The apartment is dark. Hari slips through the kitchen, rubbing her eyes of crust as she opens her fridge, blearily taking out the butter, eggs and bacon. She works on muscle-memory alone, somehow not managing to burn herself or overdo breakfast, only waking up when Ron stumbles in to make them both tea.
"Morning," he mumbles.
"Hey," Hari grunts in reply. "Mione?"
"Work, already," Ron says, tugging a piece of paper from beneath a magnet. "Where are your glasses? She left a note...right. That's for me."
"Lost 'em," Hari replies, manually buttering their toast before piling two plates' worth with fried eggs and bacon slices. She sits down at the dining table with Ron, who gives her tea while she slides over his plate. They eat and drink in silence – for Hari, the dim apartment not getting any more clear, even when she rubs at her eyes.
"Want me to summon them?" Ron asks her, but she shakes her head, wand sliding out of its holster to aim at the bridge of her nose.
"Oculus sanentur," she mumbles, the verbal spell taking affect with a flash of silver. Ron shakes his head.
"That'll wear off."
"I know it will."
The morning goes as it usually does. Hermione Granger has already woken up at an especially-early hour that involves the words five o'clock in the morning in an attempt to get more work done in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Her best friends and roommates, Hari Potter and Ron Weasley, both wake up at the same time over an hour later in an attempt to be semi-awake at seven AM, when the two of them will apparate to the Ministry of Magic to begin their shift in the Auror Department.
"Only a couple months left," Ron mumbles to himself.
Hari shakes her head. "That's if we pass."
Ron snorts. "We fought in the War. You're Hari Potter. Like they're going to pass either of us up," he scoffs, but there's a tinge of worry and Hari knows why. The Auror Corps is never going to refuse Hari Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived and Woman-Who-Conquered, but Ron Weasley? Well, it's been insinuated more than once that he's hanging off her cloak-tails.
"Daffort said we'd be split up into teams for this last leg," Hari says, offering, "Why not go in a different team to me? What if we're not put together once we're working in the Auror Office – it would be a bit disconcerting if we hadn't any practice being apart."
Ron flashes an uneasy grin. "Right. 'Course, mate – Mione would say something about being attached at the hip."
"Too right she would," Hari finishes her tea with a shake of her head. "I'm off for a shower before we leg-it to work."
"Alright. I'll make lunch up."
"Don't bother, I'll patch us both food from the cafeteria," Hari pats his arm as she passes, off to the shared bathroom.
"Cool. You don't mind if I get that extra-large coffee, right?"
The life of Hari Potter is simple. She goes to work with Ron – avoiding the waiting photographers willing to snap a picture of the famous Woman-Who-Conquered in the Ministry Atrium – and signs in with a tap of her wand, her chicken-scratch signature scrawling its way across the waiting parchment. Friends and colleagues are bid a good morning, so long as the caffeine has kicked in.
Ron immediately swings his feet up onto his desk, leaning back on two legs of his chair as he summons his report from last week – approved with a Junior Auror Supervisor's bright red E stamp. Conversely, Hari pulls a foot up, tucking it beneath her knee as she gets cosy. Their desks are next to each other, the small office leaving them about a foot between them – enough room for Seamus to squeeze past to sit behind them with Vicky Frobisher, their own little seventeen year-old baby of the class.
"Morning," he greets them.
"Morning," Ron and Hari chorus in return, before Josie Jackdaw truly collapses into her seat on Hari's left. Josie, unlike Vicky with her certain calm and long brown beaded braids like an African princess', is a red-faced, excitable witch who can usually tell when she's being too loud – though it's hit or miss with her, sometimes.
"Oh my god, you would not believe the traffic!" The blonde witch whines, her Minnesotan accent on full blast and as strangely captivating as foreign accents always are to Hari. "I couldn't get any of those nice strawberry muffins for breakfast, it was so bad."
Vicky snorts over her O-stamped report, tucking the paper under her lip. "Apparate in. You need the practice, if you want to do it right."
"I can apparate if I want," Josie says, mulish, "I just like driving. It's harder than apparating – I don't want to forget how to do that. I spent money getting my license."
"There's nothing wrong with driving," Hari says neutrally, siding with Josie, who flashes her a gap-toothed smile.
"Female Aurors have to stick together," she replies, but her head is still resting sideways on her desk. Hari can see her report beneath her cheek.
"So loyal," Vicky teases.
