the stairs.

"An Auror, Tina," Newt called back.

"—but we need your help, badly, sir… We'd have asked Sutler, but he's gone abroad it seems. And no one else has your expertise, which we think is—er—relevant."

"A creature?" Newt asked, as Tina bustled up, tying the knot to her robe's belt.

"It's… we think…" the Auror swallowed. "We think it might have been an Obscurus…"

Newt's heart sank. An Obscurus? On top of everything else that was going on? Newt felt Tina grip his arm. They shared a dark glance.

An obscurus was the result of a magical child (known as an obscurial) being forced to repress their magic completely, often through the combination of self-loathing and systematic mental and physical abuse. As a result, they were most often muggle-borns, born to areas that misunderstood and feared magic.

Their magic became sort of a parasitic entity, draining the child of their life and at the same time unleashing terrible destruction upon the world, built upon the obscurials internal torments and rage. Newt had dealt with them only twice before, once in the Sudan, and once in New York City. Both instances ended in tragedy.

"We'll be right with you," Newt said. "Please let us get dressed."

"Oh, you don't have to come, Miss," the young Auror said to Tina. "We didn't want to bother you."

Tina gave the Auror a cold look. "Judging by the Ministry's recent antics and your age, I'm going to hazard a guess that I have more experience as an Auror than your whole department put together."

Tina hurried back up the stairs. Newt smiled after her fondly before returning his attention to the young Auror, who was now giving him a rather insistent look. Suddenly, Newt remembered.

"Oh, right! Me dressed too! Back in a flash!"

Twenty minutes later, Newt, Tina, and the young Auror popped onto the street. They were in the midst of organized chaos. Aurors were everywhere. By the looks of things, Tina was right. All of the Aurors looked much too young.

This was not all that Newt could tell was wrong. At a glance, he quickly saw there was no damage done to any of the surrounding buildings or the street. There were reporters for the Daily Prophet and several other magical newspapers as well. They were all doing their best to get information out of the Aurors who had cordoned off the area.

"It's over here," the Auror said, and his face turned rather green. "You… it's not pretty…"

The Auror gestured towards a nearby alley. The Aurors blocking the entrance parted to make room for the trio to enter. Newt held Tina's hand as they followed the young man towards the scene. Once inside the alley, Tina stifled a gasp, and Newt cringed.

Blood. Blood was everywhere. It was splattered up the walls of the buildings, and spread over the street beneath their feet. What on earth had happened here?

"The bodies are over here, Mr Scamander," the Auror blanched, clearly doing his best to fight off a wave of queasiness.

Newt gave Tina's hand a squeeze. She returned it. The couple continued to follow the Auror. There were six sheets covering odd, misshapen forms lined along one of the alley walls. One or two of them still bore passing resemblance to a human. Even worse, the forms all looked small. They couldn't have been more than teenagers. Whatever had done this, Newt was already certain it was no Obscurus.

"Well, from here I can tell you this was no Obscurus," Newt said.

"How can you tell?" the Auror asked, his voice a mix of apprehension and interest.

Tina pointed around to the buildings on either side of them. "No damage," she said. "Obscuri tend to destroy everything they touch."

"Exactly," Newt said. "If the damage was only to the victims, this was much too concentrated to be an Obscurus."

Newt finally released Tina's hand. They walked to the first body, which looked the most whole. They moved around either side of it and knelt. Newt and Tina each took a hold of the top of the sheet, gave each other bolstering looks, and pulled back the sheet.

Newt's stomach turned at once. There was a head where a head was supposed to be, but it had just been placed there by the Aurors. It was detached from the body completely. The face was contorted with terror. By the looks of the remains of the neck, the head had been ripped from the body.

"No… Obscuri are forces of anger, repressed magic made manifest… this… this is something else…"

Newt pulled the sheet back farther. The arms were contorted violently; he was sure all of the bones were broken. However, there was something interesting of note. Newt lifted one of the shattered arms. There was a very large hand-print on it, where a hand much larger than a human's had grabbed hold with terrible force. The hand had to be at least twice as large as a human's. What's more, the hand was all wrong. The palm was much too large in proportion to the fingers. It wasn't a human that had done this.

"No, this definitely wasn't an Obscurus," Newt confirmed, lowering the sheet again.

"That one was named Piers Polkiss," the Auror said. "According to the witnesses."

"There were witnesses?" Tina asked.

The Auror nodded. "Two of them. Boy and a girl. Boy's a muggle. Over this way. We're keeping a watch on the girl in case she's the one."

