Disclaimer: I do not own anything other than the story line . All rights belong to J.K. Rowling

The Big Sleep: A Harry Potter Investigations Adventure

He could see that it was the house of a family with a lot of money, the old kind of money. That was fine by him, he always needed the money. He pulled up into the outer driveway and carefully maneuvered his classic corvette towards the entrance.

The house was huge and made of brick, with a tower to each side, and a staircase that would make the builders of Hogwarts flush with envy. Windows were on either side of the staircase on all three floors, and the roof had a castle-like staggered parapet around it.

He supposed that he should make sure and put the top up though, as it looked as if it might rain at any moment. It was the season for showers and he really didn't want to drive home while soaking wet. He wished that he could simply apparate, but considering that he was in the middle of London, and there were Muggles everywhere, he had decided to do things their way.

After parking the car he carefully got out and put the top up, taking a moment to run his fingers over the lustrous periwinkle blue paint job. Merlin but he loved that car! It had cost him almost a year's salary to buy and restore it, but he had done all the work himself, by hand with no magic. By now the late fifties model 'vette was an extension of himself.

He turned and walked up to the stairs. It was a long ways up to the first floor. Close to twenty steps, with a landing halfway up. He sighed and trudged his way up towards the door, adjusting the collar of his trench coat and the bill of his fedora as he did so.

He considered lighting a fag, but decided that since he would probably have to put it out in a moment, it wasn't worth the effort. It wasn't like he smoked often anyway, but in his line of work image was everything. Projecting the tough guy look didn't come naturally to him, but he could easily pull it off.

When he reached the top he stood for a moment and got his bearings. The door was of a very old hardwood variety, etched with intricate patterns carved around the borders. There was a brass doorplate knocker, with a lettered name engraved: Greengrass.

He used the knocker and stood back to wait. He had grown in the years since school, and he had filled out nicely. It was a lonely life that he led, and it was thus a lonely look that he had upon his face. An observer watching him might comment that he had the look of a hard-boiled cynic. It would probably be a truthful observation. His brows were creased in thought and he looked as if he wanted nothing more than to pinch the bridge of his nose to stem the tide of an impending headache. Yes, he had seen much and experienced altogether too much in his short years.

The door opened to reveal a thin, silver haired man in a grey butler's outfit. He had a stern yet gentle looking face. He was starting to bald, but his hair was long on the sides and pulled back in a pony tail. "Good morning sir."

"I'm Harry Potter. General Greengrass sent for me," Harry said.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, will you come in?" He stepped aside to allow Harry access.

"Thanks," Harry replied as he stepped over the threshold. The entry hall was huge and very opulent. A curved stair rose from a floor below and another curved up to the second floor. The interior was decked out in a rich lawn green and silver. A small table with a Victorian style chair completed the chamber.

The butler took Harry's coat and hat, leaving Harry in the charcoal business suit and tie that had become his favored mode of dress. His worn but well cared for loafers completed his ensemble.

"Will you sit here?" the butler asked. "I'll inform the General that you have arrived."

"Alright," Harry replied as the butler exited. He started towards the chair, but noticed something that caught his interest. He moved over to look at a portrait on one wall. It was of General Greengrass in is regimentals, beneath battle-torn cavalry pennons and holding a sabre. He was almost lost in thought while staring at the portrait when he caught the sound of movement from the staircase.

Turning slightly so that he might see who was approaching he spotted her. She had just left the stairs and was approaching him. Perhaps twenty years of age by his estimate, she was definitely a beauty, her long blonde hair flowing in soft curls behind her. She had on a soft green blouse and silver slacks. As she moved slowly towards him he couldn't help thinking that there was something both sullen and slinky about her. She stopped at maybe ten feet from him and stared at him, biting the thumb of her left hand.

"Good morning," Harry said in a light tone.

She continued to stare at him for a moment. "You're not very tall, are you?" she asked.

"I tried to be," he replied with a grin.

"Not bad looking, though – you probably know it," she said in a sexy tone.

"Thanks," he answered. He made his way over to the chair next to the small table and sat down. As he looked up he saw her approaching, still staring at him.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Reilly – Doghouse Reilly."

"That's a funny name," she replied. "Are you a hit wizard?"

"No, I'm a shamus," he responded.

"A what?"

"A detective, a private dick," he said shaking his head.

"You're cute," she said, moving while she spoke. She sat down suddenly on the arm of his chair. As she did so Harry rose and shifted the chair so that she found herself sitting in the chair while he was looking down at her. She stared up, at first surprised and then angrily. She looked to be about to say something when her expression told Harry that they weren't alone. He glanced over his shoulder to see the butler standing there. On his face was a curious expression of sadness and grief. She glanced at him and rose quickly as if he had reprimanded her with words instead of a glance and just as quickly exited. Harry looked after her with a thoughtful expression and a little grin.

"The General shall see you now," the butler said.

