"Dear Mr. Weasley,
Invisibility Cloaks During 450-458 A.D., King Vortigern the Terrible commissioned twenty of these cloaks from his wizard Blackmort. Unfortunately for Blackmort, Vortigern was burned alive before Blackmort could receive payment. Detailed accounts about Blackmort's life give no mention of these cloaks. Fortunately, we at Weasley Arms have obtained a sample of the aforementioned item, and are in the process of reverse-engineering it. Since the Dodo has been extinct for nearly six centuries, finding enough skin for our researchers to experiment upon has been quite a challenge. It is not, however, impossible to do, despite of what you have heard from Mr. Connors of the Weapons division. Mr. Weasley, I am confident in the outcome of this project. With the investment of six years time, I believe that my team and I can produce these wonders at will and, more importantly, at profit. Thank you for your time."
Marcus Wyland
Head Researcher
Weasley Arms (Armor Division)
Chapter 4 Investigation
The Ministry lay in shambles.
The West Wing of the Ministry was cracked open, as if a fiery tornado had been sent down from heaven to smite it. Even now, Mediwizards, Pyromancers, Insurancers and Aurors were on the scene, searching for survivors and assessing damage.
Elizabeth Pruett stood quietly amidst the confusion, surrounded by aide-de-camps and assorted two-star and five-star generals. They yammered to her about the costs of damage, the incrementing body count, and the escalating situation overseas.
She held up her hand, and everyone around her quieted. "Who wants to be in charge here?" "Well—" piped a pimply intern. She had been yelled at all day, and wanted to complain. "Great. Handle everything. Call me after you've finished." The intern's face lit up while the rest of the cabinet around her passed distressed looks among themselves. Pruett eyed the intern for a while and then shrugged. Aside from the occasional power trip, the intern was fairly competent. "Alright you bastards!" yelled the pint-sized intern. "I want this place sectioned off from civilians! The building is still tender! The only people I want dying are the ones from the bombing not from an accident that could have been prevented with some yellow tape and a plastic crossing. Move it PEOPLE!" Er...Pruett thought...Might need a little lesson in tact, though.
Damn Percy. Why didn't I get the Krum case like you originally promised to assign me to, she swore even as her mind went over how best to approach the case. This Ministry bombing deal was infinitely more complicated than a homicide, and she doubted she would be able to get the results Percy had come to expect from her.
At first glance, Elizabeth Pruett seemed like any other ordinary Jane. Nothing stunning at all about her features except for the jagged tooth she had at her fourth bicuspid (from years of opening beer bottles with it). The frizzy hair she had belonged to her mother, and her pale Welsh skin, supposedly, came from her father...whoever he was. Pruett had been raised by her mother alone, and she bore all the stubborn characteristics of single parent families.
Whoever is behind the Ministry bombing, Percy had said to her, I have the utmost confidence that you will bring them to light with speed and efficiency.
I wanna go home, she whined in her mind. The only reason she could still stand on two legs was because of Chunky, her Holy Thermos of Never- Ending Coffee.
Where do I begin my case? Which lead should I follow? Pruett asked herself, gulping the steaming contents of the Thermos. I hate cases like this. Too many clues. Too few suspects.
But then again, just because she hated it, didn't mean she couldn't solve it. She walked over to her car. Pruett cringed a little as the hood of her Peugeot gave a ranging sound as the man on it stood up in straight attention. She took a long drag of her fag and then threw it away, which was instantly picked up by her partner.
"Pruett! I told you countless times not to litter the crime scene," he said, waving the stub of the Oval at her face. His voice was slightly accentuated by a native Germanic. Normally, it would be manly, but the boy was barely eighteen years old, and the effect was, unfortunately, highly effeminate.
"Sorry about the fag, love," Pruett replied dryly, smoothly lighting yet another Oval.
"Ugh. For once, could you be a little more professional? This is the crime of the century, and you're acting like its daycamp," he said disdainfully. "And please, stop smoking!" He plucked the cigarette deftly away, and stamped it under his boots, leaving a distinguishable footprint. "Littering." "What?" "You're littering, John," replied Pruett, stooping down to pick up her fallen cigarette. "Oh so it's okay for you to, but not for me—" Oddly enough, Pruett placed the stub into her pocket. What a strange bird, John thought. But Minister Weasley trusts her so resolutely...I wonder...Could they be sleeping with each...He chuckled wickedly to himself, and then followed Pruett to her Peugeot. "Where are you going?" yelled John over the roar of the engine. The car blazed off just as he stepped in. Pruett shifted into second gear. "I'm going to investigate. That's what I'm paid for, no?" "But the crime scene is back there!" "No. That was a war scene, silly. All you can really do is tally up the dead, look for any survivors, and then send the wounded to the hospitals. Collecting evidence there will take our sweep teams at least three weeks. So sit tight and let me do the thinking. Okay? Good." The car swerved around a building, the resulting acceleration nearing pushing her passenger out the window. Pruett's arm shot out, grabbed his belt, and pulled him safely back in. "Get your hands off my crotch!" Pruett grinned. "Oh. Sorry, love, my mistake."
John adjusted himself, muttering the words 'sexual harassment' under his breath.
Pruett sighed, and began to shift into fourth gear. She could not understand why Percy kept partnering her. It was inconvenient for her to make up excuses every time the full moon appeared. Sooner or later, even the dullest wizard—she glanced at John again—would notice and deduce the truth. "But first we have to find out who the enemy is. So we run down the list of usual suspects, " she said dryly. "And hope we get lucky."
"Uh..."
"Voldemort first, love. Mon dieu, what do they teach at Beauxbaton these days."
John gave an offended sneer, and then sniffed pretentiously toward Pruett, replying, "I knew that...Hey wait a minute—Vol—Vol—He's dead! How are you going to find him?"
Pruett stepped impatiently toward her pedals. Even on manual, at the speed they were going, it was still going to take an easy hour to reach their destination. But there was no way around it. Even the tiniest trace of Apparition or Portal magic on a person would trigger the numerous alarms, traps, and wards etched into the Azkaban ironworks. It was annoying but it was these types of measures that made Azkaban the inescapable prison it was.
