It was the night.

It was THE night.

Carmen fastened her cloak around her shoulders firmly and brushed a bit of lint off the dark fabric. She almost felt happy that night, as she listened to the secretary pack up her parchment and exit the building, and the printing press clicked off the last late editions. She would be able to start it up again after her return; if she found anything, she wouldn't waste anytime. A few grammatical errors would be excusable if the story were good, which it was bound to be if her current leads were any indication. The stuff she had put together was utterly priceless. The way into the department of mysteries, the information about the employees, the connection between Garrow and Ireland and dementors...priceless. A priceless story. A gem of a story. A crowning achievement. Not even grandmere could...

She shuffled her papers together and placed them in an even neater stack on her desk. Her office was immaculate--and pitch black except for the harsh white light at the end of her wand. The idiotic secretary had no idea she was still there. That was one of the many benefits of hiring an airheaded semi-incompetent Hufflepuff that worked sixteen hours a day for below minimum wage...they tended to miss things.

Once again she examined the small piece of parchment that contained all the essential information. Everything else had been destroyed, except for that scrap, and it was scrawled in a shorthand which only she could read. If she could help it, she would leave no trace.

If she could help it, she would leave some of those damn people behind in the department. It had never been her intention for this to become a field trip, but that's exactly what had happened; with Sinistra weaseling his way in, and presumably Caedmon was bringing someone as well, and so many people that she couldn't reasonably comprehend how they were going to make it in without detection. But Caedmon had proven himself useful before. He might not fail.

Just then she heard faint pops! and footsteps on the backstairs that led to her office door. There were several pairs; they were arrive all at once, at least. They knew better than to be late for a meeting with Snidgeton. She went to the back door and opened it for them, shutting it quickly and silently. She lifted her wand and looked at each face in turn.

"Mm." Apollo. "Good." Atlas. "And--" Her hand jerked to a halt in front of an unfamiliar face. But--it wasn't all that unfamiliar. Where had she seen it before? Maybe...was it that Irishwoman's husband, from that contest? But no, that wasn't quite right, though there was a remarkable similarity.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Darien Holywell. Atlas recruited me for this trip," he replied in a remarkably unfazed voice.

At least he wouldn't panic if something went wrong.

"I see. Is that the only person you brought, Caedmon?"

So far, she was doing a remarkably good job of ignoring Sinistra's presence in their mission.

"Are you ready to bring us to the ministry? We have to review before leaving."

Atlas checked himself for the 8th time, lifting one hand and pressing his fingers against his throat. His pulse was there but barely, satisfied he reached down with one hand and plucked the muggle thermometer he had picked out a bin last month. Pressing the device to his ear it bleeped happily and presented a body temperature of 70 degrees. He'd have a cold afterwards for sure but for now he was satisfied with his rather corpse like vital readings. He dropped the device and stepped toward his work table, grabbing vials and a few pieces of rune cloth and carefully stowing them in various vest pockets.

Rudolph was stationed at the window of the upstairs lab, he was supposed to be watching the street but his eyeless sockets were trained on Atlas instead. The wizard had tried reprimanding him but to no avail, it seemed as if the skeleton was worried. "It's nothing Rudolph, a quick walk about the Ministry your worse than Mum." He paused in the action of buttoning his coat, "Who will never hear about this."

He waited for Rudolph to give a slight rattle of response before going back to his task. He plucked his hat from the top of the skeletons head, blue fedora and then walked out of the study. Opening the door to SHOP he hobbled down the stairs tacking things off in his mental checklist as he went, reviewing maps, protocols, how to best keep Apollo Sinistra from doing something flashy and stupid (he found little hope in that avenue of thought), checked and rechecked his wand.

As he walked through the shop he snatched other items that might prove to be useful. A button eyed rabbit puppet, some string, a decorative piece of celery from Kent. He came to the door sooner than he expected and turned back to glance over things before flipping a small closed sign, stepping out and locking the door behind him.

Rather than apparating he walked to the corner he and Darien had planned to meet at. The healer was a necessary precaution, experienced, intelligence and unlikely to cause a stir. In the event that things got nasty, which Atlas was more than sure they would with the parties involved, a healer was a vital piece of strategy. Besides that they needed witnesses. No one would even believe him, he was a well known crackpot and if something happened to Carmen, someone else...he thought of Apollo...someone credible, should be able to get the truth out. Atlas greeted Darien by way of a small wave and then silently the two continued to the Prophet, Atlas winding them through every back alley and pocket he could imagine. The walk took a considerable amount of time, but Darien was thankfully silent and eventually they made it to the Prophets offices.

Apollo was already there looking as if he had held back to wait for backup should this have been a trap of Carmen's. It was good to be cautious especially when dealing with something as venomous as The Junior Editor in Chief. Together they entered the office.

The wand aimed at him was familiar, when Carmen paused in front of Darien, who still looked a tad bewildered as to why he was here but he responded with typical medic calm. Recruited was a much better word that coerced or kidnapped though Atlas was sure she would be able to see through the delusion. If she squinted hard enough Carmen would be able to see through anything. "Yes, it is going to be hard enough getting us into the Ministry we don't want to bring a brigade. Holywell was a strategic choice."

He nodded a yes to her question and opened his jacket pocket, presenting each person in the room with a set of 4 vials. "I'm ready, all of you aren't. Everyone needs to drink these. "The first two will lower your core body temperature, and your heart rate, it will give the impression that we're all walking corpses." He paused a moment to consider the irony. "And should allow us to pass through a number of the ministries defense systems, they'd be in horrible trouble in the event of a zombie outbreak."

"The third," He pressed on ignoring the dubious looks he was receiving. "is defensive it should make you more resistant to pain impulses as well as some other smaller effects I felt during my investigation into the department. 4th, is for evasion, it should speed spell reaction times, and your mental processes." Making sure everyone had understood he continued. "That having been said I am strictly advising against using magic in Level 9. The department is tricky all on its own but what Garrow is doing is affecting magic on a level I haven't seen before. I do not know what spells might do, they might not work at all, and if rumors about all the traps and precautions are true....using magic even in defense might be worse than doing without."

