"It's not working," Harry said in frustration. He started to pace before Scott caught his arm and forced him to remain still. "I don't understand."

The two of them were outside the entrance to the Room of Requirement, standing beneath Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Harry was standing, anyway. Scott was forced to remain in a half-crouch as he was at least two inches too tall to be upright without revealing their ankles (and even Harry sporadically revealed their feet when they moved).

Harry looked down at Scott. "Are you positive you can't do anything?"

Scott shrugged. "I can't make an aperture unless I have a known destination."

"You do have a destination, the Room of Requirement!"

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah…" Harry sighed. "And there's no way to bust through?"

"I don't think there'll be anything behind this wall. The room is magically sustained and probably isn't a physical place."

"That's not very helpful," Harry grumbled.

Scott shrugged again. "If you got any bright ideas, I'm open."

They both fell silent for a minute as a group of chattering first years moved by. Once they were gone, Scott stood and slid out from under the Cloak. "I don't think we have much chance of getting in right now. We've got Defence in ten minutes, anyway."

Harry acquiesced, removing the Cloak and stuffing it into his book bag. "We'd better hurry, then."

Defence proved to be completely average in its rigours. Snape made the usual jibes in Harry's direction and Hermione repeatedly prevented him from mouthing off right back. The only note of interest was the brief focus on the subject of Inferi. Given their general lack of cognition zombies were not the most threatening of foes, but Scott still felt it best to be prepared. He'd had to face enough unexpected zombie hordes in his life to know that they were not eventualities worth ignoring.

Once class had ended and the students were released into the hallways Scott resumed his conversation with Harry.

"It might be important to consider that maybe the Room can host more than one instance," Scott said as they walked.

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean even if you manage to get in you might not find Malfoy in there because he's in a different version of the Room."

"That's encouraging." Harry sighed. "I don't know what else to do. I think if he's in there already then that's my best chance to find him."

"Probably." Scott looked back over his shoulder to where Ron and Hermione were talking. "Let's get Ron and Hermione's opinions on this. Maybe we missed something."

"All Hermione will do is tell me to drop it and work on getting that memory from Slughorn," Harry said tetchily.

"Oh, yeah. How's that going?"

"It's not. He's been avoiding me." Harry looked up hopefully. "Maybe you could-"

"Okay, disillusionment time — I don't read minds," Scott said.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't be daft. I know that. I was thinking maybe you could talk to Dumbledore for me, at the very least let him know I'm trying…"

"I don't see the point. He's already giving you a lot of time. About all you can do is keep at it."

"I am," Harry assured him.

The following weekend, however, Harry once again forsook any chances of cornering Slughorn to instead make another attempt at entering the Room of Requirement. The Marauder's Map had revealed that none other than Gregory Goyle himself was standing in the corridor outside the Room, and Harry had eagerly shot off to take advantage of the chance presented.

Ron and Hermione had already left for additional Apparition lessons in Hogsmeade, and while Scott was always nervous when his Primes were separated by any great distance Harry was still his absolute priority. The Invisibility Cloak was dug out of Harry's trunk and the two of them awkwardly huddled beneath it as they hurried towards the seventh floor.

The little girl that they were now certain was Goyle stood idly in the corridor, clutching a set of brass scales. As they peered around the corner, Scott straightened up slightly to whisper directly into Harry's right ear. "What are you thinking?"

"We'll have to scare him away," Harry whispered back. "Nothing for it."

"All right. Let's get closer."

Despite the nightmare of coordination that was trying to move two almost-fully grown teenagers beneath a slim cloak, they managed to be stealthy enough not to alert the Polyjuiced sentry. Achieving his target distance, Scott leaned in close behind Goyle.

"God, I just wanna fuck you in half," he growled in his very best pervert voice.

Goyle let out a shriek that would have frightened a Banshee. The scales clattered to the floor as the terrified guard fled at top speed to get away from the spectral presence that had so vulgarly propositioned him.

Scott and Harry snickered underneath the Cloak for a good while before they decided to get down to business. Scott silently observed as Harry futilely endeavoured to find the right thought that would open the Room. After fifteen minutes without any result Harry lost his temper and viciously kicked at the wall, an act for which he gained nothing but a shoe full of stubbed toes.

"Bloody hell," he groaned, hobbling backwards.

"Somehow, I don't think that's going to do it," Scott told him.

"He's in there, I know he is," Harry bit out, tense with frustration. "Why won't this ruddy door just open?"

"You're asking the wrong guy. But if I had to guess, I'd say it's because the room forms around a material need. You need to find Malfoy, but that's not working since you need to need what he needs."

"I didn't need that," Harry grumbled.

"That's just what I think. I could be wrong. Maybe you can't get in if he doesn't want you to."

"You think I should keep trying?"

"No, I think that'd be stupid of you."

"Cheers." Harry slouched against the wall opposite the hidden entrance and stared at it morosely. He straightened up slightly as something occurred to him. "Maybe we could confront him…"

Scott scratched his cheek, considering that option. "Could we get him alone?"

"Probably not," Harry muttered, his shoulders slumping again. "He's been careful about that."

"It's not the best solution anyway," Scott said. Harry gave him a surprised look, so he continued, "I know I'm usually the first to suggest an application of force, but known Death Eaters are one thing… If we grab Malfoy I guarantee Dumbledore will have something to say about it. Especially if we have to get rough."

"We'd be in for it," Harry concurred.

"That's why I've tried to avoid hurting any students. Seriously, anyway. He wouldn't like that."

"Neither would Hermione," Harry said with a small grin.

Scott opened his mouth to reply when the sound of distant footsteps caught his attention. "Someone's coming," he said quickly. Harry snatched the discarded Cloak from the floor and threw it over the both of them. Some hasty rearranging was required but within seconds they were silent and invisible.

Scott had expected to see another student — perhaps Crabbe coming to take Goyle's place. Instead he was entirely surprised to see the bubblegum pink of Tonks' hair as she came strolling down the corridor. The shape hadn't revealed her approach, though it was obvious now that he was actually looking at her. He exchanged a confused look with Harry. What was her business at Hogwarts?

Harry must have decided to find out, because he straightened up and tossed the Cloak off of the two of them. In the split second of their revealing Tonks had drawn her wand with a blurred hand and brought it to bear upon them; as soon as she saw their faces she took a step backwards and let her arm fall limply to her side, one hand on her chest as she gasped out, "Harry! Bloody hell, you gave me such a fright!"

"Sorry," Harry apologised.

"It's all right," she said, still breathing hard. "I just about cursed the both of you, though, you might want to say something first next time!"

"We were just wondering what you were doing here," he explained.

"Came to see Dumbledore," she told him, tucking her wand away. "Missed him, though. He's not here."

