A/N: Not much to say about this chapter except that obviously I am choosing to believe that Lavender didn't die at the Battle of Hogwarts. I'm also choosing to resurrect another major character later on, but sorry it's not Fred.

Edited: 8/1/2022, spelling/grammar, fixed some section break formatting

TW: More discussion of Ron's murder.

Tuesday, December 7, 1999

"Hello, Miss Brown, thank you for meeting us today." Lavender smiled nervously at the auror sitting across from her. The man's turtle shell glasses only slightly softened his imposing presence. He dwarfed the small metal chair he was seated on, looking nearly 200cm - possibly taller if you included his turban - and maybe 14 stone. Massive was the only word to describe him. It was a comical contrast to his partner, a comparatively mousy woman with the severe look of a librarian. Her sharp eyes conveyed supreme dislike, but Lavender didn't mind. Women never seemed to like her much.

"My name is Auror Singh and this is Auror Hawkins," he continued, gesturing one oven-mitt sized hand to his right where the shrew was still giving the stink-eye. "Would you mind stating your name for the record?"

"Lavender Brown," she obliged, watching a charmed quill transcribe the conversation. The parchment must have been charmed too because the words disappeared from view shortly after they were written.

"Are you here of your own free will?"

"Oh, uh, yes of course. The note said I might be able to help with an investigation?"

"Yes, we do hope so. We understand that Mr. Ronald Weasley was a recent paramour of yours?"

"A what?" Lavender blinked. Was that English?

"A sexual partner." Auror Hawkins snapped impatiently.

"Oh! Yeah, we were hooking up I guess." The dislike radiating from the mousy Auror intensified, but Lavender held her chin higher. She wouldn't be slut shamed.

"And when was the last time you saw him?"

Lavender thought back. "A couple months ago?"

"Could you try to be more specific"

"It must have been the weekend after my birthday. He hadn't gotten me a present and I was mad at him, so he wanted to make it up to me."

"And when was your birthday, Miss Brown?"

"October 4th."

"That was a Monday, so the following weekend would have been the 9th or 10th." Auror Singh had conjured a calendar with a snap of a wand that looked like a toothpick when he held it. "Do you remember whether you saw him on Saturday or Sunday?"

"Well, both really. We went to dinner on Saturday and he spent the night. He left Sunday morning to go to his mum's place for lunch. The whole Weasley family gets together every week."

"What time did he leave?"

"Just before noon. Their lunch is always at noon."

"And did you go with him to lunch?"

"No," Lavender scowled. "His mum doesn't like me."

"I see. Why doesn't she like you?" Auror Singh asked the question without judgment, but Auror Hawkins muttered something under her breath, no doubt a guess as to why Molly Weasley wouldn't like her. She'd be wrong anyhow. Molly's dislike of Lavender wasn't personal.

"She doesn't like anybody her boys bring home. Not like Ron's such a catch. She should be grateful I give him the time of day."

"He wasn't a good boyfriend?"

"He wasn't really my boyfriend at all. I mean we dated in school, but ever since the war... I don't want something serious right now. Ron understood that. It was just physical recently. Anyway, he'd be the last person I'd pick if I did want to settle down because he's still hung up on Hermione."

"Hermione Granger?" Auror Hawkins chimed in.

"Know anyone else named Hermione?" Lavender said. She was being a brat, but Auror Hawkins was getting on her nerves.

"How did Mr. Weasley seem when he left on Sunday morning?"

"I don't know, normal? A little annoyed that he had to walk to an apparition point because his mum won't let him connect the Burrow to my floo. I live in a muggle area and you're not allowed to apparate directly in and out. The noise, you know."

"And the Burrow is...?"

"Oh, that's what they call their house. Ron's mum and dad, I mean."

"Was he planning to meet with anyone else before going to his parents?"

"No, he was going straight there. Why? Is something going on with Ron?"

"Miss Brown I'm sorry to have to be the bearer of bad news, but Mr. Weasley has been murdered. We found his body a couple weeks ago though it appears that he passed away several weeks prior. Based on the evidence, it appears that you are the last person to see Mr. Weasley alive. He never made it to his Sunday lunch."

Auror Hawkins had begun to pull photos from a folder while Auror Singh explained. They were disturbingly graphic. Ron was unrecognizable. He'd been savaged, torn apart, eaten. And there was so much blood. Wherever Ron's body had been discovered, that room would never be the same. White spots danced in front of her vision as she forgot to breathe while photo after grisly photo was pulled from the folder. She could hear Auror Singh continue to speak but it was muffled as though she were suddenly at the bottom of a deep well. Lavender fainted.

"I want my solicitor."

"Miss Parkinson, we just want to ask you a few questions."

