THE GAME BEGINS

Disclaimers: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling and Warner Brothers Studios. Highlander belongs to Davis/Panzer Productions, Rysher Entertainment, and Gaumont Télèvision. Any copyright infringements were not intended. This story was written for entertainment and not for profit.

Timing and Spoilers: Spoilers for…oh, I don't know…general Harry Potter and Highlander: The Series stuff I guess. Basic knowledge about both would be extremely helpful.

Summary: Methos, 'muggle' husband of a powerful witch, takes the head of a dangerous headhunter. Only this headhunter, Voracnar, was powerful, both in the Immortal world and by reputation in the world of wizardry. If Methos isn't careful, the dead Immortal's Quickening will overpower him. If that happens, Voracnar will be the most powerful and dangerous man in both the muggle and magic worlds, and great wizards like Harry Potter aren't yet born to stop him…

Methos felt the Buzz when he was still a block away.

It was powerful; that much was obvious. While, with most Immortals, he felt their Buzzes long before he stepped into their radar, he had no doubt that this time, the other Immortal could already feel him. It unnerved him a little.

His first instinct, ingrained into him after several millennia of hiding from his brothers, was to run. He preferred avoiding the Game as much as possible; no fight was worth risking his head over. That wasn't an option that time. The empty streets, lit only by streetlights, were empty at such a late time at night, but he could tell that the Buzz originated from his house. Although that was a pretty good sign that the other Immortal was looking for him, he couldn't run.

Bethany, his wife, might be in danger.

Heart racing, Methos took off across the intersection and up the street. Several impossibly long moments passed before he even reached the porch. By that time, he was going over a list of torture to inflict if his wife had so much as a paper cut. His sword was in his hand before he even turned the doorknob.

The hall beyond was empty. He heard footsteps coming from the living room. He ran past the stairs and through the living room door. The other Immortal stood in the middle of the room, waiting. There was no sign of his wife or any fowl play, and Methos hoped that was a good sign.

"Mr. Benjamin Jamison," the other Immortal greeted him with minor surprise. "I never would have thought you would be Immortal, and a powerful one at that. You do bring an awful lot of attention to yourself. Marrying a well-known witch like Bethany McAllister, for instance."

Methos quickly put two and two together, calling up descriptions he'd obtained through rumors. "Voracnar," he said, his eyes widening. Everyone in the wizard community knew that Voracnar was Voldemort's right hand man. Voracnar had a kill count that rivaled Voldemort's, and he was rumored to be a very powerful wizard. Methos never would have suspected him of being an Immortal. After all, he was known to have used magic in the past; were those just rumors?

"Very good, Mr. Jamison. It will be a pleasure taking a Quickening. I challenge you."

Methos couldn't back out of that fight. If he let Voracnar walk away, he'd kill Bethany. Methos raised his sword to a fighting position. "Challenge accepted."

Voracnar advanced and Methos barely managed to block. Methos found himself hard pressed to recall every trick he'd ever used and utilizing every one of them. Voracnar had an advantage in speed, however, and he easily backed Methos up all the way back to the front hall.

The fight was a brutal one. Both men managed to land several cuts on their opponent, and a lot of furniture took the force of the blows from their failed attempts to harm the other.

Sword fighting, however, was energy draining, and both men were panting in only mere minutes. This slowed Voracnar down a tad bit. Methos took advantage of that by turning the tables, switching from defensive to offensive in the space of a few heartbeats. He drove Voracnar up the stairs to the second floor.

On the landing, the two parted for a breather. That was when Voracnar decided to change the rules. As Methos attempted to drive air into his burning lungs while many of his cuts healed, he felt a static charge build in the air. He looked up in time to see Voracnar rise a hand.

A blue bolt from his Quickening leapt of Voracnar's empty palm. It struck Methos, making the oldest Immortal's entire body jolt from the unexpected electric shock. Unlike during a Quickening, there was nothing pleasing in this lightning bolt. Another bolt sent him tumbling backward and down the stairs. He landed in a heap at the bottom. His sword dropped to the ground a few feet away.

