I surveyed the grisly scene.
I had seen plenty such scenes these past two years as an auror, but this one had a vaguely surreal quality about it. Most likely due to the fact we'd all had a faint hope that we'd not see such scenes again- the rest of the wizarding world was out celebrating that hope. For those here, that hope was quickly shattered in broad daylight, with muggles present. We were working quickly with their investigators and the witnesses, to get their real statements before we convinced them they didn't see what they thought they saw. The obliviators surly have their hands full today, but that's not my department.
I am here to verbally note my observations into this little black box Moody handed me, take my pictures, and sketches. I have never been more grateful for my colleges introducing me to "quick-quotes" and "quick-sketch" quills. They make that part of my job much smoother. Esp. since as long as I am attuned to the pens, they can work even up to 20 ft away from me, in a cupboard of the ministry van in which they sent us all here.
I take another picture. There is still something really unnerving about the site here. The blast point, and the amount of damage, for one thing. Someone had to know the sewers really well to be able to precisely hit a gas main. But who in the magical community actually worries about muggle sewers?
I have the pen note this question down.
I can still hear Black's laughter in my ears. I don't think they're going to get anything sensible out of him right now. My guess is he may have been hit with the hex of uncontrollable laughter combined with a cheering charm. I note this down as well. Because, well, at this point anything's possible. I vaguely remember Sirius Black from Hogwarts. He was a few years behind me and not in Ravenclaw, my house. But I remember he was a bit of a troublemaker, and friends with James Potter.
I can see how having your best friend killed could send you off your head, but in the middle of muggle London?
I vaguely hear someone calling about finding a tenth body. Seven have already been carted away to a city morgue in various states of broken. We still haven't found anything of the second wizard in this fiasco. We got that much sense out of Black at least, that someone else was involved, and that it all had something to do with the other person and the Potters. But all that was already noted down.
"CONSTANT VIGALANCE!" I could almost hear Moody in my head. "Watch. Observe. Pay Attention. Act. Reflex." He had repeated this often during my two-year training period. I realized his voice was coming through a speaker on the box.
I concentrated on photographing and sketching the next section of the street.
That's when I saw the finger. Through the zoomed lens of the camera, near a sewer drain. I look back towards the blast point; it's almost 10 meters away. I take pictures of both the finger and the straight-line shot of the hole. Then I go examine the finger bending down see it closer. There is something that doesn't match what I've seen the rest of this morning.
Then it hits me.
It's too clean cut. I note this down into the recorder as well, and here a slight murmur of voices through the speaker debating what this means. As I pull back from the finger for more photographs, another hand reaches in and seems like it's going to snatch it out of the viewfinder.
"That's Evidence!"
"I'm well aware of that, Rookie."
The one voice no junior investigator ever wants to hear during the course of the day, and it was speaking to me. And as I lowered the camera, the face attached, belonging to Bartimus Crouch, was glaring.
"That evidence was not yet been fully documented, Sir." I tried to say more respectfully. "You left orders to be sure our team complied with the muggles working on this scene, so not to draw attention to our double-investigation."
"Very good, Cadet, carry on." He replaced the finger carelessly and walked away; back so straight you'd think he had rods inserted in it.
"Don't draw that much attention to yourself from him." I hear my senior-trainers voice clearly through the speaker. I return to the notes I was taking, and call one of the on-site senior team members over.
"Frank," I say when he get's into earshot, "Take a look at this."
He bends down to examine the finger, "Its placement is rather far from the blast point, and its raw edge doesn't look blasted. So the question is, is this part of our crime scene?" He takes some sight-size measurements. "Watch out for me"
I look up and down the street, where no one is paying attention to us. I discretely watch the scene, until I hear Frank say he's finished casting the teller's spell
He told me the finger did indeed belong to this crime scene, and that it was all that remained here of it's former owner, and what owner was named Peter Petticrew. I had to strain to recall him from school, and all I could remember was that he too, had been friends with James Potter, but more in the background then Sirius.
I saw Crouch returning with Cornelius Fudge and two of the muggle investigators. His face was set into a tight unreadable mask.
Twelve bodies in all were found that day. Thirteen if you count Peter. Something I will never forget, is that even though Voldemort was defeated, he could still cause scenes like this. I think this is what convinced me more then anything that someday Voldemort would return. I received the all clear from my team-leader to return to the Ministry.
I walked into the van, grabbed my notes and sketches from their hidden compartment, and disapperated.