Chapter 9: Fool's Errand

It was raining in Puddlemere when Neville stumbled off the Knight Bus, rubbing his elbow from where a sharp curve had jostled him against one of the seats. He didn't much feel like talking to Gran, he'd just make his excuses and go straight to his room.

It did feel strange to be back in his childhood bedroom, but he and Gran had agreed that it didn't make much sense to pay the ridiculous Hogsmead rents for a room he'd hardly use at all during the school year. "Better to save up and stay with me at the hols," she'd said, "no wasting money on rent. You can do the washing up."

Of course, he'd hardly been around to do any washing up since term ended. He'd have to really pitch in in the morning, that would do it.

He unlocked the front door and stepped in, that particular smell of home surrounding him, the cedar of Gran's linen chest, and a bit of damp earth of her freshly-watered plants. Neville pulled off his boots by the door, Gran couldn't stand the wet being tracked in. There was a faint rumble of voices and light spilling from the kitchen. Gran had company. He'd have to at least pop his head in or he'd never hear the end of it.

"Hi, Gran, uh…" he cut off as he saw Harry sitting across from her at the kitchen table, with a cup of tea and a vast spread of Gran's holiday biscuits.

"... hi, Harry," he finished awkwardly.

"There you are, Neville, I don't know where you were off to, till all hours."

"Oh, I just, uh…" he had been about to say 'with friends,' and that would probably get past his gran, but it wouldn't get past Harry.

"Harry's been trying to reach you," she went on, reproachfully.

"Sorry, I've just been a bit, uh, caught up in things."

"Is it that wretched memory of yours? I thought you'd grown out of that. You need to make more of an effort."

Neville found himself flushing.

"Well, I'll leave you boys to catch up. Don't stay up late now, Griselda is coming over for tea tomorrow, and I'll need your help in the morning."

"'Course, Gran."

She stood a bit huffily and headed down the hall. He could hear her steps creaking up the back stairs. He sat.

"Hi, Harry," he said again.

"Neville, is something going on?"

"Nothing, it's just that I've been rushing around and -"

"Look, I don't -"

"I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to write back -"

"Neville, stop! Please don't do this, please not you too. It's not like you."

"Harry?" Neville was taken aback by how desperate Harry sounded.

"Everyone did this to me, and I always hated it. Cut me out, not tell me the truth. My aunt and uncle, they were it doing out of spite. But then Albus and Ron and Hermione, they did it too, out of good intentions, maybe, but it hurts just as much. More, I guess, because you trust your friends to not just, you know, cut you out like that. But you never did that to me, Neville, you always kept talking to me, even if you didn't agree with me. So don't you start cutting me out, not after everything."

Neville sighed. He took out Harry's second note, unopened, and put it on the table. "I'm sorry. I didn't even - I didn't know what to say."

"You didn't open it?" Harry looked hurt.

"I was going to, but I was avoiding it," Neville admitted. "I don't want to lie to you, but there's things I can't say. Or at least, I can't say yet."

"I don't like that, Neville."

"I don't like it much either."

"So don't do it," said Harry, frustrated.

"Harry - "

"No, I'm bloody tired of people tiptoeing around! You think I couldn't tell when you and Ron were humoring me about the prophecy? Nobody wants to give me a straight answer, like I'm delicate, after what I've been through? I don't know what you think I would do to Snape if I actually had a chance to talk to him, or what he'd do to me. At this point, I don't care if he laid into me, as long as I could talk to someone who wouldn't just humor me."

"Harry. It's not that I think you're delicate or that I was trying to humor you, but you… you were saying you're sure that the prophecy was true, that it had to be. Look, I was never in on that information, not like you, so you know a lot better than I do."

"But that's exactly it, that's why I want to talk to Snape. If anyone was in on the information, he was. Did you talk to him?"

Neville paused. He felt acutely aware of how badly he'd bungled by telling Harry and Ron what he suspected about Snape's location. "He answered my message," he said carefully.

"All right, what did he say?"

"Mostly that I should either help or piss off."

"That's it?"

"That's why I didn't know what to tell you. There wasn't much to tell."

"And the prophecy?"

"I didn't ask him."

"Neville!"

"No, remember? I was contacting him about Goyle. This isn't about us, Harry. I don't think he would have answered me if it was."

"You didn't even try," said Harry resentfully.

"Harry, I understand that the prophecy is important. But Goyle's disappearance is more urgent."

"I know," said Harry. "It's not just the prophecy. I keep thinking that I might have a chance to make some kind of connection with him, with the truth, with everything that happened, and then it keeps slipping away again."

They were silent for a moment.

"I felt like that when I was a kid," said Neville. "It's a rotten feeling. I'd get it every time I tried to talk to my parents. There they were, right in front of me, and a thousand miles away at the same time. I'd get so frustrated, I could hardly speak. But I had to just get past it, accept it. Sometimes people just can't give you what you need. But somewhere, deep down, it's there. It's like what you said, that you knew the prophecy was true. You just have to know it, deep down."

