„Fasten your seatbelts," Hermione warned as they got in her metallic black Lotus Evora. And for good reason. They took off in pursuit of Greymist and Abigail with such speed that all three of them slammed back into their seats due to inertia. It wasn't audible in the car, but Jeremy wouldn't have been surprised if there was a sonic boom as they barrelled down Tudor Street. Then they made a sharp right to Carmelite Street, inertia tossing them to the left, yet miraculously the car did not flip over. Certainly the car was tailor–made for the needs of the Minister for Magic, but still Jeremy did not feel very comfortable with Hermione in the driver's seat.

The streets were choked with cars today and if this was not an enchanted car, they would've crashed and burned a dozen times just driving down the first two streets from Temple Church. Eren wasn't making a noise but he was definitely panicking, pushing his knees unconsciously into Jeremy's seat every time it looked like they were about to smash into another car or wrap themselves around a telephone pole. And then at the last possible second whatever obstacle was in their way seemed to just shift to the side to let them through, settling back after they had passed. And all the muggles they drove by would just get on with their lives as if nothing had happened, oblivious.

If there was anyone the muggles were noticing, it was Greymist. On the faces of pedestrians Jeremy saw confusion as they stared off into the distance where the white Ford Mustang had passed. He cared nothing for the Statute of Secrecy and was not only ahead of them, everything making way for him much as everything made way for Hermione in her car, but he was also receding from them, moving inexorably towards his goal, the final piece of the puzzle. First Irion and his papers, then the poison. And then, who knew? Maybe the world.

„Hermione, you must call someone, alert the Aurors, this is an emergency–"

„Glove box," Hermione snapped, gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were turning white. „There's a black mirror inside, take it and smash it on the floor, it will activate a beacon."

Jeremy did as told, rummaging through the glove box until he found the small, circular black mirror with slight cracks running through it, as if it had been smashed before and was shoddily repaired. He raised it above his head as far as the roof would allow it and brought it down with force, glass shattering in a million pieces around his feet.

A voice rang out a moment after, the voice of the Commissioner for the Auror Office of London, Jon Winstone. „Madam Granger, I'm sending seven Aurors to you right now. What's the emergency?"

„Commissioner Winstone, we are driving on East India Dock Road, about to enter A13," Hermione spoke up, „We are in pursuit of a white Ford Mustang, it must be stopped!"

„Got it, Madam. Which one?"

They looked at one another, then at the road. There was only one white Ford Mustang ahead of them. „Winstone, what do you mean?" Hermione asked uneasily. Jeremy briefly considered the ludicrous idea of unsealing the vial, shouting Greymist's name, throwing it at the car and hoping he wouldn't miss.

„There's more than one Mustang near you. Watch out!"

It slammed into them from the right, another Mustang, taking them out of the breakneck speed at which they were going, covering nearly three miles in just under half a minute. Another Mustang came in from their left, boxing them in. The pace of the chase slowed down but did not stop, in fact it continued with just as much fury at a normal speed as they now had to catch Greymist and lose his men.

Ahead of them, Malachi was leaning out of the window on the right side, wand in right hand. Shards of greenish light began flying at Hermione's car, but instead of hitting her they were dispersed around a magical shield. Invisible until hit, it shimmered for a moment as it absorbed the impact of Malachi's spells. Seeing that it wasn't working, Malachi chose another spell. Four balls of black flame materialized above him and, slithering through the air as if alive, struck the car. Again they were shrugged off, though not without rocking the trio in their seats.

„Are there no weapons on this thing?!" Eren demanded. „Well let me get mine," he decided before Jeremy or Hermione could respond.

„Eren, no!" the Minister for Magic shouted, and was ignored.

„What? What is it, what're you–" Jeremy looked back to see Eren unholster a gun. „Since when did you have THAT?"

„He retrieved it from his wrecked car this morning," Hermione explained. „Eren, it's too dangerous, you'll–"

The gunfire deafened them. Eren had lowered the window on the right side and was firing at the tires of the Mustang trying to derail them. But while dealing with the car, he could not stop its occupants from lowering their own windows. And Greymist's faithful retaliated with guns of their own, spraying the backseats of Hermione's car. Caught in a hail of bullets Eren cried out, dropped his gun and slumped over.

Holding the fist of his left hand out in front of him, the self–proclaimed dark lord drew back his right arm as if holding a bow. An arrow of red crackling lightning materialized in the space between his fist and right arm and grew larger and larger the longer he held it, until they were looking head on at a giant bolt of crimson lightning the size of their car.

