Disclaimer: Upon further testing and a few scary phone calls later, it has been determined that I am not in fact J.K. Rowling and do not own Harry Potter. I do own Troy Rhiannon Del Toro and the Magus organization of America. Do NOT use these or any other concepts/characters not originally used in J.K. Rowling's work without my permission.

A/N-

Just disregard the epilogue and accept that pretty much everyone who died at the end died. So, it's ALMOST compliant. Almost. Also, I'm chronologically challenged, so I'm not worrying about the time line. If there's something that is glaring impossible or simply makes no sense, just ask me in a PM or review. This was SUPPOSED to be a oneshot, but again Felix thwarted me.

To spare your eyes – and mine – I dropped the multiple S's in Parseltongue. Only as emphasis shall they be used. XD Disregard Troy's weight, by the way. It was a filler, and I didn't check to see if it was healthy/normal/etc. Of course, if you'd like to tell me in a review, that would be beautiful, because I probably won't check. XD

Warnings: Overabundance of Americanisms (well..that's how I'D phrase it, but it may or may not be an overabundance), odd continuity, some gore and violence, profanity, sexual situations, OOCness, blatant disregard of the epilogue, as stated above.

"Speech"

Thought

'Written word'

~Parseltongue~

"Do you know how much force it takes to chop someone's head off with a single blow and no magic to augment the force?"

"No."

"Neither do I, but damn it, this guy is either really pissed or on steroids." Harry snorted, twirling his wand anxiously.

"So, cause of death?"

"...His head's gone, Harry, what do you think?"

"Did the dismemberment occur pre or post mortem?" The medical examiner sighed and snapped the leather folder shut.

"He died because his head was chopped off." Harry grinned and plucked the file from his hands.

"Thank you."

"Don't forget to give that file back to Mallory! You remember what he did last time you lost a file!" The Auror snorted.

"Don't remind me..."

Timothy Mallory had started assigning Harry to senior agents from the moment he arrived, only to realise that the former Gryffindor did not in fact work well with others – especially not others who were either telling him what to do or fawning over him. All orders had to be carefully phrased to get him to do anything, lest he decide you were trying to control him and disregarded anything that left your mouth from there out. He'd eventually given him desk duty, something he strangely found no problem with, before the rash of murders began. Anyone not already assigned to something was placed on the case, and either sent to another country or given a partner from another Ministry of Magic and sent to another part of England. The term "rash" was not really accurate; try plague, or spree. It wasn't just local – it was international. It wasn't completely impossible that it was only one person, but the Ministries were assuming it was a group, and teaming up with one another to deal with it. Harry had been pulled from desk duty only that day and was heading to his supervisor's office to meet his new partner, an American by the name of Troy Del Toro.

"Here's your area's file."

"...This is all of London."

"Yes, I know. You'll only have to deal with Sector Five. Del Toro is waiting for you in Weasley's office; I couldn't get her to stop humming and it was driving me out of my head."

"Sorry, sir."

"...No, you aren't."

"No, I'm not. Sir, Sector Five is only one building."

"Yes – I know. Everything will be explained when you get there. Also, to cut down on costs, we're moving Del Toro into that dump you call a house."

"...Great."

"You have space, and she's competent – it's not like she'll let your little demon scare her off."

"Kreacher's not a demon, sir."

"Whatever you say, Potter. Report in every day, please. Dismissed." He nodded, already absorbed in the file as he strode out, heading towards the elevator.

"What the hell is Depravia?"

The tiny office couldn't be more cramped and unorganized, and somehow Ron managed to keep track of several relocated dragons, a herd of unicorns, and centaur relations in general. The redhead wasn't actually in today; he'd been called to Hogwarts to deal with his second year son's newest escapade. He never would have believed a Hufflepuff could be so devious if it weren't for the fact that it was his son.

"Auror Potter?" He started, pulling his attention away from the file. A woman was sitting on a cleared spot on his friend's desk, reading one of his unfiled reports.

"I'm Troy Del Toro, Magus of Washington, D.C. This your office?"

"My friend's."

