Chapter 7
Chapter 7
It took everything in Harry not to follow after the pair as they disappeared around that street corner. He should start carrying his invisibility cloak again. The following morning he was quick to purchase a portable CD player, listening to the collection of discs Astoria had loaned him on repeat - when their next meeting came in a few weeks time he would be ready.
Clearly there was a lot of tension between Astoria and Narcissa, Harry wondered how far this animosity extended; if it was just between mother and daughter in-law. He was sure if he asked Astoria would just tell him, she was an open book. Her good will could be used to his advantage. Headphones over his ears Harry arrives in a ball of green flames into the one of the Ministry of Magics grand fireplaces.
The lobby is buzzing as always, with various witches and wizards hurrying from the wall of floo entrances, and the muggle telephone booth lift, adjusting their scarves to ward off the cool October winds. In preparation for Halloween jack-o-lanterns carved with cheshire grins had been charmed to float above the atrium, casting angular shadows onto the marble floor. Some of the staff had even taken to folding their interdepartmental memos into festive ghost shapes, so little paper spectres flew through the halls.
Queuing for the lift Harry hums along to Robert Plant's crooning, making a point to nod at Jack Walker as he spots him hurrying towards the floo. Harry had started to wave but fortunately remembered the teas he was carrying in time to save them from a terrible spill, he still ended up with a dribble on his red Aurors robes. Spotting him immediately, Walker pauses to wave before bustling into the crowd.
Squeezing into the elevator Harry runs through everyone he still wants to interview for Malfoys case. Finding ways of running into them was proving to be difficult, not only were they not friends, but many of them had considered each other as enemies, in school and in a war; a casual catch up in Diagon Alley was impossible.
“Level 2: Department of Magical Law Enforcement”
Harry lifts the left ear pad off his ear to catch the end of the lift womans announcement, making sure he has the right floor before pushing his way out of the elevator - everyone immediately moves out of his way, apologizing profusely for being in his way. Harry can’t hear their praises over Led Zeppelin, he may wear his headset to the office more often.
Making his way down the corridor, careful not to spill any more tea, Harry passes by the Auror offices continuing towards the legal offices. He needed some advice. A lot of advice.
Balancing one takeaway cup on top of the other Harry carefully knocks beneath a gold nameplate reading Hermione Granger . The door opens on its own, revealing a large oak desk piled high with various books and folders, a goose feather quick writes quill busy scribbling away on a roll of parchment that reached the floor.
“Oh Harry, how are you?” Hermione greets emerging from behind a stack of books; she gives Harry a one armed hug, the other still holding the file she was reading.
“I’m good thanks, I just wanted to pop in and bring you a tea,” juggling the two cups Harry determines which one is meant for Hermione, 3 sugar and milk, handing it to her waiting hand. The quill keeps scribbling, so Hermione is still only half listening.
“Oh, thank you Harry that is very thoughtful,” Hermione accepts the hot cup by the top, carefully setting it on her desk. “Now, what is it really that you came here for?”
It takes a bit of effort, navigating her large belly, but Hermione sits in her office chair, her weight causing her to fall back heavily.
“Er, right,” Harry shouldn’t be surprised Hermione can see right through him, but perhaps he should come by just to say hi more often. Then again it's been this way even since they were kids. “When you go to a parole meeting, what can your parole officer make you do? I mean, if they wanted you to do a survey, for like, government research…could they?”
Angelina’s team for the anti-smoking campaign had Malfoy on the mailing list, Harry would love to be able to add his answers to his filings, if Draco ever actually responded.
“Harry, you should know what parole entails,” Hermione admonishes, straighten up a stack of folders to keep this idle time useful. Her quick quill hovers expectantly behind her.
“Well I didn’t exactly get the proper training did I,” said Harry angrily. He’d gone straight from the battlefield to the Auror department, the accelerated training program had been heavily abbreviated, he still felt so behind. “Sorry I’ve been a little busy catching Death Eaters to catch up.”
Hermione’s shoulders sag, her expression softening. “Well, legally, as part of a parolee’s sentence they must obey any reasonable direction, of course what exactly reasonable means is rather elastic, so as long as you're fairly certain a judge would not object were a parolee to file a formal complaint about it a parole officer can do as they please.”
