Most people would take the day off after being pummelled by an exploding house two days prior, but, then again, most people weren't Aurors; Dennis thought, as he strode into the Ministry that morning, his slight wince at being jostled in the lift the only sign of his injury. He made his way straight to the conference room – Augurey, this time, only stopping to accept congratulations and cheers from the crowd of Aurors who hadn't been on the raid. Fifteen minutes after he'd gotten there, Robards entered the room, shutting the door behind him. Every member of the Task Force, plus Savage was there, even Cornhill; he was glad to see, though she still appeared pale and wan, and was seated in a cushy floating purple armchair – she was still too weak to walk. Williamson, too, was sitting down – he had a large bandage at his throat, and had resorted to writing all his comments in glowing letters in the air with his wand – he'd been forbidden from speaking.
"Good morning all. To begin – congratulations on achieving a monumental task. You should all be very proud." The grizzled Head Auror spoke. He indicated his head towards Terry. "Summary of your report please, Boot."
"We received intelligence of a possible Death Eater hideout at a property in Yorkshire under the Fidelius from a confidential informant – the charm is still standing, however we can now enter at will, if needed. We managed to gain access to said property, and captured three wanted Death Eaters – Corban Yaxley, Rodolphus Lestrange and Rabastan Lestrange, along with nineteen other yet unidentified individuals; all of whom have been moved to the holding cells and are awaiting trial. Our working theory is that the others may have been servants or followers, perhaps under Imperius, and not necessarily all from the British Isles. Moments after we apprehended the last fugitive – the younger Lestrange – there was an explosion that devastated the house. Aurors Potter, Weasley and Savage can take up the rest of the story."
"Ron and I entered the house once the dust settled to see what we could find. The explosion seems to have occurred in the Potions Lab in the basement, which was entirely destroyed. Savage is working on identifying ingredients and Potions that we found. We also found the body of a person who was working in the lab. Reconstruction and examination of the remains has found that the individual was male, age about 50-60, Caucasian, 5'10". Ryder and his team are helping out by testing bone samples against the remaining existing Azkaban records to see if this person was a previously convicted Death Eater, and we have portrait artist Dean Thomas working with Ryder and his team to help put a face to the skull. We are supposing that it may have been an accident as there was no attempt made to physically leave the lab; he was found on his stomach, wand trapped under the body. His body shielded his wand from the blast. We'll head to Ollivander's today to find out who purchased the wand."
Savage stepped forward at this point. "Several of the Potions in the lab were so badly contaminated and amalgamated that it may take months or years to isolate them all; if it will prove to even be possible in the first place. I recommend a consult with the Department of Mysteries – we might need Unspeakable help on this one, unravelling this is beyond a basic-level Potions Mastery, I would reckon. My working hypothesis is that at least some of these Potions are non-standard, either improvements or changes to known brews, or new inventions. The only one I have made any headway with is the Potion nearest to the deceased – it appears to be highly volatile and explosive, though I am still unable to determine if that was the aim of the Potion or a side effect. I did manage to isolate a partial magical signature of the brewer, but since pre-war records were destroyed during the Thicknesse regime, there is no way to determine if the signature belonged to a known fugitive. I do believe that the Potioneer must have been exceptionally talented – either holding an advanced Potions Mastery, or being fully capable of obtaining one."
"Right – Savage, pull whoever you need to assist you on the Potions – Reynolds, you got the highest score in Potions during the ACHE and your training, if I remember correctly, so you can work with Savage, as can you, Toddington, you look rather eager. Boot and Longbottom – you take Pritchard with you to interview our prisoners. Williamson and Cornhill, since you're supposed to be resting, you both can be on research, Zeller can assist. Potter and Weasley – both of you don't need to go to Ollivander's. Potter – you're on Diagon Alley. Weasley: you, Creevey and Cauldwell can work with Boot and Longbottom on the prisoners, get them processed quicker – yes?"
Robards cut himself off after a look at Neville, who had just made a tiny noise in his throat. He raised an eyebrow, and when Neville gave him a tiny nod back, he continued.
"Before you all head off for your assignments, Longbottom has something he would like to tell you all."
