A/N: Here's Chapter 4. I'll start work on Chapter 5 ASAP, but with exams coming up, it may be a while before the next update.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE HARD PART
The early morning air was disturbed by a loud crack as Harry and Hermione Apparated into an alleyway between two brick buildings located on a bustling London city street. Various pieces of trash and discarded sheets of paper were sent skidding a few inches as a result of the couple's sudden appearance. Harry and Hermione checked themselves over and straightened out their clothes before coming to the end of the alleyway. They peeked out into the main street to make sure they hadn't attracted any attention before they peeled off into the crowd bustling along the sidewalk, blending in seamlessly.
Due to their close proximity to Muggles at the present time, Harry and Hermione were prohibited from speaking about the case as they moved with the flow. Around them, Muggles either were paying half-attention to newspapers clutched in their hands or chatting away on cell phones held against their ears. Every once in a while, Harry would notice a Muggle jerk their phone away from their ear and stare at it in confusion. Magic and technology didn't mix well, especially in an area with a large collection of magical traces, but in areas that were inhabited more by everyday Muggle technology, things were just prone to acting up, much like what was happening now.
Hermione noticed the "Walk" signal flashing up ahead, its red light even more pronounced under the day's grey skies and steady snowfall, and guided Harry towards it, weaving in and out of people along the way. The young witch and wizard walked ahead of the crowd crossing the street with them and veered to the left once on the other side. Here, fewer people populated the sidewalk.
"Benfield's house is right up here," said Harry, indicating the line of townhouses on his and Hermione's right. "2317 Kensington Street, right?"
"Yes," confirmed Hermione as she mentally recalled the address they'd found for the Benfields back at the office.
Harry sighed. "Seven days before Christmas, and here we have to tell a wife and her kids that their husband and father won't be there on Christmas morning to see their happy faces. It's not going to be easy."
Indeed, the houses beside them, as well as the streetlamps and power lines, were decorated with either glowing Christmas lights or golden tinsel. The decorations were made more soothing by the blanket of snow that covered every smooth surface and crunched beneath Harry's and Hermione's feet.
"It never is, no matter what time of year," Hermione replied as she interlaced her gloved fingers with Harry's. "But they need to know the truth. As do we."
Harry nodded, Hermione's gesture of comfort already warming him against the cold weather. He squeezed Hermione's hand and looked over at his girlfriend, tucking a stray strand of hair that was peeking out from underneath her cap behind her ear. Hermione always knew what to say to comfort him.
"Here we are," said Hermione, gazing up at a townhouse they had just come to. Harry and Hermione stopped in their tracks.
The townhouse was composed entirely of bricks. It was two stories, with a set of windows for each level. Strings of Christmas lights encircled each window while a warm light was filtering through the glass and landing on the snow outside. Through the right-hand downstairs window, Harry and Hermione could spot a lavishly decorates Christmas tree, with ornaments that sparkled beautifully. Harry and Hermione inhaled deeply and gave each other's hand one last reassuring squeeze before letting go and climbing up the short stairway leading to the front door.
Harry looked sadly at Hermione. "Now comes the hard part." He stepped closer to the door and knocked three times.
From the other side of the door, there was the reply of a soft female voice. "Be there in a minute!"
Harry and Hermione waited patiently, yet with a sense of mounting unease. Finally, the door was opened and there stood a middle-aged woman with a slender figure and raven black hair that went past her shoulders. When her blue eyes settled on who was standing on her doorstep, Monica Benfield's curved face adopted a surprised expression.
"Harry Potter!" Monica exclaimed as she wiped her hands on an apron that was secured around her neck and waist. "Hermione Granger!" Monica held out both of her hands at the same time, and Harry and Hermione shook them politely. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Monica's eyes traveled down to the Auror badges clipped to Harry's and Hermione's coats, and her tone as well as her demeanor instantly changed. "What's happened?"
"Why don't we talk inside?" Hermione offered in a gentle tone.
Silently, Monica stepped to the left so that Harry and Hermione could come inside. Once they were, she closed the door behind them.
