This is an entry to the ##hpfanfiction Halloween fest. There wasn't a specific prompt, but I knew I wanted to write a Halloween-esque Whodunnit. And I also knew I wanted to write about Ginny and Harry as spies, so... here we are!
I'd like to give HUGE thanks to my beta reader, saveourskinship, as well as two communities on Discord, ##hpfanfiction discord and HP Fanfic Writers' Guild. Without them, this story would be very little.
Please enjoy!
#
"Oh, God, no. Sir, you can't be serious."
There, standing in the doorway, was none other than Ginny Weasley. It made him feel slightly better that she also looked quite less than pleased.
"Do I look amused, or jestful, or full of mirth, Mr Potter?"
Harry bit his tongue and shook his head jerkily. "No, Archcontroller."
"Are you sure? I've been attending your lessons on unnecessary frivolities. I'm a licensed improvisational comedian. That's what you want, isn't it?"
With a glare at the woman in the doorway, Harry gritted his teeth and slowly exhaled through them.
"That's what I damn well thought," said the Archcontroller in a clipped tone. He beckoned at Ginny who was still standing by the door. "Miss Weasley, please."
With one last withering glance at Harry, Ginny obliged the invitation, approaching the desk to stand next to her ex, but turning her full attention to the gruff man seated across from them.
"It is my opinion that two are the best operatives for this assignment." Neither dared suggest he might be wrong. "Both of you have worked with the Minister, even if only briefly; and more importantly, you're both exceptionally proficient with a wand... and other necessary tools at your disposal."
A short pause punctuated his words.
"With all three heads of state meeting for the first time in public... It's a delicate situation. As you well know, the relationship between our countries is very brittle, and the slightest misstep can throw everything into chaos. And of course the Germans have to have elections coming up next month which just adds to the uncertainty—if Minister Schulze isn't re-elected... don't even get me started that.
"Worst of all, anyone could be at this event, and there's no telling how many would-be assassins would jump at the chance to get a hand, or knife, on one of our Ministers." The Archcontroller scowled and crossed his arms. "And they're just serving themselves up on a silver platter. Idiots."
The spymaster rose from his chair and walked over to a long table abutting the far wall of the office. Dancing on the table's surface were two magical quills, scribbling text onto two accompanying sheaves of parchment. When he approached, the quills seemed to finish their sentences, then froze and collapsed, apparently marking the end of their transcription duty.
With a disinterested harrumph, he picked up the dossiers and threw them at Ginny and Harry, both of whom scrambled to catch the stacks of parchment without dropping any.
"I tried to convince Kingsley he was being a moron, but of course he can do no wrong and refuses to listen to reason. It's almost as if he doesn't trust me," the large man said with a slight frown.
Really? Harry mused. Kingsley not trusting the spymaster of an agency whose very existence was illegal? Imagine that.
"And of course, some arsehole takes this as a challenge," said the Archcontroller, gesturing to the dockets Harry and Ginny had cradled haphazardly against their chests. "His name's Matthias Krüger. Research is quite sure he's targeting one of our rebellious teenagers," he said disdainfully.
"Shacklebolt?"
"I have no idea."
"No offence," said Ginny, speaking for the first time that morning, "but it's not really our priority to be babysitting the German Minister or MACUSA's President."
"It's also not really your priority to be questioning my orders, is it?"
Ginny ground her teeth, but didn't otherwise respond.
"That said, you're not wrong," he conceded with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Usually, I wouldn't bother expending the resources. But, tomorrow? Either of their deaths would have implications reaching far across the pond, and then it will become our problem. We're balancing on the edge of a knife as it is."
Over the past two years, Germany, Britain, and the United States had been in talks of formally allying. The partnership would obligate each country to come to the aid of the others during times of war or unrest, such as during either of the Wizarding Wars. All three countries would benefit from intelligence sharing as well as exchanging military tactics and training strategies. Lastly, trade embargoes would be lifted and restrictions eased, allowing easier transport of goods and services across the pond.
The path to this agreement had been long and onerous; hopefully, it was near its conclusion. With all three heads of state attending the Halloween gala, the leaders of these countries hoped to send a message to the world that the magical community was ready for a new era. Even then, however, all three countries still harboured mutual distrust, especially after what had happened over the last century. The slightest misstep could be taken as a sign of complacency, deceit, or even subversion—and nothing was truly certain until the agreement was signed into magical law next week.
