Chapter 38 - On The Hunt
The next morning, the Aurors were working overtime. They had all stayed in the office, catching a few hours' sleep in the early morning, then setting to work with renewed vigour from dawn's first light. Ordinarily, such a workload might have raised complaints, but they were on the hunt, and nothing could have compelled Harry more.
He was beginning to realise what made men like Mad-Eye Moody. The same furious passion which he had taken for paranoia in Moody was now present in his own heart, and he knew it as determination. Every one of the six Aurors flitted around the hub, flinging papers to each other and trading in a steady stream of information, anything that might help them track the Lestranges, their motives, and their means.
Around eight o'clock in the morning, Proudfoot came into the office practically bouncing with nervous excitement.
"Potter!" he called, "Just got news from the coroner. No signs of a struggle, he agrees it was probably Killing Curses. There is one thing, though..."
"What is it?"
"They both had locks of hair missing."
"Locks of... hair? Are you sure?"
"The coroner's sure, yes. Cut short at the scalp, so it was definitely deliberate."
Harry's mind was racing at this news, and it reached the same conclusion he suspected Proudfoot's had reached when he first heard it.
"Polyjuice Potion?"
"Almost certainly."
Proudfoot's nervous energy seemed to passed into Harry, as he bounced over to the map table, where a smaller map of Diagon Alley had been unrolled and laid across the table's own map.
"Everybody get round!" Harry called. "We need to put all this together!"
In less than sixty seconds, all of the Aurors were huddled around the table, and various parchments had been deposited around the edge, as they pooled all the knowledge they had.
"So, victims," Harry began.
"Thomas and Sarah Foster. Husband and wife, half-bloods, both hit in the back with Killing Curses," Ron replied.
"Suspects?"
"Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange," Neville muttered through gritted teeth. "Identified by our witness, Miss Milner. Former Death Eaters, husband and brother-in-law of Bellatrix. Escaped Azkaban twice, committed members of Voldemort's inner circle. Both involved in the torture of my parents."
There was an awkward silence at the last addition, before Harry continued.
"Location?"
"Diagon Alley," Williamson recited. "Alleyway just outside Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Murderers snuck up behind the two victims and cursed them from behind, probably simultaneously."
"Means?"
"The Killing Curse," Ron said, simply.
"Motive?"
"Random attack," Savage nodded, but there was a pregnant pause, as Harry glanced in Proudfoot's direction.
"No..." the other Auror said, shaking his head and biting his lip slightly. "Random target."
Savage was staring at him as if to say "What's the difference?", as were Ron and Williamson, but Harry shared a knowing glance with Proudfoot, and the light of understanding was passing over Neville's face.
"The Fosters were in the wrong place at the wrong time," Harry nodded. "But the attack itself was definitely deliberate."
"Thomas and Sarah Foster both had locks of hair cut out," Proudfoot explained. "Which means the Lestranges were probably planning to use Polyjuice Potion. But according to our witness, she wandered across the scene and started screaming the place down, at which point Rodolphus and Rabastan ran for it."
"Why did they run?" Ron mused. "They could have just cursed her, too..."
"Not after she screamed," Neville said, picking up Proudfoot's trail. "Once she screamed, the plan was ruined."
"Exactly," Harry said, the cogs still turning in his mind. "They needed to do it without being discovered. Kill the first people to stumble into sight, hide the bodies, then take their identity, for whatever purpose. Rodolphus and Rabastan didn't have time to hide the bodies before Milner rumbled them. Once she screamed, people came running, so the only thing the Lestranges could do was run for it and leave the bodies..."
"So the disguise is ruined," Proudfoot summed up. "If the Fosters were to appear, we'd know who they really were. That means the Lestranges will need to try again, or come up with a new plan. Now, Rabastan might be a bit of a thug, but Rodolphus is smart, very smart. By now, he'll know that we know what he was planning. He won't be dumb enough to try the same trick twice."
"Which means he'll need a new scheme," Harry murmured.