Harry shook his head, looking at the table. "I don't know what I know anymore."

It was earlier than they usually met, and the teashop was crowded. They were wedged into a table next to two rather cozy ladies with large hats and piercing voices chatting about holiday shopping. At least there was absolutely no danger of being overheard.

"The name?" Theo asked.

Draco held his gaze steadily. "You're asking me a favor."

Theo sighed. "Right, what do you want?"

"Minimum £70 going forward." Draco hadn't been in a good bargaining position when they'd first set their rates; it looked like he wanted to correct the lapse.

"Look, I wouldn't give that for English soil. But international, all right, £70 minimum."

"The name's Priestly, Officer Jacob Priestly," Draco said. "You send him a note first, and then put in your visitation request, not the other way around. Say something about wanting to have the visitation procedures correct. He'll write back with instructions. When you put in your visitation request, he'll pick it up and make sure that he's the one who escorts you in. You just pass him the fee when you're turning your wand at security."

"How much does it cost?"

One of the ladies brayed with laughter. Draco winced.

"I wouldn't venture a guess. It has been two years."

"Just a rough figure. He'll soak me if I don't know where to set the bargaining."

"If it's just a deaf and blind guard you need, it should be about a two-hundred galleon contribution. There are limits; you can't go talking about dark magic and crimes."

"Well, yeah." Even if the guard was only deaf and blind enough not to report his visit to Shacklebolt, it would be a start,

"If you wanted to try to bring something in through security, it would be a lot more."

"No, deaf and blind is all I need." Theo would have to change money for this, he didn't like to keep much in his Gringotts account.

"Look, Nott, I want to be kept out of this. But this has been a farce so far, you know it has. Longarse came to me again. I don't know what he thinks the rest of you are doing. He might be striking out on his own. He's a bloody loose curse. You're all going to end up jinxing each other unless you get him out of this. He's far out of his depth. The rest of you too, honestly."

"You're one to talk; you've been out of your depth your whole life."

"Yes, yes," said Draco dismissively, "and the House motto may as well be 'plans gone awry.' It just doesn't make sense to have him blundering around on his own. Have him in it or out of it. Anything else is a disaster and…" he looked away. "If Greg has any kind of chance at all, could you please not ruin it?"

"That's the idea, Malfoy."

Daphne knocked again. The cherub-faced peephole on the door stayed stubbornly closed. "It's useless,'' she called down to Bulstrode, who was just out of sight a few steps down the metal stairs. "No one's home."

Bulstrode grunted in frustration. "I'll break it in."

Daphne shook her head at her. "They'd see the broken wards straight away. They're careful, Mil."

"Don't want to wait all night."

"We can go and find them. They'll be at Jenks' or at Helix, or at their office or somewhere."

"Bloody Helix," Bulstrode said with disgust.

"We can try there first, get it out of the way," said Daphne.

The bouncer at the door was happy to let Daphne in, no matter that they were too early for opening hours. Helix was quiet, no band til later, a couple of people at the bar and someone casting Scourgify on the tables. Zabini was with the bartender, speaking to her over an account book.

"Bulstrode," he said as they approached, "get you something?"

Daphne leaned on the bar and smiled at the bartender. She flushed.

"No. We want Dodger," said Bulstrode. "He here?"

Zabini raised his eyebrows. "He has a back room. Listen, there's a rule with Dodger. He can talk to people here, but no business. No money changes hands, no agreements, no Good Faiths. Not here, all right?"

"No business," said Bulstrode. "Just talk."

"Right. Down the back hall. Third door past the lavs."

"Come on, Greengrass." They headed back. "He'll have Phelps," said Bulstrode.

"Can I have Dodger, Mil?"

"You want him, he's yours," said Bulstrode magnanimously.

"Brilliant."

They were outside the door. Bulstrode looked at Daphne, who nodded. She knocked. "Who is it?" came Phelps' voice.

"It's me, Dodger," said Daphne. They could hear Dodger's Alohamora through the door. They went in together. Dodger was sitting at a small table with his legs stretched out in front of him.

"Daphne!" he said.

She smiled. "Hi, Dee!" She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek and plucked the wand from his pocket. Behind her, Bulstrode was marching over to Phelps, leaning against the wall.

Dodger laughed. "What are you doing, Daphne?"

There was a crack from behind as Bulstrode cast Expelliarmus on Phelps and pushed her arm against his chest. "I'm going to thump you," she said. Daphne used Dodger's wand to lock the door.

"Very funny, Daphne. Look, we're meeting someone -"

Thump.

"Hey!" said Phelps.

"Daphne, what are you playing at? Give it back!"

