For over a week Dennis went to great pains to avoid any place where he might be caught alone. The truths Thomas revealed to him forged a new caution in his actions. Moreover, he returned to his vault once to move the Heptagon out of the conspicuous location in the curio stand and into a box filled with small oddments Dennis collected in his recent travels across the United Kingdom and Ireland. He left it wrapped in an old piece of cloth and hoped it appeared unimportant. He returned to his job and avocation with renewed appreciation for what magic could do both good and bad. Dennis' mind became highly preoccupied trying to determine the best means to handle the Heptagon situation as each day passed, and it left him a bit more paranoid as to the goings on regarding the man in the yellow bowler. He did not notice it started to leave him increasingly withdrawn.
"All right, Denny, what's been eating at you?" His father asked during supper on the eight day following the revelations.
"Just something Thomas said to me," Dennis answered in a vague manner while he toyed with his portion of the flank of fish his father cooked that evening.
"Oh, out with it," his mother cajoled him.
He thought over what to tell them. Dennis knew they would react horribly if he described what he learned about the Heptagon. However, that did not alone occupy his thoughts. Hence, he turned to the other topic Lord North raised.
"I… never really thought what it must be like to be around for as long as him. Peeves seems to enjoy being a spirit, so do a lot of other ghosts at Hogwarts, but Thomas… he said he wants to move on to whatever comes next."
A healthy silence settled over the small Creevey family as they ate poached trout with hand-made chips his mother prepared. A side of rolls and green beans accompanied the main course. The topic of death always created an uneasy mood in the house.
"Must get boring after two-hundred and fifty years," Duncan Creevey rumbled.
"He sounded more… I guess tired and a little sad. He lost everything when Wyllodrus Finch killed him… and not just his life," Dennis responded with a greater sense of unease as he began to contemplate exactly what got taken from the man.
"All that he was, and all he would ever be," Jill Creevey add in such a distant voice it caused both men to glance at her.
Her eyes sparkled with tears on the rim.
"I'm sorry," Dennis quickly apologized. "I didn't mean to bring it up like this."
"No, Love, not really your fault. I suppose it comes with knowing ghosts like you do," his mother countered. "It just makes me think of Colin."
"Aye," his father said, sadness infusing the word.
"Yeah… and it makes me kind of glad he didn't come back like that. Can't imagine what it'd be like stuck as a ghost while everyone you know in life grows old and… moves on," Dennis told them part of his thinking on the subject.
"At least you were able to reunite Lord Thomas with his daughter," Dennis' mother intoned as if searching for a happier thought on the subject.
"Yeah, but she was just a girl when he died. A sixty-four year old woman is what came back to him. Must've been a shock to see her, meet her like that," he said and brought up a salient point.
"But think of how much she has to tell him, and the Earl knows his line didn't end with him. They'll have years and years to talk about, so I think you did him more of a favor than you know."
Dennis inwardly cringed. His mother tangentially broached the subject of grandchildren. Several times in the past Dennis heard her bemoan the fact he would not be a father and, concurrently, provide them grandchildren. The subject could put her in an off mood for days. He absentmindedly shoveled a large scoop of beans into his mouth as he thought.
"Dennis!" His mother chastised him for his piggishness.
"Any new developments with that one you trying to help now?" His father tactfully shifted the topic.
"No. Peeves is trying to get her to talk to me again. I just don't have enough information to go on. She just keeps wailing and saying Maigh Cuilinn. I've been there and talked to some of the local people, but… I can't offer 'em much of a lead," Dennis admitted, and revealed his frustration.
"Maybe you should ask some of the other ghosts who were around when she arrived at the castle," Jill Creevey suggested in a bland, off-handed manner.
Dennis goggled at her. Once again, her love of television crime procedurals trumped his native curiosity. He felt a tad foolish he did not think of it first, and it showed on his face.
