May 15th, 11:13 PM

The letter sent to the Headmaster had been six days before as Kyle once again stepped into King's Cross Station. He had begun to lose hope in the bear he once called headmaster. Hopefully he hadn't given Kyle up. At this point that was the most he could ask for. "I'm done with this after today..." He muttered to himself as he closed his cloak tightly around him as he headed for the mail boxes. He had poorly transfigured his nose to be larger making it look more like a tree stump than part of his body. But it sufficed for keeping people away from him. Every day he ventured out into wizarding London he risked being caught. But he held on to hope.

Often times he would remind himself what he was fighting for. Not just his freedom, but also to avenge the deaths of Timmons and Carter. He knew both men had children at Hogwarts, the latter had been a boy in Kyle's house and year. It was the most tragic of circumstances and he had to correct it. There wasn't any other choice. Not to mention bringing in such a skilled and ruthless killer might be enough to clear his family name. Though Kyle cringed at the thought of being compared to his vile older brother Mark, as the prophet had so promptly done.

Finally reaching the box, Kyle hastily opened it to see that it remained empty as it had the days before. Who was he kidding? Trusting in Greyfriar was an utterly idiotic thing to do. The man could have easily reported the letter to the authorities, leaving himself almost a one hundred percent chance of being caught. He would have to watch himself if he wanted to pursue his plans of catching the real killer.

King's Cross was strangely unpopulated at this time of day. It was nearly midnight, a ghostly feeling sweeping through the facility. He groaned, trying to think of where he could stay for the night. He had to change locations every evening to prevent the chance of being caught. Going off to an empty waiting area, Kyle plopped himself down on a bench and sighed. Seeing that nobody was around, he pulled out Bailey's wand which he still kept on his person and examined it. He wanted to solve the murders for her as well. He always felt immense guilt over her death because he hadn't been able to do anything. Somebody of his older brother's skill wasn't to be taken lightly, something Kyle had scars to prove. This opportunity, however sinister could be Kyle's second chance to do some right in the world. He prayed to whichever spirits laid in the heavens that he would be able to do so.

Near midnight, Kings Cross was nearly deserted. While most illegal activities took place under the shroud of night, the majority of criminals knew how to rely on secondary defenses. A crowded, London pub was a better location for trading runespoor eggs than a musty Knockturn alleyway.  Late hour activity was common in pubs and one was less likely to be spotted in all of the congestion. An alleyway at the same hour would draw suspicious eyes and was much more typical. Not to mention that an Auror, typically, was intelligent enough to know not to stroll into one of those kinds of pubs alone. And everyone knew how often image-conscious bureaucracy approved of raids. Tonight, the Golden Retriever watching the mailboxes was hoping on Kyle Gibson’s greenness in these matters.

 No one seemed to notice that the dog lying under a sleeping bum’s bench was far too clean to be the homeless man’s companion. The fleeting passing glances did not inform them that the dog had been lying there, practically motionless, for the past three hours.  And no one most certainly paused to even comment on the Retriever’s most unusual gray eyes locked unwavering on the metallic, geometrical boxes a few yards off.

For five days, the canine had come to the same spot, under the same obnoxiously snoring bum, and had waited. The dog would come just as the sun was starting to go down, sometimes an hour or two after, and stay well into the adolescent hours of the morning. The recklessness shown at Memorial Day had either been driven on rash inexperience or a desensitize ruthlessness. In either case, it was doubtful that Gibson would follow the habits of a common criminal; there would be mistakes made. At least, that had been the hope. After five long nights, the dog’s mind was beginning to cloud with doubt.

The Golden Retriever’s head popped up as, for the first time, someone approached the boxes, tense and … wearing a cloak? – With a nose no mother would be proud of.  Its vanilla tail gave a hopeful swish as it laid its head back down between two dainty paws. The dog’s large black nose could almost smell the anxiety rolling off the man, even from across the way. Two floppy ears perked at the frustrated groan upon finding one of the boxes empty.  The tail swished again.

Seemingly distraught, the large nosed, oddly garbed (presumed) young man turned and trudged off to a less occupied waiting area. The dog waited a couple of seconds and then army crawled from under the bench. Silently padding at a brisk trot, the dog peered from around the safety of a brick pillar and found the boy caressing a rod of wood. That was good enough.