Her lips are pressed into a thin line; it's the sort of expression reserved for the things Hermione has decided should change. Harry can’t help but remember Walker's words when defending his use of legilimency - He signed off on it.
“so…”
“Yes Harry, a corrections officer can ask an offender to participate in a survey,” she sighs.
Pulling out a small square of paper Harry quickly writes a memo to Anne to message Angelica in St. Mungos Department of Research. Angelina would appreciate this solve to her data collection problems.
“Anything else?” Hermione asks, taking a small test sip of her tea. Still too hot she; carefully removes the lid allowing a stream of steam to escape.
“Yeah, about the word reasonable, would legilimency fall under that?” Folding the sheet into a tiny airplane, the tiny plane shook before taking off out of Hermione’s office, to deliver its message.
“Yes, Walker is within his rights to use legilimency as part of his meetings.”
“How did you know it was Walker?” Harry asks, returning his quill to his pocket.
Hermione rubs the bridge of her nose. “We have had issues with his liberal use of mind magic before.”
“Have you read 1984?” Hermione folds her hands in front of her. “Well he is a proponent of thought crime, anything he can add to a file he will, not just actions Harry, just the idea of committing a crime, or a desire to do something that maybe could be seen as against the conditions of parole.”
It's a tantalizing idea, to be able to prevent a crime before it is committed. To know someone is bad before they can hurt someone else.
“It’s not illegal to think, Harry!” Hermione interrupts Harry’s thoughts, outraged. “We’ve all thought things we aren’t proud of, would never actually do, should you be in Azkaban for it?”
Harry looks down into his lap, contrite.
“It makes trial a nightmare,” Hermione grumbles, putting her frustrations into straightening another of her many stacks of file folders.
“So, why would someone agree to it then?” Harry asks.
“Oh sometimes people are pressured into it, because it makes you look like you’re hiding something if you don’t, or because if they don’t an officer can just go to a judge who will approve the use and it’ll happen anyway - which again makes you look guilty if you refused something the court ultimately deemed necessary.” Hermione explains, shaking her head. “Fortunately most parole officers don’t use legilimency, but that has more to do with ability than ethics.”
“And if someone knew occlumency could you still use legilimency on them? Like would it even work?” Even if Walker could legally, Harry knew he shouldn’t be able to magically. Malfoy knew mind magic, Professor Snape hadn’t been able to enter his mind in sixth year, there was no way Walker should be able to.
Hermione took a thoughtful sip of her tea, now cool enough to drink.
“Well, I suppose they could just not use it.” said Hermione. “I mean, it is a spell like any other, a complicated one but, it is still a willing action you need to take.”
“A spell?” Harry asked, confused. During his occlumency lessons with Snape he had never needed to use his wand of state a spell, he had merely been instructed to clear his mind. It sounded more like meditation than magic.
“A non-verbal, wandless spell but, yes Harry, it is still a spell.” Hermione clarified. “A muggle couldn’t do it, it requires innate magic.”
“No, that can’t be it.” Magic was an action yes, but it was also a reflex. There was no way Draco Malfoy would allow someone free reign in his head. “He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t…let someone in.”
Looking down into her tea, brows furrowed, Hermione plays with the tag of her tea bag, twisting it between her fingers as she thinks.
“Well, I suppose, theoretically, if an occlumens were familiar with legilimens they could use the two in tandem. Occlumency and legilems are, in a way, just using magic to control the electrical impulses in the brain, merely from opposing directions- internally and externally. You could, in theory, use occlumency to direct what a wizard using legilimens can see. Let them think they are in control, give them what they’re looking for but only so much.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, we know Professor Snape was able to keep V-Voldemort in the dark, but how? I highly doubt he would accept no as an answer, he needed to believe that what he saw in Severus’ head was the truth. So maybe he let him in, but only where he wanted him to go.”
“Now this is all just an idea, I wouldn’t say we have any confirmed cases. Besides, Harry, you have to claim that you are a legilimens with the magical authority, just like if you are an animagus. Any officer would know,” Hermione pauses to take an unsteady sip of her tea. “Or, they should know.”
While she may have been speaking in hypotheticals she knows this isn’t a what if scenario. He should report Malfoy, he should have already, but not yet. Back at school it was always Malfoy who seemed to have something on Harry, hanging the possibility of exposing Harry’s secrets over his head - knowledge of Harry’s illegal invisibility cloak, Sirius animagus form. He should report it, but he would rather save it in case he needed it.
