"Huh," Pansy mused the next morning when Harry finally managed to reach her. "I didn't expect him to notice it so soon. Not the very next day at least. But I suppose Draco has always loved his shiny things so."
Busy with her make-up, she put the mirror on the vanity, so all Harry could see were numerous boxes, tubes, sticks and vials. Almost half of the picture was occupied by some shiny metal contraption that would not look out of place in that torture chamber Snape had mentioned earlier. Harry really didn't want to know the purpose of it.
"What was it? And since when do you have a calling card anyway?" Harry asked, idly watching a sped-up recording of Richardson office the day before, replaying itself in the crystal ball on mute.
"I was just going to take the globe and leave." Pansy pouted, still aggrieved that she had to take down the surveillance. "But then I saw THEM." She paused dramatically.
"Them?" Harry prompted.
"Them. Deluxe Muggle Transportation Collection."
"Deluxe Muggle—what?" The idea of Draco Malfoy having anything Muggle was mind-boggling.
"Deluxe Muggle Transportation Collection. Gold-plated crystal figurines of Muggle means of transport. Different cars, plane, even a—what's that thing Granger told me about—a racket."
"A rocket," Harry corrected automatically.
"Whatever. Made by Austrian dwarves in an undisclosed location somewhere deep in the Alps. Highly collectable, just 100 galleons a piece."
"100 galleons?! That's madness!"
"The goblins threw a fit; they've been lobbying a ban on import of all dwarf-made products for centuries, but the Muggle Collection has been a huge hit in the rest of the Europe and America already. The Patils wrangled with the Ministry about this for months until they won, and only because the Head of the International Magical Cooperation is a fan."
"So, Malfoy has an overpriced collection of glorified toy cars," Harry said. He still could not believe that was a thing. "What did you do with it, Parkinson?"
"Why, transfigured a figurine of my own, of course." Harry could just hear Pansy smirk. "Not exactly a vehicle, but I'm sure some Muggles could use it for transportation somewhere."
Harry felt a horrible foreboding. "Don't tell me it is what I think it is."
"A cow is a holy animal in India, I'll have you know. And I did a damn fine job with it, even added a golden bell and hooves, too. Why, Patil might just add it to the official collection!"
Harry felt sorry for Astoria Greengrass, who seemed to be a genuinely nice person and didn't deserve to be put in the middle of that particular feud. Pansy was truly the ex from hell. Knowing what she went through those first years after the war, and how Malfoy turned his back on her when she needed him, Harry had felt like he couldn't truly begrudge her at first. And now any protests fell on deaf ears.
"Should I ask Parvati for a figurine of a different animal?" He asked wryly instead. "Unfortunately, it won't help you stalk Malfoy, but—"
"My animagus form is fearsome and majestic," Pansy said with dignity.
It was also totally unsuitable for spying, which was what she was hoping to use it for when she decided to become an animagus.
"Maybe you can learn to turn into an armchair like Slughorn, even that would be more useful. I wonder if every person has their spiritual… piece of furniture as well?"
"What do you mean, Slughorn can turn into an armchair?" she asked in surprise, finally appearing in the mirror.
Harry told her about his first encounter with the old walrus. Pansy's eyes had that glint Hermione usually developed when she had a new righteous cause to champion.
"Oh no. You aren't actually going to do it, right? C'mon, reassure me here. Remember what your last experiment ended up like?" Transforming into an animagus form for the first time alone in the office definitely wasn't one of Pansy's best ideas. Harry sighed. "At least do it with Dennis present." If Dennis Creevey hadn't heard the noise and come to their office, consequences could have been fatal.
Pansy shot him a grin and put the mirror away again. She took the metal device Harry saw earlier, and, to his horror, put it right to her eye. It looked like the scene from some horror movie Dudley used to watch late at night.
"What are you doing with that thing?" Harry exclaimed, turning his head away from the mirror. His eyes fell on the crystal ball. "Oh, shit!"
"It's just an eyelash curler, you uncultured—"
"No, wait, I think I'm onto something with Richardson here," Harry interrupted, rewinding the scene to the beginning and cancelling the silencing spell.