"Do you know where he's been going?" Harry immediately asked.

"Not a clue," Tonks said, shrugging. "I actually thought you might have an idea."

"No," Harry said, sounding disappointed.

"Not much to be done about that. Dumbledore keeps his secrets for good reasons, I expect." Tonks looked back and forth between Scott and Harry, a faint frown creasing her face. "Say, what were you two doing under that Cloak, anyway?"

"Avoiding work," Scott lied easily.

She smiled at him. "Wish I'd had an Invisibility Cloak when I was here. Bet that's dead useful."

"It's hard to be given a job to do if no one can find you," he agreed.

"Quite right. Anyway, I'd love to stay and reminisce, but I'd best be off," Tonks said.

"Later," Scott said.

"Say hi to Remus for me, would you," Harry called out as Tonks walked away.

"Interesting," Scott mused once she was gone. "I wonder why she wanted to talk to Dumbledore."

"Why don't you ask him?"

Scott frowned at Harry. "Why is it your solution for everything these days involves me talking to Dumbledore?"

"Because you can actually go talk to him whenever you feel like it," Harry said with a trace of bitterness, "and he'll listen to you."

"Listening isn't acting. Just because he'll sit down and let me say my piece doesn't mean he'll do anything about it."

"It was your question," Harry pointed out, turning away from Scott and picking the Invisibility Cloak back up. "If you want the answer, go ask him. That's what I meant."

"Fair enough."

They both submerged back in the Cloak again simply because without their book bags there was no place to store it. However, as the corridors were largely empty they were able to move without much regard for secrecy.

On the way back to the common room, Scott asked Harry, "Have you made any progress with Slughorn?"

"Not an inch," Harry said unhappily.

"Maybe we should go find him today."

"No, not today… I've had enough failure for the time being."

"If you say so. You really need to find a new approach."

Harry sighed. "Yeah. I'll get around to it."

It was in the late afternoon after Potions class when Scott traipsed across the Hogwarts grounds towards Hagrid's cabin. The sun was low overhead and the weather was fair with a light breeze tickling the top of the grass.

He was heading out to see Hagrid in order to attend another session of his remedial Care of Magical Creatures class. Most of his extracurricular lessons had been stopped over the course of the school year, but he had continued seeing Hagrid on a semi-regular basis. The majority of his other classes dealt heavily in theory, and so he had managed to do well in any written work while carefully scraping by in the practical aspects. His teachers thought him to be an average student who simply lacked magical ability. Care of Magical Creatures, however, was very much a hands-on subject which required familiarity with a variety of beasts. There weren't any written exams to take, and so he had to prove himself to Hagrid instead.

Scott was aware that Harry had received a tear-stained note from Hagrid during lunch concerning a murderous giant spider that Hagrid had apparently regarded as a friend. The spider had died and Scott wasn't sure what to expect. He hoped that Hagrid wouldn't cancel their session. He needed to learn.

When Hagrid answered his door, though, Scott's hopes immediately died. The groundskeeper was in a terrible state, a sobbing, watery mess of a man.

"Who's it? Scott?" Hagrid said, peering at Scott through swollen, red rimmed eyes. "Ah, I did'n' know yeh were comin'… But he'd a liked to have yeh here…"

"Uh, no lesson tonight, I take it," Scott said.

"Wha'? Oh, right, yer lesson. No, not ternight… I couldn't," Hagrid said tremulously.

"I don't want to be a bother, but I really need those lessons…" Scott played his trump card. "Dumbledore wants me to learn this stuff, I'd like to do what he says…" It was a claim verging on mendacious, but it got the job done.

"He does, I know," Hagrid snuffled. "Well… alrigh' then. I could teach yeh a thing or two jus' till I have teh… Till it's time teh bury him…" He broke out into sobs.

Scott would have felt like a little shit for imposing upon Hagrid if it weren't for the stories Ron and Harry had told him about the acromantula. He knew that Aragog had hardly been man's best friend.

"Thanks, Hagrid," he said as Hagrid let him into the cabin. He seated himself in a rough hewn wooden chair and tried to look attentive.

"Alrigh'… Where were we?" Hagrid rumbled. He took several noisy slurps of steaming tea, which seemed to calm him somewhat, though fat tears still occasionally leaked down into his beard.

"We left off with fire crabs," Scott supplied.

"Righ', fire crabs. Ternight will be a book lesson, ye understan'… Don' feel like goin' out an… Not at my best…"

"It's all right. I don't know anything about fire crabs so we should start from the beginning."

"Okay, fire crabs." Hagrid drained the rest of his tea with a mighty swallow and slammed the empty cup onto the table, blinking rapidly. "Well, they come from Fiji, yeh see. They look more like a tortoise than a crab, got this jewelled shell…"

Scott wasn't exactly receiving an exemplary lesson. Hagrid frequently paused to wipe his eyes and occasionally broke off into a series of tortured sobs. Still, there was information interspersed amongst the weeping, and Scott dutifully absorbed it. With night time rapidly approaching he was determined to get as much instruction in as possible before he had to leave, though he had the feeling that his departure would be delayed. Hagrid had initially mistaken Scott's arrival as being for the impromptu funeral that would be held later, and no doubt he would be expected to stick around for it.

His patience was aided by the fact that he found the subject to be more interesting than most of his others. Learning about magical creatures was something he could do without having to wield his hated wand. That in itself made it worth the time. So he sat there without complaint while Hagrid ever so slowly divulged everything there was to know about fire crabs.

His attention would have remained comfortably fixated on Hagrid's lesson until its eventual end had the universe not chosen that moment to send the world spinning.

Scott reeled as the shape around him distorted and bottomed out. In a space of a few seconds it configured itself into a bewildering array of ephemeral geometry — he had the brief impression that Britain was a rhombus beneath a cube-shaped sun. He slapped his hands against the armrests of his chair and held onto them with a white knuckled grip as he struggled to ride out the sensation.

His reaction was violent enough that even Hagrid noticed through his tear-blurred vision. "Yeh alrigh'?"

"I'm fine," Scott lied. He carefully began to rise to his feet when another shuddering surge destroyed his balance and he toppled to the floor.

"Careful!" With one giant hand Hagrid plucked Scott off the floor and stood him on his feet as if he weighed nothing. The groundskeeper peered closely at his shivering student. "Yeh look terrible," he said hoarsely, which Scott thought was a bit rich coming from a man who had the appearance of having cried for twenty-four hours straight. "I think yeh might be gettin' sick."

Scott felt like he was lashed to the topmast of a ship in a squall. "Yeah, maybe," he said, not trusting himself to move. This lack of faith was compounded when the universe tipped the space towards the underside of the shape and sent him staggering into Hagrid.

