FIVE DAYS AGO
OCTOBER 26th 2013. 4.20pm
Ye Olde Curiosity Shop, Knockturn Alley

'I know you're in here, Yorkew,' Danny "Boy" Flannigan stepped roughly into the Dark Arts shop. 'Show yourself.'

A middle aged man with a salt and pepper beard materialised silently behind the counter. His face portrayed no obvious emotion, but Danny felt the man's eyes pierce right through him. When the storeowner spoke, it was accented with Eastern European.

'What is it you want from me?' Yorkew asked, tightening his grip on his wand below the counter. 'I take it you are not interested in the goods we have for sale.'

'I don't want your goods. I want your services. Your father was Gregorovitch.'

'My father is still Gregorovitch. Though he is no longer of this world; that is true. What of him?'

'He was a wand expert,' Danny took several steps forward. 'He made them, he sold them, he fixed them.' Danny set his broken wand onto the counter. 'I want you to fix mine.'

Yorkew stared at the wand and curled his lip. 'My father did all of those things, yes. But your presumptions about his son are wrong. I do none of them.'

'Dragonshit!' Danny flared up with anger. 'He taught you everything he knew! He honed you in the dark arts! You made your own wand! Some of your wands were sold in his shop! You are the fucking SON of fucking GREGOROVITCH! Fix my wand!'

Yorkew brought his own wand into plain sight then, and with barely a twitch of his lips he had Flannigan paralysed. 'You are an imbecile,' he spoke, his voice low. 'What part of your inestimably miniscule brain thought that threatening me when your own wand is broken would be a good idea?'

He emerged from the counter and lazily circled Flannigan, taking care not to actually touch him for apparent fear of contamination. 'Listen, little boy. My owning a store specialising in dark curios has nought to do with my father. He was a wandmaker, and I am a merchant. He was killed for his trade, and I want no part in it. Are we clear?' He flicked his wand, and gave Flannigan movement from the waist up.

'You're a liar!' Flannigan bellowed. 'Do you have any idea how long I've gone without this wand? OVER FOUR MONTHS! The hand-me-down replacement I have is so useless it won't even summon a fucking beer!' He pulled a pouch out of his robe pocket, and flung it at Yorkew.

The man halted the pouch's flight path mid-air, and peered into it. It held mostly sickles, and Yorkew chuckled. 'My father would have charged twice this for an inspection,' he steeled his gaze at Flannigan, and Danny watched helplessly as a stream of galleons flew from his trouser pocket and into the open pouch.

'Now that feels a bit better, doesn't it?' Yorkew tested the pouch's weight in his palm. 'Let's see now,' he returned to the counter and picked up the wand that lay there uselessly. 'Hazel, unicorn hair, eight inches, supple. An Ollivander creation.' He saw the crack that spanned almost the entire length of the wand, and instantly recognised dark magic. He prised open a section of wand where the split was widest and extracted a loop of unicorn hair, charred black as night, and quite obviously beyond repair. 'This wand is dead,' he tossed the object back to its owner. 'Take it back to where you found it. Ollivander's the only one who can help you. I don't ever want to see you in here again.'

When it came to the purchase and repair of wands in post-Second Wizarding War England, there were really only two viable options, and both of them could be found in Diagon Alley. The more famous of the two was, naturally, Ollivander's Wand Shop. The Ollivander family had been passing down the secrets of fine wandmaking since 382 BC, and had reliably produced the most essential magical tools a witch or wizard could own for millennia. The other option was Jimmy Kiddell's Wonderful Wands, a much younger wand shop, and one that didn't offer Ollivander's much competition. Mr Kiddell was less concerned with stock quality, and more concerned with stock turnover, and unlike Ollivander, who produced the entirety of his wands on site, Jimmy Kiddell imported the majority of his wands from abroad. They were generally cheaper than Ollivander's wands, but came with no performance guarantee, and there were plenty of disgruntled customers who vowed never to set foot in his store again.

It had not been safe for Danny Flannigan to set foot undisguised in Diagon Alley for a long time. He was still technically wanted by the Ministry for crimes he committed over a decade ago, and consequently he tended to stick around Knockturn Alley and other dark haunts of magical London. Today there was no escaping it, though. He had been trying to win the allegiance of Pike's wand for months, but to no avail. It was giving him shoddy, unreliable magic at best: backfiring and malfunctioning, and he was at his wits end having to live life essentially as a muggle. He wanted his old wand back, and he wanted to ditch Pike's. Even he had worked out that carrying around a token of a murder victim was not the smartest move. And so he blasted several hexes at his face to morph his appearance, pulled up his hood, and ventured into the Alley where people were content to live within the law.

