DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The Ghostbusters name, character names, images, and all related references are property of Columbia Pictures.

Author's Note: As of the writing of this chapter, I have not yet read HBP, so any spoilers for that book that might be found in this are purely accidental. There are some spoilers for Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them, though, fair warning.

At any rate, without further ado. . .

---

Arthur Weasley leaned back on his heels and resisted the urge to pull out his pocket-orrery for the third time in what he rather suspected was less than fifteen minutes. The Spirit Division's offices were woefully plain, offering very little in the way of material to keep visitors busy. Possibly this was because they had precious few visitors to begin with. Which, Arthur conceded, made a certain amount of sense- but it was very little comfort to a man in his position. Nacknouck was taking forever.

It occurred to him that thecarpet had been laid down in neat little geometric units here, green and purple hexagons interspersed with the occasional bit of blue or red. Perhaps counting the things from one end of the foyer to the other would serve to pass the time? . . . no, he knew that wouldn't help either; he'd already done it twice, anyway. Flooring held no real charm at a time like this.

A dusky-skinned witch with her hair pulled back in a braid that fell quite nearly to her knees hurried by with an armload of scrolls; Arthur stepped forward, about to offer her assistance, but she paid him no notice. By the time he thought to call out a greeting, she'd already vanished into the maze of smaller offices that lay just past Nacknouck's door. Arthur sighed, resting his head and shoulders against the wall again, and reached into his pocket. Maybe if he checked the orrery now-

Nacknouck's door opened. "Yo, Art?"

Arthur straightened immediately. "Over here, Dr. Venkman."

"Excellent," said the American. "Listen, the brain trusts are gonna be in there with your boy for a while, and Ray's asked for Winston to hang around too, but they don't really need me right now. You don't have anywhere to be, do you?"

"Well, as a matter of fact I was supposed to wait here and escort the four of you to-"

"Change of plans. Egon took one look at your guy's files and pounced like a flea on blood. He won't be coming up for air for a couple hours, and Ray's probably gonna wind up at the containment room with Winston, so that pretty much leaves you and me." Peter shrugged. "Ray says he'll contact me if there's a problem."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Fun being left out in the cold, huh?" A wry smile flashed across Peter's face and vanished. "So. Where are we supposed to be heading?"

"Back to Diagon Alley, actually." Arthur nodded in the general direction of the lifts and started walking. "There's been enough trouble erupting there that the goblins've demanded extra care be taken-"

"Goblins?" Peter's stride was long enough that he'd been just about outpacing Arthur, but at that he stopped and stared. "Nobody mentioned any goblins."

"Er- yes, at Gringott's. The bank?" Arthur blinked a few times at the man's suspicious expression. "Surely someone told you? They do run the place, after all."

"Moon-man money," Peter muttered under his breath. "Geez... Nah, it's okay. I'm pretty sure Ray said something about that on the plane from Iceland, but I was ignoring him by then."

"I see." Peter looked as if he was about to start walking again; hesitantly, Arthur put up a hand. "Er- before we go any further-"

"Hm?"

"D'you mind if I ask you something, Dr. Venkman? It, er. . . might be a bit personal, but-"

"Hey, if it doesn't end up with me running around in robes and my skivvies, go ahead."

Suddenly Arthur was immensely glad of his limited grasp of Muggle slang. "I should certainly hope not. No, this is about, ah. . . what you know."

"Oh, you mean about you guys? Wizards and stuff?"

"Yes."

Peter smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. "Funny you should ask, Art. Tell you what- I'll tell you how that happened if you give me the wizard-on-the-street story about what's going on around London, okay?"

"I would've done that anyway!" Arthur protested.

"Yeah? You can owe me something else, then."

They made it to an empty lift just before the doors closed; Arthur prised them open further for Dr. Venkman's pack's sake. "All right, I suppose. Was it Dr. Stantz who told you? He seems the sort to do that for a friend."

"Nope."

"Dr. Spengler, then?"

"Also wrong," said Peter. He was smiling slightly, his hands in his pockets as he leaned back against the wall of the lift.

"Then how-"

"I'll give you a hint- I went to school in Scotland."