"Oh no, Johnny my boy," said Pruett. "He's very much still alive. In fact, we transferred him over to Azkaban four hours ago, right after the incidents over in the continent. Felt it was safer to have him locked up there."
"That's impossible—"
"We're going to see Potter first, you dolt."
"But—"
"Personally, I don't think Voldemort's possessed the boy. But, the Potter freak did try to attempt at the Minister of Magic's life so...We'll have to look him over just to be on the safe side."
"And if he isn't the culprit?"
"Then we go see a friend of mine who's in charge of the Krum murder."
The reaction was immediate. "Krum...you mean the Viktor Krum. You're telling me he's dead? But he's...he's Merlin class!"
"Ooh, big whoop. Be certain, a knife across your throat," said Pruett, idly placing the wheel on cruise control, "Still kills, ten times out of ten. Incidentally, from what the Minister of Magic told me, that's how our Krum boy went. Nasty way to die, isn't it?"
John was silent, and Pruett couldn't help but smile. These fresh-out- of-Beauxbaton kids were so easily rattled that it sometimes took the fun out of it. Sometimes.
The Peugeot flew along the Azkaban Highway. There was no traffic but as they approached, the wind howled more, and the boggarts and ghosts were the least of the things that hid in the dark.
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Azkaban
Built by Scott Free in 1710, this fortress in the Arctic served as a retreat for the eccentric inventor as well as a research lab for his students. Unfortunately, Free was accused of being in league with the wizard Grindelwald during the Inquisitorial Period of the Goblin Wars, and was summarily killed by the Auror team sent to arrest him.
The place lay fallow for some time before James Azkaban, for which the place is named after, refurbished it and placed Dementors as its guards. Unfortunately, during Voldemort's Return leading up to the Great War, these Dementors rebelled. Azkaban still serves as a maximum-security prison but is now guarded by a coalition of forces unswervingly loyal to the International Confederation of Warlocks.
"Stop reading the brochures, John," said Pruett, brushing the Arctic snow from her dragonhide pants. "For Nimue's sake, this isn't a field trip. Did you lock the car like I told you to?"
John muttered 'yes' and trudged reluctantly along; he was clearly awestruck by the place. He followed heavily, as if savoring the echoes his boots made with each step. The cavernous hallway led to an even ginormous (if that was indeed a word) division, filled with rows upon rows of keys and assorted locking enchantments.
The clerk, oddly enough, was a House-elf.
"Is that you, Lizzy? Lil' Lizzy Pruett?" asked the House-elf, leaning over his counter. "Corwin hasn't seen Lizzy in ages!"
"Yeah, well. Being an Auror is a full time job," said Pruett shyly. "I've come to see Mr. Potter..."
"Hey, everyone! Little Lizzy became an Auror! Come drop a hello!"
Soon, dozens of House-elfs swarmed over her, pinching her cheeks and there was so much High Elvish being said that John's ears began to hurt.
"Uncle Jake! Uncle Snotwax! Corse I remember you," replied Pruett. "But I really must get to Potter—"
It took a full hour before Pruett's House-elf friends allowed her access.
"Snorla is wondering if that man is your boy-friend," said the House- elf who was leading her by the hand to a great black gate, which was presumably the true entrance to Azkaban.
"You mean John?" answered Pruett. "Please. I wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot wand!"
"Hey!"
"Snorla does not think it matters. Snorla thinks Lizzy needs to be having babies soon. Lizzy is not getting younger, you know. And the man-boy isn't bad-looking, Snorla thinks. For a human."
"Hey..." said John, who was getting a little tired of being talked about like he didn't exist.
"Shut up, human," snarled the House-elf ferociously. John almost leapt for his wand when Pruett pulled him away mumbling a few choice words in his ear.
"Oh," said John oafishly. "Magical powers, you say. Each elf a near Merlin class, eh? Interesting. Bu..." John listened to Pruett intently again. "Carries a huge knife you say. Yeah, right. Pull the other one. I wasn't born yesterday, you know..."
Snorla smiled, wickedly pointing at a wicked twenty-inch curved blade that had appeared in her hand in a flash of green magical light.
"Oh. There it is," said John meekly. He gave a weak smile and then faded into the background muttering, "I...just got punked...by an House Elf...Good grief...."
After what seemed to be a marathon of a walk, Snorla began to slow her pace. She licked the floor, "Snorla's section be here. Now where is the Potter part..." The House-elf let go of Pruett's hand and pointed energetically to the end of the corridor.
"That's where the Potter is, Lizzy!" said the House-elf, hurrying off. "Snorla has to go first and turn off all the traps so that Lizzy and the human won't get hurts. Snorla will come back soon."
John waited for the House-Elf to leave before turning to Pruett.
"What the hell was all that about?"
"What's wrong?"
"You know what's wrong! When the hell did you learn to speak High Elvish? And tell Snorla to back off with the knives! The last one she threw at me drew blood!"
"Oh, she's harmless. She's only playing."
"That's easy for you to say," replied John and then squinted his eyes at her suspiciously. "She's being mean to me because I'm a guy right? That's why she's all nice to you...She must be a lesbian or something." He became horrified. "She must have the hots for me!"
"NO, she's not lesbian, you idiot. And why would a lesbian have the hots—jeeze, stop flexing, forget I asked!..." trailed Pruett. "Look, you really want to know my secret in getting along with House Elves??"
"Yes! I'd like to live past my first case, thank you."
"To make them love you is simple. All you have to do..." Pruett smiled and pointed at herself. "Is be half-elvish."
She didn't wait for John's shocked expression. Snorla had come back and had taken her by the hand, pulling her along. Pruett unholstered her wand and stepped cautiously into Potter's cell.
Potter's cell was a small enclosure surrounded all around by brick walls, except for the glass panel in the front, which had four holes, three to let the air in, and one for his food trays.
Pruett stepped cautiously toward what was supposedly the most dangerous man alive since Voldemort. She was even a little anxious. She had heard about Potter, and had seen all the cinemas but she had never met him before. She found herself strangely excited...Just then Snorla screamed.
