Uncomfortable as he was, Tim remained perfectly still.
He was curled into a tight ball, his back arched against the ceiling beam which kept him aloof. Difficult though it was to hear anything, he could distinguish the steady and planned footfalls of those who sought him. His eyes closed slowly as he reached into the great wooden structure of the building he was closeted in. Breathing through the wood, for a while he lay as unmoving as stone as the room tightened. He lost himself and before long his ears popped his eyes snapped open, mouth wide and gasping for air. Had it been long enough?

It would have to be, though he slid two long knives from sheathes strapped to his thighs. His lips met the black steel of the blades. Though Tim had not moved for hours, so fluid was his drop from the beam that he landed silently on the balls of his feet. A flash of light reflected from a metallic surface; quickly Tim stepped to investigate its source. Indeed – it had been long enough after all – he crouched over the lifeless form of a soldier, lips blue and quite dead; there had been two of them though. The second he found slouched before the door, as if trying to escape, but was similarly deceased. Tim brushed the man aside with his left arm and pulled the door open, sweeping out into the darkness of the night.

‘Stop.’ Tim froze. ‘I’ve been waiting for you… Brother.’

That word – brother – hung in his ears as some kind of perverse mockery. He turned to face the stranger.

‘You’re good. But you could be better.’ There was definitely an accent to this other man, almost as if the words came with great difficulty.

‘Who are you?’ Tim had finally found his voice.

‘We are one and the same. You are my brother.’

‘You’re mistaken; I have no brother.’

‘But we are the same.’ The man stepped forward so that Tim could see him with greater ease. His hands were gloved, but the stranger raised them steadily to lower his hood. Tim masked his surprise well, watching as loose curls of grey tumbled to the strangers’ shoulders – in better light he would see it shine silver, his height was akin to Tim’s own, and his eyes were black. The man’s face appeared to be cracked, the colour of dirty glass, pulsing veins were visible.

‘We are the same. No?’

‘No,’ Tim replied, shaking his head as he lowered his own hood. His own hair was cut short, a rich copper colour straggled in waves about his ears, skin unblemished save for a scratch running across his right cheek, blue eyes stared at the other man, and a slight smile played a the very corner of his mouth. ‘But we are similar.’

‘Similar.’ The stranger agreed.

‘Why do you follow me?’

The stranger tilted its head to the side quizzically, as if he did not quite understand the question asked. ‘Follow?’ it repeated, squinting.

‘Yes – you have been on my trail for days.’

‘I have been waiting.’

‘For me?’ Tim furrowed his brows and looked over the stranger once more, deciding that he posed no threat.

‘You are Fachen.’ A forked tongue slipped out of the stranger’s mouth this time, and Tim stepped back, the stranger stepping forward to placate the lost proximity.

‘No. What is “Fachen�?’ Tim asked uncertainly, feeling that his assessment was wrong.

‘Your blades are black, you are Fachen.’

‘Your blades are also black, are you Fachen also?’

The stranger smiled darkly, exposing a broken mouth, full of stained and shattered teeth, its red tongue contrasting starkly against the murky brown. ‘I am Fachen… also.’

‘What is Fachen?’ Tim asked, losing patience. A frown split his face, a rage threatening to overcome him; his temper had always been beyond his control… his mother had said it was his bad blood.

‘Fachen is,’ the stranger said in thought, ‘Fachen is assassin.’ It’s long tongue heavily emphasising its lisp. ‘You will learn.’

‘I am no murderer.’

‘Murderer? Yes? You kill with magic – and your black swords.’

‘I do not kill,’ Tim hissed through a tightened jaw. ‘I survive.’

‘There are dead men inside, no?’

Tim’s eyes slammed shut, his blades drawn before he was aware of the anger pulsing through his veins. But his strokes were met with ease, the strange matching him blow for blow, locked in a dance most deadly. The circled one another, staring heatedly at the other until the stranger paused, smiling knowingly then shrugging. He sheathed his dark blade and bowed. Tim squinted forward to where the strange man had stood, for the air was dark and empty. The Fachen was gone.

‘I’ve been having strange dreams, Remus.’

