Ten Minutes to Midnight

Chapter Three

"It was a blonde. A blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window."

-Raymond Chandler

Jack took a deep breath and cast a sideways glance at Dumbledore, who wore a look of infuriating calm. Jack tried to exhale and wondered how Dumbledore could possibly not be worried about fooling a room full of people into thinking that Jack knew what he was doing.

He pulled nervously on one of his buttons and muttered, "They're going to see right through me, Dumbledore. They'll know I don't have the faintest idea of what I'm doing."

"You'll manage," Dumbledore replied, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Just remember what I told you."

Jack nodded uncertainly and rehearsed the answers to the questions the Ministry workers would likely be asking him in his mind. Name? Christian McBay. Age? 34. Hometown? Dublin, Ireland. School? The Rontage Academy of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He was so caught up in his new identity that he didn't realise that Dumbledore had opened the door to the office and then pulled Jack inside. Jack blinked in the light and stood still for a moment, unsure of what to do. No one seemed to notice his presence, so he allowed himself to think things through a bit before doing anything.

The room was small and crowded, with rows of cubicles lined along each wall, huge bookshelves and file cabinets, and a rather unimpressive minibar in the far corner. Wizards and witches in navy blue robes sat at their desks, writing, typing on ancient typewriters, bent over huge books, or sipping coffee. The room was quiet, with the exception of the scratching of quills, pounding of typewriter keys, and the faintest buzz of conversation. The smell of leather and coffee was suffocating.

"Welcome, Jack, to the Department of Mysteries," Dumbledore said, smiling. Jack smiled faintly back. Frankly, he had expected something much more impressive. "Let me introduce you to your partner."

He led Jack over to the furthest corner of the room, where a cubicle with two desks sat. At one of them was a woman with blonde hair, hunched over her typewriter and writing furiously. Books were propped up all around her, a fancy peacock quill sat in the inkwell, and every inch of the desk was covered in photographs, reports, or newspaper clippings. The other desk was completely empty.

"Christian," Jack jumped at the mention of his new name, "this is Meredith Conway."

The woman didn't look up; in fact, she didn't appear to have heard him. Dumbledore leaned over and placed his hands on Meredith's shoulders, then bent over to speak directly into her ear.

"Meredith, your new partner is here," he said with a hint of amusement.

The woman jumped and glanced up at Jack, looking embarrassed. She quickly stood, causing her chair to make a screeching noise as it scratched the floor, and held out a hand. She was very tall.

"Hi," she said breathlessly, as Jack took her hand. "Sorry about that; new report for the Ministry, so much to do. You must be Christian." She spoke very rapidly with a heavy Welsh accent. "I'm Meredith. Meredith Conway."

"Nice to meet you, Meredith. I'm Christian McBay," he said softly as she released his hand.

She turned to Albus. "Well, Dumbledore, I think I can take it from here."

"Yes, of course," Dumbledore replied, with a wink in Jack's direction before he disappeared.

Meredith motioned to the empty chair beside her and Jack sat down. She swivelled her chair to face him, swirling the straw in her mug.

"Coffee?" Jack asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, no, chocolate milk. I used to be addicted to coffee - well, really, that one started because I was addicted to cigarettes and wanted to break the habit, so I turned to cappuccino for support - and then I started losing serious sleep from the caffeine so I've moved on to chocolate milk. But I think I've become addicted to that, too."

"Lovely. Next thing you know, you'll be on heroin in hopes of breaking your chocolate milk habit."

She laughed. "Yes, probably, only I can't afford it. My son runs me dry."

"Son?" She didn't wear a ring on her finger.

"Oh, yeah, Brynn." She held up a framed picture of a boy with curly black hair wearing a Hogwarts uniform. "He's seventeen, and a Hufflepuff at Hogwarts. He's Seeker on the house Quidditch team. Did you go to Hogwarts? You look about the same age as me; you would've been there when I was. I don't remember you."

Jack barely had time to be shocked at the fact that she was so young with a seventeen year-old son. Her questions came too fast.

"Er, no, I went to a private school in Ireland, the Rontage Academy of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Oh, I've heard of that. Did you like it there?"

He tried to quickly think of a lie. "It was--well, it was small. I didn't like that."

She nodded, and a lock of hair fell into her eyes. She had the tired look of a workaholic, her robes were wrinkled and stained, and her face was sunburned and tanned. Her eyes, behind thin reading glasses, were blue, just as Jack's had been before the glamour charms. She was quite pretty, but Jack had been too caught up in trying to listen to her rapid-fire questions to notice. Then he realised that she was staring at him.

"Something wrong?"

She started. "No, nothing. It's just . . . well, you're not what I expected. I thought you'd be someone old and practically decaying like all the other employees here. But you're - well, you're certainly not." She shrugged. "I suppose I'm just happy to see someone my age here."

