Colonel Kabir Ahmed paused as he came to the deplaning tunnel, shuddering slightly. There had been heavy turbulence during the flight; and he was not the only passenger whose legs did not feel so steady just now. But in truth it was not the flight which disturbed him. After all, he had a pilot’s license himself. He often patrolled the mountains back home by helicopter, and if no one else was around, sometimes he flew by other means. Those mountains were a pilot‘s nightmare for storms and high winds.

But in the hellish days just after the 2005 quake, he and his crew had to tunnel into mound after mound of rubble, in search of survivors. All too often it was in vain, and if they did find people they were weak from hunger, thirst and exposure. Winter was settling in; and the relief workers were pitifully short of blankets, food and medical supplies. It was not that the rest of the world did not care. It was that in order to reach the people in need, supplies had to be carried on foot, by donkey or by yak, into the highest and most rugged mountains on Earth. And if the relief workers wore BSF uniforms, they were likely to be shot at.

That was then, Ahmed reminded himself. This is now. It is London, not the Line of Control. This tunnel is not carved into the heart of a mountain, it is like one of those caterpillar things they have in preschools, for the children to crawl through. Just larger... Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to walk through.

Coming out on the other side, he sighed in relief. He did not have to collect any luggage. One of the advantages of being a wizard was that a traveler could fit any amount of...stuff...into a magical carry-on bag. However, it would still set off the alarms if there were certain items inside. Which meant that...for the first time since his enlistment eighteen years ago...Ahmed was in uniform, and unarmed. Except for his wand; which since he was in a public place full of Muggles, he could not use to defend himself, if it came to that.

As he reached the top of the escalator, he saw people at the bottom, standing just behind the security station. Many were holding little signs, hand-lettered in felt-tip marker. He wondered if one would read Colonel Kabir, or if the Auror assigned to meet him would have some more arcane method of identifying himself. Ahmed had no idea who was meeting him; he knew only that the Ministry had promised someone would be there.

And in fact someone was there. She had boarded the same plane in Mumbai, and now she stepped onto the escalator right behind him. She was a Muggle, young and uneducated, and she saw herself as a freedom fighter. Which made her easy prey for those who had sent her. They showed her a photo, and told her all she needed to know about the Colonel. Like her he was a Kashmiri, a Pashtun, and a Muslim...but these similarities only fueled her hatred, for he was also a traitor. That he wore the BSF uniform was proof enough.

The weapon she concealed in her loose-fitting garment would set off no alarms, for it had no metal to do so. In x-ray it resembled a flute, for it was a reed blow-pipe, of the sort made by the Dyaks of Borneo. The dart was of the same type; but though the girl did not know this, it was charmed to vanish once it had done its work. The poison too would vanish, metabolizing so quickly that by the time an autopsy could be performed, it would appear that the Colonel, though relatively young and in excellent condition, had dropped dead of a heart attack.

Ahmed was about a third of the way down, when he felt a sudden sharp pain in his left arm. He glanced down and saw a small reed dart. As he reached to pull it out, it suddenly vanished. His arm tingled and then grew numb. He knew what that could mean.

“Ya Allah,” he muttered, “not now...” There was a family just below him, including two small children. If he collapsed he would surely knock the kids down, and then the people still crowding onto the escalator from above might trample them.

He clung to the rail, growing steadily weaker. It took two or three minutes to reach the bottom, but it felt like much longer. At long last the family in front of him stepped clear; then he followed, and staggered out of the way of the people behind him.

And then everything spun around and went black.

Had he been particularly honest, Adon Eleor, when asked if he would like to pick Colonel Kabir Ahmed up from Heathrow, would have said "no." But Adon was socially savvy. At least to the extent to understand that when asked "Would you like to. . ." in English, these statements were, invariably, orders. Not inquiries.