Arthur stared at him; Peter's smile broadened visibly. "You can't have- that's impossible!" Arthur exclaimed at last.

"Can't have what?" The man was enjoying this far too much to sound so innocent. "If you guess close enough, I'll give you a gold star."

"You can't have stumbled across Hogwarts!" Arthur blurted. "The Muggle-repelling charms on that school're as thick as on this place- no, thicker!"

At that, Venkman laughed aloud. "Ooo, so close," he said as the lift slid to a halt. "No gold star for you, young man. Although maybe I could see my way clear to giving you a smiley face sticker for at least trying."

"How, then?"

Venkman stretched his arms over his head, popping a few knuckles in the process. "Picture it if you will," he began. "A young man on his first really, really long trip away from his native land, on a solitary journey to the nation of Scotland, sounding out the only accredited university in Europe to offer a graduate course of study in parapsychology. The year is 1978. The time, June. After a long, hard day of wandering the streets of Edinburgh, avoiding Scottish food for all he's worth, our hero finds himself thirsty. He's of the age of majority on both sides of the Atlantic, so what does he do?"

"There's a pub involved, isn't there..."

"Very good! Keep this up

and you might just get a star after all, Arthur." Venkman smiled, ignoring the curious stares of a cluster of witches as they passed through the lobby. "Right you are. Why go back to the hostel when there's entertainment close at hand? My Lonely Planet guide to Scotland assures me that Americans and their spending habits are welcome throughout the city, so I pick out a likely-looking establishment, head on in, and make a serious stab at getting thoroughly sozzled."

"Well, yes, but that doesn't explain how you found out-"

"I was getting to that."

"I mean," continued Arthur heedlessly, "if you'd somehow stumbled into a wizarding pub despite the charms, not that I know how you'd manage such a thing-"

"I said I was getting to that." Peter gave him a mock-serious glare. "Understand that despite my youthful appearance, I was already wise in the ways of the Booze. I'd been there a good while and met quite a few very interesting young ladies when the door burst open and four of the most enthusiastically schnockered kids I'd ever seen in my life came in."

The hairs on the back of Arthur's neck began to prickle.

"How they even had the capacity to get that stinking drunk at that age I don't know- they were younger than me-"

"Eighteen, weren't they," Arthur murmured.

"Bingo! You've just about earned that star back after all, Mr. Weasley. Now, for the grand prize, can you tell me why they were in that state and that pub?"

An image of Bill the morning after his NEWTs flashed across Arthur's mind; he sighed. "Because, I suppose, end-of-term exams were over..."

"There we are. See, Art? Was that so hard?" Venkman patted him companionably on the back. "These four guys came storming in and announced exactly that, informed us that they were about to buy everyone in the place a drink, and sat down as if they owned the place. One of them, in fact, sat down right next to me. Said his name was James Potter."

"Oh, Merlin," Arthur blurted.

Peter blinked. "You know the guy or something?"

"No, not really, just his son. Do go on, though. I'd quite like to hear how this ends."

Peter nodded. "Okay. Potter's buddy, Sirius, plunks down the cash for a round for the whole bar including yours truly, and from there things pick up speed. Next thing you know Sirius is up on a table singing 'I Still Call Australia Home', the little guy in the group's beating the pants off half the bar at darts, the skinny one's making close personal friends with a mug of beer the size of his head, and Potter's crowing all over me that he's just scored top marks on a bunch of newts. Which, y'know, sounds kind of gross to me, but who am I to pass judgment on another man's lifestyle?"

"Er, but NEWTs aren't-"

Venkman held up a hand. "Who's telling this story, Arthur?"

"Sorry."

"Thank you. Potter goes on about how his teachers say he's got a long and glorious career ahead of him, but he can't tell anyone about it. It's all very hush hush. Unless I'm the right kind of people, nudge nudge wink wink and so on."

Arthur clapped a hand over his face.

"Yeah. I'd had a few by this time, but he completely took the cake. He was so drunk he actually did the nudging and the winking, so... I tell him, hey, maybe I'm not English, but I've come across several thousand miles of open ocean to study parapsychology and the supernatural on a full scholarship and that ought to count for something. He gives me this blank look, and I figure I must've mispronounced something, so I tell him it's mind reading and ghosts. Next thing you know..."