She caught his look, frowned, and said: "And you call yourself an investigator. Seems like it'd be one of the first things you'd do!"
His father snorted in amusement. Dennis rolled his eyes and picked up a few more flakes of fish flesh. It tasted good, but he could not remember when his father went fishing. He wondered if one of his dairy friends offered it to him, and then he pondered the waters from which it got caught. Dennis shoved those thoughts aside as a list of gruesome possibilities came to mind.
"Sometimes I wonder if you don't pick the hardest path just so you can get out and about," Jill Creevey openly mused in an irritated manner.
"Now that he's not going to Nottingham as much…"
A rush of wind escaped Dennis' nose. His father, whom he interrupted with the noise, cast him a familiar fatherly expression. The young wizard thought about bringing up his dead brother again, but privately conceded he waited half a second too long.
"Well, guess I could go out to the pubs here or in London. Might go to Brighton for a weekend or something. Never know who'll I meet there. You know St. Albans doesn't offer me a lot," Dennis said in as calm and neutral a voice as he could muster.
He knew full well how his parents would take such a discussion. Jill and Duncan Creeveys' heads popped up, and they stared at each other. Dennis continued to eat his fish and green beans. He waited without looking at them.
"We're… not saying what you do is bad," his father stammered just a touch as he spoke. "But you do go around alone quite a bit, Denny. I know you have friends up in Nottingham, but why none around here?"
"St. Albans isn't a wizarding community. Not even sure if small one is around here. It's not like London with pockets of us all over the place. Plus, I don't want to make you uncomfortable by going out the gay spots around town. Neighbors talk and all that," he calmly told them and gingerly side-stepped the fact he did not associate with magi in Nottingham.
"Dennis, you're being a prat," his mother chastised him. "It's not like we're on everyday terms with the people around here. Sure, there's the occasional hello, good morning, and good evening, but neither your dad or I are popping around for tea with the neighbors."
He knew his parents avoid interacting with their neighbors in case conversations regarding their sons arose. Granted, several neighbors stopped by with cards, flowers, and food when news of Colin's death eventually emerged. However, Dennis's parents never held a wake or made any sort of public showing regarding the loss of their son. They lived a life apart from the people in their community because their sons turned out to be wizards. They, as muggles, got held to the secrecy laws as much as the magi. Furthermore, Jill and Duncan Creevey treated Dennis' sexuality as though it, too, got covered by the same rules. It took almost a year before any of the extended family learned the truth.
"And you know how me and the fellows are at the dairy," his father added, and nothing further needed to be said on that score.
"The ladies at the shop and the tearoom know all about you being gay, so that bridge's already crossed."
"Same at the dairy and the Arms, and no one really cares much. Just who you are, and they know it."
Dennis started to squirm as he listened. For many reasons he could not imagine his parents talking with their friends about his sexuality. Moreover, he could well imagine how a number of the conversations proceeded and felt certain his parents would never tell him. He kept his eyes fixed solely on his plate.
"Look at how we were with Cam. Lovely boy, and we never once gave away you're a wizard, either," Jill said in a voice filled with encouragement. "So, don't you fret about getting about, but you do need more people in your life, Dennis."
"Got to agree with your mum there. Worries us from time to time to be honest. Now with all this dust-up at the Ministry over you and Cam, all you do is go to work and get on with helping those ghosts. Are you having any fun, Denny?"
"Not a lot, but I like doing the investigations and my job with Mister Odpadki is really interesting, and… well, you know how I got on with the others at Hogwarts. I don't want to go through all that again. I learned to make do by myself," he said in a gruff tone.
"No don't start that, Denny!" Duncan upbraided his son. "You know we're fine with everything in your life, so you just need to go out and get you some life."
Dennis twisted his head and eyed his father for a moment before he replied: "Have you ever tried to really understand what it's like for me?"
The man frowned at his son.
