CHAPTER ONE: LAST YEAR IN CAPRI
Harry Potter awoke to a loud chiming in his ear. He groaned, sitting up in bed. It was still dark out. Fumbling around for his glasses in the darkness, he finally found them further than he remembered setting them on his bedside table.
Blearily, he looked at his alarm clock flashing. 4:53 am. Damn it, he thought. The chiming continued and he rolled out of bed, grumbling to himself. Why couldn't more crimes be committed during a normal business day? He wondered.
He performed his shaving charm, hair tidying charm (it didn't work much, but it did make it so Harry's hair at least looked like he'd tried to brush it), and teeth brushing charms before taking off his glasses and placing the wizard equivalent of contacts in his eyes.
He was ready.
Harry walked out the door and realized he was still in his boxers.
Feck, he thought. He tripped back inside and put on his robes. Okay, now he was ready.
The morning air was chilly as he walked to the apparition point. The sun hadn't even begun its ascent into the sky, and wouldn't for another hour or so, but he hoped that he would be done in time to witness it.
Reaching the Apparition point, he turned, and a quiet pop was heard throughout his suburban neighborhood.
He reappeared at the Auror offices in the Ministry of Magic, which was blessedly empty save for his partner who was standing, haggard, at the coffee pot.
"Not much sleep, Longbottom?" He asked.
Neville Longbottom looked at him. "Did you know that babies don't sleep?" He asked in return.
"I may have heard something like that. If you'd asked me before knocking Hannah up, I would have warned you," he grinned.
Neville groaned. "Start a family, they said. It's the most rewarding thing, they said. Codswallop!"
"I'm sure it'll get better when she sleeps through the night," Harry reassured him, hoping that was true. He grabbed a mug and poured the piping hot liquid. He loved tea, but Merlin—this job made him need coffee.
He smelled the aroma, treasuring it before he blew on it lightly and took a drink.
"Anyone else here to tell us where to go yet?"
"I am," came a voice. It was Hermione Granger, the liaison between the Auror Department and Magical Law Enforcement. She looked professionally put together and like she hadn't been raised from the dead, unlike Neville and Harry.
He wasn't sure how she did it.
"What's the story?" He asked.
"There was a theft in France. You were called in because there were some similarities to the case that you two have been working here in the UK. The thief has the same M.O."
"What was stolen?" Neville asked, suddenly wide awake.
"A Muggle painting by the renowned artist Martial Raysse. L'année dernière à Capri, otherwise known as Last Year in Capri."
"How much is it worth?"
"A few million pounds," she answered.
Neville whistled. "You say the M.O. is the same?"
"Yes, you had better come with me." She handed them each a small sheet of parchment with the apparition coordinates they needed.
One squeezing sensation later, and Harry was at a checkpoint that he recognized as the one in Falmouth. There, Hermione gave them the next set of coordinates, and the squeezing was worse with this bout. Merlin how he hated to Apparate across the sea. International travel always made his stomach queasy.
When he arrived, they were in France. French customs examined the papers that Hermione provided before performing a charm and declaring them fit to enter the country.
"I should hope so," Longbottom muttered as they walked out the building. "Next they'll be asking for the date of my last shag."
Hermione made a face.
Harry shrugged in her direction. Neville didn't like being questioned extensively, a dislike Harry thought Neville had discovered during the war.
Harry hadn't been at Hogwarts at the time, but he had heard awful stories about what the school had been like after the Headmaster had been ousted and subsequently murdered. Three years, Hogwarts had been a place of danger for the wizarding children of the United Kingdom. Harry didn't want to think of the things that haunted him still from the war—he didn't blame Neville one bit for being shirty.
"Any more apparition points, Hermione?" Harry asked to change the subject.
"We'll catch a car from here," she informed him. "The collector it was stolen from is a Muggle, and we can't just appear without a vehicle."
Harry and Neville nodded. Hermione took out a tiny silver Muggle mobile phone and dialed a long sequence of numbers. Immediately, a cab pulled up in front of them.
"That's some technology," Harry commented.
"Yes, it's the latest from the Weasley line," she told them. "They've been doing more work for the Ministry than the private sector recently."
"Glad to see us modernizing," Harry muttered to himself.
From the looks of it, Hermione had heard him, because she grinned at him before climbing into the driver's seat. Harry and Neville did an awkward tango trying to figure out who would ride in the passenger and who would sit in the back. As Neville's legs were longer, Harry ended up in the backseat, feeling incredibly like he was one of those clowns in those tiny cars he had seen on the telly.