He nodded. "So am I. I wasn't expecting you, either."

She grinned. "I suppose we'll just have to get used to each other, then. Well, actually, we probably won't be working together as much as you'd think. For the most part, our job is just to write reports on the evidence the Detection Wizards come up with. D'you know much about them?"

He shook his head.

"I'm not sure how much you know about how this place operates. I know when I first started here, I had no idea what the different branches were and how everything functions, so I don't expect you to know much more unless they've changed their policies since. See, the Detection Wizards are the ones that actually go out into the field and investigate the 'mysteries.' They send us notes - evidence - and we organize them and type them up, then send them to different branches of the department to be analysed. Basically, we get the boring jobs."

Jack's heart sank. He hadn't counted on being stuck in an office typing up reports all day long. If anything, he wanted to work in the field, so he could actually be doing something to distract him from all the problems floating around in his brain. Being assigned endless busywork wouldn't occupy his mind. He sighed.

"Any chance we'll be promoted any time soon?"

She laughed. "Not you, for sure. You've just started working here! I've been working here for six years and I still haven't been promoted, so it doesn't seem likely for me either. It's not so bad, once you get used to it, though. The work isn't hard, and you learn some interesting stuff." She picked up a packet of papers that was sitting on her desk. "This is probably the most interesting thing I've come across yet. It's all about these Dark Arts items being sent from Knockturn Alley to Moscow. I think we have something going on in Russia."

She brushed a strand of hair off her face and frowned. "You know, I've been hearing a lot of rumours lately. They say that if this whole Russian thing explodes and we get a full-on war, the Aurors will start drafting people to fight for them. I almost wish they would. I'd love to be an Auror."

Jack's heart stopped sinking and leapt. "What about all the recent escapes from Azkaban and the alliance with the giants? If something happens with those, I'm sure they'll need more people to fight."

Meredith raised an eyebrow. "You want to join, too?"

Jack shrugged, afraid that he'd been overly enthusiastic. "I suppose. I'd really like to get involved."

She nodded and set the papers back on her desk. "I doubt they'd draft me, though. I mean, I'm thirty-three, I've got a son, and I'm not exactly the most powerful witch in the world. They'd have to be pretty desperate to want me to fight for them. They'd draft Brynn before me. He's such an amazing flier, and his eyesight is near perfect. He'd be a wonderful addition to them, even if it would probably give me a stress attack." She glanced over her shoulder and sighed. "Croaker is staring at us. You need something to do, but I don't know what. No one gave me anything."

Jack frowned. "They never gave me anything either. I really don't know what's going on, this is supposed to just be a temporary job for awhile--" He stopped, realising he had said too much.

"Temporary? Why?"

"I, uh--"

"Conway!" Meredith turned her suspicious gaze away from Jack and turned her head to look up at her boss, Aldred Croaker. "Don't you have a report to be working on?"

Croaker was exactly the kind of person Meredith would call "old and practically decaying." He looked to be at least a hundred, with oily grey hair, a huge crooked nose and a jutting chin. He wore brown tweed robes and his hands were stained with ink. He had an air of superiority to him; he was obviously the kind of person that thought being in charge of the Department of Mysteries was the most important job you could have and anyone who didn't agree was obviously missing something in the head.

Meredith sighed. "I was explaining Christian's job to him. He's my new partner; I thought it fitting that we should get acquainted."

Croaker glared. "That's not what I heard. Unless my ears fail me in my old age, I believe I distinctly heard the words 'heroin,' 'Quidditch,' and 'Brynn.' Conway, if you don't stop your constant babbling about your goddamned son, your chocolate milk addiction, and how much you hate this place every time a new employee walks in, I'll be forced to demote you." He picked up a set of note cards and waved them in front of her face. "Get to work, and spare Mr. McBay your sorrowful tales, please."

He turned away from the steadily reddening Meredith and gave Jack a tight-lipped smile. "Welcome to the Department, Mr. McBay."

Jack suppressed a laugh. "Thank you, sir."

With a nod and meaningful glare at Meredith, Croaker turned and swaggered away.

Meredith swivelled her chair around and stared resentfully into her mug, swishing its contents with the straw. "I hate him. He holds me personally accountable for the fact that no one stays my partner for more than a few months." She looked up at him, and he was caught off guard by how hurt she appeared. "I suppose you'll be no different. Hopefully he knows that my 'constant babbling' isn't the only reason you're leaving." She flashed a weak smile.

"I don't mind your babbling, really - at least not yet."

Her smile grew a little stronger. "Well, you're the first." Then she sat up straight and smoothed out her robes. "You need something to work on, but you don't have a typewriter or any notes . . ."

She sorted through the haphazard piles of paper on her desk for at least two minutes before finding a set of yellow note cards bound with a rubber band. Her eyes skimmed over them for a moment before she thrust them out to Jack, along with a red ballpoint pen.

