Harry Potter Fan Fiction

A Trail Gone Cold

Chapter V

"Hurry up mate, her parents are here already," said Ron impatiently. He lifted his mug to his lips and slowly and sipped his steaming coffee.

"Hold on, I just have couple more letters to send," responded Harry, without even bothering to look up. He signed his name at the bottom of the second letter with a flourish, and placed it inside an envelope.

"Come here you," said Harry to a small tawny owl resting on the corner of his desk.

Unlike Ron, the owl had been content patiently nibbling at the owl treats that Harry kept in a bowl on the corner his desk. At Harry's command, the owl hopped over to him and extended his leg. Harry attached the letter and the owl took off without another look back. He pulled another piece of parchment towards him, and began scrawling another letter; this time to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

"The owl about that shoe print came in this morning," said Harry conversationally. "Apparently Baker's hunch was right. They belong to a size 8 pair of Alfonzo Perez loafers. Expensive, hand made. Very few people can even afford them."

"Excellent. Now if we can just raid every closet in London we'll find the killer," answered Ron sarcastically.

Harry attached the last letter to the leg of the remaining owl.

"Not every closet, Ron", corrected Harry. "Just an high end one."

The tawny owl took off before Harry had even pulled his hands away. He pushed back and the heavy armchair scraped loudly even against carpet.

"Alright then. Let's go see the…. Tourney's is it?"

"Yeah, they're in interview four," answered Ron as he stood up, downed the last dregs of his coffee and pushed in his chair.

They left Harry's office and together began to walk to interview room four.

Interview 4 was located not on the second floor with the rest of the department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was located in the basement, just one floor above the dungeons. Harry and Ron had to descend on the lift and once they had gotten below the atrium, the air was noticeably colder.

"Ooh," Ron shivered as he wrapped his arms around himself. "I knew I should have brought my cloak."

The elevator chimed at their stop.

"Basement level three: Interview and interrogation."

"Alright mate, this is us," said Harry as they stepped out of the lift.

They walked down a long and dim stone corridor, with only the glow of the torches on the walls for light. At the end, the corridor branched off into two even longer halls. A faded bronze plaque on the wall read:

Interview Rooms 1-15 Interview Rooms 16-35

They took the hall to the left and no more than two doors down did they find themselves outside of interview room four.

"Mr. and Mrs. Tourney?" asked Harry as he entered the room.

Mr. Tourney stood to greet them and held out his hand. "Hello My name is Harry Potter and I'm deputy Head of the Auror's Office," said Harry as he offered his hand in return. "And this is my colleague and partner Ronald Weasley."

Harry shook Mr. Tourney's Hand first and then Mrs. Tourney's. "we're going to be taking the lead on your daughter's case. I'm sorry that we had to meet under such dire circumstance."

"SSs-she was sss-so beautiful," sobbed Mrs. Tourney as she buried he head in her hands.

"The officer said you found her in Hyde Park?" asked Mr. Tourney. His voice strained. His cold, blue eyes bore into Harry's. They seemed determined not see his wife seated next to him, her body wracked with sobs.

It was Ron's turn to speak.

"yes. Mr. Tourney, do you have any idea where your daughter might have been going?"

"She called us. Said she took her last exam and she was catching a train home that night," answered Mr. Tourney, raising his voice slightly over his wife's continued sobs.

"I told her it was tttt-too dangerous for her to be out walking alone at night like that. Bbb-but she wouldn't listen. I ssss-should have MADE her listen," wailed Mrs. Tourney. "She should have just waited until morning."

"And that was around what time?"

"4:00," answered Mrs. Tourney, barely discernable through her sobs.

"Did she say anything was out of place? Did you notice anything unusual about her?" asked Harry.

"No. She sounded so happy and relieved. She said she had just finished her exams and was going back to her flat to grab her things. Her train left at 6:35," answered Mrs. Tourney as she wiped her eyes, attempting at last to collect herself. They paused for a moment as she blew her nose noisily.

"Mrs. Tourney, why wouldn't your daughter just apparate home? She was of age, correct?" asked Harry.

"Mel was of age, but she never passed the test. Splinched herself really bad on her first go and never tried to take the test again. 'There are plenty of ways to get around with out apparation.' That's what she always said whenever someone questioned her about it. That was our Mel, practical but determined."

"And where did your daughter go to school?"

"Beauxbatons Academy of Magic," answered Mr. Tourney.

"That's in France," added Ron.

"yes, my family is French through my grandmother. It meant a lot to her that Mel would go to a French wizarding school."

Mrs. Tourney, suddenly overcome with yet another round of tears, buried her face into her handkerchief. This time, sobbing so noisily that her husband had to almost shout.

"But she never showed up at home. That's when we got suspicious and called the police," said Mr. Tourney straining to be heard.

"Mrs. Tourney," Harry started.

But by then she was sobbing so loudly that they could no longer hear each other. Ron caught Harry's eye and tapped his wand sitting his lap. Harry had to suppress a smile. He knew what Ron was suggesting… And casting silencio on Mrs. Tourney, while tempting, was not very befitting. But no one had said that he couldn't bewitch himself. Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket, pointed to himself and muttered Muffliato. He heard a slight pop in his ears, before everything went quiet. He grinned and gave Ron a discrete thumbs up. The spell wasn't perfect; even though he had been able to cast a more potent version of it he could still hear Mrs. Tourney, although she sounded significantly further away than she was. Ron stifled a laugh and followed suit.

