A/N: Thanks to Batmarcus for reviewing.
Warning: This chapter has mentions of rape, though not as a lemon, I don't do that, folks.
Chapter 2: Ron Weasley's moment
Harry surged forward, catching the frail woman into his arms. He knew who this was; he'd seen her picture in the file. She was tiny, had brown eyes and dirty blonde hair that reached her shoulders. She was an avid gardener and enjoyed the odd muggle film.
"Mrs Jones?" He asked, more than a bit confused. She steadied herself, thanking him for catching her. Her clothes were torn, he noticed, and he wondered what could possibly have done this to her. He immediately dismissed the idea of a hobgoblin too, because hobgoblins didn't tear clothes to shreds.
Behind her, he saw Ron come up to them. Harry shook his head the tiniest bit, and Ron paused.
"Mrs Jones, what has happened?" he asked, pointing to a chair for her to sit. She shook her head, de didn't want to sit.
"I… I…" She started, but she said that one word a few more times, before Harry put a hand on her shoulder.
"Take a deep breath, ma'am," he then looked up at his friend, who hadn't moved, "would you please get her a glass of water with a few teaspoons of sugar in it?" Harry asked, knowing that tap water with a generous helping of sugar would help with her obvious shock. She was crying, and Harry could see she was terrified.
Ron quickly returned with the glass of water. Mrs Jones possibly drowned herself in the water, before she calmed down.
"I was raped." She finally managed in a cracked voice. Harry's mind started to whirl, as, it seemed, did Ron's.
"Mrs Jones, we need to send you to St. Mungo's." He said, going over into Auror mode, he grabbed his wand and the file.
"I'm not lying!" Mrs Jones yelled desperately.
"I know, ma'am, but you need to go for a check-up and we need to calm you down even more." He said, and Ron nodded, already on his way to the wizarding hospital in a loud pop.
Mrs Jones took a hold of Harry's arm, getting his attention back to her.
"I didn't shower once it went away, sir, maybe he left imprints on me." She explained, shaking where she stood.
"That was extremely clever of you, ma'am, now we can have proof of who, or what, did this." He said darkly. He would find whoever did this and slice their groin open.
Ron returned, nodding to Harry, "They're ready." Harry curled an arm around Mrs Jones' waist and turned on the spot to St. Mungo's.
Later, when she was done at St. Mungo's, Harry asked if she was ready to talk about it; she said she was. It was a part of his job that he hated – having to discuss the traumatizing events with victims.
"Where was your husband?" Harry asked, forgetting the tiny detail. She was holding herself, and she looked much better after she'd washed her face and tied her blonde hair back into a ponytail. She was still shaking like a leaf, not that Harry could blame her, and her speech was a bit shaky too.
"He's sick at St. Mungo's, sir," Mrs. Jones explained, "I left my son at the neighbour's, he's asleep."
"Would you allow me to extract the memory? I've only received the file of your case a few days ago, and I don't know much about it yet, besides for the fact that the people in the other departments are idiots."
Harry had learned that the memory of something traumatic had to be extracted soon after the happening, and it was important that she didn't go to sleep, because sleeping would cause the memory to linger and become immortalized in her brain. And who would want to remember what she had gone through?
She nodded, and Harry extracted the silver memory from her mind. He wished he was skilled at Legilamency, to supress to memory or to push it to the back of her mind, but he didn't dare try; it would end disastrously. Maybe he would send her to a mind healer.
"Where were you when it happened?" Harry asked once he'd pushed the silver strand into a small tube, picking up a pen and drawing his paperwork closer. She would now be giving her testimony.
"In my husband and I's bed, Johnny, that's my son, and I were alone in the house," She said, "I was asleep when I felt something on the bed beside me… and then… then… it…" She was gasping for air, tears rolling over her cheeks again. Harry held up a hand for her to stop, the rest he could get from the memory.
"Mrs Jones, I understand that you're really tired at this moment, but I implore you not to go to sleep. Sleeping will cause the memory to burn into your mind, I advise you to tire yourself out until you feel like you would even sleep on a cactus. Go take a shower, scrub yourself down, and do something." He said, trying to sound kind, but the small space of time he'd spent as an Auror had hardened him against murders, rape cases and everything else. It was just another day at the office for him.
"Yes, sir." The small woman said, getting up from her chair. Harry called Ron and asked him to return Mrs Jones to her home, or to the home of her sister or neighbours. Ron did so without complaining.
Once Ron returned, he went straight to his best friend.
"What happened?" The ginger man asked, sitting across Harry's desk. Harry and Ron were partners in the field, mostly because they made such a good team, but also because they would never let the other one go into a dangerous place alone.
