A/N - Sincere apologies for the epic delay - the chapter sort of ended up lost in my e-mail for a week or so. Anyway, when last we saw our heroes, they were heading back to Auror HQ to interrogate a suspect...
Darkness. A single light bulb. Cloaked men. Mark could see himself through this wizard's eyes—bound and gagged, half sick on the medication they'd given him. They had his old leather book, turning it in their hands and muttering among themselves. A lineage of Merlin, and a book with the keys to Merlin's powers. All they had to do was begin the translation.
But then Mark's hands were glowing—something was wrong. He said a word and the ropes untied. He grabbed one of the decorative swords they kept on their walls, and then he bolted for the door.
The man followed with two others. They burst through a shop, and out onto the street. There, that was the name. There was the address.
Mark waited for a moment, his eyes closed and his thoughts still mixed with another's memories. In the distance, he heard Tiberius whisper, "You suppose it's working?"
"Can't say I really care," Alastor grumbled.
Blinking, Mark found himself back in the prison room. He was sitting across from one of his captors, and the man looked as if he were in a bit of a panic. The process of finding their hideout had taken about five minutes, Mark guessed. However, considering he hadn't said a word to anyone since he began looking for information, it was understandable that the man was unnerved. Turning to the others, Mark said, "I've got it."
"Excellent," said Tiberius, a little uncertainly. "Where to then?"
Mark pushed himself to his feet. "1st Street," he said. He paused to give a nod toward the prisoner. "Thank you kindly for your cooperation, Mr. Williamston." Grinning at the man's stunned look, Mark left the room.
"Off we go then," said Tiberius.
Alastor followed, his face still dark. "Why don't you two go, and leave me alone?"
With an impatient sigh, Tiberius said, "Just come on. You'll complain if you donnae."
Even though Alastor did come with them, he still complained loudly. Mark dug his hands into his pockets and walked at a brisk pace. Every minute that ticked by meant that those wizards were getting closer to translating the work. The thought that his entire family could be saved if he acted quick enough made Mark's skin prickle. Perhaps… perhaps when he finally made it back, he would not be an orphan any more.
He had been an orphan most of his life. When he was two years old, his parents had gone on a weekend vacation to the beach while he stayed with his uncle. His father never came back. Mark later learned that strange men had attacked his mum, and his father had died fending them off. For eight years, he and his mum had shifted alone—she working night jobs, and homeschooling Mark during the day. But there was a car chase, and that had ended in another death.
The blow was still tender, but the hardest memory was that of his uncle's death just seven months ago. It was just before Christmas when his uncle had been kidnapped and killed. Mark struggled enough trying not to blame himself for that death. He did not want to have his whole family's deaths resting on his shoulders. Maybe if he got the book back, none of that would have to happen. He would not have to worry about what to do with the will, or after school was done, or what to cook every night…
Just then, Mark's stomach cramped in hunger. Covering his stomach with one hand, he blinked a fog out of his eyes. He was beginning to feel lightheaded from all this running around, with little to no food since he had time traveled.
"Did you see what sort of place it was?" Tiberius asked.
"Well, um, yes," Mark answered, caught off guard.
Alastor rolled his eyes. "Then would you care to tell us what we're looking for?"
Mark hesitated, embarrassed. "… A woman's dress shop."
"Er… really?" Tiberius asked.
"There's a basement underneath," Mark explained. "I mean, it makes sense. No fellow in his right mind would look for them there."
"Got a point," Tiberius admitted. Alastor shrugged.
Mark's legs were shaking with fatigue. Family or no, he was going to have to eat if he didn't want to pass out. "Do you still have fish and chips around here?" he asked. He thought he could smell a stand nearby.
"Can't recall ever not having them," Alastor said, a little sharply.
"Good. I'm starving."
"Is now really the time—" Alastor began.
Tiberius cut him off. "Come on mate, fellow looks like he hasn't eaten in days."
"Fine," Alastor said unwillingly.
"That's because I haven't eaten in days," Mark told them. He began to walk up to the shop he'd smelled, but stopped, feeling his pockets. It dawned on him that he didn't have any cash. "Um, sorry, but can I borrow some money? I don't think they'll take mine."
Tiberius dug in his pockets. "All I've got's a few Sickles." He took some out and showed Mark the silver coins, shooting a look at Alastor.
Sighing, Alastor searched his pockets and uncovered a few pounds. He held them out resignedly. "Thanks," Mark said, leaving them to get some food. When he returned, he could tell that Alastor and Tiberius had argued. Trying not to read their memories, he asked, "Mind if we sit for a second?"
"By all means," Tiberius answered, picking a park bench to sit on.