"He thought you were talking about studying advanced wizardry," Arthur finished. "Merlin's beard. It would be James, wouldn't it... How on Earth did you manage to keep him from finding out you were actually a Muggle?"

"You have no idea how completely, utterly, totally drunk that kid was. I could've told him I was Darth Vader from the planet Vulcan and he'd've bought it. I told him I'd just graduated from Louis Armstrong Magic School in Corona-"

"Where?"

"Part of New York City. Anyway, he bought it."

"Lying to a defenseless drunk man isn't very nice, you know."

"Not being nice runs in my family."

Arthur shook his head wonderingly. "You'd think that sort of thing would draw some notice after the fact."

Peter snorted. "Who from? The three of 'em were too busy drinking and singing and taking people's money to do anything else. James was the only one who talked, and I was the only one who was listening to him. Even the bartender was ignoring us. I didn't say anything about any of what I heard until I got back to the States and saw Egon and Ray again. At which point they confirmed the whole thing, and I was in on your dirty little secret."

"I see."

"Good," said Peter, stopping in his tracks. "Because now it's your turn. Tell me what's going on here, Arthur. Not what your bosses are saying, either. I can get that from the guys the next time I see them. I want you to tell me what you're seeing, hearing, whatever, as you and the wife and kids go about your everyday lives- you do have a wife and kids, don't you?"

"Rather."

"All right, then." He draped an arm about the other man's shoulders. "Walk with me, Arthur. Talk with me."

Arthur nodded. "Well- all right. I suppose first, I should tell you that there's absolutely nothing unusual about hauntings in wizarding society." He paused, waiting for Venkman to challenge him, but the American just nodded.

"Go on."

"Ah- yes... well, most of our really old buildings are haunted to some degree. It's perfectly normal, really. Wizards or witches who die with unfinished business tend to hang about-

"Arthur?"

"Hmm?"

Venkman stopped again; Arthur was forced to do the same. "Do me a favor, would you?"

"A- all right..."

Arthur's shoulders were released. Venkman stepped around to look him square in the face. "Stop for just a moment," he said. "Think who you're talking to, okay? Think for a second- just a second- about what I do for my living."

"Yes, but-"

Venkman held up both hands. "Now think about the men I work with."

"Er-"

"I've been in this business since 1984," he continued. "I've known Stantz and Spengler since college. You've met both of them. Do you really think- honestly, truly now- do you really think Dr. Stantz could possibly have resisted telling me about wizard ghosts?"

Arthur blinked a few times. "He held out less than a month, didn't he," he muttered.

Peter smiled. "He lasted all of two and a half days."

"How in Merlin's name have you gone this long without being Obliviated?" Arthur burst out.

"Ah, come on, I can't give away all my secrets..." Peter patted him on the shoulder and resumed walking. "Maybe some other time. Go back to your story, though, I'm dying to hear this."

Arthur sighed. "Very well. We get ghosts all the time, but about a month and a half ago, we started getting- well, more of them. Just ordinary wizards at first- they died of the usual causes, but they just... stayed. For the flimsiest of reasons, too. I myself spoke to one ghost who said his only unfinished business was that he'd rather wanted to see how the Quidditch match he'd been attending would end."

"Quidditch," repeated Peter. "That's that thing with the balls and the brooms and the weird-ass point scoring, right?"

"Nothing weird about it, Dr. Venkman, but I'll explain it to you later. Yes, that's the sport."

"Uh huh." Venkman's expression was dubious. "Was it at least a playoff game?"

"Afraid not."

"So... really big fan?"

"No," said Arthur. "He hardly had any appreciable interest whatsoever in the outcome. It shouldn't have left him stranded as a ghost. That's the thing."

"Ah, okay, I get the picture." Peter nodded. "So it started with really lame spooks, huh?"

"And it only picked up from there," Arthur confirmed. "Spirits previously considered rare started popping up all over the place. Some of them are so rare you'd ordinarily be lucky to see them once in a lifetime, but now..." He shook his head. "Now it seems as if every kind of spirit being possible's been coming out of hiding. And they're nastier than usual, too. Some of the more intelligent ones you used to be able to reason with, or at least frighten off, but lately they've been standing their ground even in the faces of their traditional enemies."

