Chapter 4

11.02am, 30th December 2000

Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic, London

'Sit down.'

McConickey sat, uncomfortable on the hardbacked chair, while Director Blishwick examined a piece of paper, blank-faced under his scrutiny. Unable to look at her for long, he took in her office—he wouldn't call it messy but it was certainly cluttered—the thick oak desk was strewn with paperwork in small uneven piles, the filing cabinets weren't shut neatly but pulled slightly open at random intervals. Above her head, memos swarmed, the paper wings fluttering the only sound in the office. He couldn't see any pictures, any personal decorations. It seemed she kept them on her person—from her reputation he hadn't expected it, but she was flaunting several pieces of extravagant jewellery. The most eye-catching sat on her right hand, glinting as she turned a page. A slim silver ring with sapphires encircling it, the pattern sparking something in the depths of his memory.

Frustrated by his inability to connect it to anything, he looked up to find Blishwick staring at him, a single eyebrow raised. He gulped, his eyes darting away, allowing them to be drawn to the crowd of memos. Blishwick was intimidating—not from stature—indeed she was rather plain looking, very non-descript. I wonder if it's the desk, he thought, or maybe her reputation. It hardly mattered. Truthfully, he was of the opinion that Blishwick would scare people as a shop clerk—he was sure her customers would never dare to haggle with her. That's even if they have the balls to go in the shop, he chuckled, hastily trying to disguise it by clearing his throat. Blishwick didn't even blink. In fact, he thought, she's not all that different from a shop clerk really. There were times when Blishwick appeared to shop through her emotions, trying on a few different emotions for size before finally settling on the most suitable one.

The minutes passed. His stuffy robes were now sticking his chubby rear, his only relief the miniscule fidgeting he allowed himself.

'Report.'

The sharp command startled him, wobbling precariously on his chair. Straightening under her gaze, he tugged on his tight collar.

'Well, ya see, when you came to me a while back now and asked if anyone wanted files pulled that seemed suspicious like… well, there was this one bloke just the other day, he was a bit of a twitchy one. Kept looking around as if You-Know-Who was gonna jump out of the closet.'

'Who is he and what files?' Blishwick ground out, her fingers tapping against the desk.

McConickey gulped. 'Right, right. That's the funny thing see, it was some bloke from maintenance wanting a file on Minister Selwyn. I asked him why he wanted information about the Minister and do you know what he said? Bedtime reading! Bleeding idiot if I ever saw one. So, I told him to bugger off.'

'His…name?'

'Oh, yeah, yeah, I think it was Cattermole or something. Reggie maybe. Not the brightest wand that bloke.'

Blishwick nodded, scratching a quick note with her quill. 'Fine. Get out.'

'Right, sure, no worries, I'll just be on my way.'

McConickey left, very glad that he no longer had to stay in the office with a furiously scowling Blishwick.

9.45am, 1st January 2001

United Stadium, Puddlemere

'Remember, polite, charming, humble, just like we practiced.'

This had been the third time Sirius had reminded Harry and it was beginning to wear on him.

'I remember. Doesn't mean I'm excited for it though.' Harry grimaced.

'Get used to it.'

'I feel like a bloody ponce.' Harry fingered the expensive robes he was sporting.

'You are.'

'You raised me.'

'You're James' son. It was guaranteed you'd be one from birth.'

'You've been telling me for years you were practically twins.'

'Didn't say we were exactly the same. What he had in ponceyness, I had in roguish charm.'

Harry snorted. 'You don't have charm. My dad probably had ten times the charm you have.'

'Not likely. Took him four years to get Lily to agree to a date.'

'Then he married her. I don't see your wife around anywhere.'

'I said roguish charm. Rogues don't get married,' Sirius said, indignant.

'Well, isn't that convenient.'

'It certainly is.'

'I'm gonna hex you,' Harry grumbled.

'Good luck junior. The day you get a hex off on me is the day I'll be too old to realise.'

The portkey activated, sending them spinning away. They arrived in a blur of colour to a shaking stadium, bedecked with navy and gold—wizards and witches wearing the same colours were gathered all around, cramming into the entrances to see the first match of the new year. Puddlemere versus Tutshill was one of the most anticipated games of the last few years, two juggernaut teams that had razed any and all opposition they had faced. Harry was hoping for at least a week-long game—though he doubted they would get to stay for all of it. This would be the first time he'd get the chance to watch a quidditch game in Britain, something he'd dreamed about for years.

'Come on, let's get to our seats. The reporters can find us later. I want to see some quidditch,' Sirius said, pushing Harry along.

