Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

13B Knockturn Alley

1

Borgin and Burkes

Flashes from a camera lit up the sparse attic bedroom of 13B Knockturn Alley. Other than that, sources of light were limited to a few candles littered around the room. Space was limited. There was only enough room for two members of their squad to investigate the bedroom at a time. Right now, exploring the room was the auror handling the camera and Harry. As he studied the cobwebs forming in the upper corners of the room, Harry couldn't help recalling his days in the cupboard under the stairs. It was slightly bigger and the ceiling taller, but the out-of-sight-out-of-mind feeling the room gave off was very much the same. In the center of the room where the slanted ceiling was at its highest a twin-sized bed rested. The wooden headboard was chipped and decorated by randomly placed stick-on glow in the dark stars. The same kind, Harry noticed, that they had decorated the ceiling of Lily's nursery with. The mattress looked thin. Even under the thick green woolen blanket that made up the bed. It was a needed fixture to the room. With no fireplace or furnace, the winter months most be bitingly cold. An old trunk that served as a dresser was pushed up against one wall. On the opposite side was a coffee table that had been used as a desk; since it would be uncomfortable to sit at a normal-sized desk in the space available. Bits of parchment and old issues of the daily prophet and the Quibbler littered the tabletop. From where Harry was standing, he could see that some were turned to certain articles with blurbs of words circled or underlined in red ink. All of which would need to be combed through for potential leads. There was very little personalization to the room; making it difficult to believe that a child had lived here for over eight years.

The camera bulb flashed again as the auror took a photo of the bed. "Poor kid", the man said as he lowered the camera away from his face. Now, without looking through a lens, the man used his naked eye to study the room. His eyes seemed to be focused on a cloudy and dingy circular window that the bed was centered under; the only option of having any natural lightening. "So, what do you think?" The man asked as he tore his eyes away from the window to look at his coworker. "Runaway?"

Harry had to roam his eyes over the entirety of the room again before he could answer. "Maybe", he conceded with an awkward shrug. He was trying to ignore his urge to take off his glasses and wipe the lens clean. After seeing where their missing person called home, it wasn't a hard leap to make that the girl would run to search for greener pastures. But there was no evidence as of yet to support that theory. And something about it didn't feel right to Harry.

Imogen Cara Burke; age 13, was reported missing on September 2nd. She, like most of the school-aged children from the UK's wizarding communities, was expected to arrive at Hogwarts School of Witch and Wizardry on the first. Her head of house had noted her absence sometime after the welcome feast. Thinking it odd, but not worried, a letter had been sent to Imogen's legal guardian, Mr. Borgin, asking after her whereabouts. After all, it wouldn't be the first time a student was late getting to school due to illness or some sort of family crisis. Mr. Borgin, whose residence they are currently standing in, received the letter late on the first and didn't bother to read it and reply until the second. His answer had been short.

What do you mean? She should be there.

Those two sentences spurred Imogen's head of house to report the girl missing to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that evening. Hence Harry standing in 13B Knockturn Alley. A successful auror with a reputation for having a soft spot for any case involving children, there was no question that he would be assigned to Imogen's disappearance.

What struck Harry as odd was that the department had only received one report. From a Hogwarts teacher, nonetheless. Not Imogen's guardian. In fact, the wizened and hunched-back old man downstairs didn't seem to be fully comprehending their urgency.

Harry adjusted his glasses with a frown as he said. "I'll have someone collect all the papers for us to look over, but let's head down for now. I have questions for M. Borgin".

"She was my partner's niece", Mr. Borgin answered when asked about his relation to the missing girl. Sitting at a rickety table in the back of Borgin and Burkes. The old man grumbled his answer as an unsteady and wrinkled hand raised a stained low-ball glass to his lips. Harry wasn't sure of the glass' contents, but the smell was heavy enough that it gave him a hint. Mr. Borgin hadn't been happy when he had been confronted by the presence of law enforcement at his establishment. Even more so when he had been ordered to close his shop for the duration of their visit. "His sister's bastard to be exact. Burke had been good to me, so when he died, I made an effort to stay in touch with his family. He didn't have a lot. Just his sister; Aisling was her name. Good woman, she was. Worked down at The White Wyvern. Would do anything you asked of her assuming the price was right".

Mr. Borgin paused a long while as he set his glass on the table; the liquid it contained sloshing against the sides of the glass with every trembling movement Mr. Borgin made. Harry tried not to visibly react to the crude profession the old man was hinting at. "But things happen to girls like Aisling when they're not careful. The first mistake was getting heavy with the girl. The second was getting sick. Aisling knew she wouldn't live, so she asked me to take the girl. Keep a roof over her head and her belly full; just until she was old enough to earn".

