It was a little after two in the morning and only a few remained in the quiet, dimly lit pub. The bartender had stopped serving and was washing down dirty tumblers, not noticing the slightly sour atmosphere in his cramped shop. He also didn't pay attention to the only two customers left at the bar counter in front of him. One had been drinking for over three hours, ordering the same combination of whiskey and ice five times. His chipped nails, unkempt beard and dusty clothes would have deterred the bartender, but as soon as Sickles dropped on the sticky countertop, the alcohol kept flowing. The other man in black was nursing his first drink of the night, having slipped into the pub just before closing time.
The only sounds in the pub for the past hour had been gentle snores from a few drunkards passed out over the table, quiet chatter from three men gathered at a table by the door, clinking of glasses that the bartender was wiping, and brushes of leather on wood from the unkempt man's restless leg.
He finally finished his fifth drink, knocking the last inch back without so much as a grimace. He threw a few Knuts on the bar before struggling to get up despite his poor balance.
The man in black smirked into his tumbler as he watched the antics out of the corner of his eye. "Should've laid off after the first three," he mumbled.
"Aye, mind your own fuckin' business," the drunk man slurred while swaying to meet the offhand comment.
His fierce scowl rapidly shifted the moment he recognized the man in black.
He stumbled back, landing heavily onto the stool once again. His bloodshot eyes widened in panic and he gripped the side of bar with pale fingers.
The bartender noticed. "Hey now." He flicked his eyes between the two men. "I don't want no trouble."
"No trouble at all," the man in black said with a patient smile. He turned in his stool to face the terrified drunkard. "Are we going to cause trouble, Pritchard?"
"N-no."
In unison, the three men at the table rose and moved silently to stand by the exits in the pub.
Now the silence was tangible and cold.
Pritchard swallowed hard. He had been so careful to cover his trails. Yet they had found him. There really was nowhere to hide. He should have listened. He should have realized that it was useless to run as soon as the first of his allies started to disappear one by one. He blinked his bleary eyes to see more clearly. Was he the last one? Had everyone else been caught already?
"Would you like to discuss a deal?"
A deal… He would rather die than make a deal. But he kept that thought to himself, nodding slowly instead. His hand inched behind him.
"I want to know who you've been conspiring with. I want to know names, locations. I want correspondences. I want to know everything you know."
Pritchard nearly scoffed. Did he think it was that easy? "What do I get in return?"
"You are in no position to bargain with me."
He knew that. Darting his eyes across the pub, he saw no easy way out. He was cornered like a rat. Months of running led up to this undignified end. He was not about to go down without a fight. He had risked too much, left his life behind for the cause. He would be damned if he didn't leave his mark.
With remarkable speed he whisked his wand out of his coat, a red hex flying from the tip before he had even straightened his arm.
The man in black was just as fast.
Pritchard's wand went sailing across the room, his hex slicing through bottles. The bartender dove under the counter for cover. Shards of glass and white flames sparked through the shelves, collapsing them. The men on guard at the exits moved as one, teeming towards the alcohol fire.
But that was all just a distraction. Pritchard had known that he wouldn't get a single curse out.
The knife he kept hidden at his back was clasped tight in his hand and he lunged forward with an angry roar, bringing the blade down hard.
The man in black jerked to the side and ducked under the swinging knife before knocking Pritchard into the counter, grabbing his wrist and twisting it behind his back. "Drop it," he snapped. He bent Pritchard's fingers hard enough to make him yelp and let go of the weapon. It fell to the floor with a resolute thud. The commotion was over in under five seconds. Pritchard gritted his teeth and didn't resist when his other wrist was also grabbed and then cuffed together. He had blown it. Assault on an officer had just lost him a deal.
The bartender peered over the counter fearfully, getting an eyeful of the dirty customer bent over, cheek smashed into the rough wood. He jerked his gaze up at the Auror behind the criminal. "You said there'd be no trouble…"
"Yeah," Harry murmured as he jerked Pritchard upright and shoved him towards the exit. "Sorry about that." He nodded at his colleagues to indicate a job well done before escorting the bound man out the door.
An hour later, he was inspecting his bandaged arm where the knife had left a bite. He just couldn't catch a break these days. He shook his head in defeat. At least the bust had been successful. Somewhat. He shrugged his jacket on gingerly. "I think I should call it a night," he announced to whoever was left in the sleepy office. He got a few gruff mumbles from grumpy Aurors, which was what he had expected. These late nights were going to be the death of them.
It had been over a year since his near-death experience. He had had a long road of healing ahead of him, but he was finally healed and deemed fit for service just two months ago. And what a busy couple of months it had been. He had been breaking up makeshift underground followers of black magic nearly every day. At least the boss thought his team was efficient. He wasn't so sure. He massaged his aching arm as he got up onto his tired feet. Enough work for a day. He grabbed his satchel and robe before making his way out of the office and into the dark corridor.
The rustle and snap of a cloth prompted him to spin around.
He was pushed into the wall with a simple touch to the chest.
He gaped at Castiel. "You…"
"Isn't this enough?" the angel murmured. "Haven't you done enough?"
"Enough…?"
"How can I persuade you?"
Harry returned to his senses in an instant. His arms shot forward and he closed his fists on whatever he could grab hold of. With a hard jerk, he swung Castiel around to shove him against the wall, switching positions. "Don't," he growled before the angel could say another word. This couldn't be happening. This must be a spell. He dug his wand into Castiel's chest. He could hardly see because his vision was swimming before him. Fragmented memories of his fight with the Reaper tore through his racing thoughts.
He staggered back as panic gripped him. What did this mean?
Is he going to die again?
Castiel tried to stop him. "Harry-"
"No!" He kept his wand raised even though his arm was shaking. "No, you… You aren't real," he stammered. "Just…" He turned on his heel and ran.