CHAPTER TEN
FOR THE IRON ANGEL

It was a long night. When Harry had finally made it back to the office, it was five am. He fought off his sleepiness as he jotted down his report; he had thought it best to write at least some form of report while the details were fresh in his mind.

Harry knew that Kingsley Shacklebolt would be coming to see him soon; he had spent the last couple of hours in an emergency meeting with the Prime Minister. The riots had happened too often for Kingsley to hold off informing the Prime Minister of magical association any longer.

After the leader of the terrorists had fled, most of her magical followers also managed to escape - but the Aurors had apprehended one of them. A short, hunched man who seemed to have a natural scowl.

Or perhaps that scowl is just for us, Harry thought.

They had brought the man back with them and the Aurors had spent the last two hours interrogating him. He had not uttered a word.

Kingsley eventually arrived at five twenty, knocking Harry's door.

"Come in," Harry said, refilling his coffee mug as he did so. He duplicated the cup and slid it across the table to Kingsley as he approached

"Thanks," Kingsley took it gratefully.

"How was the meeting with the Prime Minister?" Harry asked.

"Tedious," Kingsley replied, irritably, "Any fortune with the apprehended suspect?"

"Hasn't said a word," Harry yawned, "If we don't get anything out of him soon, we're going to try more direct methods."

"Who's on duty?" Kingsley asked.

"Dawlish starts at seven. I sent him home at three to get a few hours of sleep. Ahmed and Bridger-Cookson will be here til noon and I have Kendrick and Wilkins coming in after noon. Cavey and Wilkinson are out of commission. Minor injuries, but I'm erring on the side of caution."

"Fair enough," Kingsley said, "When Dawlish comes in, go home. I'm setting up a meeting with Hermione at two o'clock this afternoon. I want you there, and I don't want you falling asleep halfway through."

Harry nodded, "Appreciated."

Kingsley sat down.

"So, you got a visual on the perp?" Kingsley asked.

Harry had mentioned it to him in a Patronus message a few hours ago but had divulged no further details.

"Yes," Harry said.

Too tired to think, he glanced down at the notes he had written hours earlier of her description.

"Dark hair, white, late teens to early twenties. Black hooded robe… and a magical tome that fits the description of the Grimoire of Dabria," Harry listed off, "But the craziest thing, Kingsley?"

Kingsley raised his brow, "Enlighten me."

"I recognised her," Harry replied, "I don't know who she is, or where I know her from… but I've seen that girl before."

"Are you sure she just doesn't look like someone you know?" Kingsley suggested.

"I don't know, maybe…" Harry said, "But my gut says I know her."

"Well, your gut has a pretty good track record," Kingsley conceded, "Maybe with some sleep, you'll be able to recall where you know her from."

"Maybe…" Harry mumbled.

"I've heard quite the reports from your team," Kingsley said, "I was already aware of your foolhardy bravery bordering on idiocy, but I wasn't aware that you had become the ultimate wandless warrior. Taking my nephew's claim to fame before he's even passed his induction?"

Harry grinned.

"I actually spoke to Boka about it. He helped me figure it out. I haven't been able to do anything I can't do with a wand; but what I have noticed is whenever I use the soul magic, it doesn't seem to be affected by my curse."

"Perhaps because both the soul magic and Dabria magic are rooted in the same origins," Kingsley pondered.

"That's the conclusion I came to," Harry said, "And it seems the soul magic was practised both with wands and wandlessly. There's nothing to suggest Dabria used wandless magic, but clearly these purification branches of the same magical source were used wandlessly because I used the glyphs to learn it myself. But even so, it was a stupid thing to do. I saw how outnumbered the Aurors were though and - well, it was the only thing I could think of."

"It worked," Kingsley retorted, "So I can't criticize you too much."

Kingsley downed the coffee and placed the empty mug on the table. He stood up.

"Two o'clock. My office. Well rested."

~:-)

When Harry arrived home a little after seven, he was drained mentally and physically. He vaguely recalled crashing on the bed, fully dressed, and he didn't wake up until noon. By the time he had made himself presentable for the meeting, it was one o'clock. With an hour to spare, he headed back to the Ministry. He had hoped for a positive update on the perp, but he was informed when he arrived that nothing had changed.

"We've given him Veritaserum… we've tried Occlumency. This man is a closed book," Dawlish sighed.

Deciding to take matters into his own hands, Harry turned to Dawlish.

"Put the screen up. I want to talk to him," Harry ordered.

Dawlish nodded and did as he was told.

The hunched, short man had his hair shaved very short, so that it was hard to distinguish a colour other than dark. His sun-kissed skin was covered in small cuts and bruises from the battle. His sunken eyes gave him a gaunt expression.

Harry watched as some hit wizards unlocked the interrogation room and Harry entered. The man looked up at Harry for a moment, then looked away.

"Hello, I'm Harry. What's your name?"

The man sat there silently, staring at the floor.

"This will go much smoother for you if you cooperate."

The man looked up at Harry again. His face had the ghost of a sneer. He looked back down at the ground.

"I've seen your leader… and her book…"

Nothing.

