The men and women who had pledged themselves to Voldemort weren't fools.

Well, some of them weren't.

There were, of course, the deluded minions (the ones that the likes of Lucius Malfoy called 'the pawns' who were tossed into the worst situations and whose capture or death were treated with mild indifference) who thought that by joining Team Nocturne and wearing the mask they would instantly be rewarded with lordships and positions of power. Of course that is how they went through their entire lives, constantly bouncing from one thing to the next in the belief that they were due more and that their problems weren't caused by themselves but outside forces. It wasn't their fault they married people they didn't love, or had jobs they couldn't stand. The reason they were unhappy wasn't because of their inability to find joy in their lives or pleasure in the small things, no no. It was because of something else, something that was nebulous and always changing so that it was impossible for even they to know what they were chasing some days. They just currently thought Voldemort could deliver it.

Others bought into what he was preaching. Not the truth of it, the actual schemes that he only spoke of in dark rooms and to a select few but the grand speeches. The ones that spoke of how all in Team Nocturne would dominate the region (never wondering how there could be so many kings and queens if every grunt in the group was given a crown). And some even believed what he had said before, ages ago before Looker had revealed all his dark plans. There were still a few who believed that Voldemort really was a peaceful man who just wanted to make Avalon better and that Looker and the Gym Leaders had twisted his words and falsified crimes just to keep their own hold on the power the wielded. No matter what evidence was presented to them they blindly believed in Voldemort, be he a simple preacher to the masses or a revolutionary who was on the right side of the debate. They did his dark commands, things that they had railed against in years past, and found a way to justify it all.

For others it simply didn't matter. They were gluttons for impulse, unable to resist the urge to just do whatever they wanted and Voldemort offered them a way to slate their thirsts. The Ministry wasn't going to let them rape and pillage but Voldemort offered just that and they happily accepted, never once considering what would happen later. Not jail time… they knew that was a possibility. But they never stopped to realize that all of the inner circle, the Admins, were the wealthy elite of Avalon and that a time would come when they grew tired of loose cannons who couldn't follow orders and demanded those that were just as vicious but could be held on a leash to deal with the problems in a… permanent manner.

Many in the ranks were fools. But that was okay but fools served those with clear heads quite well. Those that were at the top knew that sometimes, many times actually, you needed fools. Better to send the morons and the blinded and the misguided and the blood thirsty rushing in first, after all. These few people, the inner circle and the admins and the higher-ups, understood exactly what Team Nocturne was: a way for Voldemort to rule. Absolute. Completely. Without any hindrance. The dumb stood in his way. The merely sane worked with him. The smart ones knew their place and just hoped that if they did what he asked that they might be the most spared and worst and given positions of power as reward for loyalty. The old saying was wrong… it was better to serve in Heaven then rule in Hell if ruling meant a fast death.

And those that understood just what Voldemort's goals were and just how far he and in extension the Team would go to achieve those goals also now understood something else, something those that were fools could not see: that there was now a force willing to use their methods against them.

During the last war the people of Avalon had been too fearful and timid to actually strike back against Team Nocturne, choosing to run and hide when they attacked a town rather than attempt to fight back. And those that did stand up to them were ruled by a code of honor that left them shackled. Where Nocturne could do what it took to win their opponents acted like they were in gym battles rather than fights to the death. Only a handful, like James and Lily Potter's small group of allies, had been willing to actually use anything lethal and even then only as a final resort. Not even the aurors did that, their combat hindered by a weak minister who feared more from public opinion than the public itself.

'We used to laugh about it,' Patrick Parkinson thought as he moved through his estate, activating every security device the Parkinson home had as he rushed towards the panic room. Behind him he heard a steel gate slam down, followed by a second. The third had just begun to descend with a grinding of gears when there was a horrific screeching sound and, turning his head to glance back, he saw his pursuer's Pokémon tear an opening through the steel. They had already knocked all of Patrick's team, dispatching them easily and leaving him without a single defender. 'We aren't laughing anymore.'

