CHAPTER ONE

Harry's desk was covered in papers and posters –– some winked and screamed and waved at him, and some sat still. Many of them couldn't be seen at all, being underneath the crossed feet of its owner. Harry was twirling his wand lazily, a quill responding to gentle magic, and words formed clumsy and quickly across a piece of parchment.

A flick of the wrist, and the parchment folded itself into a paper airplane, and zipped away.

"Nobody can read that," said Jacob from beside him. Jacob had the desk next to him, and it was as clean as a polished floor.

"Yes they can," Harry said, taking down his feet and turning to his partner. Jacob was tall, and thin, with balding brown hair.

"Rupert is going to come down here and ask what that says."

"Bet you a galleon he doesn't."

"I'll take that bet."

Jacob nodded his head, and Harry turned around. Rupert, the head of the Auror part of the Magical Law Enforcement division, is walking towards him, paper airplane crumpled in his left fist. He was short and squat, with massive arms and thick black hair, down to his shoulders.

Harry grabbed a galleon from his desk, and flipped it to Jacob, who put it in his own desk amongst the others.

"You keep them?" Harry said.

"Besting the Chosen One is no small feat. I like to keep those reminders close by."

Before Harry can respond, Rupert is at his desk.

"I don't know what this says," Rupert said.

"I–"

"I also don't care. Come with me."

Rupert walked off. Harry, with a look back to Jacob, follows.

They left the Auror offices, walking into the Ministry proper. Rupert dropped the paper without looking and a house elf caught it, running fast to throw it away. Harry winced. He was glad that Hermione wasn't here to see that. She hated that the Ministry still used house elf labor without paying. Harry didn't like it much, either.

The elevator bank was full of people, but a snap of the fingers from Rupert cleared out on elevator for the two of them. Harry hated that, too, but he didn't do anything to stop it. The people who cleared out started at Harry, and he struggled apologetically as they ascended.

"Where are we going?" Harry said.

"There was an explosion in Bakewell. Three people dead. We're sending you to investigate," Rupert said.

"What about those murders in London? Jacob and I have been working on those for a while."

"That's wrapped, Potter. Muggle police got them already. We'll be retrieving their bodies by Monday."

"They were killed by Muggle police? Where were they?" Harry asked.

"Alabama," Rupert said.

Harry nodded. That made sense.

"Sad," Harry said.

"Deserved," Rupert retorted.

Harry didn't respond. Rupert had been an important part of the resistance when Voldemort was in power, and in the aftermath as they rounded the last of his followers. But he was closer to the Barty Crouch Sr school of dark wizard hunting than Harry's.

The elevator opened, and the two men stepped out. They were on one of the upper floors, a place where Harry and the Aurors rarely ventured. High level administrative people worked on this floor — decisions small and big were made on this floor. The Deputy Minister, a position newly created after the fall of Voldemort, was on this floor as well.

"What are we doing up here, Rupert?" Harry said.

"What happened in Bakewell involved some… sensitive things. We're meeting with the Deputy Minister to make sure we're all on the same page," Rupert said.

"What does that mean?"

Rupert didn't answer. They walked to the end of the hall, to the large, ornate white-wood door. Rupert tapped on it with his hand, and upon the fourth tap, Harry and Rupert were suddenly pulled into it, and dropped into two chairs, in front of a vast, oaken desk.

"That was unpleasant," Harry said, getting his breath. "Thanks for letting me know that was coming."

Rupert straightened his cloak, staring ahead. Harry followed his eyes to the man behind the desk. He had brown skin and blue eyes, with slicked back black hair and wire frame glasses. He was in Muggle dress, in a vest and tie, and a five o'clock shadow was threatening to turn into a beard. His name was Thomas Parker, and he was the Deputy Minister of Magic.

"Deputy Minister," Rupert said professionally, deepening his voice half an octave.

"Deputy Minister," Harry said, trying to mirror his superior.

"Mr. Rocksford, Mr. Potter. Thank you for coming to my office," Thomas said. He removed his glasses, and cleaned them on his shirt. He put them back on, and smiled –- much warmer, and more inviting, than Harry had expected.

"You've heard all of this already, Mr. Rocksford, you don't have to stick around for the encore," Thomas said.

"Of course, Deputy Minister," Rupert said, standing and turning and Apparting out of the room. Harry swallowed.

"Nervous, Mr. Potter?" Thomas said.

"We've never met," Harry said, in way of response.

"No, we haven't. Though, in my defense, I've only been on the job for a few months."

"I liked your predecessor. Ms. Steele was a smart woman."

"Indeed. Took your counsel quite often, too, didn't she?"

"I think it'd be more accurate to say that I took hers, Deputy Minister," Harry said.

Thomas smiled –- still warm, and inviting. Harry felt himself relaxing, for the first time.

"Ms. Steele is missed. Frankly, I wish she had stayed on. I was more comfortable working on general administration than as Deputy Minister. But, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't extremely proud to have gotten this position," Thomas said.

Harry looked at Thomas. His presentation –- Muggle clothing, and slicked back hair, and those piercing blue eyes –– they all set him on edge. He didn't look very much like a wizard, and certainly nothing like Lindsey Steele. Lindsey Steele has been tall and wide, with wild gray hair and wilder eyes. She had been the Deputy Minister for almost five and a half years, and when she had retired and moved on to teach at Hogwarts, Harry had felt real sadness to not get to work with her everyday.