"Easy now," Hagrid said. He guided Scott over towards the oversized bed that dominated one wall of the cabin and sat the boy down. "Lie down fer a second before yeh hurt yerself."

Scott appreciated the compassion that Hagrid was showing for a student who he obviously thought had become suddenly ill, but what he really needed to do was get outside and figure out what was going on. "Maybe I should go see Pomfrey," he said, looking for a quick exit solution.

"Yeh can in a minute, jus' relax first," Hagrid insisted, "can't have yeh fallin' down on the way over."

But Scott wasn't having any of that. It took a great deal of effort to push through the tumultuous shape — and he was accustomed to fighting against it with the benefit of his full adult capabilities — but he could manage. "I can walk!"

"Yeh sure?" Hagrid looked doubtful. "Yeh want me ter take yeh there?"

"I got it." To prove his point, Scott stood as steadily as he was able. "See?"

"Well… alrigh'," Hagrid rumbled uncertainly. "But be careful."

"I will. Thanks for the lesson." Scott did his best to try and look like he wasn't in a hurry, but as soon as the door closed behind him he took off across the grounds.

The shape twisted and whirled in a cyclone around him but its momentum had settled into a semblance of regularity and he was able to compensate. The distortion had the same effect on his awareness that the shape's usual state of contraction did — he had no idea what was happening. It was only clear that something was, and that meant he needed to find his Primes.

He cursed his teenage form for the millionth time as his legs failed to provide him with the speed required. He briefly entertained the thought that he should age up and blow his cover… but his gut instinct told him that this didn't feel like that kind of urgency. Convulse as the universe might, he couldn't really believe that anyone was currently in danger.

He decided that if he couldn't trust his shaping instincts then he had no chance of success anyway, so he slowed his pace and called Lila as he jogged across the dark grounds.

She sounded perfectly calm when she answered, but that didn't mean much. Lila was perfectly calm in most given situations. "Hello?"

"It's me. How bad is it?"

There was a slight pause on the other end. "…How bad is what?" she said slowly, sounding suspicious. Scott realised that she thought his opening query had been the lead in for a joke.

"You don't feel anything?"

"Should I?"

"Apparently not." Scott frowned. "You'd have to be dead not to feel anything where I'm at."

"Not even a tremor," Lila stated.

That meant that the situation was localised. There was a chance that the agitation was natural — like any flow, the shape could experience turbulence. However, a disorder of this magnitude was rare enough to stretch the boundaries of coincidence further than Scott was willing to go. Still, Lila's isolation served to confirm his hunch; if the circumstances were truly serious then the problem wouldn't have been confined to what was, by universal standards, a negligibly small area. The limitations probably meant that there were no Prime lives at stake.

Probably.

"I'd better go," Scott told his sister. "Keep an eye on the shape."

He set out to immediately locate Harry. Presuming that his Priority One Prime would be at the focus of the event, he went towards what felt to be the centre of the cyclone. The doors of Hogwarts were still a good distance away, so he broke out into a run.

Then he tripped and fell to his knees when the world snapped suddenly, and gloriously, back into place.

A million coruscating lines traced the paths of lives and their leanings. The golden trails marked the past, present and future, filling in the blank spaces with the tight bonds of evident friendships and enmities. The future was a tempestuous sky over the thriving land of the present and the deep earth of the past, written in light and substance.

None of this was tangible, but still felt with the inner skin, seen with the third eye and heard with the hidden ear. It was like a language that was not spoken, but illustrated. What was to be was an incomprehensible speech broken by the occasional muddied but half-recognized inflection. What was flowed forward in a universal vernacular made dense with local dialect, the voice of occurrences fading into record even as they were spoken. What had been was written in tongues, both plain and obscure and ever so vast. It was all inaudible, unknowable, non-sequential, foreign yet familiar. It was the reflection of existence, a sum total that could not be calculated.

He stayed there, pressed to the grass, and revelled in the feeling of clarity. He had been blind for so long that the sensation of immersion was almost overwhelming, a bright shock to his senses.

A thick cable ran from Scott straight to Harry, and Scott was pleased to witness the strength of it. Multiple lines of connection linked him to his other Primes. Harry was on the ground floor of Hogwarts, moving quickly towards the main door that had been Scott's own objective. He frowned slightly, confused. Harry was lit up like the sun. Where was he going? What was going on? What could have happened to shake things into place…?

Once again clarity came to Scott, though this time it was confined to his own mind.

Harry must have taken the Felix Felicis. Scott could clearly see the strings of change wiggling out around him, crafting on the invisible canvas of circumstance. The shape surrounding folded to his will.

What an absolutely amazing potion. It had brought about an untangling that Scott himself could never accomplish. It was a temporary and limited change, true, but still an impressive feat.

It explained a great deal, including the local nature of the event. Scott's comforting familial link to Lila was incomplete as she was unaffected, cut off outside the sudden eye of the storm that Harry's potion had created.

In fact, once the immediate and overwhelming burst of information had diminished, Scott now saw that many connections were missing or incomplete. The Felix hadn't made as large of an impact as he'd originally thought. It was disappointing, but he probably should have expected that. The potion was not designed to illuminate the shape, only its imbiber.

Harry's roadmap for the night was clearly imprinted and it was obvious that Scott didn't need to interfere. With the Felix working Harry was safer than he'd ever been, a protective cocoon moulded about him. There were other things Scott could use his time to attend to, since there was no telling how long the window of perspicacity would last.

He climbed back to his feet and resumed heading for the castle. Harry had exited the building and was walking in the opposite direction, hidden beneath his Invisibility Cloak.

"Hey, Scott," Harry said in a cheerful tone as they passed, as if the two of them commonly met while strolling across the grounds after dark. He also didn't seem to have any doubts that Scott could see him.

"Hey, Harry," Scott replied cordially.

Neither of them stopped walking, and that was the end of their exchange. The shape was imbuing both of them with a strong sense of purpose, and for the time being it had nothing to do with each other.

Scott entered the castle with a quick step and immediately began following the lines of his Primes. Ron and Hermione were comfortably ensconced in the Gryffindor common room together, their connection as bright and strong as ever. Neville and Luna were also in their respective towers, and their associations were progressing along expected lines.

He noted with interest that Ginny's link with Dean was all but disintegrated. She was alone in her dorm, apparently sulking, and he tried to discern what had happened. She had tripped? She was mad because she had tripped? No… No, that wasn't right. It was a push. Wait — Dean had pushed her?! Scott's anger immediately flared and he resolved to go and beat the crap out of Dean. Fortunately, his innocent dorm mate's physical well being was preserved when he completed reading the strand and realised that Dean had only tried to help Ginny through the common room portrait entrance, so it was merely an infraction of minor irritation instead of abuse.