It wouldn't have been a big deal: Adon was from one of the most famously Muggle-minded pureblood families in Magedom. Only, Adon in particular was not Muggle-minded. They were alright, and that was the extent of it. Now, to come to a completely Muggle sphere, surrounded by them, needing to speak like them, navigate like them . . . And to not be able to use his wand. . . Adon found himself far from particularly liking this errand.

Dreogan had done what he could to explain some of the systems of Muggle transportation; he'd even lent his brother his coat and, because he seemed particularly uncomfortable with all this, mobile. Adon had, mercifully, not needed to drive the Ministry car here. There was a Ministry driver, waiting in a black Chevrolet Caprice for them.

As the driver pulled up to the Heathrow curb at "Arrivals," Adon hesitated, hand on the door handle. "So," he recapped. "I'm going to go in there. And you wait here."

The driver smiled. "You got it."

"And then, when I have Ahmed, I will return," he recapped. Really, this was a difficult process. He didn't know why the man had such a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Yes."

Adon grumbled something as he opened the door briskly and stepped out, half expecting the man to drive off the moment the door clicked shut. It took him a short time to make it into the terminal as he looked back occasionally to check that the man was, in fact, still there. He was with that same grin.

The swarm of people was not alarming. Not unlike Israel's Old City or Diagon. But it was the signs. The monitors. The wandlessness. Adon moved to the base of the giant, metal, moving staircase, hands in the pockets of his brother's corduroy blazer, he rolled alternatively back and forth on the balls of his feet and his heels. Waiting. In ten minutes, a uniform appeared at the top of the escalator; Adon recognised it as the Border Security Force uniform he was told the colonel would be wearing and he tried to catch eyes with the man.

The man seemed to waver suddenly, leaning heavily against the rail. Adon stiffened, hands in his pocket and gripping around his wand as he pressed his way to the escalator. What followed then was the most courteous display of fainting Adon had ever witnessed. He had actually stepped aside for the woman behind him who . . . took off running. Adon's eyes widened and he bolted several steps, pulling out his wand to petrify.

But it was crowded. And he couldn't.

He set his jaw and turned crisply on his heel to return to Ahmed, checking for a pulse and breathing. Both. Good.

"Somebody call an ambulance!" a woman yelled. Several people pulled out their mobiles. Adon looked up to see a sea of concerned Muggles. Moloch! What to do now? This man didn't need a Muggle healer! He needed Mungo's. Fast.

A man shouldered through the crowd and knelt beside Adon, also surveying the colonel. His eyes met Adon's and lingered a moment. Adon knew on exactly what: the scars. "Don't worry," the Muggle man said breathlessly. "I'm a doctor." Adon was now very worried.

"There's a car waiting out back," Adon responded. "If we get him to it--"

"It's better not to move him. The ambulance should be here in minutes," the doctor said distractedly as he began tugging at Ahmed's buttons, shaking his head as the man seemed to have trouble breathing. "There should also be an airport medic; they'll be here immediately." He pulled at the collar of the shirt, opening it to reveal raised veins beneath sweat-slicked skin. The doctor cursed and Adon felt his own breathing increase. The doctor was feeling at the colonel's chest. Adon couldn't wait for this. He had to get the man to Mungo's immediately. Two minutes and he might be dead.

"Stop trying to be helpful and help me!" he hissed, reaching beneath Ahmed's arms and pulling him up; the dead weight fell across him and he grit his teeth further. The doctor was no help -- yelling and . . . he didn't know what. Other people in the crowd had started to yell, too.

As Adon began to drag the man, he felt a sudden, unexpected resistance. Someone was actually pulling back in a grotesque parody of children playing at tug-of-war. Jerking the man away after a kick to the doctor's shins, Adon scowled darkly, defying anyone to intervene, Adon resumed dragging the man across the terminal to the exit. To that black car.

As he slid through the automatic doors with angry Muggles in tow, several luggage attendants barreled forward to stop the display. Adon was, like the man in his arms, sweating and panting profusely at this point and it was only through some advanced legerdepied and a couple of thrown punches-- jai alai never seemed to have so many practical applications -- that Adon was able to dodge his opponents and throw himself against the black car.