Harry and Hermione immediately found themselves standing on the far side of the living room, which was decked out in all sorts of holiday decorations. In addition to the tree, tiny statues of reindeer, Santas and nutcrackers lined the bookshelves like a sort of military line of soldiers protecting a stronghold. In this case, the statues were protecting the books occupying the shelves.
Elsewhere, presents sat under the three and a mixture of family photographs and Christmas decorations such as miniature villages filled the coffee table in front of the sofa and other, smaller tables positioned between other pieces of furniture.
"I'll go and get us some tea," said Monica as she walked down the hallway beside the living room.
"Mrs. Benfield, you don't have to-" Harry began, but stopped when he saw Monica was already out of the room.
With nothing else to do, Harry and Hermione removed their scarves, gloves and coats, placing them on the red sofa and sitting down there. They waited silently for a few moments until Monica returned, balancing a tray filled with cups and saucers. She carefully placed the tray down on the coffee table and pulled up a small rocking chair that had been angled beside the Christmas tree. She was now sitting opposite Harry and Hermione.
"Please." Monica gestured at the cups, which had tea in them giving off steam along with an inviting aroma.
Harry and Hermione reached out and took two of the cups and saucers. They touched the cups to their lips and blew slightly before draining them of the warm liquid. Harry and Hermione put the items back on the tray, where the cups were refilled with tea all by themselves.
"Very good, thank you," complimented Hermione. Harry nodded his head in agreement.
Monica, who had only taken a sip from her own cup, smiled gratefully and set hers back on the tray as well. She stared down at her hands. "My husband George once told me that if Aurors were to ever come by the house unexpectedly, it was either because he had accidentally done something illegal, or…because something bad had happened to him at work." Monica looked back up at Harry and Hermione, her eyes already welling with tears. "From your expressions, I'm guessing it's the second one."
Harry's face took on a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Benfield."
Monica choked down a sob and cleared her throat. "How?"
Harry and Hermione eased into the explanation of how they had found Monica's husband dead at the crime scene earlier that morning. As she listened, tears cascaded down Monica's cheeks, yet she kept her sobs stifled and controlled. However, her sniffles were wet and loud and soon after Harry and Hermione had finished describing what they had found, Harry conjured up a box of tissues, caught it in midair, and handed it to Monica. She took it with a nod of thanks, pulled out three tissues and blew her nose heavily.
It was a few minutes before Harry finally felt comfortable enough to talk again. "Mrs. Benfield, I have to ask this question." He paused, sharing a look with Hermione. "Would anybody have wanted your husband killed?"
Monica finished her current nose wipe and balled up the tissue. "No," she answered in a voice that was almost a whisper. She cleared her throat. "At least, no one that I know of. George was…," she smiled faintly, "…he was enormously considerate. He never started a fight, never engaged in any sort of conflict unless it was absolutely necessary."
"But…he was a Recoverable," remarked Hermione, somewhat nervously. "Surely, he must have-"
"He fought the good fights," Monica cut in sharply. "Only the ones worth fighting!" She exhaled heavily, shook her head briefly and looked at Hermione apologetically. "I'm sorry, it's just…"
"You never thought you'd be talking about your husband in the past tense before either of you were old," Hermione finished for her.
Monica nodded.
"So," said Harry, "he didn't have any enemies. Then, was he involved in anything that may have cost him his life? Anything…sensitive? After all, he was the Key Master for the vault in the Magical Artifact Recovery Division. That meant he had access to every artifact in the vault. Were you or he approached by anybody suspicious lately?"
Monica stared at the ground in contemplation, searching her brain for answers. "I don't know. I mean, lately he did seem a bit on-edge about something. But he never said what it was."
"What was he doing that was so out of the ordinary for him?" Harry asked curiously, his investigative senses already latching onto the possible angle.
"Um…." Again, Monica let her eyes traverse the floor as a way of answering the question faster. "He was paranoid, more than anything else, jumping at the slightest thing. And George was always calm. He never let anything get to him. That's why it was so strange to see him like that."
