Osman didn't look comfortable in the interview room. His great, bear-like arms were folded across his chest as he leaned back in the hard, small chair, his expression sour. He didn't react as Harry and Theia entered, only flicking his grey eyes to them briefly, then back at the bare wall.

'Hello, Mr Osman,' said Harry. 'Auror Higglesworth and I will be conducting your interview. Do you have any questions about the process, and, once again are you sure you wouldn't like us to request you a lawyer?'

Osman didn't say anything, simply continued to glare at the wall. Harry and Theia exchanged an exasperated look, then Theia set up her magical pen to record.

'What about Max?' Osman said suddenly.

'Sorry?'

'My dog. Who's going to look after him while you're wasting my time here?'

'We'll make sure he's looked after,' said Theia. 'But hopefully you won't be here too long, especially if you help. Are you happy for us to proceed with the interview?'

He gave a short, sharp nod, still staring at the wall.

'Can you tell us why you took that bike, Mr Osman?'

Osman took a deep, irritable breath. 'Fucking hell, if I'd known it would cause this much bother…' He rubbed his eyes and leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. 'You try and do a decent thing… I was going to take it into the main village next time I was there, I just hadn't got round to it.'

'Why would you not just leave it where it was, for someone to come back and find it?' asked Harry.

'Someone might've stole it, some little shit from Botton Head or something.'

'But you didn't want to give it to us, or tell us where you found it,' said Theia. 'Can you tell us now?'

'I don't remember,' he snapped.

'Are you sure?' asked Harry. 'Seems like a memorable place.' When Osman said nothing, he continued. 'It was near an ash tree. Stands out quite a bit.' Osman still said nothing, so Harry nodded at Theia who reached for the manilla folder at her side, opened it, and slid two photos towards Osman.

'This is what we found there,' she said, and she noticed that her voice sounded cold. She stared at him as he gave the briefest glances at the photos and then looked away. 'The corpse of a newborn baby and the skeletal remains of a young woman.'

Still Osman said nothing, but Theia noticed his eyes flicking to the photo of the baby and away again, like a morbid curiosity. He leaned back and folded his arms again, tapping one finger against his bicep, still looking back and forth between the photo of the baby and the bare wall. His face was perfectly still, but Theia could see a tensness around his jaw.

'Did you know they were there?' asked Harry.

'No,' said Osman quickly. It was the voice of a man who felt trapped.

'It just seems like you didn't want us poking around in the Loney, and you certainly didn't want us lurking around that tree.'

'I like my privacy, and that's all there is to it,' he growled.

'It wasn't just your privacy, Mr Osman, was it?' asked Harry. 'You specifically told us to stay away from the Swindlehursts. Why is that?'

Osman looked at Harry, his face contorted into bizzare mix of dark amusement and fury. 'Because they are all evil. The whole lot of them.'

'Marcy as well?' Theia asked coolly.

'Yes,' he snapped.

'And why is that?'

Osman seemed to open his mouth, but then with a heavy sigh pressed his lips together and fell back into a refusal to talk.

She stared at him calmly, and let the silence stretch for a few seconds. 'Your first name is Ralf, is that correct?'

'Yes,' he replied, his eyebrows lowering slightly.

'Does anyone ever call you by anything else? A nickname, or a shortened version or anything?' There was a slight movement in his throat, like he had gulped. Theia glanced at Harry, and he gave her the tiniest of nods. She was glad. They had agreed before the interview that this was her wildcard to pull, the tiny jigsaw pieces that had fallen into place during the briefing were hers.

'You see, I stayed with Marcy for a bit,' said Theia. 'And I thought I had misheard her, but at one point she called you Alf.'

He looked away again. 'Yes, she has called me that before.'

'I also noticed that outside your house you have a windchime, made from seashells.'

He looked back at her now - bafflement had completely overtaken the anger in his face. 'What? Yeah? So what?'

