Homecoming (10/?)
Title: Homecoming (10/?)
Rating: R (eventually)
Status: In Progress
Author: maggiemerc
Characters/Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Disclaimer: Do not own them. The only profit I seek is an ego boost from good feedback.
Summary: Hermione's back in England after fifteen years abroad. Harry's hunting for a new dark wizard. Ron's anticipating the arrival of a baby. Ginny is looking for love in new and diverse places. It's a HP/HG tale with much love for those Weasely kids, because they're not bad people.
Harry had never been to Azkaban when the dementors had served as guards. He’d heard stories: rumors at school and scattered accounts from Sirius and Hagrid. He’d seen, first hand, the effects that prison had had on it’s prisoners. Happy and warm people had gone all vacant and sallow after only a night. The dark and malicious had all gone mad under the constant watch of the dementors. It had been a dark place. A breeding ground for nastiness and evil.
Now, years after Shacklebot sent the last dementor packing and sacked the mendacious warden, the place was still unpleasant. Though dementors seemed to be almost discarnate at the best of times they still left little traces on the world. Almost like a smell that settled in the back of one’s nose. After more then fifteen years Azkaban still had the taint of the creatures. Their nastiness lingered.
But it seemed the prisoners within quickly grew accustomed to the sensation. Those who’d experienced a pre-war Azkaban thrived once free of the dementors’ presence. The newer inmates suffered a little, but they all looked healthy. The haunted stare Harry had long associated with Azkaban prisoners didn’t rest on any of the faces he passed.
Azkaban was different, and as it was full of Death Eaters and criminals Harry couldn’t say it pleased him. But he worked to hide his distaste. One of them had to. He and Ron walked in sync through the claustrophobic corridors of the prison. Ron, never being one to hide his feelings, had a permanent scowl on his face. His narrow shoulders were hunched forward to the point that his robe looked ill-fitted to his lanky frame. Ron was miserable and angry about the their duties at Azkaban.
It was a dangerous mix, but Harry couldn’t fault his friend.
They made their way up a winding set of stairs trailing a man as tall as Ron, but with yellowish skin, mousey brown hair and watery eyes. Azkaban’s new warden, Kai Palomon. At the door to the room they were to meet Rookwood in Palomon stopped and held out his hand expectantly.
“I’m afraid I can’t allow you to take your wands into the room.”
Ron tried not to sound too rude in his tone, “We’re not planning on killing the man.”
“I don’t expect you are, but no wands.”
“Mr. Palomon,” Harry had to be patient-had to be the good cop to the righteous rage standing to his left, “I’m Head Auror. Mr. Weasley is my lieutenant. If you think either of us are giving up our wands-“
“Sir, I don’t care if you’re the Minister himself, either hand over your wands or head back to the portkey.”
They stared at one another-two unbending forces. It was Ron who ended the standoff. In a tremendously jerky fashion he yanked his wand out of his robes and shoved it into Palomon’s hand. “Come on Harry, we need to speak with Rookwood.” Palomon gave Harry a bland little smile when Harry handed over his wand. Then he opened the door and allowed both men into the dank room beyond.
It wasn’t Rookwood’s cell, that was elsewhere in the prison. This was an empty cell that some thoughtful guard had thought to put three chairs in. Rookwood sat in one. His boney wrists and ankles had been chained to the arms and legs of the chair, but it was a small comfort. The chair looked older then the prison itself and weaved and bobbed with every motion Rookwood made.
The man himself looked almost unchanged. His hair was still long and greasy and a dark, patchy beard covered his face. His teeth were unusually clean for a Azkaban prisoner and he watched Harry and Ron with a smile. If he hadn’t been a Death Eater and a murderer his smile might have been charming.
His voice was smooth too, confident and affable sounding. “Not often the Head Auror himself comes to see me,” his eyes dark and deep set moved to stare at Ron, “and you brought a friend too. By the brackish color of your hair I’d guess you were Ron Weasley yes?”
Ron took his chair heavily, the wood creaking beneath him. “We didn’t come here to chat Rookwood.”
“You came here for information Mr. Weasley. By necessity chatting is involved.” Rookwood tried to cross his legs, but the chains halted him.
Ron leaned forward in his seat, the sound filling the small chamber, “I’ve no interest in being cordial with you. Just talking to you stirs something in my guts. I’d rather eat mermaid vomit then be here in this room talking to you, but here we are Rookwood. Having a conversation because you’ve got information we need.”
Rookwood looked to Harry, “Mermaid vomit?”
It was Rookwood’s way. He’d been a spy in the First War. One of Voldemort’s best. It was only in the trials after Voldemort’s death that his complicity in events was revealed. And a good spy knew how to control the conversation, knew how to manipulate. Rookwood had been outed, but not through any significant fault of his own. The former Unspeakable was too clever.