Patrick Parkinson was no fool. When the first few grunts had died off in seemingly freak accidents many within Team Nocturne thought little of it. These things happen, after all, no need to panic. Men fell off cliffs while hiking. Women took a wrong turn and were attacked by thugs. Such things happened. There was no threat. They were led by Voldemort and despite what some Johto Savage might declare they were safe. The Ministry was protecting them! Well, not by choice... Fudge was so concerned with his campaign donations and had gotten so twisted and frightened by Kenway's declaration that he'd viewed it as a personal threat against himself and his inner circle and thus was moving to protect them; still, Patrick wasn't complaining that the aurors were being forced to watch out for everyone, including Team Nocturne.

But then Macnair had been killed.

'No, not killed,' Patrick thought as he darted through a room, grabbed a candle holder that, when he pulled it, revealed a hidden passage, and slipped inside. He didn't stop running though even within the secret route, for he knew that his stalkers wouldn't need long to figure out where he'd gone. 'Mutilated and destroyed and all other traces of him wiped off the face of the planet.' He had read all about what had been found at Macnair's home, or more accurately the ruined remains. His cabin had been reduced to cinders and blown apart so that it looked as if Arceus himself had driven one of his hooves down upon the earth. Not a single possession had survived and nearly all of them were unrecognizable, with at best a couple vaguely resembling what they might have once been. As for Macnair himself according to the coronor's report (something Patrick had been forced to spend good money to get as the Ministry was trying to hush it up) while his body had been burned to a crisp that wasn't what had killed him. Nicks on the ribs and along the upper spinal column showed that he had been stabbed multiple times. A bloody way to go and one that wouldn't have been quick or painless. There was no evidence of who had attacked him thanks to the body and the ground around it being first flooded with water to wash away footprints and then seared with flames to burn away nearly every particulate that might have been used.

There was no doubt in Patrick's mind though who had killed Macnair: The Pack.

'They warned us,' he thought as he hurried down some stairs and then opened another secret panel so that he emerged on the first floor. The need to move quickly warred with the need to move silently and that made the tension he felt in the pit of his stomach all the worse. He knew that one wrong move, one poor decision, would result in his death. 'They warned us in the graveyard. None of us are safe and they MEANT it.'

Kenway and his lot were taking Nocturne's playbook and using it against them. If a group posed a threat first you picked off the easiest targets, the low hanging fruit. The fringe players, the ones that truly didn't mean that much in the grand scheme. Then hit them with something hard and drastic, a message delivered in blood. And don't just target a little fish, oh no. Go after someone important... someone that was believed to be protected. Not the top, oh no... a middle man, someone on the cusp of rising to the upper echelon. A signal to all those that were paying attention of the simple fact that they could get to you. Your plans? Meaningless. Your defenses? Not a concern. Your preparations? Already too late.

Except Patrick had already been preparing for this day.

The moment he had joined Team Nocturne he had worried that someone would get it in their head to play hero. Maybe an orphan created from one of their attacks or a lawman who had nothing to lose. The things of movies, yes, but there was always a bit of reality in such things. Others within the organization had scoffed at him but he had continued on. Even after Voldemort had been slain he'd prepared, only this time he didn't say a word to anyone save his wife and that was only because she'd ask too many questions. He'd done it because he knew that some day someone would decided that Nocturne had pushed just a bit too fat and it would be time to take an eye for an eye.

And as he threw open the door to the basement and thundered down the steps, the sounds of his stalkers making their own way down from the second floor, he couldn't help but wonder if even now, with all his planning... it was too little too late.

~MC~MC~MC~

Jack moved through the hallway, his long legs eating up the distance with each stride. He was dressed in his standard hunting garb: long brown coat, red hood pulled over his head, heavy boots built for all types of climate and terrain. He flexed his fingers as he got closer, his heart pounding in his chest and a smirk on his lips. He had been waiting for this... waiting for this for quite a while. The night before he'd laid awake, thinking about what was about to happen, what he would do. This was important and there was no room for error. He tugged at the cuffs of his coat before coming to a stop before a door, his gloved hand reaching out and twisting the knob. Silently it swung open and Jack stepped into to the room, his body tense.

"IT'S THE FATHER!" came a scream and Jack made sure his knees weren't locked and his body was ready as he was struck. He felt one body strike him and then another but he still managed to stay on his feet. It was the third hit that had him down and he was then swarmed, unable to even rise as he was practically covered by assailants. There were cries and screeches and Jack huffed before reaching out only for his hand to be stilled by another attacker.

"Be gentle!" someone to his right warned and Jack glanced over at them and rolled his eyes.

