A/N: Just want to mention that the fact that Audrey's name is Bones has no relevance. She's not related to the wizard Boneses; I didn't even realize I'd chosen a used name until afterwards. I also apologize; this chapter is a little short, consisting mainly of filler information.

Thanks for the (first) review, Schwan!

Chapter 2: Getting Nowhere

Percy climbed the steps to his building and pushed open the door wearily, passed the front desk and mounted the stairs to his second-floor flat. Once inside, he tugged off his Muggle tie and jacket and tossed them aside, flopping down on the couch to spread out the contents of his charmed suitcase.

No leads. No leads at all. No sign of...of anyone.

Who was Michael Bones? He'd answered that question. He was a pastry chef at an upscale French restaurant in London. He was a hard worker, a faithful husband, and a loving father. He was, by all accounts, a good man.

So why in the name of Saruman's knickers was he dead? And who had killed him?

Percy shut his eyes from the papers spread out before him and ran over the case file.

Michael Bones was a muggle. He had begun working at an upscale French restaurant in London called Chez Madame's for many years now as a pastry chef. He had a wife, and one daughter.

On January 13th, 1997, the restaurant had closed at 10:00 as was usual. Most employees had left between 11:00 and 11:20. Michael had remained behind after the rest to clean the bakery. At around 11:30, a manager had returned to the restaurant after discovering she had left her fellytone behind. She had found Michael Bones stretched out on the floor of the bakery, dead. No wounds, no signs of struggle, no weapon or blood. No signs of forced entry. Nothing amiss.

His daughter had identified the body.

There was no definite cause of death. There was no motive. There was no evidence that helped him form a definite conclusion

He growled in frustration at the papers staring up at him. Avada kedavra, they seemed to scream. Of course it was Avada Kedavra. The medical examiner, the police statement, the family, all seemed to jibe on that. The man had been knocked dead, knocked dead as a doornail on the floor. There was the how. Now for the who and why.

The name had sent up a red flag at once, but it turned out that these Boneses were no relation to the noble wizard house of Bones. He had checked back generations and found no magical history, to his disappointment. And even if it was a family crime, why only this man? None of his family, wife, cousins, relations, had suffered even faintly. Only him. Why?

He had garnered attention, and aroused anger. How?

Percy knew he had a million avenues to check, and he also knew he'd never have time for them all. There were endless possibilities. He'd found a muggle-born and taken it in for a night, never knowing, and been tracked by a Death Eater. He'd ignorantly, piously spoken against magic for one moment of one day and been overheard by a Death Eater. He'd seen a crime committed and fought against Obliviation. He'd sensed the presence of a dementor and fought against it. He had overheard something, noticed something, touched someone, brushed against something. One touch, one drop of blood, one word, was enough to involve him in their war, and now they would likely never know. He just needed to hit on the right one avenue in a maze of a million reasons.

And there was, of course, the one, easy reason staring him in the face. Muggle-killing. The senseless slaughter of ordinary people, selected at random and systematically murdered, sometimes carried away and sometimes partially devoured on the spot. An amusing diversion, a training run...or just pointless bloodshed.

Percy fought that possibility. Bones had been in an upscale area! In an empty restaurant! The odds were ridiculous! Why would a Death Eater go to an empty building for victims, in an area where wizards never strayed? It didn't fit the pattern that Greyback or his cohorts had established. The murder had been clean, flawless, unconnected. Whoever had done it was not sloppy, not out for sport or for a fresh taste of flesh. They were out to kill.

But why?

Percy could have pounded his head to a pulp, that one question going around and around again and again.

He wanted desperately to find even the merest hint of magic somewhere. In nearly all of his war cases thus far, he had been able to find a link, a connection, a reason behind the corpse's tortured grimace.

But not Michael Bones. He had nothing to link him to the Wizard World, and after three days, Percy was beginning to realize with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that he might have to tell those two women that their man, their rock and leader, had died for nothing. All their grief, all their loss, was worthless. He pulled off his glasses and squeezed his nose, aware that he already had a migraine. He rose and went to the kitchen for a pain potion, his mind on murder.

This case was going to drive him crazy. He needed to get away from it. Get away from those staring blue eyes in the muggle photograph, because they were making him feel inadequate. They were waiting for him to find a motive, a motive that had to be right under his nose. Something so obvious his wife and daughter would not have thought it amiss. Something so blatantly there that he was going to feel like a fool for not seeing it...

He downed a pain potion, wincing at the burning taste.

No, more likely it was something hidden. Something covered by layers and layers of secrecy, as thick as one of his mother's knitted jumpers. He just had to find the right thread and the whole ugly thing would unravel.

Or maybe...

Stop thinking about it. It'll drive you mad. This is not simple like writing reports and signing papers. This is supposed to be complicated.

Right.

All he needed was a breakthrough, a way to find the missing connection to the Wizard World. There was one, he was sure of it, and he would find it. He just had to get a hold of Audrey and Lucy Bones again and push them for all the information he could. Best start with Audrey. She was younger, more passionate, her tongue was a lot looser. And he could tell by her posture, her tone, everything, she was simmering with anger. Yes, he'd start with her and push to get whatever information he could out of her, in any way. There was a thread somewhere to be unraveled. And as soon as he had found it, he would find a Death Eater, a Snatcher, someone who had been given orders, and that would give him a name and an Azkaban cell number, and he would know.

And then he'd go back to the Ministry, start on the next case, and do it all over again.

God, he needed to get out.

The entire Ministry had been shuffled about since war's end-that is, those employees that still remained. Percy had been asked to join the Muggle Reinvestigational Unit, a temporary department sanctioned by Kingsley Shacklebolt to track down, reopen, and solve the masses of muggle-related crimes inflicted during the war. It was a delicate job, considering how few Ministry employees knew how to translate to muggles, but Percy had taken the job without question, simply willing to work at whatever he was told. As soon as justice had been reached for every muggle hate crime, the department would be terminated and he would be given a position elsewhere.

Or dismissed. He didn't want to think of that.

He let himself fall face down on his couch and groaned. Work, work…he hated his job. He was an office worker, a politician, a diplomat. He was not cut out to play hit wizard or investigator.

Rolling over, he sent a patronus shooting toward the ceiling. "How's George?" He asked.

A moment later, a corporeal silver dragon wafted in. "We're at the Burrow if you want to come over."

Percy pushed himself to his feet and summoned one of his old comfy robes, tossed it on and stepped out the door. After securing the door, he checked to be certain no one was about in the Muggle apartment building, and apparated away to the Burrow.