The driver had risen from his seat to stand outside the car, gawping.

"Get in the bloody car!" he yelled, fumbling for the handle and unceremoniously throwing himself and the colonel into it in a tangle of limbs.

"Where do we go?" the driver asked, panic in his voice. Adon might have smirked at the drastic change from his blasé deportment before; by comparison, Adon was stoic.

"Mungo's, evil!*" Adon growled, shifting the colonel so he lay stretched out on the back seat and he, crouched on the floor beside him.

It took only two minutes as the magical car sped through London highways, swerving effortlessly, to reach Mungo's where a swarm of healers were ready to fuss about the colonel. Adon stood aside, now happy to not need to fight anyone who displayed concern off. Looking back at the driver and the black Ministry car, Adon's expression darkened. What the hell was the use of Muggle transportation anyhow?

*Evil is actually archaic Hebrew for "idiot" or "stupid."

A Healer on the way out the door froze midstep, looking at the new arrival. The man was in serious trouble. The veins on his neck were prominent, he was sweating profusely, and his lips were turning blue …

The Healer sighed. He had already worked four hours overtime; he needed to go home and get some rest. But he would not like hearing tomorrow that a patient died because the emergency room was swamped; and it did look as if a couple more minutes might be too many for this man.

Not wasting time trying to unfasten buttons, the Healer tore several off as he ripped the man’s shirt open and Summoned a stethoscope. Listening, he could tell at once he was right not to have hesitated. The heartbeat was erratic. It did sound like that of a coronary victim, but looking at the patient he found this hard to believe.

The man was young…no older than late thirties, early forties. He had a runner’s build, all long arms and legs, not an ounce of fat anywhere. Of course there were always cases of seemingly healthy young people overexerting themselves, and suddenly keeling over from undiagnosed heart conditions. However…that usually happened with kids much younger than this man, trying out for Rugby or some other ridiculous Muggle sport…

And looking at the patient, the Healer guessed he must be either Middle Eastern or central Asian. For the most part those people had a healthy diet, not so heavy on red meat and alcohol as Westerners.

The Healer was thinking all this with lightning speed as he looked over the patient. He noticed a nametag on the man’s left front pocket…Kabir…and then, glancing at Kabir’s left arm, he noticed a bloodstain on the sleeve. It appeared to be growing larger.

Summoning a pair of scissors he cut the fabric, and saw that Kabir’s arm was not only bleeding profusely, but that the blood was frothing over. At the meeting just that morning, the staff were told to be on the lookout for that particular symptom. But wasn’t it supposed to be associated with fang marks?

“Orderly!” he yelled. “Get someone here from Venomous Creatures! Straightaway!”

Kaylee Cramer had been brough in that day for her regular checkup, and Moira was just seeing the girl and her family out when an Orderly ran up.  The young girl was in a panic, and Moira knew whatever was going on was serious.  After a brief explanation that a man had been brought in and the wound appeared to be affected by Runespoor venom.

"Get me the proper antidote immediately," she said, turning off in the direction the orderly had indicated.

Entering the room she saw another healer, one she recognized from the third floor.  He had cut the sleeve of a man dressed in some sort of official uniform, and as she drew closer she noted a single small puncture on his arm that was bleeding heavily.  The orderly had been right, this was a Runespoor wound, only it appeared it wasn't caused by the creature itself.

She gave a slight sigh.  It seemed this treatment was becoming all too common.  She had encounter as many Runespoor related injuries since starting at St. Mungo's back in April as she had in her entire career as a healer.

Moving to the other side of the bed, she scanned the man's vital signs.  Everything appeared to be holding steady, although he was weakening quickly.  Applying a barrier to her hands she noticed the orderly return just in time and handed her the antidote.

"I'll need a blood replenishing potion too and a suture kit," she told her, and the orderly nodded before turning to gather more supplies.

