Magic

Harry missed riding on the Tube. The wizarding Apparition was easier and faster, but it reminded him of the horror-filled days of chasing down the horcruxes. Harry hadn’t wanted to be an Auror all his life, certainly, after Voldemort, he had almost changed his mind again. But he found that returning to civilian life wasn’t easy, that the only way to keep the nightmares at bay was to throw himself into wizarding problems one after the other. The same problem - or, rather, person - had been reappearing in many different cities and Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been tasked with dealing with it. 

‘The problem’ was a Death Eater by the name of Thorfinn Rowle. He was a powerful duelist and had managed to hold up against both Tonks and Lupin (don’t think about the dead, Harry) during the Battle of Hogwarts. After Voldemort had fallen to the ground, most of the Death Eaters had tried to flee, but the Ministry rounded them up. Rowle had been one of the lucky ones, managing to evade capture, until now of course. The three of them had the highest record of Death Eaters caught, partly because they were used to battling Dark Magic, and partly because they would not rest until they caught the perpetrator. Harry knew that everyone was traumatized at the hands of Voldemort and his followers, but the three of them had a special amount of trauma laid at their doorstep. Their understanding was the one thing keeping Harry from falling apart, and he knew it was a three-way street.

This Death Eater managed to pop up in several places, almost at the same time. Apparition was the obvious answer, but that amount of Apparition would be exhausting and basically impossible for any wizard. And though they had tried charm after charm, nothing was locating him from the safety of their homes, so the three of them trekked out to the last city he had been spotted: Dublin, Ireland.

“Do you think the Irish will hate us because we’re British?” Ron asked, once they successfully Apparated in the middle of an uninhabited country field. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “We just have to ask after Rowle, then leave. The Ministry specifically told us not to do anything hasty.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that doesn’t sound like us at all,” Ron snorted, “All right, where to?”

They looked at Hermione for guidance, since she generally had all the information.

“Don’t you two pay any attention?” Hermione demanded and, when they didn’t reply, laughed. “Alright. The Garda Siochana is in cooperation with the Ministry, so they’ll tell us where he disappeared to. If we’re lucky, they’ll even have Apparition records.”

“We’re never lucky,” Ron muttered. Harry couldn’t help but agree, but he dutifully followed Hermione to the closest Guard station. Hermione asked a few questions of the front desk which got them into the back, but it was soon clear that they were just as confused by the whole situation as the trio.

“I don’t know,” Bretton Harper, the wizard-muggle liaison admitted. “We have who Apparated in and out of the city just around the time you’re saying and there is no Thorfinn Rowle.”

“But we have several eyewitness accounts matching his description,” Hermione protested, “Including different tattoos that are his. It’s got to be him.”

“It is,” Harper agreed, still amiable. “We have CCTV footage of him.”

“Then, where’d he come from, if he didn’t Apparate?” Harry pressed.

“No idea,” the man replied cheerfully. “That’s up to you to find out, isn’t it?”

“Listen,” Ron was definitely not as happy with this news as Harper. “Can we at least have a copy of the CTCV footage, then?”

“CCTV,” Hermione corrected under her breath, then turned pleading eyes on Harper. He hesitated, obviously unsure about whether or not they were authorized to see it.

“We come directly from the Ministry,” Harry reminded him, “We have several levels of clearance.”

Harper relented, handing them a DVD copy of the hours Rowle had spent in London. “Happy hunting,” he led them out of the building. “And here’s to catching the bastard.”

“Hear, hear,” Harry said half-heartedly. It had become hard to enjoy pursuing the countless offenders across countries, but this one held a certain taboo. He could easily have been the one to kill Lupin and Tonks (don’t think about that, don’t think). They walked a few blocks and settled in a small pub. The only people there were a couple who were off in their own world, drinking beer and laughing loudly, and the barkeeper, who was scrubbing the counter meticulously. They plopped into plushy red armchairs, and Hermione surreptitiously conjured a screen for them to watch on.

A blurry image presented itself, with the hulking figure of Rowle in the foreground. He glanced around nervously, but it appeared he walked into view, not Apparated. The camera switched, and it caught him buying supplies from a store - food, water, a jacket that could be a cloak at a stretch.

“He’s smart enough not to go into Diagon Alley, but, oh, I hope he hates shopping at muggle stores,” Hermione said viciously. Harry murmured his agreement, but his focus was fixed on Rowle, whose Death Eater tattoo was well hidden from the camera. He left that shop and went to another, perusing through a bookstore. At one point, he pulled out a pocket watch, nodded at it, then put it away.

