Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K.R.

Author's notes: I'm back! :) The good news is I'll be able to post new chapters on this story once a week until the end of April. The bad news is that I've hit a massive writer's block with this one and can't promise you I won't have to take another break in May to deliver new chapters. In the meantime I'm concentrating on my other stories to get back in the mood for this one.

Many, many thanks to my fantastic editor shygui who sticks with me through this word-avalanche for more than a year now. You are simply the best, my friend!

Chapter 74, 27-02-2019

74

The Rectory, May 19th 2008

Waking up with his wife in his arms was close to heaven on earth. Harry buried his nose into the soft locks under his chin, inhaled the spicy scent he'd grown to love, his eyes still closed and not yet ready to let go of this delicious state of floating between sleep and wakefulness. He tightened his arms around Daphne and pulled her closer.

She reacted with a content sigh in her sleep and buried her head deeper in his chest.

A broad smile appeared on Harry's face. It had been there ever since he'd confessed his feelings to Daphne yesterday. Thank Merlin, she had, as ever, been much too understanding and ready to forgive his asinine cluelessness of gigantic proportions. Why she still put up with him was beyond him, but he as sure as hell wouldn't complain.

A soft buzzing on his bedside table interrupted his thoughts. He frowned. Who was calling him at this early hour?

He rolled onto his back, careful as not to wake up Daphne. Merlin knew she still looked much too pale, with black smudges beneath her eyes and in need of her rest.

She gave a moan of protest and followed the warmth of his body until she lay sprawled over his chest, still wrapped in her bubble of sleep.

Harry dropped a kiss into her hair and reached a groping arm out for his mobile, cursing under his breath as he pushed it around a couple of times on the flat of his bedside table before at last getting hold of it. He flipped the ingenious, nevertheless annoying Muggle contraption open and held it to his ear.

'Potter.'

'Good morning, Harry, it's Lisa. Where are you? You do know you were supposed to be in a meeting ten minutes ago, right?'

Harry squinted at the old-fashioned mechanical brass alarm clock on his bedside table. The clock was silent. Damn, he'd forgotten to wind it up last night, he and Daphne had had too many other things on their minds, and had promptly overslept this morning.

Heat shot into his face. At least the dratted mobile didn't come with an automatic video camera, so Lisa couldn't see him and Daphne right now.

'Have you overslept?'

There was an unmistakable grin in her voice, no doubt she knew he was still in his bed. She'd probably excelled at Divination. He made a face at the mobile. 'Yeah.' There was no use in denying it.

Daphne stirred in her sleep and muttered something unintelligible. He looked down onto her golden head. Truth be told, he didn't feel like jumping out of bed, hurrying to headquarters and making it somehow through another long day. Not today, not after his momentous discovery that he loved Daphne and had actually loved her for years. They needed some time for themselves right now, he needed to explore this discovery for a while. He made his decision in a split-second. What good was it to be your own boss if you couldn't skive off once in a while?

'Listen, Lisa,' he said, trying to keep his voice as soft as he could. 'Daphne isn't feeling well. I'm going to take her to see a healer this morning; I don't trust her to keep her promise and see one. So, please clear our schedules for today and for the rest of the week. Daphne needs some time out, and I'm going to make sure she'll rest, even if that means I'll have to stick her to the sofa with a Sticking Charm.'

Lisa let out a low chuckle. 'Good luck with that, Harry. You know even better than me how stubborn that woman can get. Though I agree, it's time she sees a healer; she's been wearing Glamour Charms and hasn't been eating properly the last two weeks, that's not like her. Give her my love, will you? Bye.'

'Bye, Lisa, and thank you.'

He ended the call, put the mobile back on the bedside table, and his arm once again around his wife. No need to wake her up just yet, there would be time enough to take her to St. Mungo's later in the day. He closed his eyes, revelling in the warmth of Daphne's body close to his, and drifted off to sleep.

'Mistress Daffy, Master Harry!'

A tiny hand grabbed his shoulder, shook it and Harry's eyes shot open. There was a sound of urgency in Matty's voice that had him fully awake and alert at once. He turned his head to the elf next to his bed, a frown on his face. 'What is it, Matty?'

Daphne, still sprawled across his chest, stirred and raised her head. 'Whassit?' Her voice sounded hoarse and groggy, and her blinking eyes were still hazy with sleep.

Matty wrung her small hands. 'Master Director McLean bes waiting in the living room. Matty tries send him away. Master Director McLean says he need see Mistress Daffy and Master Harry. Master Director McLean says he not bes go away before Mistress Daffy and Master Harry come down.'