Mark handed Alastor his change, and began to eat. It was hard to take it slowly when he was starving. He distracted himself by watching the passersby. There was a woman whose cat had eaten her lace that morning. There was a young man in a fret because he intended to get engaged that afternoon. The faces paraded by, and Mark read them as easily as he would a magazine. Debt, love, family, school—it all flashed through his mind.
He had just finished eating when his eye caught on a particular man. War veteran, decorated awards, married with a young son—
Mark felt his insides go cold. Ducking his head, he began to ball up his trash.
"There a problem?" Alastor asked.
"Nothing," Mark said, standing up. "Let's go."
"Alright," Alastor said. Mark tossed his trash into a nearby trashcan, glanced over his shoulder at the man and kept walking.
"What are you looking at?" Tiberius asked, glancing back as well.
The man had noticed them. He frowned, and began to follow. "Nothing," Mark answered, though he quickened his pace.
Alastor cast a look over his shoulder. "Being a bit paranoid, I think."
Snorting, Tiberius said, "That's grand, coming from you." Alastor punched him in the shoulder, but did not seem to mind.
"Hey, you!" the man shouted. Mark turned, and saw that the man was pointing at him and jogging towards them. Swallowing tightly, Mark held his place. He tried hard to close his mind. He did not want to see them man's thoughts—he did not want the man to see him.
"Can we help you, sir?" Tiberius asked as the man stopped in front of them. Alastor shifted to stand closer to Mark, as if he was expecting an attack.
The man peered closely into Mark's face, and frowned. "Sorry. Thought you were someone else."
"Don't worry," Mark said, forcing a smile. "Happens all the time." He turned to walk off.
"You look just like my brother," the man said, his tone serious.
Tiberius began to say something, but Alastor hushed him. Mark laughed, but the sound was nervous. "Really? That's odd. Just one of those faces, I guess."
Frowning more, the man said, "He died in the war."
"Oh—erm—sorry," Mark stuttered, kicking himself. He paused long enough to show that he was sincere, then went on, "We've got to be going—running late for something, you see."
The man glanced at Alastor and Tiberius. "Auror business, I guess?"
"More or less," Alastor answered.
"Have a nice day then," said Tiberius.
The man nodded. With a last thoughtful glance at Mark, he turned away and walked on. Slowly Mark felt the tension ease out of his shoulders.
"Sure you don't know him?" Alastor asked.
Mark began to walk in the opposite direction. "Never seen him before in my life."
"Sure seemed ta know you," Tiberius pointed out.
"You heard him," Mark said, glancing at them both. "He mistook me for his dead brother. Course he thought he knew me—I mean, in a sort of grieving way."
"I'm sure," Alastor said, his tone bitter.
Keeping in a sigh, Mark looked ahead. He found himself face to face with the building in the man's memory. "The shop."
"What?" asked Tiberius.
"That's it," Mark said, pointing. It did not look very respectable, and Mark had an instinct that there would be lingerie inside.
"Oh," said Alastor. He stuck his hands in his pockets uncomfortably.
"Well then," said Tiberius. He glanced at Mark. "You first?"
Mark felt his ears burning, but he marched up to the door. Tiberius and Alastor followed, drawing their wands. Mark had just put a hand on the door when a voice behind him spoke.
"I wouldn't go in there."
Tiberius and Alastor turned, but Mark did not. He stared at the doorknob, gritting his teeth. It was the same man.
"Can we help you, mate?" Tiberius asked.
The presence of the man's magic bore into Mark's back. It was weaker than his own, but it was the same—like the familiar scent of an old jacket, or the touch of his mother's leather book. "They're waiting for you," the man said. "Two Aurors aren't going to help. They've just got to gas the room and you'll go into one of those frenzies."
"I know what I'm doing," Mark said over his shoulder. I've got to get that book back.
"Oi," said Alastor. "Who exactly are you?"
"If he's who I think he is," the man said slowly, "I'm his great-grandfather." Mark glanced over at the man, already knowing that it was true. Even without reading the fellow's history, he recognized that the man had the same hair as his mother had. "I haven't done this in a while," the man went on. "Am I right?"
"Well. A family affair, tis," Tiberius said aside to Alastor.
Mark looked back at the doorknob. I've got to do this. I've got to be stronger than myself. Every second I hesitate is a second closer to their deaths. "I don't want to deal with family history," he said. "I've got to look to the future." He pushed the door open, and went in.
