There had been no way around it, and though Tobias knew his new wife felt less than pleased about the decision, he had to leave for the day. She'd argued that he could have Polly, who was watching the shop for him, take care of the repotting, but he'd been working on growing this particular fungus for months and he wouldn't trust anyone to the repotting and the mulching but himself. If he killed the fungus, he'd only have himself to blame. 

He had set up a full spa treatment - or rather, talked to Butler Swift - and she would get the full, five-star treatment. Wraps and scrubs and soaks and manicures and pedicures and salts and massages. It wouldn't, he knew, entirely soothe her irritation, but it appeased her. And so, with promises that, no, he'd not forget the time and that yes, he would be back promptly - sooner if he could manage it - he took a series of Portkeys at an exhausting speed, arriving in London just a little past two in the morning on March 10. 

It felt odd, walking through the empty Leaky Cauldron - he didn't even see Tom as he went to the back - and even odder to walk down the silent street once he entered Diagon Alley. Entering his shop, he spent a little bit of time checking on the stock for sale. Polly had been doing a brilliant job. Hopefully he'd see her before he left, though he wouldn't dare to irritate Gail further by waiting around to see the odd witch. 

Moving from the front of shop into the back, he spent a bit more time poking around some of the more common fungus, frowning at the state of a few of them before he pushed open the door that lead into the backroom and to where he kept the rarest of his items. Using his wand to set the lanterns about the room to life, he nearly stepped on what appeared to be an arm, his brain unable to make sense of it and deciding it must be the handle of some gardening tool. Bending down, he was about to grab it when he heard a sound and then his brain realized he'd been right the first go: it was an arm.

A frown worked between his brow and he used his wand to increase the light levels - the fungus wouldn't be damaged, not unless the light remained at this level for a few hours - and he knelt beside the arm. "Hello?" he said, his voice low, concerned. He couldn't imagine what someone was doing in the backroom of his shop, though there had been a case, once back, where some low-life had broken in and tried to get high on some fungus. This, he realized, could be that.

But, as his eyes adjusted to the light, he noticed that there were marks on the arm he could see; blood dried and drying. Hair obscured the face of the person, though he realized, as he reached up to brush that hair back, that it looked familiar. His skin crawled before he uncovered the face and then he gave a low shout. 

"Any!" he breathed out, suddenly noticing more blood. More wounds. That her clothing was shredded. That the smell of blood permeated the air and the pall of death hovered above them. "Anyca!" he said again, this time smoothing his hand against her cheek, gently trying to get her to open her eyes.

She started to move and he jumped to his feet. Knowing that Brandon rented the flat above, though also knowing he'd not care were the person a stranger, he Apparated into the front room, tossed floo powder from the little jar into the grate, and called for emergency services from Mungo's. He gave the face that appeared a fast-paced explanation of where to Apparate before he Disapparated with a loud pop from the room, returning to Anyca's side just as her eyelids fluttered open.