"Uh," Neville began, flushing, as everyone turned to look at him. "I'm sure everyone here knows… or has an idea… of why I joined the Aurors." His voice cracked slightly, but he pressed on. "And two days ago… I achieved my goal. We collared the Lestranges. And I went home that night, and I thought about it… and I realised that no day in the Auror Office can be sweeter than two days ago, for me. I've loved being a part of this team, been grateful every day for this opportunity. I never realised how much I was carrying the war around with me, even six years after it ended. But two days ago, I realised… my war is over. And so," and here he faltered, looking around at the crowd listening intently to every word, "yesterday I tendered my resignation to Head Auror Robards. I'll still be here for a month or so but, after that… who knows? Thank you all so much for… everything."
There was a beat, before suddenly everyone was clapping, and getting up to hug Neville. Terry was first, "leaving me, eh?" before breaking into a smile and clapping him on the shoulder, "good on you mate, I'm proud of you!"
"What are you going to do next, Nev?" asked Ron.
"Going to go for a Herbology Mastery, I think. I reckon I'd like my own greenhouse." Said Neville, smiling.
X-XXX-X
Neville's announcement was still on Harry's mind as he entered Ollivander's, so seeing his friend's somewhat-girlfriend inside the store made him feel rather like he'd conjured her from thin air. "Oh, Luna, hi! What are you doing here?". He moved to hug her hello.
"Just meeting with Garrick to share the results of my latest experiment, hi Harry," her airy, dreamy voice washed over him. There was something very soothing about Luna Lovegood. "Wandmakers always need to find new possible cores and woods, and Garrick kindly asked me to collaborate with him on developing Sea Serpent scales as a possible core, perhaps for training wands. I got back from a short expedition in Sweden a little while ago, and the results look very promising. I was really hoping to find Snorcack horn, but a month-long expedition really isn't long enough for such elusive creatures…"
"That's great Luna – is Mr. Ollivander in?" Harry asked, still half-distractedly.
"He's at the back – testing some samples. He'll be back out in a few minutes and then you can ask him about the records. I assume that's why you're here, aren't you? But this is a great coincidence, since I can now invite you for Neville's going away party. Though he doesn't know he's having one yet. But he will be."
"Neville's going away party – where is he going? Did you know he was going to resign?" asked Harry.
"Oh, he didn't tell me, of course, but he stayed with me the night you caught the Lestranges, and the Wrackspurts around his head were buzzing so thickly they made me dizzy. But yesterday, they were clearer, so I suppose he made up his mind after all. Back during the war, when we would be patrolling the corridors at night to find students to rescue, he would talk about wanting to discover all the rare plants that the world has to offer. But he decided to stay behind until the Lestranges were in Azkaban, and now they are. So, why stay? Though I expect he'll be feeling guilty, like he ought to stay for my sake - my expeditions are usually for a few weeks at a time, and he'll be gone for at least two years, you see. But you can't hold still when the world keeps moving, can you?"
"Do you think—" he broke off embarrassedly, suddenly realising he was maybe getting a bit too personal.
"That we'll break up?" she asked, in that disconcerting way of hers that made you feel like she was reading your thoughts before you'd even had time to form them. "Oh, yes, probably." Unbelievably, he noticed, she was still smiling. "You're surprised that I'm not sad," she continued, "but why should I be? Just because we won't be in a relationship anymore doesn't mean we won't love each other. Besides, he'll always be my friend, that's the part I get to keep, and that's the biggest part, the very best part. Oh, look! Here comes Garrick – you might want to close your mouth, Harry, that's how the Wrackspurts get you."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter. I must confess I did not expect to see you here. And oh, Ms. Lovegood, it's so good to see you again!" Mr. Ollivander's voice stole over them both, making Harry jump, though Luna seemed unaffected. His silvery eyes met Harry's interestedly.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Ollivander. Just needed to ask you some questions about a wand. Could we head down to the back? Ah, sorry Luna, I'm afraid you'll have to wait… Auror Office rules and all that."
"Oh, it's no problem Harry. I'll see you soon!"
X-XXX-X
"What do you have for me then, Mr. Potter?" asked Ollivander, once they were away from listening ears, inside a small workshop that could have been mistaken for an ordinary office, if it wasn't for the hum of magic hanging in the air.
