CHAPTER 115: Touch and Go

Professor Michael Evans-Verres had gotten some idea that the danger was very great. He had no idea how to combat it, but he reasoned since the wizards had not conquered Britain long ago they really weren't all that powerful. Nevertheless, not being a man given to carelessness of thought, he took heed that they were more powerful than ordinary men, and the fame of his son had made him a target. Since the state would not be of any help, he decided he would take matters into his own hands. In Britain it was very illegal, but there was nothing for it. He obtained a shotgun and kept it loaded.

Professor Evans-Verres was sitting in his comfy chair reading the latest science journal. It wasn't exactly normal for him to be up this late, but it wasn't unheard of either. There was a pop in the next room, a room he knew had only one door and nobody could get to it without passing in front of him. He looked up, and saw something moving through the open door. He ran up the stairs for his shotgun. Once he had his shotgun in hand, he proceeded back to confront whomever it was in his house. He could hear the sound of books being tossed aside, as though somebody was making a very hasty search for some particular book and hadn't quite gotten the knack of the double-stacked bookshelves. The tossing of books annoyed him. He got a look at a tall man in black robes, right about the same time the robed man noticed him, and turned towards him wand in hand.

"Avrake-" BLAM!

Michael recognized a hostile gesture when he saw one. He was not a particularly good shot. In fact he was a rotten shot, having never fired a gun in his life before. He had his eye down the site, but he tracked the motion of the wand hand rather than center of mass like he should have. His aim was not true, but with this weapon it didn't make a difference. The dark lord's wand hand exploded. There was a scream, he staggered back, and -pop- he was gone.

Thought caught up with him. He realized he was in trouble. The wizards before had come through the front door after knocking. He now realized they did that only to be polite, and it wasn't just Dumbledore who could teleport around more or less at will. His first action was a sensible one however, he went back upstairs.

Petuna was screaming. "What have you done! The police will be down on us! How could you do such a thing! I told you that shotgun was a bad idea from the start! Now you're really going to get it!"

"Whoever it was, he could pop in and out and had a wand in his hand. The police are the least of our worries right now." That wasn't going to cut it, not by a long shot, but at least she wasn't screaming.

He took the box of shells and reloaded his shotgun. Hardly had he done so than there were two more pops downstairs. With an oath he proceeded back to the top of the stairs to investigate, and to kill if provoked even a little bit, this time with the box of shells in his left hand. He'd have to drop it to aim but whatever. On recognizing Minerva he decided that whoever the man was, he was not a threat despite looking very much like one by his posture and his scars.

Alastor spoke first. "I see we are in time."

Petuna spoke. Michael hadn't realized she had followed him out. "No you're not. Michael shot somebody."

"And who do you suppose?"

Michael spoke. "Some wizard. He didn't seem very nice. He pointed his wand at me and said something like abracadabra, only he didn't get all the way through before I shot his hand off. He didn't stick around. He made quite the mess in the other room. Must have been looking for a book. He could have just asked."

"What did he look like?"

"He was very tall, wore black robes and a belt with a pistol strapped to his left side, and had a nose that looked rather too large and green paint on his arms."

"No mask?"

"Nope."

"Well done man. I believe the dark lord came himself and you injured him. I don't see him recovering from that very quickly-"

Minerva jumped in, "I don't think that's going to help as much as we would like. He still has one hand left and it won't take him long to get another wand."

"Quite right." and then to Michael, "I don't suppose you have a book on timeless physics."

"Yes."

"Let's get it and get out of here before he returns. That's probably the book he's looking for. Harry said to add your wisdom to mine. We don't have much time, but if there's any more books we really ought to take, we can get them."

Professor Michael Evans-Verres didn't waste any time. "Get your overnight bag Petuna and stuff your things in it and my toothbrush. I'll get the books and we're out of here." He grabbed an introductory calculus textbook, Timeless Physics, the set of Feynman lectures on physics, the journal volume Classical and Quantum Gravity 11(5), an astronomy pocket book, the Starflight Handbook, a thin notebook where he had scribbled some notes on orbital mechanics, a chemistry textbook, the Handbook of Chemistry and Physics, and a series of lecture notes labeled Physics of Star Trek.

The selection of textbooks makes little sense if you're plotting battle, but it makes a lot of sense if you think you need to rebuild knowledge of physics, have plenty of time to do it, and power sources and raw materials readily available. He had neglected biology, but that could be looked to in the future, or so he thought. Besides, his wife had packed quite quickly for once and was coming down the stairs already. It was time to go. He really didn't want to be around when the one-handed wizard came back.

Michael Evans-Verres was a biology professor, not a physics professor, but he knew his physics inside and out, and that was what was going to be needed anyway. They would need leverage, and biology just wouldn't provide the kind of leverage required. Not for the first time, he regretted his son not telling him everything.

-pop- and they were gone.

Not two minutes later the police arrived. Letting off a shotgun attracts attention of course. The next morning's paper reported there was a shooting of a burglar, and neither Mr. nor Mrs. Evans-Verres were anywhere to be found. The editors went on and on about the audacity of firing on an unarmed man. It wasn't true, but they didn't know any better.