6th of May – 1999

Blood dripped from the ceiling to splash onto the sitting room floor. With three bodies in the space, two alive and one dead, the sitting room seemed crowded. Arthur peaked through a gap in the curtains. Across the street, the light of a nosey neighbour had been switched on. Arthur drew the curtains more tightly shut.

Gawain's mouth still hung open.

Arthur stepped forward. He still had his wand in his hand, "We can fix this."

Gawain blinked. The power of speech finally seemed to return to him, "We? Arthur what are you talking about? Arthur this is…there will be reports. There will be inquires! You used the Imperius curse! This man…"

Arthur bit his tongue. In his panic to deal with the police officer he'd forgotten about the Trace. All Auror's had to submit to it. Under extreme circumstances, they were permitted to use the Unforgivable Curses. But doing so would instantly alert a superior. A system of checks and balances. Righteous sentiment that, at this moment, Arthur didn't bloody need.

Arthur held up his hand, "This man was a maniac and now he's killed himself."

Gawain's eyes flickered over Newton's hand. The dead hand that still clutched the .38 Special. Gawain licked his lips, "That's a…firearm."

Arthur nodded, "It is."

Horror was etched into Gawain's face, "Arthur what exactly happened here?"

Arthur couldn't help but smile. In a dusty mirror, he saw the sick gleam in his own eyes. His instincts taking over. The instincts of Ireland.

"You let me deal with that sir."

Arthur rummaged through the house until he found the car keys. The poor Muggles to whom this place belonged were either dead or so badly Confunded that they'd never return. Arthur went back to his hide. Unconsciously, he checked for snipers before he crossed the street. Then he loaded the hammer, Newton's wand, and all his surveillance equipment into the boot of the car. Arthur locked up 31 Court Road. He drove the car until the brick turned to grass and the tar turned to mud. Any sliver of tiredness had been burned from his brain.

Arthur drove the car into a ditch. He took the vodka from the glove compartment. He mixed it with paint thinners and splashed it over the front seats. Arthur stood alongside the car. He pointed his wand at the reeking puddle.

"Incendio!"

Hungry blue flames roared to life. Arthur tossed the rest of the bottle into the car. At a distance, he watched it burn until he heard the explosion. Standard Operating Procedure. Arthur turned on the spot. With a pop he found himself back in the sitting room of 31 Court Road. He considered drafting a note for Newton but wrote it off as too cliché.

Arthur leaned over the body. There was nothing he could do about the hammer blow. Head wounds were tricky things, and the current state of Newton's face wouldn't make hiding the hammer damage any easier.

Arthur went over the house again. He crept through the cluttered rooms, little more than a darker shadow against the inky blackness. He finally found what he was looking for. He tucked the items into his pocket. He folded up the papers, the receipts and the loose parchments. He stashed them in his coat. He looked around, not a hair was out of place. He checked his watch.

04:44.

Arthur couldn't help but feel satisfied. Paul Hunter would've been proud of his performance.

Arthur found Gawain at the petrol station. Arthur bought two coffees. He heaped three spoons of sugar into his own cup. Gawain took the styrofoam cup without saying a word. The older man was peering into some distance Arthur couldn't see.

Arthur glanced over his shoulder. Aside from the bored cashier, the petrol station was empty. Arthur placed his prize on the table. A collection of wires and batteries and plastic blocks. Gawain looked at Arthur as if not comprehending what he saw.

"What's this?"

Arthur grinned, "Validation."

Arthur rode on busses until the grey dawn began creeping over the horizon. He paced restless streets amid the morning commute. He lingered on bridges and watched the sluggish grey Thames slither through the city.

As the city of London came alive around him, Arthur thought of war. War in Ireland and war in England. Paisley's war and Potter's war. 1999, the year of Arthur Grimm's war. And in war, there are always casualties.

Alone in his apartment, Arthur spread the receipts across his desk. Four suitcases. Four easy-cook meals. Four pairs of shoes. Four train tickets.

Arthur stretched out on unchanged sheets and finally let sleep wash over him.

