Shacklebolt got up to invite in his guest while Dawlish's face went all squinty, as if he suddenly realized he'd been outplayed. I don't know what I was expecting, but what I got was Gandalf, if he'd entered our world through Elton John's closet. I wasn't sure if the powder blue robes stitched with golden and silver stars were his pajamas, since they looked rumpled as if he'd slept in them or put them on quickly to get here in the middle of the night. They were an interesting contrast to the bright red and orange hawk-sized bird sitting on his shoulder.
Shacklebolt gestured to his own recently vacated chair and said, "Chief Warlock, it's a pleasure to see you this evening. We're hoping you can solve an issue. Mr. Dresden here is a suspect in a murder, too young for veritaserum, and it's unclear who his magical guardian is to allow for other methods of interrogation."
The white-bearded old wizard made a negating gesture with his hand about taking Shacklebolt's chair and effortlessly conjured a much nicer, plush chair at the end of the table with a wave of his wand. I noticed that wand was decorated and carved in a way that would be extremely difficult from everything I knew about focus crafting, and looked ancient. The old man quirked an eyebrow as he noticed me examining his wand rather than his conjuration, and quickly hid the wand back up his sleeve in one smooth motion while he was sitting down.
As Shacklebolt reclaimed his seat between his guest and Dawlish, the chief warlock recited, "Mr. H. Dresden. The East Bunk Room. Mercy Home, Chicago, Illinois. I forget the exact street address." He admitted, "It was with great dismay that we did not receive a response to your Hogwarts acceptance letter several years ago, and even greater dismay when we learned that you had been adopted from the home and moved immediately before receiving it. Despite serious efforts to locate you, we could not determine where you'd moved. It's much harder for the locating charms to work in America, of course, but I always suspected something else was at work."
Dawlish wasn't buying it. "Why would an American half-blood get a Hogwarts letter?"
I hated to agree with the Constantine-wannabe, but I added, "Isn't that the dueling school for English purebloods?"
"It's far more than that, Mr. Dresden. And, through your mother's line, you're a legacy student at the top of the list for admittance." As if to head off questions about my mother, he added, "But where are my manners? I'm Albus Dumbledore, and I'm headmaster of Hogwarts, in addition to the Chief Warlock title that Kingsley mentioned." He glanced at Dawlish, "Since you never technically declined your letter due to extenuating circumstances, and you have no other clearly identified magical guardian, I think I can act in loco parentis for you sufficiently to approve other methods of interrogation, as Kingsley suggested."
He succeeded in derailing my questions as my admittedly weak command of Latin finally turned up a possible translation of the word Dawlish had used earlier. "Mind collecting?"
Dumbledore sat back in a way that let the candlelight glimmer off his glasses and make his eyes seem to twinkle in approval. "Close, Mr. Dresden. The traditional translation of legilimency is 'mind reading' but there's definitely an element of collecting a subject's thoughts involved. In most cases it is an entirely painless process, where I view your memories in order to establish what happened." He shot a disapproving look at Dawlish. "It is generally a preferred option of establishing innocence to being thrown in with the dementors."
He made a good point. I didn't trust the old man or his too-convenient arrival. I definitely didn't want him digging around my head. But if it was that or going back in a cell… "Do it."
Dawlish still looked like he was trying to come up with a legal objection when Dumbledore told me, "Please bring your memories of the night in question to the front of your mind and look me in the eyes. Legilimens!"
Once again the nightmare of the previous evening raced through my head. But it was less like I was stuck experiencing it again and more like I was visualizing it to explain it to someone else. And there were weird tangents. Looking at Justin brought forth short digressions about how I'd met him and my last few years of training. Looking at Elaine started me thinking about her, but it was far too painful and I resisted. Dumbledore probably could have kept going despite my efforts, but I felt him pull back and return to the memory.
When we reached the part where the wraith appeared, I felt a surge of surprise and worry that I didn't think was coming from me. All the memories I had of anything similar, from horror movies to the dementor I'd seen earlier flitted through my mind's eye, and didn't find a match. He let the rest of the memory play out quickly, ending, thankfully, as I raced into the house looking for Elaine.
While I blinked and tried to get my brain back in order after that experience, Dumbledore leaned back in his cushioned chair and steepled his fingers, deep in thought. Dawlish clearly didn't want to give him too much time to think, and asked, "Well?"
With a sigh of annoyance at the interruption, Dumbledore allowed, "Mr. Dresden is not a murderer, John. I know Justin was well-respected amongst many of the aurors that he trained, but I suggest you set aside that preconception and do some digging into his activities of the last few years."
"Was he involved in the other incident last night?" Shacklebolt asked.
"Not that Mr. Dresden could prove, but I suspect if Justin was not involved, he knew people that were…" Dumbledore sighed, "Pulling at that thread may at least turn up some new leads for your investigation."
"If Dresden didn't kill Du Morne, who did?" Dawlish insisted.
"I'm afraid that Justin was engaged in dangerous rituals that led inevitably to his death. While I have some suspicions as to what he hoped to achieve, Mr. Dresden did not know enough about what he saw to provide certainty. I will need to research before I'm comfortable saying more than that."
I was shocked that Dumbledore wasn't revealing that I summoned the fiendfyre that killed Justin and burned down the house. I was hoping for him pointing out it was self defense, but shocked that he was trying to make it sound like I was completely innocent. What was this old man's game? Dawlish apparently agreed, and nearly yelled, "Not good enough, you old meddler! I'm sick of you coming in here and wandering off with clues and suspects. When's the last time you actually helped with an investigation? I can think of half a dozen cases off the top of my head that are still open because you know what's going on but won't tell us." Dumbledore didn't appear to be interested in responding, so Dawlish continued, "Fuck it. I'm invoking the Damocles statute."
Shacklebolt gasped, "John, nobody's called for the Doom of Damocles since Grindelwald's war."
"But it's my prerogative, right?" Dawlish insisted. "Suspect that can't be conclusively exonerated of high crimes, but can't be convicted either. You can't tell me it doesn't fit. I'm invoking it. Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, you are hereby notified that, pursuant to the Damocles statute of the High Crimes Act of 1645, until you are proven innocent of the death of Justin Du Morne, you are under the Doom."
Dumbledore and Shacklebolt looked pissed but weren't elaborating, so I asked, "What does that mean?"
"You mentioned American baseball, right?" Dawlish elaborated with quiet glee. "You've got one strike left. Keep your nose clean, punk.
"The next time you slip up, you're mine."
