Disclaimer: The characters, world and premise of Harry Potter belong to JKR; characters and premise of the Chronicles of Narnia are the property of CS Lewis. James Bond (this is the 'Casino Royale' canon, using only that movie) and his world are property of Ian Flemming. As always, my interpretations are my own.
A/N: Sequel to Ireland vs. Bulgaria in the EC, concurrent with Sticks And Stones and Be Well Tried. Be familiar with the Elijah's Cup universe, or nothing will make sense. See my profile for the timeline and other fics in the series. A little blurb about the title – why I chose it, what it means, is under the "ecverse" tag on my lj, which is the "homepage" link at the top of my profile.
TO QUESTION WHY
"Mmph!"
Fingertips dented the skin over her temples. Aileen closed her eyes. I wish I could say I didn't believe this. But the cuffed and glowering man on the grass beside the car was a classic example of Alberta Lopatin's stubbornness. At least they gagged him. Her headache couldn't take much more of this.
"Aileen Macready, Department of Magical Law Enforcement." She shook hands with the burly Muggle.
"Agent Bryan Dunhallow. MI5."
Papers and signatures changed hands, and the prisoner was officially turned over to her for questioning. Unorthodox, but appropriate. At least it's private. An empty field in the middle of the countryside might not seem a typical place for an interrogation, but it suited her needs. And in the wake of the Dark Mark floating over the heads of hundreds of thousands of wizards not forty-eight hours ago, there was no time to construct an ideal setting for the questioning about to take place.
"We'll be waiting by the car," Dunhallow offered.
Aileen treated him to her best smile. "No need. I'm quite capable of dealing with this situation."
Brown eyes assessed her, and let the silence speak for itself.
Aileen bit back a snarl. One hundred seventy centimeters might not be Big Ben, but you never met Gram Macready! She had physical strength from her father's side, and more than enough confidence in her own ability. As well as an extra asset I can't employ with Muggles in easy watching distance. They might have privileged enough access to be aware of the Wizarding World's existence, but that was as far as need-to-know went.
Temper grasped tightly in both hands, she gave him a sweet smile, before commencing to pull rank and regulation into the mess.
"Now," she turned to the silent man on the grass, having set her foes to a hasty retreat. A lip wanted to curl in triumph; she jerked it straight. Watch it, girl. Remember what happened the last time you got overconfident with this one. He'd taken her off-guard and made an escape neat enough to win Bert's admiration. No mean feat, indeed.
Pevensie was eyeing the car that the two Muggle agents had roared off in. They hadn't gone far; out of hearing range but not sight. The vehicle halted itself on a hill, and the glint of binoculars behind tinted windows gave them away. First things first.
Her wand came out, and two swift motions marked the borders of her spell. A moment more to cast. "Silencio."
A circle of sparkling blue light flared to life around them, sinking into the ground before it vanished. The noise of insects disappeared. He raised an eyebrow as she removed the gag. "Now, we can talk."
Pevensie licked dry lips, and as she expected, was silent. This time, I'm ready for you. She wouldn't make the mistake of treating him like a colleague. Bert's estimation of high-priority suspect was closer to the mark. So the first picture dropped in front of him, unnaturally still for a magical photo. Except for the pool of blood that seeped slowly toward the edges of the frame.
She was looking for the flinch; good thing too, or she might have missed it. He's seen worse working for Bert. It might not rattle him, but that's my job. The second and third pictures got no response, now that he was prepared for it.
Blue eyes, startlingly calm, met hers.
She gripped her wand, somehow sure that she was losing her advantage. "Wingardium Leviosa."
Photos danced into the air, stationary despite the wind that tangled her hair. And the calm blue eyes studied them more easily now that Pevensie didn't have to contort himself for a glimpse.
"You're not surprised." The observation came easily enough.
Finally, a response, even if it was only a lifted blond brow. "Did you expect me to be?"
Instead of answering, she studied him. "What I can't figure out is why you'd so readily admit, out here, that you know of the Magical world."
"Do you see any cameras out here?" Pevensie asked her dryly.