Hermione leaned forward slightly in her seat. "Did he talk to you at all about what was bothering him?"
Suddenly, Monica's red eyes widened. "Wait a minute. For the past week, he'd been going on about having to get in contact with some of his old partners in the Magical Artifact Recovery Division. He seemed very intent on it."
Harry and Hermione perked up.
"Old partners?" Hermione paused momentarily, the hope of a new lead making its way into both her eyes and voice. "Do you know who he was talking about?"
"Yes," replied Monica.
A pen and a pad of paper appeared in Harry's hands. He clicked the pen and held it suspended over the paper. "We'll need their names, please."
Monica shut her eyes in concentration and furrowed her eyebrows. After a few moments, she reopened them sadly. "I'm sorry, I can't remember. I mean, it's been so long since they worked together last. I can see their faces, but their names….I might as well try remembering the dates of the medieval Goblin Invasions."
Harry stuffed the pen and paper in his pockets, masking his disappointment. "It's okay," he said softly. But really, it wasn't. However, his hopes were raised again by Monica's next words.
"Although…," she trailed off thoughtfully. "Yes. Yes, I have a picture that was taken of them a few years ago. I'm not sure where it is, and they'll look younger than they are now, but would it help you in your investigation?"
"Absolutely," confirmed Harry. "If you could find it and bring it by the Auror Office as soon as possible, it would be very helpful. Just tell them I told you to come and they'll escort you down." Harry reclaimed his pen and paper, wrote something on one of the pages, tore it off the pad and handed it to Monica. "And to avoid the possibility of somebody Polyjuicing you, I want you to give the Ministry guards this password. Memorize it."
On the paper, the word "Nargle" was scrawled. Monica nodded to show that she had committed it to memory, and then the paper floated out of her grasp and burst into a puff of smoke in the air between her, Harry and Hermione.
"Before we go," said Hermione, "we have one more question for you, Mrs. Benfield. Were you ever aware of the nature of any of the missions your husband and his partners went on as Recoverables? It might begin to give us a sense of why he was killed."
Monica sighed. "Miss Granger, as an employee of the Ministry, you should know that there are certain aspects of a job that should be kept within those walls. While I can't give you any specific details, I can, however, tell you why George was part of a team in the first place. Basically, the Head of the Magical Artifact Recovery Division at that time formed a group of his best Recoverables in order to find something that other Recoverables before them had died trying to find on their own. I never knew what they were meant to find, only that they were successful."
Harry and Hermione shared a look. "Do you remember the name of the Head of the Division at the time?" asked Harry.
Monica nodded eagerly. "Yes. I believe he still holds the title. Steven Anderson."
Again, Harry and Hermione glanced at each other significantly.
"Well, thank you, Mrs. Benfield," said Hermione. "I think we've learned all we needed to hear. Look for that photograph and bring it to us once you find it." She and Harry stood up and started putting their warm garments back on.
"What do I tell them?" asked Monica suddenly, her voice on the brink of cracking. "What do I tell my children when they come home from Hogwarts tomorrow to the news that their father won't be around not for just this Christmas, but every Christmas for the rest of their lives?"
Harry and Hermione, now all bundled up, regarded Monica with sympathetic eyes. Hermione turned to Harry, whose face had gone slack.
"Tell them the truth," he said in a soft tone. "Tell them that…even though the pain never goes away, eventually it becomes easier to deal with. Tell them that they still have a parent who loves them dearly, as well as memories of their father. People are how they're remembered, and your children are lucky to have made lasting memories with their father." Harry paused, bit his lip, and then cleared his throat. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Benfield. We'll get out of your hair now."
Harry and Hermione Disapparated out of Monica Benfield's living room and reappeared on the street corner outside. Once there, Hermione tenderly stroked Harry's arm.
"Are you okay?" she asked gently.
Harry kept his eyes focused on the busy streets filled with cars and pedestrians. "It's Christmas," he replied tonelessly. "This is a time where families should be brought together, not torn apart. Times like these make you remember who you've lost."