"I want my solicitor."

"If you could just tell us about the last time you saw Mr. Weasley..."

"I want my solicitor," she snarled. "I won't say it again. In fact, I won't say another word until my solicitor is here."

"Where were you on the morning of Sunday, October 10th?"

'Who are these two idiots?' Hermione thought to herself as the young aurors in front if her launched into their questioning without introducing themselves or even remembering to set up the charmed stenography set.

"I work at a muggle bookstore on the weekends, so I'm sure I was there," she decided to humor them for a bit and try and figure out what this was all about.

"Which bookstore, and what hours?" The auror on her left seemed to be taking the lead. He was pale and thin, with such heavy, dark eyelashes that he looked like he was wearing eyeliner or like he could be related to a vampire. Hermione stifled those irrelevant thoughts.

"South Kensington Books, my shift is from noon to 7pm on Sundays but I always get there early to do some private reading and eat before customers arrive."

"Can anyone corroborate that you were there?" Hermione now turned to observe the auror to her right. He was of a considerably darker complexion and had a dusting of freckles across his nose. He also appeared to be vibrating in his seat with excitement for some reason.

"My boss, Leonard Hartwick and probably several dozen muggles. It's a popular shop. We get a lot of students from the university nearby."

"Then when was the last time you saw Mr. Weasley?" The table was dark wood and sturdy. The chairs were metal and uncomfortable. This was an interrogation room. It was obvious that something had happened and she was a suspect. She'd need to tread very carefully, but she wanted more information before she could decide whether cooperating or resisting would be more incriminating.

"Which Mr. Weasley? There are several, you know."

"Mr. Ronald Weasley." Hermione had run out of things to observe in the room. They must purposefully design them to have minimal distractions. There wasn't even so much as a potted plant. If she wanted more information, she'd need to get it out of the two aurors in front of her. Or maybe from that box that the pale one had brought along.

"I haven't seen Ron since graduation."

"And why is that?"

Hermione bristled. "That's private." Aurors and suspect stared at each other in a deadlock for a few beats before it seemed that auror number two could no longer contain his excitement.

"Miss Granger, I have to say I am such a big fan. You're an inspiration to muggleborns everywhere!" He gushed.

"Ferguson, pull yourself together! We don't fawn over the suspects!" The vampire auror was not pleased.

"Suspects of what exactly?" Hermione took the opportunity to ask. Step one was obviously to figure out what they thought she did. If it involved Ron, she could only think of a few illegal things that they had done together with Harry at school or during the war. Was one of those things catching up to them now?

"Homicide. Your friend Ron Weasley has been killed, but I think you already knew that," the vampire auror sneered.

Well... that was certainly not what Hermione had been expecting.

"They're famously best friends, Murphy! We're doing this as a formality. You can't really think she's a suspect!"

While the aurors bickered, Hermione rifled through the now unattended box on the table, looking at the photos and evidence gathered inside. A transcription of an auror interview with Ginny caught her eye and she quickly read through it before interrupting the inept aurors.

"Where is Harry?" She demanded.

"Auror Potter has recused himself from the investigation," the vampire auror said pompously, panting heavily from his shouting match with his partner.

"Bring him to me. I'll only speak to him."

"We can't do that. It's a conflict of interest for him to question you," the auror protested.

"You've already botched this interview. You didn't ascertain that I was here voluntarily or read me my rights, so nothing I said to you can be used in court. Worse, you've risked the chain of evidence on several items in this box by allowing me access while you argued about likely confidential facts of the case. Get Harry, or I will go get him myself."

Cowed and embarrassed, both aurors quickly scurried from the room.

"You scared the shit out of Ferguson and Murphy." Harry gave a tired grin when he entered the interrogation room.

"They should be scared. They were completely unprofessional," Hermione sniffed with disdain. She watched Harry slump into the chair opposite her and ruffle his hair, a sure sign that he was feeling awkward. His eyes were lined with red too. He'd been crying - not a surprise. One of his best friends had been murdered, and his other best friend was a suspect. Her heart ached to reach out and comfort him. It's what she would have done in any other situation, but she didn't have that luxury right now. She needed to protect herself first, and to do that she would unfortunately need to cause Harry more pain by coming clean with him about what happened between her and Ron earlier that year.

"I recused myself from this investigation, Hermione. I can't interview you officially." He murmured apologetically.

"That's okay, I just wanted to speak to you first. I'll talk to the other aurors again when we're done. I just didn't want you to read any of this in the transcripts later... I should have told you a long time ago."

"Are you about to confess murder to me?" Harry looked up to the cieling with a groan and covered his face with his hands.

