Chapter 12
Judd was used to strangeness. He was used to secrets and whispered spells and badly thought-out lies. He may have been a muggle, but he’d been raised by a witch. His wife may have been a squib, but she was also a werewolf. His in-laws ran a potion brewing business. He was used to looking at something and knowing he wasn’t getting the full picture – to having magic in his peripheral vision.
Today, though. Today was taking the biscuit, and he was starting to feel a little dizzy. Cathy, god love her, was not helping.
“I don’t think she’s a criminal,” she was insisting under her breath as they waited outside the toilets in the hospital foyer for the girl – Minnie, allegedly – to change into the spare clothes Judd had dug up from the camper van. “She’s obviously involved in something, but I don’t think it’s anything, you know, evil.”
“Cath…”
“Love, I bit her fingers off. We need to help her. She’s only young, she’s obviously been dealt a bad hand – and yes, maybe she’s caught up in something dodgy, but it’s not like we’d be anyone to talk. Remember the night we met?”
“Not as well as I should,” Judd admitted. “There was a lot of LSD.”
Cathy raised her eyebrows and folded her arms. He sighed and held up his hands in defeat.
“Fine, fine, we’ll help. But if she turns out to be part of some kind of wizard mafia, I’m blaming you.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
There was a thud and a muffled curse from inside the toilets, and Cathy frowned. “I should probably make sure she doesn’t knock herself out on a sink.”
Before she could move, however, the door swung open and Minnie came stumbling out, looking possibly even worse than she had before. She was still wearing the hospital gown, unable to remove it without undoing all the bandages keeping her hand strapped up. She’d tucked it into a pair of Judd’s old brown corduroys, and managed to get a cardigan of Cathy’s that may as well been a blanket with arms on over the top. The empty sleeve flapped against her side as she wobbled, still trying to step into the battered wellie boots Judd had given her. She raked her tangled hair away from her face, briefly revealing the scars both old and fresh dragging their way down the side of her face, stiff with sutures and dressings. Judd suppressed a wince.
“Sorry,” he said. “That was all we had in the van, I know they’re not ideal.”
“To be honest, they’re not the worst,” Minnie said, sticking one leg out to admire the corduroys and then catching herself on the doorframe when she briefly lost her balance. “Thanks for this.”
“Not a problem,” Cathy assured her, subtly taking her elbow as she started to lurch off towards the double doors leading out of the foyer, ignoring the concerned questions from the receptionist at the front desk. “Now, what’s next?”
“What’s next is I get away from all these people and find my wand.” Minnie frowned and looked around as they came out into the carpark, scanning the area surrounding the hospital. “How far did we drive last night?”
Judd scratched the back of his head. “Not sure – I wasn’t paying much attention beyond trying to keep up with the ambulance. Fifteen, twenty miles maybe? Too far to walk if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Fuck.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but even if you got back there, would you be able to find the spot you buried your stuff?” Cathy asked gently.
Minnie didn’t answer for a long moment, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her hand to her forehead. “Probably not,” she said at last, like she was forcing the words out. “Not fast enough, anyway. Was relying on still being out there when I came to. I usually just go in circles, keep a pretty tight radius, I’m used to having… fuck.” She screwed up her face even further. “Fuck shit christ, I’m an idiot.”
Judd hissed through his teeth. “You said you apparated in? You can’t remember exactly where?”
“I was distracted,” she said, and nothing else.
Cathy sighed and tried to pat her shoulder, but let go hurriedly when Minnie tensed. “Alright,” she said. “What if we gave you a lift somewhere else? Somewhere safe?”
Minnie was already shaking her head. “That still puts you at risk, I can’t… ugh, okay. Priorities. I need a way to recast my anti-trackers before they wear off, so I need a wand, so I need…” She trailed off and tugged at her hair again, but then stopped and snapped her fingers, her head shooting up. “A phone. Somewhere I won’t be overheard.”
She looked around the carpark as if expecting one to suddenly appear. Judd cleared his throat.
“We have a car phone in the camper,” he offered.
Minnie fixed him with a look. “Listen,” she said. “I know you’re trying to be nice, and you seem like good people – or, probably, you might be murderers and I’m just really off my game today, but either way-”
“Alright, I understand, we’re asking for a lot of trust here-”
“No, it’s – what I’m trying to say is, you can’t help me with this. Every second you spend with me is putting your lives at risk.”