"I'm a wizard and can't tell anyone 'sides my parents and other wizards," he began with the obvious. "I got this hole in me from Colin's death and only a few people really seem to know what it's like. I'm gay and you were afraid to tell anyone in the family for a long time, so I didn't have anyone to turn to… to talk about any of the shit I went through at Hogwarts. Now, do you know what it's like when you can't turn to your family, can't turn to non-magical folk 'cause they might figure me out, and I can't turn to other witches and wizards 'cause their too busy feeling sorry for me 'bout Colin or think I'm just some over-sensitive poof…"
"Language, Dennis," his mother quietly called him to order. "And you don't think your father and me didn't talk about all of that?"
"Never talked to me about it 'til lately."
A pained silence hung over them for a few seconds. Duncan and Jill exchanged another paternal glance that told Dennis he over-complicated the issue in their eyes. He waited for however they would interpret his words.
"Okay, maybe we didn't go about everything just right, but wasn't that easy for us, either. It's not like there's any kind of support group we can go to talk about having magical sons, is there now?" His father shot at him.
Dennis lifted his head and gaped at his father. He turned the same expression to his mother. Both appeared puzzled by his reaction.
"That's bleeding brilliant," he mumbled at them. "Wonder if there are groups like that. I'm going to check at the Ministry."
"Thought you didn't like the Ministry?" His mother inquired full of sarcasm.
"Never said they're completely ruddy useless, just mostly."
The Creevey family fell back onto a newly developed habit of taking humorous potshots at one another to lighten the mood when it got to tense. The meal ended with his parents laughing about a scene from a Monty Python movie where Jewish dissidents in Roman-occupied Jerusalem listed all manner of improvements the Romans brought while still wondering what the Romans ever did for them. Because he got caught between two different worlds, Dennis found it difficult at times to appreciate the humor of either. He also blamed Peeves for warping his sense of humor as well.
Two days after discussing the possibility of a support group for his parents, Dennis wended his way along Whitehall Road after Mr. Odpadki dropped him off at Derby Gate so he could go to the Ministry of Magic. Normally he would disapparate to the Ministry, but he and his employer completed a job nearby, and Mr. Odpadki commented on the beautiful late winter day that would soon turn to perpetual gloom on the first official day of spring. Thus, Dennis decided he would stroll to the main entrance of Ministry of Magic and take in the sights of the Westminster area. As per the norm, Londoners streamed onto the streets to take in the abundant sunshine that would likely to go into hiding for the majority of spring. Many people walked with faces turned upward, faint smiles on lips, and Dennis performed small jigs to avoid colliding with them. He wore his coveralls, and that seemed about the best disguise in the world as sanitation workers tended to become invisible without the aid of magic.
"Creeping Crouch," Dennis swore as he neared the entrance to the public toilets used as a portal to underground levels of the Ministry.
Not far from the entrance he saw a distinctive yellow blur that resolved itself into the man who twice accosted him. He stood standing against the building wall talking to a rakish, thin woman who glanced about as if searching for spies. Dennis thought she looked overtly, and thus ridiculously, villainous in her layers of outdated clothing and what appeared to be a sackcloth hat. Many of the Londoners strolling about cut a wide berth around the two, and it seemed logical given the man in the yellow bowler and his accomplice all but announced their iniquitous intent. The wizard hiding in plain sight hung back and watched the two.
They talked in small bursts before the woman took to scanning their surroundings. Dennis felt relatively certain she would not notice him given the press of bodies passing to and fro. Furthermore, even in the magical world people tended to let their eyes skip over rubbish collectors. For nearly a quarter of an hour they engaged into some sort of important discussion. At one point the man in the yellow bowler grew uncomfortable and motioned he and the woman should remove themselves. They started to walk away.