"Do we know what happened?" she asked the other healer as she prepared to administer the antidote.  "Clearly this was not a snake bite."  Holding the vile to the man's lips, she hoped she wouldn't have to force the liquid down his throat.

"I don't know," said the Healer. "He was unconscious when they carried him in. I think that bloke who brought him here should still be around though. They came in one of those Ministry cars." He rolled his eyes. "You know what that means. Reports in triplicate..."

Perhaps due to the mention of reports in triplicate, Ahmed stirred and groaned. "Unngh..."

Eyes half open and somewhat crossed, he tried to focus on the two medical staff, recognizing neither them nor his surroundings.

"Where...? What...?"

Then the taste of the antidote registered. Coughing and spluttering, he barely managed to choke it down. "Good gods. What is that?"

Adon had, first and foremost, sent a message to Aberdeen, telling her that their point-of-contact from India had collapsed at the airport and had been taken directly to Mungo's, where they would both remain until he got some answers and leads on this. Then, after telling the driver to stay put with an evil eye, he shuffled in to the hospital, trying not to get in the way and stepping aside from bustling orderlies and healers as he did so.

Hands still in the pockets of the blazer, he moved to the admittance desk, frowning.

"Yes?" a pretty receptionist asked him. Adon couldn't help but smile slightly and, resting his arm on the desk surface, lean in.

"I came with a patient. Colonel --" Adon's statement was cut off as a white-robed healer bustled forward with clipboard, robes and hair billowing from the speed. Adon turned with unexpected mechanical precision.

"You came with the man with the runespoor poisoning?" the healer said in that smooth, silver-tongued voices healers uniformly seemed to have. The voices that said they cared so that they really wouldn't have to.

"The what?" Adon asked, eyes wide. This was bad. "Moloch!"At least, unlike Bernier, this one wasn't dead. Well. . . maybe . . .

The healer, a man with salt-and-pepper hair and a perpetual frown appeared unaffected and Adon sneered. As Adon expected, the man showed no emotion beyond pleasant indifference as he spoke. "The Colonel. Ahmed. You were with him? We're trying to put together some idea of what happened."

Adon shifted his weight testily. "Well, he went in to cardiac arrest," he stated flatly. This ought to have been the most apparent thing in the world -- who were these people? "He was riding down the escalator at the airport and collapsed. Sweating heavily, enlarged veins, erratic pulse. . ."

"Yes, we know all this," the healer said blandly, though Adon noticed the man was writing down his words anyhow. "We're wondering what caused that to happen."

Adon bristled further and tugged the chain about his neck that suspended the heavy Auror's badge. It came free and the Healer looked down, then back up. He seemed unimpressed. Fine. "I think finding that out lies within my job description," Adon stated. "Not yours. He collapsed, a girl behind him ran off, and that is all I know." Adon's tone was definite.

The healer, who had been scribbling notes down as he spoke, let his clipboard drop to his side and gave a curt sort of a nod before turning on his heel to return down the hall he had come.

"Wait--" Adon said, reaching his hand out. "How is the Colonel?"

"Undergoing treatment. The results remain to be seen." The healer looked behind him; he appeared anxious to be gone. Typical. Not having gotten any answers, the man seemed holding out on him now, too. Healers.

"So you're saying he's alive," Adon input shortly. "When can I see him? I need to ask questions too, you know."

"In a moment," the healer said, once more turning to leave. However, he hesitated. "You should probably also get those seen to," he said, pointing at his face.

Adon's nostrils flared as he took a step forward. Finally, the healer showed some sort of emotion: veiled fear. "I. beg. your. pardon," Adon said in a low, very quiet voice, seething, standing rigid and stock-still. The bell at the reception desk, two feet from Adon, trembled slightly, and a faint, high ring filled the air.

"The. . . your bruises," the healer said, motioning to his own face, pointing at his left cheek and chin. "They're.  . . you've been hit. Did you not know you've been hit?"

Adon found it hard to, after being talked to like that, actually feel at his face. The thought of not-knowing in front of this healer was detestable and if it was just some way for the healer to get out of his apparent blunder in drawing attention to his scars . . .