Hermione slipped her hand down into Harry's. "But also who you've gained," she reminded him. "Me, my parents, the Weasleys. Your parents would be happy that you've found people you can call family, and people who call you theirs."
Harry pulled Hermione to him for a deep, grateful kiss. When they broke apart, Harry smiled warmly at Hermione while lightly tracing his thumb down her cheek.
"You handled yourself brilliantly back there," he complimented her. "In fact, you've adapted to being an Auror very well."
Hermione smiled that crooked smile of hers that always made Harry's heart melt. "I learn from the best." She found herself kissed senseless by her boyfriend, who channeled as much energy into the kiss as he could.
As their lips were locked in passion, a large truck drove by and splashed up a large amount of slushy snow. But Harry and Hermione had already Disapparated from the spot before the snow could touch them.
The Auror Office was abuzz with activity. Most Aurors were wrapping up last-minute details on recent cases, so the main floor which was divided up into different bullpens where different teams could conduct parts of their investigations was filled with people walking to and fro. Memos in the shape of paper airplanes zoomed around through the air, some of them bouncing off the glass walls of The Situation Room on floor level and the tinted glass windows of Liam Barnes's office directly above it. A few of the memos even managed to avoid the Christmas decorations, such as lights, tinsel and wreaths, which were suspended from the ceiling. A large Christmas tree stood in front of all the bullpens, a few steps away from the main entrance.
One of the memo airplanes flew very close by Ann's head, just missing her as she walked the distance between Ian's desk and hers in the center bullpen, the bullpen belonging to Harry and his team. Ian was hunched over his desk, intently studying a mass of papers scattered before him. Ann added to the mess by placing the piece of paper currently in her hand on top of Ian's. It was part of the inventory.
"I've found two artifacts unaccounted for," Ann informed him, pointing out the items in question on the list made before the break-in. "The Gateway Belt and The Pyranic Glove."
"Same results here," replied Ian as he extracted a piece of paper from the collage on his desk. "Two more missing artifacts…no official names for them, but the Division called them The Serpent-Tongued Key and The Snakeskin Sword."
Ann walked behind Ian's chair so that she could read the other half of the inventory over his shoulder. "Seems to fit in line with The Brotherhood's sensibilities. Did you find a description of their capabilities?"
Ian held the inventory closer. The inventory was a piece of parchment with collected artifacts sorted into a list on the left, the names of the agent who recovered the artifact in the center, and a brief description of the artifact's power on the right. "Well, the Key is exactly that…just a key with curious markings across it that keeps it from fitting into any regular keyhole. However, the blade of The Snakeskin Sword is said to have poisonous venom melded into its blade, and the hilt is made out of basilisk skin. It sounds like quite a weapon, but I can't see any connection it might have to the Key. How about yours?"
"The Belt and Glove don't share any similarities, either, and neither do their powers. This is quite the mystery. What would The Brotherhood want with these?" Ann crossed back in front of Ian's desk.
"That's what we're here to find out." Ian leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes exasperatedly. "Taking a case so close to Christmas…good thing I didn't make any holiday plans."
"You didn't?" Ann asked, her voice rising in curiosity.
"Yeah, with that whole mission Barnes sent me on, I didn't know for sure when I'd be back. Just as well, seeing as how my family isn't exactly the type to spend time with." Ian looked over at a photograph on his desk, away from the papers. It was of a woman with brown, curly hair and a wide smile.
Ann regarded the photograph soberly. "You don't talk about your mother much."
"Because it's a tough subject." Ian crossed his arms in front of him and stared at the picture as well. "After all, the fire happened around this time a few years ago when I graduated from Hogwarts. It's not much of a Christmas when your mother dies in a house fire a week before and the rest of your family goes into a downward spiral of depression because they felt guilty for going out that night and leaving her alone to do some baking over a faulty stove. The fire killed her before any magic could prevent it. I seem to be the only one in my family able to accept that." Ian fingered his mother's picture, which had not aged well and was looking crackly and decayed. "I really should have this restored."