For an agonizing minute, Methos' body wouldn't respond to even basic commands. Instead, it kept twitching as the other Immortal's electricity traveled up and down his body. Sharp pain laced through his legs even as they began to heal, letting him know that both of them were broken in several places. He'd cracked a few ribs as well. He was in shock, and not just the electric kind. How could Voracnar know how to harness his Quickening? Only ancient Immortals could master that kind of power, and something told Methos that Voracnar's age didn't even come close to Methos' five thousand years.

Voracnar advanced down the stairs. He loomed over Methos and raised his blade for the killing stroke.

Methos dodged out of the way, and Voracnar's sword embedded itself in the wooden floor. It was time to make the playing field a little more even. Methos raised a hand and took aim. A bolt of his own powerful Quickening shot out from within his hand and struck Voracnar in the chest. Voracnar staggered. Methos struck him again and again until Voracnar's sword dropped from numb fingers and the Immortal dropped to the floor.

Methos got to his feet and ended up leaning on the staircase's railing for support. His left leg hadn't healed correctly. Methos picked up his sword and limped over to Voracnar's twitching and barely conscious form.

"There can be only one," he snarled. He swung his sword down and the blade sliced through flesh.

Panting, Methos dropped the sword next to Voracnar's decapitated body. As the mist of the dead Immortal's Quickening rose out of his body, Methos wondered why it was so quiet outside. Surely the neighbors had become alarmed at all the noise and called the authorities?

He gasped as the mist collided with his chest and seemed to seep into every pore along his flesh. It passed into him and through his lungs, taking his breath away. A breeze rose from who knew where. Pieces of couch stuffing and broken glass shards from picture frames, all victims of the fight, flew through the air. A piece of glass got in his eye and he rapidly blinked them away even as memories from Voracnar's life flashed through his mind.

He saw images of a young boy discovering, along with his adopted parents, that his mudblood sister was a witch. The boy grew up in his sister's shadow, always hearing praise about her talents and grades at Hogwarts. Twenty years passed before the boy died for the first time, triggering his Immortality. His mentor swore him to secrecy about his condition. He constantly interacted with wizards that continuously praised his sister. He longed to tell them about his Immortality so they'd pay attention to him, but he never said a word. It tore him up inside and made him feel incredibly angry.

He decided to make a name for himself. He severed all ties with his family and friends. They searched for him for years but never found him. Voracnar remained hidden for two hundred years. During that time, he did a little research into Immortal Quickenings. He discovered that, with lots of practice, he could learn to control the bolts of his Quickening.

He finally emerged from hiding a few years ago. He had heard rumors about a young wizard, Voldemort, who was only beginning to gain power by taking out his opposition left and right. He also heard that Voldemort was recruiting some wizards to his side. Confident that, with his knew knowledge of his Immortal Quickening, he could pass as a wizard, Voracnar decided to join Voldemort. First, he went after his mentor. Once he was dead, no one still lived that knew he wasn't a wizard. Afterwards, he sought out Voldemort and the two banded together, taking out their opponents left and right. Until Voracnar went after Methos' wife.

Methos saw all of this in flashes as his brain rapidly tried to process the information accompanying Voracnar's Quickening as it was integrated into Methos' own Quickening.

The first bolt hit him. It made him stagger as he tried not to cry out. Power rushed through him, energizing his tired muscles. Another bolt followed the first, this one a little more painful. It made him gasp. More and more bolts struck his paralyzed form and he screamed. Pain and pleasure wracked every nerve in his body with every jolt.

He heard glass shattering as every window in the house imploded, raining glass shards on every surface.

Finally, the bolts stopped coming and the breezed died down. Methos collapsed next to Voracnar's body, groaning, and passed out.

"He's a heavy one, no?" a masculine voice asked. He a heavy French accent.

"Can't disagree with you there," another voice, Bethany's, replied.