But Adon's fingers skimmed over a very sensitive cheek. Yes, and jaw. How the hell had he not felt that before now? Now thinking of it, he could feel little else. "I didn't have time to think about it," he replied.  Now that he thought more about it, he felt a dull and deep ache in the small of his back. Perhaps he'd been kicked. He didn't really know. Adon felt like he didn't know much at the moment.

"Of course," the healer replied readily. "If you take a seat, I'll have a healer come--"

No. Adon was not going to have that. He had the healer suppliant now; he was going to take advantage of that. "It would be better, I think, to go back to Colonel Ahmed. An additional healer can be sent to the room when he -- she -- can be spared. What room?"

"34E," the healer said, somewhat surprised as the man brushed past him, moving down the very hall he had been needing to travel through moments before. Despite this, the healer waited several moments to give Adon a wide berth.


Adon had, by this time, some to recollect himself and cool his emotions. It didn't change his feelings towards the healer any -- that man got his just desserts -- but he did knock politely on the door of 34E, peering his head in with a proper amount of hesitation as he heard voices. "Adon Eleor, Auror," he said, looking between a young -- and pretty -- healer and a now conscious Colonel Ahmed.

As the man awoke, Moira felt relief was over her.  She hated nothing more then forcing treatments on others.  He sputtered a bit at the taste, and she gave him an apologetic look as she was sure the flavor was terrible.  It seemed healing potions and tempting flavors would never go together.  This wasn't the world which the Muggle character Mary Poppins lived in after all a spoonful of sugar would only ensure that the potion lost all of it's effectiveness.

"You were on your way home, right?" Moira asked the other healer, seeing him nod in response.  "I can deal with the paperwork in triplicate."

"Are you sure?" he asked as Moira placed the now empty vile on a nearby counter and she assured him the first floor staff could handle things.  As the man left, she turned her attention back to her patient.  She could sense the obvious confusion as she moved around the bed to examine the wound on his arm.

"That was an antidote for Runespoor venom," she told him, pulling up a stool so she could sit and get a better look at the injury.  "You're in St. Mungo's.  You were brought in completely unconscious with a wound on your arm."  Taking out her wand she cleaned the blood that was obscuring her view of the wound.  Her brow furrowed a bit as she pondered the single puncture mark.  She was right, this was not a snake bit...it appeared to be caused by something longer then a Runespoor's fang.

As she reached for the gauze that was nearby to apply pressure to the wound while awaiting the suture kit another man entered.  She had expected ministry involvement, however the familiarity of the name that was given caught her off guard for a moment.  However, her mind didn't have long to process the thought as the orderly entered behind him, bring Moira the last of the requested supplies.

"Moira Randall, Mediwitch," she echoed with a smirk.  She could exchange pleasantries with him later, for the moment she was in healer mode as she applied pressure to the wound while the orderly prepared the suture kit.

Turning her attention back to the Colonel she said, "So, I'm curious how it is one is infected with Runespoor venom in a wound that looks like it was caused by some sort of long needle."

“I am as equally curious.”

The flat and solemn voice proceeded the barely five foot woman as she strode into the ward. There was a commotion behind her, voices calling back and forth to one another, and a moment later of pair of heads in healers robes peered in after her. Simultaneously, their eyes traveled to the dazed and miserable foreign patient, to the grumpy and murderous looking Auror already situated in the room, over the mediwitch diligently attended to the wounded man, and finally back to the forever stoic Head of the Auror Office.  She did not say a word, gray eyes staring intently back into the set of blue and brown, respectively. The two glanced at each other and the slinked back out of the room without a word. That battle was just not worth it. 

