The characters are completely unowned by me, as well as the situations that you actually recognize. Be warned that this is a future fic (post Voldemort), and will be a slash fic (Harry/Draco).
A Second Riddle
Chapter 1
"I am convinced now that the desert has no heart,
that it presents a riddle which has no answer,
and that the riddle itself is an illusion created
by some limitation or exaggeration
of the displaced human consciousness."
-Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire
It started in San Diego, California.
The factory warehouse was as damp and dirty as he had expected. For some reason, the places seemed to attract dust and dirt, to wallow in grime and wet mud, combining into a lethal combination of utter filth that made even him wince. He tugged the 'FBI' jacket on over his bulletproof vest, and under its weight, lamented the fact that he could not just do a spell to repel the projectiles from himself. He was just pulling a blue baseball cap over his head when he heard the crackle of his walkie-talkie, and the supervising agent's voice come through the set.
"Agent Potter, this is Agent Devereaux."
Harry grew a wane smile as the slight southern twang registered even through the headset. "I'm here, John."
"You notice anything a little bit unusual about this case?"
"You mean the fact that no one's been in or out of the building in the last hour?"
"Yeah."
Harry winced, and squashed the urge to say that he hadn't noticed anything. "Yeah, I noticed."
There was a pause and a slight bit of static filled the silence outside the warehouse.
"Harry, meet me at the North door. We're going in alone."
_ _ _ _
The inside of the factory was almost worse than the outside. It was dark, surprisingly cramped with machinery that had not been used in decades, most of which probably no longer worked. It felt oddly like stepping into the stereotypical action movie, and it made the hair on the back of Harry's neck rise. For a split second, he missed the intimate connection he had had with the villains in his past. He missed having his scar hurt whenever and wherever danger was present. It was an early detection system that he particularly missed.
Still, in a pinch he supposed the hairs on the back of his neck were good enough. It made him more alert, more expecting. The only difference is that he had no real clue what to expect. John was to his left, about five feet on the other side, leaning against a makeshift wall that was composed out of cardboard boxes and sheet metal. It had only taken them a few minutes to figure out that this particular warehouse was indeed the headquarters of the group they were seeking.
The group was a particularly nasty one, in Harry's opinion. It was a group of practical but unaffiliated skinheads, nearly Neo-Nazi, if only they had been more organized and not quite so defiant of political authority. If they had been in England, they would probably have been labeled as such anyway. They had waged a war on every minority Harry could think of, save the wizards. He figured that was merely because they didn't know of their existence. Harry hoped it wasn't because they were wizards.
Of course, that would have been just what Harry needed at this point in his life. The responsibility of explaining to his superiors exactly why he was able to cast a counter-curse against the inexplicable spells a militant group had used as their weapon. Harry guessed it was only time before he walked into a situation like that. He was the great Harry Potter, after all. He drew in all sorts of trouble like a twisted magnet.
"Harry!"
John's sharp whisper pulled him out of all his self-conjecture, back to the present. His eyes went first to his boss, before following his look and his gesture to the scene before them. The rows of boxes up until this point had been arranged so that they formed a wide but inescapable hallway; now they opened out into a large meeting room, almost grand in its scale. There was a large rectangular table, obviously their meeting spot, and on the side closest to the entrance were desks set up with telephones and computers. It looked, generally, like a political campaign office, only the boards that had been hung up on the faux walls were marked with stars on the maps of places where the group's crimes had occurred, and had several other locations circled. Places where hits were obviously planned.
The most surprising thing, however, was the condition of the members of the hate group. Every one of them was sprawled out in their chairs, on the floor, or over the table. They were completely and totally lifeless. Suspended in the air near the ceiling of the warehouse was a mark – not the Dark Mark, but to Harry's mind it was the same general thing, only possibly more shy because it was inside the building. Three vertical lines arranged in a triangular formation, two on the bottom and one on top, and in reality they weren't even just plain lines, they were crossed at the top and bottom like I-beams. Anywhere else, and Harry would have thought nothing of it, but in this context it made his stomach hurt, even as he turned to look at Devereaux.
"Well, I suppose this makes it more interesting for us."
_ _ _ _
Harry got home to his apartment well after midnight. He wasn't surprised by that, on his harder cases, he would often be at the office into the next day. It was one of the reasons he had so easily adjusted back to life in the muggle world – he rarely had to dwell on it.