"Dodger, we want to talk about the letter," said Daphne, not giving it back.

"The what?"

Thump.

Phelps grunted.

"The letter you wrote to Theo's dad, love."

"I didn't -"

"You did, Dee, it's all right, we already know what's in it."

"That's fine, I don't."

Thump.

"Stop it!" Phelps gave a heave and attempted to throw Bulstrode off him. She subdued him after a short scuffle.

"We want to know who hired you to write it and why," Daphne went on, calmly.

"Did Theo put you up to this? He needs to remember his agreements, and stay in bounds."

Thump.

"Ooof."

"Who hired you?"

"I don't talk about my clients."

Thump.

"Eddie?" said Phelps.

"Daphne, nobody uses names on the dark market, you know that."

"That's all right, dear, we'll take a description."

"No."

Thump.

"Eddie!"

Dodger made a grab for his wand. Daphne cast a stinging hex that made him swear and grasp his hand. "None of that."

Bulstrode thumped Phelps again.

"Listen, will you just listen for a minute? Leave him alone, and listen! If I was hired to do something, which I wasn't, wouldn't there be Good Faith agreements in place to keep anyone from talking -"

Thump.

"Stop!" Dodger pushed a hand roughly through his hair.

"Why would you sell out Theo, Dee? He's your partner, we know that."

"If we did anything, which we didn't, it would have nothing to do with him. He needs to abide by any agreements -"

Bulstrode drew her fist back.

"Eddie!"

"Right, right, listen. Just stop and listen. Even if I have no idea what letter you're talking about, everyone is familiar with the kind of thing, what you would reasonably think if you heard about that kind of letter, right?"

"Go on."

Dodger caught his breath and cast a quick look at Phelps. "All those old boys in Azkaban have galleons stashed away somewhere, right? Not in any family Gringotts' vault where the Ministry can get their sticky fingers on it. Under a rock somewhere, who knows, so if they ever get their miserable carcasses out of Azkaban they have some resources to fall back on, right?"

Daphne nodded.

"Right, so if someone knows that a family isn't on speaking terms, they decide that they'll strike up a correspondence with dear old dad, under the guise of a beloved family member, now moved with the tender bonds of filial love to reconcile with the miserable bastard -"

"Dodger," said Bulstrode.

"- Maybe after a few letters, a tearful reconciliation. And then, not too soon after, a letter describing some financial calamity, prodigal son is on his uppers, maybe dear old dad can help, maybe reveal a location."

"Just a con job," said Daphne.

"It's what you would think, wouldn't you, if you heard about that kind of letter? And it would have nothing to do with Theo, no effect on him whatever, no harm to anyone but some miserable old bastards in Azkaban."

"And you might think it could be some nice steady employment for a few months, with all those letters to forge," said Daphne, smiling.

"I don't see how you'd be wrong for thinking that."

"But it was just the one letter, wasn't it?"

"Daphne, I thought we'd established there wasn't any letter. And Theo should know it would have nothing to do with him."

"Not unless Theo wrote to his dad himself," said Bulstrode, low, from across the room.

"But Theo doesn't write his dad," said Dodger, "can't stand him."

"And the two letters came in almost at once and the Ministry found it highly suspicious and called in Theo to explain himself to Shacklebolt," Bulstrode continued.

There was a moment of silence.

"To… who?" said Dodger.

"To Shacklebolt. And if Theo saw the very good forgery of his handwriting, what would he reasonably think?"

Silence.

"He… he didn't say anything to Shacklebolt, did he?"

"Not yet, love," said Daphne.

"Look, if we were in business, there would be Good Faiths, he couldn't give anyone's name. And he can't go into business on his own, not with some people knowing he was an eye, he can't sell anyone out."

"We don't have any Good Faiths with you, dear," said Daphne.

"You wouldn't."

"We want to know who hired you," said Daphne.

"Even if I wanted to tell you, I don't have any names, I never do, and I couldn't tell you anything, Good Faith."

"Can you write it?"

Dodger gave Daphne a withering look. "That's the first loophole anyone thinks of with a Good Faith. No, I can't bloody write it."

"Remember it," said Bulstrode.

He looked at her blankly. "Oh, you're not serious," he said once he understood.

"Why not? I'm very well trained," said Daphne.

"Be reasonable!"

"But we're not reasonable, love, you know that," said Daphne.

"You might give it a try," said Dodger, hopelessly.

"Why, do you recommend it?"

"Not particularly," said Dodger.

"Right love, don't resist, it'll be easier."

Dodger sighed, but made eye contact. Daphne cast Legilimens.

They had been in some bland little office with a desk and a few chairs. Phelps sat in the corner where he could observe the room and easily get between the desk and the door, his wand held casually along his leg. Sitting on the other side of the desk was a woman, checking one piece of paper against another.

"Take your time," Dodger was saying pleasantly as she examined the forgery.