Potter's cell was empty. "Where is the Potter!" cried Snorla.
"Bollocks. Double bollocks," Pruett cursed as she holstered her wand.
John who had just come up beside her, asked, "What?"
She just pointed at Harry's cell without speaking. Snorla had opened the glass panel and was running all around the Potter's cell, with crazy fear. "Oh no," sobbed Snorla. "Snorla is going to get fired. Snorla bad. Snorla didn't watch her section carefully enough." She started banging her head on the bedpost.
John hurried to stop the House Elf before the crime scene was contaminated with Elf blood.
"Where's Harry?" he asked wildly, barely able to restrain the self effacing Elf. "This is Azkaban! He couldn't have escaped!"
Pruett was not listening; she thumbed a device that was on her belt, and a small fog arose from it. "Telescopo Vidi Alohomora," she incanted and then followed with, "Percy Weasley." The Conference spell merged with the fog and soon, the face of Percy Weasley, Minister of Magic, appeared, rattled and irritated. There were black streak marks on the Minister's face from when the bombing had nearly taken his life.
"Pruett! I gave you full powers of state to investigate and to administrate the Ministry matter. This better be important—"
"It is, sir," winced Pruett. "Mr. Potter's escaped from Azkaban."
Percy, who was handling three Conference spells and also dictating a letter, divulged his full attention to Pruett.
She fidgeted from his piercing gaze, which seemed to last for an interminable time. Finally, Percy began to speak, "Very well. I want an APB out. Aurors, Muggle police, Order members, anybody you can get. I want everyone out looking for Potter."
"Yes, sir."
Percy sighed, taking out a bottle of whiskey from his table, and said, "And tell them...when they find him...to kill him."
"Don't you mean, dead or alive, sir?" Pruett asked.
"No. I said, kill him. With extreme prejudice."
With that, the Conference spell ended.
John was confused. "Did he just say what I thought he did?" He was frantic, "Is that even legal?"
Pruett snorted, "Forget legal. Before the Great War, Potter spent a year in Godric's Hollow. I don't know if there's enough Aurors in the world to stop him. He's beyond Merlin class, John. Way beyond."
"But he's nothing but a Squib now," replied John, sheathing his general use wand and pulling out a crossbow from behind his ear. "Didn't Potter say that all his magic's been burnt out ever since he merged with Voldemort. He shan't be too difficult to apprehend, can he?"
Pruett eyed him sharply, "Not if he's been lying all along." She offered John a fag, and John, although not a smoker, took it shakenly between his fingers.
Pruett thumbed the special Auror password device on her hip again, and felt the familiar tingle as it sapped at her magical reserves. She would have to recharge soon. What a goddamn pain, she thought.
"Telescopo Vidi Alohomora," she chanted, this time, however, she called out the names of Aurors from around the world. She hesitated to tell them her orders—How could she tell them to kill a legend? After all, Potter could still be innocent. There was still—No, she thought. Truth was irrelevant. England was in war, now. And in war, it was better to be safe than sorry.
"Alright, then," said John, after Pruett had finished her call. He cocked his Weasley Double Shot Crossbow. "Let's go kill Harry Potter." There was a devilishly eager gleam to his eyes that surprised Pruett. In her pocket, she fingered the cigarette stub that John had stepped on.
"You coming with?"
"I want to say goodbye to the House-elves first," replied Pruett, tossing her car keys to him. "Go warm-up the Peugeot."
As John eagerly went to start up the car, she began to walk over to the spot where she had noticed a set of strange footprints.
"Snorla, Can I have a brush, and some crushed chalk?" she whispered in High Elvish. By magic, Snorla appeared instantly next to her, with her wanted materials.
"Snorla is going to be fired," the House-Elf complained. "Again."
"Don't worry, Snorla," comforted Pruett as she blew the chalk carefully around a seemingly invisible track of footprints. "Potter's not going anywhere."
Pruett patted Snorla on the back, comforting her as best she could, and headed out. She knew exactly where Potter was. But whether or not she would kill him, she'd have to find out.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------
Pruett was deciding what to do. On one hand, she could vaporize Potter and probably get an award for ridding the world of a possible threat, but on the other hand...What? On the other hand, what?, she asked herself as she ran across the snows.
She stepped in the car. The engine purred annoyingly, as if it were whining at her to buck down and make a decision.
"Well," asked John, shivering from the cold. "Are we going or what?"
Pruett pulled the keys from her transmission, and gazed at John in an odd way.
"Give it to me," she said breathlessly.
John smiled, quickly undoing his shirt, "Well, finally! I thought you'd never—"
"Your weapon, moron," Pruett said sharply, yanking John's crossbow away and aimed it squarely at the backseat of her car.
John placed his hands up in the air, "Hey, take it easy now...I mean, it's practically your fault for giving out false signals..."
"Mr. Potter, you are under arrest," said Pruett slowly. Her eyes stared unwaveringly at the seemingly empty backseats. "PLEASE reveal yourself now. I do not want to shoot, seeing as how that would severely damage not only you but also the resale value of my car. I'm counting: 1...—She aimed her bow—...2..."
John gasped, fumbling for his wand as a man with jet-black hair, wearing a tweed suit materialized in front of his face.
"John, if you take your killwand out, I'm going to shoot you first," warned Pruett. She turned her attention back to the man that had materialized in her backseat. "You are Harry Potter, yes?"
The man nodded his head slowly, his eyes looking carefully from Pruett to the crossbow she was holding. "Good grief," Harry muttered, "I'm going to get killed by a weapon I helped design." He looked to see if Pruett had smiled.
Pruett was unamused. Stalling for time may have worked for you as a kid, she thought, but it won't on me, love. I've seen all the movies.
"How do you turn invisible?" she asked quickly.
"How do you know that I can turn invisible?"
"How bout I shoot you and then ask you later?"