He took a moment to marvel at that specificity. The shape was never so clear, so absolutely distinct. Even in a universe with the smoothest of contours he would have only been able glean that Ginny had been involved in some sort of event, and then perhaps with uncommon luck discovered it had negatively involved Dean. To go so much further was a rare wonder, indeed.

Scott turned his attention towards Malfoy. Disappointingly, the Slytherin was in his common room instead of the Room of Requirement, but Scott still read what he could. The shape around Malfoy was especially obdurate. Only the lines were clear. His connections to Crabbe, Goyle, and a variety of other Slytherins were all anticipated. However, there was an extremely strong yet oddly reluctant link between Malfoy and Snape, which was strange. Scott wasn't sure what to make of that. Dumbledore also shared an unusual link with Malfoy. A one-sided friendship? ...No, that wasn't right. It was something else.

Malfoy's lines were proving abnormal. Scott would have to run what he'd learned past Harry and get a second opinion.

Scott had almost decided to settle in and watch Malfoy for a time when something else caught his attention. There was a line that was connected to him that he hadn't noticed before, probably because it was only just becoming apparent. It wasn't a link of knowledge or relations, but rather of action, the same kind of line that was guiding Harry.

Scott studied it closely, perplexed. The disparate universes very rarely acknowledged the Kharadjai in any way. They were foreign objects within the system, unknown to the local continuum. Alien to any shape but their own, the partitions of the Multiverse simply ignored them wherever they intruded. As far as Harry's universe was generally concerned, Scott did not exist.

And yet, the tug of the line was quite clear. Whatever was on the other end required his attention. He didn't know why, and so he briefly considered ignoring the summons. If he was honest with himself, this was partly out of sheer, wilful stubbornness. Since when was he an errand boy? This universe had no right to tell him what to do. He was a third-party. The shape was supposed to be doing its own thing, leaving him to sort it out himself. This just wasn't supposed to happen.

Still… It could be really important…

As he began following the line he wondered if he had become more closely integrated with the system than he'd intended, so closely that he might begin to be considered a Prime himself. Perhaps living with Harry and the others had affected him to the point where he was no longer capable of maintaining an observer's distance from the shape. If that was possible, then the implications disturbed him. The last thing he needed to be during the course of events was inextricable. If the universe began including him into the UO, he'd have no way to get out. Then he'd truly be blind and just as helpless in the tide of fate as his Primes.

After a moment's worry, he thought it through and confidently dismissed the notion as being extremely unlikely at worst and completely impossible at best. Other field agents, including himself, had been deeply integrated into missions for far longer than he had been without experiencing such dire results. A far more likely scenario was that his link to Harry had caused him to vicariously experience some of the Felix Felicis' effects through proximity. It was not the will of the universe that led him, but rather an unusual potion. That made more sense.

His trail led him straight to the gargoyle outside of the Headmaster's office. Interesting. He spoke the password and the stone guardian jumped aside, allowing him entrance to the strange magic escalator. The twin doors at the top were shut, so Scott knocked on them twice.

"Come in," Dumbledore called out. Scott entered to find the Headmaster not behind his desk as usual; instead he was rearranging some items on one of his shelves. He looked tired, but still smiled politely. "Out past curfew again, Mr. Kharan?"

"I doubt that's a surprise." While Dumbledore observed with open curiosity, Scott followed the line across the office to a small table near the back right corner that held a variety of bottles. One of them was clearly marked.

"Is there something you need?" Dumbledore asked, leaving his task to come up behind Scott.

"Perhaps," Scott murmured, peering at the bottle. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands, now thoroughly puzzled. It was a bottle of oak matured mead. While there was certainly no way to tell in the course of the world exactly how an object would affect the lives of those around it, seeing as how circumstance was such a random factor, Scott still felt that his objective was disappointing. If he'd been led to a bomb then at least he'd have known why he had to remove it.

Dumbledore was obviously confused. "If you'd like a drink, feel free to help yourself. It's a bit late for me, I'm afraid."

"I don't drink. Where did you get this mead?"

"Horace gave it to me for Christmas," Dumbledore told him. "I've been meaning to open it, but the way things have been lately I don't suppose I'll ever have the chance."

"Keeping busy with the Horcruxes?"

"Extremely." Dumbledore slumped tiredly into his chair. "Scott, what brought you here tonight? Surely you did not visit to examine my meagre collection of mead."

"Apparently, I did." Scott held the mead up to his ear and shook it.

Dumbledore's brow creased slightly. "I don't understand."

"Me neither." Scott turned around and looked at the Headmaster. "Maybe we can fix that. Have you noticed anything unusual about this mead?"

"Besides your sudden preoccupation with it? No, I haven't."

"Okay, how about this approach: Harry took his Felix Felicis tonight and as a result I followed a line right to this bottle," Scott summarised. "Now can you think of any reason why I would need to interact with this mead?"

Dumbledore was silent for a moment as he absorbed this information. "That is quite interesting," he said. "You are certain you were led here?"

"Of course. When Harry took that Felix it loosened things up enough that I was able to take a few readings. It's not much, but it's better than what I've been working with so far."

"Then I must admit I am at a loss. I can only speculate."

"That's what I've been doing." Scott hefted the bottle and carefully examined the glass with his fingers, trying to discern anything strange about it. He looked at Dumbledore and made a face. "I've never really liked mead." Popping the cork out, he took a swig — and that's when everything became clear.

Scott had been trained to recognise poisons, and the mead was definitely laced. He spat it out back into the bottle. It was flavourless, so it couldn't be Strychnine. Potassium cyanide had no taste, but he couldn't smell the faint hint of almonds that came with it, though that was irrelevant since if he'd ingested cyanide then he'd have experienced a coma onset before convulsions. His jaw muscles were tightening and he could feel his body seizing. If the poison had already taken hold then it was bonding with his skin. It was almost certainly a fast acting neurotoxin. Possibly tetramine...? No, it didn't matter. What mattered was that the mead was deadly.

Dumbledore was beginning to look concerned. "Are you all right?"

"It's poisoned," Scott said shortly, his tongue thick and uncooperative. He needed to change age, and fast. "Leave me alone for a second, please."

The Headmaster had already jumped to his feet. "You need Severus-"

"No," Scott said loudly, "I need to be alone for a second."

"If it's a poison then Severus can help you-"

"Albus, please!" Scott exclaimed, leaning against the wall and breathing heavily. "Will you just go into your goddamn room for ten seconds? I need to change age to survive this!"

Dumbledore stared at him for a short moment before he sighed and acquiesced. "I suppose I must trust that you know what you're doing." He quickly entered his private quarters and left Scott by himself.

