THE LETTER

A/N: The pace picks up to warp speed in this chapter. Answers are revealed, but more questions are raised. This one's a roller-coaster ride, so hang onto your hats!

Chapter Twelve

McLaggen was shackled to a chair when Harry entered the interrogation room. On either side of him were the Aurors who had made the capture. One sported a blackened eye, the other a bloody nose, and both were staring daggers at their prisoner.

"Good job, lads," Harry said. "I'll take it from here. Go and get yourselves cleaned up, all right?"

The Aurors left to have their injuries tended to and Harry took a seat at the head of a long table. He motioned for the stenographer who had accompanied him to be seated as well, and took a long, hard look at the man who had been the focus of so much time, energy, and concern. McLaggen's wiry hair was matted and filthy, and the tattered robes hanging off his oversized frame gave evidence to the fact that he had been living under Spartan conditions. He was much thinner than Harry remembered, and several livid bruises testified to the ferocious battle that ensued when the Aurors surprised him. But the eyes staring out of the large, red face were insolent, and he somehow managed to give the impression of swaggering, even though he was sitting down.

"Well, Cormac," said Harry in a conversational tone. "You've been a very naughty boy."

"All right then, you've got me," McLaggen said, as a huge, angry vein pulsed in his temple. "Go ahead and send me back to Azkaban. See how long I stay there!"

Harry's brows shot up. "Awfully confident for a man in as much trouble as you are, aren't you?"

"You can't keep me locked up," McLaggen retorted. "You couldn't before and you won't be able to this time. You're not as clever as you think you are, Potter."

He neglected to add, "So there!" The blustering fool clearly had no idea what a narrow escape he'd had. Zabini's information had made capturing McLaggen almost childishly simple. He'd been waiting at the other end of the portkey, in the exact same forest Zabini had described, and after a brief, albeit fierce, scuffle, the Aurors had brought McLaggen in. Seeing him now, Harry could not help reflecting on the fact that this was a man who had once eaten a pound of Doxy eggs on a dare. He really is a troll, Harry thought: all brawn, no brains, and absurdly easy to manipulate.

"I have every intention of sending you back to Azkaban," Harry assured him. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll stay there. But before I do, I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"I shouldn't have thought the famous Harry Potter would lower himself," said McLaggen. "Don't you have people for this sort of thing?"

"My 'people,' as you put it, are otherwise engaged," said Harry, thinking of Scrimgeour who was currently at the Leaky Cauldron with Teddy, faithful Teddy, constant Teddy, at his side. "However, we are shortly to be joined by several others. Speaking of which, would you mind seeing what's keeping our guests, Derek?"

The stenographer disappeared for several minutes, and returned with a cast of characters that caused McLaggen's brow to furrow.

"Allow me to make introductions," Harry said as everyone took seats around the table. "This is Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic; Percy Weasley, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister; and I believe you already know our chief prosecutor, Hermione Granger-Weasley."

"Weasley, eh?" said McLaggen with an impudent cackle. "Looks like the road to success at the Ministry these days is paved with weasels."

Percy's face went red and he started to rise from his chair, but Hermione stopped him with a restraining hand on his arm.

"The Weasleys attained their positions through a combination of talent and hard work," Shacklebolt said in his calm, deep voice. "You, on the other hand, appear to have attempted a few shortcuts, and I'm afraid it's going to cost you dearly, though it'll certainly go much easier should you decide to cooperate."

McLaggen's scowl deepened. "What do you want?"

"Why don't you start with the threats you made against the Potter children?" Shacklebolt suggested.

"It's not as though we ever meant to carry it out," said McLaggen, as if they'd all been fools to take the matter seriously. "It was just to get him. . ." He nodded in Harry's direction. ". . .off our backs until we could re-establish our business in a new location."

"Business," said Shacklebolt disdainfully. "That's what you call what you've been doing, is it?"

