The rain beat a steady rhythm against the rough paving stones in Knockturn Alley, leaving reflective puddles and pools of water dampening the street. With Christmas only a week away, a few of the alley’s businesses had made feeble attempts to decorate for the holidays: fuzzy spiders with little Santa hats adorned the windows of the Shodding Arms Hotel, and Borgin and Burke’s had set out their usual festive animal skeletons, arranged to look a bit like a manger scene.

“Yeah, we never spent much time here in the old days,” Jonas told Fauna Blake as they made their way down the street, zigzagging to dodge the largest puddles.  “We’d poke our head in every now and then, but we really just ceded most of it to the locals. Bit easier to keep your eye on any back alley deals when you know which alley they’re happening in.”

Their destination today wasn’t very far inside the alley.  Aside from possibly collecting a little more dust over the past two years, Grimshaw Tailoring and Alterations looked exactly how he remembered it.   The sign hanging out front, so faded it was impossible to read it, creaked as it swung back and forth in the light wind.  The mannequin forms in the window were all faded, although they showed off fancy dresses in stained white lace that probably would have been popular in the 1700s or so.  Further inside the shop, the counters and other mannequin forms appeared to be all covered with white sheets.

Jonas stopped just in front of it, squinting up at the sign.  “Charming place, innit?” he asked Blake, a bit too cheerily.  “You want to do a quick check to see if there’s anyone inside?”

The last time that he’d come here with Cameron Rosier, there had been: they’d found a mysterious figure down in the basement who’d sent curses flying at them, along with a dead girl’s body in the back room.

The rain fell miserable and cold in Knockturn Alley. Fauna skulked down the dark street in her rain-resistant cloak, trudging through the puddles and trying to fit in with the locals while Jonas Trevelyan chattered cheerily beside her. Her watchful, but pleasant expression belied her Knockturn-skulk and Fauna ducked her head in her hood, hiding a smile.

A pair of super spies! She wouldn't have it any other way. Auror Trevelyan had a way of lightening the gloomy atmosphere, reminding her that even though every situation they walked into could become dangerous, they were all in it together.

Fauna wanted to believe Abby's tale about the shop, or actually, she didn't want to believe that the shop had lit up and lured passerby on a night very close to her own brush with danger. If she could pick and choose truths, she would pick the ledger as a real thing and discard the skulls in the cellar.[1] That couldn't be real, could it? Maybe Abby's unnamed friend had gotten carried away in the telling or Abby's pentral had confused things. She felt guilty thinking that way, even suspecting that Abby might be confused or susceptible to influence, but there it was. Fauna couldn't be sure what might be true until they investigated.

When she'd relayed the moonlit adventure of glowing shops and mysterious ledgers to Trevelyan, she had made it sound like a funny bit of gossip, had glossed over the creepy flute and the lengthy history of the ledger and had half-joked about finding skeletons in the basement.

Still, they'd been meaning to check out Grimshaw's anyway after the Pentral's confession in November. Now they were here, and the shop stood dim and dull and quiet. Could this really be the place where pale hands traded in unicorn blood?

She hesitated, pushing back a flicker of surprise and resentment, then nodded at Trevelyan with a touch of gratitude. In moments like these she imagined that he must be a good father to his kids, encouraging them to get back on the broom after they took a nasty fall.

"Sure. It can't be worse than the lakehouse, can it?"

Fauna grimaced exaggeratedly and raised her wand at the shop.

She casted a few quick reveal charms on the windows and checked for traps on the door before walking in. Unlocked. The shop smelled musty and dusty, and the assortment of mannequins and draped sheets reminded her a little too much of a horror show. The muggle-inclined at the Ministry wondered why she hadn't watched Game of Thrones or the Walking Dead or even True Blood yet. Harris, this was why.

"Homenum Revelio," she flicked her wand at the shadows, stepping quietly on the old floorboards.

"Anima Revelio," she added after a beat. The spell used to detect spirits was much less reliable, but the shop remained dim.