Harry smiled uneasily and then explained, "I had my father's invisibility cloak refitted." He pointed at his tweed sportscoat. "It turns me invisible when I want it to. It's one of the benefits of being the vice president in a company like Weasley Arms. Listen, I can explain everything if you'll just give me a few moments of your—."
"How did you get in my car?"
Harry was sweating now; the Weasley Double Shot Crossbow was not the safest weapon to use, and worse yet, he was at the wrong end of one. "When Snorla entered my cell, opening my glass prison, I edged silently out. And then when I found out that you had a car, I followed—John, is it?—him. I was going to wait near the car, and knock him unconscious...But when I found that the car was already unlocked, I went in. Even had I knocked John out, I'd still have you to contend with. And with one Telescopo spell, you would have all your Auror buddies converging on the Azkaban Highway before I got fifteen minutes in. So I thought it'd be smarter to hitch a ride." He looked warily at Pruett's steady weapon handling. "But I guess I thought wrong."
Pruett eyes darted over to John and growled, "I told you to lock the car!"
"It was cold and I was in a hurry..." said John, giving an explanation that was rather sorry as excuses went. "I'm sorry, okay? Geeze."
He eyed Pruett suspiciously, "Hey—How did YOU know he was here..."
"I dusted the room. Potter's the only one of us that wears Nikes. All I did was follow his footprints and I pretty much knew the gist of his 'great' escape. And when I saw the familiar track of footprints in the snow leading to my car, I knew, somehow, he had gotten in." Pruett shook his head at John, disappointed that he had not at least observed the track of Harry's Nikes in the snow.
Harry frowned, "So what are you going to do? I heard what Percy ordered." His brown eyes stared straight from down the barrel of the crossbow to Pruett's ambers. Harry furrowed his eyes and asked seriously, "Do I look like I'm any threat to you? To anyone?"
"Shoot him, Pruett!" said John. "He still has his Parselmouth! Snakes might attack us at any moment..."
Is this what passes for an Auror, nowadays? Harry looked at John incredulously, "Can I ask you something? What exactly did you get on your NEWTS in school, John?" Stall for time, he thought, feeling his golden tattoo burn familiarly. Stall enough time for the plan to work.
"I got top marks!" said John and he started to list his accomplishments...in alphabetical order.
Pruett winced. Okay. Great, she thought. Good going, John. Now he knows, without a doubt, that you're a complete idiot. Pruett winced again, thinking, And maybe he thinks I am too, by association.
"Shut up, John!" yelled Pruett angrily. Harry turned his attention back to Pruett, ignoring the fact that she was pointing a foot-long shaft directly at his heart.
"Escaping from Azkaban was the stupidest thing you've ever done, Potter," said Pruett. "Even if I did let you go, you'll not get far and you'll be dead anyways. If I escort you back into Azkaban, Percy's going to kill you on principle as well as demote me for not obeying orders. And there's the fact that I'm still not sure you won't go Voldemort on me. I'm under tremendous conflict here."
Harry nodded. He measured his words carefully before he answered. "I'm sorry to have placed you under 'conflict.' But I have nothing to do with what's going on outside." The crossbow was still aimed steadily between his ribcage. "I don't have any idea of what's happened since my incarceration—All I know is that, Azkaban isn't safe if there's Voldemort trouble. I may be a magicless Muggle but I refuse to be a sitting duck." Pruett was still unconvinced.
"Look," said Harry exasperatedly. "Call Krum. Have him vouch for my character. Hell, send him here and have him guard over me. I'd feel tons safer, believe you—"
"Krum's dead, Potter."
"What?"
Pruett licked her lips. "He's been dead since yesterday. Someone slit his throat in Hamburg."
Harry's mind whirled. If Krum was dead...then Ginny...
Harry tossed away his friendly façade.
"You are going to conference a call to Auror central and have them immediately send dispatches and military personnel to people that are, has been or have ever been associated with me. Namely: Cho Chang, Virginia Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and Neville Longbottom—Be quiet and listen up!—And, I will need you to get whatever people you have in Knockturn Alley to spread rumours that I'm located in Azkaban. Do it quickly!" Harry leaned back and waited for them to follow his instructions.
Pruett laughed. "You think I'm going to follow orders from you? I'm the one holding the crossbow here."
Harry glared at Pruett, his eyes fierce. The change on him was dramatic. He had switched from friendly convict to demanding overlord in zero to six seconds.
"In one minute, I'm going to knock that crossbow out of your hand, and maybe kill both you and John baby over there," said Harry flatly. His tattoo was feverishly hot now. "I don't want anyone to get hurt, but I will kill you to protect my friends. Krum's already dead because of me; that makes me responsible. So either help me save the rest of my friends, or, so help me God, get out of my way."
"How egotistical is that?" exclaimed John. "You think all this stuff is happening just because of you? Who the hell do you think you are?"
Harry didn't answer him. His tattoo had stopped its burn and was only tingling now...as if in wait for something.
"Thirty seconds, Ms. Pruett. Make your choice."
"What's to stop me from shooting you right now?" she asked.
"Do you really want to kill me?" asked Harry with suddenly baleful eyes. "When has the modern wizarding world ever issued a kill-on-sight order? Don't you find Percy's order the least bit suspicious?" He grew fierce now. "I'm the good guy, dammit! Always. All I'm asking for you to do is to get out of my way, and let me do the one thing left to me that I'm good at."
"What's that?" John asked. He had his wand out. Evidently, Harry's threat had creeped him out.
"Surviving," Harry replied breathlessly, tapping a series of measured sequences over his golden griffon tattoo. "And, by the way, your minute's over."
"Pull the other one—" Pruett grinned and then fluttered her eyes as she slumped unconsciously forward into her seat. John did likewise, a small O of surprise marked stupidly over his face.
Harry shrugged, "I did warn you," and then ordered into the empty air, "Toss them out."
From outside, a creeping stranger unraveled his Invisibility cloak and revealed himself. His wand was smoking. He dragged the two bodies from the car and dumped them unceremoniously into the snow, piled up like matchsticks.
"What do you want me to do with them?"
Harry gave a very sinister smile.
"Take their clothes off."