"Absolutely not!" Hermione spluttered indignantly. "Do you really think I'd be capable of that? I couldn't even kill Death Eaters casting unforgivable curses at me during the Battle of Hogwarts. For Merlin's sake..."

"Okay, okay, I know... I'm sorry...I..." Harry took a deep rattling breath and pinched the bridge of his nose to keep from crying again. "I don't know what to think right now."

"I understand," she said in a clipped voice, still a little miffed that Harry imagined her a murderess. "I just need you to listen right now. Can you do that? No interruptions?"

Harry nodded and squeezed his eyes closed. That was okay. This would be more difficult to say if he were looking at her.

"I went through the box of evidence that those two aurors brought in with them," Hermione began.

"Yes, and you really weren't supposed to do that."

"No interruptions, please. And I'm not sorry. Look, I saw that Ginny had been interviewed and she overheard a conversation between Pansy and me a couple weeks ago. It's a big reason why I'm a suspect. She heard that something had happened between Ron and I to necessitate a healer and she assumed that meant our relationship had turned violent. The aurors consider that motive."

Harry was sitting perfectly still, eyes still shut tight. None of this was new information. Being recused from the case didn't mean he wouldn't be allowed to know what was going on, and he'd surely spoken to Ginny about her suspicions as well.

"I've been seeing a mind healer, Harry. Ron was never violent towards me, and I certainly never hit him. But..." she figured it'd be best to just say it up front and get it over with, but hesitated. A shiver of irrational fear ran down her spine. If Harry could believe her capable of murder, would he think her a liar too? She shook herself. No, this was Harry, her brother in everything but blood. She steeled herself and pushed every ounce of Gryffindor courage she possessed into forging ahead. "Ron did assault me. He sexually assaulted me in eighth year and that's why I haven't wanted anything to do with him since we graduated."

First Harry's eyes snapped open, then his jaw dropped, and soon thereafter tears were streaming down his cheeks, dropping unobstructed into his lap. He hunched over, hands fisted into the fabric of his gray auror robes. "When," he croaked. His first question was 'when?'. Hermione sobbed in relief. He believed her.

"I... I don't think I should tell you that."

"When, Hermione!" He slammed a hand on the table and suddenly the full weight of his piercing green eyes were on her.

"The Room of Requirement..." Hermione whispered, but it was clear that Harry heard and grasped her meaning when an explosion of pure magical energy emanated from him. Lacking a target, it cracked the concrete floors, walls, and cieling, showering them in dust from the fissures. Hermione coughed to get it out of her lungs and quickly scrambled back from the table. She didn't want to think that Harry would hurt her, but in moments like these he looked every inch the man who'd defeated a Dark Lord and she knew his control over his magic wasn't at its best when he got angry. He'd told her about the incident with his Aunt Marge. Her reaction seemed to break Harry's heart further though.

"No, Hermione, please don't... I'm not..." he reached a hand towards her and tried to steady his breathing. "Please, I'd never hurt you. Can I... can I hug you?"

He seemed to be hanging on by the thinnest of threads, so she nodded quickly and he launched himself into her arms muttering apologies and nonsense she couldn't hear into her hair. They sank to their knees together on the floor, seeming to lose energy at the same time. Hermione felt wrung out.

"Hermione if you want to confess to murder after all, I will more than understand. If he weren't already dead, I... I want to... I wish I would've... Fuck, I was right there!" His arms tightened around her a little painfully, but she didn't complain. It felt like they were holding each other together at the moment and she didn't want him to let go.

"I know, I know, Harry," she softly stroked his back in soothing patterns.

"What do we do now?" His voice sounded so small and plaintive, like a child lost in a crowd without its mother.

"I have to tell the aurors so that they understand that I haven't seen Ron in months. They may still think that the assault is enough to make me want him dead, and some days I did want that, to be honest... but motive without opportunity isn't enough to arrest me..."

"I won't let them arrest you," Harry announced fiercely.

"It won't come to that" she reassured him. "I'll take veritaserum if I need to and my cooperation should be enough to allow them to focus the investigation on catching the real culprit. I'm hoping to surpress the contents of my interview though. Do you think I can do that? I don't want this to be a public scandal."

"It might not be so simple, Hermione." Harry pulled back from their extended hug to look her in the eye again. "Ginny, she... she's out of her mind with grief right now. She's convinced that if you or Pansy had something to do with this, it could be a case of murder for hire or something. She has some wild theories. She's not going to be satisfied not knowing the details."

"I can't tell her this, Harry! Not now especially... it will only complicate her mourning. I can't do that to her. And that's assuming she'd even believe me... I can't do that to myself." Her voice had taken on a slightly hysterical tone at the thought of confronting any of the Weasleys with this information. She tugged compulsively at the ends of her hair, yanking a ringlet to its full extension and letting it go again to spring back into shape. It began to frizz from the abuse.