“What’s he checking the time for?” Harry wondered aloud. “Has he got a schedule?”

“That’d be funny,” Ron sniggered, “Hiding From The Ministry in ten minutes, gotta dash.”

“Watch,” Hermione reprimanded the two of them, rewinding the footage a few seconds. Rowle checked his watch again, then turned and practically ran out of the store. The view switched as he power-walked from one camera’s jurisdiction to another’s in a matter of seconds. Finally, he walked out of the city, and there were no more cameras to see him from.

“He didn’t Apparate,” Harry exclaimed, astounded. “He just… walked out!”

“Maybe he Apparated the minute he got out of the frame,” Hermione suggested.

“No,” Ron said thoughtfully, “A pure-blood like that wouldn’t know about CGBV... CC… whatever, ‘Mione. The point is, he doesn’t know about the cameras. He could’ve taken a Portkey, but they’re too easy to trace. I think he’s using some sort of transportation.”

“A broom?” Harry said.

“No, too visible,” Hermione reasoned. “Some muggle could report a person flying on a broom overhead. Something else.”

“Something muggle, maybe?” Harry stood up. “Either way, we have to go to the spot and try to figure it out.”

They asked around, and a few regulars at a bar said that they often saw a man with a tattoo of a skull on his forearm go by. Out of everyone, only a few thought they remembered his whereabouts which, luckily, barely differed. The three of them boarded the bus he (hopefully) had taken earlier. It was cramped, but they managed to find seats, and Hermione read while Harry and Ron discussed the Quidditch finals. They got off at the last stop, which only had a coffee shop and a few souvenirs.

“Here?” Harry said distastefully. “Maybe he wanted to get away from the large crowds to Apparate.”

“See, the problem with the Death Eaters is that they’re rich, and used to being so, so they aren’t able to lay low in a grubby inn,” Hermione dropped a keychain. “That’s why they slip up, and we find them. But if Rowle has finally got the hang of living like a muggle…”

“Oh, the irony,” Ron grinned. “But, seriously, being an elite is ingrained into him. There’s no way he’d deign to grace this place with his presence.”

“Wait, guys,” Harry picked up the keychain Hermione had just discarded. “These are all advertising for Tara Hill. Why don’t we pay it a visit?”

Hermione pulled out her smartphone which, out of the three of them, she was the most adept at using. “It’s about a mile’s walk,” she complained. Harry shot her a lopsided grin.

“C’mon. It’ll be good for us.”

They made their way up and, after about twenty minutes, reached a place with a few tourists milling around.

“Why aren’t there hundreds of people here?” Hermione said. Ron shrugged.

“Maybe it’s past closing time.”

“It doesn’t have a closing time,” Hermione said. The boys stared at her. “What?” she said defensively. “I did some research on places that are famous in Ireland. It’s good to be prepared when you’re visiting a new country, so you don’t look like a total idiot.”

“But I am an idiot,” Ron smiled ruefully. While Hermione was reassuring him that he was not, Harry was distracted by a shimmer in the distance.

“Guys, what is that?” he interrupted in a whisper. Immediately, the other two crouched behind a large oak tree directly in front of them. It could be mistaken for heat haze, but there was no heat haze in Ireland in August. Hermione cast a hasty cloaking charm over them and they watched in silence. To their amazement, a child solidified from the shimmer, bending down and burying something in the ground. Then, blue sparks flew up their fingertips, and their back arched, absorbing the power. Hermione made a move forward, but Harry held her back. The child disappeared into a blur, which slid behind one of the large boulders near it and was gone for good.

“What was that?” Hermione pondered, but the boys were already up and running towards the spot where the kid had vanished.

“Harry, look!” Ron pointed. There was an empty chute leading straight down through the ground. “Could Rowle have used this to get away?”

“Only one way to find out,” Hermione said, panting behind them. She cautiously slid in, then screamed as the floor fell away beneath her. Harry jumped in after her without a moment’s hesitation - probably not his smartest moment. Ron hastily cast a levitation charm on them, and Hermione returned the favor. Slowly, they lowered themselves down. It became hotter and hotter as they went farther, and the hole just kept extending downward. After fifteen minutes of floating down, the tunnel widened and emerged onto a platform. The three stepped out not a moment too soon. Behind them, fire rushed up the chute, lifting a giant compartment full of people upward. They gawked at the three humans.

“Bloody hell,” Ron breathed. Harry was speechless. In front of them, just underneath the surface of the earth, was a bustling civilization.