"Exactly. We can't tell what that scheme will be..."
"...so we need to find out what he's after, right?" Ron said, finishing Proudfoot's sentence for him.
All eyes turned to Ron as he finished speaking.
"What? It's obvious, right?" he scowled, somewhat defensively.
"Indeed," Proudfoot nodded. "The means don't matter if we take away the ends. And the ends, I think, are rather obvious..."
Silently, Proudfoot slid out his wand and tapped the open map of Diagon Alley. A bright red cross was daubed over the site of the murder, but Proudfoot's wand was pointing, not to the cross, but to a label half an inch away, written in neat, black letters.
"Gringotts..." Harry breathed.
"If, as may very well be the case, the Lestranges are looking for something, there is only one place to which they would have entrusted it," Proudfoot reasoned.
"Their vault," Harry nodded. He now knew exactly what Rodolphus had been planning – he, Ron and Hermione had done it themselves just months ago. To take Polyjuice Potion, sneak into the bank on the pretence of visiting the Fosters' vault, and then journey to their own.
"They were going to break into Gringotts?" Ron mouthed. "They'd have to be mad to try that!"
"Ron, you broke into Gringotts, remember?" Neville said, sardonically.
"Oh, right," Ron muttered, sheepishly. Harry, however, wasn't listening. His mind was processing the latest developments, and working out a plan of action.
"We need to move, quickly. Neville, come with me to Gringotts, we need to see if the 'Fosters' have come calling already. The rest of you, head to Lestrange Manor."
"Lestrange Manor's been abandoned for months, Harry," Williamson muttered. "Ever since the end of the war."
"Exactly. Scout it out, see if the brothers were dumb enough to hide there. If not, we can search the place. They might have left behind journals, diaries, something that could tell us what they're after."
"You heard the man," Savage nodded. "Grab some gear, and let's move out..."
Half an hour later, Ron was creeping through the skeletal grounds of Lestrange Manor with Savage, while Proudfoot and Williamson snuck up the other side. All four Aurors were well equipped – their wands had been supplemented with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, some white-runed stones Ron didn't recognise, Muggle knives, and in Savage's case, a full-length katana.
"Let's move," Savage murmured, and, still crouched low, the two Aurors passed through the shadow of a dying willow, approaching the distinctly gothic house that lay before them.
"Where's our entrance?" Ron asked, surveying the house. The front doors would probably be sealed, bolted and jinxed a dozen times over, which ruled them out.
"Corner window," Savage whispered. "Ben and Liam are going to break through the servant's entrance around the back."
Ron was sure he had misheard, but sure enough, Savage paced to the corner of the building, to a tall, lead-framed window. She quickly waved her wand across the frame, looking for jinxes, then drew back.
"Expulso."
The window shattered instantly, spraying a stream of glass and lead into the room beyond. The frame had been neatly ripped away, leaving no shards of broken glass around the window's edge, and Savage sprung through without the slightest trouble. Cautiously, Ron followed her, pulling out his own wand and vaulting over the stone sill.
The grounds had been an unkempt, slightly overgrown mess. The house's interior, however, was barren, reminding Ron of Malfoy Manor, or maybe Grimmauld Place, but with every vestige of decoration removed. Paintings had been stripped from the walls, ornaments had been removed from the shelves, and everything, from ceiling to floor, was covered in varying depths of dust.
Cautiously, the two Aurors moved along the hallway, wands levelled ahead of them. Savage pushed the next door open, and they passed into the empty frame of what had apparently once been a kitchen. The stove was as dusty as everything else in the house, and the room had been stripped of almost every distinguishing feature. Even the hooks which might once have held ladles or other utensils now stood bare.
"I don't like this..." Savage murmured. "This place hasn't been abandoned, it's been cleared out..."
The next room was just the same – a study with barren bookshelves, and not so much as a sheet of parchment left in the room. There were pale squares in the dust of the walls, where paintings had obviously been removed, and the drawers of the ornate desk were conspicuously empty.