The yellow hat allowed Dennis to trail them as they headed west on Great George Street and then turned left onto Storey's Gate. The slender wizard wormed his way through the crowded sidewalks and hoped he did not lose his targets. He also entered the road, and saw them round the corner that led to Old Queen Street. Dennis slowed, crossed Storey's Gate and ambled toward the new street destination. He waited for a minute before careful moving around the corner of the building since little foot traffic either entered or exited the street. Midway down he saw the man and the woman sauntering along. They seemed oblivious to everything around them as they tilted their heads together while they chatted. To most passers-by they would appear nothing more than some eccentric couple out for a stroll. Since England took pride in their eccentrics, no one would bother them. In the magical world, the two would appear woefully normal.
After passing the Chilean Embassy, the road curved and Dennis again lost visual contact with the two. He scuttled along the very lightly populated causeway in an effort to maintain a tracking pace. Few paid him any heed other than to scowl if he drew too close. The job of destroying a fatberg showing signs of life in a London sewer left him mildly odoriferous, a fact he hoped to capitalize on in the Ministry. Much to his chagrin, Dennis did not seem them when he walked around the curve. The jog to Queen Anne's Gate did not reveal the yellow hat, but then he saw the adjoining Lewisham Street alley way. He ducked into it.
2 years' worth of avoiding objects thrown at his head by Peeves saved his life. He felt the tingle in the air and the slight hiss of a spell sailing through air. Dennis immediately dropped into a squat, and then rolled backward onto the section of Old Queen Street that turned into Dartmouth Street at the curve. He huddled against the wall while pulling his wand from his pocket and concealing it in his right sleeve. Dennis silently thanked Peeves for sharpening his wits when it came to projectiles aimed at his head. He panted a little and waited. Although several people started at him, Dennis lowered onto his hands and knees to crawl to the building corner and peer around it. The haberdashed man stood waiting while the woman trotted further down the street. Five seconds later she folded into nothing.
"Don't move," a low, threatening voice of a woman said, and Dennis felt a wand tip press against the back of his neck.
"I won't," he immediately agreed.
"Who fired that spell in a public space?" The voice asked him.
"The man wearing the yellow bowler down in the alley."
A pair of legs wearing dark slacks and covered over with a black leather jacket from the knees up moved around him. Seconds later, the air groaned as another spell raced out and struck a public rubbish bin on the other side of Dartmouth Street. It crackled with the energy of a spell clearly meant to incapacitate or even kill. The woman crouched down next to him. She did not need to announce herself as an auror.
"Bloody hell," she grumbled. "Do you know why he's taking shots at you… and now me?"
She looked every bit the auror clone Dennis came to know and distrust. Her black fedora kept her black hair in place and shaded her dark eyes. The woman came from some middle eastern descent, but Dennis could not discern the correct one. He suspected Indian by the shape of her face and nose. However, that did not matter at the moment. She rose and let her arm slide around the corner, wand extended, and inhaled.
"Petrificus totalis," she mumbled.
Dennis felt the air twist as the spell lanced outward. She applied a goodly amount of magic to the spell. Aurors never performed any act by half. A few seconds later, she moved around him and peered into the alley.
"Damn," the word slipped angrily out of her mouth.
"You didn't honestly think he was going to stand around and get into a duel with you?" Dennis asked since it seemed patently obvious the man in the yellow bowler disapparated.
"Get up," she ordered him, but he already started to climb to his feet. "Do you know that man?"
"Only that he's been threatening me for the past couple of weeks," Dennis admitted as little as he could.
"And?" The auror pressed.
"And I don't want to have anything to do with him, and it's made him pretty mad at me. You can see he's kind of… skeevy. That's all I know!"
The woman tried to bore holes into his head, but few could out-stare Minerva McGonagall when the mood took her. Dennis pursed his lips and presented an disapproving aspect. It only took a few seconds for the auror to realize she made no impact on him with her glare.
"Take my arm," she commanded and held out her right one.
"Why?" Dennis challenged.
"Because we're going back to my office so I can get a statement from you," she growled at him. "You were involved in a public duel."