While Harry mulled over everything Hermione had told him she carried on with what she had been doing prior to his arrival, the scribbling of her quick quill was the only sound as she read from her stack of files.
Lazily Harry thumbed through the closest sack, reading out the names and codes on the tabs. “Have you worked with Theodore Nott recently?”
“No, I have not, he mostly handles inheritance law, why?” Hermione doesn’t look up from her reading, the quill still writing behind her.
“I’m having trouble finding a way to meet with him.”
“Are you suggesting I modify my cases to seek his counsel?” Hermione looks up from her reading with a disapproving raised brow - she was going to make a great mother.
“Er….”
“No Harry, this is my career, not only that it is the law, and I cannot in good conscience modify my decisions for you.” Hermione closes the file with finality, replacing it on one stack to take up another.
“Right,” Harry nods, finally taking a sip of his own tea. It is cold.
With a sigh Hermione yields. “If anything comes up I will do my best - no promises.”
“Thank you Hermione!”
Hermione shakes her head, as though she already regrets the feeble promise.
Looking at the wall clock Harry can see that he has already wasted enough of Hermione's time, he should make his way back to the Auror offices. He takes another cold sip of tea, the bag must have torn as it is grainy with the dregs of tea leaves.
He hasn’t seen Kinglsey since their meeting. He was told to take his time deciding, but how much time was that? He was nowhere nearer to an answer then the day Kingsley had suggested it.
Hermione stops writing, “Harry, what is it?”
Her tone is tender, she can tell something is bothering him.
“Kignsly is thinking of running for Minister of Magic.”
Hermione is beaming, he can see the wheels turning in her head as she considers what this could mean for policy. “Oh, that’s wonderful!”
“He wants me to take his place as Head of the Auror Department.” Harry focuses on finding a clear spot on Hermione’s cluttered desk to set his half finished tea, avoiding her eyes.
“Well, isn’t that what you want?”
“I don’t know.”
Elbow on the desk Hermione taps her chin thoughtfully. “Well what does Ron think?”
That’s the question Harry is afraid to answer. Since Harry entered the Wizarding world it has always been him and Ron, together. Entering the Aurors that hadn’t changed, working as partners for the past seven years, accepting Kingsley’s offer would be the end of that. Of course Ron would tell him to do it, but would he mean it? What if this was like the Triwizard cup, or Slytherin's locket, another instance of Ron being overlooked for Harry, he didn’t want to pick at old wounds.
Even then, with the tournament and the locket Harry hadn’t conquered them alone, Ron had come back. He wouldn't have been able to survive them if he hadn’t. He wasn’t sure he was ready to go it alone. “I haven’t told him yet.”
Hermione tries to school her features into something neutral, as though she has something to say, but has already decided not to. Harry waits to see if she’ll go back on it.
“If you do accept you really ought to go back and do your training first,” Hermione said, forcing a wry smile.“It wouldn’t be right to know less than your new starts.”
“Right, right,” Harry nods. “Don’t tell Ron.”
“I won't, because you should tell him Harry,” Hermione brushes her hair behind her ear, the unsure look back on her face. “Soon.”
“Finally mate, almost sent out a search party,” Ron teased from behind a stack of paperwork. Wearing his muggle street clothes, jeans and a striped sweater knitted by Molly which notably is lacking a large R - so not a Christmas sweater then. Ron must be planning to go out for a meeting, with whom Harry didn’t know.
Settling into his desk Harry tries to remember if Summerby has any muggle family. While the boxes of documents from their initial round of searching have long since been refiled the office is now cluttered with stacks of file folders attempting to organize their field notes. Hitting the skip button the C.D. stops abruptly in the middle of Hats Off to Harper to return back to the opening track Immigrant Song. Opening the top most folder Harry again reads over his notes from his meeting with Astoria, he’d pulled the memory of the meeting and transcribed every word, scanning the page again he wondered if he should have another dip in the pensieve, if there was a facial expression he’d missed.
“Um, Mr. P-Harry,” Anne knocks, opening the door slightly, pausing in his reading Harry removes his headphones. “Mrs. Rosier has arrived.”