"If that Halloween gala is anything more than absurdly boring... an erupting war could set our countries back by decades."
#
"I really don't see why President Watterson holds these Halloween galas," Harry grumbled as he picked himself up from the floor of the international Portkey terminal.
"Hands up, please!" someone shouted. Harry turned to see two American Aurors, wands raised at Ginny and him.
Harry sighed as a third Auror waved his wand in a sinusoidal pattern, scanning them for weapons and illegal substances. Apparently satisfied with the results, the red-clad wizard stepped closer and began to frisk them each in turn.
"Don't have too much fun," Ginny snapped at the young Auror, who seemed to be taking an inordinate interest in checking her hips and waist for whatever contraband they suspected tourists might bring into the country.
"Hey, maybe you'll get lucky for the first time in"—Harry briefly paused as he counted to himself—"eight years."
"Shut up, Potter—"
"Now it's 'Potter'?"
"—I've had plenty of boyfriends since the disaster of Hurricane Harry. Not that it's any of your business."
She snatched her wand from the guard who had been examining it, and stalked off toward Customs. He quickly caught up to her.
"Really? Name six of them."
"Lawrence," said Ginny in a smooth tone.
"That's a stupid name—"
A dull thump accompanied her foot as she kicked him sideways, and he bit down a curse. Ginny threw a pointed look at the clerk seated right in front of them and the large sign next to her that was flashing between various ugly shades of orange:
Customs and Travel Records — Please Register Here
"Virginia and Harrison Lawrence, here for the Congress Halloween Gala tomorrow evening."
"Mm-hmm..." The balding man nodded robotically as if he truly couldn't care less—which, if Harry thought about it, was probably the case. "Please fill these out; white ink only."
The notionally married couple quickly filled out the black papers with the provided quills that exuded what Harry swore was Muggle Tipp-Ex. When they handed the forms back to the clerk, he grunted and threw them into a something that looked suspiciously like a rubbish bin.
"Idiot," Ginny hissed as they zig-zagged through clumps of tourists, "are you trying to get us caught?"
"Oh, untwist your knickers. That man wouldn't blink if you showed up with a grenade and a Nundu. I doubt he cares what our names are. Can you try to not be so uptight?"
She gave an exasperated sigh and began to pull her hair into a ponytail. "It's to pander to the citizens—pretend to be like the people, approachable."
"Your uptightness?"
"No, you dolt—why Congress puts on the Halloween gala every year. Can you please pay attention?" she moaned. "Merlin, how did you ever pass your N.E.W.T.s..."
"With lots of help," said Harry with the tiniest of smiles, which quickly faded as he changed the topic. "I really wish the Archcontroller would have picked someone else for this job. Surely he knows how much I..."
...hate Halloween, he was going to say. But he wasn't able to voice the thought. It was no matter; they both understood.
After a moment, Ginny spoke in a small voice: "I know."
The words carried an unexpected tone of sincerity, empathy.
Suddenly, Ginny held out her wand.
"What are you doing?"
"Summoning the bus?" she said slowly, as if catering to a small child.
"Merlin, Ginny, it's a Muggle hotel. Now who's the one not paying attention?" Harry quickly flagged down a taxi and leaned down to the window. "Westin Grand Hotel?"
The driver nodded, and Harry pulled open the back door. "Ladies first," he said with an exaggerated bow to his temporary wife.
Ginny whacked him on the fingers and shoved him into the car before sliding in next to him. "How emasculating," she said with a smirk.
"Well, brains before beauty, I suppose," he muttered.
As they drove, Ginny was mumbling to herself and tallying agenda items on her fingers. Once she got to finger number seven, she looked up at him. "You did confirm the invitations for the President's Dinner, right?"
"...what?" Harry asked dumbly.
Ginny's face seemed frozen as she stared at him in disbelief. Then, the muscles in her jaw began to tense and bright red splotches suffused her cheeks. "Please, please tell me you have the invitations."
"No—I thought you were going to."
"You must be bloody—fucking kidding me," she hissed. "The one thing—ONE THING!—that you were supposed to handle, and you've... How in the bloody hell are we supposed to—"
"Relax, Gin," Harry finally interrupted with a grin, "I'm only taking the piss."