Methos felt hands lift him onto a cot. His head collided with a wall, making him groan. "Sorry," Bethany said sincerely.

Methos opened his eyes and looked up into the concerned faces of his wife and Tom Hartley, bartender for one of the few magically inclined bars in Paris.

"Hi," Methos greeted them.

Bethany smiled, looking relieved. "Hey. Are you okay?"

"Yes." He glanced around. They were in a storage room filled with wine crates. It looked suspiciously like the backroom for Broomsticks & Beer, Tom's magic sports bar. "Are we in Paris?" he asked, slightly confused.

Bethany nodded. "I used some floo powder to get us here. I barely managed to beat the muggle authorities to our house. I found you next to a dead body in a heap of glass and broken furniture, and I couldn't very well leave you there for the cops to find you."

Methos smiled. "No, I guess not." He sat up and held her close. She clung to him just as fiercely. "I would have lost you if I let him win. I couldn't walk away." Methos muttered.

Bethany pulled back and stared at him. "What do you mean, Ben?" she asked. "Who was that?"

Methos sighed and winced when pain shot through him from his left leg. He still needed to set that one. "Voracnar."

Tom's eyes widened. "Voracnar?! How did you survive?"

Methos could see the wheels turning behind his wife's eyes. "Could you give us a moment, Tom?" she asked, giving him her trademark 'pleading' look, which no man so far could resist.

"Of course, madam," Tom said after a moment of hesitation. He left the room, closing the door behind him.

"Voracnar was an Immortal?" Bethany asked Methos in confusion and bewilderment. Methos nodded. "But…how? There are, were, reports of him using magic."

Methos shrugged. "My guess is that he cheated somehow, although he did have some talent. He could use his Quickening bolts as a weapon just like I can."

Her jaw dropped. "He's that old?"

"No, but he did undergo a lot of training. It doesn't matter now. He's dead." He reached down and grabbed his leg. "This is going to sound bad." He bit his lip and twisted. His leg bone immediately disconnected from his kneecap and he had to fight to keep from crying out. Quickly, he repositioned the bone so that it would heal correctly and breathed in relief when his Quickening energy healed the break and the pain faded.

Bethany winced. "I wish you wouldn't do that in front of me. It's not the most pleasant of sounds."

"Sorry."

"You're wrong about one thing," Bethany said. Methos frowned at her. "You've forgotten how good the grapevine can be. By this time tomorrow, Benjamin Jamison will be famous for being the first muggle to take down such a powerful and dangerous 'wizard' like Voracnar."

Methos groaned when he realized she was right.

Bethany took Methos to stay with the Potters in a small English village. Their son, James, was at Hogwarts for the year, so they stayed in his bedroom while Bethany and Methos looked for a new place. They couldn't return to their old home; it was the scene of a crime, and even if they'd managed to remove the body before the police sat it, the mess would have been impossible to clean up. Thankfully, that house was registered under Bradley Scott, one of Methos' aliases, and not under Mr. and Mrs. Jamison. They didn't need to worry about the neighbors either, so the police didn't know they were connected to Voracnar's murder.

The entire wizard community knew, of course. A large amount of people always stopped by to ask Methos how he defeated Voracnar. Whenever he and Bethany visited Diagon Alley, mobs of witches and wizards would ask Methos for his autograph or offer him congratulations.

He didn't strictly mind it at first, but there were only so many people saying, "So you’re the muggle that took out Voracnar" that he could take.

After only a few days had gone by, Methos and Bethany were walking back to the Potters' residence. Methos said, as solemnly as he could, "Bethany, I love you and your world, but if I have to sign one more picture or piece of paper, I swear that I will start signing autographs with my sword."

Bethany, of course, laughed, but nevertheless promised to find a house when they went house shopping that day so he could hide from his fame. That comment produced a growl from her husband when he saw that she was trying not to smile.

True to her word, she found a house to her liking after only an hour of looking at houses, and they moved in within the week. They wisely kept the location of their new place a secret so their doorstep wouldn't be constantly crowded with Methos' admirers. Bethany, of course, continued to visit Diagon Alley every few weeks, but she didn't force Methos to come along with her more than once or twice.

