CHAPTER FIVE

She leaned on the doorframe, staring into the room in front of her. Five men were playing poker; smoke from cigars wafted to the ceilings, and each man had a beer bottle next to their cards.

"Check," said the oldest one, a man with gray hair and patchy beard.

The rest knocked on the table, and the river was dealt. Three cards, flipped over: three hearts, one the queen, one the king, one the jack. A low whistle went up from around the table.

"Nice deal, Brett," said the youngest one, a man with thick black hair and a clean face and brown eyes.

"50," said Brett, the old man, tossing his money into the center. The rest of the men followed, though none said a word.

"Pot's right," said Brett, and deal the next card. 10 of Hearts. Another low whistle.

"Gonna see a fucking flush on the table," said the young man.

"Gonna win with a 2-high royal flush," said another, a black man in horn-rimmed glasses.

"A win's a win," said another. This was the man that Bethany stared at the hardest, because though he had changed his appearance (either by transfiguration or poly juice potion), he was the man who had nearly killed Harry Potter.

She had tracked him these last two weeks, all the way across Bakewell and into London proper, before he had hopped a plane and ended up in America. She had no fondness for the States, having had a bad experience with their government (especially their Law Enforcement division, a group of people with little skill and less restraint), and had no desire to spend a single second in longer in New York than she had to.

"100," said the would-be killer, and the rest of the table followed suit. A large pot, to be sure.

"Last card," Brett said, and the card was dealt. Ace of Hearts.

"What I say!" said the young man.

"We all heard you," said the black man.

"Any last bets?" Brett said.

"I'll go 200," said the coward. The rest of the table went with him.

"Biggest pot of the night, fellas," Brett said. "Flip 'em."

Bethany watched as the men flipped their cards. The attacker flipped his last, waiting until he saw everyone's cards, and then, beneath the table, used his wand to change his 4 of spades to the Ace of Spades. It was a pretty brazen switch, but considering that he had almost certainly rigged the cards, he didn't seem too concerned about being caught.

The table groaned.

"Sorry about that boys," the coward said, sweeping up his winnings, and putting them into a bag.

"You leaving, Conn?" Brett said.

"Yeah. Sorry, fellas. I got an early start tomorrow," Conn said.

The table muttered a few curses, but they went back to playing. Conn went past Bethany without a single glance; not unusual, as she was safely tucked beneath an invisibility cloak. She followed him out of this dingy little poker den, into the streets of New York. They were somewhere near LaGuardia; according to her tracking notes, he had been hitting gambling joints near airports since he arrived. He'd been smart about using a different name each time, a different appearance each time, but this time he had gone with the same name, and the same face. She was pretty sure it was because it was because this place needed a reference to get into - he was just arrogant enough to make that sort of mistake, by her estimation.

It was after a hard rain, with a little drizzle still in the air. Conn, in this iteration, had long brown hair, balding at the temples, and falling to his shoulders. Dark green eyes, with bright white teeth. Like an aging rock star, who spent time at the gym and the dentist and the tanning bed, and nowhere else. He walked with a slight limp; she hoped it was from where Harry had held onto his leg and he had fallen. It was the least of what he deserved.

Bethany had visited Harry for the first few days of his stay at St. Mungo's, but Rupert had called her back in. Harry Potter was a very good Auror, but he was also the Chosen One, and the Boy Who Lived, and attacks on him had to be dealt with swiftly and correctly, lest anyone start to believe anything was brewing. She remembered the panic of the Second Wizarding War, and how helpless she felt; she was only 30, having been about Harry's age when it was ended six years ago, but she remembered when Harry first came to Hogwarts. She had been a seventh year in his first, and too absorbed in books and study to get to know him, but she had followed his adventures. Who hadn't?

Conn stopped in front of a manhole cover, and bent down. He whispered something, and a hand reached out. He handed the bag to the hand, and the hand then handed back what looked like half of it in cash. Conn stuffed the bills in his pocket and walked on, and around the corner.

Bethany knelt down, still under the invisibility cloak. She thought for a second; she hadn't actually heard what she said.

"Hey," she said, and felt foolish. She tapped the thing with her wand, but nothing happened.

"Alohomora," she wished. But, again, nothing happened.

But then manhole cover and a face, a little elfish face, poked out.

"Who is there?" said the elf

Bethany pointed her wand under the cloak, and thought Petrificus Totalus, and the elf froze in place. Bethany pulled the elf from the manhole, and slipped inside, carrying the creature underneath her arm, and further still underneath the cloak.

This was the elf's home. It was larger than needed for an elf; about the size of a large human living room with high ceilings. It had oak hardwood floors and big comfortable yellows chairs, with a merry fireplace crackling in the background. A small kitchen was off to the side, and a small bathroom was sectioned off by a series of hastily built walls.