"She was raped, Ron, I thought you caught that."
Ron rolled his eyes, "Of course I did, Harry, I meant… what exactly happened?"
Harry tapped the small tube with the silvery lint in it.
"Care to find out?" Harry's voice sounded heavy, and Ron nodded morosely.
They crossed over to the pensieve Harry had acquired for his office, and he poured the memory into the basin. It expanded, like smoke, before it covered the basin from side to side. Harry was reminded of someone with awful smoking habits who liked to blow smoke rings.
They fell into a bedroom, but all they saw was a sleeping woman, Mrs Jones. The door opened silently, and Ron tapped Harry's hand to draw his attention to the pair of empty eyes that stared at the bed.
The creature scrambled into the room and onto the bed, and it was indeed small and hairy and incredibly ugly. It pushed her face into pillow, causing the young mother to wake up. Without warning, her underwear was ripped off her behind and the little monster thrust his huge penis into her small body.
It beat her, repeatedly, and went as far as ejaculating in her. Ron looked nauseous, but it slid off Harry like oil, he was hardened against it. He did study the creature though.
It was small, as small as a goblin, and it only wore a loin cloth. But the most impressive thing about this creature was its penis – he could sling it over his shoulder. That made Harry a bit green – it was disgusting.
Would a poltergeist rape a woman? Would it beat her? Would it empty its seed into her body? What was this beast? These questions infuriated Harry beyond belief.
Harry thought not. Poltergeists were mischievous, sometimes dangerous when it came to scaring people (Peeves sometimes made people set fire to themselves, after all), but they wouldn't resort to rape as a means of terrifying people, nor would brownies, Cornish pixies or hobgoblins, so Harry tossed those ideas out the window immediately.
Once he and Ron were back on earth, he turned to his partner, "Did you know what that was?"
Ron swallowed thickly, "You mean besides awful? No, mate, I don't, sorry."
"Do you know of any creatures that would rape a woman for no reason at all?" Harry frowned, drawing Mrs Jones' statement closer and adding a detailed description of the terrible creature.
"Not unless you're referring to the anephilim, mate, and those nutters were killed ages ago." Ron shrugged. Harry nodded, but made a note on a separate notepad.
The anephilim were half-angels, half-humans, the ancient giants and the original half-breeds, also known as the Greek deities of old. These creatures were all destroyed in a huge flood. But, Harry reasoned, one might have survived and it could've weakened over time.
"What about satyrs and centaurs?" Harry pointed out, causing his best friend to laugh.
"Mate, neither of those is as small as that… thing was. Look, I'll look it up and if I can't find anything, I'll ask Hermione. You can check with Hagrid?" Ron suggested, and Harry nodded.
"Go home, Harry, it's late." Ron stood up, heading to the door.
. . .
Harry contacted Mrs Jones the first thing the next day, telling her to arrive at St. Mungo's as soon as possible. He waited for her.
She looked awfully pale, her eyes were sunken, she was shaking, but from cold, and Harry was truly worried about her. That hadn't happened in a very long time. Ginny was also there, and she helped Mrs Jones to a room that she'd flooed ahead to arrange.
Harry had also ordered six aurors to guard each of the Jones family members as a precaution.
He then made his way over to the idiotic department that couldn't tell a house elf from a brownie. The head of the department handed him the file on the Rodnicks, just as requested, with no hassle or complaint; because when Harry Potter, the man who stopped the Dark Lord, asked for something, you didn't ask questions and just gave in. When he told you that your department needed either new training or new staff, you also just nod and start filling out the paperwork for that additional training.
Harry feared that Mr Rodnick would meet the same fate as Mrs Jones had, seeing as Mrs Rodnick was in St. Mungo's at the time. The opposite sex game had taken place here, and for some reason that Harry couldn't understand, he found that suspicious.
"Ron?" He asked his partner, "Did you find a creature yet?" He pinched the bridge of his nose after he'd taken his glasses of, he had a massive headache.
Ron shook his head in a no, not lifting his eyes from his file. He was going over the Jones' file; perhaps he could find something that Harry had missed.
"I'll ask Hermione tonight." Ron said in monotone. He quickly sat up, spilling the coffee that Kreacher had brought to Harry's office a few minutes ago. He cursed, spelling his pants dry, before shoving the file under Harry's nose.
"South Africa!" Ron exclaimed, grabbing the Rodnick file from Harry's grasp and flipping to a page. "Harry, South Africa, that's what these two families have in common! They both went to South Africa for a holiday recently! That's what they have in common! Well, that and that they both have small children. We've been searching for creatures in all the wrong places!"
. . .