They were both content to let Mr. Tourney attempt to console his wife, which seemed to take an eternity. Mr. Tourney appeared to be wholly unfit for the task. Refusing to make eye contact, he was now awkwardly patting her on the back.

When Mrs. Tourney was finally reduced to the sniffles, Harry undid the spell. He heard another small pop in his ear as the sound came rushing back.

Ron had done the same and, still adjusting, twisted a finger in his ear. As he watched Mrs. Tourney pull a fresh handkerchief from a large black bag in her lap, Ron suddenly remembered Hermione, and her bottomless purse.

"Mrs. Tourney, did your daughter happen to carry a purse?"

Harry glanced over at Ron, taken aback. A purse hadn't been found at the scene. How could he have overlooked that?

"Y-yes, she did actually. It wasn't with her things the other aurors brought us."

"Can you describe it for us?"

"It was lavender, with gold clasps."

"Would you be able to identify it?"

"Of course. I bought it for her last Christmas," answered Mrs. Tourney.

"Does she have any friends?"

"2 girls named Alice and Jeanne. We met them on several occasions, though only on a first name basis. Melissa's younger sister, Jane, might know more about them."

"How about a boyfriend?"

"Marc Dumortier." This time it was Mr. Tourney who spoke.

"They met when she first went away to school. They dated for a while, but then they broke up about two months ago. Mel wouldn't tell me why," added Mrs. Tourney as she dabbed at her eyes.

Harry made a mental note to dispatch his team to France to interview Alice and Jeanne and to find out all there is to know about a certain Mr. Marc Dumortier.

"Maybe one of her friends would know," continued Ron.

Mr. Tourney scoffed.

"I never liked that guy. Marc. I just knew something was off about him."

"Off?"

"Well the guy is rich. Came from one of those old, well to do French Wizarding families. He just always came off like he was entitled. Arrogant," Mr. Tourney said very matter-of-factly.

"Do you know anything else about him?"

"Well he started school a year before our Mel did," answered Mr. Tourney as he thoughtfully scratched the grey stubble on his chin.

"Are you sure you don't remember anything else?" Asked Ron.

"Yes. Merlin, we only met the boy twice. Didn't think much of him. I thought our Mel would never fall for a guy like that. His head was stuck so far up a dragon's ass, he was blowing smoke out of his ears," spat Mr. Tourney. "If only I knew then what I know now, it'd be him 6 feet below the ground."

Harry and Ron exchanged looks.

"Err….well then. Thank you both for your time," said Harry. He rose from his seat and offered his hand once again to Mr. Tourney. "We'll be in touch. If you happen to remember anything that could possibly be helpful to the case, please feel free to drop in."

His wife filed past Ron and Harry and went through the door first, still sniffling and clutching her threadbare handkerchief. Mr. Tourney lingered behind and gave Harry one last clap on the shoulder.

"If anyone can avenge my Mel, and get that smug punk, its Harry Potter. I have the utmost faith in you, boy."

"Errr… thanks", answered Harry as he pulled uncomfortably at his collar. He suddenly felt very warm. "We're doing to do our best."

Mr. Tourney gave Harry's shoulder a final squeeze, before he followed his wife down the hall of the dungeon.

"That was…. Intense," stated Ron as they watched Mr. Tourney make his way back towards the lift.

It was already 11 am, and the atrium of the ministry was bustling with witches and wizards rushing about to their lunch engagements. Against the far wall was a row fireplaces, each holding a smoldering green light. One after another, wizards stepped out of the flames and into the ministry, with several stopping momentarily to first brush the ash and soot from their cloaks. Several witches, who by the looks of them had entered from the public London toilet above, were wringing out their cloaks and hats; a wicked storm had been brewing above. However, the atrium itself, despite is large size, was quite warm. The large Floo Powder fires served a dual purpose.

And suddenly, Harry spotted them.

"Baker, Anderson!"

He had impeccable timing. His team had all been walking out at the same time, probably to their usual haunt, The Leaky Cauldron.

"Aw, we we're just about to head to lunch," complained a somewhat sluggish Anderson.

"You can eat later," answered harry sternly. "You and Baker are heading to France to interview Melissa tourney's ex-boyfriend, Marc Dumortier."

"Well, that's a bit more interesting than lunch at the Cauldron," said Baker Approvingly.

"Maybe for you," teased Harris. "Anderson is about keel over."

"I hate apparating with a hangover," Anderson grumbled.

"Harris, you're going too. You and Clarke are to interview her friends Alice and Jeanne," Harry cut in. "Let Clarke take the lead on this one, they might respond better to a woman's touch."

"What about, Crowley?" complained Anderson. "Where's the rook going?"

"Crowley's going to stay in London to interview her sister and provide research support."

"The rook gets to stay?" asked Anderson indignantly, outrage etched across his face.

"Crowley needs more supervision. I trust you guys," Harry answered with a grin. "Alright, head out. I want you in place by tonight. Locating this Marc Dumortier or whatever is our first priority. Right now he's our only lead."