'Probably not a lot of seashells in the forest of Bowland,' said Theia. 'I certainly didn't see any in the Loney. But that was homemade, wasn't it? Where did you get the shells?'

'Morecambe Bay,' he said, still bemused. 'I take the dog there.'

'Have you ever taken Marcy there?' He seemed to freeze. Theia reached into the folder again, and pulled out the postcard they had found in Marcy's house.

'This is Morecambe Bay, isn't it?' she said, tapping the picture.

'Yes,' he said, his voice hoarse. His finger was tapping again, more rapidly this time.

Theia turned the postcard over. 'And is this message from you? Did you sign it with 'A' because she calls you Alf?'

Now it really was visible that he swallowed. 'I changed my mind,' he said suddenly. 'I want a lawyer.'

'Are you the father of the baby, Mr Osman?'

'I WANT A LAWYER!' he bellowed, leaning forward and slamming his palms on the table. 'I refuse to answer any more!'

They silently stared at him, and he stared back. 'All right, Mr Osman,' said Harry. 'That's your choice. I'm going to suspend the interview now and we will continue soon.'

He rose, and Theia followed, leaving Mr Osman panting heavily alone in the room.

Harry let out a low exhale as they walked down the corridor. 'You got him in a knot,' he said in a low voice, an admiring grin on his face.

Theia felt a smug warmth in her chest. 'I did, didn't I? Do you think perhaps he was under a love potion at some point? But why would they do that? Either way, we should include him on the blood test.'

'As soon as he's got his lawyer,' Harry assured her. 'I'll go up and see Hermione, see who she can spare to represent him. Robbards and I have to do the press talk first though.' He turned to her, and though he still looked tired, there was something reassuringly responsible in his face. 'Are you definitely all right to do this?'

She nodded. 'Of course.'

'Because I wouldn't be.'

'That's different, you've got a baby on the way,' she said. 'Anyway, I kind of want to.' She paused. 'Well, I don't but I feel I should.'

'I understand,' he said, and she believed him. 'I'll see you later. Don't push yourself though, if you need a break, take a break.'

'I will.'

He left, and she collected herself for a few moments before walking in the opposite direction.

The room Marcy was in had been made homely for her. Magical maintenance had conjured chairs, leafy plants and squashy cushions, a wireless had been pinched from Dawlish's office, and the two Aurors that stood outside at all times took it in turns to replenish a substantial selection of snacks and hot drinks.

Judy was waiting for her, carrying a pot of tea ready. Theia could see the notebook and quill under her arm. She gave a small smile as Theia approached, and asked, 'ready?'

'As I'll ever be,' Theia replied.

When they entered, Marcy was not occupying herself with her usual knitting or crossword, but staring glumly at the false window in the wall, through which shone misty golden light. Judy slipped quietly to the far corner, while Theia approached carefully.

'Marcy,' she said gently, and when Marcy looked up Theia could see dread in her expression.

'Why am I here?' she asked. 'Why can't I go home?'

Theia sat next to her, and Marcy reached out. They clasped hands, and Theia looked into Marcy's confused and tearful face. She had rehearsed what to say, but now she found herself trying to think if there was a different way to say it.

'Marcy, Harry and I found the body of a newborn baby yesterday. We think it might be your baby. I'm very sorry.'

Marcy continued to stare at her, her eyes wet and her lips firmly shut. Theia almost wished she would burst into tears. 'Where?' Marcy asked.

'Just outside the Loney. In an ash tree.'

Marcy nodded slightly. Neither shock nor horror crossed her face, it remained perfectly still and sad. 'And it's mine? My baby?'

'We think so. We'll do a blood test to be sure.'

Marcy's chin trembled. 'Was it a boy or a girl?'

Something was tearing painfully in Theia's test, and her voice shook as she spoke. 'A little boy, Marcy.' Marcy nodded again, her eyes becoming shiner. 'We thought you might want to name him. And then soon we can give him a proper place to rest.'

'Me?'

'Of course.'