The old man had to stop again; this time to laboriously cough into a gnarled closed fist. Shifting in the stiff-backed wooden chair he had been offered, Harry glanced over to a coworker who was making sure this interview was all being recorded by a quick-quotes-quill. Harry and his team were only here to investigate Imogen Burke. But other divisions in the department might benefit from the knowledge Mr. Borgin was providing.

"Didn't think Burke would like it if I let his kin starve on the streets", the old man continued. "So, I agreed. Besides, I am getting on in years. Figured once the girl was big enough to see over the counter, she'd be able to pick up the slack".

Again, Harry's memories of his time in the cupboard under the stairs came to the forefront of his mind. Only an hour into the case, and he was already forming a sense of connection to someone he had never met; never seen. Harry was always doing that, especially when there were children involved. "When did you last saw Imogen, Mr. Borgin?" Harry asked. A lot of time had already passed, and they needed to establish some sort of timeline before any type of search could be conducted.

"On the first", Borgin answered without having to think of it. "After she finished her chores, I dropped her off at Kings' cross".

Harry quirked an eyebrow. That was something. "You didn't see her to the platform? Watch her board the train?" Harry's children were years away from taking their first trip on the Hogwarts Express, but he remembered from his days as a student. Parents stood in clumps as they greeted old friends and gave last-minute advice to their offspring. And they stayed long enough to wave goodbye as the train pulled out of the station.

"Merlin, no", the old man scoffed; as if he found the idea to be a foolish sentiment. "Far too crowded and I have a business to run".

"What was Imogen wearing when you dropped her off at Kings Cross?" Harry tried a different approach.

First, Mr. Borgin scratched the skin above his eyebrow with yellowed, cracked fingernails as he thought. He didn't think for long, because seconds later he waved away Harry's question with the back of his hand. "Clothes", he offered.

"What about a picture?" Harry pressed. They could have it printed in the Daily Prophet; alert the public to be on the lookout for a girl fitting Imogen's description. That is, assuming there was a recent picture of the girl.

But Harry found himself to be unsurprised when the man shook his head. "No photos. Never needed for one until now".

Unbelievable, Harry thought. "How about her behavior? In the days leading up to the first, was Imogen acting peculiar? Maybe she had made some new friends. Or perhaps a falling out with some old ones". Harry suggested. Anything to spark some sort of response from Mr. Borgin.

Borgin decided this was a good time to take another sip of his drink. He smacked his lips after he swallowed and stared at Harry like Harry was a customer he was trying to sell something to. "I know nothing about any friends", Mr. Borgin answered once he lowered his glass once more. "I taught the girl well. She did her work, stayed out of the way, and kept her head down. She was a bit fidgety this summer. Broke a couple of items in the shop because of it. Had to remind her to be careful, I did".

There was so much to unpack from all that. But Harry kept going; trying to ignore the sense that he was sitting across from another Uncle Vernon. "Did you ask Imogen why she was… fidgety?"

The old man shrugged. "Figured it was just the girl becoming older. Not something I needed to know about".

Sighing, Harry gave himself a moment to close his eyes. Mostly so he could withdraw himself from thoughts of what he would like to see happen to Mr. Borgin. He was on the clock, after all; a professional persona was expected. Once the moment was over, Harry stood up; the floorboards creaking as he added weight to them. "Thank you, Mr. Borgin", Harry started as his coworkers finished bagging their evidence and moving towards the exit. "Remain local, and we'll be in touch".

Stepping out of the fireplace, Harry sighed as he maneuvered a hand under his glasses to rub at his tired eyes. He ended up working past dinner. Busy filling a file with every bit of information he could find on Imogen Burke. There hadn't been much. Most of what he could find came from the Magical Children Welfare Office. There was one birth certificate; stating that Imogen Cara Burke had been born at a private residence in Knockturn Alley on August 19th, 1995. Her mother had signed, Aisling Fiona Burke. But the line for the father had been left blank. One document was created by a social worker who oversaw the transference of custody from Aisling Burke to Mr. Borgin after her death. There were some notes from the social worker regarding her concerns about Mr. Borgin's home, but it didn't look like anything had been made of those concerns. What caught and held Harry's attention the longest was an outdated intake photo.

Taken in 1998, when Imogen had first come to live under Mr. Borgin's care, Harry got his first description of her physical features. A three-year-old sat blinking into the camera with a vacant expression. There wasn't much movement other than that. Much could have changed between the time this photo was taken and the thirteen-year-old Imogen that was currently missing. But there were a couple of features that stood out to Harry that he was assuming were still relevant. The girl had a pair of shocking blue eyes that contrasted with coal-black hair. And her nose; the very tip of it came to a sharp point. Harry tried to imagine the same features on an adolescent girl, but he found his imagination to be lacking.