She was in her forties or fifties, perhaps, dark blond hair a bit past her ears. She looked up. She had a heart-shaped face, brown eyes under arched brows and a high forehead.

"All in order?" said Dodger.

"Yes, this will do," she said. There wasn't much distinctive in the accent. Her nose had a bit of a bump in the middle. That was distinctive. It was the sort of feature that wasn't attractive in itself, but someone who knew how to work could work it, Daphne thought. She tried to remember if she'd ever seen her working it anywhere.

Money was being pushed across the desk, and Daphne could feel Dodger trying to push her out at the same time. He probably didn't want her to know his prices, not that she cared. She followed the push, and was looking at nothing but Dodger's irritated face.

"Right," he said, "you have what you want. Now can we have our wands back?"

"Thanks, love. All right, Lou? Make Eddie patch you up, ok?"

"Right," said Phelps, miserably.

"If any of this ever gets out with our names on it, I will ruin Theo," said Dodger.

Bulstrode used a sticking charm to attach their wands to the ceiling and locked the door behind them as they quickly headed out the back. They could hear thumping and voices from the room fading in the distance as they entered the kitchen. They had to edge past some of the kitchen workers on the loading dock to exit onto the alley.

"So," said Bulstrode, "who was it?"

"No one I know. She was older, at least forty."

"She."

"Yeah."

"Brit?'

"I think so. Sounded like it."

Bulstrode gave her a long look.

"What, Mil?"

"So, then she went to Hogwarts."

"Probably, yeah. Must be about twenty years ago, so what?"

"She'll be in the archives. Class pictures."

Daphne groaned. "Really?"

"Yeah. Now. Come on, we'll take a Knockturn Floo."

"Mil, it'll take forever."

"It'll take until you spot her."

"If I can bloody recognize her twenty years younger. And what if she was using Polyjuice to meet with Dodger and Phelps?"

"Then we're buggered, aren't we?"

Theo waited for Officer Priestly at the Azkaban Security checkpoint. He'd almost fumbled the bag of galleons at the handoff, which Priestly had covered with a rather theatrical coughing spasm as he secured the money. Now that was over, all he had to do was question his father.

It was all a fool's errand anyway, an expensive fool's errand. He didn't have any leverage to make his father tell the truth, at least not without outing Goyle and himself for passing illegal communications. But, well, here he was, apparently he wasn't backing out now.

Priestly clicked open the security door and handed Theo his visitor's badge. He could hear the Azkaban sounds now. Distant clangs of metal doors, voices giving orders, and the muffled roar of the ocean. Exactly the same as five years ago. It was the same visiting room too. Theo sat at the heavy table and waited. Five years.

His dad was led in by Priestly after a few minutes. He was not the same. There was a grayish cast to his drawn face, and he was moving stiffly. All to be expected, Theo reminded himself. Five years, and no one stayed the same in Azkaban, even without dementors to help them along.

He sat, dropping heavily into the chair. Priestly attached the wrist shackles to the ring on the table, then took the guard's chair by the door, looking passably deaf and blind.

His dad looked at him with his usual cool expression, but his eyes were so cold and expressionless that Theo couldn't meet his gaze for more than a few seconds. He should be long past being frightened by his father.

"Dad."

He waited.

"Look, Dad. I sent you some letters. I know what I said. In all three of them. But I didn't really mean that second one. You, uh, know that, right?"

If Theo was hoping to get any glimmer of a reaction from his father, he was disappointed. When his, "yes, Theo, " came, it was halting, and as from a great distance.

"Did you mean it, Dad?"

Theo did his best to meet his father's eyes, but looked away quickly.

"We want to make sure everyone is all right," he went on. "That's all we're trying to do. Put everything back. No fuss."

Nothing.

"Dad?"

His head gave a sharp little twitch.

"Could you please talk to me?"

The left half of his face bent and creased downwards.

"Dad!"

The guard was deaf and blind. His father's hand on the table was moving in small twitches like dry grass in a breeze. His face, gray as clay, slid further.

Oh, god, he was having a stroke. "Gran -"

The holes of his eyes distorted and twisted until they weren't there at all. His head folded in on itself, dry.

Theo shoved himself back from the table and fell backwards over his chair. "No, no!"

The guard stood up sharply. "Here, now!"

The yellowish-gray thing at the table, not his dad, not at all, was jerking and twisting and bobbling, parts at the edges flapping, and there was a dry rustling all around.

Theo pressed himself back against the wall. "No, no!"

A/N: Sorry for the delay! I'll probably be moving to posting every other Monday morning now due to changes in my work schedule. Thank you so much for reading! And thank you those who can review, it's very much appreciated!

Bulstrode and Daphne did try the good cop/bad cop technique the other way around once, but it really didn't work. Bulstrode completely failed at smiling at their target and Daphne couldn't stop giggling.