"I never even raised my wand to him, and you're the one who fired back, so you should be arresting yourself for the violation!"
The female auror seemed totally taken aback by his refusal to cooperate. It took her ten seconds to collect herself and attempt another glare-into-submission tactic. She failed before she even got started. Once the woman aborted the attempt, she looked him over.
"I'll bet you ten galleons you went to Hogwarts," she sarcastically offered.
"Good guess. How'd you know?" Dennis replied.
"Because the lot of you who went through The Dark Lord war are a right pain in the arse. After that, you'll stand up to anyone."
Her comments contained a mix of both annoyance and respect. Around them people walked past and gazed at the oddly attired woman harassing a rubbish collector. The auror continued to hold out her arm. Dennis stared at it for a moment.
"Lucky you I was planning on going to the Ministry anyway 'til I got distracted by the hat man and the woman with him," Dennis said and started to reach for her arm.
"Sure you were," she drolly quipped.
"Know what? Sod off. I don't have to take your shit when I didn't do anything wrong," Dennis snapped at her.
Before she could yell at him, Dennis stepped around her into the vacant Lewisham Street. He used to the auror's body to disguise his next move. While she turned to him with an angry visage, Dennis, who nearly became invisible because the color of his clothing matched the limestone facade of the building, disapparated to the Ministry. He arrived on the pad and quickly stepped off. Without waiting another second, he walked over to the reception kiosk and presented his wand.
"Hello, Dennis," the elderly woman said and smiled at him.
"Hello, Imelda," he replied as waited for her to take his wand.
A hiss and a pop issued from the apparation pad despite the normal noisy hubbub of the main Ministry entrance. Dennis did not need to guess who arrived.
"You need to stop right there!" The auror said and raced up to him.
"Why you giving Dennis a hard time? He's a nice, polite lad who always gives me a quick chat whenever he stops in, unlike the rest of you," Imelda said, and her blue-green eyes threw icy daggers at the auror.
"Some bloke was flinging spells at me up on the street, Imelda, and this lady thinks I was dueling when all I did was duck behind a building." Dennis told the kiosk attendant and summarily ignored the auror.
"Oh, what you got yourself into now, Dennis?" She rejoined.
Another hiss and pop emerged from the platform, and footfalls leading toward the followed.
"Yes, and?" The auror barked at him.
"Like I told you," he answered without turning about to face the auror, "he wants to do business with me, and I don't want anything to do with him. He seems kind of desperate."
"You should go see that Granger friend of yours up in the Home Office. She'd be able to put this to rights," Imelda suggested.
"Excuse me," a tight, older male voice interrupted. "Mind if I get a pass through before I'm late for my meeting?"
"Yes, yes. Just step right over here, Mister Injucund," the attendant said in her usual pleasant tone.
The man, dressed in what looked like fine robes that did not quite hide severely scuffed shoes, walked around Dennis and the auror. It took Imelda all of eight seconds to register the man's proffered wand. The elderly woman handed it back to him with due haste.
"Thank you," he said in a relieved tone. Once settled, he strolled off to his destination.
"That man is a right ass," Imelda said as she leaned toward Dennis. "Always thinks he's big shot and important, and the Ministry keeps rejecting his import applications. Bet they throw a snit up on the fifth floor when he shows his face."
Dennis snickered at the gossip, and the older woman beamed a smile at him. Then, she held out her hand. The younger of three magi dutifully placed his wand in the somewhat age-gnarled appendage. Imelda went to slow pains to register his wand, and Dennis suspected she did it on purpose to annoy the auror. It appeared the aurors tended to be unpleasant even to other Ministry employees. After gingerly inserting his wand in the registry dock, Imelda took pains to write something in a ledger. The auror loudly sniffed.
"Hold your griffons, Miss Thwacklehorn. We need to do this all proper like, so we don't run afoul of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Surely, you wouldn't want me to violate the rules?" Imelda asked in an sweetly acidic manner.