End of Chapter 4
Invisibility Cloaks During 450-458 A.D., King Vortigern the Terrible commissioned twenty of these cloaks from his wizard Blackmort. Unfortunately for Blackmort, Vortigern was burned alive before Blackmort could receive payment. Detailed accounts about Blackmort's life give no mention of these cloaks. Fortunately, we at Weasley Arms have obtained a sample of the aforementioned item, and are in the process of reverse-engineering it. Since the Dodo has been extinct for nearly six centuries, finding enough skin for our researchers to experiment upon has been quite a challenge. It is not, however, impossible to do, despite of what you have heard from Mr. Connors of the Weapons division. Mr. Weasley, I am confident in the outcome of this project. With the investment of six years time, I believe that my team and I can produce these wonders at will and, more importantly, at profit. Thank you for your time."
Marcus Wyland
Head Researcher
Weasley Arms (Armor Division)
Chapter 4 Investigation
The Ministry lay in shambles.
The West Wing of the Ministry was cracked open, as if a fiery tornado had been sent down from heaven to smite it. Even now, Mediwizards, Pyromancers, Insurancers and Aurors were on the scene, searching for survivors and assessing damage.
Elizabeth Pruett stood quietly amidst the confusion, surrounded by aide-de-camps and assorted two-star and five-star generals. They yammered to her about the costs of damage, the incrementing body count, and the escalating situation overseas.
She held up her hand, and everyone around her quieted. "Who wants to be in charge here?" "Well—" piped a pimply intern. She had been yelled at all day, and wanted to complain. "Great. Handle everything. Call me after you've finished." The intern's face lit up while the rest of the cabinet around her passed distressed looks among themselves. Pruett eyed the intern for a while and then shrugged. Aside from the occasional power trip, the intern was fairly competent. "Alright you bastards!" yelled the pint-sized intern. "I want this place sectioned off from civilians! The building is still tender! The only people I want dying are the ones from the bombing not from an accident that could have been prevented with some yellow tape and a plastic crossing. Move it PEOPLE!" Er...Pruett thought...Might need a little lesson in tact, though.
Damn Percy. Why didn't I get the Krum case like you originally promised to assign me to, she swore even as her mind went over how best to approach the case. This Ministry bombing deal was infinitely more complicated than a homicide, and she doubted she would be able to get the results Percy had come to expect from her.
At first glance, Elizabeth Pruett seemed like any other ordinary Jane. Nothing stunning at all about her features except for the jagged tooth she had at her fourth bicuspid (from years of opening beer bottles with it). The frizzy hair she had belonged to her mother, and her pale Welsh skin, supposedly, came from her father...whoever he was. Pruett had been raised by her mother alone, and she bore all the stubborn characteristics of single parent families.
Whoever is behind the Ministry bombing, Percy had said to her, I have the utmost confidence that you will bring them to light with speed and efficiency.
I wanna go home, she whined in her mind. The only reason she could still stand on two legs was because of Chunky, her Holy Thermos of Never- Ending Coffee.
Where do I begin my case? Which lead should I follow? Pruett asked herself, gulping the steaming contents of the Thermos. I hate cases like this. Too many clues. Too few suspects.
But then again, just because she hated it, didn't mean she couldn't solve it. She walked over to her car. Pruett cringed a little as the hood of her Peugeot gave a ranging sound as the man on it stood up in straight attention. She took a long drag of her fag and then threw it away, which was instantly picked up by her partner.
"Pruett! I told you countless times not to litter the crime scene," he said, waving the stub of the Oval at her face. His voice was slightly accentuated by a native Germanic. Normally, it would be manly, but the boy was barely eighteen years old, and the effect was, unfortunately, highly effeminate.
"Sorry about the fag, love," Pruett replied dryly, smoothly lighting yet another Oval.
"Ugh. For once, could you be a little more professional? This is the crime of the century, and you're acting like its daycamp," he said disdainfully. "And please, stop smoking!" He plucked the cigarette deftly away, and stamped it under his boots, leaving a distinguishable footprint. "Littering." "What?" "You're littering, John," replied Pruett, stooping down to pick up her fallen cigarette. "Oh so it's okay for you to, but not for me—" Oddly enough, Pruett placed the stub into her pocket. What a strange bird, John thought. But Minister Weasley trusts her so resolutely...I wonder...Could they be sleeping with each...He chuckled wickedly to himself, and then followed Pruett to her Peugeot. "Where are you going?" yelled John over the roar of the engine. The car blazed off just as he stepped in. Pruett shifted into second gear. "I'm going to investigate. That's what I'm paid for, no?" "But the crime scene is back there!" "No. That was a war scene, silly. All you can really do is tally up the dead, look for any survivors, and then send the wounded to the hospitals. Collecting evidence there will take our sweep teams at least three weeks. So sit tight and let me do the thinking. Okay? Good." The car swerved around a building, the resulting acceleration nearing pushing her passenger out the window. Pruett's arm shot out, grabbed his belt, and pulled him safely back in. "Get your hands off my crotch!" Pruett grinned. "Oh. Sorry, love, my mistake."
John adjusted himself, muttering the words 'sexual harassment' under his breath.
Pruett sighed, and began to shift into fourth gear. She could not understand why Percy kept partnering her. It was inconvenient for her to make up excuses every time the full moon appeared. Sooner or later, even the dullest wizard—she glanced at John again—would notice and deduce the truth. "But first we have to find out who the enemy is. So we run down the list of usual suspects, " she said dryly. "And hope we get lucky."
"Uh..."
"Voldemort first, love. Mon dieu, what do they teach at Beauxbaton these days."
John gave an offended sneer, and then sniffed pretentiously toward Pruett, replying, "I knew that...Hey wait a minute—Vol—Vol—He's dead! How are you going to find him?"
Pruett stepped impatiently toward her pedals. Even on manual, at the speed they were going, it was still going to take an easy hour to reach their destination. But there was no way around it. Even the tiniest trace of Apparition or Portal magic on a person would trigger the numerous alarms, traps, and wards etched into the Azkaban ironworks. It was annoying but it was these types of measures that made Azkaban the inescapable prison it was.
