5 Gringotts Bank
Bill came through the back employee entrance of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, dodging around the goblins who were lining up for their cash drawers for the first shift. He was late – very late as a matter of fact – Curse-Breaker hours began several hours earlier than banking hours. Sometimes they worked far later than banking hours, too.
The pay was worth it.
When he got to the security checkpoint, there was a new goblin holding the clipboard that he'd never seen before.
"Where's Slamhammer?" Bill asked.
The goblin peered up at him from above his spectacles. "Security badge?" he asked.
Ah, one of those. Bill produced his badge to the goblin. The picture matched the make-up job Nash's cousin had done on him and the Glamour Charms he had to use so that he wouldn't be recognized by anyone that knew him. He was grateful to the bank for keeping him on, but the hoops he had to jump through every day to maintain the disguise were tiresome.
The goblin took his time examining the badge, as if he'd never seen one before.
"It's Chancey," he offered, pointing to his name on the clipboard.
"I can read," the goblin said curtly.
Bill could see partially through the glass viewing wall that Ogden and Kettleburn were wrestling with a metal box on a pedestal that was shooting fiery sparks everywhere. It was entirely too familiar.
"The curse is causing problems," the goblin said. "It got by security, but when Slamhammer picked it up, it started shooting sparks everywhere."
It was the box from last year, the one that had given him the mark. They'd put the highest security on that box, or so he'd thought.
"No one should be handling that box. Why is it even out of the security vault?" Bill asked worriedly.
"We've got a buyer," the goblin shrugged.
"Is he okay?" Bill asked. "Slamhammer?"
"Lost all the hair on his right arm. Claims he's seeing double."
"Ouch," Bill said. "I hope that's temporary."
He could now see his team through the viewing glass, jumping out of the way of the sparks and casting Merlin-knew-what back at the box to get it to stop.
"Can you hurry up, they're dying in there!" Bill said impatiently. Behind the glass, Ogden dodged another blast.
Finally, the goblin started reciting the security spell to release the wards. As impatient as he was, Bill knew better than to step over the line until the wards were completely down. Goblin magic was unforgiving. Nash caught sight of him through the glass – he winced as sparks flew by and pointed to Bill, using the universal sign for 'hurry your arse up'.
"Wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been so late," the goblin said, handing him his badge back.
Bill peered at the goblin's brass plated name tag to see who was giving him such a hard time.
"Smashwithfeet," the goblin said, translating his name.
"I can read Runes," Bill said irritably.
By the time he'd gotten past the security line, the danger was over. Kettleburn was still smoking from the close encounter.
"You're late," she said, patting down her hair with a damp towel.
"You noticed," Bill said.
"We finally contained it, " Nash said, lifting the top of the box off the floor with gold-plated tongs.
"Did anyone get hit?" Bill asked.
"Nope. We got the sparks to stop flying, but then some sort of fire-liquid started spilling out of it. I don't recall that happening last time."
Bill went over to the box and stared at it. It had been a year, and he still didn't know the first thing about what had activated it, or why it had activated on him, specifically.
"Wait, " he said as Nash was about to cover the box with a large, silver hex-cancelling cloth. Bill Summoned a piece of parchment and used a Copy-Me spell to transfer the Runes from the top of the box to the parchment. Then he rolled it up and stuffed it into his robe. Now that he'd met her, a second look at the Soulmate runes was in order. Maybe he'd find a way this time that he hadn't seen before to get rid of those marks.
Once the box was safely wrapped up, Smashwithfeet came into the room and took the box away, grumbling about useless assets and angry clients.
"You're welcome!" Kettleburn called out. "Rude little devil!" she said, and then addressed Bill. "We could have used you this morning."
Bill followed his team into the debriefing room where his coworkers changed out of their singed robes and into fresh ones. Around the conference table, they debriefed him on their morning progress, and he told them about his morning, as well and the reason why he was late: the sudden transformation, and the people hunting him.
"I don't know what to do," he admitted.
"You can let us help you," Kettleburn suggested.
"You are helping me," Bill said. "The new identity, renting a flat, Walter's brother helping out with the Glamour charms for the disguise. You've all been helping for over a year."
"But this is new," Ogden said.
"Not new in a good way." It was the first time his body had lost control since he'd started taking his morning coffee.
