A/N: Should Harry be a Metamorphagus? I love writing about them.
Chapter 11: Detective Potter
The new year passes without much note. I decide to meet Tonks when she gets off the train, so I'd caught a ride down to the station on the carriages. The Thestrals were creepy looking, but cool in their own skeletal horse kind of way. I sit on the bench on the platform reading about Albus' legendary duel with Grindlewald, whom I can now identify as the same Gellert I'd asked Albus about when we'd first met. As the distant sound of the train draws nearer, I snap the book shut and stuff it back in my bag, removing the gloves I'd been wearing. Classes resume tomorrow; Tonight is just for settling back in. The train rolls into the station, hissing fiercely as it stops. The outer doors slide open as the compartments begin to empty in the walkways. As the platform starts to fill, I take a step up onto the bench to get a better view. From the last carriage, a lone head of pink enters the crowd, wading towards me. I drop down from the bench and Tonks grabs me, trying her best to crush every bone in my body with a hug.
"Harry!" She holds me out at arms length, giving me a once over. "You've grown!"
"You're one to talk." I gesture to her. She looks down at her chest and retracts her assets, grinning.
"Messing with a sixth year on the train." She explains as we start to walk.
"Messing? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" I quip, she responds by throwing her head back and laughing rambunctiously. "New coat?" I gesture to the long red trench coat. "A Christmas present from your Mum?" I ask innocently.
"Right in one." She pouts. "You're too good at that." If only you knew. I smirk. "How've ya been?"
"Can't complain." I shrug. "Staying in a dusty, cold old castle for a couple of weeks with nobody but Albus to talk to." She wrinkles her nose.
"It's still weird that you call him that."
"It is his name." I point out.
"Don't call me by my name though, do ya?" She counters.
"Albus doesn't turn red and point his wand at whoever uses his name though." I smile, she laughs. "Do you want me to? Maybe 'Nymmy'?"
"Watch yourself, Potter." She scowls playfully.
"It's Potter now is it? Tonks and Potter. Sounds like we're starting a law firm or something." I snort. Tonks throws her arm around my shoulders.
"Can you imagine?" She laughs. "Your name would have to go first of course, to bring in the big shots."
"Naturally." I agree. "Fancy being the secretary? We could count how many cups of tea you spill on yourself each day."
"Hey! I'm not that bad." She protests.
"Of course not, You'd get to me sometimes and then spill it on me instead." She laughs as we climb onto the Thestral-drawn carriage. "How about you? Good Christmas?"
"Great! New coat, some other clothes, Brilliant pair of boots and some good books. A good haul." She says triumphantly.
"Books? Are you feeling ok? You got books for Christmas?"
"Oi! I love books; Not just a pretty face y'know."
"Not even that." I pretend to mutter.
"Oh you cheeky bugger!" She cackles, driving a pair away from our carriage. The Thestrals, noticing nobody else getting on, begin to move. "Can't be an Auror without hitting the books once in a while."
"Tonks. You're supposed to read books, not hit them." I smirk.
"You know what I meant!" She huffs. It's good to have her back. She starts to babble. Aurors, books, Quidditch, Music – Anything. I tune out ever so slightly, having been treated to similar babbles many times before, watching her body language as she speaks. Besides looking completely exhausting, it appears that she is nervous or worried about something. Even under her bubbly and colourful exterior, she can't quite hide it. "What?" She looks at me oddly, frowning slightly. I must have missed the last question. Should I ask If she's ok? She might deflect it.
"You're nervous." I say simply. "Is it a boy? Do I need to beat somebody up?" She laughs softly, not quite meeting my eye. A possibility. "NEWTS?" I throw her an escape from my questioning.
"Don't wanna mess em up, y'know?" She latches onto the idea.
I chat with Michael and Gavin through the 'Welcome back' feast; They don't usually sit next to each other, but it's nice to catch up with them. Michael had been given a new broom for Christmas and intends to take Gavin's place as seeker when he leaves next year.
Albus had left the feast not long after the food had appeared. A large owl had dropped a letter straight onto his plate, He had burnt the letter after reading it before saying a few words to McGonagall, who had raised her hand over her mouth in apparent shock. Albus had strode out of the hall, frowning deeply. It happens from time to time, he is called away on business, usually ending up in the Daily Prophet the next day. Someone had mentioned that their mother had seen him sprint out of the hall, eyes streaming, on Halloween night 1981.
"Mister Potter." I look behind me to see Albus wearing a stony face … in Professor mode. "Come with me."
"Of course." I quickly pick up my bag and hurry after him, out of the hall. "Professor?" He doesn't respond. "Albus?" He looks at me as we walk.
