Author's Note: *gasp* Could it be? An actual update!? Jeeves! Bring me my fainting couch!

I'm alive! I can walk (usually), my son changed schools so no more bullying, and I'm nearly finished my uni degree. Huzzah! Thank you to everyone for your kind messages, I really appreciate it: they really have kept me going. I know this update is short, but I wanted to post something for you all! Not sure when the next update will be, but I'll get it moving as soon as I can dig myself out from the pile of textbooks I'm being smothered by. I already have it planned out, and it's going to be a doozy. I'll try not to make you wait too long!

Fawkes trilled sadly, his plumage drooping and tattered as he neared the end of this regeneration. Albus had taken nearly half of his feathers for his Alchemy experiments this time, as well as drawing some blood and cutting off one of his toes. He was being kept in one of Albus's private rooms behind his office, and it was dark and smelled awful from all the fumes drifting from the burbling cauldrons and the small smelter that filled two of the far walls. He hadn't even been given a proper perch this time, being kept in a custom-made glass box that would theoretically syphon some of his flame when he was reborn. Not that it would work. His flames were as sentient as he himself, given that they were literally part of his soul, and he would never willingly give Albus the smallest part of himself.

He let himself drift in memories of better times as he waited for his burning. He missed the days when he was free of this wretched slave binding; of flying free over the mountains and valleys that Hogwarts claimed but never knew. He missed the little red-haired girl who would run with him through the hidden gorge where he'd made his nest. His Lily.

He flexed his wing slightly, remembering the pain from where the wild hippogryph had slashed it and snapped the fragile bone. Horrid creatures, huge and ugly and intelligent enough to play with their prey before eating it. Their liking for hunting and eating birds was the snow on the mountain peak really. Or what was it Lily had said once? The icing on the cake? It didn't matter. What did was that she had found his battered and bleeding body on the rocks and managed to drive away the hippogryph before it could snatch him away. A phoenix might regenerate from death, but that didn't extend to recovering from being torn apart and eaten.

He ruffled his feathers and clacked his beak at the thought.

His Lily had been so gentle when she picked him up, wrapping him in her cloak and finding a small cave to protect them should the hippogryph come back. She'd been shaking, babbling about how it could have torn her to shreds if she wasn't so good with a shield charm, but her hands had been careful when she stretched out his body, seeing where the damage was and casting what healing spells she could as she went. She told him all about how she'd been helping Hagrid with his creatures and filling the cool air with quiet stories of her experiences in the school. He hadn't been to Hogwarts since Godric had died, so he had no idea who the people she talked about were, but the soft tones of her voice soothed him.

She'd been forced to splint his wing, in the end. She'd apologised for not knowing the proper charm to heal a wing bone, worried that it differed from a human bone and not wanting to cause more damage by accident. Then she'd wrapped him in her cloak again and carried him back to Hogwarts.

Hagrid turned out to be a half-giant man who worked as the game- and groundskeeper, and he spent the next week being cared for in the man's home. Lily had come every day, always with a smile and a small treat for him. He'd developed a real fondness for blueberry muffins because of her.

The only other one to see him during his convalescence was the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. Now him, Fawkes did not like. The man's heart was tainted, so twisted with grief and bitterness that it had morphed into a labyrinthine minefield of self-justification and ambition. And his eyes twinkled in a way that reminded him unpleasantly of Godric after age had taken his mind and caused him to drive Salazar from the castle.

Fawkes shook himself again, refusing to think on that. His Lily had saved his life, and they'd enjoyed their time together roaming over the Highlands. He'd formed a tentative bond with his Red Lily, and he refused to tarnish the memory of her bright soul by associating it with the man she'd foolishly looked up to. Though in a way it was hard not to since it was his attempt to save her and her chick that had resulted in his current predicament.

He ruffled his feathers again and glared at the door.

Vernon Dursley was not a happy man. He used to be, but that was before that boy was dumped on their doorstep. He had a lovely home, devoted wife, a strapping young son, and an attractive secretary who never said a word if he told her to work late with him. And then the brat arrived, and his perfect life began to unravel.