He exhaled, blinked, and straightened. He wasn't an authoritative person, at least most of the time, but it didn't mean he was incapable. With slight effort he squared his shoulders, stood at his full height and enunciated every word carefully and clearly. "Lastly, I know what I am doing. I know the departments layout by heart. You will follow me to our target, none of you will deviate from the plan. We are there for Garrow and Garrow alone, nothing else. We cannot be seen, we cannot be caught, our greatest chance for that to happen is to do as I say." Fishing in his pocket for a moment he handed a small scrap of parchment to each of them. "If we become separated, or any amount of possible 'somethings' occur and we need to get out, these can be activated to show the best way out of the department from any location. Each one will work only for yourself," he glanced at Apollo who was eying Carmen's more aesthetically pleasing scrap, "So no trading."

Clear eyes looked around the room, "Any questions? Comments? Concerns?"

As his alarm started buzzing at five in the evening Apollo suddenly realized he had a minor problem on his hands. Well not really a minor problem – an enormous the world is about to end as Atlas and Carmen feed his favorite boots still housing his feet to a dragon problem on his hands.

Artemis knew all and he needed to stop her from ruining their carefully laid plans.

It was the fire whiskey’s fault – and his twin’s bloody intuition. Even though Apollo probably had as much experience breaking into places as your average small time criminal he had been on pins and needles (literally they had just gotten a whole back order of punk pins) all week. There was something about the whole breaking into the ministry idea that was causing him great distress. He was breaking into his Grandfather’s temple so to speak which was something completely different than breaking into the headmaster’s office back at Hogwarts or some random pureblood’s house with Wendell or Jasper – though come to think of it he still wasn’t quite sure which one was better fortified. Anyway Arty had noticed something was off with her twin from the start – Apollo had gotten unusually quite and his outfits, while still as flamboyant as ever, had lost some of their usual sparkle. Insisting that he just felt as though emo was the new look hadn’t helped his case.

Not wanting to face her questions for another night Apollo broke down and went to the pub only to come back extremely drunk several drinks later. Artemis must have had some sort of brother is at his weakest sensor for she was up waiting for him (in that atrocious bathrobe) when he stumbled back into the shop in the wee hours of the morning.

Keeping a secret from his twin was a hard enough task when sober and she didn’t know to pry, when he was trashed and she knew something was off was asking the impossible of the fashion god of London. Thus a somewhat bewildering confession telling almost all to Artemis had occurred early Tuesday morning before he went to bed. Leaving one twin free of a burden that had been weighing him down, the other feeling as though her world was slowly crumbling.

Apollo got dressed with great care – going for a spy theme. It wasn’t as though Arty didn’t already know what he was up to. After artfully ratting his hair and giving his black trench (with electric green lining) an artful tie Apollo enacted plan trap Artemis in a closet. It wasn’t one of his more brilliant plans for he had had to modify it due to time constraints… his flat iron had mysteriously broken and he has somehow managed to run out of root boost among other small hold ups that had eaten away at his valuable time ( all of which smelled of sabotage).

But somehow he had managed to make his closet a comfortable prison – a freshly baked pie from Daphne's resting on his large stack of Cheekbone magazines, a couple bottles of fire whiskey, a flashlight, and her favorite pillow all scattered along the back wall of his closet. Getting her in there had been easier than he had expected. The call for help due to an avalanche of clothes and an upset with a box of red glitter had sent her running into its depths without a moment’s hesitation.

A several muggle locks and about nine security charms later Apollo was able to leave the house free of his sister – though it took him some additional time to make whatever alarm Artemis had set on the door end its endless lectures and ignore her words of wisdom screamed from his closet. But somehow he managed to leave, a slight spring back in his step – after all he had outwitted and alarmed and armed Arty!

As he followed Atlas and Darien the square heart breaker that had almost given him occasion to pull out his defending his sister suit Apollo had a moment of doubt. What if half the irate things Artemis had screamed were true? Was he really going to loose his hair when he got off the elevator? Thankfully he did have a couple wigs made of his cuttings. That and Atlas’s speech with the vials and death had served to calm his nerves down quite a bit. Though why Atlas had given Carmen the prettier emergency exit slip was heart breaking. He thought his ties as a fellow boy’s club member would have served to make some sort of impact on the man… that or Rudolph’s love of his sister would have gotten him some favors.

"Any questions? Comments? Concerns?"

Apollo raised his hand, doing his best to ignore the lusty look Carmen was sending him – this was neither the time nor place. They could be as lusty as they choose as soon as the break-in was over, maybe she would even let him buy her a drink!

“Is there any possibility that our hair could be damaged when we enter level nine?” He could hear Darien give a snicker – typical of a heart breaker not to care about his hair! After hearing what he needed to hear Apollo along with the others drank their potions, all but Apollo oblivious to a sound that made his heart stop.

He quickly shaded his face under his fedora as an irate Artemis entered the office, a glare worthy of medusa being used to keep her twin frozen against the wall. I am a dead man! The first perfectly rational thought Apollo had in days.

~Crack!~

In the middle of the grim faced meeting appeared, a fuming Artemis Sinistra. If you’re perhaps curious as to why she was a tad upset, it probably had something to do with the fact that Apollo had locked her in a closet a little over an hour ago. As if a mere closet could hold her very long. Albeit, it would have been easier to escape her wand hadn’t been laying on the dresser. But let it never be said that Artemis Sinistra was anything less than resourceful. A decorative safety pin from one of Apollo’s blazers finagled all five locks open after a half an hour of hard work. The security charms had proved slightly more problematic (not having a wand as previous stated). And while Arty could manage a few wandless spells, it certainly wasn’t a talent that she had spent a whole lot of time cultivating. Nevertheless she finally managed to unweave her brother’s charms (Never nearly as strong as her own. He should have transfigured her into a teapot, it would have been much more effective) and escape. Now she was here, and was about to teach him the new meaning of wrath.

“Apollo- You. Are. Dead.” She growled. She suddenly dove for her wand, and after a burst of light Apollo Sinistra was lying on the floor bound up by a set of thick cords, his hair was a strange pucey color.

“How dare you! I CAN and WILL hex you into next week, if you don’t start explai-” She trailed off seeing the company.

Atlas Caedomn, Carmen Snidgeton and Darien Holywell.