"Them or me?" he asked, reaching down…

…and picking up a plucky little 4 year old who flashed him the biggest grin in the world.

"We knew you'd come, we knew!" another boy exclaimed, the others nodding as they finally stopped hugging him. Jack, for his part, didn't stand but instead sat up and crossed his legs and shifted so his back was against a wall. He set the one he'd picked up back onto his feet, the boy tugging at his blue pajamas which had dancing Pikachus on them.

"Let the others have a turn," the nurse who had issued the warning beforehand said and the kids, to their credit, backed up so the rest of the gathered mob could toddle towards him. Jack motioned gently with one hand to a little girl pulling an IV pole, her footsteps unsure and unsteady but there was a look of utter determination on her face as she finally made it to him and, carefully, held out her arms for her own hug. Jack did so, enveloping her in the embrace, feeling his rail-thin form trembling against his own as she finally released her tears.

"Shhh… it's okay," he said, rubbing her back as she sniffled. When she finally let go Jack turned to another girl, this one having to be carried by another nurse, a surgical mask on her face and a scarf covering her bald head. "You know," Jack said softly, "I have a friend, Clarissa, who also shaves her head. She fought in the war. One of the bravest women I know… she beat me quite a few times arm wrestling." The newcomer smiled at that and Jack returned it with his own grin before looking about at the group of pj-and-hospital-gown-clad kids. "Now… someone told me that it was rather boring here, what with the same toys and shows. So while I was only supposed to stay an hour… why don't I stay the entire day?"

The kids cheered and the nurses shook their heads in amusement, Mumik choosing that time to finally trot in, Baby Love right behind him pulling a wagon full of new games and toys.

The cheers from the Ecruteak Hospital's Children's Ward could be heard three floors down.

~MC~MC~MC~

A blast of Dragon Breath licked at his heels as Patrick dove into the panic room, the automatic door swinging shut with such little margin for error that it nearly took off his foot. He didn't care though as the steel rattled as the Dragonite that had been hot on his tail slammed into the door, making it quiver but, thankfully, not denting it. Patrick hit another button and a second door, this one insolated, slid into place. He didn't know if the Dragonite knew Flamethrower but he wouldn't be surprised, considering who his trainer was.

'Damn it all the hell, bad enough Kenway has our number but I get stuck with the sane members of his group.'

Kenway was certifiable, that much was clear to the Admins of Team Nocturne. A cunning warrior and one of the most deadly fighters in the world, but still crazier than a shaken bag of Zubats who'd been using Confusions on each other. That was of course terrifying because no one wanted to take on a madman in a fight because even a madman didn't know what they would do from one moment to the next. The Kalosians were creatures of emotions and even with their firm control they were still at their strongest when they simply let go and allowed their whims to guide them. Those were what the Admins had taken to called the Mad Trio.

Which left the Sane Trio to make up the rest of The Pack.

Clair Kenway. Jack's wife though no one in Nocturne understood how she had fallen for that insane radical, especially when all reports were that she was one of the most calm and collected trainers Johto had produced. But whatever the madman had done it had earned her love and her loyalty. The woman was cold… ice cold. He'd read the reports from the Carrows about the battle of Ilex and how she had hardly blinked at their threats to kill the Longbottom heir and instead prepared to attack anyway. Where Kenway might have been cowed into backing down and the Veela fallen victim to their own paternal feelings Clair had stared down the Carrows and not only called their move but then upped the ante.

She was the one who had sent her Dragonite against him when she'd finally spotted him.

Lance Blackthorn. Clair's cousin and Kenway's best friend. The man was the ice to Kenway's fire. The Johto-Kanto War would have ended far sooner had Blackthorn not been leading the Kanto forces. Just as frigid as his cousin Blackthorn was a battle commander who could stand in the middle of a firestorm and still find a way to rally his men and convince them that they would win.

He was the one that had first broken into Patrick's mansion, taking out his guards and protectors with cool efficiency.