He had not wanted to go through such a legitimate channel as Ollivander's. He had been hoping that he would be able to pay off Yorkew Gregorovitch to fix or at least do a patch up job on his wand. But he had only been swindled, and without leaving the country, he didn't know where else to try.

Ollivander's was eerily quiet when he entered, and the tinkling of the doorbell pealed quite alarmingly into the silence. It was near closing, and the stream of people in the Alley was thinning out considerably. He was beginning to think Mr Ollivander had gone home and forgotten to lock up, when a man with quite a pronounced hunch and long hair as silver as a unicorn shuffled into view.

'Yes?' he asked, then looked up and widened his eyes with concern at Flannigan's face. 'I should hope that you have a visit to St. Mungo's on your to-do list this evening.'

'Jest a wee duel wif the bruvver, guvna,' Flannigan suddenly decided to mix as many accents together as he could to aid his disguise. 'Nuffin ta worry ya good self aboot.'

'What can I do for you this evening? You know we're near closing?'

'Yiss, that I do. It's this wand, mate. I lost mine, and found this one, but it ain't workin' for moi.'

Ollivander took the proffered item and deftly ran his fingertips over every inch of it. He then repeated what Yorkew Gregorovitch had said. 'Supple, eight inches, hazel, unicorn hair. This is one of mine. It was sold to…' he stopped, suddenly realising exactly who this mystery customer was. 'Do you know, I've quite forgotten. My memory has been going since I turned ninety, you know,' he put several fingers to his forehead and gave a chuckle.

Using a very fine instrument, he extracted the length of the unicorn hair from the wand and laid it out flat on the counter. He didn't need to touch it to feel the dark magic still glowing from it like hot embers. He picked up the tip-end of the unicorn hair and rubbed it between his fingers. There was a mild burning sensation, and the core began to crumble like charcoal.

'I'm afraid that this wand is spent, and contains no more magic than an ordinary stick. It would be best if I sold you a new one. The wand chooses the wizard, of course, and no other combination of features will work quite as well for you. If you give me the measurements of the wand you lost, I can have a duplicate made up for you by next week, if I don't have one in stock already.'

'I… uh, no. That's… I don't remember,' Danny forgot his accents, and backed rapidly out of the store, leaving the charred remnants of his wand behind. By the time the bell tinkled, Danny was already out the door and preparing to disapparate.

Ollivander's hands were shaking, but he knew he had to act quickly. He was well aware his most recent customer had been Daniel Flannigan, long wanted for crimes associated with Voldemort. And now, it seemed he was responsible for the murder of Healer Pike, whose death and its unusual circumstances had featured in all the papers. Garrick Ollivander had no problems with his memory; he remembered every wand he'd ever sold, and he had just realised that Flannigan's wand core and Healer Pike's father's wand core came from the tail of the same unicorn. With a flick of his wand, the door was locked, and the sign in the window read CLOSED. Mr Ollivander disapparated immediately, hoping to catch the head of the Auror Office at the Ministry before she left for home.

ONE WEEK LATER
NOVEMBER 2nd, 2013. 8.40am.
Forbidden Forest

'Pad, nobody in their right mind's going to attack her out there,' Kevin Brennan indicated the Quidditch pitch, due to host the first Quidditch game of the school year in just over an hour. 'Half the fecking staff's gonna be out there watching. If yeh not keen to attack Cavanaugh, then fecking O'Rourke's not going to come within a fecking mile of him!'

'The whole school's going to be watching the game,' Paddy agreed. 'But that means nobody's watching the castle. If O'Rourke gets in there, there're a million places he could hide until Maura's walking down a deserted corridor, or Hope's alone in her office. Once the seats fill up at the pitch, I need you to circle the grounds, and pay attention to the southeast, in case he tries coming in from the Hogsmeade Hills. Actually, do a sweep of the grounds now.'

'How did I end up as a fecking bird?' Brennan grumbled, preparing to transform into his unregistered animagus crow form. 'I can't stand heights.'

'A frog's no picnic, either,' Paddy assured him, and Kevin took his greasy feathers to the sky.

He returned not more than ten minutes later, looking very ruffled. 'Strong wind coming in from the west. These kids are gonna get knocked off their brooms if it keeps up.'

'Anything suspicious?'

'Nah, Pad, all good. I still reckon this is overkill.'