Seamus puts a hand up, "Oi, don't forget – we're top of the Junior Divisions! We're going to be getting recruited by other departments, mark my words!"
"He's right," Ron chimes in. "Hermione was getting dozens of letters from all floors of the Ministry before she took her NEWTs."
Hari grins with him, remembering Hermione's flushed, embarrassed glow that month. She'd replied to each and every letter with personalised statements, until the repeat-queries came and she made up a standardised rejection. The sixth-year Hogwarts intern their best friend employed over winter break a year later was practically her secretary – they were organising important and some not-so-important mail for the entire duration of their internship.
Seamus waffles on about how the other departments will want to sweep them up and Ron adds a story about being accosted on the street by a member of the Duelling Guild, outright begging for him to join their ranks instead. Hari knows it's not an outright lie – they were from the Duelling Guild, but unfortunately they were a little more interested in Ginny's talents than Ron's, enough to address her by name; they talked to their drunken group as a whole, anyway, before realising they were as equally pissed.
"Alright! Enough chit-chat!" Captain Daffort calls out, effectively silencing the room as everyone straightens in their seats. Hari is quick to glance at her report, nose wrinkling at the red A for Acceptable as their supervisor continues. "We're coming to the end of your tenure as Junior Aurors, as you all well know. You've been decent enough candidates-"
"Decent? We're bloody brilliant!" interrupts Gowen from where he sits in front of Ron, grinning.
Daffort shakes his head shortly, but the wizard is smiling slightly. "You've been decent enough candidates-" he repeats "-but you all still have one more chance to raise your average, before the final cut. The Auror Corps only accepts the top sixty percent of their graduating classes. Of those in the forty percent, ten percent will probably be picked up by other adjacent departments and another ten percent will be taken in by the DMLE."
Hari and many of the eleven others in her squad nod along, knowing this. For the last year, Daffort had been drilling in their heads what they had to get – what kind of future Junior Aurors, Second Class, could expect compared to simple first years or First Class', as they're called in the hierarchy. Only fifty percent of First Class' graduated to Second Class, the other half either not making it or being deposited in the Reserves – basically being let go with a stamp on their record saying they're only to be recruited in dire times or not again for another five years. Hari had made the cut, not with ease, but not with much difficulty, either.
It's been harder, this year, she thinks with a bite of her lip, chewing nervously. Ron had been getting E's and the occasional O, while people like Vicky and Seamus had been getting steady O's, with the occasional dip into P and once – on Seamus' part – T. Hari had no idea about Josie, but for all she talked randomly, she never quite dipped into her personal life or the scores Daffort had been giving her.
The red, pulsing A on her report on a common theft she'd dealt with last week mocks her, now.
"The bottom twenty percent will be Reserves for a minimum of two years," Daffort speaks, leaning back against his desk at the front of the three rows of four. There's a board at their backs, double-sided and acting as a marker between two different classes. A minor silencing ward ensures no-one is disturbed by the other class.
"Summer Intake is coming up and I expect the vast majority of you to be serving in the Corps as Ranked Aurors," Daffort's eyes span across the class and briefly, his eyes meet Hari's. A moment passes, before he continues. "Frobisher, tell me what classifies as a 'cold case'."
"…an investigation that has died or otherwise become deadweight. There are no new leads. It's an unsolved criminal investigation that is awaiting new evidence to push the case forwards." Vicky answers slowly, but surely, asking her own question afterwards. "Are we being assigned cold cases, sir?"
"Indeed," Daffort replies, wand already flicking. Behind him, eight beige files of varying thickness float upwards. "Teams of three. Move the desks around."
"Yes, sir!" the dozen Junior Aurors reply, standing up and picking partners. Ron and Hari automatically drift together, before Ron pauses and puts a hand up.
"Wait, remember…"
Hari's eyes dim briefly and something in her aches sharply. "Yeah, sure- it's fine." Turning around, Hari finds Seamus heading his usual partners, Lilly Moon and Bertrand 'Robin' Hoodwinked. "Seamus!" she calls out, disturbing the usual flow of the room enough that Hari realises they need a third. "Seamus, want to partner up?"
Seamus looks at her, incredulous, looking to Ron. "Trouble in paradise, Hari?"
"Nah, mate, just figure we need a change," Hari gives a lop-sided grin, "Can't work with him forever, yeah? Want to mix stuff up?"
Seamus looks back at Lilly and Robin, who shrug and call over Gowen. At the front of the class, Daffort gives everyone amused looks as the status quo is shaken up.