"Oh no, Johnny my boy," said Pruett. "He's very much still alive. In fact, we transferred him over to Azkaban four hours ago, right after the incidents over in the continent. Felt it was safer to have him locked up there."
"That's impossible—"
"We're going to see Potter first, you dolt."
"But—"
"Personally, I don't think Voldemort's possessed the boy. But, the Potter freak did try to attempt at the Minister of Magic's life so...We'll have to look him over just to be on the safe side."
"And if he isn't the culprit?"
"Then we go see a friend of mine who's in charge of the Krum murder."
The reaction was immediate. "Krum...you mean the Viktor Krum. You're telling me he's dead? But he's...he's Merlin class!"
"Ooh, big whoop. Be certain, a knife across your throat," said Pruett, idly placing the wheel on cruise control, "Still kills, ten times out of ten. Incidentally, from what the Minister of Magic told me, that's how our Krum boy went. Nasty way to die, isn't it?"
John was silent, and Pruett couldn't help but smile. These fresh-out- of-Beauxbaton kids were so easily rattled that it sometimes took the fun out of it. Sometimes.
The Peugeot flew along the Azkaban Highway. There was no traffic but as they approached, the wind howled more, and the boggarts and ghosts were the least of the things that hid in the dark.
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Azkaban
Built by Scott Free in 1710, this fortress in the Arctic served as a retreat for the eccentric inventor as well as a research lab for his students. Unfortunately, Free was accused of being in league with the wizard Grindelwald during the Inquisitorial Period of the Goblin Wars, and was summarily killed by the Auror team sent to arrest him.
The place lay fallow for some time before James Azkaban, for which the place is named after, refurbished it and placed Dementors as its guards. Unfortunately, during Voldemort's Return leading up to the Great War, these Dementors rebelled. Azkaban still serves as a maximum-security prison but is now guarded by a coalition of forces unswervingly loyal to the International Confederation of Warlocks.
"Stop reading the brochures, John," said Pruett, brushing the Arctic snow from her dragonhide pants. "For Nimue's sake, this isn't a field trip. Did you lock the car like I told you to?"
John muttered 'yes' and trudged reluctantly along; he was clearly awestruck by the place. He followed heavily, as if savoring the echoes his boots made with each step. The cavernous hallway led to an even ginormous (if that was indeed a word) division, filled with rows upon rows of keys and assorted locking enchantments.
The clerk, oddly enough, was a House-elf.
"Is that you, Lizzy? Lil' Lizzy Pruett?" asked the House-elf, leaning over his counter. "Corwin hasn't seen Lizzy in ages!"
"Yeah, well. Being an Auror is a full time job," said Pruett shyly. "I've come to see Mr. Potter..."
"Hey, everyone! Little Lizzy became an Auror! Come drop a hello!"
Soon, dozens of House-elfs swarmed over her, pinching her cheeks and there was so much High Elvish being said that John's ears began to hurt.
"Uncle Jake! Uncle Snotwax! Corse I remember you," replied Pruett. "But I really must get to Potter—"
It took a full hour before Pruett's House-elf friends allowed her access.
"Snorla is wondering if that man is your boy-friend," said the House- elf who was leading her by the hand to a great black gate, which was presumably the true entrance to Azkaban.
"You mean John?" answered Pruett. "Please. I wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot wand!"
"Hey!"
"Snorla does not think it matters. Snorla thinks Lizzy needs to be having babies soon. Lizzy is not getting younger, you know. And the man-boy isn't bad-looking, Snorla thinks. For a human."
"Hey..." said John, who was getting a little tired of being talked about like he didn't exist.
"Shut up, human," snarled the House-elf ferociously. John almost leapt for his wand when Pruett pulled him away mumbling a few choice words in his ear.
"Oh," said John oafishly. "Magical powers, you say. Each elf a near Merlin class, eh? Interesting. Bu..." John listened to Pruett intently again. "Carries a huge knife you say. Yeah, right. Pull the other one. I wasn't born yesterday, you know..."
Snorla smiled, wickedly pointing at a wicked twenty-inch curved blade that had appeared in her hand in a flash of green magical light.
"Oh. There it is," said John meekly. He gave a weak smile and then faded into the background muttering, "I...just got punked...by an House Elf...Good grief...."
After what seemed to be a marathon of a walk, Snorla began to slow her pace. She licked the floor, "Snorla's section be here. Now where is the Potter part..." The House-elf let go of Pruett's hand and pointed energetically to the end of the corridor.
"That's where the Potter is, Lizzy!" said the House-elf, hurrying off. "Snorla has to go first and turn off all the traps so that Lizzy and the human won't get hurts. Snorla will come back soon."
John waited for the House-Elf to leave before turning to Pruett.
"What the hell was all that about?"
"What's wrong?"
"You know what's wrong! When the hell did you learn to speak High Elvish? And tell Snorla to back off with the knives! The last one she threw at me drew blood!"
"Oh, she's harmless. She's only playing."
"That's easy for you to say," replied John and then squinted his eyes at her suspiciously. "She's being mean to me because I'm a guy right? That's why she's all nice to you...She must be a lesbian or something." He became horrified. "She must have the hots for me!"
"NO, she's not lesbian, you idiot. And why would a lesbian have the hots—jeeze, stop flexing, forget I asked!..." trailed Pruett. "Look, you really want to know my secret in getting along with House Elves??"
"Yes! I'd like to live past my first case, thank you."
"To make them love you is simple. All you have to do..." Pruett smiled and pointed at herself. "Is be half-elvish."
She didn't wait for John's shocked expression. Snorla had come back and had taken her by the hand, pulling her along. Pruett unholstered her wand and stepped cautiously into Potter's cell.
Potter's cell was a small enclosure surrounded all around by brick walls, except for the glass panel in the front, which had four holes, three to let the air in, and one for his food trays.
Pruett stepped cautiously toward what was supposedly the most dangerous man alive since Voldemort. She was even a little anxious. She had heard about Potter, and had seen all the cinemas but she had never met him before. She found herself strangely excited...Just then Snorla screamed.