“Ron’s a way with words Rookwood. As do you. A way with words, and people.”
Rookwood’s eyes narrowed.
Harry continued, “it’s people we’re after.”
“Outside of Malfoy every Death Eater who lives is in this prison.” Rookwood spat Malfoy’s name out like a curse, and the venom flowed through the whole sentence.
“But,” Ron said, “it’s not a Death Eater we’re after.”
The anger that had briefly lit up Rookwood’s eyes faded. “Now,” he said, “this is interesting.” He leaned forward in his chair waiting for them to elaborate.
“Your years in the ministry brought you into contact with many people. Foreigners even. Maybe an organization? One with dark underpinnings.”
That smile returned and Rookwood leaned back, “You want me to talk about the Three Wise Men.”
Ron scoffed, “They’ve a name do they?”
“That’s the name people use. Britain’s one of the few places their reach hasn’t traditionally extended, but we could always count on them to do good business.”
“We? The Department of Mysteries or Death Eaters?”
“Both,” he said with barely suppressed glee.
#
The pale looking Mr. Palomon was waiting for them when they exited the chamber. Their wands were gripped tightly in his two fists. He handed them over with more authority then his appearance would suggest. “Find what you need,” he asked.
Ron pocketed his wand, “Yeah,” he said sarcastically. “Man’s a font of information.”
Palomon looked a little confused. “Shall I speak with him.”
Harry gave his wand a little swish before sticking it in his robe, “That won’t be necessary, but we may need to speak with him further. Keep an eye on him?”
The warden nodded and waved two guards over. The guards came running and disappeared into the room where Rookwood was held. “It won’t be a problem sirs.” He followed the guards.
Ron, free of Rookwood’s presence, was already halfway down the stairs they’d come up earlier. Harry had to jog to catch up to him. He opened his mouth to say something but Ron quickened his pace. With no other recourse Harry followed.
They passed by a hall full of less dangerous prisoners where lunch was being served. It sounded almost like the Great Hall back at Hogwarts. There was the tinkling of forks against plates and laughter on the air. The amiable Rookwood, the happy lunchroom of Death Eaters and dark wizards. It was too much for Ron to bear it seemed. His feet beat against the smooth stone of the floor and he shoved past guards and chained prisoners alike quickly and roughly making his way to the portkey. Harry followed as best he could, too concerned with keeping pace with Ron to be angry with the pleasant treatment of murderers.
The last few steps to the portkey Harry had to take at a run. He threw himself at the wide silver ring that served as a gateway between Azkaban and the Ministry. Ron didn’t even notice.
#
Harry was a brilliant wizard. One of the best to come out of Hogwarts in a century. He was a bogeyman to dark wizards and an object of desire for more then one witch, but even after years of use he wasn’t too good with sticking a portkey landing.
It happened every time. His fingers brushed against the enchanted object and he felt the pull at his navel, and he saw Cedric pale and lifeless in the grass. As other witches and wizards quickly righted themselves and nailed the landing with ease Harry flailed and faltered before plummeting to the ground with a smack.
Most who witnessed it were courteous enough not to mention it. Most. Ron found it hilarious. Harry could have told him why it was so difficult but the idea of mentioning Cedric made him queasy.
When Harry face planted into the polished floor of the Ministry he was prepared for a bit of a laugh from Ron. It didn’t come. After Harry repaired his glasses and sat up he found that Ron was already out of the room and headed for the surface.
Ron’s broody ways were starting to get ridiculous. Harry picked himself up and ran after Ron. “Hey! Git!” A few people looked but ducked their heads when they saw it was the Head Auror using names. Ron was not one of the lookie loos. He kept going. “I’m talking to you!” Harry grabbed Ron’s hand and spun him around.
“Harry,” Ron said through gritted teeth, “I just had to go and be cordial to the man that murdered my brother. I’d really like to call my wife and clear my head and get the smell of Azkaban out my nose. All right with you?” The last bit was nearly shouted at Harry.
He took a step back and held his hands up in surrender. “Fine. That’s fine Ron. I’ll go to Mysteries alone yeah?”
Ron scowled, “Yeah.”
Another man might have taken Ron off the case. Asking him to deal with Rookwood was a bit much, and with Hermione’s sudden appearance and Maggie’s pregnancy Ron clearly had a lot on his mind. Experience had taught Harry that keeping busy was the best course of action when that much was on your mind, but maybe a little space was a good thing. After all they’d just quarreled like a married couple in the middle of the Ministry.
A bit of grey paper folded into the shape of the bird flew towards Harry and paused to hover in front of his face. He snatched it out of the air and was pleased to see it was a note from the Department of Mysteries. Rookwood’s mention of the department had put it in Harry’s sight. Just waltzing in and asking for information never got him anything there, having an invitation made his job quite a bit easier.