Now Marcy did cry, the tears sliding down her cheeks and her lips twitching. She gave a shuddering breath and at last said, 'Asher.'

Theia couldn't help the shock that crossed her face. 'Are… Marcy are you sure?' It seemed so wrong to her. Morbid and inappropriate.

'It means blessed,' said Marcy. 'Blessed and happy.'

'All right,' said Theia, though she still felt awkward and, she hated to admit it, a little disturbed.

'I knew that I was missing a part of me. I wonder what he would have been like,' Marcy said. Her voice did not sound distant and confused as it usually did. Just sad. 'I wonder if he might have loved me.'

'I'm sure he would,' said Theia. 'Marcy, is there anyone else we should tell about this? Anyone that you think could be the father?'

Fresh tears fell from Marcy's eyes, and she seemed to sway slightly, looking into nowhere. 'We might have been a family,' she said.

Theia wanted to grasp her by the shoulders and demand to know who, but Marcy felt like she was made of glass, and her own heart was breaking at this woman's pain. 'You and the baby?' she asked gently. 'Or with the father too?'

'All of us,' she said. Then she closed her eyes. 'Of course, Pauline wouldn't have allowed it.'

Theia squeezed Marcy's hands. 'Pauline wouldn't have allowed you to be a family? Why? Who is the father?'

'No,' Marcy said dully. Her eyes met Theia's. 'What did he look like? Asher.'

Theia's own lips quivered now. She would remember what the baby looked like for the rest of her life, for he had been there in the cold for weeks. 'He had black hair,' she said eventually. 'Black hair, and he was very small.' She blinked away tears. 'His eyes were closed, but I think he had your cheeks.'

'Were they rosy?' Marcy asked. 'Did he have rosy cheeks?'

At last Theia cried, Marcy's face blurring beyond her tears. 'Yes,' she lied. 'Yes, they were.'

'Can I see him?'

'Soon,' Theia promised, though she knew she shouldn't have done. 'Not quite yet, but soon.'

'I just… Hoped that you would find him and that he would be okay,' said Marcy.

'I'm sorry. I hoped that too.'

Now Marcy's shoulders were shaking, and Theia hugged her, her fingers gripping the back of Marcy's cardigan, her shoulder becoming wet with tears. She supposed this was how Harry had felt telling her about her mother's death - that unrelenting feeling of failure and shame.


Harry hated doing press talks. Not only because so many more journalists packed in when he was hosting them (which made him feel he was overshadowing whatever tragedy or horror he was talking about), but because the endless flashing and smoke from the fucking cameras put him on edge.

'...As we locate and inform next of kin,' he continued, trying to resist blinking away the splotches of vivid green floating in his vision. He felt Robards gently kick his ankle, and he knew it was his cue to occasionally look up at the swarm of press as he spoke. As soon as he did, there was another crescendo of clicks, bangs and flashes, and he continued his statement a little louder, feeling particularly irritated at how close they were all standing and wishing he could at least have his wand in one hand.

'Anyone with information they believe could help the case should make contact with the Auror office. Thank you,' he finished at last, immediately trying to walk away.

'Mr Potter! Who do you think did it, Mr Potter?'

'Is You Know Who back again, Mr Potter?'

'How's the wife and baby Mr Potter?'

'Who are the multiple people you have arrested?'

'What kind of condition were the remains in, Mr Potter?'

Robard's huge size was at least useful in forcing a pathway through the crowd, and Harry, jaw clenched and trying not to directly look at any of the cameras and give them the shot they were so hoping for, followed. Finally they were back in the golden elevators, and the grill was closed on the shouting and flashing, and the silence grew as they sank slowly away from the atrium. Harry released a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.

'Good work on all this,' said Robards suddenly. 'Case like this could have been ignored.'

Harry wondered if he should point out that Robards had wanted him to ignore it, but he had promised Hermione to try harder to let things go. 'Thank you,' he said. 'Higglesworth should get some credit too, she has worked very hard to create a relationship with Marcy.'