'You know, I'm getting slightly worried about you. All you talk about is reporters these days.' Harry found himself jostling with a few rather boisterous supporters, faces painted and singing war cries like old tribal warriors.

'Ah, you've only seen me when we're in hiding or running around the world. It's about time the public finds out just how great Sirius Black is!' he said, throwing his hands out wide, causing more than a few shocked exclamations to break out.

'Merlin help me.'

Harry hadn't expected that involving the Order would pay off so quickly, but only a couple of days after Christmas, they'd been sent box tickets to the game by Terry Bradshaw, a late addition to the Order, joining as the second war reached its climax. An employee of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, he had scrounged up tickets for the two of them, perhaps thinking it would provide them with the public platform they wanted. Given that they were sitting in the box, a lavish room that could be seen from any stand in the stadium through a pair of omnioculars, Harry doubted they would remain unnoticed for long. As they walked to their seats, he could already hear whispers floating in their wake, heads following them down the row. Harry sent his best approximation of a charming smile at those who stared at him, causing them to blink in embarrassment, quickly looking away before peering back as Harry moved on.

Harry could feel his own face heat and was thankful that his cheeks were already ruddy from the cold wind. He tucked his scarf more carefully around himself, navy and gold in support of Puddlemere. After hearing of his father's fanaticism for the team, and with Sirius an avid supporter, he had become a huge supporter. As a child, he and Sirius had spent many evenings crowded around the wireless, desperately cheering Puddlemere to victory.

Reaching the box, Sirius clambered in first, pausing for a fraction before letting Harry through. Entering, Harry saw what had caused Sirius' hesitation—sitting at the front, talking earnestly with the balding man next to him, was a head of shiny blonde hair, slicked back down his neck. Harry's hand plunged into his robes, comforted by firmly gripping his wand. Sirius looked back, his face grim. A slight tilt of his head towards Lucius. Harry nodded in reply. Breathing in deeply they approached, consciously relaxing themselves.

'Lucius! It's been far too long.' Again, Sirius spread his arms wide, an obnoxious grin on his face.

Malfoy spun around, white fingers clenching his cane, his eyes wide. Harry hadn't seen him since they'd infiltrated Malfoy Manor in an attempt to destroy Nagini—at the time, Lucius had just escaped Azkaban. A shivering, pale, mess of a man, Harry had pitied him too much to kill him. Now, Lucius appeared in good health—his sunken cheeks had filled out and his eyes had lost their foggy madness.

It took him no more than a second to adjust, disdain inflating his posture once again. But Harry could see the slight tremble of his lips and his eyes were opened far too wide—using his peripheral vision to watch their wand hands instead of telegraphing it by flicking his eyes back and forth.

'Black… and Potter. What a surprise.' Harry clenched his jaw—having only heard it in battle before, Harry had to fight the onslaught of instincts that threatened to take hold.

Luckily, Sirius seemed to suffer none of the same problems. He only grinned wider, stepping even closer to Malfoy until he was close enough to swing an arm around his shoulders. 'At your service. How is my dear cousin these days? I haven't heard from Cissy in ages.'

'She's well. And you two? I hadn't heard of your return.'

'Just got back for Christmas. Harry and I thought we'd come down to catch the match.'

'Indeed. And can we expect your presence at more matches?'

'Oh, you'll be seeing plenty of us from now on, Lucius.'

'You haven't introduced us to your friend. Harry Potter and Sirius Black, it's a pleasure,' Harry greeted, holding out his hand.

The chubby, balding, man bounced forward, pumping their hands furiously.

'It's an honour, a great honour. The name's Albert Gamp. Senior Undersecretary to the Minister.'

'Fancy that. What brings you out here today?' Sirius said, his attention darting away from Malfoy.

Puffing up, Gamp replied. 'The minister sent me to take a look at the new broomsticks that'll be on show today. A company named QuikStick has entered the market and say their brooms are even better than Firebolts. About time a British maker beat those German bastards.'

Harry only smiled back, already irritated by his unctuous tone. When no one replied immediately, Gamp eagerly continued, his piggy eyes swinging to Sirius.

'I wonder, Mr Black, if you had considered working for the Ministry? I'm absolutely certain the Minister would love to give someone of your stature an opportunity.'

Sirius kept his grin, but Harry could tell he was already irritated. 'I haven't really been looking for a job. Maybe. It's something I'll have to give some thought to.'

Not to be deterred, Gamp switched back to Harry. 'And you Mr Potter – well, we'd love to have you! If you're interested, I'm sure I can get you an introduction to Director Blishwick – she's the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, you know?'

'Thank you for the offer, but I'd like to settle back in to Britain before deciding anything.'