Her jaw dropped and her face turned even more red than it already was, before punching him, hard, in the arm."
"You are so easy sometimes. Oh, speaking of—"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence," she snapped.
Wisely, he changed tack. "What do you mean, the 'one' thing? I had to sort lots of things for this trip!"
"Please... kill me," Ginny moaned, thudding her head against the car door.
#
"How in the hell did you get recruited for Section 13?" said Ginny as threw her purse onto the hotel bed. "You're so... so... immature!"
Ugh. It was a bad sign that she couldn't even think of the right words to berate the arsehole with. She had no clue why she let him wind her up like this.
"I'm relaxed, Ginny, not immature," said Harry smoothly, as if trying to placate her. Fat chance. "You seriously need to get laid or something."
"Oh?" she hissed, her eyes narrowed so much she was losing peripheral vision. "And given how 'relaxed' you are, I take it you've shagged about two hundred floozies since we broke up?"
If it hadn't been for the years of interrogation experience under her belt, she would have missed the small step back that Harry took in response to her tone. "Well... no, actually. No floozies. No anyone..." he trailed off. "Sorry. That was uncalled for."
She blinked and felt several sheets of anger melt away. Then, she just gave a brief nod. Apology accepted—sort of.
"Besides," he continued shakily, apparently hesitant to test the very brief truce, "I killed a Dark Lord. Surely that's enough for any agency to want me."
The noise that Ginny made was something between a snort and a scoff. Either way, it was definitely unflattering.
#
"Don't forget to brush your teeth," Ginny said over her shoulder as she pulled her brush through her long hair.
"Yes, Mum."
"That's a weird Freudian thing you've got going on. Do I really look that much like her?" As she was turned away from him, he was unable to see the grin on her face.
"Oh, shut up."
Bless him, the man couldn't even think of a witty retort. A rare victory for Ginny.
"And how do you know about Freud anyway?"
Late that evening, having changed into her pyjamas, Ginny shut off the bathroom light and stepped into the main room. She opened her mouth to ask about the bed, but to her surprise, Harry was already settling on the floor with a thin, white sheet and a blanket.
Perhaps he was still a gentleman after all. At least a little bit.
A quick war waged within her conscience until she finally relented to the irksome voice in the back of her head. With a sigh, she walked over to Harry and nudged him in the leg. He looked up at her, eyes oddly large without his usual glasses. "We both need to be well rested tomorrow," she said, jerking her head toward the large bed. "Do try not to poke me with that thing."
A restless night followed. Visions of various creatures, Vampires, Goblins, Acromantula even, plagued her dreams. Worse yet, a dream involving a certain annoying ex-boyfriend with too few clothes between them. Finally, she fell into a deep slumber that carried her through mid-morning.
"Ugh..." she moaned in spite of herself. Too bright. She dug her head deeper into the pillow, hoping to delay the inevitable. Multiple pillows, fortunately. One of them formed a wall to block all the blasted sunlight. Hmm... wait. It was too taut to be a pillow. Taking in a slow breath, she cracked one eye open.
Oh, bloody hell.
It wasn't a pillow; it was the back of Harry's neck. And then she realised the positions of the rest of her limbs. Her right hand was tucked under her pillow and head; her left arm was unabashedly looped over his bare torso; and both knees were bent, legs pressed up against Harry as she spooned him.
Eek! She jumped back as if shocked—a very delayed shock, she supposed. What the hell was her subconscious doing? There was a reason they'd broken up so many years ago. Not to mention that this was about the worst time for emotional complications to arise between two exes.
The next couple hours were spent in companionable, or perhaps awkward, silence, as both operatives pored over stacks of parchment pertaining to the evening's events. After some nebulous amount of time had passed, Harry suddenly jumped to his feet and began to work out a crick in his neck.
"Hello?"
Ginny looked up, but Harry wasn't talking to her; rather, he was speaking into the tellyphone. "Yes, me and my lovely wife"—he turned to catch her eye; she just glared—"would like to order lunch."
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
"Room service," he said, tilting the phone away from his ear. "I need to eat. You need to eat."
Much to her chagrin, it was true. Her stomach was beginning to rumble and she could feel the leading edge of a headache.