"That's interesting," Peter said, frowning slightly. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Well, if you've ever heard of a nogtail-"

"Let's say I haven't, for argument's sake."

Arthur nodded. "Very well; they're a type of demon, they look like long-legged, sickly piglets. They're not dangerous directly, but if one of them takes up residence on a farm and isn't expelled, it blights the whole place horribly. The only thing guaranteed to get rid of nogtails is pure white dogs."

Peter cocked an eyebrow at the man. "What, they like pork?"

"Not that I know of. I don't believe they ever actually catch the nogtail. It's just that normally, a nogtail who's chased off a farm by a pure white dog can't ever return."

"And... that's changed, now. They're coming back or something?" Peter asked.

"They're standing their ground, as I said," said Arthur. "They don't even take fright at the dogs' presence. One of them even tried to bite the Ministry dog that'd been sent to run it off- and it was still the size of a piglet."

"And... you know about this how? I thought you were some kind of liaison officer."

"Not exactly. I work in Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, though, and that means getting out and about to patch matters up when someone thinks it's funny to hex the dickens out of somebody's tools. I happened to be on the Hoggett farm trying to undo a particularly savage Hurling Hex that'd been cast on their ... thing... big green whatsit, small wheels in the front, big in the back-"

"Tractor, Arthur?" Peter asked, eyebrows arching.

"Yes! Their tractor, that was it. Thank you." Arthur smiled. "I was just about done with that when one of their piglets let out this amazing human-sounding yell. Next thing I know the little beast's bolted halfway across the barnyard, chasing this poor little white bloodhound pup..."

Peter started to ask something further, but fell silent as they rounded a corner into familiar territory: a record shop on one side, a bookshop on the other.

It was Arthur's turn to smile and put a hand on the other man's shoulder. "Close your eyes, Dr. Venkman."

"You gotta be kidding me. I thought this Diagon Alley was an actual alley."

"Oh, it is," Arthur assured him. "It's just on the other side of the pub. Right through the back wall."

"More wall walking. I hate this stuff," the American muttered, but obeyed. "Poke me when we're all the way through, okay? That schtick with the wall is really disturbing. I don't want to see it happen twice."

Arthur laughed at that, but led Peter through nonetheless. "Honestly," he said as the door to the Leaky Cauldron closed behind them, "it really is a shopfront. We're in the bar now-"

"I don't care. Get me into this Diagon Alley if you want me to open my eyes again."

"Very well. Do mind your step." He led the American through the rest of the bar, ignoring curious looks and the occasional sniggering wizard in the shadows. "One would've thought you'd be used to this sort of thing by now."

"Believe it or not, Arthur-" Peter got pulled aside a hair too late to avoid an outflung elbow. "Oof!- I don't get that many calls from wizards. Me and the guys are pretty strictly confined to working the mundane side of the line."

Arthur nodded. "Speaking of lines, we're just about at the back now."

"Oh, goody." But he fell quiet, and stayed that way until the brick wall closed itself behind them.

Arthur dropped his hand and took a long breath, inhaling the familiar smells of the Alley. The apothecary nearby, the cauldron-cleaning solution from the shop across the way, even the reek of Eeylops Owl Emporium- oh, yes, he knew those smells well. "Smell that?" he asked Dr. Venkman, who was staring at the throngs of wizards and witches. "That, my American friend, is the smell of magic."

Peter sniffed. "Smells like Chinatown," he murmured.

"Well, we do get a fair number of our herbs and potion ingredients from China," said Arthur with some surprise. "Excellent nose you've got there."

"No biggie. I live three blocks from the place, I should know what it smells like." He sidestepped a witch as she bustled past, her arms full of poorly-wrapped packages. "So where's this Gringotts?"

Arthur turned, ready to point. "Oh, it's just over-"

He froze.

"Never mind," said Peter, who was looking in the same direction. "I think I can find it on my own. I'm just gonna follow the bloodcurdling screams of terror, okay?"