"I can't even begin to tote up the laws you've broken, Cormac," Hermione intoned in a voice of the most severe disapproval. "And whether or not you intended to carry out the threat against Harry's children – my niece and nephews by the way – it'll definitely count against you when we go to trial."

"How did someone like you end up in Gryffindor?" asked Percy, glowering. "The Sorting Hat must have been having an off day when you turned up at Hogwarts."

Harry found himself agreeing with Percy and wondered how McLaggen could have fallen so far, though he already knew at least part of the answer. Without family connections to bolster his rather limited abilities, McLaggen had found opportunities lacking in the post-war wizarding world. Harry knew that he had tried out for a couple of minor league Quidditch teams, and when that failed he had turned to petty crime. Left to his own devices he might have ended up another Mundungus Fletcher, but he had been roped into a much larger scheme and somewhere along the way he seemed to have misplaced his last shred of conscience. It really was a wonder that someone like that had been sorted into Gryffindor. But Peter Pettigrew had also been a Gryffindor, and Harry had grown up an orphan because of him.

"We are also rather interested," Shacklebolt was saying, "in a plan we recently heard about to sell these potions of yours to Muggles."

McLaggen blinked, disconcerted. "How do you know. . ."

"Never mind how we know," said Percy. "It's true then?"

McLaggen shrugged. "I wasn't too sure about it at first, but there's a lucrative market for products like ours. . ."

Hermione looked appalled. "Cormac, did you not even care how many innocent people could be hurt?"

"Innocent?" McLaggen scoffed. "Since when have Muggles been innocent? They do a pretty good job of killing each other even without our help. Just read their newspapers. They're always going about blowing each other up, and a very messy business it is too. At least with our potions the whole thing is much neater, and when you get right down to it, it's a lot more humane. . ."

"Humane?" said Percy, outraged. "You're not talking about cattle, man! Forty years my father has been working to improve Wizard-Muggle relations, and then someone like you comes along. . ."

"Percy, please," Shacklebolt implored. "We really need to get to the bottom of this."

"Sorry, Minister," replied Percy, ashamed of his undignified outburst. "Very unprofessional of me. Got a bit carried away for awhile there."

"Perfectly understandable," said Shacklebolt. "You've said 'we' several times, McLaggen. To whom does that refer? Who is your, er, partner in this venture?"

McLaggen's bravado vanished. "I can't tell you that. I won't tell you!"

"I'm afraid you have no choice. We can use Veritaserum, if you force our hand."

Stark terror was now evident in McLaggen's face. "I. . . I can't!"

"This isn't about some misguided sense of loyalty, is it?" asked Harry. "Because as soon as he has what he wants, this so-called partner of yours will do the same thing to you that he did to Claude Attor."

"How. . . how do you. . ?"

"We found the body," Harry explained. "We know how it happened. Not only that, but we know why."

"If you already know, why do you need me?" McLaggen demanded, clearly looking for an out.

"We need your evidence to secure a conviction," Hermione explained. "As soon as you corroborate the charges, we'll arrest him."

"I-I-I didn't have anything to do with C-C-Claude," McLaggen stammered. "I never thought. . . I wouldn't have believed . . . I'm not a murderer! You have to believe me!"

"We know you're not the mastermind behind this operation, McLaggen," Harry said. "Help us arrest the man who is and you'll be safe. He can't touch you if he's locked up inside Azkaban."

"No!" McLaggen shouted. "You. . . you can't make me! He has people, influential people. . . They're everywhere! You have no idea. . ."

"What people?" Harry demanded. "What are you talking about? Who are they?"

"I don't know," said McLaggen in a voice of abject desperation. "He used several go-betweens, but I never knew who they were. He . . . he didn't trust me. He said I was weak. He thought I might crack under pressure. That's why he got me out of Azkaban. He was afraid I'd talk and . . . and if he finds out. . ."

"He won't be able to communicate with anyone once we have him in custody," Shacklebolt assured him.

"The only way you'll be safe is if you give us enough evidence to convict him," said Hermione.

"As long as he remains at liberty, you're at risk," Harry added.