Tucking the memo into his robe he slid into a queue for the lift which he then took down to ninth level. His ears popped as the lift quickly descended past floor after floor of more traditional offices. It came to a rather gentle halt. He didn’t even sway as it stopped at the Department of Mysteries. The tile was the same dark green tile that lined the other walls at the Ministry, but the lone door at the end of the hall had a more sinister appeal. It was painted as black as night and unlike every other door in the Ministry it appeared to be made of slate rather then wood. There was no knob on the door just a brass plate. He brushed his hand against the metal and the door disappeared into the wall. The room beyond had changed little over the years. It was still circular with fast moving doors meant to rotate after use.
Dean Thomas stood at the center of the room looking extraordinarily bored. His eyes lit up at the sight of Harry and he moved forward to clasp Harry’s hand before taking the shorter man into a friendly embrace.
“Harry! Good seeing you mate. Ron didn’t come?”
“Auror business.”
“Right. Shall we?”
The walls stopped spinning and Dean stepped through one then turned to hold it open for Harry. As an Unspeakable Dean didn’t dress any different then the average wizard and the years had been good to the man. He’d aged little since school. Ron had once said it was because of the odd concoctions manufactured by his wife, Luna.
He led Harry past a few more doors of similar fashion to the previous. All made of slate and lacking handles or hinges. The chat was idle and what was to be suspected of old dorm mates. Bits about Seamus’s latest wife and Luna’s latest Quibbler article. Harry offered a few anecdotes about Ginny knowing Dean would be amused. They’d run into each other at one of her matches recently and so the conversation couldn’t sustain itself on familial news alone.
Fortunately they came to their destination before the lull could be too apparent. Dean tapped his wand against the brass plate on the door and said something in a language that sounded like snot in one’s throat. The door slid into the wall with nary a whisper and Dean tapped another plate inside to illuminate the room.
And it illuminated with flourish. White-blue flames spread across the ceiling setting floating lanterns aflame with a gentle whoosh. The stark light revealed a familiar piece of evidence propped up on a metal frame at the center of the room. It was the remnants of the bar top from the other night. What was intact was twisted and curled unnaturally. The shattered bits had been pressed together in some kind of translucent putty and wobbled about on their metal legs.
He’s heard that Unspeakables had snatched the bar up after the attack and it made sense. Wizards couldn’t usually go about manipulating huge objects with a touch. But Harry hadn’t expected one to share the bar or the findings with the Aurors. Unspeakables didn’t generally care about crime.
Harry approached the evidence and ran his fingers across the surface. “Does your boss know you’re showing me this?”
“Who do you think asked me to contact you?”
“Not normal for your lot Dean. What’s going on?”
“We’re interested in speaking with whoever did this.”
“So are we,” Harry muttered.
“Right. So maybe you’ll let us give you a bit of information about the fellow and when you bring him in you’ll give us a day with him before whisking him off to Azkaban?”
“I can’t make that sort of promise Dean.”
Dean held his hands up defensively, “No of course not. Nothing official.”
“Right,” Harry looked to the bar. He crept closer until he could reach out and touch it. Beneath his hands it felt quite ordinary. He’d expected the push and pull of magic or the tingle that a wand always provided. But it was just a long bit of wood.
“It’s kind of amazing what he did,” Dean said, “wood’s always been a bit more sensitive to magic then other materials. It’s why we use it in our wands.”
“But people don’t go transfiguring their wands.”
“No, because our wands also have a core. This guy kind of used the bar as a wand and as an object.”
“That’s possible?”
“It would take loads of concentration.”
“He did it in a matter of seconds.”
“And power. This isn’t an ordinary wizard Harry.”
“I gathered that. So far you haven’t actually told me anything I didn’t already know, Dean.”
Dean grinned, “Because I haven’t shown you everything.”
Dean pulled his wand out and pointed to a point on the bar. It was a bit of the bar that had been closer to the wall and where the wizard had been standing when he started transfiguring. As such it hadn’t distorted quite like the rest. Dean gave his wand a swish and a perfectly round section of the bar lifted out and away from the rest. It was actually a cross section.
Harry stepped closer and was surprised to see a brown, chalky material just under the surface of the bar. A strand of hair stuck out of the chalk. “What-?”
“We were scanning the thing when we found this bit, about a foot long, imbedded in the bar. It’s unicorn hair. Wrapped up in some kind of wood pulp. It’s a wand Harry, or at least a poor facsimile of one. I’d heard of some pub owners doing something like this. A way of protection.”
“But our dark wizard knew where it was. Went right for it when we came in.”