It was as if a vast slow-moving spring somewhere below the earth had burst its cap, pushing upwards with inexorable force, horrible and overwhelming like some nightmarish wall of treacle. That was the impression Arthur got as the gathered wizarding folk turned and surged towards him, fleeing the vicinity of the bank with what little speed they could muster in so small a space. He might have been able to dodge them had they been running, but as the street narrowed around them there was no space for lengthy strides, and momentum slowed to an overwhelming, massive crawl. It was all that Arthur could do to keep his footing in the face of people trying to flee.

The American plunged forward, fighting valiantly upstream against the throngs. "Dr. Venkman! Wait!" Arthur cried, but too late- Peter had vanished into the crowd. Arthur swore under his breath and began fighting his own way through, elbows first. "Excuse me- pardon me, please- will you stand aside at once madam- Ministry business-"

"OKAY! YOU!" he heard over the terrified cries around him.

In front of the magical instruments shop, Arthur found an overturned display basket with a good sturdy bottom that had somehow missed being trampled. He upended it, leaned it against the wall, and clambered up to see if he could catch sight of Dr. Venkman. And he did.

The American was standing in the midst of a tiny bubble of free space created largely by his own bristling rage. He had hold of a Gringotts goblin- literally; he'd grabbed the lapels of its scarlet and gold uniform and yanked it off its feet, holding it at his own eye level. "I- want- some- ANSWERS!" he thundered, giving the goblin a good solid shake. "What's going on?"

It was perhaps a measure of the situation that the goblin had to swallow twice before giving its answer. "There's a- the vaults- it just-"

"What?" Peter roared. "What just?"

"Chimera in the bank!" the goblin cried. From the direction of the bank there came an ear-splitting roar. As Peter's head jerked up, the goblin raised its arms over its head and slithered out of its uniform coat, scrabbling away for all it was worth.

A chimera! Arthur stood stunned for a moment. But those were obscenely rare! Dangerous as anything- didn't the textbooks say there'd only ever been one killed by a wizard? And what was one doing in Britain? They were Greek-

"HEY! Art!" Someone grabbed at his sleeve; Arthur yelped. "Relax! It's just me."

Arthur clutched at his chest. "You gave me a turn there, Dr. Venkman-"

"Yeahyeahyeahwhatever what's a chimera and why's it look like the Blob showed up in the movie theater?" said Peter. The bubble of space around him had expanded to include them both.

"Only the most dangerous magical beast I can think of that's ever actually set foot in Britain! They're horrible- they eat wizards like a Crup eats rubbish!" Arthur answered as people streamed past.. "It's not a ghost- will your machine do anything to it?"

"Oh, yeah, I think so," Peter said grimly. "Switch me on, will ya, Art? It's the big red one towards the bottom."

Arthur gulped, nodded, and poked the switch Peter had indicated.

Whrrrrrmmm...

The crowds fell completely away from them at the sound, though people were still struggling to reach the end of the alley from the stores further along. Peter smiled, a grim, sly thing, and reached over his shoulder to yank part of the pack free. It was as long as his arm, blocky, and still wired into the pack proper at one end. The rounded tip gleamed. If Muggles could make a wand of their own, Arthur thought, it'd look like that.

"Everybody MOVE!" Peter yelled. His thumb twitched. A stream of blazing purple-white fire lanced through the air from the thing's tip, searing Arthur's eyes momentarily blind. When the spots faded from his vision, Peter was stalking unimpeded through the yards-wide path the crowds now gave him.

He's going to get killed! Arthur thought- and realized he was running after the man. I'm going to get killed! "Dr. Venkman, you don't understand- there's only one wizard on record who's ever managed to kill one of these things! And he had a flying horse! It's got flaming breath, huge fangs-"

"And I've got a great big continuous-fire beam weapon with a range of a good hundred yards or more," Peter said, still walking. "Your point?"

"... all right, that might even the odds a bit," Arthur conceded, "but it's still as bad as a dragon-"

"I've dealt with dragons before," said Peter with an odd little smile. He stopped, some yards directly in front of the bank, and cupped one hand around his mouth. "HEY! You in there! I've had about enough of this mess! Get your scaly butt out here so I can kick it, okay?"

Dead silence hung in the air. Even the fleeing crowds froze where they stood.

"Did you hear what I said?"