"Yes, please," Harry said back into the phone. "Mm-hmm. Okay. Umm... Then let's go with two turkey clubs? Yes." A pause. "Room 309. Thanks."
When he hung up, Harry just shook his head. "Most of the other options didn't sound that good."
"I'm sure they'll be fine. Thanks," she added as an afterthought.
"This guest list is inscrutable," said Ginny an hour later. She threw the thick binder down next to the empty food tray. "I don't even know where to begin. Not a single person on this list looks suspicious."
"I guess that makes all of them suspicious," Harry said after a moment. He pulled the binder toward him and flipped through the pages, each of which detailed the background, financial records, and other pertinent information about the event's guests.
"You couldn't get the invitees for the President's Dinner?" she asked, her frustration clearly seeping into her voice.
"No," Harry responded rather distractedly. "They're keeping it under tight wraps, for security reasons. Even Shack didn't know."
"When did you ask Shacklebolt?"
"Err, I didn't... per se." He looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Just trust me on this. The only thing I know is that this Krüger guy is certain to be there. And I only know that because that's what Research told us."
Every year at the Congress Halloween Gala, the President of MACUSA hosted a small dinner late in the evening following the ball. Only a dozen or so people were invited to the dinner, chosen by a nebulous lottery system. This year, President Watterson as well as Ministers Shacklebolt and Schulze would be in attendance. Given the relative intimacy of the dinner, it would be the perfect place and time for an assassination.
Harry broke the silence. "Krüger is a German national. Do you happen to know anything about him?"
"Yes, Harry, I happen to know all eighty million people living in Germany."
"Don't give me that," he said with a roll of his eyes. "You were with IMLED for five years. Matthias Krüger's name never came up?"
She shook her head. "Not that I know of. But I also wasn't privy to all of their operations or intelligence."
After she and Harry broke up, Ginny had realised that she needed a change of pace. So, she had quit Healer school, briefly joined the Auror force, and was recruited to the International Magical Law Enforcement Delegation—IMLED—the ICW's military and intelligence arm.
IMLED had agents from all corners of the earth, and the agency itself had jurisdiction in all countries that were members of the ICW, which included most of Europe, North America, and some of Asia. However, IMLED was headquartered in Hamburg, so many of its agents frequented Germany and some of them even picked up the language. Additionally, a large portion of the intelligence flowing through the main office was based on German citizens and neighbouring countries.
"What a sodding mess," Harry murmured, cutting through her thoughts. "Research doesn't even know who this guy's targeting. It's just... shitty intel. Why can't we just stun the guy and ask questions later..."
A leopard never changes its spots, she mused. That's Harry for you.
"You know as well as I do we can't go around stunning foreign nationals, especially when we're illegally operating on American soil."
Harry scowled and threw the binder to the floor. "I can still dream about it, can't I?"
After drumming her fingers mindlessly on the table for a few minutes, she took a deep breath and took the next folder from the stack on her right. It was the dossier on Krüger.
Military Intelligence, Section 13
TOP SECRET — U.K. EYES ONLY
CLEARANCE — BLACK
"Who is this guy..." she muttered.
#
"It's nearly four. I'm going for a shower," said Ginny some time later. Flicking her wand, she neatly organised the papers that had been scattered over her side of the table, then stood and headed for the loo.
"Need help?" Harry offered.
"Not on your life."
As the water started running, Harry looked at his watch and frowned. Surely he didn't need an hour to get ready, but there was no point in putting things off and having to rush later.
Harry opened the black wardrobe bag that Logistics had sent over to the hotel this morning. With a practised hand, he laid out his dresswear and began to flip through the layers of the material, running his fingers over each of the seams, flipping out the pockets, and checking all of the folds for holes or other imperfections. Satisfied, he unrolled the small satchel he'd brought and began to inspect its contents.
Some twenty minutes later, Ginny stepped out of the loo with a towel wrapped around her body and another curled in her hair. Without a word, Harry held out the hairbrush she'd left on the night stand. She stared at him for a long moment, then took it, retreating behind the privacy screen she had conjured.
After a quick shower himself, Harry began to dress. Sadly, things were not as simple as jeans and a T-shirt. Tonight's affair was black tie formal, which warranted much more care than he usually afforded to his wardrobe. A dark green dinner suit framed a pearl white, silk shirt; with a bow tie to match the jacket. Overlaying the entourage was an even darker green (though, in his opinion, it was basically black) set of outer dress robes which flared out as they approached his knees—and, to his delight, had iridescent trim along the seams and across the neck.
