Oddsbodds led the way into an Auror conference room, an action for which Draco was grateful. It meant that he bore the brunt of the hostile stares from the older Aurors gathered there (of which there were only three, but still…) In one corner, Potter gave a brief, nervous smile to Granger, and only then did Draco understand that Potter had put himself on the line for this request. The three Aurors took it in turns to glare at Draco, which he dutifully returned with disdain.
Their mentor had given suspiciously little reaction at the announcement that his two trainee Investigators were taking this new step. Draco was fairly certain he was more intrigued than angry that his students had gone over his head.
"Here are the facts as we have them so far," said Brutus Bibulus, the lead Auror on the case, a thin, weedy-looking man with a long white scar traveling down his jawline. "When we arrived at the storage warehouse where the shipment of Greek Lotus Syrup ordered with the stolen license was scheduled to arrive, we notified the warehouse supervisor of our arrival, and that we would be staking out the area."
"Was the supervisor Muggle or wizard?" Oddsbodds interrupted.
"Squib," Bibulus said shortly. "We set up a parameter outside the warehouse, Disillusioned ourselves, and waited, trading shifts. Since the Lotus Syrup is only guaranteed efficacious for three days after it's shipped, when the fourth day arrived, we knew the suspect wasn't going to arrive."
"He – or she –" Oddsbodds amended at a glance from Granger, "must have known that we knew about the license. But how?"
"That," said Bibulus, with a sigh, "is what we can't figure out. Orfin here-" he indicated the wizard beside him, with oddly blunted features and almost no neck – "performed the Disillusionment on everyone before they Apparated to their chosen points. We had eyes on the warehouse and eyes on all potential points from which the suspect could have been watching. We had someone watching the Squib at all times."
"What is the Squib's name?" asked Granger in a testy sort of tone.
Bibulus blinked at her, obviously unused to being addressed so abruptly by someone less than half his age. "Icarus Dewey."
"Does anyone know what he was doing during the war?" Granger asked. "Did he lose anyone?"
A slow smile spread across Bibulus's face. "He's a Squib, Ms. Granger," he said kindly (and, Draco noted, more than a bit condescendingly). "If he'd done anything to alert the suspect, we'd have caught it."
"Not necessarily," Granger retorted. "Muggles have come up with a surprising amount of technology to make up for their lack of magic. Squibs are aware of the difference, so they have to be twice as clever in front of their wizarding kin. And you don't need to be a wizard or a witch to mix some potions."
Draco shifted. Granger had raised an excellent point – clearly, she'd been thinking about this a lot longer than he had once they'd finally left the MLE the night before.
"The fact remains that Mr. Dewey is a Squib," remarked Orfin, in a gravelly voice. "Under You-Know-Who, he'd have been as much in danger as a Muggleborn or a Muggle - unless he'd gotten in with the right folks."
Bibulus sat back in his chair, exchanging a glance with Oddsbodds. "We'll bring him in for some additional questioning."
Potter, Draco noticed, regained some of his color at this change in tone. He wondered if the Boy Who Was the Answer to Everything would have paid in a loss of status if this meeting turned up nothing – and then that turned him on a completely different path of thought.
"Did Dewey mention how the suspect paid for the warehouse space?" he asked. "I'm assuming it was done anonymously, or with a nom de plume. If there's a bank account number with Gringotts', though, we might be able to convince the goblins to trace it."
"The name was a fake," Bibulus confirmed. "Stebbins worked with the information that Dewey gave us. Dewey's story was that a man who called himself Autolycus Trunk paid cash for the storage space. Made the reservation with the fellytone or the cellophane and sent in a letter through the mail without an address to show where it came from." Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Hermione's eye twitch, and figured that Stebbins had mispronounced something Muggle-related – though he was damned if he could figure out which one it was. Muggles had far too many strange devices, including that odd device that they pecked and communicated with…
"What was he doing while you watched him?" Draco asked, the thought taking instant shape in his mind and bursting to run free. "Was he working on one of those com-pew-ters?" He shot a brief glance at Hermione to see if she was following (and if he'd pronounced the device correctly.) Her eyes were wide, and he felt a rush of relief to know that he hadn't gotten his Muggle technologies wrong.
Bibulus frowned. "That's the little box they watch?"
"No, that's a television," Hermione broke in. "Who was watching him?"
"Me," spoke up the other, heretofore silent Death Eater. "Walter Willoughby," he continued, by way of introduction. "All that man did the entire time I was there was talk to a few customers dropping things off and picking things up. Otherwise, he worked on that com-pew-ter, like this." Willoughby gave a demonstration of using various fingers to poke at the table.
"He was typing," said Hermione, looking excited. "You can easily send a message through a computer to someone else by typing. Do you have that computer?"
"We don't," Bibulus said flatly. "There was no need at the time. Besides, we'd need a warrant, and that, Miss Granger, requires probable cause. We need more than that."
Silence fell over the room.
"Where is this storage space?" Draco asked, trying to fill up the heaviness of the silence.
"Tinworth. Little on the dodgy end," replied Bibulus, looking impatient.
The kernel of an idea began to grow in Draco's head. "Hermione, that illegal selkie skin trade we investigated – wasn't that scene in Tinworth?"
Hermione furrowed her brow. "I believe so."
"The selkie skin can only be transported at certain dates, in certain phases of the moon, for it to be efficacious," Draco continued. "If you were trading in that area, you'd need a storage facility that alerted you if the selkie or her mate came looking for it. If they came to a place run by a Muggle, the Muggle would probably report it to their law enforcement. If it was run by a Squib…they'd know what to look for, and know who to call to keep it quiet. That selkie we interviewed said that others had searched the area, and they thought they'd come close, but nothing was ever reported."