Harry exchanged a look with his wife. The sleep left her eyes, and a deep frown appeared on her face. 'What by Merlin's hairy balls does he want this early in the morning?'

The corners of Harry's mouth twitched, despite his irritation about the rude awakening. 'Tsk, tsk, language, Mrs Potter. I have no idea what he wants, darling. Besides, it isn't that early anymore. We overslept.'

'We what?' She gasped and pushed herself off his chest. The next moment she swung her legs out of the bed and sprung up, only to sway and to grab onto the bedpost to keep herself from falling.

'Daphne!' Harry sprang out of the bed, almost colliding with Matty, ran towards her, and caught her in his arms. 'Whatever McLean wants, he can wait. I'm going to take you to a healer right now.'

His heart hammered in his chest as he looked into her pale face. She had her eyes closed and took a couple of dry gulps as if she was trying to fight back nausea. Her breathing was shallow, and her skin felt clammy against his. Forget McLean and his bad timing, he could come back another time.

Daphne let out a deep breath, opened her eyes, and looked at him. 'Thanks, honey; I'm better. It was just a bout of dizziness. I got up too fast, I suppose. Give me another minute, and I'll be ready to see McLean.'

He tightened his grip around her and almost hissed out. 'I don't give a damn about McLean; I'm going to take you to St Mungo's right now, Daph. This has gone on for too long, you -'

She put a finger on his lips and silenced him. 'I'm alright, darling. It's nothing. Though I promise to go to St Mungo's - after we've dealt with McLean and whatever it is he wants.' The tone of her voice was final.

Harry suppressed a sigh and rolled his eyes. Why in the world did she have to be that stubborn? He tried yet another time, trying not to show his frustration with her and her repeated refusals to see a healer. 'No, darling, just hell, no -'

She shut him up with a glare that reminded him of Cyrus. 'After McLean, Harry.' She extricated herself from his arms and vanished into the bathroom.

He huffed. 'Fine, have it your way. Don't come complaining to me if you collapse yet another time.'

'I won't,' came her muffled reply through the closed door.

There was nothing to add; with a silent cuss word on his lips he turned towards his walk-in wardrobe and got dressed into jeans and a plaid shirt to meet McLean.

They stopped at the threshold and he exchanged a puzzled look with Daphne.

McLean was pacing the living room like a tiger in a cage. His hand ran through his hair over and over again, messing it up, and he muttered to himself in a low voice.

What had got into the man? As the Director of the Department for Public Relations and Advertisement McLean was used to dealing with emergencies; Harry's fame as the Chosen One and his political ambitions had given him a lot of practise over the last ten years. As a rule, there was very little that could throw the experienced man into a loop, and he couldn't remember the last time he had seen him that agitated.

The worry in Daphne's dark eyes matched his own foreboding. She took his hand, and together they stepped into the room.

'Good morning, Director McLean. What has you so agitated?' Daphne asked.

McLean whirled around, his hand still clutched in his hair. At the sight of them standing in the room he let out a deep breath, and his hand fell to his side.

'Mrs Potter, Mr Potter… good morning… This is a disaster… I still can't fathom… I don't know where to begin -'

'What about at the start?' Harry cut him off and motioned him with his hand to sit down in one of the chairs.

McLean let out another deep breath and plopped into the next chair.

Daphne and Harry sat down next to each other on the sofa opposite to McLean. Harry's stomach coiled itself into a tight knot. Whatever McLean had on his mind, it wasn't good.

McLeans hands gripped the armrests of his chair, knuckles whitening, his grip on the arms tight as if he had to prevent himself from jumping up and pacing the room once again. He took a deep breath. 'Ms Weasley was scheduled for another photo shoot this morning. I had assigned Patterson to supervise the shoot. About ten minutes after the supposed beginning of the photo shoot I got a Patronus messenger from him, telling me that Ms Weasley hadn't turned up. As you can imagine, I was furious about this lack of discipline. I sent my Patronus to Ms Weasley and demanded that she uphold her contracted obligations and turn up immediately.'

He'd run out of breath, interrupted himself and took another deep breath. 'I got no response, but wasn't really expecting one if I am honest, I assumed she would turn up with some excuse and that would be that. Twenty minutes later I got the next Patronus from Patterson: she hadn't turned up yet. I decided to take matters into my own hands and Apparated to Ms Weasley's residence.'

Thick beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. 'I don't know if you know where she lives -'

'I've been informed that Ms Weasley rents Stinchcombe Hall from the Potter estate,' Harry said.

