All recognizable characters belong to their respective owners (Disney, Donald Bellisario/Don McGill).

Sean Murray (Tim) also played the human version of Thackery Binx. I think my friend said it best; ohai Tim what are you doing in my childhood and does Gibbs know you are a dead cat?

The Life and Times (And Death, And Subsequent Re-Life And Times) Of Thackery Binx

"...and they say that this is the very spellbook the sisters used, containing all their darkest, most potent spells!" their teacher finished with a flourish.

"Yeah, right," Laurie said, and sniggered. "I just bet it's a real spellbook, filled with real spells used by real witches."

Mike poked her in the side, and leaned over. "What, don't you believe in Halloween? In magic?"

"Nah," said Laurie, with all the weight of her nine years of experience with life. "There's no such thing as witches or magic."

He shrugged, and said, "Then you don't mind proving it?"

Laurie threw him a glance. "Of course I don't mind, but how?"

"Well, tonight's Halloween, right? So let's come back tonight, and read from the book. And if the spells work, then I was right."

Laurie tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Yeah, sure, fine, because they won't work. And that'll prove me right, and that there's no such thing as magic. Gosh, Mike, you're such a baby. I bet you still believe in Santa Claus."

"Hey!" Mike did, a little, but he wasn't going to admit that. He reached out to poke her again.

She danced away, laughing. "Can't get me," she teased, and promptly bumped into Ms. Hartlington's knees.

"Lauren Dennison, what have I told you about talking in class?" she demanded, looking down on the young girl.

Laurie bit her lip, and didn't bother to point out that they were on a field trip to the old Sanderson museum, not in class. "Sorry, Ms. Hartlington."

The teacher hmphed, and said, "Don't let me catch you doing it again."

"Yes, Ms. Hartlington."

The teacher turned to walk away, and Mike mimicked, "Yes, Ms. Hartlington," in a painfully high falsetto.

Laurie felt perfectly justified stepping on his foot. It was his fault, anyways.


"No, you hush!"

"I'm not making any noise; you are!"

"Are not!"

"Are—oh, whatever, let's just get this over with."

Laurie stood in front of the case, looking at the spellbook. It was bound in some sort of odd, pink leathery fabric that the plaque claimed was human skin, and had an ornate-looking latch. There was something just a little off about it, something not quite right.

It looked...slimy.

"Go on," Mike whispered, crowding her forwards. "Or are you scared? Giving up already?"

"Of course not!" she hissed back. "I'm just...I'm doing it right now!"

She carefully poked at the glass, looking for any way to open the case. "Hurry up!" Mike hissed, making her jump.

"I'm going, I'm going!" she told him, and found that the back of the case lifted up.

The spellbook was heavy, and it was dry and papery, and somehow that was worse than the slime she'd imagined.

"Right," she said, and tried to open it.

It wouldn't go.

She pulled at the cover, and then at the latch. "I can't get it open!" she said in frustration, and threw it on the ground.

The round bit in the middle of the latch snapped open, and she realized it was a human eye. Or what looked like one, anyway.

"Is that...?" Mike asked. "How could there be an eye there? It must be magic!"

"Shut up! It's not magic!" Laurie said, her voice raising. "I'll prove it!" And she grabbed the book, and the book grabbed her.

Something stirred within her, which she mistook for anxiety. But it grew bigger and hotter, and surged down her fingertips and into the book. The book itself started glowing with an unearthly green light, bathing her in its glow. Wind slammed open the shutters, and pulled at her hair and clothes, and Mike backed right the hell away from her.

"Laurie?" he called, but couldn't hear himself over the roar of the wind. "Laurie!"

And then she turned to him, and he wished she hadn't. Her eyes were pure white, and when she spoke, her voice was deep and many-timbered.

"The book has chosen a new master to carry on the legacy," she said. "Through this mortal, magic shall work again!"

And something, something dark and painful and invisible, exploded out from the girl who used to be Laurie.

Mike ran, and didn't look back.

"I hate Halloween," Tony griped. "All the weirdos and crazies come out to play. And that it's a full moon only makes it worse."

Tim sighed. Tony hated Halloween because it meant pulling an all-nighter at work. Tim hated Halloween with a much stronger passion, because it reminded him of three hundred years, trapped in fur, with only his guilt and loneliness.

Tim hated Halloween far more than Tony ever could.

His stomach grumbled, and he frowned. They'd been so busy, running every which way, that he hadn't stopped to eat in a while. Hell, they hadn't been back at their desks more than five minutes.

He opened his bottom drawer and rooted around for a candy bar or something.

Luckily, though, they didn't have to deal with magic. In this science and fact-based world, magic was a dying, lost art. No one believed in witches, and so there weren't any. That was certainly one aspect of the modern world he loved.

He came up with a bag of pretzels, and shrugged. Then he put them right back down, because he wasn't hungry, he was queasy. His stomach was trying to climb into this throat, and his hands were shaking, and every one of his limbs was trying to climb inside his skin.

And the very worst part was, he recognized the feeling. Even as he stumbled out of his chair and crashed to the floor, he knew he had just enough time for one or two more words, and he said the first, most appropriate thing he could think of.

"Well, shit."

And then there was only the excruciating pain as his body shrank into itself, and bones contorted and fur sprouted. He could vaguely hear voices above him, his team, worried and confused.

Right. Because he was turning into a cat.

Turning back into a cat.

And then it passed, and he was left laying on his side on the floor of the squadroom, panting and with lingering pain in phantom limbs.

Still, he knew this body better than he knew his own, and it didn't take long before he pushed up with his front paws, found his feet, and managed the effortless leap onto his desk.

Three concerned faces gazed down at him. "Tim?" Ziva asked.

"No, I'm Abby," Tim said, a bit witheringly. He started pacing, up and down the length of the desktop, nimbly avoiding the computer. "Dammit, I thought I was done with all this! What idiots are doing which stupid thing now?"

"You...can talk," Tony said.

"Really? I hadn't noticed." And just a little, just a trace of the accent he'd worked so hard to get rid of came crawling back in. Sighing, he flopped down where he was, front paws dangling off the desk.

"Are you okay?" Ziva asked, and Gibbs was just watching him, and Tim—Thackery sighed.

"Yeah, mostly. Hey, I don't suppose you guys could drive me to Salem?"



This is a one-shot; it will not be continued. However, there may be a much longer fic with the same premise soon, though I make no promises. And, as always, thanks for reading!