He broke off, searching the astonished faces of the Aurors in front of him. "Are there any other Squibs, wizards, or witches running storage units there?"
"Not…not that I'm aware of," said Bibulus. "That just might be enough for probable cause. And while we're there – we will pick up this com-pew-ter for Ms. Granger to examine." Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Hermione nod jerkily, caught Oddsbodds' hands relaxing on the tabletop.
Bibulus, Willoughby, and Orfin stood up and nodded, Potter trailing in their wake like a lost puppy. Draco would never tire of the knowledge that Potter had to work his way up through the Auror program, despite having the way smoothed for him by Voldemort's defeat. Potter turned at the doorway to exchange a glance with Hermione – Draco could not tell what passed between them.
Wordlessly, Oddsbodds stood and faced them. "My vunderkinds," he intoned, the apples of his cheeks bunching and relaxing. "I hope you know this will double our workload."
Draco felt his stomach hit his toes.
"And I couldn't be prouder. Well done, you two. Well done. Be ready to report when they get back from Tinworth."
He left, and Draco blinked, astounded by his own daring and by his boss's reaction.
Hermione swiveled in place to face him, beaming. "Told you that you were good at this, didn't I?" she grinned.
Draco felt himself returning the grin, feeling it warm up his insides.
It looked almost as if Hermione was playing the piano – though all he could hear were pat-pat-pat sounds as her fingers worked the odd display.
Draco studied Hermione closely as her fingers flexed across what she had called a keyboard. She appeared not to even be looking at the little plastic tabs that she pressed, but studied the changing screen. He'd moved slightly away from the computer after jumping out of his seat at the blare of trumpets as the computer seemed to come alive. Hermione must have noticed, but chose not to comment.
"How do you do that?" he asked, figuring a compliment couldn't hurt. "You're not even looking at the…are they called keys?"
"It's just something you pick up over time," Hermione replied, not taking her eyes from the screen. "Kind of like how you fly on a broomstick. Pretty soon, you figured out how to judge distance and how fast you could get there, without even really thinking about it."
He preened for a moment – even a Gryffindor had taken note of his skills! Hermione interrupted his thoughts, tapping on the screen with a fingernail.
"I'm in," she said, looking pleased. "He really shouldn't make his log-in automatic."
"Uh-huh." He had no idea what she was talking about. "In what?"
"Never mind," she said, using the mouse (which looked nothing like a mouse to Draco) to make the screen change several times, her middle finger deftly spinning a wheel on the device. "What was the date of the break-in? October the fourth or fifth?"
"The fourth, I think." Draco had to look away as the screen peeled downward at a rapid rate. He was used to quickly changing landscapes on his broomstick, but this made him feel a little queasy.
"I really hope he's not the kind of guy who regularly deletes everything," Hermione murmured, more to herself than to Draco, he thought. "If he did, I could probably get past that, but it would require bringing in a Muggle forensic expert and Obliviating them afterwards."
Draco didn't know what to say to that, so he kept his mouth shut.
"Ah-ha!" Hermione crowed in exultation. "Here it is!"
"Can you read it?" Draco asked, "That screen gives me nausea."
"It's addressed to one PeakesBarnaby ," she read.
"What?"
"Like an address on a letter," she said impatiently. "Listen to this – Can't type much, being watched by the Aurors. They've found the site. Don't come for the shipment – they'll be waiting. Dewey. Draco, this could be it. We may have broken the case!"
Draco felt ice water pour through his veins. Hermione turned to look at him, her face somewhere between excited and horrified. "Peakes. Jimmy Peakes was in my house, but…he died at the Battle of Hogwarts. Snuck back in with Colin Creevey - they were underage."
"Is this Barnaby fellow his brother or father, then?" Draco said, peering closer to look at the images on the computer, despite his nausea, leaning on the other piece of equipment that seemed to come with the computer.
"Probably," Hermione said. "At least there's a good chance of it in the Wizarding world. I'll print this out, and we can look at Dewey's other correspondence with Peakes." She moved the mouse around a few times more, clicking and tapping. Suddenly, the machine Draco leaned against roared to life. He sprang away with a yell.
"What's wrong with it?" he cried out, fingers twitching for his wand. "Is it charmed against strangers?"
"Nothing's wrong." Hermione said calmly. "It's just printing." A moment later, the machine spat out a sheet of paper that Hermione took and held out to him. "We can take that to Oddsbodds – if Peakes was watching Dewey for any reason, or was supposed to hear from him, he'll be on the run. If this is enough for a warrant, they need to bring him in now."
She seemed to stop a moment. "Actually, it might be better if you took it to Oddsbodds. I can keep looking so we don't lose any time. If it's not Peakes, and someone was clever enough to use his name as their e-mail address, we should at least be able to rule him out and use the rest of the correspondence to track who it really is."
Draco looked down at the paper. The short message, appearing just as it had on the computer, was the key, perhaps, to solving months and months of dead ends, wrong turns, and children like Dai. Hermione was offering him the chance to run in triumphantly before their boss, to be the one associated with it in the eyes of the Aurors and the rest of the Investigations Department. It was a very…Gryffindor move.
Obviously, he would have to counteract it.
"No," he said. "We figured this out together, so we both get the credit. Come on." There was a split-second to enjoy the surprised curve of her smile before he held the door open for her, and they sprinted out.
Author's Note: One more to go, then on to the next story!