"Here. Look through these and underline what you think the key words are. They're notes about shipments from Knockturn Alley to Russia."

Jack took them with a nod and slid the rubber band off. He took the cap off the pen and laid it on the desk, then bent over the cards and began to go through them, reading each card thoroughly before underlining anything. After about fifteen minutes, the note cards looked like this:

The last shipment was sent on October 21^st, 1996. It was bound for a small shop in Moscow, owned by Mrs. Anya Ulmanov, called Ulmanov and Company and located on 1467 Orbrucheva Street. The shipment contained 36 glass vials, a book on necromancy entitled Bringing Up the Dead by S. Morgue (this book was banned by the Ministry of Magic in 1987 citing misuse of magic), 19 bottles of chimera blood, a jewelled knife reputed to be formerly owned by Dracula himself (found in Transylvania in 1932), and 3 bags of dried white rose petals.

Jack paused for a moment, sucking on the end of the pen.

"It appears someone in Russia in is practising necromancy," he said quietly to Meredith.

"Hmm?" She looked up from her typewriter and took the note cards out of Jack's hands, then read them, her brow furrowed. "Oh my. Anya Ulmanov, vials, necromancy, Bringing Up the Dead, misuse of magic, chimera blood, Dracula, rose petals . . ." She raised an eyebrow and looked back at Jack.

"Strange, isn't it? The first part hints at necromancy, then vampirism . . . and what's the purpose of the rose petals? I've never heard of them carrying any kind of magical significance other than in love potions," he said.

She shook her head, obviously at a loss. "I really can't guess at what those would be for." She frowned, thinking hard. "We should go to the library tonight. After work, at 5:30,would be best. D'you have anything to do? Because I could just go by myself if you want me to."

"No, nothing," he replied. "Besides, I'd like to see what all of this is about."

She glanced at the cards again. "Chimera's blood . . . we should research its uses, too. And if we could get our hands on a copy of Bringing Up the Dead, I'm sure we could learn a lot from that."

"But it's banned."

"Well, obviously, but I'm sure a quick trip down Knockturn Alley would reveal one or two copies that managed to survive the Ministry's raids. There's a bookstore down there that carries just about every banned book you could think of."

He nodded. "Are you going to look for it tonight, then?"

"I don't have anything else to do," she said, shrugging. "With my son at school and my writer's block going full-force, I really need something to fill up the empty spaces in my day. Are you coming with me?"

"I suppose," he said. "I don't exactly fancy Knockturn Alley--"

"No one does," she interrupted. "But you're going to have to get used to it. I'm down there all the time for research. We have to go in disguise, of course. Nothing elaborate, just some dark hooded cloaks and eyeglasses so they can't scan our retinas."

"Scan our retinas? What?"

She sighed. "Honestly, don't you read the papers? Last summer, the Ministry issued some warrant to equip all the shops with this new Muggle technology they've magically enhanced. It scans your eyes and sends the results to this computer or whatever that matches the results up with your name. They did it so they could keep close watch on who's working for whom. They've even had to open a whole new branch to house all the technology. It was a pretty big deal when they did it. I can't believe you haven't heard."

He ignored her commentary. "Does it work?"

She shook her head. "Obviously they made a mistake with something, because eyeglasses deflect the magic so the scans don't operate correctly. And if you didn't know that, you can always apply for a permit to enter the shops. They're so simple to fill out, I wonder why the Ministry even bothers." She leaned back in her chair. "Just another brilliant idea from Cornelius Fudge. That man is so incompetent, I'm shocked he's still alive. I mean, really, I don't think he's even accepted that You-Know-Who is back yet."

The words "You-Know-Who" stung like a slap to the face. This was the first time Jack had heard them, and oddly, they provoked more of a reaction than the word "Voldemort" did. They were a reminder of the fear Voldemort inspired in people, so powerful that even the mere mention of his name made them scream. He was forced to realise that he was the son of something that could inspire such terror, and shivered involuntarily at the thought.

"Yeah," he murmured distractedly, turning away from her and back to the note cards.

Meredith peered at him with concern. "Are you all right? You just went completely white."

"Yes, I'm fine," he snapped.

She shrugged and turned back to her typewriter, pounding at the keys with such ferocity that it was a wonder they didn't break. Jack flipped to the next card and began to underline without considering whether the words he was highlighting were important or not. The mention of his father's name, indirect or not, had turned his thoughts away from this new job and back to the life he was hiding from. Cold waves of dread swept over him, and he abruptly stood up and fled to the bathroom, leaving Meredith to stare in stunned silence at his empty chair.