With that out of the way, Tamis Raynor returned her full attention back to those present. Mr. Kabir – or was it Mr. Ahmed? She was not sure if he was from one of those countries where they had their names backwards. No matter, the man looked worse for wear, but he was conscious, an optimistic sign, even for a pessimist. As long as he lived. The mediwitch she had meet on a previous occasion but seemed more adept to deal with the nature of the man’s infliction than when Raynor had hauled in the screeching Covadonga Gertrudis. Regrettably, the woman was probably obtaining a lot of practice. She was efficiently dealing with injuries, however, and the Auror silently approved. Finally, she arched an eyebrow at Adon, one of the newest additions to the Corps. Crossing her arms, she gave a slight shake of her head, more for herself than anyone else. She would deal with him later.

A message had arrived onto Level Two not that long ago, intended for Aberdeen. When Raynor learned the nature of it, she opted to go herself, giving Aberdeen the option of coming as well, but did not wait for the younger woman. Hopefully the healers would not give Spencer too hard of a time. A dignitary collapsing the moment he arrived on British soil? They would be lucky if the press was not already creating headlines. It was apparently already all over muggle news. She would talk to Adon about that later, too.

 All in all, it put the Head Auror in a very foul mood.

And it showed. She considered the Indian Official once more. "Welcome to London," she offered with little humor.

Ahmed…who did come from one of those tribes with names backwards…looked warily at the petite witch. She looked as if she ate nails for breakfast. He briefly wondered if he should salute, but decided he was in trouble enough already.

Welcome to London. “Thank you,” he said meekly, looking at his toes.

He thought about all the questions people had been asking, and how best to answer them.

“As for what happened…I felt a jab, looked down and saw a dart, stuck in my arm. When I reached to pull it out…it vanished into thin air. But...are you familiar with the Dyaks of Borneo? The Headhunters? They use darts of the same sort, made from reeds. Tipped with sharp bits of bone, often poisoned…” He looked up at the mediwitch. “Did you say Runespoor? We have had some problems with that, in Mumbai…”

He glanced over at Adon. “You say you saw a woman running away. There was a girl on the plane. Twentyish...Gave me some unfriendly looks, but…I thought little of it at the time.” He sighed. “It seems to go with the uniform.”

“In any case…I owe you all my thanks.” He glanced at Adon again. "Especially you.  I am sure if I had been left to the Muggles, I would be dead by now.”

As Adon thought through the multifarious possibilities, his curiosity was somewhat snuffed when his boss, none other than Tamis Raynor, stormed in, looking like the devil had been dancing upon her head all morning.

He was not going to be caught in making obeisances to a woman who had said nothing to him, however, and he focussed his attention on Ahmed's account. A vanishing dart. They had thought Bernier's death had been through a lethal injection. Now they had to reevaluate everything. And trouble with Runespoors in Mumbai now, too. Though he had heard as much from Ahmed's reports to the transnational immigration committee, he could not help a slight sigh at this.

Adon looked tentatively at Mediwitch Randall, who had already professed herself curious. Adon was not particularly fond of healers nor of non-Aurors knowing their business but the man needed surveillance, particularly as she was about to attempt to suture. Adon seemed uncomfortable with this. He had looked in to accounts of venemous snake attacks and had found that one, transpiring in the Ministry in 1996, had in fact been treated similarly. The stitches all disintegrated.

Sometimes Muggle medicine just was not sufficient. Though he would never tell his brother as much.

"Where was she sitting on the aeroplane? Did she get on it at Mumbai, or a connection?" Adon asked, thinking they could at least call the Muggle transportation authority to check who had purchased the ticket. The use of a Pensieve could perhaps be later employed to get a better notion of what, exactly, happened in the moment and what the woman looked like. For the time being, however, Adon was amazed that a man would have willingly stood within range of a woman who appeared hostile while wandless. Amazed the man had decided upon taking Muggle transportation in the first place.

Adon shrugged at the thanks, at the moment not impressed. "But they were clamouring to help you,” he said, with a somewhat bitter humour. “Perhaps in the future if you want to be left alone by the Muggles, you should steer clear of their transport,” he added for good measure. There was customary protocol for traveling within the British Minstry for a reason. That the man had failed to comply made difficult both their lives.