'Overkill's a damn sight better than alive and kicking,' Paddy muttered. 'I've been meaning to tell you: the Ministry's onto Flannigan. They've linked him to Pike; don't know how. Found out a few days ago.'

'And yeh tell me NOW?' Brennan instantly bristled. 'The feck, Doyle? I thought yeh had me back! What are we gonna do? I reckon I'm more of a goner in Azkaban than I am out here!'

'I do have your back,' Paddy grunted. 'And that's why we're not gonna do a thing. We're gonna lie low, and let Danny take the hit. I'm sure the idiot's done something to land himself in it anyway. He's made his bed, and now he can lie in it.'

'Flannigan's a stupid feck,' Brennan agreed. 'How are we gonna avoid him though? If the Ministry's tailing him, he's going to lead them straight to us!'

Paddy nodded. 'I know. I'm thinking now I was too friendly with the bastard. I've charmed my place in Liverpool to keep him out. It might pay to stick with being a crow until the Aurors catch up with him.'

Paddy and Kevin trampled through the forest, taking care to give the centaur and thestral clearings a wide berth, killing time before the Quidditch match commenced. Paddy only half-listened as Kevin began ranting about Flannigan, lost in thought about Tommy O'Rourke. Where was he now? Did he have orders to kill Hope and Maura? If so, would he actually do it? Or had he made a clean break from the gang?

'And so I just don't understand why the feck-'

'Kevin!' Danny suddenly sprang out from behind a tree deeper into the forest. 'Paddy! Thank Merlin I've found you guys! I thought I was lost in here. Your place in Simmonswood's like, disappeared, Pad! I've been looking for you guys for days. I think I'm in a bit of troub-'

'Get the feck away from me, Flannigan!' Kevin pulled out his wand. 'Yeh gonna land me in Azkaban!'

Danny's eyes widened, and he looked from Kevin to Paddy and back again. 'What? What the fuck are you talking about, Brennan?'

'You are in trouble,' Paddy confirmed without a hint of emotion. 'You screwed up, Danny. What did you do?'

'I…I, well. The wand you said to use wasn't working very well, see, and so I thought…'

'What did you do?'

'I took my old wand to Ollivander's to get fixed…'

'Garrick Ollivander has a better memory than anyone on the planet!' Paddy barked. 'You think he hasn't heard about the murder? You think he wouldn't see your wand and put two and two together? You're a moron!'

'Well, I didn't think that-'

'Damn right you didn't think. The Ministry's after you, Flannigan.'

'And there's no fecking way we're taking the hit for yeh feck ups!' Brennan added, his wand still on Danny.

'Wh-what? No! You have to help me! You have to hide me.'

Paddy shook his head. 'The lives of my daughter and her mother are more important than your freedom, Danny. Don't lose sight of the big picture. That's what this whole operation was about.'

'I was doing you a favour!' Flannigan spat, anger and panic rising up in him. 'You owe me! You owe me a place to hide, at least! You owe it to me to help me get out of the country! Paddy!'

'I don't owe you a thing, Danny. You brought this on yourself.'

'I swear to Merlin, Doyle-'

'You said it yourself, Danny. The only wand you have doesn't want to perform magic for you, so don't go making empty threats. If you take the hit for this, this whole murder investigation goes away, and that's one less thing I have to worry about. If you had half a brain, you'd realise it's in my best interests to turn you in. I'm doing you a favour by staying out of it.'

Flannigan took a few steps backwards, and looked at Paddy with pure loathing. He pointed a finger at him and sucked in an angry breath though flared nostrils. 'Watch your back, Doyle. I'll get you for this!'

He turned and ran, and Paddy snorted as he watched him disappear into a thicket. 'He's heading straight for the centaurs,' he turned and he and Kevin started their way back to their vantage point. 'He'll be in Azkaban by this time next week,' Paddy gave a decisive nod. 'I guarantee it.'

Flannigan stumbled through the forest in a blind rage, unsuccessfully wracking his brain as to where he could hide, and who he could go to for help. Before Paddy had summoned him by owl, he had been making ends meet by selling counterfeit items on the street, and pushing illegal drugs and potions when business was bad. It was not an existence he enjoyed, and while he had made a handful of acquaintances of reasonable power, he could think of very few he would consider friends. There had very briefly been a girl on the Welsh border, who said he could call in anytime. She lived in a shack on her parent's remote property, where her entire family illegally farmed blast-ended skrewts. She had never been to school, and didn't read very well, but she didn't know Danny's true identity, and he begrudgingly admitted to himself that she might be his best bet, at least temporarily.