Fauna went as far as the back room, opened the door which creaaaaaked, and remained on the other side of the wall as she peeked in and waved her spells at the darkened space.

Nothing. No dead girl in the back room, no mammoth-sized wizard sipping tea. Her heart calmed.

Fauna returned to the front door and gestured at Trevelyan.

"Ground floor all clear."

Humor flashed in her eyes. No, she didn't watch shows about coppers either.

1.	Wisp and Bone, Haunt and Home

Lazarus had never cared for Knockturn Alley. The desperation was like mortar between the bricks, deception seeped from window shutters like the odor of a fishmonger. He knew for many it was the safest lair for their livelihoods and that not an insignificant few had been here since before it had sank into a wallow. But no, Lazarus had never cared for Knockturn Alley.

There were few errands for a vampire here, but for a bibliophile there was at least the one. He'd traded Borgin a few coins for an old book of maps and would have disappeared into the night if he hadn't seen a light on in Grimshaw's. He lit a cigarette and crossed the street, curious. It was a poorly kept secret that the old building was used for all variety of Knockturnal things, but rumors rumbled of things darker yet of late. He'd just poke his head in, perhaps.

'Meddle not with mortals, Lazarus,' he'd been told early in his after-life. 'You haven't the mettle and it's ultimately futile. They'll only die.'

And yet.

Two wix in the window. Nothing in their hands but wands. They could be browsing for all their urgency. Hardly the sort of activity Grimshaw's had been known for in this past century. Perhaps they were tourists. Lazarus tucked the heavy book more tightly under his arm and ashed the red-glowing cigarette and watched from the pavement like an escaped mannequin.

The inside of the dress shop looked exactly as Jonas remembered it, too.  Even though the sun hadn't quite set yet, the storm outside meant that there was less light than usual, making it hard to see inside the dusty shop.  As Fauna checked the hallway and looked for any sign of intruder, he used his wand to light the lamps in the main room.  It seemed to take a longer moment than usual for the wicks to catch, as if they weren't used to burning.

"Ground floor all clear," the Auror trainee put in as she returned from the hallway.

Jonas flashed her a quick smile.  This was what the others got for letting the two Muggleborn members of the Auror Corps work together.  "Roger that, Lieutenant," he retorted, giving her a wink.

He glanced around the front room.  In addition to being dusty, it looked like it hadn't been touched by a human hand in ages.  Most of the dressmaker dummies were covered in white sheets, obscuring what were surely ancient-looking garments underneath.  Even the counter had been covered, as if whoever had last locked up the shop had been expecting to be gone for a very, very long time.

One of the more interesting parts of Abby's story about the tailor shop (as Fauna had relayed it) had been the existence of some sort of customer record book.  Supposedly, Abby's friend had claimed that the records had gone back years, with the names of people who had supposedly come to Grimshaw's to do business.  If they could locate that ledger -- and if the ledger actually recorded illegal transactions and not just tailoring orders, which Jonas privately wasn't sure about -- they might be able to find proof that Leander or Lorelei Hunt had come through here at one point.

"Alright," he said, nodding to Blake.  "If there's a ledger about, there's only so many places where it might be hiding, yeah?  I'll check the counter -- see if you can check and see where else it might be lying about," he instructed, motioning her to the rest of the main room.  "Abby didn't mention where her mate supposedly found this, did she?"

"Abby did not," Fauna smiled ruefully. "She was focused on the, um... what she called... an osweary? Osewery? Merlin help me."[1]

Fauna sighed.

"A basement full of bones. Er, so we have that to look forward to," her smile widened, then faltered as her own words sank in.

Before heading out earlier that afternoon, Abby had given her a copy of the glyph that her nameless friend had drawn, a strange symbol made stranger on a plain Ministry memo. It sat nice and folded in Fauna's pocket, forgotten for the moment.

Fauna nodded absently at Trevelyan's instruction, glancing around the rest of the cloaked shop. If there really were a ledger, and that ledger were full of the names of those who preferred to stay nameless, she hesitated to start casting finding charms right away. She and Trevelyan had already checked to see if any people or ghosts were currently lurking in the shadows. No one was here, but they might have left something of themselves behind.