Richardson entered his office and took a package from his pocket, enlarged it and put it on his desk. He sat down and then got on his feet again, pacing around the room.
Harry sped up the picture a bit until he heard a knock at the door.
Talbott entered and once again stood nervously in front of the desk.
"Good evening, sir."
"Well, let's get started, Cal, get on with it!" Richardson said impatiently, gesturing at the package.
Reluctantly, Talbott opened it, took out yellow and black Quidditch robes and looked at them intently. After a full minute of staring, he shook his head. "I can't see anything."
"Look better, lad, take your time," Richardson cajoled.
"It's not something—" Talbott started, putting away the robes.
"Useless boy!" Richardson shouted. "Have you got any idea what I went through to get these robes for you?"
The boy cringed. "Maybe the player hasn't worn them yet. They look new."
Just as quickly as Richardson got angry, he deflated, still looking at Talbott suspiciously. "Yes, that's probably it. What a waste. Well, I'll see what I can do to get anything else before the match, and these… At least I know where to sell them," he said with an unpleasant smirk.
"May I go, Professor?" Talbott asked.
"Yes, yes, go," Richardson waved his hand distractedly. "I'll contact you when I get something new."
"Goodnight, sir." Talbott fled the office.
"Well. I'd say we didn't have Defence Professors that creepy in our time, but that would be untrue," Pansy said. "Still, weren't things supposed to be improving? What was he looking at anyway? Some kind of robes? I couldn't make it out from that distance."
"Quidditch robes. Looked like Wilmbourne Wasps uniform." Harry eyed Richardson who was leaving the office through the fireplace. "What did he want Talbott to see there anyway?"
"No idea. Some kind of mark? Enchantment?"
"That Richardson couldn't see himself?" But Harry didn't have any ideas either. "I'm going to meet with Dean now. Hopefully, he'll help me dig up something concrete on this shady bastard."
"Don't you have lessons now?"
"Nah, not today. I'll drop by at the office later. I found Rowle's secret box, but he warded it like it's a Gringotts vault. Maybe Bill can take a look at it."
"Do you need me there? I got a lead on Mrs. Featherwright's diamond jewellery set, so I was going to pop to Spain."
Spain sounded much better than the dreary London weather in January. "No, you go there. How is that you always get to go to Spain while I'm chasing Jarveys in Leeds?"
Pansy just cackled evilly.
Harry traded his poncho for a sensible charcoal grey jacket and tried his best to tame his hair into a ponytail. It would have to do, despite still looking too bohemian for the little diner where he was meeting with Dean. Still, the disguise obviously worked: Dean's eyes slid right past him to the other patrons. Harry waved his hand, catching his attention.
"Blimey, Harry! Didn't recognise you here," Dean said, making his way through the tables. "I bet it's your own hair, too."
Harry grinned. Dean was a decent and honest bloke and gave Harry hope for the future of DMLE in spite of his own general experience there. They became good friends during their Auror training, and Harry was ashamed to realise that he hadn't known Dean before at all despite sharing a dorm for six whole years. They stayed in touch even after Harry had quit the Aurors, and Dean, unlike many, didn't begrudge him for that most of the time. While Dean wasn't blind to the Department's faults, he was also much better suited to work there than what Harry with his disregard for authority and fame could ever be.
"So," Harry started once Dean got his fish and chips. "Richardson. The story is apparently that our esteemed Defence Professor courageously stood up to Yaxley himself. Possibly even fought him in protest of the Umbridge Committee, for which he lost his job. Having met the bloke, I find it really hard to believe. Not to mention that I've never heard any tales of his bravery before."
"Oh, I've heard the tales alright," Dean said with a wince. "Richardson was indeed sacked over the argument with Yaxley. There was an actual warrant for his head up until the end of the war. Not because of any outrage against injustice on our friend's part, though. He was, as I was told, all for 'teaching Mudbloods their place' at the time," he spat. "No, he simply owed Yaxley a lot of gold."