The night before she had been almost sure that Apollo was just drunkenly spewing nonsense. That the unburdening of his troubled conscience had been some weird drug induced hallucination. The traps she had set for him (hiding his root booster and flat iron, enchanting the front door to lecture it in a loud annoying screech) had simply been a precaution she had deluded herself into believing was really unnecessary, but would teach him not to go out and come back stoned. Of course she didn’t approve of his drug use, but now seeing the rest of the group gathered there looking utterly serious she wished that it had just been the insane side affects of some powder. The garbled tale that he had been relating last night came back with a vengeance.

“You were serious weren’t you? About Logan?” Her head spun dizzingly with this onslaught of understanding. Other people were speaking, arguing she couldn’t hear any of it. She just stared blankly at her twin’s bound form (who appeared to be fearfully trying to offer excuses), lost in her own thoughts.

"Do you find the human soul fascinating, Artemis?"

Of course. She liked him. That automatically meant that he had to be some sort of psychopath whose goal in life was to suck out the human soul for some nefarious purpose. That was just her luck. Pushing aside yet another well up of disappointment at the men she let in her life, she took a deep calming breath then with icy resolve said:

“I’m coming with you.”

The problem with and benefit of scapegoats was that they were stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Carmen was reminded of it as Caedmon, the freak show that was constantly flirting between useful and utterly insane, passed out Merlin only knew what kind of concoctions.

"The first two will lower your core body temperature, and your heart rate, it will give the impression that we're all walking corpses....the third is defensive it should make you more resistant to pain impulses as well as some other smaller effects I felt during my investigation into the department. 4th, is for evasion, it should speed spell reaction times, and your mental processes."

My God.

Carmen pursed her lips and swallowed the potions, her expression half from disgust and half from the disgusting aftertaste of the potions. The question about hair Apollo raised moments later served to once again remind her why she hated having to deal with other people and their idiocies, particularly when they involved a chimera who ate sparkles for breakfast and was incapable of reading expressions without thinking they somehow involved lusting after him.

"That having been said I am strictly advising against using magic in Level 9. The department is tricky all on its own but what Garrow is doing is affecting magic on a level I haven't seen before. I do not know what spells might do, they might not work at all, and if rumors about all the traps and precautions are true....using magic even in defense might be worse than doing without."

"Thank you, Caedmon, for those encouraging wor--"

“Apollo- You. Are. Dead.”

Damnit!

Carmen whipped around and held her wand up to see the person's face, and saw enough before they dove after Sinistra to realize that it was Sparklypoo's sister.

"Why is she here! What did you tell her!"

She placed a foot on Sinistra's neck--just barely resisting the urge to stomp down and snap his spinal cord--and pointed her wand at the sister.

“I’m coming with you.”

"Of course you're bloody coming with us now!" snapped Carmen impatiently, "Caedmon, get her the potions. We have to leave now before we draw any more attention to ourselves. She'll stay with her brother. And don't--" she held up her free hand, "Don't ask any questions. If anything goes wrong because of you..."

Her expression finished the sentence.

"Now pick him up and shut up. We're leaving."





Carmen was almost impressed with Caedmon. Almost. So far they had made it into the ministry without detection, though now that their group consisted of two insane Sinistras, one unflappable healer, one mad genius, and only one sane witch, they were clearly heading towards imminent disaster. She kept glancing over at the Sinistras and giving them furious looks. They had weaseled their way into this and they were going to destroy everything.

OOCReally terribly uper exstra sorry for the delay people.

Atlas watched the proceedings with an almost detached interest. He had expected things to go wrong, he'd have been suspicious if they hadn't...but he had expected to at least be in the Ministry of Magic proper before something catastrophic occurred. Now with an irate Artemis looking like she was deciding which of them to maim first (her choice appeared to be Darien but women were fickle) and an equally irate Carmen with her heel firmly set on Apollo's throat, the chances of the whole group getting into the Ministry alive was dwindling.

He opened his mouth to protest when Artemis stated that she would be joining the party, Carmens retort and barked order made it into the air first. Naturally he had brought extra with him....always be prepared it was some groups motto wasn't it? Hurrying to Artemis he pressed the vials into her hands, muttering their effects and restating the orders he had given the rest of the group. “Dont' have an extra map out,” His tone was apologetic. “You'll have to stay with Apollo.” That was likely for the better anyway.

Another barked order from Carmen, the last thing Atlas saw of the office was Artemis stooping to help her twin from the floor and then they were in the Ministry.

A few close calls with the minimal security and several exasperated sighs from one Junior Editor in Chief later the band found themselves standing at the door to a large marble elevator. It was intracity carved, glowing slightly from the runes and protections etched into it. Atlas studied it for a moment, checked his notes, then removed his wand and muttered a few of the passwords he had obtained from Zatana's desk. A chime sounded and the doors slid soundlessly open.

“Point of no return.” He stepped into the lift and indicated for the others to follow. The Sinistra's looked pale and alert, Hollywell as lively as Rudolph on a bad day, and then Carmen who was practically vibrating with anticipation. Setting his wand the panel at the right of the door, the lift slid closed and began to descend. At least it felt like descent, knowing the department they could have been traveling in any number of times and spaces. It seemed to take an eternity. An eternity which the shop keeper spent running through as many scenarios as he could think of, a vast number.

Glancing at Carmen he hoped that the Sinistra's would be smart enough to get out if she grew to curious. Perhaps having Artemis there to drag her twin away should the time come was an asset rather than liability. He was stopped from giving the subject further consideration when the movement suddenly ceased and he found himself looking into the blackened corridors of the department of Mysteries.

There was a feeling like nausea in his stomach, but he couldn't be sure if it was nerves or the effects of whatever abomination Garrow was working on. “Feel that?” He glanced back at the others as they clamored off the left after him. “No magic unless completely necessary, maps ready.” Lifting his own map he studied the lines before heading purposefully down the corridor to the far left. “Artemis, you are a competent duelist as I recall....you and Apollo head up the back of the party. Should you see anything out of the ordinary....” He rethought that as they passed a room which appeared to contain giant teddy bears. “Well use your best judgment and alert me.”