"That's what had you concerned before?" I don't believe it.
"You may work magic without a care," he pointed out, "but I can't use a wand. And in your world, Muggles who know too much get their memories altered without so much as a by-your-leave."
Aileen felt her eyes narrow. It sounded plausible enough. Because it's true. She shook the thought away. True, but necessary. But he was hiding something. He had to be; nothing else made sense. "Someone tried a Memory Charm on you?"
Pevensie tried to move, for the first time, shifting against metal cuffs toward an upright position. Blue eyes turned deliberately from hers, glowering at the unyielding links binding his wrists. A deliberate move, so I couldn't make eye contact. Why would he –
Legilimency.
Not a skill she had, in more than the barest traces. Her talents lay in reading body language, and knowing how people reacted. But it made an awful kind of sense. Aileen raised her wand, flicking magic toward the cuffs to hide the stunned shock settling into her bones. How, in Merlin's name, how does he know about that?!
The Wizarding World's most secret magics were rarely revealed to the families of Muggle-born witches and wizards. She hadn't even learned of Legilimency until entering the Ministry; basic training was just that, though few expected it to be so shockingly extensive. There was a reason such close-guarded Wizarding secrets rarely became public knowledge. And it is very Dark magic . . .
Steel flashed into the grass. Long-fingered hands rubbed chafed wrists, but blue eyes didn't do more than sneak a look at her. "Thank you."
"Who tried to put a Memory Charm on you?" More importantly, why? Was this what Dumbledore's too-careful words had wanted to lead her toward? Had this man seen something –
"It was a long time ago."
"Long enough that Voldemort would still have been in power?"
A shake of overlong blond hair; but the answer wasn't really important. He knows of Voldemort. And the risk she'd taken, saying the name without a tremor, paid off. And paid back now, in a trembling in her knees. But for someone who claimed to know of the Dark Lord, this defenseless Muggle didn't appear concerned. You know who he is. So why aren't you afraid?
"It was a student."
Which explains why it failed. "Can you explain this?" And she dropped the parchment in his lap. Loopy script attracted the eye, just as much as green ink did. She knew he'd read the pertinent phrase when the parchment trembled, ever-so-faintly, in his grip. Ambiguous words. No more than a trace of a hint. But a damning one, if her suspicions played out . . . .
When he gained his feet, Pevensie had only ten centimeters on her. So why does it feel like he's towering over me? He might have moved to hide it, but she saw her advantage in pale cheeks and lips compressed behind his blond beard. Cornered.
"Dumbledore sent you this?"
Aileen made him wait for it, refreshing the silencing charm. The lean figure was drawn tight, nearly twanging with the tension coiled into every limb. Ready to explode. Let's see if I can't put a match to the fuse . . . "Several months ago."
What was that? The invective was low enough that she couldn't quite catch it, but for a strange word that sounded like a name, or another language. Pevensie whirled away, pacing two steps from her, and then several past. But, she noted, he's still within the radius of the silencing charm. He was good; no question. But not quite good enough. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might be gone, but his followers rear their heads every so often."
Like in the Forbidden Forest in early August, and again at the World Cup. But you know that, don't you?
Fists clenched for a moment before the blond man turned. She wasn't fooled by the studied tranquility on handsome features. Even if the bugs planted by the two overconfident Muggles had still been active, they wouldn't have picked up the low-voiced question. "What, exactly, is your point?"
Careful. Be very careful. Aileen raked fingers through her hair to hide their shaking. "For a Muggle, you've managed to attract the attention of some dangerous individuals." She glared at him, crunching grass underfoot and advancing into his personal space. "And you're going to tell me why."
Anger flashed through blue eyes, there and gone in a split second. It was what she'd been waiting for. Got you. "August seventh," she murmured. Another piece of paper from her file dangled between two fingers. "Out sick?"
"Food poisoning," he shot back.
"Incredible coincidence," Aileen smiled into blank features two inches away. "Did you know that there were several murders committed early that morning? Not far from here, in fact." And not far from Coombe Halt.