"Who was that?" Harry asked while looking after her.

"Miss Astoria Greengrass, sir," the butler replied.

"You ought to wean her. She looks old enough," Harry said sarcastically.

"As you say, sir. This way, if you please." Harry followed him out a set of French doors.

They proceeded out through the back garden and alongside a huge garage. Beyond it was a tremendous greenhouse. The butler led Harry along the path towards the greenhouse. Harry noted that there was a man, perhaps a chauffeur, washing a car in the garage. He was a handsome, boyish looking man in perhaps his early twenties.

Harry followed the butler on to the greenhouse, looking at the tremendous size of it as the butler opened the door and stood aside for him to enter. Harry did so, and the first thing that he noticed was that for all its size, it was literally choked with orchids. The second thing that he noticed was that it was amazingly hot in there. He remembered the greenhouses as Hogwarts. While they were warm, they were nothing like this. This place was oven-hot, damp with sweat, green with gloom. Harry pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his face and neck. He hadn't been in here for more than a minute and he was already perspiring freely.

"Couldn't we have gone around this?" he asked, almost pleading.

"The General sits in here, sir," the butler answered. He led Harry through the plants and into the center of the greenhouse. There, in a cleared space about which the plants crowded and hovered, sat an old man in a wheelchair. Obviously the man that Harry had seen in the portrait, though now much older, the General sat morosely in his chair. That he was obviously dying was evident in the degenerated body, though there was still life in his eyes, which were fierce, but resigned. Even in the terrific heat he was wrapped in a blanket and heavy robes. His gnarled hands were lying like dead twigs on the blanket, but his eyes followed as the butler led Harry in.

The butler stopped in front of the old man. "This is Mr. Potter, General. The General didn't speak, though his eyes stared up fiercely at Harry as the butler pushed a wicker chair up behind his legs.

"Brandy, Filch," the General said to the butler. He regarded Harry. "How do you like your brandy, sir?"

Harry sat down before replying. "Just with brandy," he said. Filch quickly exited.

"I used to like mine with champagne," the General started. "The champagne cold as Hogsmeade in December and about three ponies of brandy under it. You may take off your coat, sir."

"Thanks," Harry said as he moved to do so, hanging the coat on the back of the chair. He mopped his brow again with his handkerchief.

"It's too hot in here for any man who still has blood in his veins." Greengrass watched Harry for a moment. "You may smoke as well. I can still enjoy the smell of it, anyway."

"Thanks," Harry replied as he produced a fag. He lit it and blew smoke. Greengrass' nostrils moved as he sniffed the air. Filch re-entered, pushing a tea wagon bearing a decanter, a glass and an initialed ice bucket.

"That man is already dead who must indulge his own vices by proxy," Greengrass sighed. Filch wheeled the wagon up and started to prepare a drink for Harry. "Come, man, pour a decent one," the General ordered.

"Yes, General," Filch replied as he added more brandy.

"Not too descent, Filch," Harry said quickly. "I wouldn't want to exchange places with it." Filch nodded and added soda before handing the glass to Harry. "Thank you," Harry said softly. He sat back as Filch covered the ice bucket with napkin before exiting the greenhouse. Harry raised the glass to his lips and took a sip. As he did so he watched General Greengrass lick his lips with longing pleasure and enjoyment. Harry lowered the glass and looked at the old man. While he could appreciate the old soldiers plight, he found it somewhat demeaning and more than a little disturbing.

"Tell me about yourself, Mr. Potter," the General said. "I suppose I have the right to ask."

"There's not a lot to tell," Harry started. "I'm thirty-eight years old. It's been twenty years since I vanquished the Dark Lord. I went to school at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry a long time ago. I can still speak the Queen's English when there's any demand for it in my business. I worked for the Auror's office once. It was Gawain Robards', the head of the office that sent word to me through his chief investigator that you wanted to see me. Oh, and I'm not married."

"You didn't like working for Mr. Robards?"

Harry laughed. "I was fired for insubordination. I seem to rank pretty high on that."

"I always did, myself," Greengrass replied. His accompanying laugh was dry and dusty. He slid one of his hands under the blanket. "What do you know about my family, Mr. Potter?"

Harry mopped his brow. "You're a widower, a multi-millionaire, two young daughters. One is unmarried, the other was married once but it didn't last. Both now living with you and both…"

"Go on," the General said as he glared at Harry.

"Am I to swap you gossip for hospitality, sir?" Harry asked.

"You are to swap me your confidence for my own," Greengrass responded sternly.

Harry shrugged. He could do that if the old man wanted it so. "Alright, both pretty, and both pretty – wild. What did you want to see me about?"

"I'm being blackmailed again."

"Again?" Harry asked.

Greengrass pulled his hand back out from under the blanket. He held a brown envelope in his hand. "About a year ago I paid a man named Peregrine Derrick five thousand galleons to let my younger daughter alone."