Somewhere in the house's depths, a muffled bang sounded. Savage squeaked in surprise, and Ron bit his lip to stop himself yelling, before straightening up.
"That'll be Williamson and Proudfoot," he muttered. "They like to make an entrance."
"Yeah... yeah..." Savage whispered, still looking rather startled. "Bastards."
From the study, they passed into a cavernous lounge. Again, the bookshelves around the edge had been stripped of all knowledge, and the glass-fronted cabinets in one corner, though shut, were empty of all their contents. A number of lounge chairs were circled around an ornate, wrought-iron mantelpiece, and they were all covered in half an inch of dust. Nonetheless, Savage was showing an intense interest.
"Look at this!" she hissed.
"What, more dust?" Ron scowled, walking over to her without enthusiasm.
"No, you idiot... the fire's fresh!"
At that, Ron started. It was far beyond his own detective skills to work that one out.
"How d'you figure that one?"
"There's fresh soot, and the charcoal's still hot. This has been burning in the last few hours..."
Before Ron could make any conclusions from that information, there was a thump against the door, and the sound of someone fiddling with the handle. Ron looked at Savage, whose eyes were bulging. Whoever the person on the other side of the door was, he was keeping quiet...
"What do we do?" Ron mouthed, his first instinct being to hide, and ambush them.
"Leave it to me," Savage breathed in response. She padded slowly towards the door, and reached for the sheath around her waist. Ron had thought it rather odd of her to bring a katana along, but he was grateful now, as she held it in an outstretched palm, looking rather like a jungle tribesman with a fishing spear. She kept sneaking forward until she was about two metres from the door, then lunged, hurling the blade straight into the door. To Ron's amazement, and Savage's pride, it sank straight through the wood into the hallway beyond.
"OW!" came the cry from the other side of the door, and Savage froze. Moments later, the two Aurors heard the odd sound of metal snapping, and the door was kicked open.
Williamson threw the severed half of the katana to the ground contemptuously as he entered, and wiped a trickle of blood from the gash on his cheek.
"Why," he hissed, "did you have to bring a sword?"
"For self defence, why d'you think!" Savage responded.
"You're a witch! You can use magic!" her irate comrade yelled, and for a moment Ron had to suppress a chuckle as he thought of Hermione in their first year, when faced with the Devil's Snare.
"Bloody hell, Ben," Savage muttered, as she walked over to the door and pulled the shattered handle out of the wood. "That was one of my best swords!"
"My heart bleeds for you," Williamson scowled, as he pressed one hand to his bleeding cheek.
Moments later, Proudfoot came running into the room, wand out and ready, evidently drawn by the yells.
"What happened?" he said, then spotted Williamson's bleeding cheek, and Savage still holding the two broken halves of her sword, and sighed resignedly.
"What kind of witch carries a sword?" Williamson moaned, as if begging Proudfoot to take his side.
"What kind of idiot sneaks up on Annabelle?" Proudfoot replied, sardonically. Behind his back, Savage stuck her tongue out at Williamson, and he scowled. "I'm sure she'll kiss it better for you."
Proudfoot flashed a sarcastic smile at the pair, and began to pace across the room. Ron failed to notice both Williamson and Savage reddening slightly.
"What's the situation, then?" Proudfoot murmured.
"The whole place has been cleared out," Savage muttered, then added, "recently. The fire's been used less than a day ago."
"They probably cleared out this morning," Williamson reasoned, still nursing his cheek. "As soon as they knew we were on to them, they legged it. They would have realised this is the first place we'd check."
"And whatever they were after," Proudfoot nodded, "they probably removed all records on it. All the books are gone, so we can't search those, and we can't ask the portraits what they overheard because they're gone, too."
"So this was all a waste of time, then?" Savage scowled, as Williamson nodded sarcastic agreement behind her. "Better hope Harry found something at Gringotts..."