Remus Lupin sipped at his tea and peered over its rim at the young man whom he shared breakfast with. The small café was pleasant enough, with sunshine bathing all who sat at the front of the room, the back was swallowed by shadows, seating a single wizard who snored softly behind a newspaper. The colours were pastel yellows and oranges that seemed to melt into one another and his companion seemed even more haggard than himself.

‘No, you don’t look terribly well,’ Remus agreed, giving him a brief glance of pity. Copper curls tumbled down over his head, over his face, the hands that clasped the cup of tea were gloved, and when he looked up to Remus, his blue eyes were strangled bloodshot, pale skin clammy and torn with fatigue. ‘What’re your dreams about?’

‘Always the same, a strange man, who calls me brother, something of a monster – he’s an assassin, we duel but with swords made of black steel, I’m still myself… but I’m physically something more than a wizard.’

‘Strange… I was never much of a seer, but do you think it might mean something?’

‘Remus, do you know the word “Fachen�?’

‘The Fachen? Why, that’s just a story to frighten children, my father used to scare me with stories of dark blades to make me behave.’

‘But most stories have some basis in truth… especially the wizarding ones.’

Of course, his companion was a half-blood. ‘That’s true for the most part. But the Fachen? If they did exist, they no longer do.’

‘Remus,’ the man sighed, ‘I am losing confidence in my ability to aid our cause.’

‘Don’t be daft, Tim. We have need of you, you’re irreplaceable.’

‘There are other Legilimens.’

‘But not many who are unplottable, or who can be invisible at will.’

‘Can you not see? There is something about myself that is… different.’

‘Tim, we are all different, but we need to stand united against our common foe.’

‘What if my allegiance is divided?’

‘Is it?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘You think it will be?’

‘I don’t know. I am due to acquire my mother’s property today, would you… accompany me?’

Remus’s one time student returned to him in that moment. He had been a promising student whilst at Hogwarts, he had once wanted to become an Auror, but something had changed when he left. There was so much potential… and yet, as Remus looked at him now, he saw that there was a point to all his talent; that it was climaxing.

‘I will, Tim,’ he said slowly. If something was to be learned of Tim’s predicament, it would be at his home.

The pair of them Apparated to the house once they had finished their food in order to collect whatever it was due to Tim. A black mist still hung over the small cottage, the Dark Mark had hung over it only days ago, but nobody had quite understood why. Tim surveyed the building, relatively untouched save for the soot which puffed out around the windows and door, as if it the structure had imploded, however, it still stood which made the theory seem rather strange, the garden to the front was untouched, the pale daffodils brushing to and fro in the calm breeze of the morning. He couldn’t understand why she had been attacked, and further more, why she might have been murdered – they had not found a body. His mother was a Muggle, she had known nothing of the magical community until he had been invited to study at Hogwarts, and yet… she must have known something. Tim had always been teased for having a crazy mother, but he had always defended her, no one had known who his father was, though her mother had constantly said that he was of bad blood.

He supposed that she had meant he was a wizard. Tim was a wizard too… but he was something else too, he just didn’t quite know what. The thatched roof was unscathed too, everything seemed suspicious. A loud pop resounded around the area as another wizard Disapparated outside, striding over to meet the pair.

‘Mr. Timothy Anderson?’

‘That would be me,’ he said tonelessly, bowing his head.

‘I’m afraid to say that no Ministry officials have been able to enter this building, and as such, I must ask if I may conduct a brief inspection of the house before it’s is signed and sealed to you.’

‘That will be fine. Please, follow me.’

Remus watched Tim as he walked towards the front door, calmly composed. It was strange, Remus thought, to see no emotion in the boy. But he had lost his own family years before… he remembered the emptiness such a loss invoked and merely shrugged the uncharacteristic behaviour away. He followed, stepping through the threshold and closing the door softly behind him.

But the house was empty.

The walls were colourless and a terrible echo followed the frenzied footsteps of Tim and the Ministry official. Fading brick walls confined the truth that Tim had nothing left of his old life.

‘It is gone,’ Tim finally uttered to Remus as he returned to the reception room. ‘There is nothing here.’

‘Why would they take everything?’ Remus thought aloud.

‘I do not know…’

The Ministry official re-entered the room and stood expectantly. Tim waved him consent to speak.