Looking to Moira, he asked, “Do you have a toxicologist on call at present? I’d like to speak to them.”

Ahmed raised an eyebrow at the young man's  reprimand. Of course he was just that...young. And he had just been through a frightening experience. Ahmed knew how it felt, to be responsible for another's safety and have the assignment go to hell in a handbasket.

"I was not offered the choice of how I was to travel," he said mildly.  "I was told I was going...barely in time to Summon what I needed for the flight. Then I was handed a ticket, and driven to the airport."

"As for the girl, she boarded at the same time as me, in Mumbai. But the seats were assigned, and hers was not near mine. I did notice her in the lounge before we boarded; and as I said, she gave me dark looks but I paid little attention. From her style of dress she is a Kashmiri, as am I. And to say the Border Security Force is not popular where we come from is putting things mildly."

He looked at the two Aurors. "In case you are wondering why I chose to travel in uniform...my superiors told me it was necessary, for both the airline and yourselves to recognize me."

He was beginning to have some disquieting thoughts about why his superiors had arranged things for him in such a manner.

"In case you are wondering why I chose to travel in uniform...my superiors told it was necessary, for both the airline and yourselves to recognize me."

And anybody else, Adon thought darkly. He wanted a talk with these "Superiors" of  his. The intentional avoidance of reasonable preventative measures was enough, in Adon's mind, to make the government itself suspect -- Bernier had, even as a government official in Jordan, been beaten into submission by a group of illegal traders before she was murdered. He gave a significant look to Raynor, hoping he could convey at least his suspicions.

They needed to get that healer out of here. But perhaps there was a way. . .

Tilting his head slightly, he spoke in accented Arabic: "What was the reason your superior officers gave for your immediate departure? What could not wait until proper arrangements had been made?" After all, the Runespoor attack in Diagon Alley was old news. As was, by now, Benier's murder -- by about a week. If something had transpired in Mumbai or its outerlying regions, Adon did not know of it.

Ahmed was surprised when suddenly the Auror spoke to him in Arabic. It was not his native language; that was Pashto. But he spoke it, as well as English, Hindi , Urdu, and  a smattering of Tibetan.

What was the reason your superior officers gave for your immediate departure? What could not wait until proper arrangements had been made?

"I  do not know," he answered hesitantly, in the same language. "During the last month, there have been seven incidents in Mumbai that  involved Runespoor poisoning.  Three Muggles died before the Healers managed to identify the toxin, and provided  the antidote to the Muggle Hospitals. " The  Indian Magical Council had  covered up by saying the remedy was a new antibiotic...

"The strange thing," Ahmed continued, "was that there was never any actual sighting of a Runespoor.  Of course after today that is no longer such a mystery."

"However...I still do not know why my commanding officer sent me in particular, or why he insisted I had to leave at once.  I do not work in Mumbai. I patrol the mountains on the border. Perhaps that is the route by which the toxin entered my country, but  none of my informants have mentioned hearing anythng like that."

He bit his lip, half afraid to find out what was going on at home in his absence. Smuggling was endemic along the border; and if one of his superiors had succumbed to temptation, it would not be the first time .

Niobe could have kissed her contact at St. Mungo's, but that would have outed him as her secret informant.  She Apparated directly into the St. Mungo's lobby and was immediately shouted about by a Healer and two patients waiting in chairs.  She appeared midstride and headed straight for the double doors back to the poison ward.

Her contact was on his feet and objected with appropriate indignation.  "You can't go back there! Oi! Hold up!"

But as the Daily Prophet reporter burst through the doors, she charmed her robes to a light Healer blue and moved with such swiftness most didn't stop her.  Her boldness granted her that fortune.  But she knew as soon as she entered the room of the mystery patient, she'd be ejected.  She would need to be rapid with her questions and take in as many details as possible before she was removed.

