"Hold that arm straight out, Harry... yes, just like that. Very good!"
Harry Potter, Clarice Starling and Jack Crawford were down in the shooting gallery of Offhand Manor. Dumbledore and Lecter had gone off to St. Mungo's on an errand, and Clarice, eager to show off her skill as a trainer, was putting her ward through his paces with the Colt .45. So far, Harry was performing with flying colors.
"Clean head shots, every one," she said proudly as Harry lowered the gun, its magazine having been emptied into the cardboard target. She turned towards her former mentor. "What do you think, Jack? Should we pack him off to MI5 or MI6?"
Jack grinned, his first geniune smile in ages. "They don't deserve kids like Harry. I'm taking him back with me to Quantico."
"Would you two terribly mind if I made my own career choices?" Harry replied in mock irritation as he loaded a fresh magazine into the Colt. "I might just decide to be a tramp and live under a bridge by a motorway."
"Or a Quidditch star," Clarice chaffed.
"That, too." Harry set the gun down on the table. "Reminds me: You haven't seen Clarice on a broom yet, Mr. Crawford."
Crawford's eyebrows went up an eighth of an inch. "Clarice can ride a broomstick?" He had heard, of course, that Starling had turned out to have magical talent, but, even after seeing her demonstrate a few spells, was still having a hard time believing it.
"She sure can," rejoined Harry cheerfully. "Though she's not quite as good as me on it, being a decrepit old woman and all."
"Watch who you're calling 'old', boy," Clarice replied in kind, rubbing her hand on his tousled hair. "Come on upstairs, Jack, and I'll show you what we mean."
=======
The events immediately preceding Dumbledore's and Lecter's departure for St. Mungo's had proved enlightening to all concerned.
Dumbledore had explained, as they sat in the study, that an Anti-Magus was to magic what lead shielding was to radiation. Most magics simply didn't affect them. Some of them, Dr. Lecter being one, could be magically transported, but only by the direct action of a witch or wizard; they could not use Floo Powder, or Portkeys, or brooms. Lecter's researches in Madam Pince's collections gave him the idea that he might well be something beyond either Muggle or wizard, and his survival of the Killing Curse proved him to be correct.
Anti-Magi were very rare indeed; there were only about two hundred known and documented ever to have existed. For good or ill, no potion could affect them, no transfiguration would succeed on them, no curse would work on them. They could only be affected indirectly by magic, such as in the case of a practical joke visited upon the good doctor by the Weasley twins when he visited The Burrow, when the contents of a non-magical pail of water were magically tipped onto Dr. Lecter's head. (The man the twins knew as "Dr. Reader" took it in stride, and later got his revenge by surreptitiously introducing Fred and George to the delights of Muggle itching powder when they visited Offhand Manor; the twins were scratching themselves for hours.)
It was agreed upon by all parties that "Dr. Reader's" status as a Anti-Magus should be kept a secret; should Voldemort or his Death Eaters come calling, it would be quite helpful for them not to know this. Having dealt with that issue, the headmaster and the doctor left for St. Mungo's, leaving Clarice, Harry and Crawford to their own devices.
After coming upstairs from the shooting gallery, Harry went up to his room to find his broom.
"So tell me, Clarice," Crawford said, when he felt Harry was out of earshot, "do you love him?"
"Which one, Jack?" Clarice replied, looking him with a sardonic smile on her face.
"Don't play games with me, Starling. You know who I mean."
"Actually, I love both of them, Jack. Very much." She looked him straight in the eye. "And I love you, too, you old craggy coot, but if you try to mess with either of my men, I will Cruciatus you into the dirt. Kapiche?"
"Kapiche." Crawford's smile was thin. "No chance of getting you to come back with me, then?"
"None, Jack." Starling's attractive face was set in grim lines. "You know damned well that Krendler and Pearsall and Noonan wanted me gone. They were willing to waste John Brigham and some DC cops just to get me, and they would have wasted you and Ardelia if I'd hung around, just because you two were doing everything you could to protect me. Even if by some miracle we could get the trumped-up charges against me thrown out, that wouldn't get rid of Krendler and his crew. Nope," she said, glancing towards the stairs as she heard Harry leaving his bedroom, "I'm staying here."
"What do you intend to do with yourself, Starling?"
"For right now? Teach Harry everything I know about being an officer of the law. Maybe I can help make him into an Auror, if he wants to be one. And frankly," Clarice said, her eyes locked onto Crawford's, "I wouldn't mind being one myself."
Crawford's lined, worn face broke into a smile. "I'll talk to old Moody and see what I can do. I might have better luck with him than I had with Clint Pearsall."
Clarice's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Thanks, Jack."