With a wave of his wand, Harry’s desk clears itself, everything stuffing itself into his top desk drawer which locks with a snap. “You can send her in.”
As Anne steps back a slender woman in neat black robes and a broad brim pointed hat appears. She waited for Harry to stand before speaking; a proper witch.
“Hello Mr. Potter-”
“Uh Harry’s fine,” taking the proffered hand Harry shook it firmly, his fingers sliding against her gloved hand. “I mean, we did go to school together, last names are a bit…”
Daphne doesn’t wait for him to finish, sliding a finely polished ash wand from her pocket she magically pulls the guest chair to sit opposite Harry’s desk, fluffing the cushion with another wave of her wand before daintily taking a seat.
“I came here, Harry,” she pauses, pressing her lips into a thin line, as though using his given name was a terrible grievance, “to thank you in person for your generous donation to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies.”
Now at eye level, Harry can see that her hat is decorated with a thin velvet ribbon, the green just barely lighter than the black; delicate and understated.
“Oh, well, er, it’s an important cause,” said Harry lamely.
“Healing the sick and less fortunate is Harry’s passion.” Ron chimed in from his desk with a grin.
Turning to look at Ron, Daphne tilts her head slightly. “I’m sorry but does your work require you to be here?”
Her gaze is imposing, she won’t be the one to look away first.
“I guess not,” Ron closes his file with a flourish, sweeping his work into his drawer.
“You can leave the door open,” Daphne chimes in, halting Ron’s exit. From the door frame Ron exaggeratedly mouths out W-O-W, leaving the door ajar. The hum of the radio drifting in from Anne’s desk.
“Your donation has secured you with a table at our gala, and with that of course your choice of guests to accompany you.”
Pulling her handbag onto her lap, Daphne pulls out a single sheet of paper in a protector pocket. “Just complete this sheet with your guest list and have it sent to my office at your earliest convenience.”
“Er, right, thank you.”
The parchment is monogrammed with St. Mungos official seal, with eight evenly spaced lines for Harry to write out his guest list; the top line has already been filled with Harry’s name. The penmanship is neat, with no notable flourishes.
“You will also be provided wine for the table,” again Daphne’s hand disappears into her bag before immediately retrieving the parchment in question. Her bag is a far cry from the mess that was her sisters, with no digging or searching required. Handing it over Harry can see that not even a single corner is bent, preserved perfectly flat.
Harry reads over the french names, a crease forming in his brow.
“Usually people select a red and a white,” Daphne continues helpfully, seeing that Harry is lost. “You can also wait to decide if you need to do some…research.”
“Uh right, thank you, I’ll let Ginny have a look.”
Harry folds the two pieces in half, putting a thick crease into once pristine parchments.
“So, how have you been? Since school, I mean.” Harry asks awkwardly.
“Fine, thank you. Now,” In another smooth movement, Daphne pulls out a large Manila folder from her bag, “looking at our seating chart-”
“You’ve gotten married-” Harry interrupted awkwardly. “I mean, your last name, it's…changed.”
“How astute, a real detective.” Tauntingly Daphne lets the band of her wedding ring tap against the clasp of her hand bag. Diamonds were very popular in the muggle world but the magical world was not so limited when it came to wedding gemstones. On her ring finger, Daphne wore a gold band with a square cut emerald; she was wearing square cut emerald stud earrings and a necklace with a rectangle emerald pendant to match.
“I just mean, I don’t remember him from school.”
“You were rather preoccupied,” said Daphne, rolling out the seating plan onto Harry’s desk. “And he didn’t play quidditch.”
“Ahhhh,” Harry nodded dumbly.
The seating plan would not stay flat on its own, the edges curling in on themselves. Daphne pulls out two rectangular prism paperweights, setting them in the centre Daphne pushes them outwards, holding the roll of parchment down flat. “He works at the Ministry, actually, in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Amadeus Rosier.”
Of course Harry already knew this, a copy of the engagement announcement was tucked away in his files as they spoke, but at least he had Daphne talking about something other than the gala’s logistics.
“Our paths have never crossed,” Harry was no stranger to the Department of International Magical Cooperation; the tracking of Death Eaters had taken him all across Europe and beyond, however from what he could understand Rosier was more focused on commercial and industrial collaborations then legal ones.