As he was scheming about how he might make his way to continental Europe, or perhaps to Africa after his stint in Wales, he stepped over a fallen tree and found himself in a clearing. At the far end of the clearing was a group of centaurs, who appeared to be having some kind of meeting. Danny stopped abruptly, still undetected. These creatures had the potential to turn lethal, and he needed to think quickly and get the heck out of there. All he knew about the centaur clearing was that Paddy had used it as a landmark to find the entrance to the Tunnel of Hope. Danny needed to head north for several miles until he reached the foothills where he could safely disapparate. He knew the thestral herd didn't live too far from the centaurs, and he didn't want to risk going anywhere he wasn't sure of. As he attempted to gently back away, his calves hit the fallen tree, and he toppled over it backwards with a cry of fright. Naturally, this caught the centaurs' attention, and as Danny scrambled to his feet, one of them yelled 'Intruder!'

Flannigan's panting was soon painted against a backdrop of thundering hooves. There was no way he could outrun them; if he made for the foothills now they'd have him trampled to the ground before he'd made it a tenth of the way there. Running to find Doyle and Brennan for help would be futile, and he didn't fancy his chances with those winged death horses. He chose the only route that offered salvation: the Tunnel.

He found the concealed entrance only just in time, and slid into the hole with only seconds to spare. Hooves scraped at the entrance, trying to make it big enough to allow a centaur's passage. He didn't think it was possible for his heart to beat any faster, but nevertheless, the thud in his chest became more intense, and he felt adrenalin washing through his body. They were going to follow him! If they managed to get in, the tunnel might just be large enough to accommodate them, and he would be dead for sure. Neither Azkaban nor eternal oblivion appealed to him particularly, and so gasping for breath, he began to jog through the darkness with two hands outstretched in front of him, and an unpleasant earthy smell setting up permanent camp in his nostrils.

'Give it up, Bane!' he heard from above ground somewhere behind him. 'He's gone.'

'No!' Bane protested, angrily stamping the ground in defeat and sending an eerie thud into the cavity. 'The trespassing human scum must die!'

'Save your energy,' another centaur said. 'We have yet to hunt proper today. I shall be mighty disappointed if there is not goat in my belly tonight.'

So there was just the one who still wanted to come after him. They weren't going to kill him after all. Danny took a shaky step to the side and collapsed against the tunnel wall, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal. There were unidentified creatures scurrying across his bare hands, but he didn't have the energy to care. It was a full hour before he summoned the will to get up, and he slowly shuffled his way forwards into the darkness. It would be easiest to exit the tunnel on the Hogwarts grounds when darkness fell, like he had done with Paddy and Kevin the night they ended Pike's life. He wouldn't be able to disapparate until he was halfway to Hogsmeade, but it was a much more appealing option than risking his life again in the Forbidden Forest.

He pulled out the wand that had come into his possession in this very tunnel; the wand that had worse success statistics than his gambling history. 'Lumos!' he muttered, hoping just this once the magic would work. Instead of light, however, sparks flew out the end and then something hot seared a burning circle into his forehead.

'Piece of SHIT!' Danny flung it down, filled instantly with rage once again. Fuck Paddy Doyle. Fuck Maura and Hope and going to Azkaban. Doyle didn't deserve his loyalty. Doyle didn't deserve jack shit. It was then Danny knew what he was going to do, to get his own back. Before he made his escape to Wales, and then abroad, there was revenge to be had, and he'd be damned if he didn't intend to savour the imminent opportunity.

The timing was perfect. The whole school was out watching the first quidditch game of the season, including the professors. The castle would be virtually empty of humans, except for the Healer, who was more or less obliged to stay in the hospital wing to treat the inevitable quidditch-related injuries. Danny reached the end of the tunnel, and pushed up on the stones that sealed the secret escape off from Hogwarts. He hoisted himself up into the supply room, and stood for several seconds as his eyes adjusted to the natural light. He clicked open the supply room door, and peered into the hospital wing. Two of the curtains separating the beds were pulled; there must be patients. Not that it mattered, he supposed, stepping out and looking around for Hope.

His peripheral vision caught a wand very close to his face a second too late. Hope had been behind the door, anticipating an intruder, and a cry of 'Petrificus totalis!' was heard before his entire body went rigid and he hit the floor with an unpleasant thud. The Healer levitated him onto a bed and whisked shut the curtains. She stood over him with a mixed look of fear and anger.