Time slowed, and not just due to the speed at which they were chasing Greymist. Time slowed for Jeremy as his adrenaline skyrocketed. In front of him the man of his soul's hate, about to blast them to kingdom come with that lightning bolt. In the back his friend, bleeding out. What to do? What could he do? They were on the A13 highway now, and while Hermione's car was cloaked from the eyes of the muggles, the same invisibility charm would not shield Jeremy if he decided to do something silly just now, like for example lean out the window of the car and cast a spell to deflect the lightning bolt. Hermione's car had a sunroof; he could open it, get up and fire off a spell to shield them from the worst of it.

But Eren. He had to help Eren. But if it were up to Eren, what would he say? Would he want to be taken care of right now, or would he want them to catch the bastard? Thankfully the road was mostly empty. The muggles would not see him do it as easily as they might if this was in the heart of the city, yet whether they saw him or not was irrelevant, it would still be a breach of the Statute of Secrecy. But so what? Another part of him spoke up. He had to act, right here and now, he had to break the law, he could not wait for someone else to break it for him.

He opened the sunroof and trained his wand on Greymist.

„Protego!"

The spell was not cast by Jeremy, however. The magnificent seven aurors were gaining on them, and one of them had just swooped in to deflect Greymist's spell. The great lightningbolt broke apart into millions of tiny red sparks and hurt no one. But whether or not the spell hit its target was irrelevant to the self–proclaimed dark lord. For a moment, Jeremy met his gaze.

The Excruciator smiled.

A hand pulled him back down into the car. Hermione wasn't looking at him. She was watching the road, the car ahead of them, but she saw what he'd done and she did not look very pleased. „It's going to be a lot of fun covering this whole thing up," she said sarcastically as she watched the Aurors take the heat off of them. The Mustangs were now busy dealing with the seven, so they mercifully gave them a bit of space.

Jeremy struggled between the seats to get into the back of the car where Eren lay, alive but unconscious. „Don't you die on me," he hissed. He lifted his wand, but hesitated. Did he dare heal gunshot wounds with spells? He had never done anything even remotely similar to this, outside of his training.

„No spells!" Hermione warned. „No spells, not yet. Listen, there's a drawer beneath the seats, you will find a first aid kit inside. Look for a small blue bottle, there's a lodestone balsam in there, pour it into his wounds, it'll draw the bullets out."

The Aurors were not playing around today. The car on their right had its rear torn off by a stray spell, looking like some prehistoric beast had taken a huge bite out of it. The driver lost control, spinned and crashed into the wall of the highway. The other car was borne on a sudden hurricane wind and dropped twenty meters onto a field of dead grass below. Only Greymist was left to deal with.

Jeremy wasn't paying much attention. He was split in two, his mind constantly thinking about the vial in his pocket, while his body went through the motions obeying Hermione's commands, pouring the lodestone balsam into Eren's many, many wounds. The bullets crawled out of the man's body, trailing blood behind them. „Okay," Hermione instructed, „Now you may try a spell. Vulnera Sanentur, it isn't intended for gunshot wounds but it still works."

Jeremy obeyed, tracing his wand over the holes in Eren's legs and back, muttering the incantation. The seats, his clothes, his hands were drenched in blood, but now its outpour seemed to slow and stop.

„Incoming, lads," they heard Commissioner Winstone say. Greymist had backup of his own, because of course he would. The magnificent seven formed up into formation to meet their foes head on. Jeremy glanced through the windshield just in time to see a red shimmer in front of a group of a dozen black specks, approaching rapidly and moving with the group.

He had seen something like this before. „Commissioner, tell them to evade, they're going to–"

Jeremy's warning came too late. The seven fired a volley of spells at their foes as they were less than six feet from one another. Their sorceries exploded against a solid wall of red energy and three of them crashed right into the shield.

If she tried to press down on the gas pedal any harder, Hermione feared she would slam her foot right through the floor instead. There was something else she could do, however. „Jeremy?"

„Yeah!"

„Brace for impact!" she warned, once again entering superspeed and smashing into the back of Greymist's car.

The self–proclaimed dark lord seemed to have forgotten about getting to Irion for an instant, and an instant was all they needed to get him. Hermione tore into him and past him like a bullet, his Mustang careened out of control and smashed into the side of the wall, tires exploding under the sudden pressure, the fuel tank rupturing and spilling its payload onto the highway as the car ground to a halt, debris and glass and sparks flying in every direction. In an instant the petrol was ignited and the car was enveloped in a ball of fire which erupted skyward.

