"My name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. Conjure by it at your own risk."

Admittedly, when I practiced that in the mirror I was full of confidence and staring down an imagined bad guy, not still out of it in a candle-lit interrogation room in some drafty old castle and sitting across an antique table from a couple of aurors. The trenchcoat-wearing hardass seemed amused rather than intimidated. The black guy actually blinked for a second and tilted his head, like he'd heard my name before.

"Why'd I want to conjure by your name? One of you is too many as it is," my interrogator quipped as he slouched deeper into his coat.

"He's obviously too deep into dementor-exposure to be coherent, Dawlish," the other one explained, then got up to head out of the room. "I'll be right back."

Clearly pleased that his partner had left the room, Dawlish took the opportunity for another pass at breaking me. "You're a cop-killer, Dresden. Du Morne taught me. Taught a lot of the aurors at the academy. Lot of aurors ready to see some payback for burning the man alive. American out of your depth in London? Hoped to find something in the house to steal?"

I tried to chuckle sardonically, but whatever those cells had done to me turned it into a cough. I managed to get out, "Was shield practice for you baseballs? Or are those just easier to come by in the states?"

That hit home and Dawlish shrugged, "Bludgers." Justin had apparently been a violent teacher with his earlier apprentices too. He insisted that any idiot could make a shield that would stop a spell, but most wizards never learned to protect against bullets or other flung missiles. The aging auror was looking at me differently, now. "You claiming you were his apprentice?"

"Something like that," I shrugged. I was going to elaborate, but the gesture made me wince. I looked down at my arm, pulling up the prison jumpsuit they'd given me. My splinching wounds were scabbed over, but far from healed. At least I hadn't bled to death.

"Only the highest-quality dittany salve for the minister's special guests," Dawlish sad, the sarcasm dripping. "That's how we found you, you know? Barely took a tracking spell to follow the amount of blood you were losing. How'd you splinch yourself anyway?"

I winced. Hopefully they hadn't followed my whole trip after leaving the burning house behind. I'd stashed some rescued items I hoped to retrieve if I got out of this. I didn't exactly get the impression he'd believe me, but no reason not to share. "Apparating out of the ritual circle I was stuck in."

The other auror had walked back in on that, bringing a half-eaten candy bar that he handed to me as he sat back down. "Eat that," he suggested, "it will help."

While I was suspicious, I also suddenly realized I was starving. How long had I been here? The chocolate wasn't exactly a meal, but I did feel a lot better as soon as I started eating it. A gray fog I'd been feeling around my senses and emotions started to dissipate.

"You get that last bit, Shacklebolt?" his partner asked.

Shacklebolt nodded, "A shame the fiendfyre destroyed any proof one way or the other. But let's play this out. Start at the beginning, please, Mr. Dresden."

If it had just been that guy, I might have. But I was alone in a foreign country, my mentor had tried to use me as a sacrifice in some dark arts ritual, my girlfriend had helped, and Dawlish was at best as misguided as I'd been. At worst, he knew my former mentor was dark and was trying to cover it up. The chocolate had at least cleared my head enough to start asking the real questions. "I'd love to, but do I get a lawyer or a phone call in this country?" Not that I had anyone to call...

Dawlish looked over at Shacklebolt and asked, "Why do the American mudbloods always ask for a phone?"

The black auror didn't particularly seem to like the insult, which Justin had warned me was a slur about blood purity that many British wizards used. "It's a cliche in muggle films," he allowed, then turned to me to explain, "We must inform your barrister if you have one on retainer. And you will have additional opportunities to contact one before a trial. But, as Auror Dawlish has made clear, we can hold you for quite some time when you are the primary suspect in a murder investigation before bringing it to trial. If you have a compelling story, it's often a good idea to just tell us what happened. We may be able to use your testimony to identify a better suspect. Right now, you're our only known witness to what happened last night."

I hadn't found Elaine in the house. She'd tied me up and helped with the ritual. She'd betrayed me even more fully than Justin, because I thought she loved me. It would be so easy to just blame her for everything. See if they could find her. But, for all I knew she was dead. Even if she was, I couldn't bring myself to claim she was the mastermind and Justin was a victim. I still felt I owed her that, for some reason. So I started talking, figuring out how much I was going to say as I went…

"Not that it matters, but I'm not a mudblood," I began, fixing my gaze on Dawlish. "My mother was magical and probably British. I thought we had moved to London to try to learn more about her. She died when I was born. My father died when I was little. Justin found me in an orphanage before I turned 11. Told me I was a wizard."