He thumbed through the mail; it was always just bills or junk mail. His hand paused on a Ticket Master envelope, which he only recognized because he had attended a muggle concert earlier in the year, and had received the same envelope then. He ripped the envelope down the side, opening it and pulling out a general admission ticket and backstage pass to a Screaming Ferrets concert. He bit his lip, and set it off to the side. He would think about that later.
He had been going to get himself some water in the kitchen when he looked out the back window, onto the balcony of the apartment, and he saw her. Hedwig, her feathers as glistening and white as ever, a message tied to her leg, and a slight glare in her eyes, directed towards him. He went to the sliding glass door, and let her in.
"I suppose you're angry because I wasn't here to let you in." She settled on one of his kitchen bar stools, still staring him down in the way she had perfected over the years since he had last seen her. "I'm sorry, I had work. At any rate, it's great to see you again."
The glare softened, but just a bit, and Harry guessed that that was as well as he would manage tonight. He walked towards her, holding his hand out, and she accepted, landing gracefully, and allowing him to untie the message from her leg. He petted behind her ears. "Just let me see about this, and I'll see what food I can find you out of my fridge." Hedwig looked a little nonplussed. "Icebox, Hedwig."
The first letter was from Ron.
Harry-
Sorry that it's been such awhile since I last wrote. Things have been getting hectic here again, but I'll leave that explanation up to Albus.
I suppose all I can really say here is that we miss you, Harry. When you left after the defeat of You-Know-Who (I still hate writing the actual name) we all thought that it was fine, that you would come back after a certain number of years. It's been ten years, and you still haven't returned. We need you to come back now, Harry.
That aside, Hermione and I are doing quite well, aside from the recent troubles in the ministry. The Canons are having a remarkable season, as well. Maybe if you visit, we could take in a game or two.
I'm sorry about the guilt trip, but we need you back, Harry.
-Ron
Harry winced, and set that aside for now, going to the second note. It was from Dumbledore.
Dear Mr. Potter,
I am almost ashamed to be writing this letter. When you defeated Voldemort for good, I, and most of the wizarding community, felt that you had been doing the greatest service to our kind that could ever be rendered, and to be writing you to ask for more somehow seems like a great disservice to the deeds you have already performed.
The fact of the matter is, though, that our kind has fallen into a great, unknown trap again. Some menace is starting to threaten revolt, Harry. Groups of muggles are being killed, and while so far they seem to be the scum of the earth, skinheads and the like, there is no telling how long it will be before something more sinister begins to happen.
On a personal note, both Severus and I have begun to receive threatening letters. While this would not normally scare us, they are signed with the same insignia that is being left above the scenes of each crime. I have inscribed it at the bottom of the letter, so that you may know what to watch for even if you do not join us in this battle.
I fear that whoever is doing this will only become more extreme, Harry, and with that idea in mind I beg for your help. There is a new Dark Lord rising, and I believe that only those of us who had vanquished the first could manage to stand to the second. Please, consider my offer.
That being said, I have heard remarkable things about your FBI work from here, Harry. I must admit – I'm quite proud of how well you've made it in the world, even if you barely use any of the things we taught you here. Charms, potions, predictions, and curses have, I would imagine, little use to you when you are rarely in a situation where you can use them legally.
Take care of yourself in these times, Harry. I fear that whatever is targeting those of us still around may also seek you out.
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
P.S. If you do decide to join our cause, see if you can't convince a certain rock star friend of ours to pick up the banner as well. We have been unable to reach him by any method, muggle or otherwise, and while he has no personal connection to this battle, he has proven himself a capable ally in the past, and I feel that one can never have too many of those.
Harry sighed and pinched the skin between his eyes. He knew even before he looked that the mark Dumbledore had described would be the same as the one in the factory today. That meant that whatever force it was, it had spread overseas as well. Hell, it could be everywhere by now. Harry could never ignore a threat like that before, and there was no time to start now. He would phone John in the morning, and call in the vacation time he had coming. John would probably be pissed, but there was little he could do to stop Harry.
As for the other matter… Harry walked back to his mail, picking up the ticket to look at the date and location. The concert was tomorrow, in Phoenix Arizona. Harry winced – it was really typical of the other man to pull a stunt like this. It looked like Harry had a small road trip in store for the morning.