'Certainly, certainly, perhaps in a few months. The offer is there any time.'

Sirius interrupted, a politely feigned look of interest on his face. 'Perhaps you could tell me more about what you do for the Minister? I'm afraid I'm not quite as caught up on the politics of the Ministry as I should be.'

'Certainly,' he said, launching into a long spiel about policies and laws and guidelines that Harry rapidly lost interest in. Not willing to be drawn into conversation by a glaring Lucius Malfoy, Harry slowly drifted away from them—exchanging a few greetings with the sparse occupants of the box, accepting their thanks, and enduring their tearful handshakes and hugs. Finally, he got to the edge of the box, peering out over the ledge to see the stands filled with milling people, sparks shooting through the air, knots of people drunk or arguing or cheering or all three. The flashing banners that waved throughout the crowd made the stadium look as if it were one of those giant muggle tellyvisions, he thought. Harry settled in to his seat, joined a few minutes later by Sirius.

'I can feel the grease rubbing off on me already,' he said, wiping his hands on his robes.

Harry's reply was interrupted by seven blurs that shot onto the pitch, light blue robes fluttering behind them. The crowd's roar was punctuated with boos as the Tutshill Tornados weaved around the stadium, the commentator valiantly announcing their names over the sound.

'And here are your champions – Puddlemere United!'

Harry and Sirius jumped to their feet as the announcer's voice boomed out and a diamond formation of navy and gold rushed out, the crowd reaching fever pitch.

'The snitch is released – quaffle's up – game on!'

It was a few hours into the game when Harry noticed it. The game was tensely contested, score for score, the seekers following each other so closely they were almost one person. They hadn't deviated from that strategy for so long, it only took Harry a few seconds to realise the problem. The seeker for Puddlemere, Elise Kennington, had split out, her broom acting erratically, slowly ramping up to higher and higher speeds. The raucous crowd was slowly becoming frightened, cheers turning to screams, as they looked on in horror.

Harry, already on his feet, rushed to edge of the box as Kennington rocketed around, the broomstick swinging wildly out of control. Though there were enchantments woven into the ground to soften the landings of fallen players, there were no such protections for those that flew into the ground on their broom. With his omnioculars, Harry could see the tight grasp the seeker had on her broomstick, her legs rigid around it and her fingers white. None of the other players could get near her, lest they get knocked from their own broom and circling underneath her proved futile, for the broom's erratic movements were impossible to follow at speed.

'Harry…' Sirius warned, his hand resting on Harry's shoulder.

'Don't. I'm not going to watch Sirius.' Harry brushed his hand away.

Deciding to do what he did best and act, rather than waste time thinking, Harry pulled out his wand, waving a befuddled Sirius back. 'Depulso,' Harry said, his wand pointed at the floor, the spell launched him into the air, arcing over the stadium. His mouth stretched wide in a smile. There was nothing quite like flying, whether he was on a broom or not. He rose to the highest point, losing momentum before starting his plummet back to earth. The crowd had been drowned out as the wind rushed past, buffeting his robes. Turning his head, he spied the still bucking broomstick below him and following it as best he could, he called 'Accio' though his voice was blown away before he could hear it. Immediately, he sped up even further, changing trajectory to crash into the seeker. The instant before he hit her, she noticed, a small shriek escaping before he cannoned into her, knocking them both off the broom. Her grip transferred to him, clutching his robes tightly. They dropped straight down, the other players racing in vain to catch up to them. Harry could see the ground rapidly approaching and despite the enchantments, he knew dropping from their height could possibly be fatal. At the last second, he brought his wand around, shouting 'Depulso' once again.

Their speed slowed dramatically, the banishing spell hitting them like a bludger, winding and almost pulling them apart. They dropped to the ground, the enchantments cushioning their landing. Harry grit his teeth as his ribs grated against each other, cracked from his spell.

Safely on the ground, the noise filtered back in, cheers and screams of concern echoing all around him. A stream of mediwizards were running onto the pitch towards them, wands at the ready. He looked over to Kennington to make sure she was fine. Her eyes were wide, staring at him, her throat bobbing uncomfortably.

'Thank you,' she stuttered.

'No worries,' Harry said, waving his hand. A hiss of pain escaped. Right, no more moving until I get a potion, Harry thought as the first of the mediwizards reached them.

8.16pm, 1st January 2001

Saint Mungo's Hospital, London

'You just can't help yourself, can you? Voldemort would have defeated you in two seconds if he'd just taken all the pretty women hostage.'

'Oh, shut it.'

'You better watch it, Harry. Witches will start throwing themselves from buildings when you walk by just for the chance to get saved by Harry Potter.'