Ann waited a few moments to speak again, the stretch of silence before that almost insufferable. "My family is traveling out of country to be with relatives over in America. I told them I couldn't come because of the case. So neither of us have plans a week from now."
Ian glanced up at her neutrally. "Is that an invitation?"
Ann shrugged. "More like an offer. A week from now, if the case is still going and we get Christmas off, what do you say to us getting together and doing something?"
Ian arched an eyebrow. "Just us? Not Harry and Hermione, too?"
Ann gave Ian an amused smirk. "If you remember, Harry has already made some rather special plans for him and Hermione on Christmas Eve."
Ian nodded as a smirk of his own crept across his face. "Ah, yes." He gazed thoughtfully at Ann, clearly considering her offer. "We haven't done that much together outside of work," he said finally, "so I suppose now's as good a time as ever to fix that. Say, my place for dinner, Christmas Eve?"
"Perfect," smiled Ann. "It's a date."
"What's a date?" asked Harry as he and Hermione trudged into the bullpen while slipping their scarves off of their necks. They each made their way over to their desks, which were positioned much like Ian's and Ann's on the opposite side of the enclosed work area; that being directly across from each other. Harry had his desk next to Ann's, with some space in between them, while Hermione shared the right side of the bullpen with Ian.
"Oh," said Ian airily, "Ann and I were just making Christmas arrangements." Ian furrowed his eyebrows and looked from where his team members had just come from to where they were now. "By the way, Harry, how do you do that?"
Harry shrugged. "Do what?"
Ian sighed while he began organizing the papers on his desk. "Never mind."
"The two of you are going on a date?" Hermione inquired as she shot Ian and Ann a sly expression.
"More like a casual dinner between friends," Ann replied evasively as she turned away slightly from Ian. This made Hermione's sly look turn into one of amusement.
"So if the two of you have time to make Christmas plans, I take it you found something important?" Harry asked pointedly as he stepped out into the bullpen. Hermione joined him.
"Yes," Ian and Ann answered simultaneously. Ann took the lead as Ian pushed his chair out from his desk. "Between the two of us, Ian and I found there to be four missing artifacts. The first two are The Gateway Belt and The Pyranic Glove." Ann handed her piece of the inventory to Harry, who immediately began reading down the list. "The Glove was invented by a dragon trainer named Ilea Krindelow. He fashioned it out of material able to withstand any type of fire, but he also inlaid it with enchantments that gave it the ability to create its own fire at the will of its wearer. The Gateway Belt is more old-fashioned. It was created during the early years of magic, before Apparation was perfected and can transport whoever wears it to anywhere in the world. The catch is, the Belt is designed so that the movements of the wearer are untraceable."
"So whoever wears the Belt can go anywhere they want without the worry of the Apparating traces the Ministry has over everybody in the magical community," said Harry, catching on as he turned the inventory back toward Ann. "And look who was the Recoverable who got the Belt…our dead man, George Benfield."
Ann glanced down the inventory yet again. "Yes, but the names of the Recoverables who acquired the other artifacts aren't even listed. So either someone has bad record-keeping skills or -"
"The Brotherhood is making sure to cover their tracks," Hermione finished for her. She turned to Ian. "What about you?"
Ian explained his findings to Harry and Hermione, going on to say that neither he nor Ann had come across any possible way the four artifacts linked together. "We've looked at it from every angle," he said. "These artifacts couldn't be more different."
By now, Harry was seated at his desk. "Hermione and I talked to Monica Benfield. She said her husband was acting strange recently, and going on about needing to speak with former partners of his in the Division. She also said that they formed a team a while back, to find something." Harry paused thoughtfully as the rest of his team gathered around his desk. "Now I'm thinking it was more than one something."
"Steven Anderson was the one who organized the group," said Hermione, positioning her right elbow on top of her left hand and stroking her chin. "He must know a lot about these artifacts, only he isn't letting on about it."
Harry nodded in agreement.
"So," said Ian, "the big question now is why would The Brotherhood want four seemingly unrelated magical artifacts?"
"And what are they planning on using them for?" added Harry, his eyes darkening.