Harry looked around, at the boxes and boxes of papers, squat and stout, balanced impossibly high all around the walls of the room, reminiscent of the way the slim wand boxes rested on display on the shop floor. Somewhere, in these cartons of paper, resided the knowledge of every wand ever made, every wand ever sold, every wood ever tested, every core ever harvested; since 382 BC (if the sign above the door was to be trusted). What boggled the mind even more was the fact that all knowledge added to this pool from the 1920s onwards resided also behind Mr. Ollivander's curiously light eyes, in the lines of his wrinkled, ageless face.
He responded to the question by putting the unidentified wand on the table. It was singed and cracked, but still identifiable, hopefully.
Mr. Ollivander picked it up, eyes gleaming. He ran it through his fingers like silk, manipulating it with quick, experienced hands; muttering so softly under his breath it was all Harry could do to recognise there was a sound at all. He gave it one final flick, and then fixed Harry with his intense gaze.
"You recognise this wand."
Harry supposed the graceful tilt of the head was a yes.
"Walnut, dragon heartstring, 13 and a quarter inches, of an unusual rigidity, unfortunately beyond repair. Walnut, as a wood, favours intelligence and adaptability. This is a wand meant for an inventor, for a brilliant mind; and not a wand that would take well to being separated from its master. I remember this wand. I sold it in 1961."
"Who bought it?" Harry asked. Mr. Ollivander told him, before flicking his wand. A box floated off the shelf, knocking off its own lid, while a piece of paper from inside twisted into a plane that launched itself to land gently in Harry's hand. Another flick caused it to unfurl, and Harry caught a glimpse of constantly shifting symbols before they rearranged themselves to English words and numerals. A receipt, marking the sale of the wand from July 1961.
"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander." Harry bid him farewell, stomach churning with excitement and a little shock at what he had just found. He needed to think, needed to process, but there wasn't time. This is a job for Ginny, he thought, but Ginny wasn't there right now, so he resolutely turned his mind back to what needed to be done next. Don't get ahead of yourself, Potter, you need verification first.
By the time he made his way back to the Auror Office, checked in with Ryder for confirmation, and got an audience with Robards, the rest of the Task Force had also congregated back into the conference room, taking a break from their respective assignments to hear what he'd discovered. Unfortunately, they'd all entered in a gaggle, with Robards close behind, and there was no time for him to break the news gently.
"What did you find, Potter?" Robards asked, sharply, when he didn't speak immediately, and Harry had no choice. "Samples of bone collected did not match any of the surviving records, but as most of those were destroyed during the Thicknesse regime, that's not surprising. The wand though - 13¼ inches, walnut, dragon heartstring. Belonged to Antonin Dolohov, which is congruent with the description from the physical examination of the body and Dean Thomas's sketch. We got Dolohov, sir." His words were directed at Robards, but his eyes were fixed on Dennis's face, which rapidly drained of colour and flooded back again when he took the name of Colin's killer.
X-XXX-X
"We got Dolohov, sir."
Dennis's head spun around on its axis, and he was vividly aware of Leslie, and Owen, and how their breaths hitched when they caught the import of what Harry had just said. He could feel them giving him quick glances out of the corners of their eyes, but his own were frozen, locked on to Harry's mercurial green orbs. They looked apologetic and stunned and as full of turmoil as his own, and a small part of Dennis tried to soften his own gaze in response, but he couldn't. He felt blank. And numb. And rooted to the ground. There was precious little difference between his current state and a Stupefy.
Dolohov was dead. Horribly, irrefutably, painfully dead. Colin had been avenged. And yet, somehow, Dennis just felt… empty. It seemed anticlimactic somehow, that the man who had ripped Dennis's family apart, taken away the closest person to him, was dead. And not at the end of a long, drawn-out battle, not bested by Dennis, but rather snuffed out in a Potions accident.
A savage, base part of Dennis was glad. Dolohov hadn't just died neatly and cleanly, he'd suffered, and Dennis was happy for it – happy that in the end Dolohov had experienced even just a momentary flash of the agony he'd spent his life meting out to others. Just a little taste of the pain that Dennis and his mum and his dad and Demelza (Merlin, should he write to Demelza?) had gone through. An even baser part of him mourned that he hadn't been the one to do it, hadn't been the one to capture or kill or torture Dolohov and left him to rot.