"Ah,"

"What does that mean?" Greengrass asked, perhaps a little sharper than he intended.

"It means 'ah'. It never went through the Auror's office or I'd have known it. Who handled it for you?" Harry leaned forward and mopped the back of his neck.

"Malcolm Baddock," Greengrass said.

Harry took a moment to alternate between his faggot, his drink, and his now sodden handkerchief. "There must be some reason why Baddock's not handling this one too. Am I to know it?"

"Malcolm has left me."

"I thought I hadn't seen him around lately," Harry said softly.

"Yes, he left about a month ago," Greengrass said. "Without a word, that was what hurt. I had no claim on him, since I was only his employer. But, I hoped we were more than that and that he would have said goodbye to me. You knew him too?"

"Yes," Harry said. "From the old days when he was running proscribed potions ingredients from Ireland and I was on the other side, and now and then we swapped hexes between drinks – or drinks between hexes, if you like that better."

Greengrass nodded. "My respects to you. Few men ever exchange more than one hex with Malcolm Baddock. He commanded a brigade in the Irish hit wizards, you know."

"No, I didn't," Harry replied, once more mopping at his neck. "But I knew he was good at whatever he did. Nobody was pleased better than me when I heard you had taken him as your – whatever he was here."

"As my friend, my son almost," Greengrass informed him. "Many's the hour he would sit here with me, sweating like a pig, drinking brandy I could no longer drink, telling me stories of the Irish days – but enough of this." He held out the envelope for Harry to take. "Here. Help yourself to the brandy."

Harry took the envelope and sat back. He wiped his hands on his wet handkerchief and opened the envelope. The took a card and three clips of stiff paper out of it. He looked at the card.

Mr. Xavier Blott

Flourish and Blott's

Rare Books and Deluxe Editions.

He turned the cared over. Printed by hand on the back there was a message:

Dear Sir,

In spite of the legal uncollectibility of the enclosed, which frankly are gambling debts, I assume you might wish them honored.

Respectfully,

Xavier Blott

Harry next examined the pieces of paper. They were promissory notes for a thousand galleons apiece, each signed by Astoria Greengrass. General Greengrass watched as Harry went to the wagon and mixed himself a drink and then turn back towards him.

"Well," the General asked.

"Do you know this Xavier Blott?"

"No sir, though I suspect from the card that he owns that bookstore in Diagon Alley."

"Have you asked your daughter?" Harry inquired.

"No, and I don't intend to. If I did she would suck her thumb and look coy."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I met her in the hall. She did that at me. Then she tried to sit in my lap." Greengrass glared at him. After a moment Harry raised the glass and drinks from it.

"Well?" Greengrass asks harshly.

Harry stared at him for a moment. "Am I being polite, or can I say what I want?"

"Say it."

"Do the girls run around together?" Harry asked.

Greengrass let out a sigh. "I think not. They are alike on in their corrupt blood. Daphne is spoiled, exacting, smart and ruthless. Astoria is still the child who likes to pull the wings off flies. I assume they have always had all the usual vices; whatever new ones of their own invention…" He made a repressed, convulsive movement, then glared at Harry. "Well?"

"Pay him," Harry suggested.

"Why should I?"

"It's cheaper," Harry answered. "A little money against a lot of annoyance. The money you shan't miss, and if your heart hasn't broken long before this time, whatever's behind these" – he indicated the notes – "shan't do it now."

"Not my heart," the General replied. "No Greengrass ever had one. But there is my pride, which I at least, and I believe my older daughter still, both have."

"Sure," Harry said. "A man named Xavier Blott just betting himself three thousand galleons on that pride. Who was this Peregrine Derrick you paid five thousand to?"

"I don't recall," Greengrass said. "Filch would know. My butler. I think Derrick called himself a gambler. This may be an authentic gambling debt, after all."

Harry looked at Greengrass for a moment. He turned and set the glass down on the tea wagon and took a napkin to mop himself with while Greengrass watched him. "Do you think it is?" he asked.

"No," Greengrass replied after a second's thought. Harry mopped himself again with the napkin and put it back on the wagon so he could pick up his drink.

"I guess that you want me to take this Blott off your back: that right?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to know anything, or do you just want to be rid of him?" Harry asked.

"Didn't you just tell me I no longer have any heart to be broken?" Greengrass snapped.

"It may cost you a little," Harry responded as if nothing was wrong. "Besides my own fifty galleons a day and expenses."

Greengrass said nothing, merely making a faint, impatient motion of his head and shoulders. Harry drained his glass and set it back on the tea wagon.

"When would you like me to start?"

"At once," Greengrass said. "And now, if you will excuse me – but another brandy before you go?"

"No thanks," Harry said as he gathered up the papers and his coat.

"Then good morning, and good luck." Greengrass laid back in his chair and closed his eyes. Harry watched him for a moment, then, his coat over his arm and still mopping his neck, he left the old man to his dreams.