McLean let out a relieved sigh. 'Good. Well, one of the elves opened the door. Apparently, none of your elves had seen Ms Weasley since yesterday late afternoon. She'd given orders to leave a cold dinner for two under Stasis Charms in the dining room and told the elves to make themselves scarce until she'd call them again.'

Harry's stomach churned; the sense of foreboding intensified. Daphne's hand stole into his; it was as clammy as his own hand.

'The elves weren't willing to act against Ms Weasley's orders, so I took it upon myself to go up to her room.' His face became pale, and he gulped a couple of times, unable to go on.

Harry's hand tightened around Daphne's. He swallowed; what had happened to Ginny?

'She's… Oh sweet Merlin! ... She's dead… I found her in her bedroom, flung against the wall like a child's broken toy.' Director McLean slumped forward and covered his face with the palms of his hands.

An ice cold fist hit Harry in the stomach. The coldness raced through his body with lightning speed, freezing his muscles and his brain. The room seemed to spin around in front of his eyes.

Ginny… dead?

It couldn't be; she was so full of life and energy…

Daphne's hand quivered in his. He looked at his wife; she'd pressed her fist against her mouth, her eyes wide open. 'D... dead?' Her voice cracked, and she slumped against him.

He put his arm around her shoulder, to comfort her as much as to steady himself in a swaying world, bent his head and gulped. The room came to a halt, and he let out a deep breath. What was he supposed to do now? He took another deep breath.

His brain started to work again. Flung against the wall like a broken toy. Sweet Merlin, a violent death, how was poor Molly supposed to cope with that? His head jerked up. 'I suppose someone informed the Aurors?'

McLean stared back at him with wide eyes. 'No…' His tongue flicked over his lips. 'No, Mr Potter; I… I didn't think of that. All I could think of was the campaign, and that I had to inform you and Mrs Potter immediately.'

Harry gave the man a hard stare and sprang to his feet. With two long strides he was at the fireplace, knelt down, ignited a small fire with a short flick of his wand, and tossed some Floo Powder into the flames. 'Auror Department.'

He gritted his teeth against the uncomfortable feeling of his head being spun through the Floo Network, while his body stayed behind.

The Auror on duty recognised him at once. 'Good morning, Mr Potter. What can I do for you?'

'I have just been informed by one of my employees that Ms Ginevra Weasley has been found dead in her bedroom at Stinchcombe Hall this morning. In his shock, my employee came to me as the owner of the house and Ms Weasley's current employer, instead of informing the Auror Department at once.' His voice sounded cool and collected, thank Merlin, and didn't let on that he still quivered like jelly on the inside.

The Auror on duty gaped at him. 'Ginevra Weasley? The international Quidditch star? The sister of the -?' He interrupted himself and turned pale. 'Sweet Merlin, who is going to tell him?'

Harry's shoulders sagged. Merlin's blue ball sack! Why did it always have to be him? However, he owed it to Ron for their long years of friendship; the horrible news had better come from someone close to him. So gathering his resolve he asked, 'Is Head Auror Weasley at the office?'

The man nodded, still mute with shock.

Harry sighed. 'Step aside. I'll come through.'

He pulled his head out of the flames and turned to Daphne. 'Someone has to tell Ron.'

She nodded, her eyes filled with tears. 'Sweet Morgana, I was angry at her and wanted her to go back where she came from. I didn't want her to die.' She took a shuddering breath. 'It's alright, Harry. Go. Ron will be devastated. It's better he hears the horrible news from you. Is there something I can do to help?'

'Yes; you need to tell Hermione and Fleur, they are two of your best friends, after all. Meet me at The Burrow, Arthur and Molly will need our support.'

She nodded quietly, still at the brink of tears, and he stepped back towards her and hugged her. She leaned against him for comfort for a brief moment, then straightened. 'I'm alright, Harry. I'll see you at The Burrow.'

He kissed her on the forehead, let go of her and turned towards McLean. 'You'd better return to Stinchcombe Hall and wait for the Aurors. Since you are the one who found the -' He gulped, '- who found the body, I guess they'll want to talk to you. Matty will take you there; I don't want you to Splinch yourself in your current state.'

McLean gave a silent nod.

Harry called Matty, ordered her to take Director McLean to Stinchcombe Hall, and to tell the head house elf there to admit the Aurors to the house for their investigations. Then he Flooed to the Auror Department.

The horrible news seemed to have travelled within the department with lightning speed. About a dozen Aurors stood around the fireplace, talking in hushed voices, their field gear at their feet. When Harry stepped out of the Floo, Ron's deputy approached him.

Harry gritted his teeth and schooled his face into a bland mask. He didn't like the man, and neither did Ron.