"What do you know of Rufus Scrimgeour?"
"War Veteran. Late forties? Master Auror – Second only to Alastor Moody if the rumours are true. Currently Head of the Auror Office." I answer automatically. "Why?"
"Earlier this evening, Rufus Scrimgeour was attacked in his home by an unknown assailant. He is currently in critical condition in St. Mungos and the healers fear he has little time left. Due to the high priority of such an attack, I was called upon to look for evidence." He says grimly. "It takes desperation for them to ask me. Nothing. 'No trace' they had told me."
"And you told them that there is always a trace?" I wager, he nods. "And you came to fetch me. What if I'd said no?" He raises an eyebrow at me. I grin is response. This sounds like too much fun, ignoring the dying man of course. I pat my pockets – Invisibility cloak, money pouch – All set.
"Madam Bones awaits us in my office with a portkey."
"From Hogwarts? I thought that wasn't possible." The wards should stop such a thing. Albus shoots me an amused look.
"Being the Headmaster does has it's perks." He says mysteriously as we arrive at the gargoyle outside his office. "Mars bar." He says as I discard my cumbersome robe on the floor.
"This is your 'unique tracking method'?" A middle aged woman asks Albus, looking at me as I roll up my sleeves. "Is this-" She shakes her head. "Nevermind. Let's just go." She holds up a length of rope which possesses a pink aura.
"Do you have everything you require?" Albus asks me. I pat my arm, revealing my wand holster.
"All good, Chief." I smirk, gripping one end of the rope. Madam Bones sighs as Albus closes his fist around the middle before activating the portkey. I squeeze my eyes shut as we start to spin, resisting the urge to scream and vomit all at once. I bend my knees, as the book had suggested, and open my eyes once we land; Just outside of the fence surrounding a small cottage.
There are already a dozen Aurors on the inside of the perimeter. The fence itself is just inside where the sparkling wards end. One of the Aurors spots us and taps his wand on the gate, opening it up. The wards peel back to create a tall opening in the wards, allowing us entrance. I follow Albus and Madam Bones, turning on the spot and walking backwards to watch them reseal behind us. I have to fight the smile off my face; As amazing and awesome magic looks, Scrimgeour was almost killed earlier.
"Dawlish. Status." Madam Bones orders a man in his thirties.
"Nobody has entered the house, as requested." He says. "Moody turned up too."
"You stopped him from entering?" She arches her eyebrow at the man, he shakes his head.
"Shacklebolt managed to keep him outside, he he doesn't really need to be close, does he?" Dawlish taps under his left eye.
"He say anything?" Madam Bones massages her temples.
"Clean as a whistle apparently." Dawlish says.
"Are whistles notoriously clean?" I ask. Dawlish turns to me, seeing me for the first time apparently.
"Who's this?" He gestures to me.
"Consultant Detective Potter." I say, drawing a galleon from my pouch.
"A … What?"
"I just made it up." I hold the galleon in front of my face, between my thumb and index finger. "The wards are supposed to be unbreachable, right?" I ask Madam Bones. She looks at Albus, who only shrugs.
"Yes. Our experts say they are unharmed, not even an attempt." She tells me, seemingly at wits end. I turn and throw the galleon at the wards, the coin passes through a tiny gap at waist height, a break in the mesh.
"I'd say that's how he got it." I smirk as the 'experts' flock to the break. I turn back to the disbelieving faces. "Nitwit, blubber ..."
"Oddment, tweak." Albus smiles, I detect a hint of pride in his eyes. "Perhaps a look inside?" He suggests, Dawlish nods dumbly.
As we approach the house, it quickly becomes clear who is Shacklebolt, and who is the legendary Alastor 'Mad'Eye' Moody. The shorter man is leaning on his staff and seems to be growling – Moody. The taller Auror is standing under the porch, blocking the door. His hands are clasped loosely together, very much like a club's bouncer would stand. His body appears relaxed, but his eyes watch us sharply as we approach.
"Auror Shacklebolt, Alastor." Albus greets the two men before dropping into 'Official mode'. Shacklebolt has a quill and a piece of parchment on the porch's table. "A record of who enters." Albus informs me quietly before stepping in after Madam Bones and Moody. He gestures for me afterwards.
Alastor Moody – Ex-Auror
Amelia Bones – Head of the DMLE
Albus Dumbledore – Chief Warlock
I write 'Harry Potter' Before adding '-Detective'.
"Nobody goes in." Madam Bones says to Shacklebolt as the door is opened.