A gout of blue-hot flame blazed out from the main doors, straight in Peter's direction. The American stumbled backwards a few paces, windmilling his arms furiously to avoid falling over. "Whoa..."

And with a dreadful roar, the chimera burst into the open air.

Even for a magical creature, the beast looked dangerous. Its head was that of a young lion, the mane barely sprouted but the fangs shining and deadly. Its tail, the long, scaly, spiked tail of some forgotten dragon breed, whipped viciously in the air behind it. Sparks trailed from its diamond-hard goat's hooves as it clattered to a stop on the pavement. Smoke puffed from its nostrils as it looked this way and that, panting; there was intelligence in its eyes, the low, wily cunning of all ancient beasts overlaid with enough wit to assess the crowds, and find them all lacking as foes.

Its eyes passed over Arthur, and he flinched. A lick of flame flickered from the lion's mouth- laughter, perhaps- and it turned away, saving its attention for the one who still stood before it: Dr. Venkman. He felt its gaze too, or so it seemed to Arthur, who saw the man shift uncomfortably. "Yeah, that's right," Venkman said, "I'm talking to you. You and me. One on one. Arthur, if you have any way of contacting the rest of the guys, do it right now."

"I wish I could, Doctor- aaah!"

The chimera had lifted its head and almost lazily blown a jet of blue-tinged flame in Dr. Venkman's direction, but the American wasn't there. "Dr. Venkman?" he called warily.

"Over here," came the man's voice, from behind a half-wrecked rubbish bin. Arthur whistled.

"You do know how to move, don't you?"

"Yeah, it's a little known fact-" Peter peeked out from his shelter, eyeing the chimera as it growled. "-that I have a third doctorate-" It was snarling at something on the Gringotts steps: one last straggling goblin. "-in running away from certain death-"

The chimera's ears slanted back; the goblin screamed, flinging an arm up in front of its face. Its other hand jerked up, frantically pointing in that manner that can only ever mean 'look somewhere else!'.

Unfortunately, the chimera decided 'somewhere else' was somewhere just behind Arthur.

Venkman suddenly lunged towards Arthur, tumbling wildly as the chimera let out another furious roar. "And a lot of continuing ed credits!"

The chimera reared up on its hind legs and pawed the air, cloven hooves flashing. Paving-stones shattered in all directions when they came down. It gathered itself again, leapt for Arthur with a mighty roar- and got thrown backwards by a blast from Dr. Venkman's proton pack. The stench of singed goat fur filled the air. "Buzz off!" Peter snarled.

What had been a roar took on the quality of a scream now as the maddened chimera sprayed the street with flame. "ART!" Peter yelled, rolling out of the way. "DO SOMETHING!"

"I can't!" Arthur cried. The chimera shot a foul look his way. Its tail lashed out behind, wrapping around one of the pillars in front of Gringotts and almost casually yanking a chunk of the marble column loose.

"Why not?" Peter staggered to his feet and flattened himself against a shop-window. The chimera advanced, tail still wrapped around the marble.

"They're distant kin to dragons! Spells bounce right off their- AAAAAH!" Arthur dove for it, too late to save the bottom of his robes from the flames.

"Then how the hell did that one guy kill one in the first place?"

"Can't hear you! Putting the fire out!" Arthur flailed in his robes for his wand. He felt, rather than heard, the terrible sound of the length of hawthorn rolling away over the stones. "Oh, no..."

"That is not good!" The street lit up with proton fire, and then with orange flame. "I did not want to hear 'oh no!"

Paving-stone fragments flew in all directions. Arthur grabbed an unburnt part of his robes and moved to smother the edges. Ah, there, his wand was just out of reach.

"'Oh no' is a really bad thing to he- oh, noooooo..."

Arthur looked up just in time to see the chimera hurl the chunk of marble straight at Dr. Venkman's head. He dove for his wand, knowing he would never reach it in time.

There was a blaze of searing light, a sudden sound of shattering- and then, very briefly, it rained chunks of marble and bits of dust.

Arthur's fingers closed about his wand. He rolled upright, blinking.

The chimera was still there; so was Dr. Venkman, who was entirely covered in fine white dust. It did very little for his appearance. Frankly, he looked rather as if he wanted to tear the creature's lungs out with his teeth. "Nice try, scaly," he growled. "But I'm not that easy to kill. You wanna try that again?"