Deputy Head Auror Everard Dawlish was a leftover of the Fudge and Scrimgeour administrations, one of the few Aurors at the department who had already served before and during the war. He'd been promoted to Deputy Head Auror under former Head Auror Gawain Robarts, for no other merits than he'd been one of the few Aurors who'd survived the war and hadn't taken the Dark Mark, and the long-term repercussions of the spell damage he had suffered when he tried to arrest Augusta Longbottom that made him unfit for field duty.

Under Robarts he'd been a capable, yet intellectually inflexible second in command, who eyed the necessary change in the department with distrustful suspicion, in particular the suggestions of one Senior Auror Ronald Bilius Weasley. He hadn't taken kindly to Ron's promotion to Head Auror over his head a couple of weeks ago. Chances were that he'd take a point on the apparent murder of Ron's sister to try make his mark.

Harry let out an inward sigh. That couldn't be helped; as a close relative of the victim Ron had a conflict of interest and was therefore precluded from the case, given it was a high profile victim Dawlish had to step in.

Dawlish lost no time for small talk. He gave Harry a curt nod and asked, 'Where is the body?'

'At Stinchcombe Hall in Kent. Gordon McLean, the Director of the Department of Public Relations and Advertisement of the magical part of Crystal Fairy Beauty Products informed me of the… incident. We have… had Ms Weasley under contract as a model, and he went to her house to look after her when she didn't turn up for an appointment this morning. I'm under the impression he found… the body, lost his head over the shock, and informed my wife and me instead of the Auror Department. I Flooed for the Aurors as soon as I became aware of that omission.'

The Deputy Head Auror gave a huff at that, but didn't comment. 'The Floo address?'

'It's Stinchcombe Hall. It's one of the houses that belong to the Potter estate. Ms Weasley rented it about two weeks ago, I think. I made sure the house elves will let you in and help you in every way possible.'

'Alright.' Dawlish gave him another curt nod and turned to the assembled Aurors. 'You've heard what Mr Potter said. Stinchcombe Hall. Thomas, you and Finnegan -'

Harry didn't wait for Dawlish to finish his orders to his subordinated Aurors. He turned towards the closed mahogany door at the opposite side of the office with a brass badge that read Ronald B. Weasley, Head Auror.

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and knocked.

'Come in.'

Harry's stomach rolled; he grabbed for the door handle with cold, trembling fingers. If only this was already over; it was almost as bad as having to walk to his final meeting with Voldemort, no, in a way it was even worse; he hated having to hurt Ron.

Ron looked up from his papers when he opened the door, a smile of welcome on his face that became even broader when he recognised his visitor. 'Harry, what a nice surprise. What -'

He interrupted himself, the smile vanished from his face and gave place to a look full of dread.

Ron knew him too well, something in his expression must have given him away.

'Daphne?' Ron asked in a quiet voice.

Harry shook his head. Thank Merlin, no, he was not the one to grieve for a loved one today. Ugh, what an egotistical thought.

'Ginny,' he said. His legs gave out under him, and he collapsed into one of the visitor chairs in front of Ron's desk.

Ron jerked back as if recoiling from him. Small beads of sweat pooled on his upper lip, and he paled.

'Ginny?'

'Yeah. She didn't turn up for her appointment today, so Director McLean went to get her. He… he found her, dead.'

A small choking sound escaped Ron's throat, and he swayed in his seat. 'How?' he finally got out in a toneless whisper.

Harry raised his hands, palms upwards, in a helpless gesture. 'I… I'm sorry, I don't know all the details. McLean lost his head and came to me. I informed the Aurors as soon as I heard she was… killed. Dawlish and a team of investigators are at Stinchcombe Hall as we speak.'

'Dawlish?' Ron sprang to his feet. 'Hell, no. I won't let that idiot mess up the investigation of the murder of my sister.'

Harry sprang up. His chair scratched over the wooden floor. He caught Ron by the arm and yanked him back. 'No, Ron. You know you can't interfere, you'd compromise any evidence they'll gather. We both wrote the law about the rules of conduct for Aurors, remember? You ought to take a leave of absence as long as the investigation continues or at least recuse yourself from the case.'

Ron stopped right in his tracks and glared at Harry, his face a dangerous red.

Harry held his breath. Was his best friend going to deck him?

The next second, Ron slumped onto the visitors chair Harry had just vacated. He buried his face in his hands and hunched as if in pain, a pain that no Pain Relief Potion on earth could numb.

Harry stepped beside his best friend, put a hand on his trembling shoulder, and prepared himself for a long wait.

t.b.c.