With shaking hands, Scott stripped off his clothing as rapidly as he could. It became increasingly difficult to accomplish as his muscles knotted and convulsed. His Kharadjai body would resist the poison for a bit longer than a baseline human, even in teen form, but he had to be an adult if he was going to ride it out.

Naked and shivering, he performed the change of age as rapidly as he could given his battered concentration. He was fortunate that the Felix had loosened the universe to the point where such an action was easy.

Once he had resumed his natural form the convulsions ceased somewhat, relocating entirely to his limbs. He had absorbed a minimal amount of the poison, and his increased weight and natural resistance as an adult would likely be enough to ameliorate the effects. He pulled his discarded clothes onto his midsection and put the back of his head against the wall. He was sweating copiously, likely a good sign. There was no method to immediately cure poison with his healing abilities - it was too diffuse - but his body would reject the substance in whatever fashion it could. The toxin was being flushed from his pores, an unpleasant but necessary process.

"Don't... poison... a Kharadjai, you... fucker," he gasped to no one in particular, his heart rate increased to a dangerous level. "Just... makes us mad!"

"Scott?" Dumbledore came back into the room with his wand drawn, having apparently heard Scott's stammered defiance.

"Oh, g-good... you're... back," Scott said to him in as nonchalant a tone as he could muster. "Talk."

"I'm sorry?" Dumbledore said in obvious alarm.

"Talk. Talk to me. Need to... not pass out, might not... wake up. For awhile," Scott forced out through chattering teeth.

Dumbledore turned away. "I'm fetching Severus."

"CAN'T!" Scott yelped. "Can't, all grown up now. Don't... let... him see!"

A short pause. "Very well. I'll return shortly with something to help you, can you stay awake?"

"Sure, yeah... No... p-problem. Never been bet-t-ter..."

Dumbledore left quickly, his robes billowing behind him. Scott stayed put and trembled on the cold floor, cursing himself for not ageing up before trying the mead. That would have been a much smarter approach. Instead he was getting his ass kicked by a tiny bit of neurotoxin that had assaulted his cells while he was still a weak teen. If he had been properly prepared his body could have started fighting back right away. Now he was a wreck.

He really hoped he didn't fall unconscious. It would be rather embarrassing if the man he had been trying so hard to show a strong front to came back to find him passed out in a puddle of sweat (and possibly urine). Not that it mattered all that much, he supposed. Shaking like a perspiration-soaked leaf with a handful of clothes over his crotch wasn't the most imposing sight he had ever presented.

Dumbledore reappeared after an indeterminate number of minutes holding something in his hand. "Here, swallow this. It should cure you. If not, we'll have to try something else."

Scott didn't bother trying to take the small object with his cramping hand. He opened his mouth, allowing Dumbledore to place the cure inside. "Down... the hatch," he muttered after consuming the unknown item. He didn't usually just eat whatever strange things were placed in his mouth, but Dumbledore had earned some trust.

"It's a bezoar," Dumbledore informed him. "I don't know if you'll resist its magic, but try not to if you can help it."

There was definitely some magic at work. Scott let it run its course and began feeling better almost immediately. "I can't believe I just swallowed the petrified shit that collects in a goat's stomach," he grumbled as his muscles relaxed. "Thank you, non-sarcastically."

"I'm simply relieved you were fit enough to swallow anything at all," Dumbledore noted. "Your constitution is quite impressive."

"Not like I can take any credit. Kharadjai physiology is pretty efficient at rejecting harmful substances. Though I guess goat turds work well enough in this universe." Scott sighed and wiped the heavy perspiration from his forehead. "Gross. Okay, you mind stepping out again so I can shrink myself?"

"Of course."

It took a little longer than usual, but after some effort Scott dressed himself resumed his younger age. "All right, I'm fine now," he yelled to Dumbledore.

The Headmaster re-entered the room, taking in Scott's state of dishabille. "Are you certain?"

"I'm not dead, am I?" Scott leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. He wasn't feeling any crippling ill effects, but he was uncomfortably sweaty and weak. "Well. That answered one question."

"But only one," Dumbledore added.

"You said you got that mead from Slughorn?"

"Horace wouldn't have tried to poison me," the Headmaster said immediately.

"I agree. He has nothing to gain from doing so, and Slughorn doesn't do anything without profiting from it, never mind taking that kind of risk. I was wondering more if you knew anyone who'd want him dead."

Dumbledore reseated himself in his chair, face drawn. "Horace was in hiding before I hired him to teach this year. Voldemort would have liked to make use of his multiple talents. The Death Eaters never found him, but if they thought he had avoided them on purpose…"

"You don't say 'no' when the Don wants a favour."

"Precisely."

"You think that's what happened?"

Dumbledore stared out the window for a long moment without answering. Scott knew the Headmaster was deciding how much to reveal. "I'm not certain," Dumbledore said finally. "Not about this, nor much else."

"Welcome to life," Scott said sardonically.

"I'll have to talk to Horace and examine the rest of his liquors," Dumbledore said, changing the subject. Scott supposed the Headmaster didn't want to assign any blame without more concrete evidence. "There's nothing to be gained by not being prudent."

"Yeah." Scott stood and walked over to a nearby shelf. "While I'm already here, I don't suppose you'd mind if I had a talk with the Sorting Hat?"

Dumbledore looked mildly surprised at the request, but didn't object. "Not at all."

Scott plucked the Hat off the shelf and stuck it on his head.

"Scott Kharan," the Hat greeted Scott, sounding pleased. "It's been some time since we last spoke."

It has, yeah.

"Man of action that you are, I doubt you donned me to exchange pleasantries," the Hat said shrewdly. "What is it that you wanted?"

I'm curious about something. You Sorted a friend of mine, Kylie Timous.

"I remember. Small girl, strawberry blond hair, rather frightened at the time as I recall… What of her?"

I don't understand why you put her in Gryffindor.

"Don't you?" The Hat sounded amused. "Are my workings so obscure?"

She's scared of everything. The boat ride into the castle on the first night nearly sent her into hysterics. Gryffindor is hardly an ideal choice for her.

"Ah, but you misjudge me," the Hat chuckled. "The shapes of the heart and the head are important, yes, but do you not remember the most important thing of all…?"

I guess you might have said something about that in the song I half listened to. You know the rhyme scheme was kind of sloppy.

"I prioritise the message over the form, if you insist on being pedantic."

I do.

"Yes, well that night was one of terror for Ms. Timous, but what she feared above all else was to be separated from her newly found friends, to start all over again amongst a horde of strangers… It was that fear, not courage, that led her to the Gryffindor table. Do you find that strange?"

We don't always want what's best for us.