Alastor cast one last look toward the strange man before following Mark. He did not like all these people wandering about claiming to be wizards—time-traveling, mind-reading wizards, no less. There were wizards, and there were Muggles, and really that was all the world needed. Alastor began to think, not for the first time, that he had managed to find himself in a bit of a mess. Still, the man said nothing more, and Alastor followed Mark into the shop. Tiberius hesitated a moment longer, ducking beneath the doorway and holding the door open on reflex, as though waiting for the man to follow.
"You're going to end up like Sir Isaac Newton!" shouted the man.
The door slammed shut then, before anyone had time to respond. Not that Mark looked as though he had intended to answer anyway - he all but ignored the comment, working his way between dusty, moth-eaten racks of clothing and heading towards the back of the shop. Moth-eaten or no, Alastor sincerely hoped nobody had seen them enter this place, because the clothes really were a bit...embarrassing, to say the least. Not that he'd ever say this, but his face had begun to go red again, and that might be a slight giveaway.
"What was that supposed to mean?" Alastor asked instead, determinedly keeping his eyes on the back wall.
Mark shoved aside one of the racks, sending a cloud of dust into the air.
"Newton was the family nut. Last fellow who tried to develop his magic past the mind-reading bit."
"They're different sorts of wizards, apparently," Alastor murmured to Tiberius in explanation.
"He mentioned that," Tiberius replied.
Alastor was about to ask when Tiberius would have had a chance to talk to Mark, and then recalled that he had stormed away from the alley and left the pair of them alone.
"Oh."
Mark had reached the back of the shop by this point, his hands on one of the panels along the wall. He whispered something under his breath, and the wall shuddered and shifted, an opening appearing beneath his hands. Without even bothering to check for traps, Mark ducked through and vanished into the shadows on the other side.
"Suppose we ought to declare our intent to enter?" asked Tiberius.
Alastor, meanwhile, had begun to run a few Detection Charms, because if Mark wanted to go stumbling into hexes, he himself certainly was not. Nothing registered though, no trace of magic or spell work other than what Mark had done to open the door in the first place.
"Not this time," Alastor grumbled. "Not exactly official business, is it?"
As Mark had not bothered to wait for them, Alastor ducked into the entrance and found himself in a dark, narrow staircase. This impaired his speed just slightly, and even when he lit his wand the stairs still trailed away into darkness further on below. Tiberius nearly slipped twice, threatening to send them both rolling, but he managed to catch himself before breaking his own - or Alastor's - neck. The walls on either side felt dry and cold, solid stone. Alastor supposed the staircase led down to a storage basement, or perhaps a bomb shelter. Neither was exactly the sort of place where he liked the idea of having an epic fight.
They found Mark again at the bottom of the stairs, the stone walls falling away and opening into a wide, square room. The floor was stone as well, the walls entirely smooth, and a single yellow bulb hung from the middle of the ceiling. Not even a storage box or scrap of clothing lingered on the floor - if ever the basement had been used, it was certainly abandoned now.
"Looks ta be empty," Tiberius murmured, leaning over Alastor's shoulder for a better look.
The place was eerily quiet, as though they had entered a tomb, the sounds of life from the street above all but muted here beneath the stones. Alastor could not shake the prickling feeling along his spine, some warning sense that ordered him to leave, and quickly.
"This is the place," Mark said, turning slowly to take in the room. "They emptied it out just recently." He paused, as if listening to a sound Alastor couldn't hear. "Can I have my sword back, Tiberius?" Mark asked calmly.
Tiberius blinked, surprised. "Cannae you summon it back yourself?"
"Well-" Mark hesitated. "I mean, I don't think I can."
At precisely that moment, the lightbulb flickered and died, plunging the room into blackness. Alastor's bad feeling proceeded to throw it's arms into the air and shout various I told you so's, his hands reaching back to find the solid anchor of the wall he knew had to be nearby.
"Lumos!" Alastor raised his wand, conjuring the light as Tiberius mimicked the motion, conjuring not a light but the same fancy sword Mark had been using the day before.
The room brightened a bit, murky and dark with the bluish light, and Alastor leaned back against the wall, watching and waiting. Mark took his sword from Tiberius, casting an odd glance at Alastor's glowing wand before stepping further out into the room.
"Could he have given you the wrong place?" Alastor asked. "Or, more importantly, could there be a reason he wanted you to find this one?"
"And on that note, did you run tha Detection Charms down here?" Tiberius asked.
Alastor swore, moving his wand through the motions and sending out the charms. At this point, any traps had been sprung, but at least they would know something was coming. To Alastor's great surprise, the scan returned negative once more.
"Now that's odd..."
Mark, who had reached the center of the room, just below the dark lightbulb, began to cough. The noise grated on the silence, passing at first and then in heavy, wracking gasps.