Harry had woken up, blinking in the harsh light of Saint Mungo's, a stark white room only occupied by himself and a pacing Sirius—who had immediately rounded on him. He had been torturing Harry for the last five minutes and—stuck in a bed without his wand—he hadn't been able to escape. Aware that it wasn't going to stop anytime soon, he resorted to drastic measures, raising a hand to his ribs and groaning, hoping it was sufficiently realistic. He wasn't disappointed. Sirius immediately dropped his teasing grin, rushing to his side to fluff his pillow and adjust his blankets. While still annoying, this version of Sirius was far easier to ignore.

'How's that?'

'That's a bit better thanks.'

'Do you want me to call a Healer in?'

'Nah don't worry about it, they said I might have some pain for a bit.'

'Oh good. Well, not good. You know what I mean.'

Harry stifled his laughter, remembering to wince in pain at the last second.

'Right, okay, don't be funny. Umm… At least we made a good impression.'

'I suppose. I'm not going to be in any trouble for interfering, am I?'

'Na, I think they were so excited when they realised it was you, they forgot all about it. I don't think anyone except for the Aurors would mind you stepping in to help them out. When you get out, there'll be a few reporters waiting. I told them they could ask us questions after I've made sure you're alright.'

'And they accepted that? I'm surprised none of them have tried to sneak in.'

'They can try. This is the high security wing.'

'Do we know what happened to the broom? Was it an attack?'

Sirius sighed, leaning against the bed. 'No, not yet. That slimy git was raving about them, talking about how they're so advanced, they're gonna beat the Firebolt, they're gonna put us on the map, and so on.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'So, sabotage? Could be a lot to lose for anyone invested in Firebolts.'

'Maybe. Could also be someone who had a grudge against Puddlemere or their seeker. I'll ask around anyway, see what people know.'

Cutting off any more conversation, his healer walked in, flicking through his clipboard, his lime green robes emblazoned with the crossed wand and bones.

'Okay, Mr Potter you're all set to go.'

'Go - he's still in pain,' Sirius said in disbelief.

'What? Mr Potter, I told you to call for me if you had any problems.' The healer turned to Harry, his eyes probing him.

Harry couldn't keep his face straight any longer and burst out guffawing at Sirius' frantic face. He immediately turned sour.

'Oh, very funny, joking about your health. Your mother would've stuck you to the bed for that one. Don't worry about it, Healer.'

The healer chuckled, handing Sirius some parchment. 'I'll leave you to see yourselves out then. Just take the release forms to the front desk.'

There were more than a few reporters in the reception of Saint Mungo's—a small scrum was pinned in the corner by a burly orderly, patients waiting to be treated looking at the group in befuddlement. They burst into noise when Harry entered the room, shouting questions at him. He waited for them to quiet down, a reporter at the front asking him the first question he could hear.

'Mr Potter, what injuries did you sustain during your heroics?'

'Well, I wouldn't call it that. Just a few cracked ribs, nothing the healers here couldn't fix in a jiff.'

Another reporter jumped in. Harry could see elbows thrown in their struggle to get closer. 'Mr Potter, can I ask what spell you used to save Ms Kennington today?'

'It's actually a combination of pretty simple spells. Albus Dumbledore was the one who taught me. He found that using a banishing charm to launch himself from the ground and using a summoning charm to glide towards a target would let him sail through the air.'

'The summoning spell? You can't use it like that!' said one, his disbelief echoed by the group.

'Ah, I thought the same, but you should know that Dumbledore was never bothered by what we thought. He found that anything heavier than your body weight was impossible to summon. But when you're in the air, you can use anything more than that to change your direction in the air. It's the same principle for the banishing charm – the greater the weight you try to banish, the more force that will be directed back at you.'

The next question had them all leaning forward eagerly. 'Have you ever used it in a duel?'

'I can't say that I have. Generally, I would advise anyone against leaving their feet in a duel. You'd be quite an easy target gliding through the air.'

A rather breathless looking witch asked the next question. 'Can you confirm that you and Ms Kennington have been in a secret relationship for the last year and that's why you're back in England?'

Harry gave a short laugh. 'I'm sure Ms Kennington is quite a catch and she's certainly a hell of a seeker but no, we're not in any relationship. Today is the first time we've met.'

Now that the ice had been broken, the questions came thick and fast again. Harry was barely able to keep up with them.

'Mr Potter! You've already shown your penchant for heroics is alive and well – any plans to join the Ministry? Perhaps the Aurors?'

'Ah, well, I'm not quite sure what I'll be doing yet. I think there's more than a few things I could do with my time.'

'Mr Potter, you and Mr Black haven't been back to England since the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—where have you been all this time?'