Silently, Arthur readied his wand.

It hurled itself at Peter, fangs flashing.

"Leviosa!" Arthur called out- and the chimera's jaws snapped shut on nothing as its target suddenly found himself floating a good five feet above the ground.

"PUT ME DOWN!" yelled Peter, legs flailing frantically. The chimera wheeled about, snapping at his feet. Flames licked from its jaws.

Arthur hissed and swiftly pointed his wand towards a spot a safe distance away, letting Peter down. "Sorry- sorry-"

The fire blazed forth again. For a moment Arthur thought the beast had found another victim, a girl perhaps- no, it was only Dr. Venkman, bolting for cover and finding none. "Arthur! How are we supposed to stop this thing?"

"I don't know! I think someone's called the Ministry! I hope they have!"

A word too sibilant for Arthur to hear over the crackling of the chimera's flames escaped Peter. He turned to face the beast again. It roared, that dreadful sound shaking the very buildings around them-

"All right! That's it! You're gonna be a frickin' motorcycle jacket by the time I'm through with you- full stream, buddy!"

The flare of purple-white energy blazed even more brightly than the one that had destroyed the chunk of pillar. Briefly, the chimera's roar became an anguished scream. Then- was it only his imagination? Did Arthur hear the thing drawing in a vast breath? Perhaps-

Arthur wasn't about to take the chance. "Accio- um- Accio muggle!"

Somewhat to his shock- Accio had never worked on any of his children- Peter abruptly came flying towards him as if yanked by a giant hand. Just in time, too, as the chimera let loose a great blast of blue-hot flame. Hastily, Arthur released the spell, and the other man tumbled to a stop just in front of him. "Are you all right?" Arthur asked.

Grimacing, Peter pushed himself to his hands and knees. "Yeah- little winded- what was that?"

"Summoning Charm. I'm sorry, there wasn't time-"

"Meh. Am I on fire?"

"Er- no?"

"Then 'salright." Peter glanced over his shoulder towards the chimera, which was pacing angrily back and forth. On every fifth or sixth beat, it paused and changed direction. "Seriously, Art, is there even a way to get this thing dead? A full stream proton blast is supposed to be able to reduce a living person to their component atoms. I'm guessing that was the dragon magical interference thing again?"

"I couldn't tell you, I really couldn't," Arthur said apologetically. "Did you happen to hit it while it was roaring?"

"At one point, yeah- why?"

"That's it, then." Arthur's eyes flickered to the beast as well; it had dropped to a crouch, and was pawing at its nose with one forehoof. He lowered his voice. "From what I recall, the one wizard who ever killed one conjured up about a gallon of molten lead, right inside its mouth- blocked the flame or some such, I forget."

"I kinda think that much boiling lead would do a little bit of damage on its own!"

"Possibly." Arthur shook his head. "Couldn't say. He fell off his winged horse and died just after. Anyway, I think the gullet's a chimera's only vulnerable spot."

"Great, just great." Peter forced himself upright. "Can you do the lead trick from here?"

"Sorry. I can't conjure anywhere I can't actually see."

Peter wiped the dust from his face with a sigh. "And you can't get a clear shot at it without a flying horse?"

"My aim's not that good, Dr. Venkman. I'm sorry."

"That's okay. I think I got it in the mouth before. I can do that again if you just keep-"

"Look out!" Arthur cried. He shoved the other man down as the chimera's flame soared over both their heads. The beast's hooves shattered the paving stones a moment later with the force of its landing.

Peter rolled away swearing and came to his feet. "What the hell? How did-"

Before Arthur could say anything, before he could even bring his wand up, the creature pivoted. Swifter than a striking Runespoor, its tail flashed around. It smashed into the American's side with such terrific force that Peter was knocked off his feet and flung into the front wall of Gringotts itself, where he slid down and landed in a limp, rag-doll heap.

There was no time to spare for spells or screaming. With a crack, Arthur Apparated across the street. "Peter! Peter, can you hear me?"

A weak little sound came from the huddled form. It might have been profanity.