“I hope they never do,” Daphne flushed, realizing she had said it out loud. “Sorry, I just mean, our family has had enough trouble with Aurors.”
The Greengrass family had had no direct involvement with the war, but that hadn’t exempt them from investigation as Dark Lord sympathizers. However it could be another family member the comment was pertaining too.
“Oh no I get it, I don’t exactly have great luck.” Harry laughed it off. Back in their Hogwarts days the school was always buzzing with gossip of his latest dangerous escapade.
“Right, well,” Daphne coughed, pressing on. “As you can see, we currently have you here, on the left hand side of the stage.”
Gesturing to the table Harry spots a circle, neatly labeled “Potter”. The table was situated between those labelled “Bones” and “Vane”.
Harry nodded along that it was fine, instead taking the opportunity to observe the other names featured on the plan; Diggory, Bulstrode, Nott, and Rosier.
He had been hoping to get a peak at a full guest list, while he had a pretty good idea of who would be in attendance it wasn’t the same as actually knowing. Of course he could order one to the Auror office, but then Daphne would know he had it.
“How long have you been working at St. Mungo’s?”
“I began volunteering shortly after my wedding,” Daphne emphasized the word volunteering as a correction to work. “I found I had a lot of time on my hands once the wedding planning was finished, and Amadeus wants to wait until he is more secure in his career for children.”
“It’s very admirable.” Harry compliments her hoping a little flattery will warm her icy disposition.
“It is important to give back to the community,” her voice lacks the compassion or conviction Harry imagines such a statement suggests. Spoken more like someone mentioning taking up knitting or gardening as a hobby. Just something to do to while away the time.
“Well, that is everything I have for you Harry, again the board appreciates your donation.” Waving her wand the setting plan re-rolls itself tightly, it and the paper weights returning to her purse. Snapping her bag back closed, Daphne collects her gloves from Harry’s desk, preparing to leave.
“Wait!”
Pausing with one glove on, the other still on the desk, Daphne arcs a single brow.
“What if I need more seats?”
Annoyance flashes on her face for a moment, before her expression closes again.
“How many more seats?”
“Er, how many have you got?”
Returning to her seat Daphne pulls her bag back onto her lap, pulling the folder back onto the table. Unwinding the coil, flipping back the opening Daphne pulls out a piece of parchment labelled guest list.
Jackpot.
“Well, you are meeting with me rather late, so I’m not sure what is still available.” Daphne prefaces, tallying how many names are at present on the list. Harry is careful to give himself a clear view - one that he can look back on in his pensieve later.
He spots his name immediately.
“They’re going?” Harry exclaims. Daphne looks up from her counting confused. “You’re sister.”
“Of course,” Daphne answers flatly, she knows who he is really referring too. “Will that be a problem?”
“Oh, no, I’ve met her actually,” Harry continues with the facade.
“I know.” She doesn’t sound impressed.
“She’s uh, lovely.”
Daphne rolls her eyes, “and Malfoy?”
“Oh no, I just thought he didn’t go to these sorts of things.” Harry doesn't think, he knows, he would have the tabloid clippings if he did.
“He doesn’t, but this is my first year as lead organizer and Astoria has it in her head that she needs to, I’m not sure, support me or something.” Daphne busies herself with returning the seating plan back onto Harry’s desk in the same set up she’d had before. “I’d rather she didn’t.”
Flicking her wand the circle sketches representing the tables began to waver, using the tip of her wand like a stylus Daphne began sliding tables around. “Now we should be able to fit another table here,” she muttered, conjuring a drawing of a new table and pairing with Harry’s current; the Vanes are reshuffled from their prime spot by the stage towards the back.
“What, why?”
Daphne levels Harry with a steely gaze, “you know why.”
It was the first event she would be organizing, and all of the press would be about the presence of certain ex-Death Eaters and all of the public debate that would ensue.
“But, aren’t you friends?” Harry asks, ignoring what she meant in favour of what will lead to more information for his case. Daphne scoffs. “You hung out at school?”
“Unavoidable,” she states, puzzling over her seating chart. “We were in the same house, same classes, with many mutual friends.”
Moving her wand arm to the side so it was not obstructing Harry’s view Daphne draws his attention to the modified seating chart. “Now, we can do a second table, but if you want a third it’ll be a rather tight squeeze.”