The bathroom was icy and dimly lit, with only one fluorescent light bulb swinging sadly from the ceiling. The paint on the walls was yellow and peeling, and the mirror was smudged. He stared into it and saw his reflection, pale and distorted. With a quick shake of his head, he sprinted into the nearest cubicle and locked the door, then bent over the toilet and retched.

When he was done, he sat up and wiped his mouth, trembling and crying slightly. He leaned against the wall of the cubicle and rested his face on the cool metal, taking deep, gasping breaths. The ugly green wall leered at him and then began to blur and bleed as the tears welled up and spilled over to splash down his cheeks. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. With the blackness came the memory.

Four people were sitting at the table, shadows and candlelight dancing on their pale faces. Two of them Jack recognised as his parents, one dark and the other fair, both beautiful and radiating power, although Deirdre looked exhausted. The other two Jack could only guess about : the man had white-blond hair and steely eyes, and the woman a halo of curly brown hair and a sprinkling of freckles on her nose.

"Silvius," Tom drawled, and the blond man looked up.

"Yes?" Silvius replied, and Jack unconsciously clenched his fists.

With a widening smirk, Tom went on. "I understand you have come up with a plan to identify my followers, using your talents, no doubt?"

The curly-haired woman's hands were clamped around a tattered book, and Silvius reached over to slide it out of her grasp, open it to the twelfth page and pass it over to Tom.

On the page, a face had been drawn in shimmering black ink, and on the face, the mark that Jack knew would soon brand Voldemort's first followers: a serpent, twisted around the eye and writhing almost imperceptibly. Tom's long, white fingers - fingers that Jack recognised as his own - traced the outline of the snake and his grin widened.

"Brilliant," he whispered. "A bit too obvious, perhaps, but beautiful nonetheless."

Silvius leaned in and tapped the page. "I know it's obvious; I've considered that already. I thought maybe you wouldn't accept it because of that, but then I thought . . . why hide? When we must hide our faces, we do so with hoods, but when possible, let the serpent be seen and inspire the fear."

He had a smooth, manipulative voice that cut through the tension in the room like hot honey through ice. His eyes gleamed in the candlelight, and his thin cheeks were flushed with frenzied pride. His fingers were intertwined with the curly-haired woman's, but his gaze splashed across Deirdre's face, and she shivered.

Riddle nodded in approval. "It seems appropriate that my followers wear the marks on their faces, yet if something were to go wrong and I lost power, they would be too easily identifiable."

Silvius looked smug. "I can tie the tattoo to the strength of your power. When you are at your strongest, the mark will be at its darkest and burn slightly. But if you lose your power, it will gradually fade until it disappears."

Deirdre swept her hair off her face and tore her eyes away from Silvius'.

"A tattoo on the face is extremely painful, you know," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Don't you think a few people will refuse to suffer through it?"

"If they do, they aren't worthy of serving me," Tom snapped. "The ability to endure the pain will be a testament to their loyalty to me." His face split into a twisted smile. "Florette!"

The woman with the curly hair snapped out of her daze and raised her eyebrows at him. "Yes?"

"Tomorrow morning, I want you to find everyone you know and bring them here by noon. I'll explain this and brand them all by midnight. Silvius, you are to be here first, by seven a.m. I want to try the tattoo out on you."

Silvius blanched, but nodded. Deirdre frowned, her outspoken nature coming through.

"Everyone she knows? Not all of them will agree to being branded by you. Many of them prefer to support you in silence, or work undercover. It wouldn't be wise to mark them all, because then we'd never have the spies and the ones working in the shadows. No, you should just bring in the ones you trust most, the ones who'll agree to fight beside you through it all. Don't mark the others."

Tom nodded, and looked back at Florette.

"Your assignment will be easier, then. I want Wilkes, Rosier, Warrington, Midgen, Figg, Malécrit, Rudolf, Avery, Bell, Hawthorne, Kelly, Lynch and your brothers here at noon. Silvius, do you think your sisters will agree to come?"

Silvius shook his head. "Marcelyn doesn't like you, Elvira's so vain she'll never agree to ruining her beautiful face, and Gavina . . .You know about Gavina. So I'd say no."

Florette chewed on her fingernails. "I'm not so sure about my brothers, either. Well . . . perhaps Richard. He'd do it in a heartbeat if he thought it would improve his life."

Tom shrugged. "I don't really care about Leonard, anyway. Just as long as you and Richard show up." He paused. "I suppose I need to go prepare, then."

He stood up, closed the book, and pulled on his cloak.

"Florette, Silvius, I'll see you two tomorrow morning." Without a word to Deirdre, he turned and left the room.

Florette yawned and stretched her arms. "Well, that was odd." She glanced at the window. "It's hot as hell in here."

She reached over and opened the window, then got up and blew out the candles, one by one. The only lights now were the rays of moonlight. A warm breeze drifted in.