"True enough, Mr. Kharan, but I must remind you that even the most timid of creatures will fight to defend their home, and those of us that fear life do not always fear death... Does not the true measure of courage come in the darkest of circumstances?"

Scott considered that. So you saw that she could rise to the occasion.

"What I saw is not to be told," the Sorting Hat said firmly. "What she wanted was clear, but who she is belongs to her alone."

Patient confidentiality. I got tired of hearing that a couple epochs ago.

"Then you are well used to dealing with it-" The Hat sounded amused again. "-or so I assume…. Weren't the details of your work part of our deal?"

Fair enough. At least I know you'll keep your mouth shut about it.

Scott sped through a broad recap of his purpose. His job as a Kharadjai and the general events that had transpired were difficult to condense, but he thought that he managed it well enough. The Hat was silent during his tale. When he finished, it was still for a few seconds more.

"Fascinating…" the Hat finally said. "Improbable, impossible, yet true… At least, you believe it, I can tell that much…"

Look at it this way — you live on a shelf, so you'll have a lot of time to think about it.

"That I will. It has been, as always, a highly unusual and enjoyable experience talking with you."

Until next time.

Scott placed the Sorting Hat back in its place. In response to his question it had provided insight but no real answers. Still, it was good to know that the Hat took the matter of confidentiality with appropriate seriousness. If it were ever questioned, Scott could trust it not to reveal anything damaging.

Dumbledore looked on inquisitively, but, perhaps mindful of the information that he had withheld from Scott in turn, did not ask what Scott had discussed with the Hat.

"Okay, anyway…" Scott said, seating himself across from Dumbledore. "I think we can both agree that this was probably an inside job, so let's keep our mouths shut and our eyes open. If I find anything out I'll be sure to come to you."

"I'd appreciate that," Dumbledore said tiredly. "I would lament the difficulty of dealing with both Voldemort and this new threat, but I have a hard time believing they aren't one and the same."

"Yeah, well, he's gonna die for causing these problems," Scott assured the Headmaster. "Someone else will take his place eventually, but one battle at a time, right."

"On the topic of battles," Dumbledore said slowly, "there was an incident in January I'd wanted to ask you about. Two men, both of whom were allegedly Death Eaters, were killed by a bomb outside a home near Southampton."

Scott had been wondering when the subject was going to come up. He decided to be forthright. "If you want a confession, you got it. If you want remorse, you're in for a disappointment."

"Your sister said much the same."

"And?"

Dumbledore closed his eyes wearily. "And I know what it is you want from me, but I'm not certain I can hold my tongue."

Scott felt a brief pinch of worry. It was important that he be allowed to take action against the Death Eaters, but it was essential that he be allowed to stay at Hogwarts. If he admitted that, Dumbledore was likely to extract a promise from him to stop the killings in trade for his student tenure. If forced to that point, then it was a compromise that Scott would have no choice but to make. He had to try and avoid that.

"I fully realise that it's an unpleasant situation," Scott said carefully, "but you have to remember that there are people dying out there — and they aren't Death Eaters. If Riddle is building an army, don't you think the logical thing to do is to thin his forces before you have to face them? Before Harry has to face them?" he added, playing on Dumbledore's sympathies.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore prevaricated. "However, you must remember that this war of ours starts and ends with Voldemort, not his servants. By finding his Horcruxes, we are taking action against him."

"You're weakening him so that Harry can finish the job," Scott corrected. "I'm doing exactly the same thing. Every Death Eater that dies now is one less to stand in his way."

"Why is it that we must defend mercy, but we never find ourselves lacking justification for murder," Dumbledore mused quietly.

Scott was losing his patience. He bit the inside of his cheek and held himself in check, replying as calmly as he was able, "They don't generally call it murder when the person you kill is actively trying to kill you."

"Then what would you call it?"

"I call it taking care of business," Scott said stiffly.

"I simply can't consider the act of taking life a matter of business."

"Then you can consider it whatever the hell you like, it doesn't matter to me," Scott told him sharply, "and frankly I'm starting to wonder if you really want Harry to win or if you think that war is a great excuse to sit around in your office and pontificate."

The second the words left his mouth Scott nearly winced, fearing he had gone too far. But instead of blasting Scott with a righteous denunciation, Dumbledore wilted back into his chair with a deep sigh. "Forgive an old man," he said roughly, rubbing at his eyes beneath his half-moon glasses. "This is a road I had hoped to never travel again."

Inwardly, Scott was relieved at the change in the Headmaster's demeanour. He didn't show it, though. "You're not going anywhere. This is my show, remember? You're not responsible for what I do." In reality Dumbledore had some fairly substantial leverage over Scott, but the Kharadjai was scrupulously evading any mention of that. He decided to hit his message home by bringing Harry back into the conversation. "I want Harry to win, just like you do. I want him to survive this thing. And I promise you, absolutely promise you, that I am doing everything I can to keep him alive. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, I stick to that kid like glue." That was stretching the truth by a fair amount, but it sounded good.

"I can only hope our combined efforts are enough," Dumbledore said.

"I think he's got a really good shot at winning." Another half-truth — Scott didn't have a clear picture of the odds and was simply assuming that his presence would be enough to tip the scales. "But you see, the less he's up against, the better that chance gets. That's why I hit back. Don't pretend like I'm just targeting random people because I get off on it. They started it. Voldemort started it, and his Death Eaters are continuing it. And, yeah, I understand that you're gunning for King Riddle himself. But sometimes you can't just cut the head off the snake. In this case, I know you can't. Only Harry can do that. So instead, we have to dismantle mountain that the snake lives on. It's the only way to reach him. To reach the mountain snake. Mountain snake? Wow, that analogy didn't turn out the way I expected it to." Dumbledore started to reply, but Scott quickly cut him off. "Look, I'm not asking for more people, I'm not asking for logistics, I'm not even asking for your blessing. All I'm asking is that you just don't interfere. That's all."

Dumbledore smiled humourlessly. "How skilfully you've backed me into this corner. I must choose whether to chance the lives of innocents or murder the guilty."

That sounded about right. "What's it gonna be?"

"I cannot, I will not, sit silent and pretend that responsibility has passed over my shoulders — despite your best efforts to make it seem that way," Dumbledore said firmly, making it clear that Scott's machinations had not gone unnoticed. "You may not be my soldier to command, but when looking back if people should see that I had a chance to prevent this, well… Then let it be known that I chose not to act."

"So then…"

"For all my grand intentions… and I've had so very many…" Dumbledore said with a hint of a well-worn sorrow in his voice. "…it seems I am unable to find a perfect solution. I've already accepted that, as in all wars, death will come to those who have done nothing to deserve it. If you can prevent that, even in a small way…" He sighed again, a defeated sound. "I will not stop you."