Dennis wanted to cheer for Imelda, and he learned his lesson anew not to be rude to the people who actually make the Ministry machine work. His mother taught him to always be nice to those who occupy the lowest rungs on any ladder since they could make moving down or up it a burden and a chore. Like the house elves he befriended over the past several months, Dennis never found his service by lower ranking Ministry employees to be anything but sterling. Imelda handed him his wand after drawing out the process to four times the usual length.
"Now, Miss Thwacklehorn?" Imelda said and held out her hand.
The auror, one Ms. Thwacklehorn, literally let her mouth fall open. Imelda plastered a quaint smile on her face and waited with an outstretched hand. It took the auror another five seconds to come to the full realization the attendant meant to carry out her duty. Ms. Thwacklehorn gradually extended her wand to the older woman.
"Thank you," Imelda said and made the words sound like a pejorative. Then she angled her face to the side. "Dennis, you can go off now to see Miss Granger. Want me to let her know you're on your way up?"
"Ah, no. That's okay. I've got some other things I need to see to first, but thanks, Imelda. Appreciate it. Give your Ernest my best when you get home," Dennis replied.
"Such a sweet lad," the kiosk attendant gushed at him.
"Go nowhere," Ms. Thwacklehorn interjected. "We're not done with what happened on Lewisham, and would you please register my wand, Imelda!"
"One moment, dear," Imelda droned in voice as exciting a lump of lead. Just as she did with Dennis, the elderly woman made the process extend far longer than necessary.
The auror stood with barely controlled ire. However, the more impatient she seemed to become, the slower Imelda moved. Dennis marveled at the glacial pace the elderly woman set. He also appreciated the manner in which she used Ministry rules to engineer the moment. Under normal circumstances, he suspected the auror would use the Flue Network which automatically registered a person's wand, unless they happened to be visiting for the first time. The apparation pad followed a different order since anyone could use it as a transit point. The nature of the pad made it impossible to apply an auto-registration spell, and, thus, visitors needed to register their wands each time. While he recalled the various rules as he understood them, Imelda finally completed the process and handed Ms. Thwacklehorn her wand.
"Thank you!" The auror snapped without any sense of thanks.
"Ooh, you're most welcome," Imelda rejoined in a saccharine-sweet voice it would likely get ruled illegal in most magi courts. The smile following afterward would make treacle taste sour.
Clearly furious but without any recourse since Imelda simply did her job as outlined, Ms. Thwacklehorn turned and stomped toward Dennis. It became readily apparent she meant to take her ire out on him.
"Come with me," she demanded.
"Why? Under what rule?" Dennis flatly intoned.
"I really don't think you want to make me any angrier right now!"
Dennis shrugged. The auror continued to apply too much pressure to her feet, and the clack of her shoes rose above the usual Ministry din. After sneaking a grin to Imelda, and the woman never once changed her expression as she watched Ms. Thwacklehorn, Dennis decided to play along to see where this would take him. He followed in the agitated wake of the woman.
Ms. Thwacklehorn glanced at him with ever increasing curiosity as they made their way to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, home of the auror division. Dennis initiated conversations with two house elves and one of the maintenance people. They all knew him, and the woman looked as if she could not quite believe his friendly associations with Ministry employees. When they arrived at the Auror Office, Thwacklehorn led him through the rather maze-like arrangement of desk and offices. Then she got another unexpected shock.
"Dennis!" A familiar voice called out when they passed an open door.
Dennis did not need to read the name painted on the door since he instantly recognized the owner of the voice. A man only a few years older than himself with a wild thatch of black hair, striking emerald-green eyes behind glasses, and a distinctive scar on his forehead came shambling out of the office.
"Hi ya, Harry," Dennis said and halted his forward movement.
"What are you doing here? They haven't even scheduled your next hearing yet?" Harry Potter informed him while laying a friendly hand on Dennis' shoulder.
