Okay guys, I know I said I'd have this posted on Thursday but apparently tent camping after you've been sick takes a lot out of you (who knew) so I've been down for the count the past few days! Anyyywayyyy .... Here's chapter 31! It's more of a filler chapter to get us to Chapter 32 (FYI, hold on to your wigs for that one because when it comes, its coming with a vengeance ;) ) Let me know what you guys think with some votes and comments! Love you all!

Tom rolled over in bed, the slightest trace of Ellison's lavender shampoo filling his nostrils. He breathed the familiar scent in, his eyes flickering open, falling on the sleeping woman lying beside him, her back to him, her dark curls scattered over the pillow.

The night before had been everything. Her body against his ... Holding her in his arms ... It had felt right ... as if they'd never spent a moment apart, much less fifteen years. He reached out a hand, twirling a strand of her hair around his finger, watching as her torso rose and fell with each slow, deep breath she took. He wanted to lie there forever watching her every move, taking in every last one of her features ... But he couldn't. There was something he needed to take care of ... Something that couldn't wait any longer.

Sitting up, he pealed the covers back, the chilly air sending a shiver down his spine as it hit the bare skin of his chest. Careful not to wake Ellison, he eased himself off the bed gently, grabbing his shirt and trousers off the floor. Dressing quickly, he turned, stopping just short of the door as the bed creaked. He turned back around, his eyes connecting with Ellison's green ones.

"Where are you going?" She asked in a sleepy voice, propping herself up on an elbow to look at him properly.

"I didn't mean to wake you," He replied, closing the gap between them, seating himself on the edge of the bed. "I have some things I need to take care of back at the flat."

"Do you have to go?" She asked, placing a hand on his knee. Merlin he wished he could stay. Grasping her hand in his own, he moved it aside, giving it a light squeeze as he leaned towards her.

"I wish I didn't," He said, pressing his forehead against hers. "I promise it won't take long. Besides, don't you have to pick up the girls from your mum and dad's?"

"Well yes, but-" she began to object, but he cut her off.

"Then pick them up, and I'll meet you all for dinner this evening," He continued, smirking when she let out a sigh of defeat. Leaning in, he pressed his lips against hers, pulling away after a fleeting moment.

"Don't take all day," She smirked, lying back down, her head falling against the pillow with a soft thud.

"I won't," Tom called as he opened the bedroom door and descended the staircase. Grabbing his coat off the kitchen chair, he threw it on, fastening the middle button as he closed the front door behind him.

Ever since their run in with Samuel Ashby the previous day, his words had been on constant replay in Tom's head. It had swallowed up his entire mind on the journey back from Diagon Alley, and by the time he had aparated back to his flat, he had already decided what needed to be done. He had sent an owl to Macmillan requesting a meeting, and , to his surprise, had received a reply right before he had left to meet back up with Ellison.

Ashby had said he had new leads in the Voldemort case. What had he been referring to? Was he closer to figuring out the truth than Tom had previously thought? Michael Macmillan had told Tom about Mr. Ashby, and how he was heading up the investigation into Voldemort, during their first meeting. Macmillan had insisted that Ashby was the best of the best when it came to Aurors. And considering they had brought him out of retirement especially to work the case, there had to be at least some truth to the hype.

Still, Tom had written off the ex-auror, turned paper pusher, as nothing more than a has been. No matter what he had accomplished in the past, Ashby certainly couldn't be clever enough to connect him to any of the disappearances. Tom had made sure no one would ... That was, not until he wanted them to. But, on the off chance Ashby was closing in on the truth, Tom needed to know.

A loud crack sounded as Tom appeared in the alleyway leading to the flat, and, letting out a series of inaudible hisses, the familiar front door appeared. Heaving it open, he stepped inside, giving no pause as he walked past Beasley, who was trying to inform him of the guests awaiting his arrival in the study.

"I wasn't aware you'd be spending the night away from the flat," Avery commented as Tom entered the room, his tone a disapproving one.

"I wasn't aware I had to keep you informed of my whereabouts at all time," Tom shot back mockingly, casually peeling back his wool coat and laying it over the back of his desk chair. Avery glanced away with a scowl, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Let's get started then," Tom continued, turning his attentions to Macmillan, who was standing beside Lestrange, his hands shoved into his pockets awkwardly. "You read my owl so I assume you know what this meeting is about," Tom said, raising an eyebrow at the gangly young man.

"Ye-yes," Macmillan nodded, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.

"Well," Tom pressed on when Macmillan gave no further attempt to reply. "What do you know about Ashby? Do these leads of his have any real merit?"

"I-" Macmillan began, clearing his throat nervously. "I'm not sure. I haven't heard anything from Mr. Bones, and I'm not exactly invited to the briefings with Mr. Ashby. The office has been keeping everyone involved with the case pretty tight lipped lately."

"What are you sure of Michael?" Tom asked, his tone a bit more annoyed than before.

"He ... He doesn't think a follower of Grindelwald is behind the disappearances anymore ... That much I'm sure of," Macmillan replied in a shaky voice.

"How are you so sure?" Tom asked, arching an eyebrow.

"When Mr. Ashby took over the investigation he requested all the casefiles on Grindelwald. He wanted to go back over them to see if there were any similarities. Well," Macmillan continued, his voice a bit steadier than before. "Mr. Ashby came into Mr. Bones' office the other day with a stack of the old files. He put them on Mr. Bones' desk and said he wouldn't be needing them any longer ... That they were exploring other options."

Tom glanced at Lestrange and Avery, who were both wearing concerned looks now. So Samuel Ashby was a smart man ... smarter than the average Ministry employee at least. Whether these options he was exploring now would lead him to Tom though, was an entirely different question ... One Tom needed the answer to now.

"Have you overheard anything else?" Tom pressed, his tone casual, though he was desperate for even a shred more of information.

"No," Macmillan shook his head. "Nothing."

"Well," Tom continued, his eyes darkening, his tone ice cold now. "I suppose I'll have to ask Mr. Ashby myself." 

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