The boy had been a freak from the beginning, like Petunia had said her sister was like. Always watching with those green eyes, too smart, too knowing for a toddler. His Dudley was a bright boy, but next to the little dark-haired monster he never really had to the chance to shine. It was only right that he step in to ensure his son was given the opportunities that he deserved. His poor Petunia was so distressed trying to rein in her nephew's behaviour that he'd had to take firm measures to keep him in check, but it wasn't like the boy was even really human anyway. He was one of their sort, and harsh discipline was really the only way to ensure he didn't use his powers against them. Just like Marge explained about training dogs. Cow them as puppies and they'll never bite you as an adult.

And yet, here he sat in a cell. Convicted of all sorts of nonsense like child abuse and human trafficking. It wasn't child abuse if it wasn't a child, not that he could explain that to the judge.

The door to his cell opened, the guard stony faced as always.

"Dursley, you're getting a roommate. Play nice."

Vernon stared grumpily at the door but didn't react. He'd learned better than to mouth off in his time in this hellhole. The man who was shuffled into the cell didn't look like the hardened sort of criminal that Vernon feared. Receding hairline buzzed short, slightly paunchy with sallow skin and watery grey eyes, the grey sweater and pants of the prison uniform did nothing to flatter the man.

"Hands," the guard said. He unlocked the cuffs, shut the door, and without another word disappeared down the hallway.

Vernon watched his new roommate warily as he took in his new accommodations. After a few minutes of tense silence, the man turned to him.

"Names Matthew Peterson. What's yours?"

"Vernon Dursley."

"Right. So, are we going to get along? Or is this going to be painful for us both?"

"No trouble here, if you don't start any," Vernon grunted. He had enough trouble with the other inmates after someone leaked what he was in for; he didn't want trouble in his cell as well.

"Good man," Peterson smiled. "I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Adama was not having a good day. The neighbour's cat had gotten into his house again and thrown up in his favourite pair of shoes, which meant that the ones he currently wore were the pinchy ones that didn't grip the floor properly and left him feeling like his feet were going to slide out from under him at any moment. He'd also left his lunch at home in the fridge. The station coffee machine was broken, half the taskforce was out with food poisoning after they'd gone out together for a bite after work, and there was some sort of IT glitch that was preventing him from logging into his computer. Additionally, his taskforce was not producing the results his boss wanted, and he'd just spent what should have been his lunch break being chewed out by the higher ups.

Sighing, he slumped into his chair, and stared at the board. It was covered in notes and papers, arrows zipping every which way. They were obviously just chasing their tails, and he had no idea what to do about it. Every lead they'd had, no matter how tenuous, had been chased down. Every family member, associate, neighbour, dog walker and dry cleaner had been interviewed. There was nothing. Vahan had staged some sort of takeover for most of the smaller gangs, and even a few of the larger ones, and everyone had clammed up tighter than a nun's legs at a whorehouse. Even their former snitches were completely mum about anything Vahan related, though they would still give info on anything else. Adama wasn't sure he wanted to know what had happened that would inspire that level of fear in Vahan's underlings.

His musing was interrupted by Max Brendan bursting into the room.

"I think I've got something for you."

"And what might that be?" Adama asked, already reaching for the folder.

"So get this. I've been compiling a database of missing people and cross-referencing it with reported acts of violence, hospital records, and a few other things," he waved a hand dismissively. "Sorry, you don't care about that. Anyway, the result was that I stumbled across a few references that tied in with a group of religious fanatics called The Acolytes. We investigated them a while ago but couldn't find enough evidence to make any charges stick. We're pretty sure that they're involved in the kidnap and torture of various individuals but can't prove it. I was glancing over the case again to check up on a theory, and I think I found a link between them and Vahan! These guys work in cells and go after people they think the law can't or won't touch for whatever reason. Well, there's been at least four incidents where the police have been called over reported gunfire near churches, but when we got there, there was literally nothing to be found. But the first time it happened? There was a mention of some people sniffing around a girl who went missing shortly after, and they were asking about Vahan. I think the Acolytes are going after Vahan's network, and Vahan is taking them out in retaliation. They have to have some way of getting information that we don't have, if I'm right!"

Adama quickly flicked through the folder, pausing on a picture of a young boy he vaguely recognised. The profile listed him as Dudley Dursley, address 4 Privet Drive, Surrey.

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