"Thought so. You don't strike me as this messy. More of a closet slob, really. Not to mention, from what little of this chicken scratch I can read, these all deal with magical creatures. I was under the impression that you were assigned to investigations of a more violent, prepared sort." She returned the file to a pile and stood up, brushing herself off and readjusting her clothing. She was wearing the usual Magus uniform – pants, black, tucked into knee high boots, also black, with a slight heel and metal toe. Over this was a mock turtle neck, again in black, and in her hand she held the signature coat – thigh length, single breasted, bearing the bold brass buttons stamped with stars and battling eagle and basilisk patch, situated over the heart, in blood red. It was somehow less ostentatious than he'd imagined. As she pulled it on, he noticed the tarnished flask hanging at her hip. Apparently he was more obvious than he'd thought, because it was suddenly right in front of him, open.

"I had a friend who went to Hogwarts with you – wrote about the Mad-Eye Moody thing."

"Oh." He accepted the flask and took a quick sniff, pulling out his wand to do a series of spells on it.

"Um...this is tea."

"Yeah. I could have told you that, but I figured you'd do better if you checked yourself. Can I have it back?" He handed back, eyeing her warily.

"What, do you want my file too? Ask your supervisor for it next time you talk. We have to go, don't we?" He nodded, feeling strangely tongue tied. She didn't strike him as the law abiding type, and it was bugging him.

"Augh. Rain. Ew. And me without an umbrella. How far do we have to go before we can Apparate?"

"A few yards that way." He waved her to the left, trying not to laugh as her short hair was instantly soaked and plastered to her skull. He never saw her move to the side and stick her foot out, but he could imagine the smug look on her face as he proceeded to perform a faceplant into a miraculously appeared puddle.

"Ah, poor guy. Here, let me help you up." Did she have to almost yank his arm out of his socket? He rubbed the offending limb, glaring at her. She snorted and kept walking, humming Britain's national anthem as loud as she could. He couldn't tell if she was mocking him or not.

"So, who was the friend you said went to school with me?"

"...Well, he was technically my stepbrother to be, if my dad hadn't gotten cold feet – Blaise Zabini?"

"Your father was a wise man."

"Blaise is the one who told him not to marry his mom." Harry chuckled, pushing his door open after a short moment of untangling his sadly weather sensitive wards.

"Well, you managed to look like a drowned rat after all. I suppose I owe Phineas those ten Galleons after all. Who is this?"

"...Your portraits are mean."

"He's just cranky."

"According to you, I am always disenchanted by your presence."

"I like him."

"Great." Harry glared at Severus, who simply smirked at him. He had no idea when the portrait had been created or who had sent it to him, but he had to admit he was rather glad for it's presence in the house. The man was surprisingly amusing, once he got past his old grudges and uninformed dislike of him.

"Harry."

"Sorry. This is Troy Del Toro – she's been assigned to me as my partner while we investigate the murders."

"Ah, yes. The headhunter."

"Look. A house elf. Jeez, I didn't know people kept those anymore. Hi, dude." Kreacher seemed torn between horror, confusion, and dislike of the newcomer, who skipped past him to examine the rest of the house.

"Wait! Wait, wait, wait. This was your godfather's home, right?"

"Yes."

"...Should I be worried about what his family may have left here?"

"Just don't go into the attic."

"Duly noted." She continued her exploration, occasionally exclaiming over something she found or – unfortunately for Harry – engaging in arguments and even a yelling match with the portraits.

"How long is she staying, pray tell?"

"Until she's reassigned or this case is over."

"Delightful..." The wizard shrugged and hung up his cloak, pausing to greet Kreacher.

"Magus Del Toro will be staying with us for an undetermined amount of time."

"Kreacher understands the Master Harry. Shall Kreacher put her in Mistress's room?" Harry raised an eyebrow, surprised. Kreacher didn't just put anyone in his old Mistress's room...which could only mean...he paled.

"Ah, if you would like, Kreacher. You do understand that she is my partner, and our relationship is strictly professional, yes?"

"...Kreacher understand that that is what the Master Harry says now, yes." He sighed and nodded, waving him off.

"Hey, Del Toro?"

"Call me Troy." He started, looking up. How did she get upstairs without him noticing?

"Do you want to head out to Sector Five today?"

"Hell yeah!" He yelped and jumped backwards when she vaulted over the railing and landed in a crouch in front of him, before straightening, grinning from ear to ear.

"Can we pick up some boar hearts on the way?"

