May 4th – 1999.

"Vort wants to see you."

Malcom was once again intruding on Arthur's workspace. Arthur sighed and pushed aside the parchment he had been scribbling on.

"What for?"

Malcom's eyes glinted with amusement, "He didn't say. Asked for you specific."

Arthur swore under his breath and reluctantly pushed his chair away from his desk. The disorganised pile seemed to have grown tenfold since yesterday and he still hadn't managed to clear any of it.

"Good luck." Malcom gave him a mocking salute.

Vortimer's door was open. He held a tiny scroll of paper in his fleshy hand, a message delivered by way of an owl. His eyes were bloodshot.

"It's not good news I'm afraid."

Vortimer put the message aside and poured himself a thimble of fire-whiskey. Arthur noticed that Vortimer's desk was almost as cluttered as his own. Arthur tried not to tap his feet against the floor.

"News sir?"

"Lavendar Brown died this morning."

Arthur nodded solemnly, "That's tragic that is."

"She fought it for a whole year…but her injuries…they were just too much."

Arthur nodded again. Arthur strained against his own annoyance to keep himself from pacing. Vortimer cleared his throat and tugged at his collar. The Spring heat had begun to creep into the offices of the Ministry.

"The Minister has decided that the Auror office ought to be represented at the funeral. A show of good faith."

"Good faith?" Arthur echoed.

Vortimer bobbed his head as if pleased that Arthur had been so quick to catch on.

"What year did you finish at Hogwarts?"

" '92 Sir, though I did some post-NEWT courses there early '93 before I went to Ireland."

"Then you would've known her."

Arthur didn't like where the conversation was headed.

"Not really sir. I don't even know what house she was in."

"Gryffindor." Vortimer replied.

Arthur didn't fail to note the hint of pride in Vortimer's voice. He couldn't resist the opportunity for a quick jab at his superior.

"That explains it."

"I'm afraid I can't spare anyone else."

Arthur cast the barest glance over his shoulder. Through the office windows, he could see Malcom talking again with the young witch. She giggled at his jokes, and he grinned at her comments. In the few days he had been employed, Arthur hadn't yet seen any parchment on Malcom's desk.

"With respect sir, I'm making huge progress on Battersea."

Vortimer eyed him curiously, "So I hear. But these orders come from Shacklebolt himself. My hands are tied."

Arthur didn't manage to keep the scowl from his face, "Of course sir. When and where?"

But Vortimer didn't notice. He had already turned his attention to another scroll of parchment, "Hertford way. Four-o-clock this afternoon. Sally will give you the specifics."

Arthur glanced at the young witch. She was still laughing at Malcom's jokes.

Arthur left Vortimer's office.

"Oh and Arthur?" Vortimer peered up at him from behind his scroll, "You might want a change of clothes."

Arthur could've Apparated but instead he caught busses and trains. The public transport gave him time to think. The bus went beyond the M25. Slouched in his seat, Arthur watched the countryside speed past. The trees and fields were a blur of green and grey in the English weather. Arthur thought unpleasant thoughts about English crimes and English wars.

The war Lavender Brown had fought and the war Arthur Grimm had fought. Arthur tried to decipher which was worse. He arrived in Hertford before he came to an answer.

Arthur took cover from the rain under a shop awning. He glanced left and right before lighting a cigarette with a spark from the tip of his wand. He didn't even bother smoking it. He just watched it smoulder.

Arthur stood outside the church an hour early. He watched the crowd move inside in drips and dribbles. He easily picked out the witches and wizards that had never quite mastered the art of dressing as Muggles did. Arthur hadn't bothered to change but he had tried to run a comb through his hair, to little avail.

Arthur was the last to go inside. He lurked at the back of the crowd and kept his eyes fixed on the church's stone floor. Even now the weather remained the same constant drizzle. Arthur lifted his eyes to watch the drops streak down a stain-glass window.

Then he caught site of them. Right there in the second row.

Brown hair. Red hair. Black hair.

Potter and his deputies come to pay homage to the fallen.

The priest droned on. Arthur didn't hear a word.

He managed to corner them once the service was over and the crowd dispersed. The girl, the one with brown hair, was clutching the arm of the red-haired boy. They both had tears in their eyes. They both seemed to be talking with Potter. In any case none of them heard Arthur approach as they all visibly flinched when he spoke.

"Truly awful it is."

Potter fixed Arthur with his piercing eyes. The other two awkwardly shuffled aside to allow Arthur to join their circle. Potter nodded back at him.

"She was a good person."

Arthur kept his hands in his pockets, "I'd like to offer condolences. I know what its like to bury friends."

"Thanks."

"I was wondering if I might have a word?"

Potter raised an eyebrow at him and the girl cast Arthur a suspicious look.

"We'll catch up with you later Harry."

And then he and Potter were alone outside the church with nought but the noise of distant traffic and dripping rain to break the silence.

"Did you know her well?" Potter asked at last.

"I didn't know her at all."

Potter frowned at him, "Then why'd you come?"

Arthur finally stuck out his hand, "Arthur Grimm, Auror. The Ministry asked me to be here."

After a moment of hesitation, Potter shook it, "I didn't know the Ministry cared so much."

Arthur shrugged, "Well apparently they do. I don't know if you heard what happened in Battersea?"

Potter's expression grew as thunderous as the clouds overhead, "Voldemort did have a twisted way of inspiring people. You're close to catching them I hope? Stopping them from hurting other people?"

Arthur began walking back to the train station and beckoned Potter to follow him.