It wasn't exactly license to rampage, but it was close enough. Scott was immensely relieved. Dumbledore's capitulation would make things much easier. He tried not to sound triumphant or gloating when he said, "I understand." He was searching for an elegant way close the conversation when the shape provided him with useful information. "Well, I think we should wrap it up. Harry is headed up here."

"Is he?" Dumbledore sat up straighter, emerging from his dark thoughts. "At this hour?"

"Yeah, and it looks like he has some good news." Scott could see that Harry was no longer under the effects of the Felix Felicis. Predictably, the universe was beginning to congeal again. He hoped that it was happening slowly enough for him to take advantage of the breathing room that was left. "Whatever he's got to tell you, it's important."

"Dare I hope he has procured the memory?" Dumbledore wondered.

"Given what's left of his connection to Slughorn, I'd say you're probably on the money. I gotta jet, later."

"Farewell for now," Dumbledore called after Scott as he moved quickly towards the door, still holding the bottle of mead.

Back out in the hallway, he tucked his poisoned prize beneath his robes and contemplated the situation. The discovery of the lethal mead had answered the quandary of why he had been given a directive, but it created many more questions. He tried to logically pare down the problem until he could find the most likely focus of benefit.

It was possible that the mead was a random attempted murder by some unknown enemy of Slughorn's. The Potions professor went out of his way to prevent hostility but it was sometimes unavoidable. If that was the case then the mead had nothing to do with Scott's objectives. It was a fluke, like most of what happened around him. Life continued despite the pressure of a UO.

It was a likely circumstance. That didn't mean it was true, especially taking into account what Dumbledore had revealed.

He'd have to devote some more thought to it at a later time. The universe was falling back into its usual tangle, but before it finished he had some Death Eaters to kill.

Lila was sound asleep when the phone rang. There was only one person who would call her at night, and she tossed aside her sheets with the intention of giving Scott a piece of her mind. When she picked up the phone, though, his words brought her up short.

"I need fire support."

As always when dealing with Scott, the first order of business was to determine whether he was joking or not. "Are you serious? Because if you woke me up just to be annoying then I swear to God I'll-"

"Totally serious. Grab a weapon and meet me in the living room in five minutes."

That was direct enough. "All right."

Lila dressed rapidly, choosing darker clothes that would be suitable for concealment. As soon as her shoes were on she knelt down on her hands and knees and crawled into her closet. It was standard contingency to store a variety of weapons around the primary residence during any mission, and this one was no exception. A large, nondescript black case sat behind several shoe boxes. She hauled it out and set it on her bed.

The case had a built in combination lock and heavy steel clasps, and it took her a few seconds to open it. Nestled inside on a snug mattress of foam was a heavy machine gun painted a dull matte black. She withdrew the gun and quickly cleared it and performed a function check.

Scott wasn't in the living room when Lila entered it, but the sounds coming from his bedroom told her that he was in the house. She settled on the couch and waited for him to emerge.

When he did so a few moments later he was in his adult form, with his underarms showing the slight bulges of his handguns in their shoulder holsters and his favourite rifle in his hands. From his choice of armament Lila surmised that she would be providing cover with her rapid fire weapon while he engaged the targets with a more precise approach to death dealing.

His movements were oddly unsure and his hair was a clumpy mess formed by dried sweat. Lila felt a pang of worry. "What happened to you? You look terrible."

"I was poisoned; long story. I got better." He looked pointedly at her firearm. "Isn't that a little much?"

"You said you needed fire support," Lila said coolly. "You didn't say how much."

"All right, but you'll wake up the whole damn neighbourhood if you start chopping away with that thing." Kharan shrugged. "It might actually be better that way."

"Oh?" Lila paused to allow him to elaborate, but he must have decided that it would be fun to be aggravating because he just stared blankly back at her. She frowned. "You know, I might be more effective if you'd tell me who I'm supposed to shoot at tonight."

"I doubt it." Kharan nimbly dodged the kick she sent at his ankle and continued, "But I suppose I'll humour you. There's a meeting tonight in Diagon Alley. A group of low level Death Eaters and wanna-be Death Eaters, nobody really big; as far as I can tell they're running recruitment and possibly extortion. It's not important. Once they're gone, Riddle's operations in the area will come to a standstill. They're meeting at the house of the highest ranking Death Eater. I've already scoped it. There are two exits: one to the street and one to the small yard behind the structure, not counting the windows. The kitchen faces the street but also extends to the back of the house; it's to the immediate left of the front entrance. I think they'll sit at the table in there."

Kharan handed Lila a rough diagram drawn on a piece of paper. She turned it over and was amused to see that it was some homework from Hogwarts on which he had received a zero. Flipping it back, she studied the sketch and memorised the layout of the house and street. "What's this?" she asked, pointing to another structure behind the yard that had been circled.

"That's your position. It's the roof of a bakery that overlooks the yard. You'll set up there and cover the back door."

Lila nodded and handed the sheet back to him. "A simple plan, but a sound one. Maybe if you put this kind of effort into your homework you wouldn't get zeros."

"It's not a zero!" Kharan said, looking offended. "It's an O for Outstanding!"

"Sure it is." Lila rolled her eyes.

"No, I'm serious," he insisted. "It's not a zero."

"Okay, whatever. Are we going to go?"

"We'll have to be fast. The shape is closing down again."

"I thought it was local," Lila mused. "How did you find these guys?"

"Luck. I was hoping that I would carry some remnant of the looseness with me and just opened an aperture to the first place I could think of where there might be Death Eaters. They were a pretty obvious ripple of change." He swung his rifle off of his back and chambered a round. "Okay. Let's go before we can't any more."

He opened an aperture and disappeared through it. Lila followed him in, clutching her weapon and stepping out into the void.

She found herself standing on the flat rooftop of a two story building. To her left was an area of tight, winding streets which were lined by tall and narrow houses backed by tiny patches of backyard. To her right the meandering residential lanes melded into a larger road that was bracketed by a variety of businesses.

"Give me a minute to get in position," Kharan said. He jumped off the roof and landed on the other side of the nearby fence.

Diagon Alley was dark under a partially cloudy sky. The conditions made the house closest to the back of the building she stood upon stand out quite clearly, as it was the only one nearby with lit windows. It was a squat one story home constructed of old timbers covered in peeling paint. On the other side of the street opposite the house she could make out the dim form of Kharan clambering over the chimney-studded rooftop of a brick town house. He went prone and she followed suit.

From her vantage point she could see through a back window into the cramped kitchen. A group of seven men were crowded around a shabby table. One of them had a bundle of papers in front of him and was looking at each of the men in turn while reading from them. Lila figured he was probably the leader. Only two of the other men were wearing the black robes that identified them as Death Eaters. The rest wore what passed for street clothes among wizards.