“We sent out a few Unspeakables to interview the owner.” Harry frowned. Dean continued, “The guy didn’t know anything about our wizard. Hadn’t told a soul about the bar wand.”
It was Dean’s tone that led Harry to believe him. Unspeakables put their research above all else, including the rights of their fellow wizards. More then one man had been forced to take Veritaserum without warning or counsel. Unspeakeables claimed it was all in pursuit of truth and the welfare of the nation, but Harry, who spent his life hunting the darkest and foulest wizards alive, felt a little uneasy at his counterpart’s willful contravening of wizards and witches’ rights.
“So how’d the wizard know where the wand was,” he asked.
Dean shrugged his narrow shoulders, “Lucky guess? Maybe he did a bit of Legilimency before you got there?”
Harry resisted a groan. Things he did not need, a wizard skilled at transfiguration, wandless magic and Legilimency. Next he’d find out the fellow could turn into a crow at will and speak to snakes.
“So we’ve got a super wizard on our hands?”
“You could always check the muggle hotels Harry. Look for anyone under the name of Clark Kent or Bruce Wayne.”
“Or Peter Parker.”
“I forgot that one. Did you see the movie?”
Harry nodded, “First muggle film I ever took Ginny to see. I thought she’d like it-with the girl being a red head and all? But she wasn’t too impressed.”
“Maybe because the portraits in her house all talk back?”
“What about Luna? Ever take her to the movies?”
“Sure. She thinks they’re quaint.”
“Witches,” they said as one, grinning at the old joke.
A lull fell. Dean looked around the room a bit awkwardly.
Harry sighed, it was now or never. “Say Dean? You ever heard of a lot called the Three Wise Men?”
Dean grinned, “Well sure Harry. Frankincense and myrrh and gold.”
He shook his head and leveled Dean with a gaze, hoping that he could convey with a look the seriousness of his line of questioning. “I’m thinking of a different sort of wise men.”
Dean didn’t say anything immediately, but the way his face turned to stone was proof enough Harry had touched on something. Then Dean went and flat out lied, “Afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about mate.”
“They’re old men. Maybe not even. Maybe they’re women or goblins or freed house elves.”
“Harry…”
“And I think your lot has heard of them before.”
Dean shook his head wearily. “I don’t know what you’ve been told, and I don’t know who’s been telling you it, but the Three Wise Men aren’t real. Someone’s sending you on a snipe hunt.”
“This isn-“
“Ginny’s got a game tonight right?”
A less savvy wizard would have been thrown by the sudden change in topic. “It’s a whole week of exhibition games celebrating the new pitch.”
“Yeah, she sent Luna and I tickets. You going?”
“Taking Lily.”
“Ten galleons on the Harpies?”
“I could take that bet. Ginny’s on a bit of a dry spell with the women. Wrecks her game.”
“Oh come on Harry, don’t tell me that.”
“Well I wouldn’t want you to lose ten whole Galleons. Don’t you have mouths to feed?”
“We’ll settle this at the game Potter. And I’ll be ten Galleons richer.”
They chatted about quidditch for a few more minutes before Harry headed back to his office. Traveling through the department of Mysteries was easier when leaving then when arriving. The place knew where he needed to be led and the doors opened before he could reach them. The lift at the end of the hallway was empty but gradually filled up as it made it’s way towards his own office. Witches and wizards nodded at Harry in recognition and he gave out a few week smiles to keep people from gossiping.
Ron had cooled down and was hard at work at his desk. His quill moved quickly across the parchment in front of him and he wrote so swiftly that the ink didn’t have a chance to drip when the quill moved from inkpot to parchment and back again. He glanced up at Harry. Their eyes met and the uneasiness between them earlier evaporated. It was always that way with Ron. He’d spur himself into a bit of a tiff and then forget all about it after a few hours. But there was an implicit apology in his eyes this time. Harry didn’t need to say it, the case and Hermione had them both acting more emotional then normal.
He went around to his own desk and sat down, ready for a good long brood. Dean knew all about the Three Wise Men and was now expecting Harry to meet him at a quidditch match to discuss it. A quidditch match far from the intrusive walls of the Department of Mysteries. Which meant the Unspeakables were still very much involved with this curious little organization.
And there was their dark wizard to consider. A man with ties to an ancient order of evil wizards spread across every continent. Someone who at first glance appeared to be near super human, but Dean had shown that it had been partially an illusion. Hopefully the evidence pointing towards Legilimency was an illusion too. Harry had gotten a little better with Occulemency, but he’d never be a Snape or a Malfoy, and Ron didn’t hide his thoughts as much as blast them out like a loudspeaker. Of the Aurors he had at his disposal he and Ron were the absolute worst to go up against a Legilimens.
Harry had to hope that the man was like a magician, all misdirection.