"...To eat?"

"Yeah. Just one should be fine, actually. Really heavy in calories, good source of energy. Don't gape, you're not a fish, silly." She pushed his mouth close and strode back out, still humming that infernal song.

"I have never wanted to strangle someone so much!" Luna nodded, smiling, rearranging the flowers in the vase for a fifth time.

"It'll be alright, Harry. Troy is a bit much sometimes, but she's loyal to a fault, and she won't let anything happen to you. She's one of the best Magi in America."

"I'm worried about my safety from her!"

"Smart man." Blaise collapsed next to him, groaning.

"She's still as energetic as ever. I got her a boar's heart from the butcher down the street, so she probably won't ask you for anything for a few hours. Also, I have to ask you make sure she eats enough – she has a bad habit of forgetting to eat and has gone as long as three days without food before someone noticed." Harry blinked.

"Good at hiding it, huh?"

"Unfortunately." The Magus's voice suddenly floated in from outside the restaurant.

"Harry, I have a problem. It would be nice if you could possibly come out here and help me." He sighed and rose, rubbing the back of his neck.

"What-" He stopped in his tracks, blinking slowly.

Standing only a few yards in front of him was Troy – and a baby hippogriff. She had a sheepish expression on her face and bore a long scratch down her face.

"Um...I sort of smelled something weird, so I went around the corner from the butcher's and...well, I stumbled on a group of smugglers. This was their only cargo, but we got into a fight, and now it thinks I'm it's mother."

"Troy! This is the third time!" He turned to gape at Blaise, who was shaking his head.

"The same thing happened in Greece with that baby gryphon, and in Barbados with the unicorn!"

"It's wrong, okay? Just – can we go back to the Ministry and ask your friend to help?"

"Ron? Ah, yeah, maybe he's back now." He couldn't help but wonder if this would be his last few days – she hadn't even been here a full day and she was causing trouble. She stood patiently while Luna healed the cut on her face and produced – from somewhere in the flat she shared with Blaise – a length of leather and a collar.

"Do I want to know why you have that?"

"I don't know Harry – do you?" He couldn't bring himself to continue the conversation. They made their way back to the Ministry and went straight to Ron's office.

"Hey, Harry – is that a baby hippogriff? What did you get yourself into this time?"

"It's not always me!"

"..."

"Well, this time it wasn't. It was Troy's." He pointed at the Magus, who waved.

"Hiya. Troy Del Toro." He nodded, putting down a sheaf of parchment.

"Ron Weasley. Okay, lead it back down to containment, I'll sign off on it. Don't worry about the extra paperwork, I'll get someone to take up the slack if you'll just deposit your memories in the Pensieve down there." Harry began to walk out, then stopped.

"Why is there a Pensieve in containment?" The redhead winced.

"You don't really want to know, Harry.

They eventually got back out into the city and to Sector Five, located somewhere near the center of a alley labyrinth Harry despaired getting out of.

"We should have gotten some spelled string."

"...What?"

"You know, like with the Minotaur? ...You don't, do you? What kind of wizard are you?" He glared at her, but she was again focused on something else.

"Is this it?" He looked up and took in the plain lettering on the equally plain sign.

Heart of Depravia.

"It would appear to be it, yes."

"Are we going in?" He rolled his eyes.

"That's why we're here, Del Toro."

"Oh, last name basis. I get it. Well, Potter, it may have escaped your notice – not hard, given your easily distracted attention and apparently pea-sized mind – but we were supposed to be debriefed before entering a possibly hostile situation." ...Could she sound any more like Malfoy? Of all the things that had happened during his school years, his relationship with Draco Malfoy was one of the few he had never come to terms with, and still couldn't think about without seeing red. He gritted his teeth and forced his anger down, counting backwards from twenty, then thirty when he realised he was still entertaining fantasies about throwing her into a pit of snakes. Venomous snakes.

"You are correct. With that out of the way, why don't you lead the way out of here?"

"...Please." He barely blinked before she Apparated out.

"That went well..."

He finally trudged up to the door of Grimmauld Place and slammed it open, cursing the weather in increasingly louder tones. He had returned to the Ministry to get Troy's file, confident that she was sitting in the rain outside his house sulking, and was greeted by the words 'proficient at ward breaking', which immediately caused his good mood to disintegrate. Besides this ability, she was also very good at curse breaking, potions identification, physical and magical combat and espionage.