They walked and the closer they got the worse the nausea, and a head ache of sorts came to join it. Good signs that they were closer to their goal. At last Atlas looked up from his map and saw them. Two sets of doors, joined by a small iron joint and made from simple pine wood. From the outside it looked to be nothing more than a broom closet, a tucked away forgotten little space. But in a labyrinth where other doors and archways glowed with untapped power and were wrought from the finest materials this door stuck out like Apollo on a bright day when he had become over zealous with his bedazzler.

“Miss Snidgeton.” He presented the door to her, “This is the room.”

((occ: Lee you call that a delay? I think I beat you... and sorry if it doesn't make sense...)

Pain, darkness and then voices as his vision cleared from the brute force of what he would later learn was Arty's casting and his body's survival technique. Yet somehow he had survived a livid Artemis! He was alive!

- yet still bound and on the ground. Well beggars couldn't always afford to be choosy, besides he was a wiz at getting out of bindings for reasons that he didn't care to discuss to much. Lets just say Apollo had once thought bringing back bondage was a great idea until after five dates with different people but the same outcome of him being left tied in a rather compromising state later Apollo had had enough and went to something safer and vastly more tame, ministry workers.

“You were serious weren’t you? About Logan?”

A quick flick of the wrist and one hand was already out of bondage as he shot his sister an incredulous stare - something she only had ever had the pleasure of receiving. Why was she now always doubting his every word? Hopefully this would incident would teach her... and possibly he could guilt trip her into buying this fantabulous set of purple suede boots he had seen the other day. His glance might have been lost as a foot pinned him to the ground. Carmen was being lusty again wasn't she?

Apollo was sadly given no time to dwell on this for he was lifted off the ground with the help of his twin which he whispered a quick 'I told you so' to before being swept away to the depths of the ministry. Rather than express his displeasure with the situation, Apollo kept a death grip on Arty's arm, suddenly very aware that this venture could end in complete and failure and put him in a place where glitter would be only a faint memory. Utter terror didn't even begin to describe what such thoughts where having on the champion of sparkle.

“No magic unless completely necessary, maps ready. Artemis, you are a competent duelist as I recall....you and Apollo head up the back of the party....”

Was that glitter behind Atlas? His attention was instantly diverted from the rest of Atlas's words. He could feel Artemis pulling him away from a room that looked like something he would have conceived in his spare time during a slow day at the shop.

They stopped in front of a door... a door that could only be described as wicked cool and brilliant beyond belief. Perhaps his grandfather hadn't really worked for level 9 but had been their interior decorator instead. Maybe that was even a position that needed filling. Body immune to the oppressive magic Apollo's eyes filled with lust as he gazed at those doors, proving that sparkles could really overcome all.

“Miss Snidgeton, this is the room.”

Without thinking and completely ignoring the warning squeeze his twin was giving him Apollo let forth an excited little squeal. "Atlas you choose an amazing room! Carmen I knew you loved glitter! I thought we were investigating destruction not the top secret glitter formula the ministry has been developing for decades!" Apollo gushed before his sister managed to mute his obviously nervous chatter.

Atlas shoved some vials at her and she drank them, only half listening to the instructions he was giving her. Her mind was still whirling with the synthesis of information. Before she was really aware of what was happening they were standing outside the Department of Mysteries, and Apollo was gripping her arm painfully tight.

“No magic unless completely necessary, maps ready. Artemis, you are a competent duelist as I recall....you and Apollo head up the back of the party. Should you see anything out of the ordinary...well use your best judgment and alert me.”"

She nodded silently, she didn't want to stumble blindly into any level nine booby traps anyway. Although, she thought that many of the stories her grandfather had told her as a child were probably just made up to frighten her and Apollo, they had stuck with her. She certainly didn't want to encounter any of them. She refrained from saying anything else, Carmen had been shooting her malicious daggers ever since her impromptu arrival. She assumed under present circumstances now was not the best time to agitate the reporter further.

They ambled through the dark corridors of level nine and as she continued her stomach began to churn unpleasantly. Was it nerves? Or was it something more sinister about this place. She was filled with two conflicting sentiments (apart from nausea). The first being curiosity. Of course she was curious, anyone with an iota of inquisitiveness would be interested in the Department of Mysteries. Her interest had only been fed by her grandfather and Logan.

Logan.

Her second sentiment was apprehension. Was he here working this evening? Would she see him. Probably, the likelihood of them getting in and out without being seen was infintismally small. What would she say? What would he say?

After a short journey, Atlas brought them to a halt outside a door. And subsequently jolted her out of her musings.

“Miss Snidgeton, this is the room.”

Then Apollo opened his mouth and began a stream of excited nervous ramblings that was likely to get them caught. Realizing from about word two that it was time for her to play her part she once again aimed her wand at her brother.

"Silencio!" She hissed magically muting her brother's nervous babble.

She shifted her gaze back and forth between Atlas and Carmen, which of them had thought it would be a bright idea to invite her brother along? Darien at least (she had almost forgotten he was present- a feat considering how strenuously she had been working to avoid his presence since that disasterous date) was unobtrusive. Carmen looked about ready to explode.

"Please continue," Artemis whispered.

Her head was pounding. Merlin...what were they getting themselves into?

Meanwhile...

Logan Fletcher sat at his desk with his head in his hands, trying to control his breathing. Astrella was gone. Astrella had disappeared, vanished. There were no traces, but Logan knew what had happened to her. Garrow had had her "taken care of." Logan desperately wished she had never gotten involved. He'd told the damn politician that he could do it on his own; why he'd wanted a team Logan would never know. Wasn't it just more work for him? Each and every one had been dispatched throughout the process. Now only Logan was left, but he knew his time would come.

Unless he did something soon. Astrella had managed to get her copies of their work to the secret place specified. Logan had them in front of him, along with letters from Garrow to him personally. He had destroyed all other copies. What was left was now sealed in a large folder, which was charmed to be virtually indestructable. Everything was prepared; now Logan just had to get up the courage to turn himself in along with the evidence.

He wouldn't regret imprisonment. He had made himself a prisoner of his office, of his mind long enough that it wouldn't have been a problem. No; his main regret was Artemis. He regretted falling in love with her, regretted asking her to like him only to have something like this come between them. He hadn't wanted to hurt her but somehow it couldn't be avoided. He had considered turning everything in anonymously; removing his name and leaving Garrow's. But even this plan was flawed. Obviously the Unspeakables had to be involved, and who was the best of them? Who but Logan could have engineered such a thing? Well; Logan did have another regret. He regretted that he didn't have any evidence against Calixtus Ferox; the Squib was the real mastermind behind the spell. Logan had worked from his theories; but he at least would come out of this unscathed. Logan had no proof against him, just his word.