"Before we get to the crime scene, you two have to change into Muggle clothes that policemen would wear."
Neville gulped, but Harry nodded once again. He had spent most of his early years disguised as Muggle, even believing he was one, and he often preferred Muggle clothing anyway. Hermione pulled out her wand and transfigured their robes into plain black suits with white button-downs.
"That's much better," she grinned.
"That was some impressive transfiguration," Neville told her.
"Why thank you. I had to have something up my sleeve to make it into this position as a Muggle-born."
Any mirth Harry had felt left with that statement. He didn't know her well, but he knew that she had suffered along with other Muggle-borns during the war. And he knew that even with the Dark Lord gone, echoes of his grip remained, even within the Ministry of Magic.
Soon enough, they pulled up to a large manor house, or what Harry supposed must be called a château in France. It was a pretty piece of architecture, if a little showy. It reeked of old money.
They got out of the car, Neville adopting a different posture and Hermione remaining the same as ever: cool, sophisticated, and professional. Harry nearly got his shoelaces caught in the car door and restrained himself from cursing.
The drew nearer to the door, where there were reporters, policemen, and personnel buzzing about. "Oh my. This is quite the scene," Hermione commented. "I hadn't realized there would be quite so many Muggles about."
"Surely there's a way we can persuade them to leave for a little bit?" Neville asked.
"I suppose there's a spell I could cast discreetly," she whispered.
"Well go on, then," Harry told her. He looked down at his watch, noting that their journey to France had only taken them all of twenty minutes—most of which had been the car ride. He wondered if they could get finished up at this scene in time for him to grab a full English before he would start his day at the ministry.
Hermione looked around carefully before pulling her wand out from a holster, muttering something Harry couldn't quite catch.
The Muggles froze around them. Nobody moved, or even blinked. "What in the bloody hell?" Neville asked.
"Don't ask me about this spell," chided Hermione. "It's a top-secret spell I nicked from the Department of Mysteries. It can only halt time for three minutes, so we must hurry."
Harry didn't stop to think of the implications that Hermione had stolen something from the Department of Mysteries of all places but did file the thought for later. He went straight to work, heading into the home and to the space where he guessed the crime had been committed. There was definitely magical energy lingering in the room. If he had to guess, it seemed like it had been cast by the same witch or wizard that had committed the previous thefts.
He poked around while Neville took snapshots with the department camera. Near wear he thought the painting must have been, there was something on the ground. He walked closer.
His eyebrows rose of their own accord. That was new. "Do you have everything you need, Harry, Neville?" Hermione called from the front door. He motioned to Neville to take a picture. Just as he heard the click of the shutter, the world came back to life. The Muggles went on about their business, as if time hadn't been frozen.
"What the bloody hell, Hermione?" Neville repeated himself.
"We can talk somewhere else. Is there anything else you need before we leave? I can collect any statements from the police records this afternoon."
"I think that should be it," Harry said. "Let's go get some breakfast."
Neville agreed heartily and Hermione acted like she might protest before agreeing.
Another twenty minutes later and they were back in London, arguing over which diner had the best full English. They finally agreed on going to the Leaky Cauldron.
Tom had retired a few years before—which Harry had thought was high time; the man was ancient—and now Hannah helped manage the pub. Harry didn't expect to see her, however, as she was still on maternity leave with Alice.
They walked into the pub to find it somewhat subdued. There were witches and wizards shuffling out of the floo on the way to their shops, all quiet as if they hadn't quite woken up. They took a seat in a corner booth away from the fireplace and waited for whichever barkeep was on duty.
"That was definitely the same thief at work," Harry surmised quietly to his colleagues.
"How could you tell?" Hermione asked.
"How many art thefts leave magical residue?" he asked.
"Fair point," Neville acknowledged.
Just then, the barkeep came by. "Hi, I'm Ginny, and I'll be helping you today. What can I get you lot started off with?"
"Oh, Ginny, it's good to see you!" Hermione said. "I didn't know you worked here!"
"New gig. Apparently, the normal girl had to have a kid and go on maternity leave of all things," Ginny said, grinning cheekily. "It's good to see you too, Hermione."
Harry looked at the witch in front of them. Her flaming red hair was plaited, but wisps were falling out, framing her freckled face. He thought he'd seen her before, but he couldn't place where.