To be honest, the outfit was mostly thanks to the costumer at Logistics. He would have never dreamed up this fashion himself, but Agnes had insisted it complemented his eyes and emphasised his affect, whatever that meant. With all said and done, he had to admit that he looked rather dashing—not that he'd ever admit it aloud.
Harry began to unpack his satchel, populating his various pockets with the implements he might need for tonight. Once finished, he turned and started to flick at his hair in front of the mirror. He had let it grow out over the years, and had long since stopped trying to tame it. Instead, he was content to let the natural chaos govern it—sometimes, with a little bit of guidance. At least this was a Muggle mirror—no chance for it to make fun of him. Indeed, with his scar now entirely faded, there was even less to make fun of.
"Wow," said a small voice. Harry spun around to see Ginny staring at him. Her eyes roved down his body and back up again; he felt his face flush. "I like your hair," she said quietly. "Oh, and you're still hopeless with a bow tie."
The redhead stepped up to him, her dress hanging loosely—very loosely—from her shoulders, her upper arms, even; baring far more than he was comfortable with. As she fiddled with his tie, he resisted the urge to look down. That was dangerous territory.
"Much better," Ginny said with a smile. "Zip me up?" she asked suddenly, turning her back to him.
Ah. That explained why her dress had been so... malpositioned.
For fear of her wrath, he moved slowly, grabbing the fabric on either side of the zipper and gently pulling them taught. With one hand, he pinched the bottom stop, located just below her hip line. His fingers shook slightly as he grabbed the slider in the other hand, carefully pulling it upward. Both of them knew that he moved far more slowly and cautiously than required; neither commented on it. The mellow scent of peach shampoo filled the air, and too the floral perfume she'd spritzed onto her neck. As he continued to inhale, he could see a traitorous blush suffuse her shoulders and neck, evidence that she knew exactly what was going on behind her back.
When he finished, she stepped forward and spun around.
The first time he'd seen her in the dress—just a few minutes ago when she came to fix his tie—he had been too distracted by her nearly malfunctioning wardrobe to really take in the full package.
The dress was a deep crimson red, held up by small straps on her shoulders that dipped into a shallow V-neck cut that was, all said, relatively conservative. The fabric extended all the way to the floor; he couldn't even see her feet under the skirt, though he was pretty sure she wasn't wearing high heels, given that she wasn't any taller than usual. His eyes travelled back up her left leg—exposed by the slit in her dress that didn't converge until mid-thigh—and all the way back to her hair, styled in waves that cascaded over her shoulders, and then to her eyes.
But he couldn't help a second, and third, inspection of her hair. Always her hair—the centrepiece of her physical presence; the first thing people noticed and the last thing they forgot. Vibrant, flaming red, and so full of life. Yet oddly humble, completely free of ornament or decoration except for a single bobby pin clipped near her right eye to keep it all out of her face. Usually she would just push it, or blow it, or flick it out of her face every thirty seconds, which amused him to no end, but he supposed that tonight was a special occasion.
"You look..." he started before trailing off, not knowing what words could do her justice. But given how deeply she blushed and how rapidly she scampered off, he was pretty sure she got the point.
Eventually, Harry cleared his throat and turned back to the mirror. Given that Ginny and Harry weren't even supposed to be in the country, it would be disastrous if someone at the gala were to identify them. Tapping his wand on his face, he began to apply Glamour Charms, squaring out his jaw, rounding his nose, and dropping his cheekbones. Despite his rather iconic eyes and hair, which were to remain intact in this disguise, he was sure he would not be recognised, at least not solely by his visage. After all, the human brain was absurdly reliant on facial structure to identify familiar faces.
Ginny, he knew, was in the loo, applying similar charms.
While he waited, he gathered all of their papers on the mission—dossiers, guest lists, inventories, and everything else—and stacked them on the room's table. With a flick of his wand, they ignited and quickly disintegrated into ashes. Another quick spell and the ashes and smoke vanished.
"Are you ready to go, Mrs Lawrence?" he asked when Ginny reappeared.
She wrinkled her nose. "Not if you keep calling me that."