Keeping their address a secret also guaranteed a certain level of protection against You-know-who. The rumor was that the psychopathic wizard, Lord Voldemort, was angry at losing his comrade. The Jamisons took a few extra precautions. Methos would accompany Bethany to the Leaky Cauldron, the wizards' pub in downtown London that held an entrance to Diagon Alley. He would have accompanied Bethany to the alley as well, admirers or not, but she stubbornly insisted that she would be fine. Voldemort and his men never visited Diagon Alley; everyone knew that.

This system worked smoothly for several months. One night, after returning home from the Diagon Alley entrance, Bethany produced a letter from her purse.

Methos wrapped his arms around her and began a trail of kisses up her neck. She leaned back into his embrace while she studied the letter. "Who's that from?" Methos asked, relieved that it wasn't addressed to him. Because their address was a secret, their mail was delivered to the Leaky Cauldron. He assumed she'd picked it up there.

Bethany frowned and turned the letter over. The back sported the Hogwarts shield printed above a very familiar seal. "It's from Dumbledore," she said, smiling.

"Dumbledore? What's he doing using Hogwarts stationary?" Methos asked. A long time had passed since Dumbledore had graduated from the school.

Bethany twisted around to give him a weird look. "He's the Headmaster. Didn’t you know?"

Methos frowned. He hadn't. The last time he saw Dumbledore, he had only been a kid just graduated from Hogwarts. He realized, with a start, that that was long before he met Bethany. "What does he say?" he asked.

Bethany opened it and skimmed through the letter's contents. "He's inviting us to come for a visit at Hogwarts." She grinned. "He wants to meet the famous Voracnar Slayer."

Methos groaned. Bethany giggled.

Although he'd met Dumbledore before the mortal even turned twenty Methos had never been to Hogwarts. He'd heard quite a few stories about the train platform designated Nine and Three Quarters and finally discovered the part about having to walk through a solid wall to get to the platform was true. For a minute, as the side of the brick column got closer and closer to his face, he feared that he would once again suffer from a broken nose. The next minute, he was stepping through the column as if it wasn't even there. His wife followed him and smiled up at him. "There. That wasn't so bad, wasn't it?" she asked, patting his arm like he was a kid. Her teasing smile killed whatever affect she could have had.

Methos grinned. "No, mother." Bethany playfully slapped him on the arm and he laughed.

He took in his surroundings. The first thing he saw was a red train, as antique as many things in the wizardry world appeared. It seemed that they would be the only passengers.

The train ride took a few hours. Methos and Bethany passed the time having a little fun in their locked compartment and remarkably managed to fix their appearances before the train pulled into the station. Bethany changed into a thick green dress and a light brown robe and witch hat. When she was done, she gave Methos' pants, shirt, and overcoat a look of distaste, but the expression quickly broke out into a tolerant smile. "Honestly, Methos. Can't you change into something a little less conspicuous?"

"It's not like it's going to matter, Bethany. Everyone already knows me as the 'Muggle Who Defeated Voracnar.' It won't matter what I'm wearing."

The train finally slowed to a stop as dusk approached. Methos followed his wife off the train. She smiled happily as she glanced around at the station platform. The sight made Methos grin. She'd been unbelievably happy during the entire trip. If a week or so spent at her old boarding school was what it took to cheer her up, Methos figured he could handle any fans he may come across.

He did end up having fans, and while the occasionally student would stop him in the halls and asked him for his autograph, he was usually left alone. He was grateful for that. He liked to sit in the backs of classrooms and watch the students learn all sorts of spells and potions. He'd been a teacher in several lifetimes and was curious to see if teaching wizards was different than teaching muggles.