"About time," he says, giving his own approval. "Hurry it up, though. Teams, desks – stop tarrying!"
"I'm with you two!" Vicky demands, rather than offers. Before she's even finishes talking, she's moved their desks around, moving Josie's and Ron's together with room for one more. Similarly, Lilly takes initiative, arranging her own team's desks in the corner opposing theirs, next to Ron's.
"This is…different," mutters the automatic third to Ron's team, one of Vicky's usual partners when they team up like this. Hari hasn't talked to them much – which is a little strange, as Hari usually makes a point of befriending other witches and wizards from the Indian Subcontinent in an attempt to practice her Hindi. She knows their first name is Tamar, but not their second name, because for all Daffort's linguistic capabilities, he's never been able to pronounce it properly.
"You'll have to make up new team names," Daffort then says, making groans come from various members of the squad. "Just kidding. Sort out who's team leader, who's defence and who's back-up, then team leader can assign the name of your group. Remember to change the board."
"Yes, sir," they say, before Daffort levitates two folders to each trio.
"Have at 'em," he says, "You have two weeks before I start getting prissy." Then, without much further ado, their supervisor walks out of the room.
"I'll be back-up," Seamus volunteers, chatter breaking out around the room. Hari plucks a file out of the air, Vicky doing similarly with the other as they sit. Seamus is sat at the base of the T-shape, Hari sitting opposite Vicky with a whole view of the room, her back to a wall. "So…who's team leader? You're both usually in charge of your own teams."
Hari and Vicky look at each other.
"…I could step down," Hari offers, cringing at the thought – but Vicky is good. Hari knows she is. Hari could step down, she totally could step down…
"Or," Vicky wiggles her file, "we take a case each. Co-leaders, heading our own cases…and we could be called Team Cake."
"Weird name, but okay," Hari cricks her neck, motioning to the chalkboard behind Daffort's desk. "Want to change the board?"
"Seamus can do it," Vicky replies, "he likes the board."
"Oh yeah," Seamus gets to his feet, rushing over to the board and manually wiping it down, avoiding using his wand. Hari stifles her laugh, remembering how he'd blown up the chalk a few months ago – he'd been covered in powder. The witches watch as he writes out TEAM CAKE in capital letters, writing their roles and names below it.
"No!" Josie exclaims loudly, standing up. "Victoria Frobisher, you stole my name!"
"Did not," Vicky immediately replies, grinning. "It's our team name, Jackdaw. You should have been quicker."
"Bitch," Josie grumps.
Hari shakes her head at their antics, tapping her wand against the Accountability Index on the front of her cold case. Her signature appears below the short list of names, the date following with an open-ended hyphen, waiting for her time to either close the case or hand it over to another Auror. Opening the file to the first page, immediately, Hari's blood runs cold. Her expression must have been telling, because Vicky abstains from opening her own as Seamus returns to the grouping of desks.
"Potter?"
"Put some privacy wards up," Hari mutters, eyes glued to the pages. There isn't much in the file – an incident report, a follow-up and a retraction from the original witness who reported the crime. Other notes and forms. Once she feels the familiar Auror-credited privacy wards be put into place, she lays the file on her desk for Vicky and Seamus to see.
"What kind of case is it?" Vicky questions as Hari raises a magical pinboard up from the edge of her desk, keying her teammates in so they can see.
Hari's expression turns grim. "A missing child."
Under normal circumstances, this case would have been solved within a month of being reported. Missing children – magical children, especially – are higher priority than dark wizards, thieves and criminals. A whole division within the Auror Department should have been working on this case, not three Junior Aurors who aren't even properly Ranked yet.
"Fucking hell," Seamus mutters, "those are never cold cases. How long-"
"Over a year, according to this file," Hari says, finding the biro and cardstock that Hermione had gifted her. She rapidly writes down all the relevant information, sticking it to her board with magic. "On February eighth, Walburga Rowle reported her cousin's daughter missing. The girl was apparently called Delphini Rowle and she was only a year old, born the previous March."
"Apparently?"
"Apparently, because Walburga retracted her statement later, after Aurors began investigating," Hari pens the words RETRACTED FEB 15th in big letters, making a timeline off to one side. "In the investigation of Euphemia Rowle's home, however, there were no signs a child had lived there for at least several years."
"So…are we looking for a toddler or a child?" Seamus tries to understand, frowning.