He had to hope that because otherwise they were well and truly buggered.
Rating: R (eventually)
Status: In Progress
Author: maggiemerc
Characters/Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Disclaimer: Do not own them. The only profit I seek is an ego boost from good feedback.
Summary: Hermione's back in England after fifteen years abroad. Harry's hunting for a new dark wizard. Ron's anticipating the arrival of a baby. Ginny is looking for love in new and diverse places. It's a HP/HG tale with much love for those Weasely kids, because they're not bad people.
Harry had never been to Azkaban when the dementors had served as guards. He’d heard stories: rumors at school and scattered accounts from Sirius and Hagrid. He’d seen, first hand, the effects that prison had had on it’s prisoners. Happy and warm people had gone all vacant and sallow after only a night. The dark and malicious had all gone mad under the constant watch of the dementors. It had been a dark place. A breeding ground for nastiness and evil.
Now, years after Shacklebot sent the last dementor packing and sacked the mendacious warden, the place was still unpleasant. Though dementors seemed to be almost discarnate at the best of times they still left little traces on the world. Almost like a smell that settled in the back of one’s nose. After more then fifteen years Azkaban still had the taint of the creatures. Their nastiness lingered.
But it seemed the prisoners within quickly grew accustomed to the sensation. Those who’d experienced a pre-war Azkaban thrived once free of the dementors’ presence. The newer inmates suffered a little, but they all looked healthy. The haunted stare Harry had long associated with Azkaban prisoners didn’t rest on any of the faces he passed.
Azkaban was different, and as it was full of Death Eaters and criminals Harry couldn’t say it pleased him. But he worked to hide his distaste. One of them had to. He and Ron walked in sync through the claustrophobic corridors of the prison. Ron, never being one to hide his feelings, had a permanent scowl on his face. His narrow shoulders were hunched forward to the point that his robe looked ill-fitted to his lanky frame. Ron was miserable and angry about the their duties at Azkaban.
It was a dangerous mix, but Harry couldn’t fault his friend.
They made their way up a winding set of stairs trailing a man as tall as Ron, but with yellowish skin, mousey brown hair and watery eyes. Azkaban’s new warden, Kai Palomon. At the door to the room they were to meet Rookwood in Palomon stopped and held out his hand expectantly.
“I’m afraid I can’t allow you to take your wands into the room.”
Ron tried not to sound too rude in his tone, “We’re not planning on killing the man.”
“I don’t expect you are, but no wands.”
“Mr. Palomon,” Harry had to be patient-had to be the good cop to the righteous rage standing to his left, “I’m Head Auror. Mr. Weasley is my lieutenant. If you think either of us are giving up our wands-“
“Sir, I don’t care if you’re the Minister himself, either hand over your wands or head back to the portkey.”
They stared at one another-two unbending forces. It was Ron who ended the standoff. In a tremendously jerky fashion he yanked his wand out of his robes and shoved it into Palomon’s hand. “Come on Harry, we need to speak with Rookwood.” Palomon gave Harry a bland little smile when Harry handed over his wand. Then he opened the door and allowed both men into the dank room beyond.
It wasn’t Rookwood’s cell, that was elsewhere in the prison. This was an empty cell that some thoughtful guard had thought to put three chairs in. Rookwood sat in one. His boney wrists and ankles had been chained to the arms and legs of the chair, but it was a small comfort. The chair looked older then the prison itself and weaved and bobbed with every motion Rookwood made.
The man himself looked almost unchanged. His hair was still long and greasy and a dark, patchy beard covered his face. His teeth were unusually clean for a Azkaban prisoner and he watched Harry and Ron with a smile. If he hadn’t been a Death Eater and a murderer his smile might have been charming.
His voice was smooth too, confident and affable sounding. “Not often the Head Auror himself comes to see me,” his eyes dark and deep set moved to stare at Ron, “and you brought a friend too. By the brackish color of your hair I’d guess you were Ron Weasley yes?”
Ron took his chair heavily, the wood creaking beneath him. “We didn’t come here to chat Rookwood.”
“You came here for information Mr. Weasley. By necessity chatting is involved.” Rookwood tried to cross his legs, but the chains halted him.
Ron leaned forward in his seat, the sound filling the small chamber, “I’ve no interest in being cordial with you. Just talking to you stirs something in my guts. I’d rather eat mermaid vomit then be here in this room talking to you, but here we are Rookwood. Having a conversation because you’ve got information we need.”
Rookwood looked to Harry, “Mermaid vomit?”
It was Rookwood’s way. He’d been a spy in the First War. One of Voldemort’s best. It was only in the trials after Voldemort’s death that his complicity in events was revealed. And a good spy knew how to control the conversation, knew how to manipulate. Rookwood had been outed, but not through any significant fault of his own. The former Unspeakable was too clever.