"What am I, chopped liver?" Neville asked.
"Hi, Neville," Ginny greeted. "Congratulations on your baby girl."
"Thanks, Ginny. Anything new with you?"
"Besides this job? Not really. I am saving up to go to curse-breaking school."
"Good for you!" Hermione said. "You took all the courses needed for entrance at Hogwarts, right?"
"Yep. I'm slowly following in Bill's footsteps."
She was pretty, Harry thought. And she was going to be a curse-breaker? "I've always thought being a curse-breaker would be extremely cool," Harry said.
And that, he thought, was decidedly not cool. What are you, Potter? A randy teenager? Grow up!
"And you are?" she asked him.
"Erm—" he sputtered. "I'm Harry."
"I guess we should have made introductions," Hermione grinned sheepishly. "Harry, this is Ginny Weasley. Ginny, this is Harry Potter." Oh, Ginny Weasley. That was why she looked so familiar, he realized. She'd been one of the members of Dumbledore's Army with Neville and Hermione at Hogwarts. He'd heard a lot about the resistance group of students from Neville.
Meanwhile, Ginny's face had pinked the smallest bit. "It's good to meet you, Harry. I've heard good things."
"I should hope so," chortled Neville.
Harry elbowed him. "It's good to meet you too. I've heard a lot of good things about you too. You were in Dumbledore's Army, right?"
Her eyebrows lifted in what he assumed was surprise. "I was. Usually people remember me from my brothers."
"I've met your brothers, and they are all renowned in their own right, but you've made a name for yourself, too," Harry said. Then, he grinned sheepishly. "I also followed your Quidditch career a few years ago."
When he saw her face, he realized that he shouldn't have brought up Quidditch. "Sorry," he quickly corrected. "I shouldn't have brought it up."
"No, it's okay. It's in the past," Ginny told him. Her brown eyes glinted, and she pushed a wisp of hair out of her face. "I should probably get back to work, though. What can I get for you all?"
They each ordered—Hermione ordering something much daintier and lighter than a full English breakfast—and Ginny walked away. Harry watched every sway of her hips.
"Really," Hermione huffed. "You don't have to be so obvious about it!"
"About what?" Harry asked, still watching Ginny's backside.
Hermione huffed again. "Never mind. Let's get to talking about the case."
They agreed, falling silent quickly when Ginny returned with a cup of tea, coffee, and a pumpkin juice. Their discussion began once again after they thanked her, and she left to attend other tables.
"So, we're agreed that it's the same M.O.?" Neville asked.
"Definitely. I hope the police reports can turn up more than any of us have so far," Harry answered. Turning to Hermione and meeting her eyes, he asked, "You said you'll have their reports this afternoon?"
"Yes," she said, taking a careful sip of hot tea. "I have a contact in the Muggle department that can get them to us, along with any other evidence they've collected."
"Good," Harry replied. "So far we haven't collected or deduced much."
"What about this new thing?" Neville asked.
"It is a strange turn," agreed Hermione.
Harry was thinking about it, too. What did it mean?
It had been some sort of rune, he knew, carved into the marble floor.
"It's been a while since I've brushed up on my runes," Hermione said after some moments of silence. "I'd have to consult my text in my office when we get back to the ministry before saying anything definitive about what it is."
Just then Ginny arrived with their breakfasts, and they ate in relative silence. Harry paid the cheque when they were done. They all said their goodbyes to Ginny, Harry on the verge of trying to say something to her, anything, before he was pushed into the grate by Hermione. He could take a hint this time, he decided.
Harry sputtered as he exited into the atrium. "I hate the fucking floo network," he told Neville as his partner exited the grate next to him. "I'd rather walk everywhere."
His partner just gave him a lopsided grin as they walked next to each other to the employee check-in station.
They passed through relatively quickly, as most Ministry employees were almost to their offices for the start of their day. "Where did Hermione go?" Harry asked, realizing that she hadn't followed them out of the floo.
"No idea," Neville said. "But she'll find us later. We'd better get to filling out our reports for the scene and getting any evidence processed."
Harry desperately wanted that photo developed. Not for the first time, he wished that he could have digital photography for his work. Unfortunately, Ron and George Weasley hadn't developed anything of that caliber yet. Maybe next year, he comforted himself again.
In his cubicle, Harry continued to think about Ginny Weasley, rather than the case. He wanted to get to know her, he decided.
But how? He had no idea. Harry decided he would have to leave it up to fate.