Bethany was asked to give a lecture in the Defense Against the Dark Arts Class. He'd sat through the first lecture, assured Bethany repeatedly that she was doing fine, and then gotten kicked out when Bethany was feeling confident enough to teach for the rest of the day without him. He wandered aimlessly about the school. The place was enormous. So far he'd managed to locate the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw dorms on his own, although trying to outsmart those moving staircases had been a real feat. He entered the stairwell and saw that the path he wanted to use was no longer there. He shook his head in amazement. Why would anyone want a moving staircase?

Methos started and glanced wildly in every direction, but he couldn’t find the source of that voice. It sounded eerily familiar but he couldn’t place it.

He heard a sinister laugh. It seemed to radiate off of every surface. / Now, come now, Mr. Jamison, or should I say Methos? Who do you think this is? /

"Voracnar," he whispered. But how? Methos killed him. The laughter rang through the stairwell again. Where was it coming from?

"Ah, Mr. Jamison." Methos jumped, startled. He turned quickly to see Dumbledore himself approaching. "I was hoping to catch you today."

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore," the Immortal answered. "Did you want to speak to me?"

"Yes. Could you accompany me to my office?"

Methos followed the wizard up the stairwell. "It's just up this one," Dumbledore said as they reached the top of the third staircase.

Methos had been looking at the paintings during the trip, nodding back at a few of them. Right then, however, he saw a painting that made him start. It was a picture of himself, dressed in the clothing of a gentleman from the seventeenth-century.

The picture stared back at him, just as shocked as he was. When he saw the author's name, he gave a low growl. He should have known the guy was a wizard.

His picture shrugged at him. "Why did you ever-?" he began to ask when his eyes darted to Methos' right.

"That picture has a startling resemblance to you, Mr. Jamison," Dumbledore remarked. "Is he an ancestor?"

"I suppose so. I was unaware that I had any wizard blood in me."

"This man was not a wizard, actually," Dumbledore remarked. "Although I do believe that the artist found him most fascinating."

Methos, and his portrait, fought to keep from rolling their eyes. I'll bet he did, he thought.

Dumbledore's office was a wizard's dreams come true. Books and other objects crowded shelves lining the walls while breakable and priceless magical items stood in displays everywhere. Several photographs and portraits of former headmasters lined the walls above the shelves. All of the pictures were dozing audibly. The office seemed very comfortable and Methos thought it suited the wizard very well.

Dumbledore took a seat behind his desk and Methos sat in the chair in front of it. "Mr. Jamison, I have heard that you have become quite famous for stopping Voracnar. Bethany has told me that you are wary of the attention it brings you, but I’m afraid that I, too, am a bit curious about it."

Methos bit down a sigh and settled for a tight smile. "What would you like to know?"

Dumbledore removed some papers from an envelope on his desk and handed them to Methos. "This is a copy of the muggle police report. It states that the body found at your former address was discovered with its head separated from its body. I believe that the story going around is that you used a knife from the kitchen to fight Voracnar and somehow slit his throat, but there is no story about decapitation. I found this a little bit curious."

Oh, bloody hell. Methos went over several possible explanations. He couldn't tell the truth; he did not want the wizard world to know about Immortals. Acting like the report was false was out of the question; Methos had learned quickly that Dumbledore was known for being very resourceful, and he'd probably double-checked that this report was accurate. So what should he say?

Methos blinked. Where the hell was that voice coming from? Hearing it sent chills up his spine. Dumbledore gave no indication of hearing it; had Methos imagined it all?

Methos gasped. Voracnar?

Methos couldn't move a single muscle in his body; it felt like every inch of his flesh was numb. His forehead felt extremely hot. Sweat poured in droplets past his eyes. He could barely breathe and strained to bring air into his lungs. He didn't succeed and blacked out.

Dumbledore jumped to his feet when his guest suddenly gasped for breath before falling unconscious over his desk. The motion disturbed Fawkes', Dumbledore's pet phoenix. Fawkes left his perch to fly wildly about the office before disappearing up the balcony stairs.

Dumbledore leaned over and shook the other man's shoulder. "Mr. Jamison? Wake up, Mr. Jamison."