"Daddy!" An excitable voice screeched as a small figure dressed in snitch-printed pajamas barreled into Harry's legs.

"Hello you", Harry said as he swooped down to pick up his eldest. "What are you still doing up?" He asked once he had James settled on his hip.

"Mummy said I could", James informed his father; beaming. At the same time, Harry saw Ginny stepping into the room from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "So, you could tell me good night. But not Al of Lily cause they're too little".

"And now that dad's back it's time for bed", Ginny said with a soft smile as Harry stepped closer to her.

"But he just got back", James whined.

Standing close enough, Harry kissed Ginny's cheek. "I'll take him up", he promised her.

"There'll be a plate of shepherd's pie on the table for you when you're done", Ginny informed him before returning to the kitchen.

James' room, like the rest of the family, was on the second floor. It was next to Albus' room and across from Lily's nursery. Walking into the room, James' lamp that had the different quidditch balls as lampshades turned on as it was charmed to do. In fact, the whole room had a quidditch theme with a plush snitch pillow sitting on James' bed and a poster of the Holyhead Harpies back when Ginny had played professionally hung proudly on James' wall.

With three children, Harry was well practiced in tucking small children into bed. While still supporting his son on his hip, Harry used his free hand to pull back the covers. "In you get", He said as he moved James; dropping him an inch away from his mattress so he bounced a little.

James' giggled as Harry pulled the covers up so they rested under his chin. "Daddy, who did you help today?" James asked as Harry smoothed out the wrinkles.

Harry's lips twitched upward as he peered down at his son. Perched on the edge of James' bed, Harry got ready for their nightly routine. "I helped an old lady cross the street and a coworker find their lost quill. Who did you help today?"

James scrunched up his nose, suggesting that he had to think about it. "I told Mummy when Lily woke up from her nap and I let Al play blocks with me even though he made them all sticky because he had jam on his hands".

"That was very kind of you", Harry praised as he ran a soothing hand through James' hair; trying in vain to get the bits that stick up to lie flat. It was definitely Harry's mop James had inherited. "I bet Albus had a lot of fun playing with you".

"Daddy?"

"Yes, James?" Harry waited patiently; enjoying this brief moment with his firstborn. Merlin knows that there weren't many moments like this. Not with his workload. He had a few days saved up. Maybe he should take time off. Convince Ginny to go to the beach for a holiday. Though Lily was still a bit young for travel.

"Who else did you help?" James asked.

"Hmm", Harry hummed thoughtfully as his body started to relax; recognizing that the workday was over. "I just told you".

James shook his head as if he disagreed. "But who else? You weren't at dinner, which means you were helping someone else". Like most small children, the finer details of his father's job were above James' head. So, Harry's employment had been explained to him in a very black and white fashion. His father saved people who needed saving and stop bad people from being bad. And James knew that Harry staying late meant there were lots of people that needed help.

Catching on, Harry's smile was proud and gentle as he explained. "I haven't helped anyone yet. But I got a new case today".

"So, you're gonna help someone?"

"I'm going to try", Harry corrected.

"Who?" James' questions continued coming.

Harry smoothed down the bed coverings a second time. "A young girl is lost". Harry's answer was void of many important details. But it was an appropriate answer for a five-year-old. Especially considering what his job often entailed.

"But you'll find her?"

This question took a second longer for Harry to answer than the others. Mostly because in missing person cases, finding the person didn't always mean a happy ending. "I'm going to try", Harry promised.

Satisfied, James placed his hands on his pillow and rolled over so his ear was resting on top of his hands. "Good", he yawned. "She must be scared", he said in reference to Imogen.

Harry stood up and starting inching his way out of the room. With the wave of his hand, the quidditch lamp dimmed to be as bright as a night light. He repeated James' words in his mind as he closed the door behind him, leaving it open just a crack. Scared. Harry could only imagine. "Where are you, Imogen?" Harry muttered to himself as he retraced his steps to join his wife in the kitchen.

Meanwhile, in muggle London a young girl wearing a stolen beanie pulled over her ears stared at a building from the other side of the street. There wasn't really anything noteworthy about it seeing as it blended in with the other buildings on the street. But to the girl, it was a point of intrigue. She kept her right hand in her pocket, wrapped around the handle of her wand. In her left hand, she held a newspaper. One of the muggle variety. On the front page of the newspaper was a featured article about a man famed for solving crimes. The best man for any mystery; the article claimed. Evidently, there was nothing this man, this consulting detective, couldn't solve. Well… Imogen was about to put that to the test. Shivering in the chilly night air, Imogen took a deep breath before taking a step towards 221B Baker Street.