"I'm just going to quickly see if anyone left behind spell traces," Fauna told Trevelyan over her shoulder, trusting that he'd let her know if he'd rather she didn't.

She lifted her wand, "Declaro Incantatum." 

One of her favorites! A purple beam shot from her wand, then dissipated as it caught on to the faint traces of spellwork in the shop. The more recent the spell, the stronger the aura. Abby's friend had stumbled upon this shop more than a week ago, but perhaps it would help trace the witch's steps, or someone else's.

Fauna blinked in surprise as she directed her wand around. The counter itself had layers of spells on it, the strongest next to a brass till. Trevelyan had started in the right place. She couldn't begin to decipher those, only glimpsing a trace of Specialis Revelio shimmering above it all.

Her two recent Revelio spells glowed the brightest along the walls, but she thought she caught another Homenum Revelio, very faint beneath hers. Days, if not weeks old.

Fauna moved around the shrouded mannequins and racks of clothing, kicking up dust as she stepped quietly through the main room.

A ball of light caught her eye, hovering low over the old floorboards. She knelt, recognizing an old Lumos. A Lumos Maxima. Fauna stepped back and glanced around, lifting a few of the sheets to peer at the clothes. Nothing looked out of place or unusual. Why was the spell so close to the floor? She looked up. Ceiling seemed normal.

She looked down, stepping closer to the trace of the Lumos. The floorboards creaked. Fauna tested the wood with her boot, right below the spell.

Creaaaaaak, the floors protested.

"Um," Fauna said helpfully. She cleared her throat and coughed at the dust.

"Trevelyan?" She called, confused but not concerned. "Someone's casted a Lumos directly over the floorboards. Maybe from a few weeks ago. It's odd, but I'm going to take a look down the corridor next, ok?"

1.	An ossuary!

They were Aurors, Lazarus could now see. Aurors, Aurors, red-robed, bold, and brave. A line far more common among the wand-wavers. Other words were used among Lazarus's kind. He stood yet in the window, drawing from the cigarette. The smoke didn't stay, the wind took it quickly away. He watched as the shop lit up and other wand-spells blinked and glimmered. They were looking for something. What had drawn them?

"Hmm..."

He hoped it wasn't something nasty. Grimshaw's was a nasty place for nasty sorts. Unkind to the golden.

With that, with an insane resolve, Lazarus dropped the cig and stamped it dark. He slipped inside, the creak of the door and a dingle of a bell giving him away. He didn't bother to look up but he did raise his hand in an unsteady kind of wave.

"Hey," he said, voice gravelly a little smile on his mouth. "Don't shoot. We're just civilians here."

The obvious place for some sort of record-keeping book was right by the register.  As Blake began checking for signs of spell-casting, Jonas pulled off the sheet covering the counter and began searching underneath it.  There were several drawers, but they all seemed to be mostly empty: decomposing quills and dried-up ink pot in one, what looked to be an entire rat skeleton in another.  Judging by what was left, it didn't look like the shop had been actively used in decades.

Blake's call made him glance up, his forehead creasing.  A Lumos spell over the floor?  That was definitely odd.  The light spell was typically cast higher up, so that it could illuminate a broader area. 

"Yeah, go on and--" he started to say, just as there was a tintinnabulation at the front door and a bloke that he didn't recognize strolled in.

The Auror glanced up, his forehead creasing.  The new arrival looked like he was in his thirties or forties, with dark hair speckled with gray.  He didn't have a wand out, but there was something a little...odd about him, the way he moved.  For someone frequenting a Knockturn shop, 'Don't shoot' also seemed a decidedly Muggle phrase to use.

"I didn't realize that we were at a firing range, mate," Jonas replied easily, flashing him a smile.  He couldn't place his finger on what was so strange about the man, but something about his manner almost made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.  "Can I help you?"