The muggle's form sprang into movement. The next thing Dumbledore knew, the man had him by the throat and was squeezing it tightly, efficiently blocking his airways.

"Hello, Albus," Mr. Jamison said. His voice had depended considerably, taking on an angry tone Dumbledore never would have guessed the man was capable of expressing. "It's been awhile. You've lost quite a bit of hair."

Spots appeared on the edges of the wizard's field of vision as he desperately tried to take in air. He began to panic. He needed to get his wand. He needed to pry himself from Mr. Jamison's grasp. He couldn’t make his limbs respond.

Suddenly, Mr. Jamison's hold loosened. Dumbledore fell back into his chair, rubbing his neck as he gasped air into his burning lungs.

Mr. Jamison let out a frustrated growl. "No, damnit! I almost had him!" He too, began to gasp for breath. Dumbledore watched as sweat once again appeared on his forehead, and before his astonished eyes the other man once again blacked out.

Dumbledore didn't fall for the trick again. He stood up and removed his wand.

Mr. Jamison began to stir. He looked up with confused eyes at the wizard. "Dumbledore? What-"

"Petrificus Totalus!" Dumbledore chanted. Mr. Jamison's form froze as stiff as a board and dropped heavily back onto the table.

Dumbledore put his wand away and considered the frozen man. What should he do with him? Although Hogwarts did have a dungeon, many of its chains were rusted and several areas had been deemed unsafe for anyone that went down there. The first thing he decided on was keeping this quiet while he gathered more information.

He decided to contact Mrs. Jamison. She had every right to know about her husband's condition, and perhaps she would know what to do about it. His lungs still burned slightly as he went to the door. He would have to make a visit to the school nurse later on. He spotted young James Potter walking by and asked the young man to find Mrs. Jamison and ask her to come to his office.

Everyone at Hogwarts knew about their headmaster's guests, so it didn't take long for Bethany to receive the message and arrive. "Professor, what did you-" She stared at her husband's petrified form. "Why is he-what happened?"

"I'm not quite sure myself," Dumbledore answered. "I assure you, Bethany, that I had no choice." He told her what happened.

Bethany sank into a chair. "This is not good," she muttered. What to do? What had possibly possessed her husband? "You said he acted unlike himself? Besides the part where he tried to, uh, strangle you, that is."

"Yes. His voice had gone deeper and he addressed me as if we hadn't seen each other for years."

Voracnar had a deeper voice. The thought struck Bethany like a lightning bolt. "Would you say he acted a little like Voracnar?"

Dumbledore's eyes widened. "…Yes. He did."

Bethany remembered everything Methos had ever told her about his kind. She knew what had happened, and the only way to help Methos was with Dumbledore's help. She had to tell him.

She turned away from the sight of her frozen husband. She couldn't stand to see him that way while she told the headmaster Methos' greatest secret, but it was the only way.

"You might want to sit down, sir," she said. "I think I know what's going on and it's going to take awhile to explain it all to you."

The wizard did as requested and waited. "My husband Benjamin isn't a muggle, Professor. He isn't a wizard, either."

Puzzled, Dumbledore asked, "Then what is he?"

"He's something called an Immortal, someone who can live forever and revive from most mortally fatal wounds. There are perhaps less than a thousand Immortals in existence."

"I don't think I've ever of them."

Bethany gave him a small smile. "They prefer secrecy and only let mortals know about them when it's absolute necessary. I didn't find out until months after Ben and I started dating."

Dumbledore considered the frozen man lying on the floor. "Why are you telling me this, Bethany?"

"His Immortality pertains to what happened. You see, Immortals everywhere fight against each other in duels to the death in what they call the Game. The last Immortal standing will receive the Prize, which most believe to be total domination over the world or the chance to mortal again. When an Immortal dies, his or her Quickening is absorbed by the closest Immortal. A Quickening holds an Immortal's skill, strength, power, and healing abilities. Quickenings can be very addictive and have driven some Immortals to become headhunters in the Game. My husband, however, tries to avoid as many fights as possible."

