Chapter 14: Good Auror, Bad Auror

And so it came to pass that I once more found myself plonked in front of two distinctly unpleasant Aurors with an axe to grind. I let slip an audible groan at the sight of the troll like Hunt perched on Dumbledore's desk. His eyes lit up at my discomfort as Snape ushered me into a chair.

"Well, well, well, Mr Potter! We didn't expect to be seeing you again so soon, did we, Sammy?"

"That's Samuel," his partner said with a roll of his eyes. "And you don't need to lay it on quite that thick, boss."

"Nothing wrong with rubbing the little git's face in his own stupidity, is there?" Hunt leered at me unpleasantly, and I leant back in my chair, affecting distaste at his presence. It wasn't that hard. The man reeked of cheap booze, for which there was no excuse. Not to mention the fact that his cheap, pathetic little jibe at my intellect and cunning had hit home.

"How exactly have I been stupid? I haven't done anything!"

"Being caught at the scene of the crime once is unlucky; twice? That's just dumb. Really, that's house-elf dumb. You think Dumbledore will let you go and scrub dishes after we snap your wand and use the splinters as firewood?"

"Now look here, you blithering ape-" I was cut off in my prime, which was probably fortunate going by the throbbing vein in Hunt's head. Snape had started to speak, from his position behind me.

"Much as it pains me to say it, Auror Hunt, I have to agree with Potter. I do not believe he did anything. He could not have, and I mean that as no comment on his moral character, simply his ability. He is a uniformly poor wizard, and I am constantly surprised that his wand wasn't ashamed to choose him."

I was certainly ashamed of my reaction to Snape's bilious remarks. I sat there like a bloody goldfish, gaping in appalled shock that anyone could be so…well, honest. He certainly had the cut of my gib, and no mistake. That said, I couldn't believe that anyone, let alone a Slytherin, would be so stupid as to speak the truth in front of an officer of the law, whether magical or Muggle. It went against every fibre of my being.

And, I must confess, in my anger – and haste to assert my reputation – I made a catastrophic mistake.

"I bloody well could have done something!"

If only I could have snatched those words back…alas, I don't think Dumbledore himself could have pulled off magic like that. Hunt's triumphant little smirk lit up his ugly face like a jack o'lantern, while Tyler merely looked embarrassed on my behalf. I could only thank Merlin, God and anyone else who happened to be listening that I wasn't being treated to a full frontal view of Snape's twisted gnashers as he revelled in my mistake.

"Professor Snape, I wonder if we could just have a quiet moment alone with the lad?" Hunt made no secret about what would be happening in this 'quiet moment'; he'd already drawn his wand, for God's sake.

"Of course. I ought to fetch the Headmaster anyway." I heard a swish of robes, and the click of the closing door. Hunt stood over me, his eyes gleaming with petty malice, and he twirled his wand. Tyler just sat there, watching me contemplatively.

"Do you know how easy it is to get the truth out of someone, you little ponce? How many ways there are to get you singing like a eunuch?" Hunt enquired, in what probably passed for a tone of genteel civility for him. I frowned.

"Don't you mean castrato? I suppose it's just a semantic difference when you get right down to it, but-" I tailed off as my brain caught up with me, and shrank back in my seat. Hunt did not look pleased with my interruption.

"Wanna find out how much of a difference semantics can make?" He tapped his wand meaningfully against the palm of his hand, and I shuddered. "That's better. Anyway, lots of ways for us to get you talking…"

"One, actually. Well, legally, but we are professionals…Veritaserum," Tyler chipped in, helpfully. I looked up at him, wondering what the bloody hell he was talking about, when he continued. "We haven't got any of that, of course. Restricted substance. Far more paperwork than it's actually worth. Any Auror worth his badge can get the truth with a few pointed questions."

"Of course," I replied with an ingratiating smile, trying to indicate that I had no doubt they were excellent Aurors, and that there was really no need for them to demonstrate their expertise for me, that I took every word they said as gospel truth. I was not entirely successful. Hunt gave a quick flick of his wand and an unseen force yanked my hand forward, slamming it to the desk. I cried out in pain at the impact, and then whimpered when the pressure did not ease. Slowly, it dawned on me that Hunt was set on crushing my hand against the desk.

"So," Hunt said, kneeling next to me and getting a firm grip on the scruff of my neck. "Why don't you tell us what you had against that Muggleborn kid? Why'd you want to kill him?"

"I didn't – I don't – I barely know who he was!" I cried out, trying to flex my fingers. I could barely focus on anything through the pain, not to mention the terror that was threatening to darken my expensive underwear. I've always liked to have the best in everything, what can I say? Hunt sighed, and raised his wand. The pressure on my hand vanished, and I clutched it to my chest, sweating profusely. I had to duck my head to hide the look of rage I was currently sporting. The miserable bastards would pay, I swore it then and there. How dare they do that to me? Didn't they know who I was? In the midst of my wild plotting, I was dimly aware of footsteps; suddenly, my head was yanked back and Tyler's wand was in my mouth.