And the overwhelming thought he had, once the meeting was over – he'd missed every word spoken after Harry had dropped that bomb on him, he'd have to ask Leslie what happened – and Leslie and Owen had crowded him with hugs he could barely feel, while Harry loitered awkwardly in a corner waiting to come up and speak with him, Ron and Neville shooting him looks; was what the hell am I going to do now?
X-XXX-X
"I'm sorry," were the first words out of Harry's mouth when he ran into Dennis at the Café a few hours later. "I wanted to tell you first, but there wasn't time."
"It's alright, Harry. Don't worry about it," he replied, giving him a small smile, and turning to go.
"Dennis – it's okay if you don't feel the way you expected to feel." The younger man stopped dead in his tracks, back still. Harry continued, addressing his back in a halting, stilted fashion that let on how utterly unrehearsed any of this was.
"I don't know if Colin ever mentioned Remus to you. Professor Lupin. He was our DADA teacher back in my third year, the best teacher I'd ever had. He was also… a close friend. Of mine. He was actually my godson's father." He coughed.
"Remus was at the Battle, and, well. Dolohov was the one who made sure he wouldn't come back, that Teddy would have to grow up without a father. And he was the last one for me, Dennis, that I just really, personally wanted to see down in the ground. I just really wanted to be the one to do it. For Teddy. And I'm not, and I-" he stopped, moistening his dry lips. "I feel like I failed him in one way, but in another – I'm just really glad Dolohov's dead, however it happened. I'm glad that when Teddy asks me about his mum and dad, and how they died, I can tell him they died for a good cause and their killers paid, too."
"I don't think I want to talk about that, Harry. I don't- I don't think I can." He ground out. The discomfort was clogging his throat, making it hard to get the words out.
"That's okay, I just wanted you to know." Harry cleared his throat, changing the subject.
"Have you thought about what you're going to do next? I mean – Neville chose to go. And that's fair, if that's what you want to do. But if you're not sure… would you like to talk about it?"
Dennis finally turned, retraced his steps back to face his mentor, his brother's childhood hero. Harry looked as though he didn't have a clue what he was doing but wanted to help anyway. He supposed it was a common expression for the Saviour of the Wizarding World with a hero complex the size of the Sun.
"I don't know, Harry. I just feel… tired. I wanted to feel happier than I do. On one hand, Colin's avenged, right? His killer is dead. I achieved what I set out to do, even if I wasn't the one to catch Dolohov. I mean, he basically did the catching for us. On the other, wasn't this my purpose for joining on? And now that I've met my purpose, shouldn't I want to move on?" he sank into a chair.
"But what will I do instead? Magical creatures? That's about the only other thing I'm good at and it's just… that doesn't give me purpose. Work for George, do a job that I did when I was sixteen? Sure, he's a bloody good mate but that's just… that's a different Dennis. There's no fulfilment in a job I did before I even graduated Hogwarts. So then… I stay an Auror, right? But is this job still going to give me purpose when the impetus that made me join is gone?"
"Do you know why I asked Robards to assign you and Owen to me and Ron?" Harry replied, quietly. Dennis looked at him, nonplussed. "I didn't know–" he cut himself off before he said something embarrassing, like, "you wanted me."
"If you're wondering – it's not because of your brother. I did it because I saw something in you, in something you said. You told me that you felt alive after the ACHE. You may have become an Auror only because of Colin, Dennis, and I don't doubt that it was a huge motivation for you, but you also told me you wanted to catch a whole lot of bastards – or at least try. And it's fine if you decide otherwise, if you've changed your mind, if you've seen enough fighting. But if you haven't – you make a great Auror, Dennis. I knew you had the potential when I saw your answers during the ACHE. You notice things. You think about them from a practical perspective. You have drive, and optimism. You're not afraid to adapt, think out of the box. I think, if you'd like, you could belong here. In the long term."
There was a long moment where Dennis didn't quite know what to say. His eyes burned strangely, and there was a lump in his throat. Harry didn't push further – he got up, nodded at Dennis, and left.
X-XXX-X
He stopped by Colin on his way home. He figured he owed it to his brother to tell him he'd caught his killer first. He was still going to tell his parents tonight, of course, it would be all over the papers tomorrow (and they'd taken to reading the Daily Prophet cover to cover the minute he'd joined the Auror Office), but he still felt like Colin deserved to know first.