Potter's cell was empty. "Where is the Potter!" cried Snorla.
"Bollocks. Double bollocks," Pruett cursed as she holstered her wand.
John who had just come up beside her, asked, "What?"
She just pointed at Harry's cell without speaking. Snorla had opened the glass panel and was running all around the Potter's cell, with crazy fear. "Oh no," sobbed Snorla. "Snorla is going to get fired. Snorla bad. Snorla didn't watch her section carefully enough." She started banging her head on the bedpost.
John hurried to stop the House Elf before the crime scene was contaminated with Elf blood.
"Where's Harry?" he asked wildly, barely able to restrain the self effacing Elf. "This is Azkaban! He couldn't have escaped!"
Pruett was not listening; she thumbed a device that was on her belt, and a small fog arose from it. "Telescopo Vidi Alohomora," she incanted and then followed with, "Percy Weasley." The Conference spell merged with the fog and soon, the face of Percy Weasley, Minister of Magic, appeared, rattled and irritated. There were black streak marks on the Minister's face from when the bombing had nearly taken his life.
"Pruett! I gave you full powers of state to investigate and to administrate the Ministry matter. This better be important—"
"It is, sir," winced Pruett. "Mr. Potter's escaped from Azkaban."
Percy, who was handling three Conference spells and also dictating a letter, divulged his full attention to Pruett.
She fidgeted from his piercing gaze, which seemed to last for an interminable time. Finally, Percy began to speak, "Very well. I want an APB out. Aurors, Muggle police, Order members, anybody you can get. I want everyone out looking for Potter."
"Yes, sir."
Percy sighed, taking out a bottle of whiskey from his table, and said, "And tell them...when they find him...to kill him."
"Don't you mean, dead or alive, sir?" Pruett asked.
"No. I said, kill him. With extreme prejudice."
With that, the Conference spell ended.
John was confused. "Did he just say what I thought he did?" He was frantic, "Is that even legal?"
Pruett snorted, "Forget legal. Before the Great War, Potter spent a year in Godric's Hollow. I don't know if there's enough Aurors in the world to stop him. He's beyond Merlin class, John. Way beyond."
"But he's nothing but a Squib now," replied John, sheathing his general use wand and pulling out a crossbow from behind his ear. "Didn't Potter say that all his magic's been burnt out ever since he merged with Voldemort. He shan't be too difficult to apprehend, can he?"
Pruett eyed him sharply, "Not if he's been lying all along." She offered John a fag, and John, although not a smoker, took it shakenly between his fingers.
Pruett thumbed the special Auror password device on her hip again, and felt the familiar tingle as it sapped at her magical reserves. She would have to recharge soon. What a goddamn pain, she thought.
"Telescopo Vidi Alohomora," she chanted, this time, however, she called out the names of Aurors from around the world. She hesitated to tell them her orders—How could she tell them to kill a legend? After all, Potter could still be innocent. There was still—No, she thought. Truth was irrelevant. England was in war, now. And in war, it was better to be safe than sorry.
"Alright, then," said John, after Pruett had finished her call. He cocked his Weasley Double Shot Crossbow. "Let's go kill Harry Potter." There was a devilishly eager gleam to his eyes that surprised Pruett. In her pocket, she fingered the cigarette stub that John had stepped on.
"You coming with?"
"I want to say goodbye to the House-elves first," replied Pruett, tossing her car keys to him. "Go warm-up the Peugeot."
As John eagerly went to start up the car, she began to walk over to the spot where she had noticed a set of strange footprints.
"Snorla, Can I have a brush, and some crushed chalk?" she whispered in High Elvish. By magic, Snorla appeared instantly next to her, with her wanted materials.
"Snorla is going to be fired," the House-Elf complained. "Again."
"Don't worry, Snorla," comforted Pruett as she blew the chalk carefully around a seemingly invisible track of footprints. "Potter's not going anywhere."
Pruett patted Snorla on the back, comforting her as best she could, and headed out. She knew exactly where Potter was. But whether or not she would kill him, she'd have to find out.
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Pruett was deciding what to do. On one hand, she could vaporize Potter and probably get an award for ridding the world of a possible threat, but on the other hand...What? On the other hand, what?, she asked herself as she ran across the snows.
She stepped in the car. The engine purred annoyingly, as if it were whining at her to buck down and make a decision.
"Well," asked John, shivering from the cold. "Are we going or what?"
Pruett pulled the keys from her transmission, and gazed at John in an odd way.
"Give it to me," she said breathlessly.
John smiled, quickly undoing his shirt, "Well, finally! I thought you'd never—"
"Your weapon, moron," Pruett said sharply, yanking John's crossbow away and aimed it squarely at the backseat of her car.
John placed his hands up in the air, "Hey, take it easy now...I mean, it's practically your fault for giving out false signals..."
"Mr. Potter, you are under arrest," said Pruett slowly. Her eyes stared unwaveringly at the seemingly empty backseats. "PLEASE reveal yourself now. I do not want to shoot, seeing as how that would severely damage not only you but also the resale value of my car. I'm counting: 1...—She aimed her bow—...2..."
John gasped, fumbling for his wand as a man with jet-black hair, wearing a tweed suit materialized in front of his face.
"John, if you take your killwand out, I'm going to shoot you first," warned Pruett. She turned her attention back to the man that had materialized in her backseat. "You are Harry Potter, yes?"
The man nodded his head slowly, his eyes looking carefully from Pruett to the crossbow she was holding. "Good grief," Harry muttered, "I'm going to get killed by a weapon I helped design." He looked to see if Pruett had smiled.
Pruett was unamused. Stalling for time may have worked for you as a kid, she thought, but it won't on me, love. I've seen all the movies.
"How do you turn invisible?" she asked quickly.
"How do you know that I can turn invisible?"
"How bout I shoot you and then ask you later?"