Just do it, Logan. Do it and get it overwith.

And what about afterwards? What would he do when he got out of Azkaban? He would quit, obviously. He would retire from Level Nine and...get a normal job, some paper-pushing job somewhere. But not in the Ministry; no, he would never work in the Ministry again. But...what if he never got out of Azkaban? He hadn't actually killed anyone. Garrow's other minions had done all that. He had been careful with the spell. Was using it on another person enough for a life sentence? It was worthy of being an Unforgivable Curse, but it hadn't been established as one.

Determined not to think about it anymore--thinking would only make things harder--Logan stood up abruptly and grabbed the folder. He dusted himself off and gave one final look around the room to make sure he had everything. The metal box that held Kate Derum's soul caught his eye. Very carefully he picked up the box, which shuddered in his hands. He clamped the lid down as tightly as he could, holding the box and the folder under one arm. He strode over to the door and pulled out his wand. He undid the locking charms and waved his wand, opening the door...

Artemis.

On Level One...

Edward Garrow was wrapping up some loose ends. All the Unspeakables but one had been more permanently silenced, and now the only one left to deal with was Logan. Edward somewhat regretted the need to dispatch the man; he was brilliant, and had he not chosen this point in time to start developing morals and other ridiculous notions, he would have been pleased to put off Logan's death for a bit longer. He could have been useful...and really, Edward had grown rather fond of him.

Edward already had his wand out as he got in the elevator and watched the golden arrow move from level to level. He would have to surprise Logan; the Unspeakable was much faster with his spellwork than Edward. Normally the politician would have had one of his many lackeys dispatch an unwanted personage, but after all he and Logan had gone through together he felt it was only proper to do it himself. The elevator stopped and the doors opened.

There was no secretary to show him the way, but he had passed it often enough. The real problem would be the door; Edward had resigned himself to trial and error, but it was worth it to avoid it being known that he was there, and to avoid letting Logan know he was there. But when the Junior Undersecretary stepped into the many-doored room he noticed something unusual:

A large group of people.

This group was comprised of people he didn't recognize (that tall man with the strange expression), people he had hoped never to see again (Carmen Snidgeton), people he wished were dead (the Sinistra twins), someone he'd come planning to kill (Logan) and someone who was somehow more unexpected than the rest: Darien Holywell. Edward leaned heavily on his cane, almost falling over in surprise. Holywell was his man; what was he doing among the people most likely to conspire against him? For the moment Logan was forgotten and Edward glared at Holywell.

"A traitor, then? That's the last time I assume loyalty from a man with no passion!" Edward said, not even bothering to assess the illogic of his statement and his initial trust in Holywell at all. He lifted his wand and said the first spell that came to mind, because he'd been practicing the incantation so dutifully: "Extraxi Phasma!"

Darien Holywell was lost. Somehow he had involved himself with a plot to break into the department of mysteries; it was such an anti-Holywell thing to do that he didn't quite understand why he was going along with this man, Atlas. But he couldn't stop it, could he? He was being swept along by events he couldn't control. Magic he could control, medicine he could control, but never people. They'd always been a bit beyond him. He wasn't the sort of man that could twist people into action or trust. He could only follow along with what they had to say, like an empty lifeboat bobbing alongside a sinking ship, people screaming and falling into the water while he sat there watching...

His thoughts were dark today. It was because of their mission. He wanted to go back to the hospital where things were light and sterile, or his flat.

Lucinda was like that too he realized. Light.

Through a whirlwind of voices and activity he managed to stay calm, collected, and out of the way. He was vaguely concerned for the Sinistra's, but most of his thoughts were focused upon the destination. He didn't fancy going into the department of mysteries, but while he was there he should pay close attention, so that he could tell Level Two everything that had transpired while there. It was the sensible thing to do.

The Department of Mysteries was a maze that Darien didn't attempt to unravel. He followed after the leaders--Caedmon and the editor, Carmen Snidgeton, who elicited a strange sort of sour taste in his mouth--and wondered how hard it would be to get out of this on his own. Too difficult. Far too difficult.

They came to a door, a door which must lead to a room. For as they stood before the door, with some more talking, it opened of its own accord and an Unspeakable emerged. Rather than acknowledge the human being, he saw a lock box, and something about the lock box made the cloud that covered his conscious clear. Like a lightning bolt; a burst of sudden uneasiness in his stomach, a sickness, and a terrible fascination that made him step forward and pull the box from the man's hands--he had to have it--it all happened very suddenly and he stared at the box in his hands with a wondering expression on his face.

The box was light and heavy in his hands at the same time. It had the weight of a cat that was trying to slither out of his hands, or a small angry child that couldn't quite get the energy to pry away from its prison of fingers and metal. Magic hummed off of it, but even more than that, something deeper and stronger was fighting to get through. For a moment he felt the strangest sensation of falling, as if something were being sucked out of him and into the box.

"Is this what we're looking for?" he asked.

A few long moments later--or maybe it was only one short moment--maybe it wasn't any time at all--he heard a distinct voice speak through the fog of voices.

"A traitor, then? That's the last time I assume loyalty from a man with no passion! Extraxi Phasma!"

Edward Gar--

Then, for the first time in his life, Darien felt something. He felt excruciating tendrils of ice wrap around his lungs. He felt consciousness flee. He felt the fabrics of the universe strain and pull as his soul ripped out of his body.

But he only felt it briefly. As his body collapsed to the floor, the lock box hit the floor and snapped open. A blinding light filled the hall.

Darien Holywell was a lost soul.

Atlas was a person that many would describe as a cynic. I lifelong believer in Murphy’s Law he had learned at a young age that although everything was always destined to fall apart, awareness of this fact could allow you to plan accordingly. But now despite the best of intentions, hours, days of planning here was the end result. Fletcher had been right were he was supposed to be, Atlas had his wand leveled at the man and hardly noticed Holywell slipping by, wasn’t even aware that the other man had moved until his monotone voice came echoing out of the room.