He got there in the fading daylight, having given Leslie a heads up that he was probably going to stay with his parents tonight. He sat on the ground next to the gravestone, shoulder to shoulder like they would normally sit, imagining that they were both looking at the tree in front of them. He couldn't talk to Colin if he had to look at a gravestone and realise, all over again, that his older brother was frozen, permanently sixteen, and likely unable to hear him or even be cognisant of the fact that hearing existed at all.
"So… Dolohov died. In a Potions accident, during a raid I was on. It's a long story with the Fidelius Charm and the Lestranges. I helped get Rabastan Lestrange, actually. It felt good, duelling like that. I reckon you'd think I'm barmy, but you were always the lover and I guess I was the fighter. Weird to think about, eh?" He looked sideways, half expecting a response, before catching himself and looking straight forward again.
"D'you think I should write and tell Demmy? We didn't really keep in touch after you died. She went off to America, plays for a Quidditch team there, last I heard. I don't think she can bear the thought of England. It feels strange, having her just disappear after she'd been such a big part of my life too, but I get it. I don't think I could look at her either without thinking of you, Col." He fell silent for a bit. On second thought, he wasn't going to write to Demelza about this. He didn't want to rake up any bad memories for her, not if she'd found some semblance of peace across the pond, so many years after Colin's death.
"I guess I need some advice. Now that Dolohov has been caught, do you think I should stay on at the Auror Office, or look for something new? Because, the thing is, I joined the Auror Office for you. You know that. I mean you wouldn't have wanted me to, I know that too, but it was definitely the thing that drove me there, you know? But I'm also good at it. I don't love my job all the time, not when it leaves me with very little free time to see my friends and family, or when I'm in a room reading a lot of dusty files or sitting on a bench on a cold December morning freezing my arse off under a Disillusionment charm. But I do feel like I'm doing something worthwhile."
He gave the headstone another half glance. The rolling in his gut was becoming clearer, minute by minute. To be honest, he'd known ever since he'd spoken to Harry. He was just… scared, he supposed. His friends, his girlfriend – they'd support him regardless, he was pretty sure. The Hogwarts lot, they might not really understand, but it's not like they were all that close anymore, honestly. He hadn't even been in Kevin's wedding party, and even Euan – Euan hadn't even told him he was proposing to Orla. He'd found out via Owl the next day. They were all still friends, still met for drinks semi-regularly, still spoke; but his closest friends at this point were Owen and George, both of whom were either Aurors or Auror-adjacent. His girlfriend was an Auror herself, she'd hardly hold it against him whether he stayed or went. It really was just his parents…
"I think I know what I want to do. I just don't want to upset mum and dad, I know they were pretty reluctant to let me in the first place, even though they didn't try and stop me. And now that I don't really have a reason to stay, I hope they don't get more upset that I'm not quitting. 'Cause your killer is dead, but so many more are out there, you know? Don't they deserve justice? I don't know – what do you think I should do? And why am I talking to you and expecting a response?"
If this was one of those films his dad liked so much, there would be a voice, just about now. He tensed, half expecting to hear something, but it was silent. His shoulders slumped.
He sat there in the quiet for a few minutes longer, thinking things over, before getting to his feet. It was beginning to get pretty dark.
"Good chat, Col. I think I'm going to talk to mum and dad now. Hope I can count on your support, even if you do think I've gone off my nut. Love you."
As he prepared to Apparate, he thought he felt a warmth creeping up his limbs, and smiled. Thanks, Col.
X-XXX-X
A/N: The end! LOL, no, just kidding. And more hand-wavey forensics! I am absolutely terrible at writing well established canon characters, like Luna; which is unfortunate because I love Luna. So, if anyone is OOC, I'm sorry!
But anyway, no, despite the events of this chapter, the story is not over. We have one more transitionary/character-heavy chapter, and then we move into the main case for real. So, in a sense, this chapter and the next do mark some sort of an ending (the ending of the first arc, perhaps). I really wanted things to go this way because I was intent on juxtaposing Dennis against Neville, so I needed to give them a similar situation to show the differences in their thinking. Neither is wrong, just different from one another. There are some small breadcrumbs of casework scattered through the previous chapters and this one, of course, but those have been deliberately overshadowed by the character stuff.
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