'I'm still pissed off mind you,' Robards said abruptly, ignoring Harry's praise of his trainee, 'for getting a Muggle involved in all this mess. You should have obliviated him immediately.'

'I think he could be useful, Sir,' said Harry. 'He knows the little boy that left his bike at the scene. I think, once he's calmed down and adjusted to it all, he could be helpful in interviewing him.' When Robards still didn't look impressed, he added, 'I'm not even sure who the boy is or where he lives, so we definitely need Ben to help us with that.'

'They're Muggles, Potter,' Robards growled. 'By the time you're done explaining everything and reassuring them about the fact their world has just been turned upside down, whatever you needed them for is over and done with. Then you have to disappoint them all over again when they try and learn to do magic themselves. You get too attached, and then it's horrible obliviating them. Waste of bloody time.'

The elevator dinged, and a gaggle of wizards from Magical Maintenance squeezed in. Harry was forced to the back of the elevator, right next to Robards, who hissed in his ear. 'You will need to obliviate him eventually.'

'I know.'

'Don't get attached,' he repeated.

'I haven't even named him yet,' said Harry shortly. The glare Robards gave him told Harry that he would pay for his insubordination at some point, but thankfully the ding came again, and he was able to squeeze past Reg (who gave him an enthusiastic grin) and step out onto Hermione's floor.

He kept his head low as he walked through the department. It was eerily quiet compared to the Auror's floor, but the lawyers and policy advisors seemed more likely to look up and stare at him as he passed. He supposed this was because their work was very dull, but Hermione always insisted that it was interesting and they were focusing. It was open plan, not even with the cubicle walls that the Auror department had, with glass sound-proof pods dotted around for any necessary confidential discussions.

He avoided the intense gaze of the woman he had written to for information on wizarding child welfare, and soon spotted Hermione's wild hair constrained in a voluminous ponytail, her typewriter clacking. She didn't hear him as he approached, and started as he called her name quietly.

'Merlin, Harry…' She turned and faced him, her eyes narrowed. 'What d'you want?'

He leaned against her desk and grinned down at her. 'You sound a bit suspicious.'

'I feel like you're here to give me more work, that's why.'

'I am,' he said apologetically. 'Osman has changed his mind and wants legal representation.'

'I'll see who's available, I'm certainly not,' she said, sighing heavily.

'Come on, you thrive on being busy,' he replied.

'I'm thriving,' she assured him. 'But I really can't. You probably wouldn't want me to be the one to represent him anyway, it could cause problems down the line. And,' she added wrinkling her nose, 'I don't really enjoy criminal law.' She gestured to her typewriter. 'I'm really getting somewhere with the adjustments to magical beings legislature.'

He looked at her satisfied, excited face, and decided to show some interest. She spoke to him for a few minutes about centaurs, and then eventually glanced at her watch. 'Gosh, sorry, I'm rambling. I'll send someone down this afternoon. I'll see you on Sunday anyway, right?'

'What?'

'At the Burrow, the big meal for Mother's day.'

Harry swore, and some lawyers nearby turned and scowled. 'I forgot-'

'Harry,' she began warningly. 'Molly will-'

'I know, I know, I'll be there, I just don't know what to do about Ben.'

'Who?'

'I have a Muggle living with me-'

'What?' Her eyes widened. 'What on earth d'you-?'

'It's a long story- Look, d'you reckon Molly will mind if I bring him?'

'Of course she won't, and I expect Arthur will be delighted, but-'

'Great, can you pass on the message? Maybe I'll have to bring Theia too-'

'Wha-? Harry!'

'Great, thanks, bye,' he said hurriedly, leaving before she could say anymore. He was sure he could feel her gaping at him as he left.

A small diversion to drop off some paperwork, a brief smile to Audrey (who still blushed out of sheer awkwardness whenever she saw him), and he was heading back to the lifts again. He thought about finding something else to do, but now he had to do a task he could no longer put off. As the elevator shuddered, he felt nausea build.