The dog turned and trotted, seemingly unhurried, back past the mailboxes, past some straggling Muggles, and right into a now cramped photo booth. Inside,  a man waited half asleep. Where the dog had been a moment before an equally petite Tamis Raynor with the same gray eyes now stood, giving the half asleep Auror, and one of the only Aurors she trusted with this mission, an irritated slap across the back of the head.

“Wake up. I think we have him. He’s armed.”

While a deep, croaking snore escaped the sleeping bum every so often, the matted and dirt-covered man was far from asleep.  Sleep was the last thing on the homeless man's mind.  Perhaps, if enough of the man's own thoughts remained, the absence of sleep would have alarmed him as would the realization that sleep was, physically, an impossibility.  But, he wasn't alarmed.  In fact, for the first time in quite some time, there was no trace of worry or concern in the homeless man's head.  His mind was free from any sense of responsibility or expectation and the oblivion was blissful. 

At one point, Lee Arnold, as he'd been called back in the days when he'd been an important enough member of society to have a name, had become aware of something or someone moving around him.  His eyes had remained firmly shut; there had been no desire to open his eyes and investigate - he was more than happy to remain still, continuing to supply the train station with an occasional raspy snore. 

The shuffling of footsteps moved past on occasion, but the bum that appeared to be sleeping gave them no mind.  Even the quiet clicking of dog toenails, while quite out of place, didn't raise a single worry in Lee's mind.  But, once the dog had moved off, Lee opened his eyes and straightened up on the bench. 

He blinked and rubbed his eyes with the heels of both hands before looking around at the odd assortment of midnight train station guests.  A youngish looking man with a strangely large nose was standing by a bank of mailboxes, a young woman sat on a bench a short ways down with a backpack slung over one shoulder and a cluster of college-aged boys stood in the middle of the hall, alternating between glancing at maps and the list of arrivals and departures.  A few other interesting characters were scattered around the room. 

Slowly, Lee pushed himself to his feet and trudged slowly over to the bank of mailboxes.  He noticed the smooth stick the young man held but it was no more cause for concern than any of the other proceedings.  He came to stand next to the young man with the large honker and reached out to dial a combination on one of the boxes.  "That nose looks stupid.  You're being watched.  You want to get out of this with your freedom, you'll do as I saw.  Try anything stupid, you're on your own."

Kyle had been lost in his thoughts, thinking he was alone for a few moments when a homeless looking man nudged him and told him something he truly did not think he'd ever hear from a man dressed in such shabby garb.

"That nose looks stupid.  You're being watched.  You want to get out of this with your freedom, you'll do as I saw.  Try anything stupid, you're on your own."

He froze. Clearly whoever strange man was, was on his side to some degree. Though he cursed himself for having such a poor disguise, he was happy that someone was there for him if he was really being watched. Though this raised another concern in his mind as he realized that anyone willing to help him would be evil or dark by nature, as the public saw him as a murderous menace who must be stopped.

So what was he supposed to do? Agree and do whatever the man demanded of him, ultimately obliging to what could get him into deeper trouble, or risk being caught and sent to Azkaban for life for surely he would not get a fair trial from the Ministry. The public had already decided his fate. His life stood on a precipice, the decision presented before him could be his last as a free, or living man.

"Where?" He said, putting Bailey's wand away which he would never use for combat, as Bailey never did as he drew his own dark red one. He did not know which style of combat to use, whether he should implement dark magic so as not to raise alarm for this strange homeless man who must've thought Kyle was the killer that everyone else did or to use only stuns and disarming spells. Both options yielded good and bad results. Should he use harmless spells, the Aurors or whoever was "watching" him wouldn't have a chance of getting hurt, which could also help his overall cause. Decisions, decisions.

Muttering a few words to turn his nose back to normal as it was slightly obscuring his vision, Kyle stood up to reveal a grungy visage of a man who has been living on the streets. There was little difference between the man he stood next to, and Kyle himself in appearance. "And who are you?"

“I saw him,” Tamis replied when her companion squeezed her hand.