One down. Three to go.

Arthur woke in twilight to the noise of his phone buzzing. One new message from an unsaved number.

'You've been a busy boy.'

The following morning, Malcom tossed the Daily Prophet onto Arthur's desk. Arthur looked at the front page blankly. He raised an eyebrow at Malcom.

Malcom tried for a smile, it didn't seem to come as easily as it once had, "No need to catch them if they do themselves in hey?"

The pile on his desk had now truly grown out of control so Arthur kept his eyes glued to his parchment, "So I hear."

Malcom ducked a paper aeroplane which soared over his head, "That's not what I hear."

Arthur paused his quill strokes, "Oh?"

Malcom's smile looked more a grimace with each second, "I hear interesting things Arthur. Interesting things about you."

Arthur shrugged. He signed off on a stationary request, "I'm not a very interesting person."

Malcom snorted, "I disagree Arthur. I disagree."

It seemed most of the office agreed with Malcom. Every time Arthur got up from his desk, hushed whispers and sideways glances followed him in the corridors. No one was talking about Battersea anymore. Every conversation was about the unfortunate end of Mr Liall Newton.

"…I did Potions with him…"

"…Always was a very polite fellow…"

"…A gifted tinkerer he was…"

"…Wasn't even in Azkaban very long…"

A gifted murderer more like, Arthur thought darkly to himself. People weren't so much concerned with who Newton was as they were with the manner of his death. Suicide. Suicide by way of a Muggle weapon.

One person who was determined not to mention the affair was Gawain Robard. He refused to meet Arthur's eyes and spent all hours locked behind his office doors.

"It's not a good look you know." Vortimer mumbled as he handed Arthur another pile of parchment to sign off on.

Arthur wished he could burn Vortimer's papers. Burn them like he'd burnt the surveillance equipment. Burn them like he'd burnt his clothes. Instead, Arthur nodded solemnly and didn't say a word.

"People will say he's Barty Crouch come again. Not a good look at all. To die like that…"

Gawain tried to weave around Arthur, but the Auror office was small. And their game of cat and mouse could only last so long.

Arthur knocked and went inside his boss's office. If possible, it looked even starker than it had days ago. Gawain eyed him wearily. Arthur looked at the dark, sleepless rings beneath that uneasy gaze and held up a form.

"Sorry sir, I just need you to sign off on one of Vortimer's search warrants."

Gawain looked at him as if he were mad.

"Shut the door please Arthur."

Arthur dutifully pushed the door shut. He couldn't help but notice that every head in the office had turned towards him.

Gawain cleared his throat.

"I pulled up some of your files. Your NEWTs. Aced Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Good marks in Potions and Charms. Most curiously though, an excellent result for Muggle Studies."

"Curious Sir?"

"Yes. Curious. A Slytherin taking Muggle Studies. It's almost unheard of."

Arthur shrugged, "I needed a fifth NEWT."

"Did you?" Gawain rumbled on, "Let's see. Early 1993, some post-NEWT courses at Hogwarts. 1993-1994 your name comes up in the Muggle army. And then after that…poof! No records. No papers. Not even any sightings! Nothing until August 1998! Four years in which Arthur Grimm doesn't exist."

Gawain stood and placed his palms on his desk. Anger and anxiety warred on his face. Arthur didn't say a word.

"I went to the Muggle police. I asked for your Muggle files. They got back to me. They said those files were sealed. Sealed! They didn't even know where they were kept!"

Gawain was red in the face. His chest was heaving. Arthur kept his silence.

"Well?" Gawain demanded.

Arthur took a moment to pick his words.

"You shouldn't ask dangerous questions sir. You might get dangerous answers."

Arthur didn't think it was possible, but Gawain's face somehow grew even redder.

"Is… is that a threat!?"

Arthur shook his head, "It's a warning. If you keep digging in this direction then you'll have someone far worse than me darkening your door."

Alone at his desk, Arthur took out the picture. He stared at the bright eyes and the smiles.

One down.

Three to go.