Judd stared at her. So did Cathy. “We’re at risk? The potential murderers?”
Minnie met his eyes again, and something in them made him shiver. “Thank you for your help, but I’ll take it from here.”
She turned and started to walk away. She only made it about ten feet before she fell over. Cathy and Judd exchanged a glance.
“I mean,” Cathy said. “At this point we have to, right?”
“Probably,” Judd sighed. “You help her up. I’ll get the engine running.”
Minnie protested weakly even as she let Cathy help her into the passenger seat of the camper. “You’re both being incredibly stupid. I want you to know what,” she informed them. “And alright, so am I, but that just makes us three idiots in a van. Nothing good can come of this.”
Judd ignored all of this and reached for his seatbelt, hearing Cathy get herself situated on the fold-away couch behind the driver’s seat. “Where are we heading?”
There was a short silence while Minnie glared at him. When it became clear he wasn’t going to give in, she reached for the map on the dashboard with a sigh and started flicking through it. She passed it over when she found what she was looking for and tapped her finger on a spot a few miles over. “This village. I need to check something before I make the phone call.”
“Care to share what?”
“I can’t believe you’re making me talk like a spy movie cliché, but honestly? The less you know, the better.”
Judd shook his head and reversed out of park.
It wasn’t too long a drive, with the early-morning ice melted away and the roads relatively clear of other cars. The village they arrived at was small and quiet to the point where Judd didn’t even need to look for a parking spot when Minnie stopped them outside a small guesthouse.
“Won’t be long,” she said, and tipped herself out of the van with a lot more staggering than was probably intended.
Cathy got up from her seat and came up behind Judd so they could both squint through the windshield and watch as Minnie disappeared into the hostel.
“I still don’t like this,” Judd muttered. “What if she’s in some kind of gang? Do your lot have gangs?”
“You’re my lot,” Cathy corrected him automatically. Then she frowned. “Can’t imagine they don’t. But I do think this is something else.”
“Like what?”
She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Remember what my Dad was saying Christmas before last, about keeping our distance for a while? All that about political violence?”
“You mean with the weird accidents on the news? What’s that – oh. Oh. You think…?”
“Maybe. Just a theory. She reminds me a bit of those uni friends of yours who used to wear all that black.”
Judd glanced at her and then back through the windshield, processing this new possibility. “That’s… okay. Alright. That’d be a different kettle of fish, then.”
They fell back into contemplative silence. True to her word, Minnie came out less than a minute later, even shakier than before and something wrecked in her expression that she quickly concealed as she climbed back into the passenger seat.
“Alright, that’s done,” she said, her voice just a little too hard and loud, as if she was fighting to keep it steady. “I’ll need that phone now. Can you head for the nearest town with an auror office, please?”
Judd frowned but held out the phone all the same, as Cathy said from behind, “Wait, what do you need aurors for?”
“Just a contingency. I’m kind of planning as I go here,” Minnie said, already dialling. She gave Judd a thumbs-up to start driving again; he handed the map back to Cathy so she could find them a destination and a route. He tried hard not to listen in on Minnie’s phone call as she turned her face away from them towards the window, but it was difficult not to overhear.
“I don’t fucking care if the password’s changed, put him on or I’ll find you and tear your spine out through your arsehole,” she was whispering harshly.
Judd swallowed and focused on the road.
“First left on the roundabout,” Cathy murmured from behind.
“Fucking finally – yeah, I’m aware. This is an emergency. Shut up – listen. I’m calling in that favour. I need a new wand. That’s none of your damn business, can you get it or not?”
Judd chanced a glance away from the road so he could meet Cathy’s eye in the rear-view. She shrugged, apprehensive but not afraid.
“Alright. Meet me – hang on. Where are we going?” she asked Cathy, who pointed on the map.
“Meet me in Aberystwyth,” Minnie said, eyeing the map. “Edge of town, behind the cemetery. Come alone, and dress muggle. The fuck do you – half your entire operation is muggle, we’re speaking on a phone right now… that’s not my fucking problem, just be there before noon and don’t draw attention to yourself. And Crofter? If you fuck me over on this, you won’t live to see your next birthday.”
She hung up without another word. There was a long, tense silence, before Cathy cleared her throat.