To the Muggle eye, a rather perfectly ordinary couple had just entered the waiting room, possibly of the tourist variety. What, with the passports around their necks and the way the wife was scrutinizing the departure times while her spouse held her hand, his eyes wander across the other travelers in a bemused fashion, a harried husband  who knew better than to try and help her decipher the listings.

Attempting to appear every bit engaged at the city names and times overhead, Raynor tried not to think about the uncomfortable way the jeans clung to her legs. More of a trousers and robes kind of woman, she had always found muggle denim to be nonsensical. It had taken a lot of convincing on the part of a younger female Auror that was more involved in Muggle trends that, yes, they were suppose to fit that tight, and no, they are not suppose to sit up higher. Tamis, as a student, had been ‘trendy’, but that had been when clothes had been made with more fabric. The sneakers and top were much more familiar territory, even if the latter was frillier than she would have preferred.  The hat had actually been reclaimed from the bottom of her own wardrobe. The overall effect made her look a good four years younger. The male Auror with her was equally average in his jeans, t-shirt, and boots.

Hopefully, this would be fast, quick, and painless. The last thing that anyone needed was a breech in the Statue of Security in Kings Cross. The last thing that the Ministry needed was to raise magical suspicion at the cusp between the Muggle World and Hogwarts. That clean up would give Catastrophes a heart attack.  The easier this went, the less chance there was of Gibson getting killed. She had promised Greyfriar she would try and prevent that from happening.

“He’s talking to a shady fellow. And what nose? It looks normal to me. Can’t tell if his wand is still out.” The fellow Auror narrated, smiling and nodding his head to the young woman with the backpack as she just happened to look up.

Raynor used the excuse of pretending to glance around for a clock in order to tear her gaze away from the destinations. She let her eyes travel quickly over the post boxes, taking in the two ragged figures standing there, absorbing as many details as possible, before moving on just as fast – only to quickly look back in surprise, not at Gibson, but his companion. That could not possibly be the bum. Before she could stop herself, she looked back to the bench she had been staked out under. No one was sleeping on it anymore.

Quickly, she redirected her attention back to the departure times. As if she had suddenly come to a decision, she pointed up to one. “There is Peterborough. Good, it’s not delayed,” she announced happily.

Or, to translate that code, they were not going to move in on Gibson just yet. If they had been traveling to Leeds, they could go ahead and try and capture him. Since they were going to Peterborough… then this was possibly a trap after all. Just as she feared it might be.


The Muggle Disguise

In the moments following when Lee had announced his presence, silence fell as the young man took a few moments to react.  Save the gentle slapping of a few moving feet, the station seemed oddly quiet and Lee's own mind reached a blissful level of numb inertia as he stared, blankly at the bank of lockers.  He was vaguely aware of his surroundings but it seemed like an afterthought and there was still no trace of worry or concern. 

Lee blinked a few times.  For a moment, the boy's question seemed a valid one.  Only a few moments ago, Lee was certain he knew who had been watching the boy but his mind was a complete blank.  Despite his certainty that he knew nothing, Lee felt compelled to answer, "it's not important where.  Best to assume everyone's watching you.  They use disguises, too.  And, theirs are better than yours." 

Lee ignored the question about who he was - he wasn't sure he could remember.  Instead, he turned to face away from the lockers and leaned against them, watching the various groups of people lingering in the station.  A lone, older man was moving past them towards the door to the men's bathroom.  Though Lee found himself strangely intrigued by the man, his gaze remained fixed straight forward.  "The old man there - he's heading to the bathroom.  Follow him," Lee whispered, glancing towards the boy.  "Once inside, immobilize him.  Better yet, imperious him." 

The words held little meaning to Lee but he offered them anyway.  They made no sense to him but he was, strangely, confident, the boy would understand them completely.

Kyle stared blankly for a moment, summing up in his head what he was about to do. He hated it, that he had to run from and potentially fight the law. He was a fair duelist, but after deciding not to use dark magic he'd be severely disarmed. Not to mention, he had no idea who he was up against. If it were a senior Auror, or Tamis Raynor of all people the odds would be horribly against him. "Disguises... right." He said dumbly, rubbing his eyes and standing up. It was time to get focused if he wanted to make it out unharmed.

Kyle's face turned serious at the mentioning of having to imperious a man. It was in fact, one of the three unforgivable curses and he'd be damned if he found himself using the very magic he wanted to combat. Confunding the bloke would do the job, and this rescuer, if that's what you would call him, wouldn't know the difference.