"What's tha matter?" Tiberius asked, frowning down at Mark and clapping him on the back with one hand.
"Do... do you smell that?" Mark pressed his sleeve against his nose, as though trying to block out the air in the basement.
That particular motion gave Alastor grounds for even more concern, because if there was one thing he had learned on the Continent, it was that just because you couldn't smell the gas didn't mean it couldn't kill you. Hastily he conjured a fan and three masks, just in case.
"Having flashbacks yet, mate?" Alastor asked, tossing one of the masks to Tiberius and the other to Mark.
"Reckon I am," Tiberius said. He caught the mask in one hand, holding it ready. "Just like old times."
Mark didn't catch the third mask, didn't actually make any effort at all, and only began to cough again, only this time far worse. His hands started to glow with that odd, bluish tinge again.
"Oi! Mask, use it!" Alastor ordered, gesturing from Mark to the gas mask that lay on the floor beside his feet.
The shout at least seemed to snap Mark out of his latest coughing fit, if only to glance down at his hands.
"Bloody—!" Mark cut off abruptly, looking suddenly desperate as he shifted his gaze first to Tiberius, then to Alastor. "Get out!"
"Loads of good that'll do you," Tiberius murmured.
"I can't stop it!" Mark insisted.
"Then get yourself out of the way, back up to the shop, and we'll handle this," Alastor said.
Tiberius moved to stand closer to Alastor now, both of their wands drawn and at the ready. Mark stayed put though, groaning as he dropped his sword, his hands suddenly glowing bright, blue, nearly white and almost painful to look at.
"Protego," Tiberius said. "Just in case."
The "just in case" turned out to have been a very good idea, because seconds later Mark had raised his hands and the blue light was hurtling toward them. The heat in the small basement suddenly increased tremendously, and had Tiberius not conjured that shield Alastor felt fairly confident they would have both been fried.
"Oi! We're on your side here!" Alastor shouted, conjuring a shield of his own now.
Mark stumbled forward half a step, only increasing the strength of whatever spell he was using. Tiberius winced a bit as the blue light struck against his shield.
"Goin' ta have ta knock him out, mate!"
"Can't say I'm too sad to hear that," Alastor growled. He dropped his own shield, leaning out from around Tiberius' and shouting, "Stupefy!"
Arm swinging in a wide arc, Mark blocked the spell, much to Alastor's disappointment. The room had grown almost unbearably hot now, the air thick and heavy, and a sound like pipes bending and breaking echoed from somewhere nearby.
"Bugger," Alastor muttered, "that's probably not good."
"Suppose tha building cannae hold?" Tiberius asked, looking as though he already guessed the answer.
"Definitely a problem," Alastor confirmed.
Mark seemed to be losing control of his magic, a blast of light firing not towards Alastor and Tiberius but toward the far wall instead. A gaping hole opened in the stones, and the building shuddered around them. Alastor could not say he fancied the thought of being crushed by a women's dress shop, but the possibility seemed likely.
"What if we...distract him or something?" Tiberius suggested.
"With WHAT?" Alastor demanded.
The shouting drew Mark's attention again, because another wave of blue light roared in their direction. Alastor barely managed to conjure a shield in time, and he put all his energy into keeping the ward up in the face of the onslaught. No easy task, because as Mark's control lessened, the strength of the spell seemed to grow. The magic rebounded away into the walls as Tiberius and Alastor braced themselves behind the shields, tearing into stone and starting a deafening symphony of shattered pipes.
Alastor concluded that he had, in fact, gotten himself into a very large mess. Fighting a crazy fellow in a basement did not rank especially high on his list of priorities, and yet, here he was, doing just that. Tiberius was right though, they would have to distract Mark for any chance of bringing him down. They had him outnumbered, so there was that, and perhaps if they could work in an element of surprise, that always seemed to help...
"I'll distract him," Alastor said quickly, thinking fast and still forming the last pieces of the plan. "You take him down."
"Alastor..." Tiberius shook his head, argument on the tip of his tongue. Alastor had no intention of being talked out of the idea though. His plan would work, because it had to, and that was really all there was to it.
"On my count!" Alastor went on as though Tiberius had raised no objection.
"Fine," Tiberius said, sighing.
Alastor gave a curt nod, drawing a deep breath and steeling himself. They would only have one chance, and if the timing was wrong, he'd be swallowed by a burst of blue fire. Good incentive for a perfect execution, if nothing else.
"One, two...three!"
Tiberius and Alastor broke off the shields at the same time, rolling away in opposite directions. Blue light washed over where they had stood moments before, tearing another hole in the wall. Alastor regained his feet first.