"You know this guy?" Thwacklehorn asked Harry.
"Yeah, we went to school together. Dennis was a few years behind me, but… that first day. I'll never forget watching you come walking into the Great Hall soaking wet and grinning like a cracked pixie. Then when we found out you got pulled out of lake by the squid… best entrance I ever saw," Harry said and chuckled.
Dennis blushed a little, but he grinned all the same.
"So, Elaine, why are you dragging him down here?" Harry asked her.
"He got into a fight with some bloke up on Lewisham," she replied.
"Never fired a shot and I was hiding instead of fighting. The guy had the jump on me," Dennis defended himself yet again. He also reveled in the fact Harry treated him as totally familiar person even though they only briefly spoke once in the last year.
"Really? Why?"
"He's got an interest in what Lord North left to me."
Elaine Thwacklehorn made a slight groaning noise, and both young men swiveled their heads around. Harry proved again his sharp instincts. A small smirk grew on his lips.
"Didn't know who you dragged in?" Harry asked the woman, and then turned to Dennis again. "The report you and Hermione whipped up on how you figured out who killed the Earl is now more or less compulsory reading, Dennis. Ever think of writing a book on what you did?"
"I'll leave that to Wipple and Derge. I think Thomas deserves some peace, and McGonagall would go Barnabus if people tried sneaking into Hogwarts to try and talk to him," Dennis said and again used some of his favorite reasons.
"Good call on that, mate," the former schoolmate told him with a roll of his eyes. "Now, if you've got chaps having a go at you for whatever it is they think you've got, maybe you should think about letting us have a look at what he gave you."
"Like I've told everyone else, Lord North isn't too keen on that idea. He's surprisingly private, Harry, and he didn't leave all the much behind. Besides, I'm trying to track down his descendants and maybe pass most of the bits he left me onto them," he rejoined and made a few immediate new decisions.
"Decent of you. Heard you're having a go with the Mother of the Fen…"
"Excuse me, Harry, but I do have questions and a report to file on the altercation that happened up top," Thwacklehorn injected herself into their conversation. She sounded peevish.
"Right, right. Sorry 'bout that. I don't get to see Dennis much for all he's around here pretty often," Harry told her. "Word got around about that phoenix experiment you and Odpadki got called on. I'd be really interested in getting the details on the spell you used to contain the fire beast. Heard that was an impressive piece of magic. Could be use…"
"Harry!"
"Sorry, sorry. One last thing," the man said without sounding the least apologetic. "Be sure to give Hermione your address. We're getting ready to send out invites to the wedding, and it'd be great if you could attend."
"Harry, I… " Dennis started and then choked up.
Harry patted him on the shoulder and said: "Honestly, we'd love for you to come. It'd be nice seeing some of the friendlier faces from Hogwarts at the ceremony."
Dennis enthusiastically nodded his head since the request momentarily robbed him of his voice.
"Better head off with Thwacklehorn before she hexes you into next week."
"Right," Dennis croaked out the word.
The famous wizard smiled at him, and then promptly pivoted on his foot to return to his office. Dennis watched him with a sense of awe the man would extend such a kind offer. It merged nicely with the last memories he formed of Harry. He never knew anyone who treated fame with such disdain. In the years since the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry became a proficient auror and managed to successfully distance himself from his past history.
"Cripes, come on," Thwacklehorn said and tugged at his coveralls.
Dennis followed the now slightly deflated woman. Somehow the fact he knew Harry, and the manner in which the auror chatted with him, deprived her of impetus. She led him to an office further down. The name Elaine Thwacklehorn adorned the frosted glass panel of the door. She opened it, and the overhead lights started to grow brighter. Dennis liked the effect because it served as another example of practical magic.
"Sit," she ordered him while shrugging off her jacket and hanging it on a hook.
He did.