'Well, we decided we needed a bit of a holiday. So, we spent a bit of time travelling around, visiting some other magical countries.'

'And what made you decide to come back?'

'England has always been my home, and Sirius' of course. You can only eat so much foreign food before you get the craving for a good ol' English roast.'

A particularly greedy looking reporter pushed her way to the front, sparkly horn-rimmed glasses studying him over her acid green quill. 'And who's been cooking that for you? I'm sure there's many young witches lining up for the chance to have dinner with Harry Potter?'

'I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint. Sirius has some excellent cooks in his family. It won't be long before I'm as round as a quaffle.'

Before anyone else could get a word in, she added another question, a sly look in her eyes. 'What about the rumours that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named cursed you with another lightning bolt scar during the final battle? Is that why you've been away for so long? Perhaps hunting down You-Know-Who again?'

Harry stared uncomfortably while Sirius shifted next to him, his hand resting on Harry's shoulder. 'Like I said before, we decided a bit of a holiday was in order. As for Voldemort'—he paused as the group shuddered— 'he's dead. And he's not coming back. His body was burned in front of more than one hundred witnesses. I'm sure they can confirm it for you.'

Sirius stepped forward, waving his arms as the reporters tried to shout more questions, the woman who asked smiling widely at them. 'Right, that's it, no more questions now.' At their groans, he pointed to the smug woman. 'If you want to blame someone, I suggest her. We aren't interested in dealing with anyone's baseless fearmongering.'

'Wasn't expecting that to be honest,' Harry said, as they walked through the rippling glass storefront to the grey street of London, leaving a mix of excited and disappointed reporters behind. 'At least not yet. I thought they'd save the more ridiculous questions until we start boring them.'

'We should have. That was Rita Skeeter,' Sirius grunted.

Harry felt a flash of realisation. 'She was the one who tried to discredit Albus and the Order.'

'Yep. She's bloody good at it too, that's the worst part.'

Sliding past the rushing muggles, they entered a cramped alleyway, crouching behind the dustbins.

'I'll meet you at home,' Harry said, twisting in place, the world blurring into motion.

5.35pm, 5th January 2001

Number 12 Grimmauld Place, London

'Kingsley, come in,' Harry said, opening the door a little wider as Kingsley flicked the last of the water from his coat, rain bucketing down behind him.

'Thanks lad,' he said, his deep voice warming the house all by itself.

'How've you been?' Harry said, leading him to the kitchen.

'Excited. It's been too long since I've broken a few rules.'

'Kingsley,' Sirius greeted, rocking on his chair while he threw scrunched up paper at the fire. 'What's brought you here?'

'I've got some info on that company.' On the table he placed a manila folder, pulling pages and spreading them out. In the middle sat a picture, a well-dressed man in his middle age pumping the hand of someone equally pompous. 'The owner of QuikStik is Ernest Kanter. Keeps a low profile generally. Outwardly, he was neutral during both wars but each time, his businesses have flourished. He's got connections all over the place—pretty much every item in Knockturn Alley goes through him at some point. While he didn't command the Snatchers, he was the one they came to with their loot. The man makes a living off shady deals and the black market. If you can find Dung he'll probably have some good information. And… he's also on the Wizengamot.'

'So, he definitely has enemies then,' Harry said, looking closely at the jovial man—he didn't look particularly menacing.

'It's possible. But the type of people who would attack innocents using his brooms? His enemies would be the people he stole from. He wants to keep all the dangerous people happy,' Sirius mused.

'Any indication he might've failed?' Harry directed at Kingsley who shook his head.

'No. Apart from the quidditch incident everything has been running smoothly.'

'Hmm. We might have to broaden our investigation then.'

'I wasn't finished,' Kingsley interrupted. 'There is one slight discrepancy. I was looking through the quality control reports from his businesses when I found that every single one was perfect. There was nothing wrong, no employee complaints, no shoddy premises, no malfunctioning enchantments. Every one of these was written by the same inspector. Now, either he runs one of the tightest ships I've ever seen, or…'

'Or there's something fishy going on.'

'Exactly.'

'I'd say this merit's further inspection. What do you say Harry, time to whip out the old cloak again?' Sirius said, grinning a little wildly.

'It's a plan,' Harry replied, his own smile feeling a bit feral as well.

Kingsley chuckled, swinging his cloak on in preparation to leave. 'By the way, Reg wanted me to tell you to expect him at some point. Says he's got something important to talk to you about.'

'Tell him to pop around whenever. Seeya Kingsley,' Sirius called.

Harry echoed his goodbye before huddling with Sirius around the files to begin planning for their first covert mission.