Fauna had just stepped into the corridor when the bell on the door jingled. She turned quickly, keeping a firm grip on her wand, and crept past the racks of clothing and toward the entrance, listening closely to Trevelyan's voice - friendly - and the gravelly, strangely familiar drawl of the visitor.

She caught a faint whiff of smoke and another smell that she couldn't place.

Wary, Fauna stepped out from behind the racks, opposite Trevelyan at the counter, keeping the visitor between them.

He was wearing a hat. He was dressed in black.

Laz! Fauna's grip on her wand loosened, easy at her side. She cleared her throat. A smile inched up her face, though she was certain he'd already heard (sensed!) her.

She could place the smell now. A strange not-smell. Most people carried the outdoors with them when they walked inside, the seasonal chill mingling with sweat on skin and even the breaths they exhaled. But this? This smelled like nothing.

"Hey," she said warmly, moving out into the open.

"What are you doing here? Out being a good samaritan again?"

She glanced around the shop, wondering if their presence had drawn him in or if something else had. Her gaze fell on Trevelyan.

"Sorry, er, this is Trevelyan, my favorite Auror to tag-along with."

At the very least, one of them! She gestured next at Laz.

"And this is Laz." Laz the vampire. "Uh, Lazarus was there, helping Bagnold and I during the full moon ambush at the zoo."

From her foggy memory of those last few minutes of that fight, Laz had nope'd out shortly after the candle-bearer and Tawse had. She hadn't seen or heard from him since and had been so busy brooding and working that she hadn't thought to follow up. Fauna ducked her head down slightly and rubbed at the back of her neck for a moment, avoiding the scar on the side. Her smile faltered, reminded of what they'd faced that night.

She glanced him over, glad at least to see him in one piece.

Got an idea, bad idea, I need an idea, a good idea - a great idea to be trespassing in Aurors' wake it turned out to be. From the wizard Laz got a smile and from the witch a familiar face.

Lazarus straightened up, lifted his chin, opened his arms and smiled all his teeth showing. "Blake...! Didn't guess I'd see you in awhile. But uh, good has nothing much to do with me. I'm just, uh, trying something new."

This would be his his fourth attempt. His fourth good idea. First he'd led a hunter to a wolf. Then he'd found the sparrow on the tower. After that, well, Blake knew all about that one on that cold moon night and by the way she brought it up her partner did, too. Three for three makes a Chicago boy brave, maybe.[1]

Lazarus lifted his hat for Trevelyan, so kind of him to be unworried when he had every reason to be.

"That is," he mumbled putting his hands back in his pocket. "That is to say, Auror Trevelyan, I don't need anything at all."

1.	10 Nov 2011 - Bark or Bite, 18 Nov 2011 - I am and so are you, and 19 Dec 2011 - Cold Moon

Blake stepped out, clearing her throat, and greeted the newcomer warmly.  Jonas’s eyebrows inched upwards as he gave the man a more considering look.  So this was Lazarus the vampire, who’d tagged along with the WCU team and Blake during the ambush on the full moon.  His inclusion had ruffled more than a few feathers on Level Two, where dark creatures were not normally viewed as potential allies.  But Bagnold had vouched strongly for him, with the werewolf hunter’s usual direct language, and Blake clearly viewed the vampire positively, too.

Lazarus opened his mouth and smiled back at Blake, displaying a full set of pointed canines, and then lifted his hat to Jonas.  The vampire’s arcane mannerisms reminded him a bit of the Muggles who dressed up in steampunk attire at the comic conventions that he’d taken Gwenna and Artie to.

“That’s the best kind of interruption, at least in my book,” the Auror replied cheerfully. 

It seemed like a bit of a coincidence that this particular vampire had now shown up at two direwolf attacks, and was also poking his head in while they were in the process of searching the supposedly cursed tailor shop.  Had Lazarus gotten interested in Ministry activity, for some reason unknown to the mortals?  Or was there something more nefarious driving his presence at all of these events?

“What brings you here this afternoon then, mate?” Jonas asked, his tone light even as he kept a careful eye on the vampire.  “You mentioned trying something new, yeah?”