"Your day did not go well."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"I'm glad his manners have improved."

"Yes, well, given how difficult Mr. Zabini said Magus Del Toro can be, I believe we can excuse his vulgarity this once, Phineas." The former Headmaster of Hogwarts snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Yes. Well, your little American friend is in the attic."

"Did I not tell her not to go up there?"

"She is certain she can find a project to entertain herself until she forgives you." Harry narrowed his eyes at the portrait's smirking countenance.

"And did you possibly aid this decision?"

"Well, it was that or telling her that it's just sexual frustration, and forgive me if I dislike the idea of being incinerated." Harry threw up his hands and stomped out, ignoring Phineas's commentary on his childish behaviour.

"Kreacher wonders if perhaps the Master Harry would like something to eat."

"...Could you just make some hot chocolate? I'll be up in my room reading files."

"Kreacher hears and understands the Master Harry. The Master Harry's hot chocolate will be done in a few moments." He didn't answer, just dragged himself upstairs and headed to his room.

A few hours and a change of clothes later, he was lying on his bed, empty mug of chocolate now cold on his bedside table, flipping through Troy's file.

'Troy Rhiannon Del Toro. Five feet, seven inches. 135 pounds. Brown eyes, brown hair. Biracial. Wand, six and three quarter inches, ebony with ivory detail, core of powdered unicorn horn and chimera's fang.' The details went on and on. It was longer than his, which suggested she was either his senior or, heavens forbid, a prodigy. He didn't like prodigies, especially ones who had been told over and over that they were a prodigy, and therefore special. How many prodigies did you see fighting Voldemort, hmm? He snorted at that thought. It was hypocritical of him to use that as a meter by which to measure others' accomplishments. It was by luck and sheer chance that he'd managed what he had while at Hogwarts.

"Are you done sulking, Harry?"

"Yes, Sev, I'm done sulking." He thrown something at the portrait earlier, and only after much effusive apology did the man return, but he wouldn't talk to the younger man until he'd stopped pouting and swearing every time he brought up Troy. The Auror rolled over and groaned.

"We were doing fine, and all of a sudden we're at each other's throats."

"Would you like to examine that more closely?"

"I already know why – she reminded me of Malfoy." Severus sighed.

"I really wish you would get over that childish feud." Harry laughed bitterly, dragging his fingers through his hair.

"So do I, but damn it, every single time I think about it, even for a moment, I feel like punching someone!" Severus clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

"And do you?"

"No. I'm not that immature." He slowly sat up, rubbing his temples.

"Is this my fault?"

"Define this."

"This entire bloody stupid mess."

"Harry."

"Sorry. But really! She wasn't acting out of the ordinary – for what little I'd seen, anyway – and then we're arguing and she was abandoning me in back alleys."

"Oh, are we mulling over the boy's little lover's spat?" Phineas popped his head into the frame Severus was currently occupying and strode in, smirking at the irritated Auror. Harry couldn't remember a time when he'd seen the man smile a genuine smile.

"Phineas, must you insist on being a nuisance?"

"This is my house, Severus."

"Legally, it's mine, Phineas."

"What does legality have to do with this?" Severus chuckled as Harry ceded to that point, smiling a bit. They all turned to the door when a hesitant knock broke through their mirth.

"Hey, Harry? Kreacher says dinner's ready and asked me to come get you because you said not to bother you." Troy's normally raucous voice was soft, subdued. He climbed off the bed and opened the door, meeting her eyes.

"Hi."

"...Hi." Phineas and Severus had made themselves mercifully scarce (though Harry mused Severus had probably dragged Phineas after him, because he couldn't imagine the man would give up a chance to harass Harry), leaving him to deal with a painfully apologetic Magus.

"Hey, can we just forget about it, Troy? I was being unreasonable."

"Really? Because I'm the one who snapped at you."

"...So now we're going to argue about who's fault it is?"

"No. We're going to agree that I'm right and you're wrong." He met her grin with his own, shaking his head.

"Sure, Troy. What's for dinner?"

"Pierogis."

"...Kreacher can't make pierogis."

"Then it's a good thing I'm the one who made them, isn't it?"