"I think I'll go for a walk," she mused. "I might be able to find Leonard and convince him to join us . . ." She shrugged. "Well, goodnight, I suppose."

She left as well, after blowing a kiss to Silvius and throwing her thin cloak around her shoulders. Without her, the room fell into silence and Deirdre sighed heavily, sinking down into the chair.

Her eyes wandered around the room, from the silver candlesticks to the tattered velvet curtains and the dusty old grand piano sitting in the corner. The piano had once been the finest mahogany, but now it was scratched and dull. The straight-backed chairs had stuffing spilling out of their dark red upholstery; the windows were cracked, and wax from the candles dripped onto the carpet. The room had once been the grand drawing room of the castle, but it was now a mess, and the perfect place to hold forbidden meetings.

Deirdre ran her hands over the surface of the table and then sighed, letting her head droop onto the cool wood. Without looking up, she murmured something unintelligible to Silvius.

"Come again?" he replied.

She looked up at him through bloodshot eyes. "Why are you doing it?"

"Doing what?"

She sat up. "The tattoo. What's the point of putting yourself through all the pain? Can't you serve him without being branded like cattle? And even if you feel you must carry his mark to be a loyal soldier . . . why did you come up with the idea yourself? It's a bit masochistic, if you ask me."

He shrugged lightly. "I want to be his right-hand man. And what better way than to make his mark one designed by me? When they see it, they'll know that I designed it, that the genius behind it is entirely mine, and I'm the one Lord Voldemort favours. I want them to know my name."

"There are other ways for them to know your name," she said quietly.

"Why does it concern you? You've never been one to shy away from pain. You're the one trying the Invalescus Curse, and going through the Animagus process . . . Don't preach to me about masochism, all right?"

"Those have a reason behind them! You've got to think logically, Silvius, please."

He broke into a twisted smile. "Then what's your reason for staying with Tom when you don't love him anymore?"

"That's not fair," she whispered.

"Fair or not, it's true. Don't preach to me, Deirdre. You've been doing the same thing for years and years."

She ended the conversation silently and turned her head sharply to gaze out the window. It was a hot, muggy summer night, and fog was rising around the castle. Stars twinkled in the dark sky, and moonlight streamed in through the tall windows. Silvius followed her gaze.

"Lovely night, isn't it?"

"Mmm," she replied, apparently still angry and distracted.

"Look, Deirdre, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it." He swiftly crossed the room and sat down on her chair, balancing on the edge. His hands found her chin and turned her face to him. "I know why you stay. It's the same reason I do what I do."

She nodded, slowly, and looked down. He tilted her face up again, and then caught her by surprise as his mouth met hers. He kissed her, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other hand tangled in her hair. She moaned and pulled herself onto his lap, running her hands through his own hair and across his face.

A fierce wind whistled through the trees and found its way in through the window to force open the book and flip the pages until the drawing of the snake lay exposed, bathed in the light of the moon.

Jack opened his eyes. The harsh light burned them, and he blinked and shifted, groaning slightly. His back ached where the bottom of the wall had dug into hit, and he still felt queasy. He was also shaking and sweating.

He pulled himself gingerly up, gripping the wall for support, and stumbled over to the sink. He turned the water on at its coldest and splashed it across his face, then gulped it up, trying to rid the acidic taste from his mouth. After his face was cool and he could taste nothing but the faintly metallic water, he turned off the tap and raised his face to the mirror.

Croaker was staring back at him over his shoulder, looking grim.

"Mr. McBay."

Jack whirled around, his new brown eyes widening in surprise. "Mr. Croaker."

"A bit ill, are we?" Croaker raised one bushy grey eyebrow and stepped closer to his employee. "Mr. McBay . . . before you came here, Dumbledore informed me of your situation, as you may or may not know. You are a veritable danger to this place, and it will not be easy to keep your secret safe. But I, out of the goodness of my own heart, agreed to let you work here despite the fact that I feel your skills are not up to par with those of the other workers. Because you have been recently widowed, I am willing to put up with some incompetence, but I must let you know that I do expect you to work as hard as anyone else normally hired here."

Jack began to protest, but Croaker cut him off.

"Christian, I know you think this is all just a silly little thing to occupy your mind, but this job is important. I heard you tell Meredith that you want to be an Auror. Many of the reports we compose here in this office are sent directly to the Aurors, and though your help would not be direct, it makes a world of difference. If our cause really means that much to you, I suggest you take this seriously and try."

Jack nodded slowly, and Croaker laid a hand on his shoulder.

"You just looked as though you thought all this was rubbish," he explained. "But I hope I simply read you wrong." He dropped the hand. "Now. Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes, sir."

Croaker nodded and patted Jack's arm awkwardly. "I'm very sorry about your family."

"Thank you, sir," Jack said quietly, and Croaker left.