Without saying a word, Kyle set off towards the Men's bathroom, the cloak fully around him as he walked at a steady pace towards his destination. He kept his hand next to his wand, should this be a trap. But the truth was he didn't really have a choice. Should he openly defy the man, people would notice and very bad things would happen.

Upon entering the bathroom, Kyle looked around to see the old man. After searching for several seconds, he heard a toilet flush as the man walked out and headed for the tap. Kyle made sure nobody else was around, then silently confunded him and dragged him into an adjacent stall. Not sure of what to do next, he waited where he was, despised at his own actions.

“He’s moving. We’re going to lose him.”

The commentary was entirely unnecessary. There were a number of options available, all with their own sets of pros and cons, and very little time. Raynor was overcome with a more and more unsettling feeling that they were walking straight into a trap. The bewildered Hitwizard Head had been notified that if so much as a stunner was detected by the Improper Use of Magic at Kings Cross that they should be prepared to move in with full, but covert, offensive measures. He had not been thrilled with the lack of details. Even so, that still left the two Aurors with their necks exposes on the front lines.

Did they shed the charade and burst into the bathroom after Gibson? Did they try and capture the bum, a possible accomplice instead? Did they wait for him to come out of the bathroom and chance him apparating away?  If Gibson was unaware of their presence and this was not a set up, they still had the advantage of the element of surprise. If it was, indeed, a trap… well, he could not know the faces of all the Aurors. But he would know hers.

She did not like the plan that began forming in her head.

Tamis patted her ‘husband’ on the arm affectionately. “You should probably use the loo before boarding. Train lavatories are ghastly.”

There was a long pause where he seemed to absorb the order and then he nodded one, understanding the order. Raynor offered him a few words of caution as he sauntered off towards the men’s restroom and was awarded with a wide cheeky grin. Aurors. It took a great deal of effort not to roll her eyes.

Shaking her head, Tamis pulled her travel bag over her shoulder and began to rummage through it, as if searching for a key or combination information, casually making her way towards the mailboxes and the homeless man. 

The bathroom door swung closed behind Lee.  As the boy tended to the older man exiting the toilet stall, Lee felt an inexplicable surge of exhilaration and excitement as he watched the old man.  They only had moments.  The time pressure just heightened the excitement. 

"What are you doing?  That's ..." The old man asked before his voice faded off as the boy waggled his stick at the man. 

From the inside pockets of his tattered jacket, Lee pulled two flasks of a thick, goopy liquid.  He didn't understand any of this exercise but, still confident the boy would, he handed one flask to the boy.  "Put one of your hairs in this one," he said, as he crossed the room to the old man.  Why the man didn't cry out, Lee wasn't sure, but he just seemed to look more confused as Lee reached out to pluck a stray white hair from his head.  After dropping the hair in his flask, he returned to the door and leaned against it, bracing it shut with his body weight.

"Drink this," he ordered, handing his flask to the boy.  "Then, make him drink the one with your hair and modify his memory.  Do you know how to do that?  The incantation is Obliviate.  Once you've changed, leave and go immediately to Lulu's Pub near the Surrey docks.  Don't stop for anything - when you get there, ask for Archie.  Do you understand?" 

Soon after Kyle had entered the bathroom and confunded the old man, the mysterious one who had directed him here in the first place entered with a slew of instructions. Kyle nodded quietly in response. While it made Kyle very uncomfortable to obey and do everything he was asked, it came down to the fact that he really had no choice. If Aurors were really after him in disguise, he was screwed either way.

Kyle grimaced as he drank the polyjuice potions, feeling his face and body contort and change into the old man's. Taking the other vial, he poured the second potion down the old man's throat as he turned into what Kyle had looked like no less than one minute ago. Not letting any time pass, Kyle whispered Obliviate and altered his memory so that nothing of the past few minutes was there, and that he was sick and in need of a bathroom quite often. He frowned as he looked at the muggle and thought of what he was doing, and then closed the stall door.

Kyle took a few deep breaths, then left the bathroom with the calmest composure he could muster and then began to exit the King's Cross. "Archie... Archie..." He mumbled in attempt to memorize the name.