She waited a moment to let Dumbledore absorb that large piece of information before moving on. "There's something else you should know, Professor Dumbledore. Most of the time, the victor simply absorbs the Quickening. Although the Quickening does contain some of the loser's personality, most of the time, this does not affect the other Immortal in any way. Sometimes, however, the new Quickening takes over in certain ways. The biggest examples of this are Dark and Light Quickenings. A Light Quickening changes an Immortal's personality usually for the better. Once, a Immortal that lead raids through Italy planned to siege Paris, only he was stopped at the gates by an Immortal priest. The raider took the priest's head, but the priest's Quickening was too big for the raider to absorb. It changed him, and after that, he became a priest and stopped killing. He was called Darius, and he was known by many Immortals for two thousand years as a peaceful Catholic priest."

"A Dark Quickening is the opposite, and can turn an Immortal that likes to live a quiet and peaceful life into a sadistic killer. I think that Ben has been taken over by a Dark Quickening."

"And whose Dark Quickening possessed him?" Dumbledore asked.

Here came the hardest part of all. It was easy for a wizard to accept something like Immortality, but when some facts are ingrained into his thoughts it becomes harder to open their minds. She knew that from her own personal experience. She took a deep breath. "Voracnar's Quickening is the one responsible."

Dumbledore had to admit that, as he gathered up materials, Bethany Jamison's story was a little unbelievable. Accepting the existence of a race of Immortal humans was the easy part. It certainly explained why his encounter with a man that looked and acted exactly like Mr. Jamison thirty years before. But claiming that Voracnar, Voldemort's number one wizard assassin, was one of them? That he was gifted with no magic at all, when reports, most legitimate, had reported that he had used magic? Yet, when Mr. Jamison had attacked him, Dumbledore realized he did act a lot alike Voracnar.

"Professor Dumbledore?" The headmaster glanced over at the door to see James Porter and his girlfriend, Lily, enter. Lily was dressed for late autumn weather while James was dressed in his Quidditch uniform.

Dumbledore turned away from the potion he was making and faced them. "Yes?"

"What's going on, sir?" Lily asked. "Mr. and Mrs. Jamison haven't been seen anywhere since you asked James to escort Mrs. Jamison to your office. Everyone's wondering what happened to them."

"They're still in my office at the moment, actually. Now, both of you had better run off to the Quidditch match. You wouldn't want to be late for the first Gryffindor vs. Slytherin game of the season, now would you, Mr. Potter?"

"No, sir." The two students left, clearly disappointed.

Dumbledore whispered a hearing enhancing spell and listened for a moment. James and Lily walked to the end of the hall. James went on to the Quidditch match but Lily opened the door to a secret passage. Dumbledore chuckled and shook his head fondly. That particular passage would take Lily to a hidden entrance into the room he was in. The headmaster would just have to pretend not to see a lump behind the tapestry hanging on the wall behind him. He knew from experience that Lily and James could keep secrets, and if they were intrigued enough to do a little spying, he knew it was no use trying to keep them out of that secret as well.

He turned back to his potion. He took a graduated cylinder, filled half of it with water, then poured a little bit of brandy in. He mixed the very watered-down alcoholic drink together before adding enough dragon's blood to take up and fourth of the cylinder and mixed that up as well. Then he added solid bits of herbs and other objects into the mix.

He held up the cylinder for inspection and waited. After exactly sixty seconds, he could see the solid objects dissolve into the reddish-white solution. He nodded in satisfaction. Hopefully, this would help cure Mr. Jamison's condition. Of course, one other thing was needed before he gave this to the Immortal to drink. He knelt down on the ground. His back cracked, issuing a painful protest to the action. Dumbledore rubbed the spot as he took out his wand. He tapped the ground a few times in a pattern for ten seconds. In answer, a few feet of the stone floor slid away to reveal a hidden compartment. Inside were several black, square boxes. Dumbledore removed one before tapping out a different pattern to make the floor slide back into place. He opened the box and glanced inside. A crystal ball, perfectly spherical, sat on a mound of soft fabric. He took it out and examined it. It was still completely whole. Satisfied, he placed the ball back into the box and stood up.