“No, uh, one more is fine.” Harry stammers, hoping to keep Daphne on this train of thought. “But, all that time spent together, you don’t get on at all?”
Much of Hermione’s report on the short and long term effects of sexual abuse focused on behavioural traits, if Daphne could give him a closer look at what Draco was like it could help.
“You’re joking right?” Daphne’s composure slips, she tucks a stray piece of hair back into her hat. “He’s immature, obnoxious, insecure, moody,” she ticks each point on a finger as she lists her grievances. “I’ll admit, he can be charming if you can forget the rest of it for long enough, but even that gets old quick. Especially when he and Pansy were constantly arguing.”
“Really?” Harry rests his head in his hand, his elbow wrinkling the seating plan. “They seemed to get on well at school.”
“You only saw them together when they were picking on you,” Daphne elaborates, gently pulling the seating plan towards her so it was free from under Harry’s elbow. “When they had a joint target they got on like a house on fire, and even that was awful if they decided it was you.” Daphne’s face darkens, remembering some long ago indignation they had wrought against her. “If they didn’t though, they’d go for each other.”
“Ugh and Pansy was always so insecure, every day I don’t think he actually likes me, do you think he likes me. I don’t know why but she was never convinced, but she wouldn’t dump him either.” Daphne shrugs, the whole ordeal some old mystery she has given up on solving. “So no, I do not particularly like Draco Malfoy.”
“It’s not like that with your sister though, is it?”
Daphne’s relaxed posture goes ramrod straight. “I forget myself, Mr. Potter, this is not the time to be discussing personal matters.”
“You can have Gringotts transfer the funds for the additional table directly to the foundation, and I expect your guest list and wine selection by the end of the week.” With a wave of her wand all of her papers and accessories return themselves neatly into her bag. Rising from her seat she waits for Harry to stand before saying her farewell. “Have a wonderful rest of your day Mr. Potter. Again, I thank you for your generosity.”
With a curt nod, she leaves, the tip of her hat brushing against the top of the door frame as she exits.
“Luna is so excited, you should have heard some of her costume ideas, I can’t wait to see what she lands on,” Ginny flopped onto the bed, her skin still wet from the shower with her hair wrapped in a ratty towel.
Remembering the raven and lion hats from school quidditch games Harry didn’t doubt Luna’s costume fabricating abilities “it’ll be fantastic.”
Settling deeper into his pillow Harry flips to the next page of his well worn copy of Quidditch Throughout the Ages. With James soundly asleep the house was uncustomarily quiet, a moment of peace before the storm that would come in the morning.
“Takes the pressure off a bit, knowing you can’t even compete,” Ginny smiled, with a wave of her wand she sent the damp towel into the hamper, picking up a hair brush to run through her wet tresses.
“We’ll need to decide soon won’t we,” said Harry. Time just keeps getting away from him, in a few short weeks it will be Halloween, soon it’ll be winter.
“Mhmm,” Ginny hums, tugging the plastic bristles through a particularly tough knot with a scritccccch.
On top of the dresser the new stereo Harry had bought quietly plays Let It Bleed. A shiny stack of cellophane wrapped C.D.s sat beside the Sony player, when he had his next meeting Harry would be ready.
“How’s the case going?” Ginny asked.
“Slow,” Harry sighed.
“Ron seems stressed,” Ginny continued, setting the hair brush onto the bedside table. “If it’s dangerous you’d tell me right?” Leaning back onto her pillow Ginny rests her hands on her belly.
“It isn’t dangerous, it’s just…”
It’s just not something anyone wants to know. It felt like they were back at school, all the things Harry is keeping from Ginny, to protect her.
Of course, that is only part of it, it had been over a week since Kingsley’s offer and Harry still hadn’t told Ginny, because telling Ginny would mean telling Ron and Harry wasn’t ready to tell him. When the case was over, everything would be normal once the case was over. Until there was another case.
“I get it, I get it, top secret.” She sighs, giving him the out.
Leaning far over the bed, Ginny picks up the plastic case, turning it over to read the track listing. “Hmmm, I like this one.”
Mick Jagger continues softly crooning.
I sung my song to Mr. Jimmy/ Yeah, and he said one word to me, and that was "dead"