Harry smiled uneasily and then explained, "I had my father's invisibility cloak refitted." He pointed at his tweed sportscoat. "It turns me invisible when I want it to. It's one of the benefits of being the vice president in a company like Weasley Arms. Listen, I can explain everything if you'll just give me a few moments of your—."
"How did you get in my car?"
Harry was sweating now; the Weasley Double Shot Crossbow was not the safest weapon to use, and worse yet, he was at the wrong end of one. "When Snorla entered my cell, opening my glass prison, I edged silently out. And then when I found out that you had a car, I followed—John, is it?—him. I was going to wait near the car, and knock him unconscious...But when I found that the car was already unlocked, I went in. Even had I knocked John out, I'd still have you to contend with. And with one Telescopo spell, you would have all your Auror buddies converging on the Azkaban Highway before I got fifteen minutes in. So I thought it'd be smarter to hitch a ride." He looked warily at Pruett's steady weapon handling. "But I guess I thought wrong."
Pruett eyes darted over to John and growled, "I told you to lock the car!"
"It was cold and I was in a hurry..." said John, giving an explanation that was rather sorry as excuses went. "I'm sorry, okay? Geeze."
He eyed Pruett suspiciously, "Hey—How did YOU know he was here..."
"I dusted the room. Potter's the only one of us that wears Nikes. All I did was follow his footprints and I pretty much knew the gist of his 'great' escape. And when I saw the familiar track of footprints in the snow leading to my car, I knew, somehow, he had gotten in." Pruett shook his head at John, disappointed that he had not at least observed the track of Harry's Nikes in the snow.
Harry frowned, "So what are you going to do? I heard what Percy ordered." His brown eyes stared straight from down the barrel of the crossbow to Pruett's ambers. Harry furrowed his eyes and asked seriously, "Do I look like I'm any threat to you? To anyone?"
"Shoot him, Pruett!" said John. "He still has his Parselmouth! Snakes might attack us at any moment..."
Is this what passes for an Auror, nowadays? Harry looked at John incredulously, "Can I ask you something? What exactly did you get on your NEWTS in school, John?" Stall for time, he thought, feeling his golden tattoo burn familiarly. Stall enough time for the plan to work.
"I got top marks!" said John and he started to list his accomplishments...in alphabetical order.
Pruett winced. Okay. Great, she thought. Good going, John. Now he knows, without a doubt, that you're a complete idiot. Pruett winced again, thinking, And maybe he thinks I am too, by association.
"Shut up, John!" yelled Pruett angrily. Harry turned his attention back to Pruett, ignoring the fact that she was pointing a foot-long shaft directly at his heart.
"Escaping from Azkaban was the stupidest thing you've ever done, Potter," said Pruett. "Even if I did let you go, you'll not get far and you'll be dead anyways. If I escort you back into Azkaban, Percy's going to kill you on principle as well as demote me for not obeying orders. And there's the fact that I'm still not sure you won't go Voldemort on me. I'm under tremendous conflict here."
Harry nodded. He measured his words carefully before he answered. "I'm sorry to have placed you under 'conflict.' But I have nothing to do with what's going on outside." The crossbow was still aimed steadily between his ribcage. "I don't have any idea of what's happened since my incarceration—All I know is that, Azkaban isn't safe if there's Voldemort trouble. I may be a magicless Muggle but I refuse to be a sitting duck." Pruett was still unconvinced.
"Look," said Harry exasperatedly. "Call Krum. Have him vouch for my character. Hell, send him here and have him guard over me. I'd feel tons safer, believe you—"
"Krum's dead, Potter."
"What?"
Pruett licked her lips. "He's been dead since yesterday. Someone slit his throat in Hamburg."
Harry's mind whirled. If Krum was dead...then Ginny...
Harry tossed away his friendly façade.
"You are going to conference a call to Auror central and have them immediately send dispatches and military personnel to people that are, has been or have ever been associated with me. Namely: Cho Chang, Virginia Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and Neville Longbottom—Be quiet and listen up!—And, I will need you to get whatever people you have in Knockturn Alley to spread rumours that I'm located in Azkaban. Do it quickly!" Harry leaned back and waited for them to follow his instructions.
Pruett laughed. "You think I'm going to follow orders from you? I'm the one holding the crossbow here."
Harry glared at Pruett, his eyes fierce. The change on him was dramatic. He had switched from friendly convict to demanding overlord in zero to six seconds.
"In one minute, I'm going to knock that crossbow out of your hand, and maybe kill both you and John baby over there," said Harry flatly. His tattoo was feverishly hot now. "I don't want anyone to get hurt, but I will kill you to protect my friends. Krum's already dead because of me; that makes me responsible. So either help me save the rest of my friends, or, so help me God, get out of my way."
"How egotistical is that?" exclaimed John. "You think all this stuff is happening just because of you? Who the hell do you think you are?"
Harry didn't answer him. His tattoo had stopped its burn and was only tingling now...as if in wait for something.
"Thirty seconds, Ms. Pruett. Make your choice."
"What's to stop me from shooting you right now?" she asked.
"Do you really want to kill me?" asked Harry with suddenly baleful eyes. "When has the modern wizarding world ever issued a kill-on-sight order? Don't you find Percy's order the least bit suspicious?" He grew fierce now. "I'm the good guy, dammit! Always. All I'm asking for you to do is to get out of my way, and let me do the one thing left to me that I'm good at."
"What's that?" John asked. He had his wand out. Evidently, Harry's threat had creeped him out.
"Surviving," Harry replied breathlessly, tapping a series of measured sequences over his golden griffon tattoo. "And, by the way, your minute's over."
"Pull the other one—" Pruett grinned and then fluttered her eyes as she slumped unconsciously forward into her seat. John did likewise, a small O of surprise marked stupidly over his face.
Harry shrugged, "I did warn you," and then ordered into the empty air, "Toss them out."
From outside, a creeping stranger unraveled his Invisibility cloak and revealed himself. His wand was smoking. He dragged the two bodies from the car and dumped them unceremoniously into the snow, piled up like matchsticks.
"What do you want me to do with them?"
Harry gave a very sinister smile.
"Take their clothes off."
End of Chapter 4