Arthur spared a glance for the street; the chimera was stalking towards them, moving with the slow, arrogant grace of assured victory. "We have to get you out of here- here, let me get your arm around-"

Peter screamed, a wordless, instinctive sound of pure pain. Arthur nearly jumped away. Even the chimera paused. "Peter! What-"

"Something's broken," the American gasped. "Rib- collarbone- something-"

The chimera started moving again, its movements even more exaggeratedly casual than before.

"Art. You gotta do something for me."

Arthur stared at the man. "Please don't say it involves your next of kin," he said.

Was that a smile through the clouds of pain? "Hell no," Peter managed, sucking in a breath. "Just ribs. I think- ow- two or three. The pack- too heavy-"

"Oh! Oh." With a flick of his wand and a muttered incantation, the proton pack lay on the pavement. "Is that better?"

"Much." Peter's breath hissed again. "Now put it on."

"What?"

Peter's eyes glittered as he stared up at Arthur. "I want that thing dead, Art. Really dead. I came here for ghosts, not frickin' fire breathing monsters- get rid of it."

Arthur turned, looking up and down the length of the street, but there was no sign of any Ministry personnel arriving. Certainly not anyone from Dangerous Creatures. "Er..."

"What?"

"Is it very hard to use?"

Peter shook his head. "Use both hands, open the cover, flip the switch, push the button, off you go, kill the monster for Uncle Peter, would you, Art?"

"Right," said Arthur grimly, pulling the proton pack on. He staggered a little under the weight. "Er, you're quite sure-"

"Go, willya?"

Arthur nodded once and ran out into the street. The lion's head swivelled to face him. He had barely enough time to look down at the thing in his hands before it flamed at him.

Crack! went the air as he Apparated just out of range. Finding something that looked like a cover, he pushed it out of the way. He fumbled, almost dropping the thrower- oh dear sweet Paracelsus there were three different switches-

It crouched, turning his way and raising its tail into the air. Arthur swallowed. "WHICH SWITCH, DR. VENKMAN?" he yelled.

It roared. Arthur couldn't hear the other man over that dreadful sound.

Still roaring, it leapt-

He flicked all three of the switches and jammed his thumb down on the button with all his might.

A burst of writhing, coruscating energy shot from the thrower's end straight into the monstrous creature's mouth, and kept right on going. It was all Arthur could do to hold the suddenly-bucking thrower steady. The chimera's roar had become an agonized wail, the creature paralyzed, transfixed by the terrible stream. A sharp, weird tang filled the air, as chemical as a badly-made potion-

"ART! TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFF NOW!"

Arthur lifted his thumb from the button. Instantly, the stream stopped. The chimera stared at him; it coughed twice, emitting a thin, unwholesome wisp of smoke, and slumped to the ground.

Funny, that terrible keening noise was still there... "Dr. Venkman?" he called cautiously, turning as far towards Gringotts as he dared- he didn't like the thought of turning his back on a chimera, even one that was clearly unconscious. "Do you hear the noise, too?"

"YES!"

"What, um-"

Peter's face, ashen with pain and possibly shock, appeared around the side of one of the remaining pillars. "You flipped the green switch in the middle, didn't you?"

"I flipped them all! Was I not supposed to?"

"No, not really- all three's the overload sequence! That thing's gonna explode!"

Arthur paled. "Oh, bugger," he said, and wriggled out of the harness as fast as he could. "Evanesco!"

The pack blinked out of existence. Somewhere quite far away, he thought, he could hear an explosion.

"'s gone now?" asked Peter, eyes closed, as Arthur hurried over to his side.

"Yes- yes, quite," Arthur reassured him. "The pack, anyway- an undirected Evanesco doesn't make things not exist, it just puts them 'somewhere else'. I've never found out where, but-"

"I meant the monster." Peter grimaced, running one hand along his collarbone.

"If it's not dead," Arthur said, "it's near enough as will make no difference."

Peter nodded. "Okay. 's good. Thanks, Art. I owe you one." He swallowed and dropped his hand. "Though... one favor? Please?"

"Anything, Dr. Venkman."

Peter opened his eyes. "Don't you ever, ever pull that 'muggle' crud around me again, okay?" he said, and passed out.