With a heavy sigh, Jack spun around and looked back at his ghastly

reflection. He said a silent prayer asking whoever came across it that Meredith wouldn't pelt him with a thousand questions when he got back. Then he left the room, still a bit woozy.

Sure enough, Meredith began her onslaught of questions as soon as she saw him.

"What just happened? Are you all right? Do you need to go home? Will you still be able to come with me tonight?"

"I'm fine," he grunted as he slid into the seat. "I'll still be able to come tonight."

"You look awful."

"Thank you for noticing."

With a suspicious glance at him, she took the hint to end the conversation and resumed her typing. The monotonous sound of it sent Jack into a sort of stupor, and he was extremely relieved when the day ended seven hours later at 5:30.

Meredith attempted to straighten the piles of paper on her desk, then gave up and shoved them all into folders or her bag or simply left them lying there. She pulled on her coat, hoisted her bag over her shoulder, and then grinned at Jack, who was struggling to fasten his cloak.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

They left together, Meredith chatting happily and Jack grunting one-word answers. The wind outside was bitter and cut through their thin cloaks as they trudged across the street to the nearest pub.

"I thought we were headed to the library," Jack said.

"Well, I figured it'd be best if we stopped and got a quick bite to eat first. You don't mind, do you?"

He shrugged. "No."

She led him into the pub and to the table in the corner nearest to the fire. The waitress, a plump woman with her sleeves rolled up, hurried quickly over and flashed a grin at Meredith.

"Hello, Meredith! It's been such a long time since you stopped by. Here with the new boyfriend?"

Meredith turned a quite unflattering shade of red and Jack glared contemptuously at the smiling waitress.

"No, Rosie, this is my new partner at work, Christian McBay."

Jack gave her a limp wave and forced a smile. She laughed.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Nice to meet you, Christian." And suddenly, without warning, she pulled up a chair and began to gossip with Meredith. "So, luvvy, how's Brynn? I haven't seen him for weeks."

"Oh, he's wonderful. Just got full marks on his Defence Against the Dark Arts test over werewolves. I swear, he's got such excellent marks in that class, I'm terrified they'll want to draft him into the army when the war comes full-force."

"But he's so young!" Rosie exclaimed. "Surely they wouldn't let seventeen-year-olds join?"

"Well, perhaps not until he's eighteen, but even still. That's only two months away. When I was his age and You-Know-Who was at the height of his power, all of us that were too young to join the army formed student resistance groups. I'm sure he'd join one of those in a heartbeat if they started to pop up again."

Rosie nodded and changed the subject, apparently uneasy about the subject of war.

"Does he have a girlfriend?"

"He's been with Cho Chang for quite some time now. She's a lovely girl, a Ravenclaw, but I feel so bad for her. She was seeing Cedric Diggory when he was killed two years ago. She seemed happy enough when Brynn brought her home, but I just don't know . . ."

Rosie patted her hand sympathetically.

"Does he love her?"

"You know, I've never asked him. He's become a bit distant lately. He's so preoccupied with grades, Quidditch, and now her that he barely has time to write me anymore. It gets awfully lonely without him, but now I have Christian to keep me company at work."

Rosie suddenly remembered that there was someone else sitting at the table. "Oh! Well, luvvy, I suppose I should leave you two alone for now." She stood up and smoothed out her work robes. "Anything I can get you two?"

Jack, whose eyes had just begun to glaze over, came slowly out of his daze as he realised that Meredith and Rosie were done gossiping.

"Er, just a cold cider, please," he said. "I'm not really hungry."

"Get me a glass of pumpkin juice and some chips, please," Meredith said.

Rosie jotted down the orders and bounded off to the kitchen to fetch them. Jack shot Meredith a disdainful glance and she sighed dramatically.

"Look, I'm really sorry about that. She's an old friend of the family's and I promised to come see her this week. I suppose it's just your misfortune that I had to pick tonight to do it. But I swear, I won't let her come over and bore you to death again."

"Apology accepted," he replied vaguely.

"So." She slid off her cloak and then leaned in to look at him. He was tapping his fingers on the table, and the light gleamed on his wedding ring. She looked surprised.

"Are you married?"

He opened his mouth, automatically trained to say "yes," but the words caught in his throat and he made an incoherent noise instead. He didn't know what to say. Saying "no" was like accepting it, and he could never accept that Bridget was dead--

Suddenly he became very aware of where he was, sitting in the corner of this sweltering pub with a pretty blonde woman, a woman he didn't know and frankly didn't care to. He stopped seeing Meredith and instead saw Bridget's face, grinning at him, and then dead and pale as it was the last time he held her. He swallowed, tasted blood, and realised that he had been biting his tongue.

"Widowed," he managed to choke out.

A number of emotions crossed Meredith's face; first surprise, then guilt, pity, and disappointment. She looked away, her cheeks flushing again.