The office seemed to follow a standard Ministry template. A desk occupied the center of the room, and it looked fairly well used. Wooden filing cabinets lined the wall behind the desk. A large message board took over the wall to the left, and several active cases appeared to be outlined on it. On the non-business side of the desk, two of uncomfortable wooden chairs the Ministry liked to impose on visitors waited, and Dennis sat in one. Behind him a set of shelves and small cabinets got built into the wall next to the door. Dennis noted a curious absence of anything personal in the office. Everything looked perfunctory.
"Okay," Thwacklehorn said while pulling out a brown folder from a desk drawer and laying it open on her desk. The file folder contained a small set of blank forms. A quill appeared in her hand. "Name?"
"Dennis with two ens," he answered.
"Any last name to go with it?"
"Yes."
"And what is it?" She grumbled the question five seconds later.
"Creevey, with three ees in all the right places," Dennis responded in a cheeky fashion.
"You're really planning on making this difficult, aren't you?" Thwacklehorn grated the question out through her teeth.
"Maybe, 'cause you're treating me like a criminal instead of the victim. 'Sides, aurors aren't known for helping folks too much. You've got your own agendas."
"So, all the dark witches and wizards we track down don't mean anything? And it's not like the company you work for helps us any?"
"What is that supposed that mean?"
She eyed him for a second and leaned back in her chair. It squeaked. Her quill remained poised to take notes. The woman tried to make the silence oppressive, but she did not factor in Dennis' experience with the late Professor Snape who could turn a silence into a deadly weapon.
"We know all about the Odpadkis and Rapid Removal. You've done your fair bit of hiding crimes," Thwacklehorn asserted.
"We bring in the Ministry when needed, and you're inventing new laws all the time to criminalize stuff that isn't even worth it. I read in The Daily Prophet how you arrested a witch for growing tentaculars, small ones, to keep rabbits out of her garden patch. What sort of crime is that?" Dennis countered and felt all the time he spent scanning the newspapers came in handy.
"And I find out you're having a duel…"
"I wasn't dueling," Dennis checked her.
"Well, someone was trying kill you, and it seems related to your – what is it? – inheritance from the long-dead Earl of Nottingham. Oh, no! Nothing suspicious about that at all!' Auror Thwacklehorn said as though she uncovered the crime of the century.
"Are you really that bored 'cause Harry is getting all the good cases and you're left to following rubbish collectors around?"
Thwacklehorn's face went flush. Her eyes narrowed. A sense of near hatred emanated from her.
"Oh, come off it. I faced Umbridge and the Carrows at Hogwarts, and they were real good at hurting students. Your whole I'm-a-tough-auror act isn't getting you anywhere… except it makes me less cooperative," he spat at her attitude. "Here's the long and short of it: the man in the yellow hat wants to do business with me. I don't want to do business with him, and he's made threats to me. I saw him and this woman talking, so I followed them. My mistake. They made me out somewhere along the way, and then he tried to kill me when I turned onto Lewisham. Then you showed up and made a mess of everything. There! Those are the details. Are we done?"
"Not by half," Thwacklehorn rumbled at him. "What's this man's name?"
"He never told me… on purpose."
"And the woman?"
"Not a clue," Dennis truthfully answered, and then he thought about the brief encounter. "'Cept she kind of looked like one of those charwomen you see in old picture books. Looked shabby, and had on too many layers of clothes. Odd one. More paranoid than the man in the yellow hat."
"Did you recognize her?" Thwacklehorn inquired with less hostility and the quill scurried about the form filling in blanks.
"Never saw her before."
"Did you speak to her?"
Dennis shook his head back and forth.
"What else can you tell me?" The auror made the low-level demand.
"Not much, but there was this one woman who showed up and tried to play Wipple on me. Made a right mess of everything and then dragged me off to this office. She seems jealous of Harry Potter, so I'd watch that one," Dennis stated in a light matter-of-fact fashion.
"Think you're funny?"
"No, accurate."