And even though she'd prepared for a scene, she wasn't prepared for who she saw.  No less than Tamis Raynor, a second Auror, two nurses and a striking bearded man in a bed.  Aurors were involved with this? Raynor herself? Niobe had been nervous around Raynor since that day she'd spied on her in Knockturn Ally.  Not to mention the chilly atmosphere Level 2 had aimed at her after her sham article on the plight of Ex-Azzies and the deplorable state of their handling.

The last words that were uttered weren't even in English.  "Daily Prophet!" she gushed.

She physically braced herself against the door, ready to be thrown out.  Her dreadlocks were wild around her face.

"What's your name, sir? Where you able to identify your attacker? What veracity can we assume that you've been poisoned by Runespoor?"

This was out of Raynor’s jurisdiction and she knew it. The Aurors were an elite force of dark wizard catches charged with maintaining order in the United Kingdom. When they had been asked to act as escort for the incoming foreign dignitary she had seen it as an opportunity for the Auror-in-Training present to stretch his legs a little. From what she could gather, the attack on Kabir Ahmed had been an attempted assassination from his country. Why wait to land on British soil? To try and peg them with it? Raynor had the suspicion that they had just unwillingly had their heads thrust into a dragon lair of political madness.

This was a case for International Cooperation and Magical Creatures as well as Raynor’s own department head. She could not give a damn about the man’s troubles with Runespoors in Mumbai, Mumbai was not a place that she was sworn to protect, though he might have information that could be useful in the United Kingdom’s Runespoor investigation and she would gladly accept the consultation. Just as long as it got the forsaken snakes out of her country.

Of all people, Tamis Raynor wanted nothing more than the catch the excuse for human beings behind the smugglings. It would put fourteen years of unfinished business to rest once and for all. She would pull in every country inflicted and try and obtain international collaboration, if she could. But she also knew that she could not deviate from her job description for the sake of a personal vendetta. Accepting Adon Eleor into the Auror Training program had been the best she could do.

Pacing back and forth, the Head Auror allowed Adon to do the questioning while Randall saw to the patients health. It gave her the opportunity to stand back, listen, and put everything together and it allowed for Eleor to practice his interrogational skills. Even if the developing case would not stay in the Aurors authority, it was still good practice.

The man’s superiors had orchestrated his arrangements? The pointed glance directed at her from her Trainee was met with an unhappy grunt. Yes, she understood what that could mean and it made her like the situation even less.

“In London, we believe in discrepancy, Sir. Your superiors will be informed of this for any further interactions between our two governments.” And that was the polite way of putting it. “Eleor here would have found you.”

Unlike her fellow member from Level Two, the Head Auror barely spared the Mediwitch a glance in her ministrations. She had watched Jason Marren treat a much more severe case of Runespoor poisoning in Covadonga Gertrudis, implementing the same measures that Randall was taking now. Gertrudis had made a full recovery, which she suspected Kabir Ahmed would as well.

And then the conversation took off in a language Raynor did not know nor understand. “English, Gentlemen,” she told them, “You are, after all, in England.” While she could understand Adon’s wish to keep details hidden, she did not approve of words being passed that she could not decipher. She did not yet trust the new Auror recruitment enough yet for that and she most certainly did not trust St. Mungo’s newest patient. “Further questioning can wait until Mediwitch Randall is -- ”

 The end of her sentence died on her lips when a blur whipped into the room, thrusting the door to the ward shut with an audible SLAM. Raynor’s wand was already out and aimed at the intruder with her – dreadlocks swinging hypnotizingly before her eyes. Niobe Thursby. The wand lowered with a scowl and the Auror wished she could pretend she had not recognized the woman, just for an excuse to hex her. She had been expecting the press to rear its face, for whom her toleration was thin, this particular woman stood on even more fragile ice with the Head Auror.

“Thursby,” It was the equivalent of an explicative, “Out. Now.”  She was already advancing on the darker skinned woman, ready to haul her out manually and personally if she had to. “The patient is indisposed and receiving treatment and is currently unable for interviewing.”


(( Perhaps we should give Moira a chance to catch up?))