"I'm so sorry . . . I didn't know. Was it just recently?"

Jack silently wondered if she could be any more tactless.

"Only a month ago, actually," he said.

Her eyes went wide and she put a hand on her heart. "Oh my God . . . I really am sorry, I didn't mean to--"

He waved his hand, although something deep inside him was dying to watch her squirm for what she had said. It wasn't her fault, of course, she didn't know, but she should, shouldn't she? It was a thoughtless thing to say, and he'd been putting up with her all day . . .

Rosie chose that moment to interrupt with their orders and another sickeningly sweet grin. She placed the drinks and chips in front of them, and Meredith tucked in, but Jack simply sat and clutched his glass with both hands.

After some time, he took a long drink to wash away the taste of blood and cool his throat. The room really was stifling, which was no surprise, considering the four fireplaces that sat crackling away in each corner of the room.

"Do you come here often?" he asked in a strained voice.

"Not really," she admitted, dunking a chip into the marmite. "They have amazing chips, but there's only so much Rosie you can take."

"And only so much of the heat."

"Oh, yes, it does get a bit warm in here sometimes."

"A bit?"

She shrugged and took a long swig of juice, wiping her mouth on her sleeve after she had finished. Jack drained his glass, set it down on the table, and turned to the window. Rosy smudges on the darkening horizon told him that the sun was setting.

"Are we going to have enough time to find what we need?"

She followed his gaze to the impending darkness outside, and heaved a sigh.

"Probably not tonight. At the very least, we won't make it to Knockturn Alley. You busy tomorrow?"

"Er . . . yeah," he lied. Obviously, he had nothing to do, but the prospect of spending two days straight with Meredith made him want to run screaming straight back to Ireland.

But as she watched him, frizzy blonde hair spilling into her face, he realised that that wasn't quite fair. Sure, she talked too much and too fast, and her questions were careless, but she was a distraction. And any distraction, however unpleasant, was a welcome one.

She was quite pretty, too . . .

He jerked his mind away from her and mentally slapped himself for even thinking that. She wasn't pretty; not at all, compared to Bridget.

"Oh. Well, all right then. Wednesday?"

A lie formed on the tip of his tongue, but he remembered what Croaker had said and bit it back. If it would help the Aurors, and especially his chances at joining them, he'd just have to grin and bear it.

"Why not?" he said, flashing a forced smile.

She grinned and finished her chips, paid the bill, kissed Rosie goodbye, and half-dragged Jack out the door within a matter of minutes. They bustled out of the oppressive heat of the pub and found themselves shivering in the chilly winds of the street.

"If I catch pneumonia, remind me to thank you," Jack growled at Meredith, who ignored him.

They made their way down the street and to the large, white marble library. Meredith pushed open the doors and led him into the cool, dimly lit interior. A librarian with tiny square glasses perched on her nose looked up and smiled faintly at Meredith, who waved before pulling Jack to the Magical Creatures section.

The Magical Creatures section was in the far corner, a few tables surrounded by a tall semicircular bookcase. Meredith tossed her bag onto one of the tables and began to root around in it, finally finding two notebooks and pens. She gave a set to Jack, then turned around and began to browse the dusty tomes.

Her tan, callused fingers trailed over the books, and she hummed quietly to herself as she searched for the ones she needed. Finding two with 'chimera' in the title, she pulled them out, tossing one to Jack.

He caught it and sat down, flipping open the notebook and uncapping the pen.

The first page of the book was nothing but a huge, brightly coloured picture of a chimera, breathing fire and looking particularly menacing, and then the title, Taming the Beast: A Complete Guide to the Chimera, in large, loopy red script. He flipped the page and encountered the introduction, which read:

The chimera is a vicious, bloodthirsty beast found most in popular Greek mythology. Said to have a lion's head, goat's body, and serpent's (or, in some cultures, a dragon's) tail, it resides in Greece and is one of the most deadly Magical Creatures known to the wizarding world. The information within this book explores the chimera's place in mythology and real life, the uses for its blood and eggs, its geography, and the popular myth that the chimera is the mother of the sphinx.

He stopped reading there, having found what he was looking for, and flipped to chapter six, titled I've Found a Chimera Egg. Now What Do I Do? Skimming through the sections about how inedible the meat of a chimera is, how quickly you'll be killed once your chimera hatches, and how a chimera is born, he finally found what he was looking for: the uses of chimera's blood.

Chimera's blood is one of the deadliest poisons known to mankind. It was used in ancient Greek rituals as early as 4000 B.C., but as the Greeks discovered that it killed, not healed, they withdrew its use except for in murder plots. The ancient Egyptians also found uses for it: they claimed that it was a vital ingredient in necromancy potions, saying it would help raise the dead whose fate had been sealed by poison.

"Meredith, look at this," Jack said urgently.