I stared up at him, goggle-eyed, and he flashed a sad smile at me. "I really didn't want to have to do this, Harry, but I can be a little more subtle than my friend, you see."

My teeth started to shake. I don't mean chattering, although God knows I was scared enough to do it, but actually shaking. As in, rattling themselves loose. I let out a scream in a pitch I didn't know I could reach, and tried to fight my way out of the chair. Hunt's strong hands clamped down on my shoulders, holding me in place, and I went almost rigid with fear. It wasn't painful, as such. It just felt utterly, horrifyingly wrong. They were shaking themselves loose, the roots stretched and taut, and my mouth was filling with blood I couldn't spit out and couldn't bring myself to swallow…

The spell stopped. The wand was gone. Hunt released me. I sat there, stunned beyond belief, not quite realising what was going on, and then retched the blood out all over Dumbledore's desk. I pushed my fingers into my mouth, frantically examining my teeth. They were all still there; painful now, but apparently in their rightful positions and just as solidly placed as they had ever been.

"You ready to talk, you little shit?"

"I don't…I don't know anything, I swear. Please, just leave me alone." Reader, I was broken. I'm not a fan of pain at the best of times, but crushing the hand…well, that's a risk I took every time I shook Cormac's hand. It was painful, but the spell on my teeth had completely blindsided me. What was I supposed to tell them? Lockhart was an obvious alibi, but too obvious – I had used him last time, if you recall. I couldn't tell them the truth; they were hampered by that flaw inherent to all officers of the law, of whatever stripe – they were too thick to recognise that a lack of an alibi probably meant innocence rather than guilt. If I had attacked anyone, I would have made damn sure I was on the other side of the castle, preferably in view of a large crowd, when whoever I had roped in as the patsy did the deed. That was just basic common sense, surely? I couldn't even concentrate enough to come up with a cunning lie to bring myself out smelling of roses, which should tell you something.

"What d'you think, Sammy?" Hunt said, not taking his eyes off me. His partner shrugged.

"Looks like he's telling the truth. Probably a bit too spineless to do anything else, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah, I reckon you're right. This is the great Harry Potter, huh? Can't say I'm impressed with you, you little weasel."

I glowered up at him impotently. What more could I do? Nothing, for now. But I promised myself that they would pay dearly for their actions. Hunt sat down in the chair opposite me, swivelling to place his ugly dragonhide boots on the desk, a picture of casual arrogance. "Here's what's going to happen, sunshine. We're busy men; we can't be here all the time, obviously. But we don't want this little fuck hurting any more of you, do we?"

"Absolutely not," Tyler said with a solemn shake of his head.

"So, you're going to keep an eye on things for us, aren't you?"

My expression must have been quite the picture. My mouth hung open slackly as I stared at them in bewilderment. "What…what am I supposed to do?"

"Let us know if you see or hear anything funny. Just generally keep tabs on the situation for us," Hunt explained.

"And if you don't…" Tyler continued ominously.

"Then we're going to fuck your life up for the foreseeable future, understand, chum?" I sank back in my seat under the force of Hunt's malevolent grin. I was well and truly screwed. I wasn't an Auror – I could barely keep track of my lesson notes, such as they were, never mind try and work out who was unleashing some foul beasty on all and sundry. In the end though, what could I say? A negative response would have ended with my pearly whites on the floor, one way or another, and I was eager to avoid that. Finally, after a lengthy silence, I nodded to them. I kept my eyes on the floor. I did not want to know what Hunt would do if he could see the sheer hatred in my eyes.

There was the creaking of old hinges, and Hunt swung his feet off the desk. He sketched a salute behind me; "Professor Dumbledore, sir."

I turned around, eager for the first time I could remember to see that doddering old fool. He slid wintery eyes over the scene before him, and I could feel the disapproval radiating from him. He knew exactly what had been going on, oh yes, and he wasn't happy about it. I remember thinking to myself, now we're in for some fun! I thought I was going to get to see him crush them, burn them to cinders out of sheer disgust…

The old bastard nodded at them, and asked them if there was anything else he could get them. He even offered out sherbet lemons as they were leaving, the odious little shit. How dare he? That was it, he was going on the list. He would pay as well. Oh, my revenge would be swift, brutal, glorious…spoken of with hushed reverence for years to come, the day that Harry James Potter stood up and showed the world that he was not to be trifled with…

"Don't forget, Potter." Hunt pointed his index finger at me, and smirked unpleasantly. "You scratch our back, or we'll scratch yours…"

Translation: help them or get the living shit kicked out of me, by professionals. I hung my head, my wrath dying away. "Of course." I actually squeaked, all the Gods damnit. They swaggered out, leaving me alone with the illustrious Headmaster. That noble gentleman walked past me, touching his hand lightly to my shoulder, and sat down opposite me. He studied me carefully, his eyes full of concern – doubtless completely false, but credit where it was due, the man was a hell of an actor.