“Ron’s a way with words Rookwood. As do you. A way with words, and people.”
Rookwood’s eyes narrowed.
Harry continued, “it’s people we’re after.”
“Outside of Malfoy every Death Eater who lives is in this prison.” Rookwood spat Malfoy’s name out like a curse, and the venom flowed through the whole sentence.
“But,” Ron said, “it’s not a Death Eater we’re after.”
The anger that had briefly lit up Rookwood’s eyes faded. “Now,” he said, “this is interesting.” He leaned forward in his chair waiting for them to elaborate.
“Your years in the ministry brought you into contact with many people. Foreigners even. Maybe an organization? One with dark underpinnings.”
That smile returned and Rookwood leaned back, “You want me to talk about the Three Wise Men.”
Ron scoffed, “They’ve a name do they?”
“That’s the name people use. Britain’s one of the few places their reach hasn’t traditionally extended, but we could always count on them to do good business.”
“We? The Department of Mysteries or Death Eaters?”
“Both,” he said with barely suppressed glee.
#
The pale looking Mr. Palomon was waiting for them when they exited the chamber. Their wands were gripped tightly in his two fists. He handed them over with more authority then his appearance would suggest. “Find what you need,” he asked.
Ron pocketed his wand, “Yeah,” he said sarcastically. “Man’s a font of information.”
Palomon looked a little confused. “Shall I speak with him.”
Harry gave his wand a little swish before sticking it in his robe, “That won’t be necessary, but we may need to speak with him further. Keep an eye on him?”
The warden nodded and waved two guards over. The guards came running and disappeared into the room where Rookwood was held. “It won’t be a problem sirs.” He followed the guards.
Ron, free of Rookwood’s presence, was already halfway down the stairs they’d come up earlier. Harry had to jog to catch up to him. He opened his mouth to say something but Ron quickened his pace. With no other recourse Harry followed.
They passed by a hall full of less dangerous prisoners where lunch was being served. It sounded almost like the Great Hall back at Hogwarts. There was the tinkling of forks against plates and laughter on the air. The amiable Rookwood, the happy lunchroom of Death Eaters and dark wizards. It was too much for Ron to bear it seemed. His feet beat against the smooth stone of the floor and he shoved past guards and chained prisoners alike quickly and roughly making his way to the portkey. Harry followed as best he could, too concerned with keeping pace with Ron to be angry with the pleasant treatment of murderers.
The last few steps to the portkey Harry had to take at a run. He threw himself at the wide silver ring that served as a gateway between Azkaban and the Ministry. Ron didn’t even notice.
#
Harry was a brilliant wizard. One of the best to come out of Hogwarts in a century. He was a bogeyman to dark wizards and an object of desire for more then one witch, but even after years of use he wasn’t too good with sticking a portkey landing.
It happened every time. His fingers brushed against the enchanted object and he felt the pull at his navel, and he saw Cedric pale and lifeless in the grass. As other witches and wizards quickly righted themselves and nailed the landing with ease Harry flailed and faltered before plummeting to the ground with a smack.
Most who witnessed it were courteous enough not to mention it. Most. Ron found it hilarious. Harry could have told him why it was so difficult but the idea of mentioning Cedric made him queasy.
When Harry face planted into the polished floor of the Ministry he was prepared for a bit of a laugh from Ron. It didn’t come. After Harry repaired his glasses and sat up he found that Ron was already out of the room and headed for the surface.
Ron’s broody ways were starting to get ridiculous. Harry picked himself up and ran after Ron. “Hey! Git!” A few people looked but ducked their heads when they saw it was the Head Auror using names. Ron was not one of the lookie loos. He kept going. “I’m talking to you!” Harry grabbed Ron’s hand and spun him around.
“Harry,” Ron said through gritted teeth, “I just had to go and be cordial to the man that murdered my brother. I’d really like to call my wife and clear my head and get the smell of Azkaban out my nose. All right with you?” The last bit was nearly shouted at Harry.
He took a step back and held his hands up in surrender. “Fine. That’s fine Ron. I’ll go to Mysteries alone yeah?”
Ron scowled, “Yeah.”
Another man might have taken Ron off the case. Asking him to deal with Rookwood was a bit much, and with Hermione’s sudden appearance and Maggie’s pregnancy Ron clearly had a lot on his mind. Experience had taught Harry that keeping busy was the best course of action when that much was on your mind, but maybe a little space was a good thing. After all they’d just quarreled like a married couple in the middle of the Ministry.
A bit of grey paper folded into the shape of the bird flew towards Harry and paused to hover in front of his face. He snatched it out of the air and was pleased to see it was a note from the Department of Mysteries. Rookwood’s mention of the department had put it in Harry’s sight. Just waltzing in and asking for information never got him anything there, having an invitation made his job quite a bit easier.