Jonas Kenway. The Hammer of Johto. Where Kenway was a smirking, mocking monster Jonas was a relentless machine that never stopped his endless march. Oh, there was rage there, all the Kenways had it, but everything Patrick had learned about the younger Kenway brother had shown he was strategist of the group, able to lock away the Kenway impulses and instead plot and scheme. The taking of The Ghost of Olivine was the best example of that but after his brother had disappeared into the Whirl Islands Jonas had managed to keep the Sons going during his absence, leading hit and run attacks that left Kanto utterly befuddled. Patrick would have been impressed if it weren't for the fact that he now had that genius tracking him. And Jonas Kenway was ruthless. When he got it in his head to do something and focused all his energy on it there was simply no escaping him.

The death of Bruno of the Kanto Elite 4 proved that.

After Jack had returned from the Whirl Islands and led the first landing into Kanto that saw the death of Koga the brothers had begun to make odd choices. Rather than taking a straight path they would occasionally lash out at targets that were far away, forcing them to split their forces or risk going through hostile territory. No one had understood it until Bruno had gone to confront the brothers near Mt. Moon… and Jonas had sprung his trap. He'd left small parts of his forces behind after each attack, having them blend in with the populous and then move towards Mt. Moon in all directions. Thus what Bruno had thought was two armies meeting was instead the Johto forces encircling the Kanto soldiers, taking them out from their unprotected rears until they were eaten from the inside out. Jonas himself had then showed that just because he was the calmer Kenway didn't mean he wasn't able to resort to violence; he'd torn Bruno apart and then filmed the warrior selling out Kanto like a coward before he'd killed him with a bullet in his head.

Yes, Jonas Kenway wasn't someone to be trifled with.

Which was why Patrick was doing all he could not to soil himself as he saw the man examining a camera mounted on the panic room door before pulling some wires out.

"You're not getting in," Patrick declared as he flipped a switch so that he could address the three standing outside of the door via the microphone next to the camera. None of the Pack paid him any heed, with Jonas continued to work on the wires Blackthorn and his cousin paced in front of the door, looking at it with consideration. Like Pyroars stuck in a cage just hoping that the zoo feeder would make a mistake and let the door swing open the two of them moved back and forth, glowering at the barred way. "All you are fiddling around with are the cameras and mics." He scoffed, his courage rapidly returning now that he was safely locked away in the panic room with no chance of the assassins to get in. The room was designed to seal up tight the moment the door closed, not even letting poisonous fumes in, with a carbon scrubber working to keep him breathing in plenty of oxygen until the threat was dealt with. He stared at them, a smirk forming on his lips at the way they had been stymied. It just felt so good, after those beasts had invaded his home and shattered his already fragile sense of security, to see them left impotent and unable to do anything. "Are you honestly so stupid that you believe you can hotwire a panic room?"

Jonas didn't say a word nor even acknowledge that Patrick was speaking. Instead he continued to work, leaving it to the other two to address Patrick. "We have no where to go," Clair said with a shrug. "Your place is… nice. A Ratatta-den compared to Rogue's End but we can manage." She looked up at the camera and flashed a grin that was all teeth and no goodwill. "Be like staying in hotel."

"Feel free to," Patrick replied back. He felt no need to tell them that the moment the panic room's door had closed a silent alarm had been triggered. Within 10 minutes the aurors would be there, Pokémon at the ready to take down the invaders. Until then he would let them taunt him and mock him all they wanted… he would so enjoy tossing their insults right back at them as they were led away in handcuffs. "Me casa is… however that goes."

Lance quirked an eyebrow at Patrick's dismissiveness to the threat. "You know, if one were to think about it carefully… there are ways to get someone to go against their best interests." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter, flicking it open and close several times. "You know, that's the thing about these old estates… really not up to code."

"You're right. Good thing I have a ton of insurance on it." Privately Patrick did rail against the idea of his family estate being destroyed. This was his home, where he had been born and raised. Just as his father and his father before him. He had finally managed to right the wrong that had been done to his family nearly a century ago and get the Parkinsons to be declared Gym Leaders once again. To have the gym taken from him, especially when Potter and Black were trying to restore their gyms by removing his once more, was unacceptable to him save for one aspect: he'd rather let it burn down then face those three. Alive he could work and plot and find a way to undo the damage. Dead was dead. Besides he seriously doubted they'd be able to too much before the aurors arrived.

"So it isn't material possessions you care for," Lance said, his tone carrying a bit of mock interest. "But you are an old family, Parkinson. You care about your family lines. What they were… and how you will continue them on."