Something about the age captured Shacklebolt's attention. "An American, muggle orphanage?" I nodded and he asked, "Why there? And how did Du Morne find you?"

"Dad traveled for work. He was a muggle magician. They do tricks for entertainment. I'm not sure where he met mom. I don't know how Justin found me. He led me to believe that it was normal for wizards to find kids strong in magic and take them on as apprentices. Is that wrong?"

"This is such bollocks," Dawlish insisted, interrupting his partner trying to answer. "Justin Du Morne was a decorated auror and academy instructor who retired after the war with nearly half a century of service. Why would he be trawling MACUSA territory for apprentices?"

Shacklebolt thought for a moment then asked me, "When and how did you get into Britain, Mr. Dresden?"

It was easy enough to dredge up the date, since I'd made a joke about bewaring the Ides of March when we came over. "March 15th this year. International portkey from Chicago to London. Some of our furniture and clothes got shipped the muggle way to the house."

"And we'll find that you and Du Morne traveled together?" Me, Justin, and Elaine, but I didn't need to volunteer that. As I nodded again, Shacklebolt continued, "Then we'll confirm the passports and travel with the Ministry tomorrow. But, for now, can we take for granted that, whatever the reason, Mr. Dresden was Du Morne's apprentice?" Now it was Dawlish's turn to nod, grudgingly. "Please continue, Mr. Dresden."

While I was vaguely aware that I was experiencing the good cop/bad cop gambit, it was a classic for a reason, because it worked. "He trained me for a few years. Like I said, we were here as far as I knew to look for information about my mother. We talked about it over Christmas. It was going to be my present. We came over in March, and didn't make any progress for months. I don't know anymore if we were actually here looking for my mother."

"Did you have contact with Du Morne in the last five years or so?" Shacklebolt asked his partner. Dawlish just shook his head, clearly annoyed that my story was holding up so far. "Why don't you think you were looking for your mother?"

I didn't think they wanted to hear that my mad godmother had warned me, and I'd still walked back into the trap like an idiot. Instead, I just offered the far more lame, "He got distant. He'd go talk to people that he didn't want me to meet and wouldn't have any answers. Just said he was working on it. Felt like he was working on something else."

Shacklebolt took that opening, looked at me, raised an eyebrow at Dawlish, and then asked, "Did he ever mention Gringotts?"

Before I could even answer, Dawlish actually sat up from his slouch, now annoyed at his partner. "No! We are not entertaining the idea that my friend and teacher was involved in that. Especially because he was getting murdered by this punk on the same night!"

"By Mr. Dresden… or by co-conspirators who had a falling out after a botched robbery and wanted to hide the evidence?"

"Screw you, Shack! Don't ruin my case in front of the suspect!" Dawlish actually stood up to try to get a height advantage over his partner, his rickety old wooden chair toppling over in his haste. "You can make up all the conspiracy stories you want and sell them to the Quibbler, but I have a dead, decorated auror and an American half-blood with no alibi leaving a blood trail right to his door!"

The black auror didn't lose his cool, just leaned back a bit so he could keep me and Dawlish both in view. "And I have an unprecedented heist on the same night as a violent confrontation using dark magic, only thirty miles away. You know I don't believe in coincidences, John. If your teacher was involved, Mr. Dresden is now our best lead, no matter how much you want to throw him to the dementors because a friend of yours is dead."

I was suddenly wishing I hadn't mentioned the ritual circle. At this point, they were ready to assume Justin had been involved in some kind of conspiracy that got him killed. Maybe he had. From what my godmother had told me and what he'd tried, very little would surprise me. I did suddenly remember something from my potions lessons, so before they went after each other again I interjected, "Can't you just put me on veritaserum?"

Shacklebolt gestured at me as if he'd scored a point. Probably guilty people didn't ask to take truth serum. Dawlish grimaced, and asked, "How old are you?"

"I'll be 16 in October," I admitted.

He shook his head, a bit of perverse glee slipping back in. "We can only use it on minors in extreme circumstances. Bad for your magic. We'll have to use other interrogation techniques."

His partner countered, "If it gets him out of Azkaban for murdering an auror, that may be an extreme enough circumstance. And if he's willing to take veritaserum, he's probably willing to submit to mind reading…"

Dawlish shot back, "Even if we had a legilimens here, he'd need a guardian's permission. Since he admits that he's an orphan, and his mentor was just murdered, we don't even know who that is."

Suddenly, from outside the room, there was a sound like a barrel of gasoline igniting and a pressure wave of warm air that shook the decrepit old door and made the candles in the room flicker. Shacklebolt grinned, "Perfect timing. I have a solution to both problems…"