Is this what we're looking for? Frowning Atlas looked past Fletcher, squinting and feeling suddenly very out of sorts. Holywell was grasping a small chest but there was something in it, something pulsating and living and very much out of place. He pressed past Fletcher, Artemis looked horrified but angry at the same time, she would do what needed to be done if Fletcher tried to make a move.

He was halfway to where Darien stood when he became aware of another voice. Time seemed to slow was he turned, heard an incantation he didn’t recognize, and then there was a tempest. Energy surging along past him and straight into the body of the Healer Atlas had coerced into joining them. He stumbled back, catching himself with one hand on the wall, the other on the rough filthy floor of the room. The f—k was that…. Then he looked up and saw Darien, the man was flat on his back, his legs twisted up under him, it was grotesque.

Atlas scrambled up from the floor, it was like time had stopped, Murphy’s Law. He looked up, back from where the spell had come from and there he was, Junior Undersecretary Garrow, wand raised shoulders heaving, there was still light at the end of his wand and the Department throbbed around them. There was shouting, the world seemed to shrink, Atlas raised his wand, “Stupify.” The spell bloomed in his chest and then something Atlas hadn’t planned happened, nothing. Blinking in confusion he spared a brief glace at the wand before pocketing it, moving to Darien, had to get the other man up, failure, no choice but to run. Garrow shouldn’t have been there, he should have been with Fletcher, cornered. Everything had gone very wrong. The creature from the box was emitting a pulsating and blinding light, it might be enough of a distraction to keep Garrow at bay, at least long enough to escape. The Sinistra’s were on there own, with Fletcher and Garrow between Atlas and them it would be foolish to try and assist them. Carmen would take care of herself, she had known the risk; but Darien, he had been coerced and Atlas couldn’t just leave him there.

Atlas knelt by the man, already knowing something was deeply wrong. Run his mind and his instincts screamed, he grabbed Darien’s shoulder and then paused. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the blinding light and looked at Darien’s face. As a younger man he had once been on an investigative team in the Greek swamps. There had been dementors on the loose, unregulated a muggle boy had been their victim. Darien’s face was drawn, in no way peaceful and his eyes were glazed and wide. Atlas fumbled for a moment, lifted a hand to his throat…no pulse….what was that spell? What had Garrow done?

There was more shouting, Atlas tried to pry the man from the floor, he was heavy, dead weight. Dead the words spilled over Atlas mind over and over growing in intensity and behind them came run! in quick succession. The light from the box was fading, Garrow would be able to aim again, and Atlas didn’t have the energy for apparating out of here with something so heavy. His decision made he dropped Darien, tried to ignore the crunch that followed and scooped up the object, shoving it back into its casket. The energy burned and seemed to sap everything he had, he was glad when the box was closed. Getting to his feet again was harder; it felt like something was pressing him. He cast one last look at Darien’s face, which starred up at him with an expression similar to one it had worn in life. “I’m so sorry.”

He turned, holding the lid of the box, and opened it, the light was blinding. Atlas moved, shoving his way past Fletcher and taking a sharp right down one of the long corridors.
It had taken him 2 weeks to memorize all the escape routs out of the department but as he stumbled through the darkened passages, half blind, sick, and magicless Atlas wondered if that was going to be enough.

They had weaseled their way into this and they were going to destroy everything. Their group, their motley crew, Carmen knew now, was about to make history, as she felt a vague sense of queasiness overtake her the deeper they weaseled into Mysteries. The queasiness had nothing to do with nerves; hers were steel and she had never been prone to illness, at least not since she was an adult and got away from home. Maybe there was something...wrong down here.

She was grateful for her cleverness at having set up this expedition. Who else was brazen enough to plunge undetected into Mysteries? Who else could claim that they could outsmart the most important government in existence?

They were governed by fools, true, but she wasn't fooled by them. She reminded herself of this fact as the queasiness increased and they went further, and even further, into the department, until she almost couldn't figure out how they had gotten to where they were. Eventually they stopped in a hallway that had a door, from whence she could practically feel ill-will emanating out. Things began happening very quickly at the Bad Luck door.

“Miss Snidgeton, this is the room.”

"Atlas you choose an amazing room! Carmen I knew you loved glitter! I thought we were investigating destruction not the top secret glitter formula the ministry has been developing for decades!"

She glared daggers and prepared to hex him dead, but his sister beat her to it. Artemis Sinistra could just AK him and get it over with. Merlin knows how she has survived so long in his presence. She must be at least half-evil, though, if he's her twin.

"Please continue."

"Yes. Please."

At that point the door opened of its own accord and out stepped an unspeakable. Her mind snapped like a taught elastic band to the name Logan Fletcher and she instantly stepped back into the shadows behind their group.

But that didn't do her any good, because just a few moments later, things went horribly, terribly, deliciously wrong.

The healer stepped forward almost faster than Carmen moved backwards and grabbed the box out of the unspeakable's hands. He was just standing there in shock, his eyes on Artemis, with a touch of that expression people sometimes got that she never really understood, mingling with his surprise.

"Is this what we're looking for?"

"A traitor, then?"

...What!?

Her head whipped to the side. There stood the Junior Undersecretary, leaning on his cane, livid. For a moment Carmen's surprise was so intense that she thought she really would be sick. A new name buzzed excitedly in her mind. Edward Garrow. Edward Garrow. I knew it! I knew it! I knew he was involved somehow!

"That's the last time I assume loyalty from a man with no passion! Extraxi Phasma!"

A new spider's web of connections formed in her mind. New theories blossomed as the lock box fell to the floor. For a moment there were two bright lights in the room; one, the brighter one, was in the box, but its container was strong enough to snap back shut before the light escaped. The duller light exited out of Holywell's chest. Carmen was hit with the sudden realization of what it was. She had seen dementors at work before. She suddenly knew that these lights were spirits, souls, and Edward was robbing people of them. Holywell. Whoever's bright soul was in the box. Countless muggles, probably. And wizards...how many of them? How many had he experimented on? Extrai Phasma. Extrai Phasma.

She didn't have time to stand around making theories.