Healer Abasi and Bessie met him outside the morgue.

'All reet, pet?' Bessie asked quietly. He nodded at her, and together they pushed through the doors and into the shiny corridor their footsteps echoing, their breath coiling in clouds before them.

'Which first?' Bessie asked.

'The young woman,' Harry said. 'Jerome is confirming that it's who we think it is as we speak.'

Bessie nodded, and pulled open the metal drawer.

Harry looked down at her.

The bones lay neatly. Evenly spaced. Carefully straightened and labelled. Harry felt sure, immediately, that each one had been handled with the utmost care. As a child he had imagined skeletons as pure white, but the bones here were more of a mottled yellowish brown, aged by the peat soil in the Loney, fragmented and broken by the passing of time. The skull was blank and hollow, no trace of the girl that had blown kisses in her photos.

Around the bones were other items - scraps of fabric that he thought may have once been red or pink, the curled soles of a pair of shoes, rusted hair slides. A space lay empty where the watch had been, now in Jerome's possession, in the hopes that Connie's mother would recognise it as her daughter.

'It is hard to say, of course,' began Bessie. 'Magic doesn't leave many traces on bones.'

'I'm surprised there are still bones at all,' said Harry. 'After all these years.'

'Well, it's all to do with the conditions,' said Bessie. 'It's peat soil up there, which is why we have very little organic matter left - most of the clothes have rotted away - because it's so acidic. But because she was buried close to the stream, the ground there is quite boggy, so the bones have actually been preserved very well in the peat, even some skin remains around the base of the spine and hips, as well as some hair at the back of the skull. If it had been a little damper we might have even been able to see internal organs, details on the skin like tattoos, even expressions.'

Harry felt revolted. He was sure that would have been more useful to the case for there to have been more, but he preferred to think of bodies quickly but gently crumbling into dust. Dry and clean and peaceful. Sinking back into the earth. But of course he knew it wasn't like that.

Bessie leaned over and with a gloved hand, rotated the skull. 'You see?' she said. 'Blonde hair.'

'That would make sense,' Harry said, giving it only the briefest of glances. 'Connie was blonde. 'So you can't tell a cause of death at all?'

'No,' said Bessie. 'Likely it was done by magic. There's nothing to suggest any blunt force trauma or strangulation or anything like that. Though of course she could have sustained an injury that didn't leave a mark on any bones.'

'But the timeline lines up with what we suspect?'

'Yes. Burial around the time she went missing and the suspected age lines up too. I would be very surprised if this wasn't your missing girl. Though something that is interesting...'

She pointed to various bones - joints, mostly, at the knees and hips and elbows, but also the ribs. When Harry looked closer, he could see something he had assumed was the bones rotting away - tiny hollows and holes making the smooth bone rough.

'This looks to me like the late stages of dragon pox,' said Bessie. 'Not always, of course, but it did tend to mostly affect the elderly and very young children. There was a pandemic at the time, but there's nothing to suggest your missing girl was seriously ill with it when she meant missing. If there's anything to indicate it isn't her, this is it.'

'As there is hair,' said Healer Abasi, 'I could take some, and create a potion similar to the blood test. To compare against her mother.'

'Let's do that if she doesn't recognise the watch,' said Harry, who did not want Bessie to turn the skull over again.'

Bessie nodded, and closed the drawer. Harry knew what was coming now, and tried to keep his face perfectly still as Bessie opened the next drawer.

'Exposed to the elements a little more, this one,' said Bessie gently.

'Yes,' said Harry, and his voice seemed hoarse. The baby was so tiny.

'Been through the mill, as well. Derwent's Disease, very advanced. Seems to have been the cause of death.'

'Sorry?' He looked at her, bewildered, and she pointed at the tiny, thin limbs.