"And then, in the post-war chaos, he spun that into a heroic story." Harry nodded in understanding. "I was going to ask if no one ever does background checks in Hogwarts, but who am I kidding. Of course, they don't. I mean, I'm posing there as a professor right now. While McGonagall wasn't overly happy to see me there, she didn't even ask me for my credentials. Whatever they might be for Divination."
Dean gaped at him. "What?! How did that happen?"
He briefly explained the disappearance of Alexander Rowle and told Dean about the scene that he and Pansy had witnessed earlier today, making it sound like he had simply been eavesdropping on Richardson.
"What are you doing is bordering on illegal, you know. You shouldn't actually tell an active Auror about it, Harry," Dean admonished.
Harry saluted him with his beer.
"Anyway, you're right that we won't be able to do much since the boy is seventeen and of age already. Well, we would start a search if his mother filed an Auror Report, but it's unlikely anybody would get moving until Easter holidays at least, and even then—"
"Yeah, yeah, don't I know the drill."
They discussed Richardson and his possible shady Quidditch dealings before the conversation moved to their various yearmates and DA members. Dean fidgeted nervously.
"Out with it, man," Harry said, taking pity on him.
"It's just... I proposed to Ginny and she said yes!" Dean blurted.
"Oh, that's great, Dean. Congratulations!"
"You're… You're okay with this?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" Harry frowned before an understanding dawned. "Dean, I dated Ginny when I was sixteen. I'm as bent as they come."
He and Ginny broke things off amicably, though Molly still made hopeful comments all these years later. This made Harry's visits to the Burrow uncomfortable for both of them, and he ended up going there less and less over the years. He hoped that after this engagement, Molly would finally stop. He really missed the Burrow.
"Yeah, we've all thought that before you've got together with Gin, actually."
"What do you mean?" He stared at Dean. "And who are 'we'?"
"Well…" Dean flushed in embarrassment. "Seamus and I, Lav and Parvati, and Justin, and pretty much all the DA—"
"I got the idea," Harry said dryly.
"There was you ignoring Parvati completely at the Yule Ball and your failed attempt at romance with Chang. Then for almost the entire sixth year, we heard Ron and Hermione scolding you for stalking Malfoy and telling you off for having a crush on some prince who was good at potions. We were never actually clear if they were the same person or not."
It was Harry's turn to flush. "No, they're definitely not! And I did not have a crush on Malfoy! I stalked him for an entirely different reason, namely him being a Death Eater and up to no good!"
"I'm actually glad to hear that, mate, because between you and Parkinson… Anyway, who was the other guy, then?"
Harry spluttered, his ears red. "Nobody, he was just—"
"Still carrying the torch, huh?" Dean winked, the bastard.
Harry spent the rest of the day in Liverpool tracking down Rowle's mother. When he returned to Hogwarts, it was already dark. As opposed to the English sludge, a heavy curtain of snow was falling from the Scottish sky.
On his way past the greenhouses, Harry bumped into someone. A Lumos revealed Calchas Talbott who had a shovel in his dirty hands.
"Mr. Talbott?"
The boy flushed red in obvious embarrassment. "Professor Thompson! I was doing an... extra Herbology project in the greenhouses," he explained. "Professor Longbottom knows I was there!" he added defensively.
"I've never suggested he didn't," Harry said, making a note in his mind to talk to Neville after all. The boy was definitely lying about something, although Harry had no idea what it could be.
"Er... sir?" Talbott asked hesitantly as they reached the castle in silence. "I've looked up that Occlumency thing you'd mentioned at our lesson. I wonder if it would help to—"
"Help to do what, Mr. Talbott?" Harry prompted when Talbott didn't finish his sentence.
The boy shook his head. "Ugh... Never mind, Professor."
"Mr. Talbott." Harry stopped. "If anybody is using Legilimency on you, student or teacher, and it's making you uncomfortable, you should speak up. Anything other than the surface-level Legilimency is illegal without express consent."
Talbott looked at him with a weird expression on his face. "No, it's nothing like that. Excuse me, sir, I must go to the library to... to finish my Transfiguration essay before the curfew."
With that, he fled, the handle of the shrunken shovel sticking out of his pocket.