Newt grunted as Tina helped him stand again. His knees popped a couple of times, but he leaned on his walking stick heavily and they moved to the next body. On this one, the head was still attached, but the throat had been ripped out by jaws and incredible strength, and teeth of a most impressive size.

Newt ran a hand through his wispy hair. If he didn't miss his guess, based on the strength, the size of the hand-print, and the size of the bite on the second body, they were dealing with a primate. Except the only primate Newt knew of that fit this size and strength was a gorilla, but gorilla were passive, gentle creatures. This level of aggression was more typical of chimpanzees. Furthermore, where would it have come from?

"Let's talk to the witnesses," Newt said, lowering the sheet back down over the second body.

Tina held Newt up to his full height once more and they resumed following the Auror to the other end of the alley.

"How old?" Tina asked.

"Boy's fifteen, girl's fourteen," the Auror said.

Newt narrowed his eyes. "That's much too old…" Newt muttered. He had only seen an Obscurus live that long once before, and it had destroyed sizeable areas of New York City.

"Well, not taking any chances,' the Auror replied. "Not after Rathlin."

Newt grimaced. What could have done this? The damage done to the body he had looked at was incredible. It wasn't just anger that had caused that damage; it was anger and hatred. But what's more, whatever had done it clearly had a physical body.

Newt saw a boy now. The boy was large, but with obvious muscle underneath the puppy fat. He was being given a Calming Draught by the looks of it, as after he took a sip he seemed to deflate, sinking back against the wall.

"There, isn't that better?" said the healer who had given him the draught in a sweet, gentle voice.

"Yeah," the boy mumbled.

Newt moved over to the boy. He knelt and tried to look as kindly as he could.

"Hello, son," Newt said. "Can you—we really need to know—please tell me what happened tonight?"

"The black… thing… it did it," the boy said. His breathing became faster, and his pupils dilated as the memories of the event came back to him.

"What was it… did you see?" Newt asked.

"D-didn't see," the boy stammered. "Moved so fast… ripped them apart… bashed them into the… into…"

Newt staggered backwards, just fast enough to avoid the boy's sick as it splattered the street. Newt grimaced. Maybe it would be better to ask the girl.

"Where's the girl?" Newt asked.

"Over here," the Auror replied, gesturing to a crowd of Aurors.

Newt furrowed his brow. There was some commotion coming from them. He noted that several of them were holding back a man in his thirties who looked to be in sheer panic.

"She's not an Obscurial!" Newt could hear the man insisting. "Get your wands off her!"

Newt hurried as fast as his bad knees would let him.

"Let him through," the Auror guide said as the Aurors moved to keep Newt and Tina away as well. "This is Mr Scamander and wife."

The man who was trying to get through the Aurors spun around. Newt didn't recognize him, but he had long black hair tied back in a ponytail, a silver hoop earring and a small soul-patch on his chin.

"Mr Scamander!" the man said running over to him. "Tell them to get their wands off her! She's not an Obscurial!"

"I know she's not," Newt said calmingly. "This wasn't an Obscurus, but I need to speak to her to find out what's going on."

Tina gave the Aurors a very dark look. "And we should add that if she were and Obscurial, holding her at wand-point like this would be a good way to trigger the Obscurus, wouldn't it?"

The Aurors all exchanged awkward looks. Slowly, they lowered their wands and parted. Newt's heart fell at the sight of the girl. She looked no older than the boy, sitting huddled against the wall. The man moved to her so fast that Newt missed him when he blinked. The man broke down, hugging the girl tight to him and rocking her.

"Harriet, baby I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry… Daddy's got you… Daddy's got you now…"

"Yeah, that's Harriet Potter," their guide muttered. "She had been living with Muggle relatives until mid-June. That's her cousin back there. She was taken from their house and sent to live with one, Arabella Figg, a squib who lives nearby. She was removed from her aunt and uncle's place for abuse. They're somewhere around. They were throwing such a fit we had to petrify them to keep them from causing more panic. But yeah, that's why we… you know… thought… you know, given the state the boys were in, and if those Muggles were mistreating her… maybe that meant she'd become a… you know?"

The Auror was trying to sound apologetic. Newt sighed. He couldn't blame the boy, he supposed. Precious little was known about Obscuri. Newt was the closest thing to an expert on them in the world. They were trying to be careful, but risked so much more in the process. Never mind how much more damage they must have done to Miss Potter's state of mind in treating her as the guilty party.