“I was insisting to Judd just now that you didn’t seem like a criminal,” she said mildly. “You should know I’m revising that impression a bit.”
Minnie winced. “Sorry – sorry. I’m not. Um.”
Judd glanced sideways to look at her, and noted that this was the first time he’d seen Minnie look properly unsure of herself – not angry or frightened, but nervous. She plucked at the fraying knees of the corduroys and stared sideways out of her window like she was trying to decide something.
“I was undercover,” she said at last. “For a couple of years. Had to interact with a lot of shady people. They only take you seriously if you act like them.”
“Are you an auror?” Cathy asked. “I didn’t think they hired – you know. People like us.”
“Not an auror, no. But I’m not a criminal either, I’m just…”
She trailed off. Judd waited, but no other explanation seemed forthcoming. He sighed and turned onto the A44.
“Step on it,” Minnie said quietly. “I give us maybe an hour before things start getting dire.”
“Duck!”
“No.”
“Duck!”
“Absolutely not.”
“Duck!”
“Young man, shouting until you get what you want is a poor way to navigate through life.”
“Duck!”
“Oh, for – fine. But this is the last time,” Minerva warned.
With a wave of her wand, she turned the cushion Harry had placed at her feet into a duck. Harry laughed delightedly and reached out to grab it, only for it to immediately turn back into a cushion. He hugged it tight and toddled off towards the sofa, where he’d dropped one of the muggle toys Black had left with him.
“Pant!” he informed her jovially, holding it up for her to see.
“That is an elephant, yes,” Minerva agreed, squatting down to examine it. “Do you know what an elephant says?”
“Aroooo!”
“Well done! Now… what does a dog say?”
“Woof!”
Minerva smiled at him, and then hurried to stop him trying to cram the whole elephant in his mouth. “Alright, alright. Are you hungry?” She checked the clock. “I suppose I could dig up some elevenses. How about a biscuit?”
“Yeah!” Harry said, and held up his arms.
“Oh. Right, yes.” Minerva gingerly picked him up, and leaned her head away when he went to grab her glasses. “None of that, thank you, I need those to see. Here we go, back to the kitchen…”
She was fairly sure she’d read somewhere about narrating things to babies being good for their language development. She hoped it was true and that she wasn’t just rambling out loud like an idiot. She sat Harry on his makeshift highchair, and then took a moment to consider the fact that Black wasn’t there to stop him tipping over onto the floor. She removed the pile of books and transfigured the chair itself into a proper highchair, complete with a wooden table across the front. Harry squealed again as he was boosted up a foot or so in the air and slapped his hands on the table excitedly.
“That’s better.”
“Fucknapple!”
“Oh. Oh, dear.”
The head office was quiet when Proudfoot and Savage arrived, on time for their shift for the first time in weeks. There were only a few people there, bent over their desks, chugging coffee as they slowly worked their way through the mountains of parchment-work they’d been inundated with since Halloween. It seemed like barely a dent had been made. Savage determinedly ignored the pile waiting for him on his own desk and followed Proudfoot over to the kitchenette in the far corner of the office, where Harris was standing over the stove, swaying on his feet as he waited for the kettle to boil. He looked up as they approached.
“And where the hell have you two been?” he asked, pointing his Holyhead Harpies mug at the accusingly.
“Getting some sleep, we were up for three days straight.” Savage ran a hand through his hair and yawned hugely while Proudfoot ignored Harris in favour of rooting through the fridge for something to eat. “Is there any tea?”
“Fucked if I know. We just had to send Fisher out for more coffee, he should be back in a minute if he hasn’t fallen asleep in the street.”
“Rough night?”
“Could say that. Been dealing with the fallout from the attack on the Longbottoms.”
“What?”
There was a clatter as Proudfoot slammed the fridge shut to stare at him.
“Shit, you didn’t hear? Thought someone would have let you know – listen, they’re alright, they’re fine, don’t-”
Savage took a deep breath and, with effort, managed not to start tearing his hair out.
“What happened?” Proudfoot asked.
“Loyalists, we think – Frank and Alice weren’t home at the time so we haven’t got any solid IDs, but we’re pretty sure it was Lestrange and them. They got forced away from the scene by a different faction before we got there.”
“Witness protection?”
“Yeah, Crouch is seeing to it himself. They’re off with their little one right now.”