Not a problem for Hermione. The car of the Minister for Magic was designed and magically reinforced to withstand much worse than that. She turned the wheel sharply to the left and slammed on the brakes, bringing her car to a sliding stop and exiting some sixteen feet from the initial explosion. The wreck laying in the blaze was unrecognizable as a car. She waited a moment, two moments. No one seemed to be getting out and she focused her attention on the battle above, the four Aurors outnumbered against a contingent three times their size. Jeremy got out of the car to stand behind her, right on time to witness a miniature sun be born.

To the cold men of science, the process was simply known as fusion, the ionising of hydrogen at a hundred million degrees. This was the power that the Minister for Magic, Hermione Granger, brought into life now, a recreation of fire that licked across the skin of the sun.

But it was one thing to create such a fire, and another thing entirely to harness it, understand it, split the bolt of raw plasma into twelve smaller bolts which zig–zagged as her targets tried to evade them. And even then another level of intimate understanding of magic was required to send the core of the sun after your foes, and then keep it from dissolving them into bones and bits of clothes eroding to powder and finally to nothingness.

Yet Hermione did all that, in the space it took Jeremy to breathe in. She fired off the spell with seemingly zero effort, and all Jeremy could do was stand there, mouth agape. Of the twelve, only four managed to evade the blast and were now heading their way, hounded by the Aurors.

Hermione glanced at him. Are you ready? The look seemed to be asking. Then the fight began in earnest.

As if on cue, all four of the fake Aurors, led by a chubby guy with a mustache who could be none other but Mulligan, cast the same spell, assailing the Minister and the Auror with a barrage of comet–tailed shards of bluish–purple energy. Now it was Jeremy's turn to show off. Darkness materialized in a space above their heads, a circular rift in a fabric of reality which distorted the air and the very light around it. The spells of the enemy which were heading for them were suddenly snatched up and across the event horizon, never to be seen again. For a moment Hermione was distracted, staring up at the phenomenon from the depths of space manifested directly above their heads.

Undeterred, the four pressed their attack, all getting off their brooms save for Mulligan, who did not have one because he was able to fly unsupported. The concrete came alive and giant maws opened in the road beneath the two to swallow their feet and to hold them in place. Hermione knelt and slammed her palms on the ground. A wave of force radiated outwards, tearing up chunks of concrete they were trapped in and sharpening them while Jeremy called forth a gust of wind which blew at his back, directing the chunks against their enemies like throwing knives. The response was immediate, a slab of concrete rising up with the motion of a wave and then stopping, shielding Greymist's men and the burning wreckage of his car from the shards.

They were trying to save their lord, Jeremy realized. Behind that shield, they would drag him out and get him to safety. He held his wand across his chest and a giant sword of cold white light appeared. He brought the wand down in a sweeping slash and the sword followed, slicing through the concrete shield. As if that wasn't enough, the spell also launched forward a projectile–like cloud of icy mist which sent the blessed of Greymist sprawling on the ground. A deck of cards flew free through the air. When the four Aurors entered the fray, all that was left for them was to clean up after Jeremy.

Hermione turned and looked at him with surprise. Or approval. Both. „Restrain them," she ordered as the cards rained down on the scene. As her men moved to obey her commands, she and Jeremy walked to the wreckage. „Nicely done," Hermione was complimenting him on his spells. „You'll have to teach..." she trailed off. As they approached the burning car, they saw a shape emerge.

Of course a simple explosion would not get him down. How could it? Staggering to his feet, his clothes burning away but not his skin, Malachi Greymist stood. He dusted himself off and turned his head slowly to look at Jeremy and Hermione as they approached, wands at the ready.

„We got you," Jeremy hissed.

„Aurors! Arrest this man," Hermione commanded. Greymist let his golden wand fall on the ground.

„We should search the wreck for his girlfriend," Jeremy suggested.

At Hermione's order, an Auror squatted and looked inside, shaking his head. „Empty, Madam."

Jeremy fixed him with his stare. „What do you mean empty?"

„I mean it's empty. See for yourself."

Jeremy did just that. The back seats were mangled beyond belief, but Greymist was not the guy to have his dark lady drive in the back. He looked closer, but there was nothing, no charred corpse in the passenger seat. But Abigail was in Temple Church as well, she was disguised as a statue and left together with Greymist when Jeremy's attention was diverted, of that he was certain. So where was she now? But alas he knew the answer to that question even as he asked it.