Lazarus didn't like questions. It was his habit to not answer in a line. Not a straight line, anyway. Nothing personal, but nothing personal.

"Altruism," he tried hoping it was enough.

The vampire moved around the shop, keeping his hands pointedly in his pockets only leaning and looking and flaring his nostrils as he took peeks at the dated fare. He'd learned better over his several centuries about touching what didn't belong to him. And even though the building sat cold and quiet, as soon as he walked in he felt unwelcome. Thank goodness for the wand-wavers in their red coats, serving and protecting and snooping. Better them than he.

"What are you doing here, not shopping, I think? No need for cuff links on those frocks? Not werewolves again, Blake, I hope. Had my fill."

Fill the space, try and be helpful. He smiled again. Service with a smile.

Fauna was so glad that Jonas Trevelyan was here. If it were almost any other Auror, they'd kindly or not-so-kindly send Laz on his way out of the shop, or worse, suspect the vampire openly.

She was getting used to the vampire's indirect answers and merely smile-winced at him taking a look around. His hands in his pockets, he reminded her of a professor inspecting a student's work. Lean in, look thoughtful, move to the next.

Could vampires, who couldn't use magic, still see the same strong magical effects that she and Trevelyan could? Did Declaro Incantatum make the spells shine in the same colors? She wondered, as he seemed mostly interested in the old-fashioned frocks.

"Um," she said 'um' with emphasis, "Same here. No thanks. No more ambushes this month."

No more direwolves. Just shopping for clues!

Altruism, he'd said. Fauna put her hands in her pockets as well and moved to look at the hat he was admiring. Not as cool as his.

"Have you seen anything around Grimshaw's that feels out of place, Laz? I mean, besides us. Not sure how often you keep an eye out around here."

Or if his timing was a part of trying something new. She glanced at Trevelyan, leaving it up to him to share anything about their investigation.

Laz lifted his eyebrow to Fauna wasn't shy to come near him, like most of the yet-living who kept their distance. How nice of her.

"Hmm... couldn't say. No, little red, don't care much for Knockturn Ally. So many shady characters."

He tipped his hat back and leaned forward over the glass counter top. Faded jewelry sat forgotten, unpolished but barely tarnished.

"But nothing's out of place here. Or everything. Shame what happened to that girl." He tsk-tsked and stood back straight, unaware he may have said anything newsworthy.

'Altruism' was about as vague an answer as the vampire could have given them.  Jonas stayed quiet, his forehead creasing, as Blake engaged with her compatriot from a week and a half prior. 

Vampires were a bit of a new experience for him; most of his prior encounters with them were largely centered on a phase that his daughter Gwenna had gone through, when she'd spent most of her waking hours pretending to be one.  Lazarus had a certain eerie stillness about him, but he himself stayed in motion, moving easily around the shop as he spoke.  Jonas couldn't help but wonder what it was that had really drawn him in today.

But Lazarus's last off-handed comment made him blink.

"Which girl?" he asked, regarding the vampire with a frown.  "What do you mean, shame what happened to her?"

Lazarus spun slowly on his heels to level a gaze at Trevelyan. Didn't he know? Lazarus moved his hat back forward and scratched his stubbled neck.

"Hmm," he graveled, thinking. There couldn't be harm in telling this pair of the sorry story. Could there? Telling was helping. If he didn't say, what was the point of welcoming himself in? He frowned, though. The vampire's old memory was long but it could get foggy. One winter blended with previous and future winters. Which one had been the last for that girl?

"It was winter," he said confident with that detail. "Snow but, hmm, right, cold chimneys."

Cold chimneys.... He waved long bony fingers in the air by his ear. "No, not chimneys. Smoke stacks. Smoke stacks. One of my first here, first winters."[1]

The smell in the air, he remembered it, the slick on the streets. Old Laz remembered now.

"They found a girl here. Blamed our folk."

Oh, that's why he'd been hesitant to tell the tale. "But it wasn't ours."

1.	1984 Coal Miner's Strike