"I recognise her… I know I've seen her somewhere…"

Nothing.

"Still, a bit of a failed attempt at an attack while wielding the great Grimoire of Dabria," Harry said, nonchalantly.

The man snapped his head up to look at Harry. He glared.

"Got your attention, have I?" Harry asked, cheerfully, "Good… tell me what you know, and I can get you home with a clean criminal record and no more trouble from foreign authorities."

"Para o anjo do ferro," the man spoke. His voice was low and precise.

Harry had no idea what the man had said; but the fact he had said anything meant he had made some progress.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, "Do you speak English?"

"Para o anjo do ferro," the man repeated.

"Yeah, I heard you the first time. But I'm going to need more than that, I'm afraid."

"Para o anjo do ferro."

Harry sighed. Standing up, he shook his head. He opened the door and stepped out. Dawlish was chatting with a hit wizard. As Harry approached, Dawlish pointed at the man.

"This is Hit Wizard Jones. And he just so happens to double as a Portuguese translator for situations like this one," Dawlish explained.

"So, what's he saying? What's that phrase he keeps repeating?"

"Para o anjo do ferro," Jones recited, "It means For the Iron Angel."

Half an hour later, Harry found himself in Kingsley Shackebolt's office. It was located on Level 1. The office had a higher ceiling than any other office Harry had seen and was at least three times as wide. Kingsley's office was filled with bookshelves, half of which were written in languages Harry didn't understand. Deep purples and oranges border the walls and a collection of robes stood on display in the corner of the office. One robe that he wore upon becoming Minister for Magic, and one for each of his election wins. While varied in colour, each of them were vibrant and loud, in a way that only Kingsley Shacklebolt could pull off.

Hermione sat in the chair adjacent to Harry's facing Kingsley. She had a stack of notes and documents, which she had no doubt brought for Kingsley to sign.

But this clearly wasn't why Kingsley had brought them in.

"The stakes have risen," Kingsley said, "It's getting harder to keep this Muggle activity under wraps. And now Wizard terrorists are joining the fray. We have to put a stop to this as soon as possible. Any news on the one we captured?"

Kingsley motioned to Harry.

"He isn't talking," Harry sighed. "We've tried Veritaserum and Occlumency. He is well trained to fight off both. Just keeps mumbling a phrase."

"Para o anjo do ferro," Hermione recited, Harry had told her before they entered the office, "For the Iron Angel."

"Yeah, which is obviously a reference to Dabria. And whoever that woman is behind all this, she has what must be the Grimoire of Dabria, though I don't know how she got hold of it," Harry explained.

"And you're absolutely sure he won't talk?" Kingsley asked.

"Who knows? We could keep trying, but we've already used our most powerful methods and he's fought them off. He's loyal and he's well trained; we could break him, but I can't guarantee it… and the signs don't look promising."

"Well, if he hasn't got any information to give us, I'll just have to set up his trial date," Hermione said.

"I just… I'm missing something. It's right there, staring at me, I can feel it… but I can't see it." Harry said.

Hermione and Kingsley waited for him to continue; it was obvious Harry was ready to burst.

"That woman.. I recognised her. I don't know how, or where from, but I just know I have seen her before. But she looks nothing like the ancient Dabria, so I think we can rule that out," Harry half-laughed, "but still that doesn't explain why I recognise her."

Harry stood up and rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. He outstretched his arm.

"Look - Accio book," Harry called.

A book on the table fluttered slightly, but didn't move any closer.

"My magic isn't working properly. And this woman, whoever she is, went through a lot of trouble to start draining me of my magic. How long have I got left, before it's gone? How do I do my job, protect my family, without my magic. There's something that I'm missing."

"You will do everything you can," Kingsley replied, "And so will we."

"And I appreciate that, Kingsley," Harry said, with a nod, "but we don't even know who our enemy is. She's taunting me, endangering my family, draining my magic. This is a game to her. This isn't random. She wants to see me suffer, but why? Who could possibly want revenge on me now?"

Neither Kingsley nor Hermione had an answer. Harry continued;

"I mean, sure… I've put away a lot of people over the years but none of them for anything this dark. I don't think any of them would even know where to start. It could be an old Death Eater using this girl as a pawn, but why now? Twenty years later?"

Harry noticed he was pacing back and forth and for a moment he reminded himself of Dumbledore.

"Maybe it's someone over the edge or ill… like Brennan Greaves…"

Harry stopped in his tracks. The realisation hit Harry like a pile of bricks; he swayed on the spot and sat back down.

"Harry, what is it?" Hermione asked, concerned.

"I - I know who she is," Harry stammered.

"You do?" Kingsley leaned forward, brow raised.

"It-it just hit me, the thing I was missing… It's so obvious!"

Harry looked between Kingsley and Hermione but neither of them had any clue to what Harry was thinking.

"I have seen her before, Harry said, "2006. I stopped Brennan Greaves. He died in the fight."

Kingsley's face hardened. Hermione frowned.

"I don't understand…" Hermione said.

"I do," Kingsley grunted.

"The person behind all of this - it's Brennan's sister," Harry explained.

"Mara Greaves."