She placed the elf down on a seat, and its angry eyes bored holes into her as she searched. She went through drawers and other things, not really sure what she was looking for, but she found it anyway –– in the second drawer of the dresser by the bed, she found a false bottom. A single knock with her fist broke it free, and underneath was a list of names, with money written next to it. She saw the name Conn Stapleton, but ––

"Excuse me," Bethany said to the elf, waving her wand and freeing him. "I need your assistance."

The elf tried to use magic but she froze him in place again.

"You are not fast enough, elf," she said. "If you do that again, I will simply run through your list of names, and ruin your reputation. Find one man, save the rest. Understand?"

The elf slowly nodded. She freed him, and he stretched, and rubbed his neck.

"What do you want, British," it said.

"The man who just gave you a bag of money. What's his name?" Bethany said.

"He goes by Conn, though his real name is Marcus."

"How do you know his real name?"

"I do not lend anyone money who I don't know everything about."

"Why did you loan him money?" she said.

"Because he wanted to make some extra scratch and you need a bankroll to get into some of those places," the elf said.

"He paid up now?"

"Indeed."

"Then he's not much use to you now. Do you know where he's heading?"

The elf smiled. It was a warm smile, and Bethany felt like she might've misjudged him.

"He's going to the Baggage Car, a place where wizards gamble. The bills I gave him will get him in the door. He'll be there all night," the elf said.

"What's the catch?" Bethany said.

"The catch, British, is that the owner of the Baggage Car owes me money. Do a little damage to his establishment, and I'll deliver you your man. You'll need me to get in anyway."

"Why's that?"

"Because you look like a cop, and smell like a cop, and talk like a cop. You'll never make it past the front door," the creature said harshly.

"Okay," Bethany said. "You have a deal."

There it was again, that same warm smile. She followed the creature out of the manhole cover, and he walked ahead of her. The streets were empty, and it was still drizzling, and it was still cold.

"Stay under the cloak until I say, British," the elf said.

The Baggage Car was located in a busted old bus in a busted old lot. The elf walked up to the front door, and knocked. The door opened, and a human face poked out.

"What do you want, Korlack?" said the man.

"To gamble," Korlack said.

"Mr. Pearson said you're an undesirable."

"Tell Mr. Pearson I'm not here to collect. Just to shake some big trees."

The man closed the door for a moment. Behind Korlack's back, he waved his finger at Bethany.

"When he lets us in, move fast, British," Korlack said quietly. "His sensors will read two people coming in, but if we're fast, they won't catch the discrepancy fast enough."

Bethany didn't respond. The door opened again.

"Mr. Pearson said no," the man said, and Bethany cursed him from beneath her clock. He hit the back wall, stunned.

"That's one way to go about it," Korlack said, and Bethany pushed inside. Korlack did not follow behind her.

Men and women with wands came into the front hallway, which was narrow and sticky. It had a low ceiling, with old fashioned ceiling tiles. The first man around the corner fired a jinx that ricocheted around the room before striking one of his compatriots. Bethany hit them with Lumine Fluctus, and a bright wave of light poured from her wand and overtook them.

They rubbed their eyes as she pushed past them. The Baggage Car was in chaos, with many of the gambling tables overturned. A large man in an expensive suit she believed to be Mr. Pearson was patrolling with an absurdly small wand. One witch tried to scoop up chips, and he hit her with the Killing Curse as casual as mowing the lawn. The witch fell, soft as grass, before splitting her cooling head on a chair.

Bethany looked around frantically, but she couldn't see Conn. Then, just out of the corner of her eye –– there he was, trying for a back exit.

"Stupefy!" she yelled, and the red jet zoomed through the crowd. I missed him, hitting the man behind him, and that man collapsed onto Conn, who went to the ground. But they saw her, Mr. Pearson and his men, and soon green jets of endless death were flying in her direction.

It was too late to dodge, but –– she turned on the spot, and Apparated. The green jets missed and slammed into the wall, destroying much of the front structure. The whole building began to teeter wildly, and the floor bucked beneath their feet. Bethany landed, almost miraculously so, next to Conn, and had him by the collar in seconds.

They Apparated out of the building, a few blocks away. They hit the ground hard, Conn especially, and he groaned at the impact.

"Shut up!" Bethany said, pulling the cloak off. Conn looked up at her.

"Gods, you that mad I killed your boyfriend?" he weezed, laughing.

She hit him with full body bind, and the smile froze on his lips. She breathed hard, trying to regain her wind. She had made a mess in there, and Korlack was a witness. But he had never seen her face, just heard her voice –– it shouldn't be a problem.

Or, rather, she hoped it wasn't a problem. She didn't have the strength to track the elf down, and she was sure he would've moved on by now.

"Get up," she said, freeing Conn. He stood, slowly.

"You gonna Apparate us accross the Atlantic, miss? A long way to–"

She hit him, hard, with a her closed fist. She used her wand to drive his knees into his chest, used ropes to tie him tight, and then threw the cloak over him.

"Enjoy the baggage compartment," she said, and using her wand, she lifted him in the air and carried him all the way to the airport.