At Gringotts, Harry was less worried about finding something, and more worried about keeping his limbs intact. After all, the last time he had visited Gringotts he had broken in, and then stolen one of their guard dragons.
As something of a security measure, he had delayed the investigation slightly, in order to ask Bill to join them. Bill often said that goblins just cared how much gold you made them as an employee, and as Bill made a lot of gold for them, Harry felt much safer having him with them to negotiate.
The great marble hall of Gringotts bore no signs of the war's events. The destruction the dragon had wrought was entirely repaired, as was any sign that a war had even passed the place. As they approached, Bill led them to a clerk in the far corner, and rasped something to him in Gobbledegook, presumably a greeting. The goblin muttered back, then jerked his head towards Harry and Neville, and jabbering again. Bill answered the question for them:
"They're Aurors. We've got some questions to ask you..."
"Questions?" the goblin scowled, reverting to English. He had a wizened, rather intelligent-looking face, and little tufts of silver hair. As Harry stepped forward, the goblin leaned over the stack of Sickles he had been counting, and pushed his round-rimmed glasses further up his nose as he gave Harry an appraising stare.
"I suppose you know..." Harry began, testing the waters with a delicate tone. "That a couple were murdered outside Gringotts last night?"
"Yes, we heard," the goblin said, tersely. "Nasty business."
"Indeed... we believe the murderers' eventual aim was to break into Gringotts."
"Impossible."
"Possible," Harry said, so firmly that he must have appeared suspicious. "It can be done, with Polyjuice Potion."
"Talking from experience, Mr Potter?" the goblin smiled, and Harry's stomach dropped. So they did know. They'd never help now.
"Well...I..."
"What do you wish to know?" asked the goblin, sounding rather impatient, but still co-operating, much to Harry's surprise.
"Err... well," Harry stammered, trying to re-gather his escaping thoughts. "We need to know if the victims visited Gringotts at all last night."
"Or, indeed, if the murderers visited in disguise."
"Exactly."
"Names?"
"Thomas and Sarah Foster."
The goblin slipped down off his stool and disappeared somewhere behind the counters. Harry supposed he must have looked confused, because Bill leant over to offer his explanation.
"They keep records of every visit, he'll have gone to check them," Bill muttered, and Harry nodded in understanding.
After a few minutes, the goblin returned, and jumped back up onto his stool.
"Neither Thomas nor Sarah Foster reached Gringotts last night. Their vault was last opened three months ago."
"Right, so they haven't visited... what about the murderers? Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange?"
"No," the goblin muttered, visibly stiffening at the sound of the names. "Neither of those two... Death Eaters" – he spat the words – "have been allowed into this bank. Unless they were in disguise, they have not entered here, and at any rate, their vault has not been accessed since Shacklebolt transferred its contents."
"Good, good... out of curiosity, though... what would you do if the Lestranges showed up?"
"If they appeared in their own guise, they would be killed," the goblin rasped, rather tensely. "We suffered more indignities under the Death Eaters than any previous rule. Their claims have been nullified."
"Their claims have been nullified?" Harry repeated, in confusion.
"Gringotts vaults pass by birthright, unless overridden by a will," Bill interjected. "They pass along the male line."
"Correct," the goblin nodded. "In this case, the vault, number seven-hundred and fifty-one, was in possession of Rodolphus Lestrange, not his wife Bellatrix, although she frequently used it. Rodolphus' claim has since been nullified, as has that of his brother Rabastan, the next male in line."
"So, after those two... who's next?" Harry asked.
"After them, ownership might have passed to Bellatrix, were she not nullified too... not to mention dead. Thusly, the male line is followed back into Bellatrix's family, the Blacks. Her cousins Sirius and Regulus are deceased, and her elder sister's husband is both deceased and disowned by the family... which leaves only her brother-in-law..."
"You're kidding," Harry gaped.
"Why, who is it?" Neville asked, in some confusion, as the goblin gave them an eerie smile.
"Mr Lucius Malfoy."