"Is that so."
A flick of her wand raised the photographs before them once more. Her eyes focused on the black-and-white prints, but her attention centered on Pevensie. "It's quite a mystery to the Magical community." Presenting her back, she gave him a little space. Sweat dampened her temples, slicking into her hair. "Out of the dead, only three were killed by magical means. The other three suffered massive chest wounds." Turning, one shoulder shifted in a casual shrug. She was more nervous by the minute, but she'd be dragon-bait before she'd let him see it. "It doesn't make any sense. Why use a weapon, when for a wizard, the Killing Curse is so much more effective?"
She risked a glance into his eyes. Chilled by the even calm showing there, Aileen was suddenly very, very glad for the feel of smooth dogwood in her fist.
"I'm sure I don't know."
Can't let it go now. "But you're one of the nation's top profilers," she almost purred. He was in a corner, and they both knew it. "Surely you can venture a guess?"
A stiff shake of the head. Pevensie was statue-still, and blue eyes were fixed over her shoulder. Sweat gleamed on his skin, from more than just the unusual September heat. "Not without more details."
"Five bodies." Aileen tucked the slip of paper away, and rifled through the manila folder. Thanks, Bert. The note had done its job; so had she. Time to end this. "I can give you the reports, as well." Without waiting, she started to read aloud. She wanted a reaction, damn it all, she wanted something other than the placid acceptance and silent equanimity he met her with at every turn!
Pevensie let her get through the coroner's reports and fall into silence before he spoke. "What do you want from me?"
At long last, her temper escaped. "I think you know," she snapped, meeting him look for look. "I think you know exactly what I want."
"I didn't kill those men." One hand lifted, waving listlessly at the pictures. The other was tucked deep into denim.
"I'm aware that you have no formal magical training; no magical ability at all, according to our records." Just as frostily polite as Gram Macready was whenever the subject of Da's school came up. Training or no, you have aptitude for something; Dumbledore's letter implies at least that much.
"But you don't believe me."
The sudden honesty was unexpected enough that her head turned toward him before she could stop herself. Aileen caught that piercing blue gaze for several moments before reason returned and she jerked her eyes away. "You haven't given me much reason to." The words were barely out before she was wishing them back. Rule one of interrogation was control. She couldn't let him take over the conversation; but with that single bald statement, he'd done it. Merlin, but he was good, if he could catch her off-guard again.
Something had changed; some balance tilted with her incautious words.
"It makes me wonder," Pevensie mused, moving toward her, "why you haven't arrested me yet. Why not interrogate me with a full squad of Aurors, in your headquarters?"
Aileen felt her heart pick up speed. He's guessed. Unless he has sources we don't know about – which was entirely too possible.
"I don't think you have the power." Soft, inexorable, and utterly certain.
No. This was her interrogation, by Merlin. She had everything she needed except the confession. And she would get it. Neither of them would leave this clearing until she did. And then he'll leave under full guard.
His back was to her now; and he was a mere step from the boundary of the silencing spell.
"And I don't think you've fully assessed the situation." She remembered Gram Macready, in a fine temper because some of the children from primary school had been teasing her. Tried to draw on the remembered air of certainty and authority Gram had projected; strong enough to send the other children running home, practically in tears.
Shoulders straight, he glanced at her. The change from the quiet man of before was subtle, but noticeable nonetheless. "You can't do anything," he told her. But he was only half right.
"In the magical world?" she dared. "Maybe, maybe not. But I think you've forgotten something."
Pevensie followed her gaze to the hill a few hundred meters of open moor distant. The car still sat there, waiting for her to signal. The agents had long since left its confines to lounge against black metal, binoculars and long-range microphone unerringly aimed for the two figures conversing in the open.
"Silencing spell or not, they can read lips; they've been recording every move we've made." Her reward was a paling of skin, a flash of blue panic. Triumph surged. "I can guarantee that I know more about your world than you do about mine. And I can promise that no matter what does or does not happen in the Wizarding world, the Muggles will not let these accusations slide."