'How do you know about the Tunnel of Hope?' she whispered as furiously as she dared. 'What business do you have in this castle? Finite ore incantatem.'

This left Danny's body paralysed, but allowed his lips to move. 'I came to see you,' he sneered, now realising he didn't think the escape part of his revenge plan through very carefully. 'I know your old boyfriend, Paddy Doyle.'

'What about Patrick? What do you want with me? Who are you?'

'I'm Flannigan,' he drawled. 'And you're very pretty. The cheating bastard double crossed me, but Doyle's got good taste in women, I'll give him that.'

Hope clenched her fists and drew her lips in tight. 'You're the one they're after. You killed Healer Pike!'

'That's a lie! I didn't kill the Healer. I was ordered to, but it wasn't me.'

'You think I won't call for the Aurors anyway?' Hope's robin patronus had already flittered out the window to alert Professor Cavanaugh to the situation five minutes ago, when Hope had heard activity under the floor of the supply room.

'I thought you might say that,' Danny's lip curled. 'So we'd better talk fast before they lock me up for good. I came to tell you that Doyle double crossed you, too. Thirteen years ago, you gave birth to a baby girl. You named her Maura, and Paddy told you she died.'

The colour in Hope's face drained, and she brought a hand up to cover her mouth. 'She did die. I held her. I saw her! She was cold as ice, and she didn't move. She has a grave. I visit it often.'

'You're a Healer,' he hissed. 'So I know you've got a brain. How easy would it be for Paddy Doyle to perform a few charms on a newborn? You were weak and emotional. Don't you know Paddy likes to pray on the defenceless? Your daughter is very much alive! She's been in the castle for two bloody months!'

'Wh…What? You're lying! How could he? He wouldn't… Where would he have been hiding her all these years? It's absurd!'

'With adoptive parents, in America! Paddy's father would have had her killed, so he smuggled her out of the countr-'

'Hope!' a man's voice boomed into the room, and the quick, heavy stamp of boots on linoleum was heard.

Hope stepped out from behind the curtain and found Professor Cavanaugh running to her with his wand at the ready. 'Headmaster,' she whispered, still white as a ghost. 'I think I have the man who killed Healer Pike in one of my hospital beds.' And with that, she fainted, collapsing in a heap on the floor.

Cavanaugh yanked open the curtain, and found Danny "Boy" Flannigan, grimy, and reeking of sweat and dirt. The Headmaster gave a sly smile in victory. 'That's him,' he nodded. 'You've caught the bastard! Hope?'

Korsak entered the room then, out of breath at trying to catch up with Cavanaugh. 'Vince!' Cavanaugh commanded his attention, his eyes not moving from Flannigan. 'Put Healer Martin onto a bed, and then go directly to the Ministry. Speak to nobody about the reason for your visit until you locate Kingsley Shacklebolt. Tell him we have a fugitive classed as highly dangerous in our custody and we require a team of Aurors to remove him from the castle immediately.'

'Yes, Sir,' Korsak did as he was asked, levitating the Healer onto a bed, and then running from the room, still not having caught his breath. He would have to run beyond the Hogwarts gates until he was in a place that allowed apparition.

'Vitim frondosam,' Cavanaugh said firmly, and vines as thick as rope shot out of his wand. With impressive skill, he wrapped them tightly around Flannigan's body as an extra safety measure. Even if the body binding spell was somehow lifted, the man wasn't getting away. 'Think you can break into my castle, and take me out?' he sneered at the criminal. 'Thought you'd fulfil some kind of vendetta on his behalf? Some kind of old revenge? Who're you trying to impress? The used up Death Eaters rotting in prison? Voldemort's been dead a long time, and he doesn't give a shit about you! Hell, he probably didn't give a shit about you when he was alive, either. The Aurors are coming for you, Flannigan. You'll get to see your old mates again soon; might even get to give them a big sloppy kiss hello. If the Dementors don't get to you first, of course… Not that there'll be much soul left to suck out.'

Flannigan whimpered, and Cavanaugh smiled in satisfaction. 'Care to tell me how you planned to kill me? I'm curious, and I could do with a laugh, I'm sure.'

'I… I didn't! I was never working for the Dark Lord!'

'Working on your defence already,' Cavanaugh almost sounded amused. 'I wouldn't try too hard, Boy. The whole United Kingdom's been waiting for this day for a long time. I'm willing to bet there's nothing you can say that'd stop them baying for your blood. There's not a single person alive who cares about you. You might want to start counting that Kiss as a blessing.'