'It was discovered in the 1700s,' said Healer Abasi. 'Some children are born with it, though it's extremely rare. People used to blame Squibs, said they were stealing the magic and life of children, but we now know it's when something goes wrong with the magic in children. It corrupts their muscles and they waste away. With the treatment Professor Derwent developed they make make it to the age of seven or so, but very rarely do they make Hogwarts age.'

'That's awful,' said Harry, who was now full of fear about his own unborn child. 'There's nothing that can be done at all?'

'No, not yet unfortunately.'

Harry looked down at the corpse of the little baby. 'So this is how he died?'

'Well, that's the odd thing,' said Bessie. 'He's a newborn, but this is very advanced. You don't usually see any signs until a child starts to walk.'

'So it might not be Derwent's Disease,' said Harry. 'It could be dark magic?' As he spoke, Healer Abasi leaned down and took a sample from the baby, for use in a potion to identify parentage.

'I would say so,' said Bessie. 'An unusually cruel way to kill a child though, and for what?'

There was an uncomfortable, hot prickling in Harry's eyes. Healer Abasi pocketed her vial and took a step back. 'I've seen enough,' he said gruffly.'

Bessie obediently closed the drawer. 'I think with both we can start arranging funerals,' she said carefully. 'I have documented everything, there's no need to keep them here any longer.'

Harry nodded. 'I'll let you know. Thank you, Bessie.'

'No problem, pet,' she led him to the door. 'I know it's easier said than done, but don't let this get to yeh. Your own bairn'll be coming soon, and I don't want you thinking about this.'

But Harry knew that this was one of those cases that he would always think about. As Bessie waved them goodbye and he walked Healer Abasi back to the fireplaces in the atrium, he could not forget the tiny body on the cold metal, and his wife at home, her great rounded belly and how it sometimes shifted and moved beneath the surface, tiny, unknown limbs pressing against her.

'Are there tests you can do?' he asked Healer Abasi. 'To know if your kid has it?'

'Yes, if you suspect it,' she replied calmly. 'There is a certain potion that turns a certain colour. But believe me, Mr Potter, it is incredibly rare. I know of only one current case in the world at the moment, out in Sri Lanka, and another suspected case in Argentina.'

'When my child is born, I'd like you to do the test,' he said abruptly.

'Mr Potter-'

'Please,' he said firmly. 'There's a whole bunch of them you do at the first weigh-in, isn't there? And the vaccination for Dragon Pox and what not. Just do it then, if it's possible.'

'I'm not your wife's midwitch-'

'Well tell her to do it then. If it's a difficult potion or too expensive to justify or whatever, I'll pay-'

'You don't need to pay, Mr Potter,' she said soothingly. 'I'll speak to the Head of St Mungo's. I'm sure for you we can pull some strings.'

For once, he was glad that he was the Boy Who Lived.

They reached an empty fireplace, and she was about to step into it when he seized her arm. 'Before you go,' he blurted out, 'has anyone with the disease ever made it to adulthood? Or developed it late? Or had something similar?'

'I'm not sure,' she replied. 'I don't think so. I'll look into it for you.'

'Right. Thanks.' She nodded and patted him on the arm before stepping forward and vanishing in a whirl of flames. He was left in the busy and noisy atrium, thinking about Osman's limp.


Authors note: I don't usually write author's notes as I feel is disrupts the flow of the story. But I have a few things I would like to say. As many of you are aware, my mum is terminally ill, and seems to be deteriorating rapidly at the moment. Sometimes writing is a great therapy to me, and sometimes it isn't. It is probably why this particular fic is so dark. My updates are going to be irregular - sometimes they will come a day or two later, at other times they may be weeks apart. I really hope you can all be patient with this, and while I am always flattered that you want more, I would like to politely ask that you resist badgering me for updates when there seems to be radio silence. Otherwise, I would like to sincerely thank you all for reading and for all of the lovely comments you have been sending my way. Feel free to follow me on tumblr if you would like advance warning on when the next chapter is coming.