Newt ambled over and winced as he knelt down by the pair. As he got a closer look at the girl, sadness welled up inside him. One of her eyes was black, and her lip was bleeding. There were cuts, scrapes, and bruises on her arms. The one of the shoulder straps of her tank top had been cut as though someone was trying to remove it. Newt glanced to her forehead. Sure enough, just visible through her tussled hair, was the lightning scar born only by Harriet Potter.

"Hello, Harriet," he said kindly. "My name's Newt. I'm not here to hurt you… I just want to know what happened."

"It was him," Harriet said in a cracked voice. "It was Kinney… it was Solomon Kinney… he killed them… all of them…"

Newt raised his eyebrows.

"Solomon Kinney did that?" Tina asked. "How, dear?"

"Harriet, this is my wife, Tina," Newt said introducing them.

The girl didn't respond. She just kept staring blankly, her green eyes vacant. The man slowly released Harriet, and let her lean back against the wall.

"He said the debt was repaid…" Harriet mumbled. "Said the debt was repaid… offered to kill Dudley… I told him no… and he said the debt was repaid… and left…"

Newt and Tina exchanged more glances. He didn't know what to make of that.

"What debt?" the man asked.

Harriet shook her head. "I don't know… the boys… they were attacking me… they jumped me when I walked into the alley… I snuck out… wanted to be alone—"

Harriet broke down again, burying her face into the man's chest, sobbing apologies over and over again. The man hugged the girl tighter, shaking his head.

"It's okay sweetie, this wasn't your fault… you're okay now… Daddy's got you…"

Tina put a calming hand on the man's shoulder.

"Could I have your name, dear?" Tina asked.

"Daniel… Daniel Dusk…" the man replied.

"You were an Auror, weren't you?" Tina enquired. "You were at my retirement ceremony."

Newt glanced up at Tina, smiling with pride. She had such a good memory for things like that. People, and faces. That as his Tina, she cared about people, empathized with them.

Newt's memory worked rather differently. Newt remembered facts, bits of information. He could remember the proper mixture for an erumpent pheromone, but he would be hard pressed to remember the names, let alone the faces, of half the people he's ever met. However, as he thought of Jacob, he smiled. There were certainly some faces he would never, ever forget.

"Y-yeah," Daniel replied. He sniffed, loosening his grip on Harriet just enough to look in her eyes. "Go on, sweetie… we have to know what happened…"

Harriet slowly nodded. She took a shuddering breath and continued. "They were… they held me down… Piers…"

Harriet shuddered. Daniel hugged the girl again. The girl sobbed for a minute, before she regained her composure enough to speak again. She spoke haltingly, fumbling from thought to thought.

"He… Piers… started taking off his… they pulled at my clothes… and then Dudley… Dudley came… Dudley fought them… Piers pulled a knife… he was going to stab Dudley… then he came…" Harriet choked back another sob. "Kinney. He wasn't Kinney though. He wasn't human. He was big… and black… like a gorilla… he ripped them apart… he smashed them into the walls… then he turned back into a person… he… he held his wand on Dudley… offered to kill him… I said no… he said that… he said the debt was repaid, and he left…"

Newt shook his head. On the one hand, the poor girl wasn't an Oscurial. On the other, she had been through something terrible that no one deserved to go through. Newt looked down and saw something in the girl's lap. Some sort of muggle contraption by the looks of it.

"What's that you have there?" Newt asked.

The girl stifled another sob as she looked down at the device. "My Walkman," she managed to choke out. "They broke it… I was listening to it… I didn't hear them… He gave it to me… it's broken now…"

Newt tightened his lips. He had hoped to cheer her.

"It's okay, sweetie," Daniel said, stroking Harriet's hair as he rested her head on his shoulder. "I'll fix it for you right away…"

"I'm sure it was a nice gift, dear," Tina said, putting a hand on Harriet's shoulder. "Who gave it to you?"

"Finn," the girl sobbed.

It was then that Newt noticed something sitting on the ground next to her. It was simple jar, full of a strange, shimmering substance. Newt recognized it as memories. What on earth was Harriet Potter doing out this time of night with a jar of memories?

"What's that?" Newt asked, indicating the jar

Harriet reacted so quickly that Newt almost fell backwards in surprise. She spun and snatched up the jar, clutching it to her chest, as though Newt was going to try and take it from her.

"You can't have him!" Harriet declared, her face turning from fear to defiant anger at once. "I'm keeping him safe! It was his last wish. He wanted me to keep him safe!"

"It's okay, it's okay," Newt said, soothingly. "No one's going to take it from you."

"It's who, dear?" Tina asked, apprehension in her voice.

"It's… it's Finn…"