But this Thomas –– he knew very little about him. He had been at the Ministry when Voldemort was in charge. That wasn't a black mark against him, as many were, but Thomas Parker had been a mid-level manager, dealing mostly with Muggles and their protection, and anybody in that division deserved scrutiny. But Kinglsey trusted him, so–

"Are you thinking me over, Mr. Potter?" Thomas said.

"Reading my mind?" Harry said.

"No. I am not gifted in those arts, I'm afraid. Just a good reader of body language, and your stare does me no favors."

"You worked in Muggle protection during Voldemort's reign––" (Harry was glad to see that Thomas did not flinch at the now-dead villains name) "–– and that is not something I take lightly."

"A fair assessment. But if Minster Shacklebot trusts me––," Thomas began.

"Then I trust you, too," Harry said, finishing the sentence. "That's what I was working out. In my head."

"I am glad to hear that," Thomas said.

Thomas waved his wand, and a folder appeared out of thin air. It landed in Harry's lap, and flipped open. On the front page is a newspaper clipping from The Daily Prophet. DYLAN KOSTAS DEAD IN EXPLOSION, the headline screamed. A picture of Dylan Kostas, a young man with black hair, waved merrily back up at him.

"Who is Dylan Kostas?" Harry said.

"He was one of six people killed in the explosion in Bakewell," Thomas said.

"Is he important?"

"Very. He was an informant for Magical Law Enforcement, working with several others in trying to thwart a cell of dark wizards."

Harry looked up sharply, and frowned.

"Not to be too bold, Deputy Minister, but should I really be put on this case?" Harry said.

"Because of your fame? Perhaps. It would put a certain shine on this case that it otherwise wouldn't get. But we're hoping that shine might force those who did this into a mistake, if it was indeed a murder, and not just an accident," Thomas said.

"That's a big risk. Could risk further exposure to your informants."

"I know what I am doing, Mr. Potter. That is not up for debate."

That smile was still warm. Harry began to think that this man was the most gifted liar he had ever met.

"I am telling you this because I want you to be careful, and vigilant," Thomas said. "Take a look around, and get back to us. Have you been to Bakewell?"

Harry shook his head.

"Ms. Rose has. She'll be accompanying you. She knows the area well, and you can Side-Along Apparate the first time there."

"Ms. Rose?" Harry said, confused.

"Your partner on this assignment. An Irish woman, transferring in from their Ministry, if you can call it that. Any other questions?"

Harry shook his head again. Thomas' smiled faded, and Harry realized that it had never left his face.

"Good luck, Mr. Potter. Keep this to yourself," Thomas said, and the man snapped his fingers, and Harry found himself outside of the large, ornate door at the end of the hallway.

"Blimey," Harry said, blinking furiously, as though he had stepped into the sun, before heading down to the elevator bank

It took only a moment for the elevator to arrive, and those odd, messy doors opened with a crinkle. Harry stepped inside, yawning, and almost ran into Hermione, who was on her way out.

"Harry!" she said, stopping just short of him.

"Hermione!" Harry said in return, though he wasn't sure why.

The elevator closed behind her, and descended.

"What are you doing up on this floor?" she said.

"Work from the Deputy Minister," he said. He told her all about it.

"The Deputy Minister probably wanted you to keep that to yourself."

"He did."

He smirked, and she rolled her eyes. She walked over to a nearby door, a mottled green thing, and tapped it with her wand. It turned into a giant mouth, and she rolled her eyes again, and withdrew a small ring from her pocket. She placed it on the tongue, and the mouth giggled, and slurped it up.

"What was that?" he said once she had returned to his side.

"A de-magicked ring, taken from a Muggle jewelry shop. Moartinson wanted it brought up here personally," she said.

He looked at her, somewhat stunned that she would think he was asking about the ring, and not the giant mouth that ate it like it was chicken broth.

"Oh," she said, slightly pink, "Moartinson's out of the office, so I left it at his Deputy's instead. Alan Brothers. Thinks he's George Weasley. As if I don't get enough of that at home…"

Harry smiled. The elevator returned, and they got on together. A few people were on it this time. They looked at Harry, and then Hermione, and then away –– he had been working here six years, and Harry and Hermione still got looks from some of their colleagues.

"You want to come over for dinner tonight?" she asked casually, knowing the others were listening.

"Yeah. Ginny's gone with the team till Tuesday. I've been eating out for the last few days," he said.

"Ron's been working on a recipe. A goulash, I think."

"Maybe I'll pass."

"I'm not eating it alone. Come over at four? I just got a new report from Bushwick about the house elf changes in America and I'd like your input," she said.

Harry had a flash -– a small one, of those SPEW badges and the badly knitted clothes. He thought of Dobby and Kreacher, the latter who still worked at Hogwarts. Once upon a time, those badges were an annoyance, and Hermione's obsessions cringe-worthy; but now?

"I'd love to, Hermione," Harry said, and she smiled, and got off the elevator, leaving him alone with a black haired witch and a rosy red wizard, who exchanged glances he could feel, and he smiled at that, too.