He stood up and grabbed the cylinder. After placing a cork at the top, he stood back from the table and apparated back to his office. Lily, being underage, couldn't apparate legally and therefore didn't follow. Technically, no wizard could with all the spells Hogwarts was under, but Dumbledore knew ways of getting around them. He wondered how long it would take her to deduce that he had transported himself to his office and hoped she wouldn't see anything more than she had already seen. It was best to keep the secret of Immortals to as few people as possible. Bethany made that quite clear.

Bethany jumped when he suddenly reappeared in front of her but relaxed when she realized whom it was. "Is that for Ben?" she asked, casting a worried glance at her husband. They'd propped him up in the corner, but it was still obvious that he was frozen.

"Yes, it is. Hopefully, it will provide a solution. First, however, we must move Mr. Jamison to a more secure location. It will be easier to do this if he is unfrozen."

Bethany looked decidedly uneasy and relieved all at the same time. After having to stare at her husband's frozen form for most of an hour, she'd rather risk fighting Voracnar if there was a chance she'd hear one of her husband's sarcastic comments again. She held her wand at the ready and nodded at Dumbledore. Dumbledore removed his own wand and performed the counter-spell on the Immortal.

Methos promptly relaxed and always lost his balance. He glanced around at them. His eyes widened as he took in their wands, then they narrowed as he considered the best way to go about the situation. "What happened?" he asked after only a few seconds.

"Voracnar's Quickening is trying to take you over, Ben," Bethany said cautiously, but Methos could detect the worry in her voice.

"Well, he doesn't have me now, Jasmine," he said. She relaxed a little at the nickname Voracnar wouldn't have known.

"Mr. Jamison, we must escort you down into the dungeons," Dumbledore informed him, "If there is any hope of Voracnar's Quickening being extracted from your body and into this." He held up the crystal ball.

Methos bent over in pain. "Ben?" Bethany asked, fighting down panic.

The Immortals breathing became labored. He brought his head up to meet their ears, straining to do so, as it required all of his strength. Sweat laced his brow. "I'm not…going to make it….to the dungeons," he rasped out.

"Oh, dear," Dumbledore muttered. They'd have to perform the ritual in his office, but that would not be the smartest choice. His tables were littered with half-finished projects that he was working on for the Ministry of Magic. If any of his work were destroyed, he'd have to rebuild several decades of results.

Methos went still. Dumbledore and Bethany tensed. Dumbledore raised his wand. "Petrificus-"

Methos' eyes, now Voracnar's, flashed dangerously. He flicked a wrist out at the headmaster. A purplish-blue bolt of lightning shot out of nowhere, aiming for Dumbledore's wand. Albus didn't even stop to think. "Returni Castorus!"

The lightning bolt flashed more brightly than ever before shooting backwards toward Methos. It hit the oldest Immortal's body, making him jerk as the bolt reentered him.

The Immortal took in a deep, steadying breath, fighting with all his might to keep from collapsing as his veins sang with the energy the bolt had returned to him. Being a Quickening bolt, taken from his own Quickening, it did not harm him. However, the shock did give him the strength he had needed.

When his eyes opened again, Methos, and not Voracnar, gazed out of them. "Beth…" he began. Bethany relaxed a little. Only her husband could say her name like that. "Do it. Do it now."

Dumbledore was already working on it. He pointed his wand at the potion, which sat in its vial on his desk. "Accio potion!" It flew into his wand hand. "You must drink this," he told Methos.

Methos was panting from the strain of holding back Voracnar's Quickening. Voracnar continued to scream at him inside his mind, all the while breaking down Methos' mental defenses in an effort to retake control. He somehow managed to nod.

"I'll give it to him," Bethany volunteered. Dumbledore nodded and handed it over.