"If you don't mind could we stop talking in riddles and metaphors and just get to the actual threat?" Patrick asked, looking at his watch and wondering what was taking the aurors so long. 'You'd think with the bribes I paid they would come quicker. Ten minutes for the peons… five minutes for me! Or sooner!'

"If you insist," Clair said before walking out of view. Lance rocked on his heels while Jonas pulled a box out of his pocket and began to wire it to the control panel he'd been tearing apart; he didn't know why the fool was keeping up at trying to break in. Patrick just waited, wondering what the hell the Pack was playing at, only for Clair to return pushing Patrick's wife Peony towards the door. She had a gag in her mouth and her hands and ankles were bond with heavy rope. Peony's makeup had run from her tears, making her look like a Pangoro, and there was a smear of blood on her forehead as Clair roughly forced her to look up at the camera, pinching her chin between her fingers. "We took a detour before we began chasing you…"

Patrick scoffed. "Kill her. You think she matters to me?" His wife let out a choking gasp but Patrick didn't care. "She gave me a daughter, no sons. No one to carry on the family name unless Pansy has a second son. And if she's anything like her mother that will never happen. So slit her throat or snap her neck… you'll actually be doing me a favor. Couldn't divorce the bitch without losing half of everything… she dies by your hands then I'm the grieving widower." He shook his head, wondering at just how pathetically predictable the Pack was. Threaten his family? Big deal. Peony had no idea that he had a mistress on the side and a bouncing baby bastard son that had been born a few years ago. He had planned to make him his heir if Pansy proved to be as barren as her mother and this would just make things easier. 'And if they are bluffing I can buy the bitch a new necklace and plead with her with tears in my eyes that I was faking the entire time. She'll eat that up.' Turned back to the screen he declared, "So threaten my wife. Hell, go to Hogwarts and kill Pansy. I don't care. And if you are thinking you can torture her into helping you get in just forget it; once the room is shut the only way to open it is to use the keypad on my side. So she is worthless, as are your threats, so stop wasting my time screaming them. I. Am. Not. Coming. Out."

"I know," Jonas said, finally standing up and tossing out a black-and-red Pokemon that opened with a blast of flame to reveal a Volcarona. He stared at the fire bug for a moment before it turned and fired off a thin beam-like Flamethrower that hit the door and made the camera's image sputter and flicker with static.

"You know, the definition of crazy is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results," Patrick said with a sneer, looking down at his watch. The aurors should be-

"Taking a long time for someone to respond to your silent alarm, isn't it?" Jonas asked, his Volcarona still blasting the door. "Odd that. Almost as if we had someone call them and tell them it was just a false alarm, that the room was being tested but everything is fine. Someone they would know had the authorization to call off their arrival." Jonas walked over to Peony and pulled out a hunting knife, running it along her arm… before he cut away the ropes binding her wrists. He did the same to her ankles as she ripped the gag from her mouth.

Patrick felt his stomach plummet to his feet.

"I knew you would betray me, you son of a bitch! You think I didn't know about that whore in Ector Town? Or the money you've been hiding from me? Your secret Alolan fund?" She let out a bitter, vengeful chuckle. "You talked about how little I mean to you? The feeling his mutual my love. I never wanted to be with you; my father sold me off to you to cover a gambling debt. You tied us to that moron Voldemort once and now you've done it again? He is a sick freak and you yet again are latching us to him! You deserve everything coming your way. Don't worry about Pansy… I'll make sure to buy her plenty of pretty shiny things to distract her from your disappearance…"

Fear overrode self preservation and Patrick typed in the comment to open panic room's door, watching as first the sealing wall slide away… and then feeling utter horror flow through his veins as the main door refused to budge. He punched in the code again, staring at the welded edges of the heavy metal door… and how they didn't even TREMBLE as the gears ground together while doing little else.

"Peony!" Patrick screamed, pounding on the door. "Peony!"

"You know," Jonas said coolly, moving so his face dominated the screen, "the human body can survive five days without any water… still, not a pleasant way to go. Slow. Painful. I imagine towards the end people want to kill themselves just to end the pain… only they are too weak to do so." He tilted his head and smirked. "Goodbye, Patrick Parkinson."