The entrance hall is short, I wipe my bare feet on the mat – This is still a man's home – before we enter the living room. Photos, medals and newspaper clippings line the mantelpiece, related to Scrimgeour's long career, no doubt. The room isn't scruffy nor unnaturally clean. A book, a copy of the Daily Prophet, and an undrunk cup of coffee sits on the table beside the maroon armchair.
"The house is clean, Amelia. It's like he just keeled over and fell into the bloody coma." Moody grunts.
"Alastor." She gives him a pointed look, gesturing to me. I snort loudly.
"May I?" I ask Albus. He nods.
"Please do." I drop my bag and rub my hands together.
I walk to the window first, running my finger over the window sill, inspecting the dust then placing my hand against the window pane. I turn and pick up various trophies from the fireplace. "Interesting." I mutter as I sit in the armchair. Finely made by his mother as a 20th anniversary present for his father, They both loved the chair. I pick up the paper and pretend to read it as I watch the echoes around the room and absorb what little information it holds. I pick up the coffee, taking a sip, as I stand up, finally taking pity on the uninformed. I think I've gone a bit stir crazy in Hogwarts. "The Assassin first breached the wards at 5 o'clock sharp. The ward breaker was disintegrated when the Assassin grew impatient and jogged him right near the end. The Assassin then prowled across the lawn under the cover of a powerful disillusionment charm, Stealth is this man's forté." I walk back to the window. "This window has only been closed twice since Scrimgeour has lived here. The day he bought it and now; He never wanted to miss a potentially important owl." I explain, walking into the kitchen, the others congregate in the doorway. I take another sip from the coffee. "Whilst the Assassin was dismantling the wards on the window, Scrimgeour was making himself a drink in preparation for reading the newspaper. Black coffee, no sugar or milk." I walk through the three of them, standing behind the armchair. "He sat back in his chair, putting the coffee down. Now, Scrimgeour is an intelligent guy – He realised something was going down." I point my finger like a gun at the back of the chair. "The Assassin stood here and was just about to blow his head off, but Scrimgeour kicked his chair back." I crouch down and point to the almost non-existent scrape marks. "This threw the Assassin off balance for long enough to allow Scrimgeour to run around and grapple with his attacker, knowing that the man wasn't expecting a physical melee. The Assassin used a powerful knock-back jinx as the wand was pointed at the ground, it threw them into the ceiling."
"Are you making this up?" Moody growls.
"It left a small amount of the Assassin's hair wax on the ceiling." I point upwards, not bothering to look as I'd witnessed the echoes fighting already. "The Assassin hit Scrimgeour with two curses after Scrimgeour had already shot a thick arrow into his stomach. The second curse was designed to obscure medical spells readings to prevent proper healing and treatment. I assume he isn't doing well?"
"That's classified." Madam Bones says, looking slightly shaken.
"Very clever, I can see why the Assassin favoured such a curse, to make it look natural or something. Maybe just to prolong the suffering."
"So you don't know what the first curse did?" Moody turns both eyes on my as I crouch down.
"It turns organs into liquid." I say, staring back up at him. "And not the musical kind judging by the way he is screaming and thrashing." I close my eyes, trying to will the echo to be quiet.
"Harry?" My eyes snap back open. Albus is looking at me, concern evident in his face.
"The Assassin stumbled back to the window." I walk to the window, open it and climb out, coffee in hand. "He then left the residence the way he came in, setting off the alarm in his haste, which is the only reason Scrimgeour made it to hospital. We wouldn't even know what happened yet if he hadn't stuck him with that arrow."
"Dawlish!" Madam Bones marches out of the house. "St. Mungos. Now. Organ liquification curse." Dawlish doesn't even take the time to nod, he just breaks off in a sprint and leaps through the hole in the wards, disapparating in mid-air.
"That was cool." I say, staring at the now vacant spot where Dawlish had vanished, draining the coffee.
"Any idea who attacked?" Moody asks gruffly.
"His name is 'Jacob Nott'. I believe his nephew is in my year." There is a groan from Madam Bones. I'd guess dealing with rich 'purebloods' probably involves a shit load of paperwork.
A/N: I envisage somebody asking Dumbledore to "Call in Potter." in the future. This is part of what i envisioned Harry using his power for, solving things when the Aurors are out of their depth. ( Which is always )
I thought it would be interesting to try a chapter where we read to results of Harry's work, rather than what he is seeing straight away
What is it that weighs heavily on Tonks' mind?
Super serious question - Should Harry be a Metamorphagus? ( Yes i know i've been spelling that wrong forever. )
Let me know what you think of this. Harry is a bit 'off'. A lot of stuff goes into his head. Enjoy!