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Chapter 3

We Never Change

"... So, I wanna live in a wooden house,
Making more friends would be easy,
I wanna live where the sun comes out..."

-Coldplay

It was 10 minutes later that Jonathan Mercier did not awake with a start. Rather, he awoke with a nauseated kind of confusion, the sort one gets after being beaten over the head with a large oak desk. He noted, Well at least I'm not dead. That's got to count for something, don't it? However, the very moment following this thought, he thought it time to edit it with a well placed, clearly not.

In fact, it took him a few seconds to recall his location. He clearly remembered a very smelly bar with really terrible jazz playing in the background. He also remembered a really large man crushing a very nasty looking lamp. He found it. He was right. He also found Sam. Actually, it might be fairer to say that Sam found Jon.

"Damn," he began while setting a large bucket of water with a slosh on the floor. "And here I was, hoping to use this, too."

"Sorry about that," Jon replied, helping him to a very old beer he found stashed under the bed. "And here I was, hoping you wouldn't. Found what I was looking for!" Jon swiftly turned around, and fumbled around on the floor. Now, he stood up and brandished it triumphantly.

"Clever boy."

"I like to think so."

"Clearly."

"Yes."

"So... why were you looking for my underwear?" the giant added.

"Yeah..." Jon replied.

"Ermmm..." the giant indulged.

"Hmm, hmm, hmm... my cover's blown, innit?" Jon ventured.

"Not clever for nothing, I see. Shut up. Just after you decided to take a nap, we got an owl. Nasty big black thing. Pecked up the barman something awful." Sam said slapping an envelope on a nearby table. "This one's yours."

"What is it?" Jon asked whilst poking the envelope. It had some interestingly dark splatters of blood all over it.

"Well, my amazing psychic powers tell me that you should probably just try opening the damn thing and leave me alone!"

"Whatever," Jon replied lazily. He flipped the envelope over. He stared at it. "This isn't what I think it is... is it?"

"Maybe. But, then again, I don't know what you think it is."

Under a very strained and very threatening squint from Sam, he tapped the seal with his wand. "Garrulus!" he said, knowing what to do. With that, the plain black wax of the seal appeared to cover the entire envelope with a rasping rattle, like that of a dying man, or a really nasty children's toy. A second later, the letter shrunk to the size of a blank black business card. Holding the card up to the light, the word "CROAKER," written in white, suddenly appeared. At that very moment, the card burst into flames, crumpling to the ground.

"Wordy as usual, I see." Jonathan lazily spun his wand in his right hand. "You'd best watch your back Sam and keep on your toes--he might yet beat you to Poet Laureate."

"Right, then," Sam said doing a good but rather draining job of imitating someone who was going a good but rather draining job of totally ignoring Jonathan. I guess we're going to the same place, but Croaker's had me on other errands besides babysitting little balls of whimpering wizard." Sam pulled Jon from his leathery perch and set him roughly on his feet. "You know the policy, but I'm supposed to remind you: no apparating or magic under any circumstances until you're back at the Ministry. We're all targets right now. Mindy Presh told me yesterday that the Darks have probably got Targeting Runes on us."

"That's kind of overkill, even for a power-mad incarnation of all evil..."

"You've got to take this seriously. Voldemort's not going to be complacent or careless. His Darks know that he has no tolerance for--"

"Failure," Jon finished. "Yes, we've been over this. You-Know-Who has never tolerated failure, but his Darks are desperate to please their Master."

"And they want us."

Mercier opened the door and looked sadly at Samuel Christophell. "Things never change, do they?"

Striding over to Jon, Samuel placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. "No Jon, things change, but we never will."

Jonathan pulled his coat around him and walked swiftly out the door, scratching the back of his neck.