Tucking the memo into his robe he slid into a queue for the lift which he then took down to ninth level. His ears popped as the lift quickly descended past floor after floor of more traditional offices. It came to a rather gentle halt. He didn’t even sway as it stopped at the Department of Mysteries. The tile was the same dark green tile that lined the other walls at the Ministry, but the lone door at the end of the hall had a more sinister appeal. It was painted as black as night and unlike every other door in the Ministry it appeared to be made of slate rather then wood. There was no knob on the door just a brass plate. He brushed his hand against the metal and the door disappeared into the wall. The room beyond had changed little over the years. It was still circular with fast moving doors meant to rotate after use.
Dean Thomas stood at the center of the room looking extraordinarily bored. His eyes lit up at the sight of Harry and he moved forward to clasp Harry’s hand before taking the shorter man into a friendly embrace.
“Harry! Good seeing you mate. Ron didn’t come?”
“Auror business.”
“Right. Shall we?”
The walls stopped spinning and Dean stepped through one then turned to hold it open for Harry. As an Unspeakable Dean didn’t dress any different then the average wizard and the years had been good to the man. He’d aged little since school. Ron had once said it was because of the odd concoctions manufactured by his wife, Luna.
He led Harry past a few more doors of similar fashion to the previous. All made of slate and lacking handles or hinges. The chat was idle and what was to be suspected of old dorm mates. Bits about Seamus’s latest wife and Luna’s latest Quibbler article. Harry offered a few anecdotes about Ginny knowing Dean would be amused. They’d run into each other at one of her matches recently and so the conversation couldn’t sustain itself on familial news alone.
Fortunately they came to their destination before the lull could be too apparent. Dean tapped his wand against the brass plate on the door and said something in a language that sounded like snot in one’s throat. The door slid into the wall with nary a whisper and Dean tapped another plate inside to illuminate the room.
And it illuminated with flourish. White-blue flames spread across the ceiling setting floating lanterns aflame with a gentle whoosh. The stark light revealed a familiar piece of evidence propped up on a metal frame at the center of the room. It was the remnants of the bar top from the other night. What was intact was twisted and curled unnaturally. The shattered bits had been pressed together in some kind of translucent putty and wobbled about on their metal legs.
He’s heard that Unspeakables had snatched the bar up after the attack and it made sense. Wizards couldn’t usually go about manipulating huge objects with a touch. But Harry hadn’t expected one to share the bar or the findings with the Aurors. Unspeakables didn’t generally care about crime.
Harry approached the evidence and ran his fingers across the surface. “Does your boss know you’re showing me this?”
“Who do you think asked me to contact you?”
“Not normal for your lot Dean. What’s going on?”
“We’re interested in speaking with whoever did this.”
“So are we,” Harry muttered.
“Right. So maybe you’ll let us give you a bit of information about the fellow and when you bring him in you’ll give us a day with him before whisking him off to Azkaban?”
“I can’t make that sort of promise Dean.”
Dean held his hands up defensively, “No of course not. Nothing official.”
“Right,” Harry looked to the bar. He crept closer until he could reach out and touch it. Beneath his hands it felt quite ordinary. He’d expected the push and pull of magic or the tingle that a wand always provided. But it was just a long bit of wood.
“It’s kind of amazing what he did,” Dean said, “wood’s always been a bit more sensitive to magic then other materials. It’s why we use it in our wands.”
“But people don’t go transfiguring their wands.”
“No, because our wands also have a core. This guy kind of used the bar as a wand and as an object.”
“That’s possible?”
“It would take loads of concentration.”
“He did it in a matter of seconds.”
“And power. This isn’t an ordinary wizard Harry.”
“I gathered that. So far you haven’t actually told me anything I didn’t already know, Dean.”
Dean grinned, “Because I haven’t shown you everything.”
Dean pulled his wand out and pointed to a point on the bar. It was a bit of the bar that had been closer to the wall and where the wizard had been standing when he started transfiguring. As such it hadn’t distorted quite like the rest. Dean gave his wand a swish and a perfectly round section of the bar lifted out and away from the rest. It was actually a cross section.
Harry stepped closer and was surprised to see a brown, chalky material just under the surface of the bar. A strand of hair stuck out of the chalk. “What-?”
“We were scanning the thing when we found this bit, about a foot long, imbedded in the bar. It’s unicorn hair. Wrapped up in some kind of wood pulp. It’s a wand Harry, or at least a poor facsimile of one. I’d heard of some pub owners doing something like this. A way of protection.”
“But our dark wizard knew where it was. Went right for it when we came in.”
“We sent out a few Unspeakables to interview the owner.” Harry frowned. Dean continued, “The guy didn’t know anything about our wizard. Hadn’t told a soul about the bar wand.”