"Okay, whatever you want. Whatever you need." Harry adjusted himself to sit back against the mangled wall of the interrogation room, pulling Hermione with him and tucking her against his side with a squeeze of her shoulder. They sat silently for a few minutes, absorbing the enormity of their situation and leaning on each other for support, mental and physical.

"Harry?" Hermione broke them out of their thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"Is it okay that I'm not sad that he's gone?"

"I think... Ron as we knew him has been gone for you for a while. Ever since... you know... and I'm sure you were sad back then, but no, you don't have to be sad that someone who hurt you before can't hurt you anymore."

"Yeah... yeah..." she trailed off softly, grateful as always for how easily Harry seemed to understand her without words.

Friday, December 17, 1999

"I can't believe they made us take an unbreakable vow for that harpy!" Murphy grumbled as he donned his dragonhide gloves. He'd been assigned to process Ron Weasley's room at his parents house to try and dig up more clues once it was clear they had reached dead ends with all three of their initial suspects. The gloves were to protect against contaminating the crime scene, but he had also been warned that the Weasley behind that prank shop often booby trapped parts of the house. Couldn't be too careful.

"It was Potter's idea, and who's going to tell the Boy Who Lived 'no'?" Ferguson, his partner in all things including this grunt work they'd recieved as punishment after their disasterous initial interview with Hermione Granger, replied reasonably. "I don't mind keeping her secrets anyhow. Poor girl. What a shock to learn all that, eh?"

They started digging together through the various drawers in the bureau by the wall, but it looked to contain nothing more interesting than old pairs of thrice-mended socks. Murphy had thought that they'd really had something with Granger or Brown. Nine times out of ten you didn't have to look any further than a jilted ex-lover to find the culprit in a murder. But they'd both had air-tight alibis and agreed to answering questions under veritaserum as well. Completely innocent the lot of them.

Well, maybe not that Parkinson woman. She'd hired the most expensive defense attorney in Britain and the department hadn't been able to go within a kilometer of her without being threatened with a lawsuit. They'd need a warrant if they wanted to pursue that avenue, not that they would. The lab had finally come back with their autopsy and the results all but told them who the real muderer was.

Strangely, the analysis confirmed that the body was littered not with creature bites as they'd long suspected, but human bites. This had been confusing until they'd realized that technically they were werewolf bites but from a werewolf not under active transformation. They still left traces of werewolf magic, but the bite pattern was apparently distinct.

And well, there was only one known cannibal werewolf: Fenrir Greyback. It kind of took the wind out of the sails of their theory that Pansy Parkinson had hired someone to avenge her friend's honor. Greyback was infamously not for hire.

Given this new information, he wasn't sure what they were expected to find here. Singh and Hawkins had been sent to the last known location of a Greyback sighting to do the real detective work. Robards must be right hacked off at them to make them do something so pointless.

"Probably could've made a fortune selling that scoop about Weasley and Granger to the Prophet, I tell ya. Need the money now too since it's unlikely we'll be getting a promotion this year after this massive cock up," Murphy said as he carelessly shoved the clothes they'd been digging through back into the drawers.

"Oi, that's not funny. My cousin was also--" Ferguson's jaw suddenly snapped together with a clack of teeth. Magic didn't care if you said something obliquely or to a person who already knew the secret. They'd been forbidden from saying anything about what they'd learned. Full stop. "Anyway, if anyone had used her story for money I'd have clocked them. I'll clock you too, if you don't knock it off." Ferguson could be such an unbearable white knight sometimes. He took everything too seriously.

"I didn't mean it, no need for violence," Murphy dropped to his hands and knees and pointed the light at the tip of his wand underneath the bed. Lots of cobwebs, a few chocolate frog wrappers, and a shoebox in the back corner. "I found something, or maybe nothing, I dunno," he sneezed into the dust he'd disturbed as he summoned the box close enough to grab. "What the bleedin' hell is all this?"

Upon opening the lid of the box, Murphy and Ferguson found page after page of crudely written death threats that said things like:

"Watch your back, Blood Traitor."

"We're coming for you first."

"You can't hide from us."

They were all in the same scratched penmanship, all with a poor rendition of a skull and crossbones scribbled at the bottom in lieu of a signature. These could prove useful.

"Looks like we might be back in the running for a promotion after all, Fergie."

A/N: I know nothing about the British law enforcement system, but since this is the magical law enforcement system, wouldn't it be funny if wizard cops in Britain had procedures more like their American counterparts and vice versa? Feels like exactly the kind of weirdness that would happen in the Harry Potter world.