"There's the rub. I have some leads, but I don't know how concrete they are. I was wondering…"

"Why would I know anything about a murder in Battersea?"

Arthur gave a dry chuckle at Potter's indignation, "You're not yet out of school and you already practically run the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. And you're telling me you aren't tracking down every Death Eater you get a whiff of?"

Potter shot him a look from the corner of his eye, "There was one I heard about. Newton. Liall Newton."

Liall Newton of 31 Court Road. A name Arthur had heard before. The confirmation Arthur needed.

"I think I know him."

"He's a fiend." Potter practically spat the words.

"That's why I'm after him."

They arrived at the train station. Arthur turned to face Potter before they went their separate ways.

"Cheers then Potter. You're not half bad for a Gryffindor."

Potter narrowed his eyes at Arthur.

Arthur couldn't help but smile at the expression on Potter's face, "Proud green and silver myself. Still haven't forgiven you for stealing the house cup from us in '92."

Potter grinned back, "I'd say we earned it though."

Arthur chuckled, "What happened to old Snape then? He finally get kicked out for poisoning someone?"

Potter's humour instantly fell away, "He died actually. I thought everyone knew."

"I was out of country for a while." Arthur said quickly, "Must've missed it."

Arthur looked up at the board. He coughed into his hand, "Better get going then."

Potter was halfway down the street when he turned and called back to Arthur, "I hope you get them."

"Me to."

Despite the bumps and bends in the train-track, Arthur dozed the whole way back to London. The art of sleeping anywhere was a skill he had picked up in the army. One of many skills. On the bus, he read again the documents Paul Hunter had sent over.

Liall Newton. Twenty-nine. No formal education (Arthur wondered if OWLs were recognized by British universities). No permanent employment (couldn't exactly put Death Eater on his resume could he).

But it was the last line that interested Arthur the most.

It read: Under surveillance for suspected links to paramilitary groups.

Arthur laughed silently to himself. Somehow it always came back to Ireland. Ireland and sectarianism. Loyalists and Catholics. Mudbloods and Purebloods. Muggles and Magical. All different sides of the same bloodstained coin. The same 'he-said, she-said' conflict that had raged since before time had been recorded.

And somehow, Arthur was stuck in it all again.

Arthur was dying for a shower. He checked his watch and saw that he didn't have time. He got off the bus and walked to the Leaky Cauldron. He went through the false wall and into Diagon Alley. He found the restaurant without too much hassle. It was one of the only swanky joints still in operation.

The dullness of the street was instantly banished the moment Arthur stepped inside. A riot of colours, sounds and smells assaulted his senses. Gawain raised an arm in his direction.

"Over here Arthur."

Arthur weaved through the waiters and the chatter. He took an empty seat at the edge of the table. Unfortunately, the seat was right next to Vortimer.

Gawain soon returned to conversing with the other Auror's, leaving Arthur and Vortimer to sit alongside one another. Arthur picked at his empty plate. He was dying for a prime cut of meat and the smells of the restaurant had his mouth watering. Vortimer eventually broke the silence.

"I hear you spoke to our esteemed Mr Potter today."

"News travels fast." Arthur was more focussed on trying to catch a waiter's eye than Vortimer's words.

"Owls are quick creatures." Vortimer chuckled, "You know, you must be the first Slytherin Auror in decades. It's quite…unusual."

Arthur gave up and reluctantly angled himself to face Vortimer, "What else was I going to do?"

"You could've stayed in the Muggle army."

Arthur remembered Paul Hunter's laughter and shivered despite the warmth of the restaurant, "It had run its course."

"Forgive me…but you're Pureblood aren't you?"

Arthur resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow at Vortimer, "Half. Dad was a Muggle. He was a policeman actually. Up in Manchester. Worked on that Ripper business."

Vortimer looked taken aback, "Ripper business?"

This time Arthur did raise an eyebrow, "The Yorkshire Ripper?"

Vortimer shook his head, "Doesn't ring any bells I'm afraid."

"It was big news in the late seventies and early eighties."

Vortimer swatted the air, "Oh! That explains it. We had our own…things going on at that time."

Arthur just nodded and looked back at his plate. It was still disappointingly empty. But Vortimer wasn't deterred.

"What do you make of them?"

"I'm sorry?"

"The Muggles I mean. They're an odd lot."

Arthur couldn't help but remember Malcom's warning about Vortimer. How he had hounded Muggleborns during the brief dark days of 'Magic-is-Might'. How his office would soon be just another empty room.

Arthur decided to be as diplomatic as he could.

"That they are."

Vortimer had beads of sweat on his forehead.

"You've seen what they do to each other. I'm thinking…well…how do we know that Battersea wasn't a Muggle? It could've been. They can be savage."

Parts of Vortimer's words made sense. Others did not. Arthur choose to focus on those that did.

"That's why they need guidance. A gentle but firm hand to shepherd them in the right direction. To watch over and protect them."

Vortimer nodded along, "And you think we should be the ones to do it?"

Arthur shrugged, "I don't see why not. I seen Muggles do some pretty awful things to each other. That's why they put their faith in church and written law. They need something better than themselves to look up to. To lead them."

Vortimer clapped him on the back with a hearty guffaw, "Spoken like a true Slytherin!"

Arthur remembered the things he had seen and the things he had known. He thought of children without mother's and mothers without children. He thought of the endless list of bombings and shootings stretching back to the time before he was born.

Arthur shook his head.

"No. Spoken by someone with experience."