"The news of your arrest is bound to get out sooner or later," concluded Percy.

McLaggen stared at the four pairs of eyes trained on him, as though hoping to find a flicker of pity. "Give us his name, McLaggen," Harry urged him. "It's the only way."

McLaggen flexed his forearms as though trying to rid himself of the iron rings that bound him to the chair, but found them as unyielding as the faces surrounding him. His eyes rolled wildly in their sockets and he took several gasping breaths that sounded like death rattles. Shackled and bound, his mouth open in a kind of silent scream, he looked like an animal caught in a trap and seemed just about ready to gnaw his own leg off. Almost, Harry could feel sorry for him. Almost, but not quite.

At last McLaggen appeared to realize the hopelessness of his situation. His chin dropped onto his chest and he opened his mouth again, but the sound that emerged was so faint that everyone had to lean in to hear him. In a voice hoarse with fear, he uttered just one word, but it was the one word Harry had been waiting to hear:

"Scrimgeour!"

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Once McLaggen had been bundled off to Azkaban, the Minister held a kind of mini-celebration in his office, but Harry couldn't enjoy it. He had immediately sent a team of Aurors to the Leaky Cauldron to arrest Rowan Scrimgeour, but feelings of unease prevailed, not least of all because Ted was in such a vulnerable position. Needing to get Scrimgeour out of the way lest he learn something from the Ministry grape-vine which no amount of security ever seemed to completely vanquish, Harry sent Scrimgeour on what amounted to a wild goose chase. Scrimgeour's instructions had been to go to a certain room above the Leaky Cauldron and wait for a contact that, he had been told, would provide information regarding McLaggen's whereabouts. It only made sense for Teddy, his faithful "shadow" to accompany him, though Ted's orders, given in private by Harry himself, were to prevent Scrimgeour from leaving the Leaky Cauldron at all costs. Teddy had, of course, been informed of McLaggen's capture and was aware that an arrest was likely to be forthcoming, but he was to act as if this were just an ordinary assignment and the posture of wide-eyed innocence he'd maintained for the past several weeks would ensure that Scrimgeour's suspicions were not aroused.

Ted's assignment since the beginning had been to watch Scrimgeour's every move, both during the day and after hours when being a metamorphmagus had come in especially handy. Nighttime shifts had been shared with other trusted Aurors to allow Ted time to sleep and report to Harry. The brunt of it, however, had been carried on Ted's own shoulders, and Harry had been wondering how best to acknowledge what had truly been a remarkable effort. Perhaps not an Order of Merlin, but Harry was considering a "Mad-Eye," an award created in memory of Alastor Moody to reward Aurors of special merit. Although it had never before been given to a trainee, Harry could not recall another trainee who had performed the way Ted had, and he'd spent a number of hours imagining the look on Ted's face when he personally presented the award to his godson. But no such pleasant musings came to distract him now, for a sense of something not quite right clung to him, like thick, gray cobwebs clogging up his mind. He certainly didn't feel like celebrating yet, and knew that he would not relax until Ted was safely back at the Ministry.

"Tell me, Harry," said Percy, handing Harry a Firewhiskey from the Minister's private stores. "How did you make the connection between McLaggen and Scrimgeour?"

"I remembered a comment McLaggen made years ago," Harry replied, grateful for something else to think about. "It was something about a hunting trip he'd taken with his uncle and Rufus Scrimgeour. Then Hermione mentioned McLaggen turning up at the Ministry to visit a friend, and a little checking verified a family connection that went back several generations. Of course there was also the potions exam. . ."

"Potions exam?" said Shacklebolt.

"McLaggen received an Outstanding on his potions N.E.W.T.," explained Hermione who had refused Percy's offer of a drink, given her intolerance for strong spirits. "We knew it was something he couldn't possibly have achieved on his own."

"Scrimgeour, on the other hand, received several potions awards while he was at Hogwarts," Harry continued. "Given the history between their families and what appears to have been a personal friendship between the two of them, I'm guessing he took the exam for McLaggen using Polyjuice Potion."

Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was seated behind a massive desk, shook his head sadly as he sipped his own drink. "I remember Rufus boasting about his son's talent in potions. Hard to believe a man like that could have produced such a son. Whatever his faults, Rufus was a basically decent sort and he was a very brave Auror. But I know the entire family suffered after his murder. His widow, Vivienne, became quite bitter in fact, and I suppose she must have passed that on to her son." He paused as Harry looked at his watch for the fourth time in the past minute. "Are we keeping you from anything, Harry?"

"No," Harry said. "Sorry, I just. . . I won't feel entirely at ease until I know for sure that Scrimgeour is in custody. I half wish I'd gone along and made the arrest myself."

"You're too easily recognized, Harry!" said Percy, who rather enjoyed having a famous brother-in-law. "People see that scar coming from a mile away."

"I know," Harry said darkly. "And a bloody nuisance it is, too. It was always a problem when I was doing field work."

"Why else do you think we promoted you, Harry?" said Shacklebolt, smiling. "Confining you to an office was the only way to keep you out of the limelight."

Everyone laughed. "And here I was, thinking it had to do with my abilities," Harry grinned. "So much for your merit-based system, Minister."

"Ah, well," said Kingsley once the laughter died down. "I'm just glad I won't have to make another trip to see the Muggle Prime Minister. He was upset enough when I told him about McLaggen's escape from Azkaban. I shudder to imagine his reaction had I been forced to disclose a plan to sell magical potions to terrorists."

"Yes, indeed," said Percy with a pompous little nod. "Imagine the consequences! Thank Merlin we nipped that in the bud!"

"What about these 'go-betweens' McLaggen mentioned?" Hermione asked. "Doesn't that worry you at all, Harry?"

"Well, naturally," said Harry, who was feeling a little more relaxed now, thanks to the whiskey. "But as soon as we have Scrimgeour, we'll get all the names and round up the lot of them. It's like I said to McLaggen, I've known all along Scrimgeour was the mastermind behind this whole operation, so once we have him. . ."

Harry broke off as a silver wolf soared through the office door and landed on the Minister's desk. Everyone stared as the wolf opened its muzzle and spoke in Ted's voice: "He knows!"

"What the. . ." said Percy as Hermione blinked in confusion and Kingsley Shacklebolt leapt to his feet. Harry was already on his way out the door.

"Something's gone wrong!" he yelled over his shoulder, not even bothering to see if anyone was following him as he ran full out toward the lifts. Heart hammering, Harry punched the button for the Atrium and dashed out the instant the grilled doors clanged open, pushing people out of his way until he reached one of the marble fireplaces. Grabbing a handful of Floo powder, he stepped into the fire, shouted, "The Leaky Cauldron!" and immediately felt himself spinning in a tight spiral as emerald flames erupted around him.

When Harry opened his eyes, he could see several patrons, distracted from their drinking and looking rather alarmed as they stared at the wooden staircase leading to the guest rooms where a disturbance of some kind appeared to have taken place. Hannah Longbottom had just started up the stairs to see what had happened when Harry ran past her.

"Harry!" Hannah called after him. "What's going on? We just heard. . ."

But Harry didn't stop to explain. Robes flapping around him, he tore down the hall until he reached the room where he knew Scrimgeour had been waiting. The door had been flung wide open and several Aurors were crouched over something on the floor. Harry caught a flash of green and felt his heart sink to the soles of his feet as he shoved the Aurors unceremoniously aside. A quick glance around the room told him there was no sign whatsoever of Rowan Scrimgeour. But on the floor, lying much too still for comfort, was the unconscious form of Ted Lupin.

A/N: Yeah, yeah, I know. I've done it again. (Enough with the cliffhangers already, I can hear you shouting!) Stick with me just a little while longer as it's all coming to a head soon. Stay tuned and remember the magical flying fingers spell: the more reviews I receive, the faster updates come. It works like a charm!