"A toddler, according to the notes here," Hari purses her lips, pausing in her hurried writing to actually look through the next few pages. "It looks like they were debating? There's unofficial notation here."
"Why did they stop looking?" Vicky asks, eyes locked on the file. Hari skims quickly, knowing she'll have to go over this better when she's had time to parse the basics for her team.
"Well…with the retraction from Walburga Rowle, they had no reason to keep investigating – not so obviously, at least. They were still worried. It looks like they were waiting for permission from the higher-ups to do surveillance?" Hari squints, the writing blurring. It takes her a minute to realise her charm has already worn off. Sighing, she forces herself to stop, looking in Vicky's direction. Yep. Smudges. "It must not have come."
"Where are your glasses?" Seamus questions, quickly, obviously recognising her I can't see a bloody thing face. "Accio Hari's glasses!"
From beside her knee, Hari hears a quiet smashing sound and sighs.
"Of course they were in my desk," she mutters, opening the drawer and firing off a silent Reparo. There's a quiet tinkle of glass and metal, before Hari attempts to find them in what is likely a desk full of sharp quills and who knows what else. "What's your case, Vicky?"
Vicky clears her throat as Hari puts her glasses on, "If you'd just give me a minute."
"Sure," Hari nods, before spreading out her own case file in a line on her desk, motioning Seamus over so he can see. After a short shuffle, the two of them start to understand the cold case in front of them.
The previous Auror to work on this was a witch with several underlings, it seemed. Hari noted to Seamus that there were over four different styles of handwriting – Seamus then proceeded to point out another three.
"Half-squad and a commanding officer, maybe?" Seamus ponders. "Who took Accountability?"
"I can't tell you," Hari mutters in reminder, checking. Mirabelle Krasinski. "I don't recognise them, at least."
"Odd," Seamus shifts through some papers, flipping one over to reveal a still picture. He peers at it. "Hari- Hari, look, in the background."
Hari looks.
"…that's Thorfinn Rowle," Hari breathes, shocked, picking the page up. "The Death Eater."
"Know him personally?" Seamus questions.
"Hermione modified his memory at one point," Hari licks her lips, unsticking the photo from the file. A shadow through the picture prompts her to turn it around, revealing a hand-written note.
Taken by squib next-door neighbour pre-Battle of Hogwarts. #1
"There are more!" Seamus exclaimed and Hari looks up in time to see an explosion of photographs – emptying out what must have been an undetectable extension charm in the folded edge. Seamus scrambles to collect the photos, Vicky only barely looking up at the commotion.
"What's going on?"
"Information!" Hari says, before remembering that she is a witch, for Merlin's sake. Sitting up, she organises the photographs into a pile, thankful for their remedial paperwork management lesson at the start of the year. The photo in her hand wiggles, jumping to the top of the pile.
"I think they must have gotten that surveillance after all," Seamus says, picking up the pile of photographs and looking at the top four before pausing. "These are muggle, though."
"Legally, we can only submit non-magical evidence if it's appropriately tagged and bagged by the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office," Vicky says, putting down her file. "Where's their serial number?"
Seamus checks, looking around and even looking at the back of the photos. Hari, meanwhile, gets a bit more paranoid than perhaps the situation deserves and casts a few of her own wards around the table.
Or maybe this is exactly the amount of paranoia needed, Hari thinks, looking at the photographs and getting a hunch.
"I think it's illegal evidence," Hari says aloud. Seamus freezes. "This is a cold case – no supposed missing child case is a cold case, it's not right. They'd have the long-term investigative unit on it. They buried it. They buried this case for some reason."
"This cold case is twenty-three years old," Vicky adds, nails scraping over her file. "Add us to the Accountability Index – we need all eyes on this, Potter. We need to know the managerial details."
"That's triplicate paperwork," Seamus mutters, but doesn't complain when Hari extends the column her name is in, leaving them room to sign their own names.
Vicky clears her throat, "I'm going to do as much as I can for this case, but twenty-three years is a long time. I'll focus on it for the next week, alone – call on me if you want help with that one."
"Same here, mate," Hari replies. "If you need any help-"
"This is a hate-crime against a vampire from nearly two dozen years ago," Vicky interrupts, shaking her head. "I'll be fine. You focus on that kid."
"Got it," Hari nods decisively, pulling her chair into the desk more, leg pressing up against Seamus'. "Let's look at these pictures and try to figure out what they were looking for."