Hardly before the lights had dimmed, in those precious moments when they were still blinded, Carmen took off running down the hall, her heels clicking against the floor at an unbelievable speed. She sounded like a human typewriter. I have to get out. The Prophet. Press. Article. Tonight. Garrow. Mysteries. Dementor. Human dementor. What's a good article title? Special flyer. No one will be in. He saw me. I have to go into hiding. Paper. Where's the door. Have to avoid Garrow. He'll kill me. Need to go to print first.

Somehow, though she only took fleeting glances at the paper Caedmon provided them with, she stumbled out of the department of Mysteries and raced across the atrium floor--tried to apparate, but for some reason she couldn't, something was wrong with her--so she had to get out the visitor's entrance, had to get there--

But before she could, she collided with brutal force against a familiar brunette witch. She had a man in tow--just a businessman, they must be having some sort of--wait, no, what in bloody--Wendell Darrow?

Moments later several more people burst out of the department of mysteries. And a moment later, another brunette witch appeared, this one with an auror badge.

For a moment Carmen stood there looking to the left and right, like an animal trapped. Sofia Robards. Wendell Darrow. Edward Garrow. Logan Fletcher. Don't know her, who is she? Have to apparate. Have to.

Then, with a superhuman force of will, she pushed down the lingering sickness in her stomach and disappeared.

Disaster! Utter disaster!

Meanwhile...


Ivy needed to fecking murder something. How could he! How could he not help her! As she stormed into the Ministry, her usual smile replaced with an uncharacteristic glare, she tallied up just how many ways Jayden was wrong in her head. She wouldn't let anything bad happen. It was her daughter! Of course not! And she was capable of doing it on her own! She didn't need help, she didn't need to wait any longer than she had--he didn't understand, he didn't know what it was like--bloody Maeve why did he have to be so--bloody--agh!

She cursed as she ran into a wall. At least no one was around to see her. Wasn't there usually a guard on duty at this time? That was odd. Not that it mattered either way. She wouldn't be stuck here much longer. I'm getting out. With or without him.

If only his words would stop ringing in her head, clanging like bells in the empty places her anger burned away.

Too furious to take too much notice of the lack of a guard, she continued on her march towards Level 2, unnoticed by any overtime employees. Everyone was exhausted. Too tired to hang around this disaster anymore.

A strange silence pervaded her workplace. She was so used to it bursting at the seams with witches and wizards from all departments, from different governments altogether, and most of them shouting at each other or waving paperwork in faces, that she had to pause and get her bearings. There was a room in the back, kept under spell and lock, that contained some of the more important paperwork. There would probably be something about That Man in there. Every ministry employee had a file, after all, for security purposes. If not, she would have to break into his office and look around. Or go back to Bram.

No. Not an option.

She opened the back door and went to the cabinet marked G, and lifted the spells on it. She stepped aside when she opened it. The drawer sprang open and smacked against the wall. It was a good ten feet of files, impossibly long for the depth of the cabinet. Ivy rifled through quickly; he should be right at the front. Gabe, Gallagher, Gamp, Garber, Gaspard...

Wait.

She flipped back through again and reread the names.

It wasn't there. There was an empty spot.

Damn that man! She slammed the file shut, locked the room up again, and retraced her steps back to the atrium. Why did men have to be so effing difficult? Lives were at stake! Kendra's life!

Kendra. Kendra.

Her desperation pressed against her chest like an animal that was trying to get out. They didn't understand what it was like, to have your heart ripped out of your chest and carried away laughingly in the hands that broke you. The injustice of Bram's refusal to help her--which is what she saw it as--and the salt that Derry and Lucy poured into her wounds with their presence made it absolutely unbearable. A choking feeling of hopeless desperation welled up and threatened to strangle her. She didn't have any choices left! What was she supposed to do! No one would help her. No one would understand. She was alone in this.

As she reappeared in the atrium--how had she gotten back there? She couldn't recall walking there--a commotion stopped her in her tracks.

Sofia?

...Wendell?

Then--

No. Not him.

For a moment she was frozen, her eyes darting over the scene, her hand halfway to her wand, her heart stopped dead and all the color drained out of her face.

She had to do something. Why was she frozen now? Why was she panicking? She never panicked! But it was him! Him! That man! He saw her! He was looking at her! He was going to--Kendra!

No. He wasn't going to get away with it this time. She would have to go back to Bram's and take Kendra's file.

The mother in her was stronger than the wife. Her heart started pumping again and she felt color rush to her face. Her feet could move now. Before Garrow had the chance to move, Ivy disappeared with a pop!

Flashing lights, men well cut suits, screams, the dull healer going down... Logan? The flashing continued as everyone on cue began to run, in different directions no less. Apollo gave a hopeless look around, what on earth was going on, what was he supposed to do? Most importantly where was Artemis? He had lost track of her after Fletcher had made a disastrous appearance. Apollo barely shifted his head from the rather irate looking suit, his eyes frantically searching about for his sister.

She had better not be wallowing in misery in some unknown corner, she had the map! The map they were to share between the two of them, their one hope of escape. How dare his little sister take this time to sort out her relationship issues! They always happened, just not usually in the underbelly of the Ministry. But he wasn't going into a panic because he got some unknown glop on his favorite set of boots was he? She should be able to understand the seriousness of their situation - They needed to get out pronto.

What would Grandmother do when she found out? Worse yet Grandpa was all fun and game but would he really be forgiving towards his grandchildren for violating his sacred temple? Thinking about what their parents would do was not something Apollo was even going to contemplate. A certain and painful death done with uncooked noodles didn't sound too far from reality. Panic seized Apollo, his already hyperactive imagination going into hyperdrive as he processed that that was indeed a dead body Atlas was cradling and if he didn't move he was likely going to be next. Where was his sister?

Familiar hands grabbed ahold of his and pulled him forward at a breakneck speed. Running along with his savior Apollo mentally thanked the gods he had been blessed with such an amazing creature he called sister, though the face on Arty suggested a dramatically altered emotion ridden sister. Bugger. It was going to take more than a shopping trip to fix this one... that is if they allowed shopping trips in prison. Maybe they would make a special exception for the prophet and his sister? Mind now divided between sister and their situation Apollo hardly recognized the atrium of the ministry for what it was, having decided to instead focus on the sound of footsteps running behind them. Logan? The other suit? Atlas?