"Kenway!" Patrick screamed. "Kenway!" He went to the door and began to throw his weight against it, slamming into it until his shoulder ached. When that didn't work he began to claw at the melted steel the framed the door, trying to tear it away even as he broke his fingernails and blood trickled down his hands. He just kept going… he had to… had to get the door open. Had to… "KENWAY!"

~MC~MC~MC~

"He needed this," Dr. Maxwell, member of the Johto Elite 4, officially former member of the Sons of Johto (and unofficially he was still one of the inner circle and everyone friggin' knew it) and the Kenways personal doctor (not by their choice as Jack tended to put off medical assistance unless he was unconscious), said as he stood with Nurse O'Reilly, the unofficial head of the Children's Ward. The little ones were currently watching a movie on the new TV and blu ray player Jack had donated to the hospital (along with a ton of toys, books, and enough cash to ensure they could upgrade all the beds and make a few updates to other equipment that they'd been meaning to do for a while), the Father of Johto right there on the floor with the rest of them. He'd kicked off his boots and his coat was being used as a blanket for half a dozen kids; he'd come fully decked out because the kids expected it but he'd quickly shed his gear so he could better hang out with them. He had one little girl, barely two years old, curled up on his lap like she was a kitty cat, her thumb in her mouth. On either side of him he had children cuddling up to him, his arms stretched wide so that they could all more easily lean into his touch. Jack was just as engrossed in the film as the kids, paying no heed to the outside world.

"I heard about the Avalonians," Nurse O'Reilly stated. "They dragged him into another war."

"Not so much dragged… Nocturne threatened children and there was no way Jack was going to sit by and let that happen. Remember, the only reason he made our war official was because Kanto made Jasmine cry." He gestured at the little ones that were practically crawling all over the feared Father of Johto. "If anyone threatened your kids what depths do you think he'd go to in order to save them?"

O'Reilly managed not to gulp at that. "I don't know if I should be thankful or fearful."

"Try both," Maxwell said. "He's is our guardian devil. Still, he needed this. A reminder that the world isn't all death and pain… that he's fighting for all of them."

"And they need a reminder that no matter the odds you can pull victory from the jaws of defeat." The nurse paused, a smile forming on her lips. "How hard is it going to be to get him to go home?"

"I think the better question is will they let him go?" Maxwell said with a chuckle.

~MC~MC~MC~

"No one will find him?" Clair asked, staring down at Peony Parkinson as she continued to fill out sheet after sheet with information concerning the last Avalon Civil War… and those who had avoided prosecution for their crimes. While never a member of the Inner Circle Peony had been there as the dutiful wife whenever Patrick had gone to see Voldemort and the rest o the Admins for more social moments… and tongues did like to wage when the wine was flowing and people believed themselves on the cusp of victory.

"I'm not going to be telling," Peony scoffed. "Bastard hired outside contractors to build the panic room and covered it up so well that it would take months for someone trace it all back to him. And he doesn't have that time." She paused, looking over what she'd just written down (a few juicy tidbits concerning the owner of a bookstore in Gallahad). "I told you as much when you grabbed me three days ago."

Peony still remembered that. She'd gone to Lucan City to select what new rose bushes she'd have planted come spring (the Longbottoms were filthy traitors when it came to tradition but even the elite admitted that they grew wonderful flowers) when she'd been snatched in broad daylight by the Pack, without anyone being the wiser. She'd tried to threaten them but quickly realized that the three before her weren't playing by the normal rules and had spent much of her energy desperately trying to keep some of her dignity before they ended her life. But then Lance Blackthorn had made her an offer: Her life in exchange for selling out the rest of Nocturne. The only cost would be her husband's life and half his fortune to buffer up their coffers. Peony had accepted, as if she had divorced the fool she might have gotten half but the lawyer would have taken their cut so the Pack's deal was actually rather better.

She reached down and rubbed the chunky gold armband that adorned her left bicep. She'd told Patrick that it was the latest fashion… she hadn't informed him that it was microtransmitter that recorded everything she said AND was rigged with a small explosive. The Pack wanted info but they weren't fools and even if Peony had thought about turning around and betraying them to Lord Voldemort that thought died the moment the band was snapped onto her arm.

The money had already been transferred to an offshore account, with Clair making a comment that some sick kids were about to get the surprise of a lifetime, Patrick was probably still clawing at the door, exhausting himself and making his death come all the quicker, and Peony was putting the finishing touches on her statement in her ornate dining room. The Pack was standing close but not too close, Lance Blackthorn in possession of her Pokeballs (he would return them just before they left) while Clair supervised and Jonas fiddled with the box he'd originally wired up to the panic room.