Meredith looked up from her book and leaned over to read the passage Jack had been pointing to.

"Perfect," she whispered. "It fits. They're trying to raise the dead, and chimera's blood is said to help raise those killed by poison." She glanced back down at the page again and read the next paragraph.

Chimera's blood is still available today, but fetches a very high price (the last known bottle sold for 70,000 galleons) and can only be found in the apothecaries of some Dark Arts neighbourhoods, such as London's Knockturn Alley. However, recent studies show that since the significant decrease in the chimera population, the blood has become near impossible to obtain for both dealers and buyers.

"Well. They must be pretty desperate to pay 1,330,000 galleons for all those bottles, and they must believe that the blood will actually work."

"One million, thirty-three thousand? Where'd you get that number?"

"Seventy thousand galleons times nineteen bottles," she said matter-of-factly. When Jack stared at her in awe, she shrugged. "I've always been good at math. Arithmancy was my best subject, after History of Magic. Professor Binns always loved my essays. If only he could see me now, a poor, unpublished writer slaving away at the Department of Mysteries under that sadist, Croaker." She snorted. "Some author I turned out to be."

Jack, completely at a loss, patted her hand in a very awkward manner and then turned to his notebook and copied down every last paragraph about chimera's blood.

They finished researching chimeras around six-thirty and left that section for the one about vampires. Jack was quite amused at some of the titles he found: Three Bites a Charm: A Beginner's Guide to Vampirism, Proper Maintenance of Fangs and Other Body Parts, Love in Vein: How to Survive a Vampire Romance, The Dracula Cookbook of Blood, Bats: When Fruit is Not Enough, Heavy on the Garlic: Vampire Repellents from Around the House, and his personal favourite, I'm Not Undead Yet: What to do When Your Vampire Victim is in Denial.

Smiling to himself, he pulled out Thirty Ways to Kill a Vampire and flipped through, finding nothing about rose petals whatsoever. Taking that as a sign that roses were more effective in helping vampires, he moved on to Three Bites a Charm and skimmed through it. Nothing.

After two hours of finding nothing in the vampire section (except for a neat little tidbit about Dracula's knife), Meredith threw her hands up in exasperation and sighed.

"D'you think there's any possibility that You-Know-Who might actually be brewing up love potions in his dungeons or something?"

"I sincerely doubt it," he said. "Why don't we go to the Potions section and look up the uses of rose petals? There's obviously nothing here for us anymore."

She nodded and gathered up her things, then trudged slowly over to the huge Potions section and began to sort through the books again, fighting back a yawn.

She found one titled The Significance of Almost Any Potion Ingredient You Could Think Of and tossed it to Jack, who flipped it open to the table of contents.

Finding the entry called "rose petals," he turned to that and began to read.

Primarily used in love potions, rose petals also have other uses. They can be stirred into teas and used to soothe sore throats, mixed into other herbal brews for healing purposes, or, most importantly, used in draughts that revive exhausted soldiers in battle. White roses are especially good for this purpose.

He stopped reading there and shoved the book under Meredith's nose, pointing excitedly. She read and smiled.

"He's using them to help keep the Death Eaters fighting strong, then."

Jack nodded, and opened his mouth to speak, but yawned instead. As if reminded of the hour, Meredith checked her watch, and her eyes widened in surprise at what she saw.

"Oh, God, I didn't realise it was so late," she exclaimed. "We should head home. We did find most of what we needed, right?"

He shrugged and stood, capping the pens, closing the notebooks and placing the books in their proper places on the shelves. Meredith took her things gratefully and shoved them into her bag, then pulled on her cloak and tossed Jack his.

"Well, goodbye, Christian. See you tomorrow," she said brightly, and abruptly Disapparated.

A bit shocked that it was legal to Apparate in a public (albeit wizarding) library, Jack recovered his wits and did the same.

He arrived on his doorstep only mere seconds later, and after deciding it was too much work to look for his key, pulled out his wand and muttered a quick "Alohomora." He pushed the now-unlocked door open, dropped his cloak on the chair by the door, and slogged up the stairs into his room.

He collapsed onto the unmade bed and stared up at the dark ceiling. The curtains were drawn and all the lights off, making the room a pit of blackness that he could barely navigate, but he got up anyway. In the corner was a piano, the one that had once sat in his living room in Ireland. Dumbledore had sent for it and it, beside the books, Silvius' painting, Bridget's violin, and his wedding ring, was Jack's favourite thing in the house.

He slid onto the bench, eyes closed, and his fingers felt completely at ease on the cold keys. In his element now, he relaxed and slowly exhaled. He ran a hand lightly over the keyboard to remove the dust, and then opened his eyes and began to play.

The poignant melody of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata drifted through the darkness of the room, and Jack felt his exhaustion melt away. Here at the piano, he was home.