"Look over here then, you mad git!" Alastor shouted as loud as he could. "Been meaning to have a word with you! Didn't anyone tell you, mind reading's bad form?"
That worked, more or less, because Mark abruptly halted the flow of magic and turned on his heels until his gaze settled on Alastor. The bluish light dripped from his hands like water, and Mark's eyes had a glazed, far away look. Alastor was suddenly reminded of pictures he had seen of victims of the Imperius curse, and he resisted an urge to shudder.
"Come on, have a go at me!" Alastor gestured toward himself, shifting into a dueling stance. "Come on! You're not even a real wizard! I'm not afraid of you!"
Mark winced, and for a moment Alastor thought perhaps he had managed to snap him out of whatever haze he was in. Then Mark fired the blue light into the ground near his feet, voice calm as he said, "Minefield."
There was a flash, then, of a wide and muddy field that had once been a forest, dirt and earth churned and torn, broken branches mingling with broken bodies and the twists of barbed wire along the top of what had been a trench. The smell of smoke and ash and earth, the memory of that empty field in France that might as well have been a graveyard. The earth erupting beneath a soldier who took one step too many. Minefield was a word Alastor had hoped to never hear again, and he froze entirely, casting a hasty shield around himself and not daring to move, barely daring to breath. He fought an urge to glance toward Tiberius, lest he give away the plan. Tiberius would have frozen though, would have stopped moving. He had, after all, been along on the last adventure involving a minefield.
The floor began to light up in spots of blue light, flickering to life against the darkness. Mark still had yet to move, hands still hanging towards the ground, bluish light dripping slowly as the building threatened to tumble down upon them.
"A battle that ends in loss," Mark said, barely loud enough to be heard over all the noise.
Alastor frowned, thoroughly baffled at this point. If Mark had not been mad before, he almost certainly was now. He had completely stopped making sense, anyway. Probably just toying with them, the prat. The thought was enough to rouse Alastor's temper again, and he found his voice.
"What you on about? Come on you coward, attack! Don't just sit there and wait!"
Mark merely fired the light into the floor again, and the spots vanished like stars at sunrise.
"Years and years of pain! It never really heals." Mark slumped forward, head hanging. "I've got to get it out!"
This had reached the point of thoroughly ridiculous, in Alastor's opinion. Mark had clearly taken one too many injuries to the head - one more couldn't possibly hurt.
"Alright, if you won't, I will," Alastor said. He pushed away the thoughts of the minefield, the memory of the war. Instead he pictured sunlight on the grounds, shining off the lake, and Minerva McGonagall leaned against him, smiling up at him. "Expecto Patronum!"
A burst of silvery light exploded from his wand, forming into an enormous bear that charged towards Mark, snarling and jaws snapping. Just as he had hoped, Mark fired the bluish light toward the Patronus, and the silver and blue collided in a roaring burst of blinding light. Tiberius had been working his way around to Mark's back, and struck at precisely that moment, leaping forward, long legs cutting the distance easily. He tackled Mark from behind, at the same time shoving his wand against Mark's ribs and shouting, "Dormio!"
Mark hit the ground beneath Tiberius, head cracking against the floor. The fellow was clearly out cold, but his hands continued to leak with the odd blue light. Tiberius raised up, taking a deep breath and pointing his wand at Mark's hands.
"Finite."
The blue light faded instantly, but still Alastor could not quite bring himself to make any sudden movements. Not with that minefield business, and not while the roof kept threatening to cave in.
"All clear?" he asked.
Tiberius conjured a rock and tossed it across the room. Nothing exploded, anyway, which seemed to be a good sign.
"Aye, seems so."
Alastor relaxed then, lowering his wand and running a hand through his hair. Problem solved, mission accomplished, crisis averted, all that sort of thing. Definitely a job well done. Mark might admittedly have been unconscious, but Alastor could not say he minded that too entirely much.
"Nice tackle," Alastor said, grinning as he reached down to help Tiberius to his feet.
"Nice Patronus," Tiberius replied. "How'd you know that'd work?"
"Didn't," Alastor admitted. "Told you I had an idea though."
"Oh, Merlin," Tiberius groaned. "Donnae tell Minerva I let you do that. She'll skin me alive."
"Trust me," Alastor said. "My ideas are always works of genius."
"How could I forget?" Tiberius asked, rolling his eyes.
The building shuddered once more around them, a piece of ceiling cracking away and falling perilously close to Alastor's head.
"Time to go then?" Alastor suggested.
"I'd say," Tiberius agreed.
They reached down, each taking one of Mark's arms and lifting him up between them. Turning on the spot, sincerely hoping the building did not choose now to collapse, they Apparated away, vanishing with a "pop."