Savage nodded and relaxed slightly. “Alright. Merlin.”
“I know. And after all that, no new leads – except for the fact that Sirius Black apparently isn’t the prime suspect in the Potter case anymore?”
“Oh no yeah, we knew that already.”
Harris sighed. “Of course you did. Knew I should have signed up for Moody’s weird secret side-gig. Anything else you want to share with the class?”
Savage considered him for a minute and exchanged a glance with Proudfoot, who nodded. “You heard anything about a guy called Peter Pettigrew?”
Harris paused. “I actually have. That Rosier fucker we’ve got in holding mentioned him. Why, is he important?”
Proudfoot clapped him on the shoulder. “Seeming more and more so by the minute. We’re going to need to talk to the Rosier fucker.”
Padfoot slowly, shakily worked her way over the hillside, nose more or less glued to the ground, swinging her head from left to right as she tried to keep track of Moony’s muddled scent, all scrambled up with the other wolf’s as they tore their way through the fields. She let out a little yip when she found the point where the wolves had started to shift back to their human forms, and picked up the pace – Remus had bled over here, and here, it dragged across the ground, patchy and faint and still mixed up with this stranger but still distinctly her, all the way to…
She came to a road. She could smell metal and exhaust fumes and asphalt, and absolutely nothing else.
She shifted back. Sirius sat down on the damp ground and buried her face in her hands, heart pounding and eyes burning. Her shoulders shook, but she forced the sobs down and held them there for ten seconds, thirty seconds, a minute, five minutes…
When she could breathe again, she stood up and apparated away.
Evgeni Rosier groaned loudly and obnoxiously as he was led into the interrogation room. “How many of you are there? And why do you all want to talk to me?” he asked in a voice that was probably pitched intentionally to be as irritating as possible.
“We’ll be asking the questions, Mr, Rosier,” Savage said, flipping through the files Harris had given him, handing one to Proudfoot where she was leaning against a wall behind. “Please have a seat.”
Rosier glared as the two guards escorting him forced him into the chair opposite and fixed his handcuffs to the table with the wave of a wand. “I’ve already answered all your questions,” he said. “I don’t see what I can tell you that you don’t already have in that file.”
“Let’s start with the attempted attack on Frank and Alice Longbottom last night,” Savage said, closing the file and watching from the corner of his eye as Proudfoot followed the guards to the door and spoke with them quietly. “Was it premediated?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The guards were whispering something to Proudfoot, who was frowning at Rosier contemplatively.
Savage leaned forwards to hold his attention. “Don’t start with us, Rosier, we’ll break out the veritaserum if we have to.”
“Will you?” Rosier smirked and tried to lean back in his chair, but jerked when the handcuffs tugged him back into place. He recovered quickly, flexing his left hand in discomfort. “They’ve already used quite a lot on me and not gotten very far. It’s almost as if-”
“Yes, yes, we already know it’s SOP for you lot to build up an immunity. We also know that immunity isn’t as effective as you like to pretend it is. Only covers you about forty percent of the time, right?”
Rosier’s expression faltered minutely. Savage smiled.
“I’m not great with numbers, mind you, but I figure the key here is volume,” he said. “Ask enough questions and eventually we’ll get some reliable answers.”
The door shut quietly as the guards left the room. Proudfoot strolled back over to lean against the side of the table.
“How about you start with why you’ve been rubbing your left forearm all morning?” she suggested.
Wormtail burrowed down, down, further and further into the ground, through roots and rabbit holes, struggling to keep to the vertical path he’d made for himself, the Burrow’s wards hot against his side as he searched for the point where they dropped off.
Just keep digging, he told himself, his tiny paws scrabbling through the dirt, wishing now more than ever that he could change into something more convenient, a mole or a badger, even a rabbit. Just add it to the pile, he scoffed internally, always wishing, wishing he was braver, that he was smarter, more useful – but then, if he was, he’d be a dog or a stag or something even bigger and more conspicuous, he’d be dead by now. As long as he was a rat, he was alive.
Just dig, he thought, and don’t think about it, don’t think about them, don’t stop, you’ll die if you stop, they’ll kill you if you stop. Just dig.
The wards died away. He scrabbled under the barrier and found the vein of loose earth that would lead him back up to the surface.
Just dig. Just dig. Just dig.