Author's Note: Sorry for the wait! I'm awful, I know!

Chapter 9: An Unexpected House Guest

The sky was beginning to darken as Amelia walked home. She shivered, though it was not particularly cold. Being out at nighttime was not advised. As she hurried along, Amelia began to notice all the Muggles around her. Some clearly had to be places, moving fast. Some walked in packs, laughing and joking, taking up all of the pavement. There were even a few families, little children swinging off the hands of their parents. And none of them knew anything about Lord Voldemort or what he wanted to do. There was a war waging around them, against them and they had no idea. A little girl with blonde pigtails, clutching the hand of a ragged bear, smiled up at Amelia as she went past. Amelia returned the smile, though it was impossible for her to do so without feeling extremely sad and a little bit guilty.

She arrived back at her flat and, finding the elevator was out of order, started the long climb up the stairs. After what seemed like a never ending flow of steps, she came to her floor and went to her door. Fumbling with her keys, she stuck them in the lock and went inside. The sun had set completely over London, the pale moonlight streaking through Amelia's window, leaving its trails on the floor. She threw her bag on the table and lit a cigarette, the glow reflecting off her face in the dark. She had a few puffs, placed it in the ashtray and then went off to bed, where she fell asleep instantly; Fabian had been right, she was exhausted.

A loud clattering woke Amelia from her sleep. She sat bolt upright, her heart beat speeding up. Someone was in the flat. She pulled on her dressing gown and grabbed her wand from her bed side table. Then, quietly, she tip-toed out to the living room, holding her wand high, ready to attack.

"Rowan!" she cried.

The brown haired, green eyed witch who was bending over a pot on the stove jumped when her name was called.

"God, you gave me a fright! Why don't you sit down? Eggs?" she said, gesturing at the pot.

Amelia, completely bemused, stumbled over to the table and took a seat.

"What? Why?" she mumbled, "How do you know where I live?"

"I followed you," Rowan said, unashamed, "Then picked your lock. Your security measures really are very lax!"

"And you stayed here all night?" Amelia exclaimed.

"Slept on the couch, yes," Rowan nodded, "It seemed rude to wake you."

The young woman's idea of rudeness was a pretty strange one, Amelia thought, as she was handed a large serving of scrambled eggs.

"And I did some shopping for you," Rowan continued, "Honestly, when was the last time you ate properly?"

"It's been a rough few months," Amelia said defensively, in between mouthfuls.

"I guessed," Rowan said knowingly, "You left a cigarette burning last night. Could've burnt down the whole place! I probably saved your life."

"Thanks," Amelia muttered.

"Not that it'll be worth it, if you keep smoking those things," Rowan said, putting the pot in the sink and then, taking out her wand, enchanting it to wash itself, "They're pretty bad for your health!"

"So I've been told," Amelia said.

"Could I use your shower?" Rowan asked suddenly.

The older witch finished her breakfast in silence whilst her younger counterpart showered. It was six-o'clock or there about and Amelia wondered if anyone was missing Rowan. She liked to think that there were friends who wondered about her well being. But the harsh reality told her that Rowan was alone. Maybe that was why she had let her stay in her house; anyone else would have been unceremoniously told to bugger off. When Rowan was done and she herself had freshened up and dressed, Amelia sat her down.

"Why did you come here?" Amelia asked solemnly.

Rowan instantly became the nervous, unsure girl that Amelia had first seen in Knockturn Alley.

"I, I didn't know who else to come to," she said quietly, "I heard something yesterday, people arguing. It was the Boss. It was Darius. He was talking to this other man that I didn't know. I don't like to eavesdrop, you know, but this sounded important. The man was saying that you'd identified Ches and he was worried that you might connect everything. And Darius told him to shut up and sit tight, that you didn't have anyway of knowing about the recruitments or something like that. He said, he said that they needn't go to him, because it wasn't important and he would only get angry."

Rowan swallowed and then took a deep breath.

"They were talking about him. The Dark Lord."

Her voice shrank away to nothing more than a whisper, as if the word itself would burn her throat.

"Voldemort."

Amelia's eyes widened. So it was true. Mitchie had been unwittingly handed cases that led back to the Death Eaters and their master. What ever was at the heart of these murders was far darker than anyone had first realized.

"I remembered that you said I should come to you if I found anything else out," Rowan said, her voice still a whisper, "so I figured I should tell you right away."

"I'm glad you did," Amelia said quickly, "though I think your personal safety should be more present in your thoughts when you make judgements like this."

"It's okay!" Rowan said, perking up a bit, "They didn't hear me. Besides, I know how to take care of myself."

"I don't doubt it," Amelia said with a small sigh.

Amelia got up from the table, grabbed her jacket from over the back of a chair and slipped her wand into the pocket. Then she picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

"Where are you going?" Rowan said, standing up and gathering her own things.

"To work," Amelia replied, "You can stay here if you like."

"Can't I come with you?" Rowan asked, sounding like a young child, "I've never been inside the Ministry of Magic before!"

Amelia stopped and stared at the eager young witch; she was probably going to regret this.

"Fine," she groaned, "Just don't wander off anywhere once we're inside."

Rowan grinned and clapped a little with excitement. She made her way over to the fireplace, where Amelia was standing with a small pot. There was no time for walking today. Both women stepped inside the fireplace, stooping a little. Amelia, her heart still racing, took a handful of floo powder.

"The Ministry of Magic," she whispered and bright green flames swallowed them up.