"I am truly sorry that you have found yourself mixed up in these proceedings once again, my boy. If anyone deserves the quiet life, it is you, after all."

Well, I couldn't argue with that, could I? I would have been very happy for a quiet life! Well, quiet-ish, at least. I assumed a humble, sorrowful expression, leavening it with a sprinkling of concern for…Fletchly, yes. "All I want to do is help, sir, of course. This whole situation is just awful."

"I'm delighted to hear you say that, Harry," Dumbledore replied, with a slight twitch of his beard suggesting a smile. "If there is anything you know, I am always here to listen."

I nodded, attempting to project an aura of dim-witted loyalty and empty-headedness – Longbottom's natural appearance, in other words.

"Is there anything you wish to say to me?" Dumbledore asked. Normally, when amongst friends, I'd have grabbed an opportunity like that with both hands, making some appropriately insulting remark, but what could I possibly say to Dumbledore? 'You're a senile old git.' 'You dress like a drug addled parrot.' 'You're too clever by half, and don't think for a moment that I don't know exactly what your game is.' 'Fuck you and the griffin you rode in on.' None of these seemed wise. I merely attached a winning smile to my face.

"If there was, you would be the first to know, sir."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"I don't like this, don't like it at all. I just can't believe someone here would do something like this!"

I rolled my eyes. It was hardly the first time I had heard Longbottom spouting off like this, but I'd thought he'd given up on it by now. He'd been blabbering about the Heir of Slytherin since Fletchly had been attacked, criticising the lack of fair play and sportsmanship and fair play. At one point, honestly, I swear he declared that it just wasn't Quidditch. Well, I could hardly disagree with him, but it seemed a spectacularly asinine comment under the circumstances. Our little group was clustered at the end of the Gryffindor table. I was nursing a hangover – I'd needed more than a few stiff drinks to recover from my ordeal with the Aurors – while everyone else was tucking heartily into the sausages and bacon. As I glared at Longbottom, the bastard scooped an entire rasher into his mouth, devouring it heartily. I groaned, and averted my eyes. Unfortunately, that brought my gaze in line with Draco Malfoy, which was hardly an improvement. I glowered at him, on principle, and slumped down on the table, face first.

"Buck up, old man!" Cormac gave me a slap on the back; he had shaken off the vast amounts of alcohol he had consumed the previous evening with enviable ease. Bastard.

"But seriously – can any of you see these chaps hunting Muggleborns?" Longbottom had not been distracted, and was now waving his fork meaningfully. "I know there's some dubious types in Slytherin, but they wouldn't do this. No-one would. It's got to be someone from outside the school."

"You would say that," I muttered. Sadly, he heard me.

"What do you mean?"

"You're an idealist, Longbottom. I'm telling you, there is no-one more likely to do something like this than some hormonal student who's had too much firewhiskey and who remembers their daddy blathering about the good old days. Of course one of us could be doing this."

The sap actually looked a little broken hearted by my cynical spiel. I can only assume that I had shattered some illusion he held about me. On the one hand, he'd probably leave me alone for a while. On the other, he probably wouldn't remember it for long. Ah well.

"Much as I hate to agree with Harry," Hermione chipped in, scowling at me. I'd promised to put her in touch with Cedric Diggory, but hadn't got round to it yet. In retaliation, she had stopped doing my homework for me. I thought it was a fair swap, but she was determined to bitch at me every chance she got, and it really was getting tiresome. "But he's right, this time. I mean, just look at Malfoy!"

"Oh, he's just…a little set in his ways," Longbottom offered weakly. Even he knew, deep in his heart, that Malfoy was a Bad Sort.

"Ha! He's certainly been happy enough about the attacks," I told him. "He might as well be posting love letters to the bastard everywhere he goes." It was true. Malfoy really was being obnoxious about the whole thing – and while I didn't particularly approve of his views, the worst thing was his lack of subtlety. I mean, if you think like that, you don't announce it at every opportunity, do you? You just get on with life. I didn't tell people what I really thought of Dumbledore, after all.

"Yeah, but he's too clever to do that and have anything to do with it," Dean Thomas pointed out. I started to respond, and then stopped. A lightbulb had just appeared above my head – not literally, I must stress. I had had, as the saying goes, a cunning idea. A slow smile crept over my lips, and I leapt to my feet.

"Ron. Follow me!"

We were going to need a cat.