A focused look in front of him brought to mind the phrase 'out of the frying pan and into the fire'. Apollo's eyes widened as what looked like Wendell Darrow's backside sprinted past with a leggy brunette while another possibly leggier brunette looked ready to attack..Or disappear. Really the best idea he had seen all day.

Without little more thought than to picture his destination Apollo appearated out of the ministry and in front of the shop. After momentarily fumbling with the keys he was in and heading for the kitchen where with little word to his sister he pulled out a bottle of firewhiskey and his reserve supply of doxie powder. "Care for either?" He asked before doing his best to put the night's activities behind him. He should have never eavesdropped at Carmen's door.

She wasn't entirely sure how it had all happened so quickly. One moment they were huddled nearly silently outside an omnious door feeling slightly nauseous, the next mayhem had errupted. Atlas hadn't even yet reached for the door when it swung open, and standing behind it was Logan clearly shocked to encounter so many strangers standing outside of his lab. Or maybe he was just shocked to see her there. For it was undoubtedly she who he was staring at most intently.

Her expression conveyed something a little bit different. There was some surprise, because even though she had known he would probably be there she handn't expected him to appear so suddenly. But more importantly there was anger, disgust, sadness. What had he done with the information she had given him that day in the shop? Had he tested out this terrible curse on some poor muggle, who couldn't understand what was happening let alone defend themself? She lifted her wand and pointed it at Logan, her lips moved silently no words coming out.

Darien stepped forward and tore a box out of Logan's hands. It pulsed with a strangly bright light.

Is this what we're looking for?"

There was movement as Atlas stepped forward to look at the small metal box Logan used to be holding and then there was the sound of someone new. She tore her eyes away from the stunned man in front of them behind her was a tall well dressed man. She recognized him from the newspapers, he was the undersecretary or something... Marrow - no Garrow. He stepped forward bellowing something about traitors and pointing his wand at Darien uttered an incantation that she would never be able to forget.

"Extraxi Phasma!"

The light burst from the container escaping into the night, and then a similar glow was sucked out of Darien's chest. He crumpled to the ground. His soul. Merlin they took his soul!

"Do you find the human soul fascinating, Artemis?"

"No!" She cried darting towards Darien's crumpled form. Angry at him or not, it hadn't been that long since she had found herself mooning after him. But she never made it, because someone shoved her to the side (and incidentally out of Garrow's mad line of fire-not that she initially realized this). She looked up into the haggard face of her what- rescuer? Imprisoner? Logan. He was saying something, strings of words that may have formed sentances but she was too distracted and upset to heed them. She watched under his arm as Atlas tried fruitlessly to drag Darien's body away. He finally gave up and disappeared into the darkness of the Deparment of Mysteries no doubt escaping through one of the exits.

"Get away from me!" She finally shrieked pushing him away. "What have you done?"

She could hear Garrow coming towards them, and realizing the imminent danger, her mind suddenly flashed to her brother. She had the map, he couldn't escape. He was in danger. She blinked away tears that had started to form and shoved past Logan. She practically ran into Garrow, who was looking mad, in her haste to escape. She shot a stunning spell at him, but didn't stop to see if it hit him or he deflected it. Instead she grabbed her brother (who was predictably freaking out in the corridor) and fled.

They wound through the twisted, darkened, labyrinth of the Department of Mysteries. And when they finally re-emerged into the light she realized they weren't terribly far from the atrium. Still she dragged her brother on, though by this point it took no effort. They arrived at the atrium, only to see Wendell and some brunette fleeing. Had she a moment to properly analyze the situation she would have found it even odder still. But when she hazarded a glance back over her shoulder she saw Logan and then Garrow emerging from the hallway.

Suddenly, Apollo disappeared with a pop. And deciding that she ought to follow her younger brother's example she too disappeared.

It was only after she was back in her own kitchen nursing a tall glass of firewhiskey that Apollo had thoughtfully poured for her that she finally remembered to breath, and then to cry.

The Atrium was sheer pandemonium, and surprisingly it seemed to have nothing to do with him. But the oddest assortment of people where screaming and running for their lives. Frankly, Wendell wasn't quite sure what exactly was going on. The first and most frightening person he saw was Ballantine. Frightening in a sort of "Dammit-the-jig-is-up" way. But despite the flash of recognition (and confusion) in her eyes when she spotted him, she didn't do the Ballantinesque thing and curse him silly. She apparated away with astonishing speed. He didn't even have time to pretend to curse Sofia. The Irish woman it seemed was too preoccupied with whatever was scaring everyone else. And it was a mad assortment of everyone else too!

Atlas Cademon shot by, so did Apollo and Artemis Sinistra. A severe looking brunette woman that he vaguely recognized as a reporter. Then out of the blue came Logan Fletcher. A man that Wendell hadn't seen since his childhood (they had both grown up in Spinner's End, the grimy city of outcast purebloods).

This is not to say that either Wendell or Sofia were hanging around either. If they were going to be spotted at least this mass chaos was a good cover. Maybe, they wouldn't be noticed. Or at the very least no one would piece together the fact that they were ...together. (A naive wish - but nevertheless). Deciding that they should probably get out of sight anyway he grabbed her wrist and yanked her behind the giant statue that sat in Atrium lobby. Out of site at least for a few moments.

"Sofia, over here!"

What in Merlin's name is going on tonight?

"I've got to get out of here and you too. Go somewhere, anywhere get an alibi. But I just wanted, I had to tell you- well I mean... thanks. For everything."

He glanced back over his shoulder to make sure that there was no one descending upon them yet. He didn't know why he felt quite so urgent about telling her this. He just had to. He probably would never have another chance to.

"I-" But there was no time for long-winded speeches, and frankly he wasn't sure he had anything left to say. So instead he decided to do what he had wanted to all evening (or rather all week...or maybe even the past couple weeks) and he leaned down and kissed her. It wasn't the same sweet, probing kiss like they had shared in the bar, nor was it as deeply passionate as most of their encounters. But it was urgent; it was a little needy; It was goodbye.

(In which there may be some pre-fabricated snappy dialogue to be added after further consultation)

“Goodbye Sofia,” He said and disappeared with a loud crack which successfully covered his last few whispered words. “I’m sorry…”

When he reappeared he was standing in an Alley somewhere in the midst of muggle London. The first stage of his disappearing act was complete.