Flipping out the bipod on her weapon, she settled it into place and put the stock firmly against her shoulder. The reflex sight mounted on the top rails allowed for quick aiming and lacked any magnification, so she didn't bother adjusting for range. Instead she settled in and waited for Kharan to open fire. She would ensure that no one got away.

Kharan had chosen his positions well. She had a ringside seat when the first shot rang out. Her brother's customary rifle of choice was the venerable M14. Firing the heavy 7.62 x 51mm round with an effective range of 875 yards, the M14 was an excellent weapon for precision shooting. It allowed for accurate and long distance semi-automatic fire.

Round number one entered through top pane of the front kitchen window and hit the man with the papers. Passing cleanly through his head at a speed of 3,200 feet per second, it killed him before either he or his companions heard the shot. The bullet exited his forehead, punched through the table and lodged in the floor next to the foot of the man opposite him. Since the FMJ round had not stopped on its way through his skull only a minimum of kinetic energy was transferred on impact, and the dead man simply fell face first onto the table.

While the others just began to register that something had happened, the second shot caught the next Death Eater through his temple, toppling him to the floor.

The greater part of bullet impacts from the supersonic weapons they were using were largely invisible, and most bleeding was done after death had already occurred since the heart, ever a stubborn muscle, would continue to beat. A hit was commonly registered as a rapid poof of misty blood, dust and disintegrated clothing. Everything was variable; a bullet interacting with the human body was the most complex of equations. Every type of weapon and all separate forms of ammunition could produce unique destruction. It was impossible to know exactly what would happen when someone was shot. A combatant could witness wounds ranging from dismemberment to nothing visible at all.

In testament to this, the third gunshot was messier. The final Death Eater had begun to stand, and as he was halfway to his feet the bullet penetrated his neck with the bloody gout of a torn artery. The downward angle of the projectile insured that it went through his windpipe and hit the man sitting next to him just in front of the right armpit, sending the bullet slicing through both of his lungs.

All of this had occurred in less than four seconds. Accustomed to the bright lights and long incantations of spell casting, the targets had abysmal reaction times.

The three remaining men had finally grasped that they were under attack. One of them raised his wand and began shouting a spell, an act which served only to make him Kharan's priority target. He was hit twice in the torso before he could finish. The first bullet cut cleanly through his abdomen and his backwards fall was initially slow until the second bullet caught in his spine, smashing him violently downward.

The other two men ran for the rear of the house. Kharan fired at the back of the slower man, but his retreat had taken him out of direct view from the front kitchen window. Kharan had to anticipate the path of his target; the round passed through the timber above the window and shattered the man's left shoulder blade, knocking him forward to tumble into the far wall.

Lila watched through her set of windows as the last target ducked out of the kitchen and into the adjoining room. Kharan no longer had a clear shot, and Lila felt that if they were going to have the time to retrieve the papers and anything else they wanted from the house then they couldn't wait for the fleeing man to try the back door. He passed by the window in the sitting room and then apparently thought better of it, doubling back. She took aim and began to fire at the area of wall where he would be.

Her M240 Bravo machine gun fired 950 rounds per minute at a velocity of 2,970 feet per second. It chambered the same 7.62 x 51mm round that Kharan's M14 did, and the wooden walls of the house were no obstacle to its fury. Her barrage of bullets slammed through and hit the man inside nine times.

The spent brass and chain links of her belt fed ammunition clattered onto the roof next to her as the roar of her gun faded. The sharp double crack of Kharan's rifle rang out from the building and let her know that he was inside. Jumping to her feet and lifting her weapon, she leapt off the roof and sprinted across the yard towards the entrance. Lights were beginning to come on in nearby houses and dogs were barking in the distance.

Kharan was rustling around in the kitchen when she kicked open the door. She quickly looked to the left into the sitting room and confirmed that the man she had shot at was now a corpse crumpled in a spreading circle of stained carpet. The kitchen was rapidly becoming a real mess. Kharan's feet crunched on broken glass from the window as he gathered up the documents from the table, pausing to wipe a few pages on the dead Death Eater's shirt.

"He bled on them some, but they're readable," he told Lila as she stepped into the room. "But check this out, this is interesting…"

He held up the wrist of one of the dead Death Eaters. There, burned into the skin, was a black tattoo of a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth. It seemed to have an unnatural sharpness to it, a supernatural layer of definition.

"Do they all have that?"

"No, just the ranking guys." Kharan dropped the limp arm. "I'd guess that's their ticket to the tree house club. Pretty stupid to brand your members in an obvious way, but, hey, Riddle hasn't exactly struck me as MENSA material."

"A skull with a snake in its mouth," Lila muttered, bending down to peer more closely at the symbol etched on the dead man. "How ridiculously phallic."

"The only snake in Voldemort's mouth is of the trouser variety." The sound of a door opening outside drew their attention. "That gun of yours was louder than all hell. Let's get out of here."

They fled back to their flat, leaving the scene of carnage behind for the neighbours to discover.

Lila wasn't familiar with magical law enforcement, and so was unsure of what response their assault would provoke from the government. She was more concerned about the other Death Eaters. "Have you thought about reprisals?" she asked Kharan.

"Yes. That's why we attacked in Diagon Alley, a Muggle couldn't have done it. They can't even go there."

"And no one's ever seen you use a gun?"

"Only Ron and Harry," Kharan assured her. "Dumbledore will know who it was, of course, but he won't tell anyone."

Lila nodded, hoping that he was right. His impromptu ambush had been an effective one, but if it caused him bigger problems further down the road then it hadn't been worth it. "What's in the papers?"

"You tell me," Kharan said, throwing them at her. He dropped his gun on the couch and pulled off his jacket and shoulder holsters. "I've got to get back to Hogwarts."

"How convenient," Lila said dryly, looking at the mess he was leaving behind.

"Yes, I thought so," he cheerfully agreed. He darted off into his room and emerged a few minutes later in his teenage form. His hair was sticking out in all directions, a sight that never failed to bug Lila, but when she reached over to smooth it down he dodged out of reach. "Hey!"

"I'm just fixing your hair. You still look like you've been sick."

"I was sick."

She reached for him again. "Stand still."

"Fuck that, I'm outta here!" He opened an aperture and dived through it before she could grab him.

She sighed in exasperation. There was little doubt that Scott hadn't any real objections to having his hair fixed and had avoided it for no reason other than to annoy her. Well, fine. If he wanted to go back looking like a haystack, that was his bad choice.

Leaning over the back of the couch, Lila picked up the M14. She'd put it away for him, but he'd have to clean it himself. That was how it always worked.