"Done," she finally said, handing the sheets to Clair. "I trust that concludes our business? I really must go and collect Pansy… her father running off with his whore and leaving us half in ruins has just… made me so emotional." She gave a mock sniff. "I believe the shores of Alola would be good for us."

"It concludes it for now," Lance said with a shrug. "We'll be back for more."

Peony blinked at that. "I'm sorry… but that wasn't part of our deal."

Clair's dex chimed and she pulled it out, reading the message. "I have altered the deal… pray I don't alter it any further… signed Luna Lovegood." Clair shook her head. "I don't even want to know how that girl…"

"We made a deal concerning your life and its end at our hands," Jonas said, finally walking over to her. She cringed a little; Peony was used to dealing with the likes of Nocturne's agents, including their mad beasts like Bellatrix and Greyback, but Jonas Kenway… he was an intense creature with eyes filled with nothing but intent. When he stared at her she felt small and frightened and no amount of preparing for his gaze stopped her from shivering. "But now we have a new deal… your life not being ended by Voldemort."

"What are you talking about?" Peony said, trying to be forceful.

Jonas merely held up the box. "This had nothing to do with trapping your husband. I'd set up jammers before we got here just in case he had a phone in there. This… recorded everything the camera and mic captured." Peony blinked, taking a moment to process what he was saying… before she felt her stomach drop. "Like you working with us to kill your husband." Jonas walked over to one of the decorative light fixtures that hung on the wall and pulled free a small spy camera. "And this one just recorded you working with us to sell out Team Nocturne."

Her stomach had now gone well past her feet and was in the panic room with Patrick.

"Do you know why we singled you out, Mrs. Parkinson? Or should I say why I singled you out?" Jonas began to walk towards her, his tall lean form towering over her seated body. "Because I knew what kind of woman you were. You married a man you didn't love because all you cared about was the wealth and prestige he would bring you. Oh, you claimed that your father sold you to him but that's not why you stayed. You could have left any time. But that would have meant giving up the house and the parties. And you'd never do that. You had a daughter because you saw her achievements as a way to make yourself look grander in the public eye. Like a Pokemon you took to Coordinator contests. You entered Team Nocturne because Voldemort preached of a world where the few held all the power and you were drunk on that notion. You only care about yourself, Mrs. Parkinson, and that's how I knew you'd be a squealer. Because squealers only care about themselves. But while that can work for me at the moment I am not like everyone else who would believe that I am different and you wouldn't do the same damn thing to me, that you wouldn't turn right around and betray us to Voldemort. Maybe try and get yourself deeper into the Inner Circle? Wait just long enough for Patrick to die before letting your Lord know? Or maybe give us some false information along with the real facts in these statements?" He took the information she'd given Clair and waved it in her face before carefully scanning her statements with the camera. "Oh, I'm sure there is plenty of real information here… but I bet you planted something that would work perfect as a trap."

Peony swallowed. Yes, she had done just that.

"So here is what is going to happen, Mrs. Parkinson. You are going to leave. Go to Alola with your husband's money. Pick up your daughter and whisk her away. And we are going to pick off your social circle one by one. But should we have any more questions we will seek you out and you will be more than happy to answer them. Because if you don't… if you hide or if you think of going to Voldemort and setting a trap for us, people that we are in touch with, people you'll never find, have been instructed to deliver the video of you selling out Team Nocturne to us… WORKING with us to destroy them… to Voldemort himself. Along with a detonator tied to that bomb we have on you." Jonas leaned forward and he let slip the smallest of smiles. "We own you, Mrs. Parkinson. So would you like to correct some of your comments in these papers?"

Peony, after a moment, quietly motioned for them to hand her the pen. Jonas, Clair, and Lance watched without saying a word, letting her alter her statements to get rid of the false information. Finally she passed them back, her arm trembling, and Clair accepted them.

"We'll be in touch," Lance said, placing her Pokeballs on the table before pressing a button on his watch. "Ghost? This is the Pack. Psychic Pokemon ready? Teleport us."

And with that they were gone, leaving Peony trembling alone in her dining room.