It was Dean’s tone that led Harry to believe him. Unspeakables put their research above all else, including the rights of their fellow wizards. More then one man had been forced to take Veritaserum without warning or counsel. Unspeakeables claimed it was all in pursuit of truth and the welfare of the nation, but Harry, who spent his life hunting the darkest and foulest wizards alive, felt a little uneasy at his counterpart’s willful contravening of wizards and witches’ rights.
“So how’d the wizard know where the wand was,” he asked.
Dean shrugged his narrow shoulders, “Lucky guess? Maybe he did a bit of Legilimency before you got there?”
Harry resisted a groan. Things he did not need, a wizard skilled at transfiguration, wandless magic and Legilimency. Next he’d find out the fellow could turn into a crow at will and speak to snakes.
“So we’ve got a super wizard on our hands?”
“You could always check the muggle hotels Harry. Look for anyone under the name of Clark Kent or Bruce Wayne.”
“Or Peter Parker.”
“I forgot that one. Did you see the movie?”
Harry nodded, “First muggle film I ever took Ginny to see. I thought she’d like it-with the girl being a red head and all? But she wasn’t too impressed.”
“Maybe because the portraits in her house all talk back?”
“What about Luna? Ever take her to the movies?”
“Sure. She thinks they’re quaint.”
“Witches,” they said as one, grinning at the old joke.
A lull fell. Dean looked around the room a bit awkwardly.
Harry sighed, it was now or never. “Say Dean? You ever heard of a lot called the Three Wise Men?”
Dean grinned, “Well sure Harry. Frankincense and myrrh and gold.”
He shook his head and leveled Dean with a gaze, hoping that he could convey with a look the seriousness of his line of questioning. “I’m thinking of a different sort of wise men.”
Dean didn’t say anything immediately, but the way his face turned to stone was proof enough Harry had touched on something. Then Dean went and flat out lied, “Afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about mate.”
“They’re old men. Maybe not even. Maybe they’re women or goblins or freed house elves.”
“Harry…”
“And I think your lot has heard of them before.”
Dean shook his head wearily. “I don’t know what you’ve been told, and I don’t know who’s been telling you it, but the Three Wise Men aren’t real. Someone’s sending you on a snipe hunt.”
“This isn-“
“Ginny’s got a game tonight right?”
A less savvy wizard would have been thrown by the sudden change in topic. “It’s a whole week of exhibition games celebrating the new pitch.”
“Yeah, she sent Luna and I tickets. You going?”
“Taking Lily.”
“Ten galleons on the Harpies?”
“I could take that bet. Ginny’s on a bit of a dry spell with the women. Wrecks her game.”
“Oh come on Harry, don’t tell me that.”
“Well I wouldn’t want you to lose ten whole Galleons. Don’t you have mouths to feed?”
“We’ll settle this at the game Potter. And I’ll be ten Galleons richer.”
They chatted about quidditch for a few more minutes before Harry headed back to his office. Traveling through the department of Mysteries was easier when leaving then when arriving. The place knew where he needed to be led and the doors opened before he could reach them. The lift at the end of the hallway was empty but gradually filled up as it made it’s way towards his own office. Witches and wizards nodded at Harry in recognition and he gave out a few week smiles to keep people from gossiping.
Ron had cooled down and was hard at work at his desk. His quill moved quickly across the parchment in front of him and he wrote so swiftly that the ink didn’t have a chance to drip when the quill moved from inkpot to parchment and back again. He glanced up at Harry. Their eyes met and the uneasiness between them earlier evaporated. It was always that way with Ron. He’d spur himself into a bit of a tiff and then forget all about it after a few hours. But there was an implicit apology in his eyes this time. Harry didn’t need to say it, the case and Hermione had them both acting more emotional then normal.
He went around to his own desk and sat down, ready for a good long brood. Dean knew all about the Three Wise Men and was now expecting Harry to meet him at a quidditch match to discuss it. A quidditch match far from the intrusive walls of the Department of Mysteries. Which meant the Unspeakables were still very much involved with this curious little organization.
And there was their dark wizard to consider. A man with ties to an ancient order of evil wizards spread across every continent. Someone who at first glance appeared to be near super human, but Dean had shown that it had been partially an illusion. Hopefully the evidence pointing towards Legilimency was an illusion too. Harry had gotten a little better with Occulemency, but he’d never be a Snape or a Malfoy, and Ron didn’t hide his thoughts as much as blast them out like a loudspeaker. Of the Aurors he had at his disposal he and Ron were the absolute worst to go up against a Legilimens.
Harry had to hope that the man was like a magician, all misdirection.
He had to hope that because otherwise they were well and truly buggered.