Ogden and Nash, two of the most adept Antidote Masters, a keen, but little known subset of the Potions Masters Guild, had concocted a variant on Wolfsbane – but because Wolfsbane was so highly regulated within the Ministry and the Werewolf registry was still in place, Bill couldn't get a legal supply without the Ministry knowing all about him.
That's where Marge Kettleburn came in. She used to work for the Ministry's Smuggling Intervention Department and had gotten them both a line and a distributor through the Erised Cafe.
Ogden and Nash had hinted that there was hush money involved. Bill had stayed out of it since he was technically 'missing', but he wished he could at least use some of his pay to help them finance his freedom. His whole team had put so much effort into his alter identity, making sure Gringotts still had him – in some form – on their payroll without skipping a beat. He couldn't risk transferring funds to any of them. He promised himself that he would pay them back, one day.
He owed them all, heavily.
"There's someone after me," he said. It's not in my imagination. I mean, my senses were tingling and everything, and then they were just there."
"Who were they?" Nash pressed.
Bill didn't want to say the word 'Hunters', because that seemed overly dramatic, but he had to tell his mates the truth after all they'd done for him. "I don't know, but they meant serious business. They were acting like they wanted me dead."
"Anyone have any clues?" Kettleburn asked.
No one did.
"Well, I've got to get my morning tea. Skipped out on it, what with your tardiness." Kettleburn nudged Bill playfully as she left the room. She didn't mean her jab to be hurtful.
"Marge and her tea," Nash chuckled.
"There's something else," Bill said when Kettleburn was out of earshot. He didn't like discussing this bit in front of her, because she tended to get all sentimental over something that was clearly mucking up his life. He had to tell someone, and he owed these blokes his life anyway.
"I found her," he said dejectedly, and proceeded to fill them in on how he had met the woman who was also an Auror, who bore the same mark on her wrist as was on his.
Ogden whistled. "An Auror! She must be fit!"
"She's got green hair," he said, remembering how it had changed from violet to a vibrant pink, and then later green when they'd had their 'talk'.
Nash snorted. "A hag. Just your luck."
"You two are worse than Kettleburn!" Bill muttered. Then he told Ogden and Nash what Tonks had said – that they were linked through their lives, and because of him, she'd nearly lost hers. "It confirms the translation from the box. I had hoped it wasn't true."
This time Nash whistled, but not in a good way. "That is real bad luck. What are you going to do?"
Bill didn't know. He didn't want anyone to die because of him.
Last year, he'd been in the Hospital for two weeks. The first week was for a nasty burn from one of their missions, which was customary for any Curse-Breaker, and the second week was when his team had found him gagging on the hospital floor after taking an overdose of potions not meant for himself. His team had given him the what for after that – he was needed, he was valuable, he deserved to live – and they deserved to not be left behind. They'd harped on him for a long, long time, until finally, he had almost started believing it himself.
The alarm on the wall started blaring, and all of them groaned. Nash checked the bulletin board where a new slip of parchment appeared and tacked itself on top of all the other slips. "Someone set off another curse in sector seven."
Kettleburn came rushing back into the room. "Seven? Where's that?"
"Dartmoor. In Devon. I bet someone tipped over the Beardown Man again."
Sector Seven wasn't part of Gringotts' treasure recovery territories. It was maintenance work. There wasn't anything of value there, but it didn't keep people from snooping around the sacred land of the pixies.
That was a nasty pile of hexes.
It didn't matter what the Ministry classified them as. Pixies were sentient, and vengeful as anything. The last bloke who had disturbed the stones in their territory was covered in boils and had grown horns – some inside joke on the part of the pixies – and it had taken two days to reverse the damage.
As the alarm continued to blare, his coworker was passing out the portkeys for Dartmoor, and the return portkeys so they could get back when either their work was done, or they had to escape. Either outcome was a possibility in this line of work.
Bill hoisted himself to his feet. He usually enjoyed his job, risking his life and living on the edge. Except now, he was risking two lives every time he went on a mission. That was going to make it a lot harder for him to do a job that required a safety waiver and included hazard pay.
"Cover me," he said to Nash before he took his portkey. "I'm not feeling one hundred percent today, and I don't want to do anything stupid."
Nash nodded, understanding completely.
Bill couldn't be responsible for someone else's death. Not ever again.