‘I… er, well, I think that everything is in order, Mr. Anderson, I am sorry…’ he said, confused and genuinely apologetic of the loss of… well, everything. Tim stepped away from Remus and signed the papers, which flashed darkly to seal the transfer of ownership. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr. Anderson. I will see myself out.’

Remus stood still and listened as the door slammed shut behind him. Tim was frozen to the spot, staring irritably at the wooden floorboards. He followed Tim around a circuit of the house, passing room after empty room. But it had Remus entirely confused, nothing of this made sense.

‘There is a cellar?’

‘No,’ Tim replied tiredly, ‘My mother was afraid of rats, and she said they festered in the cellars of cottages like ours.’

‘Tim – there is a cellar. Listen.’ Remus stamped on the floor of the kitchen, ‘It sounds solid here.’ He led them from the room and back into the hallway, and again stamped on the floorboards, there was a hollow thud this time – there was certainly something beneath. Tim pointed his wand at the floorboards and a circular hole appeared, just big enough to fit a man through. Tim went and sat over it.

‘Lower me down.’

Remus grabbed both of Tim’s hands and carefully lowered him through the hole. ‘How far down?’

‘Nine feet, no more, I have you.’ With Tim’s help Remus joined him bellow. Together they lit their wands and began to look around. The floor was thick with dust, nothing had been here for a very long time, and it seemed just as empty as the rest of the house. The room joined another and with a brief glance at one another, the walked through. Instantly the room erupted into life. Torches burned on the walls which were washed blue and grey, somewhat reminiscent of a storm at sea, in the silence the sound of water wafted over the room, though what made the noise was unapparent. There were three, long benches sat before an alter, and shelves to either side of the room housed strange and small trinkets, nearest to Tim was a mound of small glass vials, next to them here glass vials full of a black liquid. To Remus’s right were a mass of black arrowheads, and a small collection of lengthy strings. Remus took a look at his companion and started towards the altar at a brisk pace. He didn’t touch it rather he held his hand centimetres away as he examined it. From his distance he could feel that it was cold, and almost certainly metal, but he’d never seen metal such as this. Each corner was adorned with wild carvings of waves, sea monsters and sharp, jagged protrusions. Tim was by his side looking intently at something the altar cradled – a book.

Remus stood up straight and peered over Tim’s shoulder.

‘Can you read this?’ Remus asked, unable to decipher the writing upon the page.

‘Yes, can you not?’

‘No,’ Remus replied.

‘I read it as I read the English language written. Remus, this alter, it is made of black steel.’ Tim’s hands rested to either side of the book, laying flat upon the alter itself. ‘It is hollow.’

‘Then there has to be something inside… but how can we open it?’ Remus placed a hand and snatched it away with a sharp gasp. Tim’s turned to face him abruptly, eyes wide with shock.

‘Are you alright?’

‘It burns when I touch it… I don’t think it’s meant for me. What does the book read?’

Tim looked somewhat nervous, as he said, ‘It’s a list.’

‘Of what?’

‘You can see that there are three columns – the first is the payment, second is the “customer�, and third… third is the target.’

‘Target?’

‘There are names as targets… Remus, I think this is like the black book of the Fachen – the guild of assassins.’ There was silence for a moment as Tim turned back pages. ‘The last record here says Caradenus Gaunt paid for Antares Malfoy to be murdered some four hundred years ago… there are even requests as far back as… Salazar Slytherin. This is incredible.’

Remus looked at him strangely. ‘That you can see this doesn’t worry you?’

‘In my dream… the stranger called me his brother. He called me Fachen. Worried? Yes. Surprised? No.’

‘I think it would be wise to consult with the Order, and find out what we can of the Fachen before we do anything else here.’

‘It explains a lot though, Remus, like why no one else could enter the house… why no one can Apparate inside its walls.’

‘You’re probably right. This makes me feel uncomfortable, I think we should leave.’

He watched Tim cautiously as he closed the book and his eyes faltered to a close, he breathed heavily, no doubt controlling his temper, and finally looked up with a disappointed smile. ‘You’re right, Remus. We should leave.’

Remus nodded and together they left the house, securing the building completely. They parted ways in Diagon Alley, with Remus more than concerned about his young friend.