On the Desk

The cool morning breeze caught my coat and flapped it against my calves. It also added a chill freshness to the unpleasant smell of traffic fumes outside Waterloo Station. I slowed for a moment to take in the view. The city continued to grow. Every year more and more Muggles were drawn into its busy, vibrant, centre.

As I crossed Waterloo Bridge, the Thames was bustling with boats. To my left I could see the London Eye, the Houses of Parliament, and Big Ben; to my right was the dome of St. Paul's and—on the South Bank—the Shard. The sparkling glass spike, which climbed impossibly high, was one of the newer additions to the skyline. It was a building that I'd watched grow. The Muggles were becoming bolder in their building projects, and they didn't even need magic to do it.

The journey from Waterloo to my workplace was one I'd been making for more years than I care to admit. Though I haven't always walked to the same place. The location of the Ministry entrance, like the city itself, had moved and changed over the years. The worst had been the public toilets. The best by far was the current entrance.

I looked around the skyline of the capital. At one time, not long after The Battle, the London Eye had been new, spectacular. Then it had been called the Millennium Wheel, now it was simply another feature on the river.

After crossing the Thames, Waterloo Bridge joined the gently curving Strand. I turned left. In the distance, peeking out above the buildings, Admiral Lord Nelson stood on his column showing those few who bothered to look up from street level the location of Trafalgar Square.

I've never liked the Square—too many pigeons and too many tourists. But that was immaterial, I didn't have to walk that far. The Ministry of Magic is located on a side road on the left, not far from Covent Garden. As I strolled along the Strand towards it the bells of the recently renamed Elizabeth Tower, the tower most folk call Big Ben, ring out the three-quarter hour.

Most Ministry staff work from eight-thirty until five, but Harry allows me a lot of flexibility with my working hours. It was ten past to nine when I entered the building, leaving and left the busy Muggle world behind me.

Harry tells people that the Auror Service never sleeps. It's true, although not everyone likes the shifts. I'm not an Auror, so should start at eight-thirty. There's little point in my being in the office when I know my boss will be very late.

Forty Twenty minutes after my official start time, staff activity in the foyer had dwindled to almost nothing. The Floo connections were quiet, but they weren't completely inactive. A young witch and wizard leapt from the green flames. From their anxious chatter, and the way they dashed towards the Security Arches, it was obvious that they were very late for work.

The only other person I could see in the foyer was a svelte and immaculately dressed blonde. She had her back to me and was parading her way towards one of the Visitor Arches looking like a model on a catwalk. As the chattering youngsters hurried past her, she turned to look at them. The moment I saw her profile, I realised that I knew her. Her face was familiar, and yet for some reason I couldn't put a name to it. That annoyed me.

Harry relies on my ability to remember names and faces, but this woman was somehow both familiar and unfamiliar. I watched as she swayed through one of the Visitor Arches. She was stunning, and oozed confidence. She should have been easy to identify.

Approaching the arches myself, I pulled my identity badge from my handbag and unwound the yellow lanyard. I was slipping it over my head when realisation struck. Seeing my own photo did it. I'd never met the blonde, I didn't recognise her because I'd never seen her before. Despite this, I knew who she was.

Harry has half-a-dozen photographs in his office. On his desk are: a snapshot of his wife; a posed school portrait of his three children; and a holiday photograph of all five Potters. The other three images hang on the wall behind the bookshelf, next to his conference table. They are all group photographs. He refers to them as: "the Army", "the in-laws", and "the outlaws", and he's in two of them.

Everyone has heard of Dumbledore's Army. The in-laws are, of course, the Weasley family. Ginny, her parents, and all five of her brothers. Harry is the only man in the "outlaws" photograph; he is surrounded by four women, three of whom work at the ministry. The four are, of course, the "Mrs Weasleys". Harry has his arms around two of them: Mrs Hermione Granger-Weasley, and Mrs Angelina Weasley.

As I walked under the arch, I spoke my name almost without thinking. I'd been picturing "the outlaws," and realised why I'd been unable to put a name to the blonde. We hadn't met; I'd never even seen a photograph of her. I recognised her simply because—in profile at least—she bore a striking resemblance to her sister, the only Mrs Weasley who didn't work at the Ministry. Panicking, I checked my watch, and then confirmed the time by looking at the clock on the wall opposite the lifts. My watch was right, I wasn't that late. Harry's visitor was almost two hours early for her appointment—the appointment I'd made.

'Is Mr Potter expecting you, miss dee-la-coor?' I heard the puzzled receptionist ask as I entered the Atrium. He was looking at the visitors list, but he was almost certainly looking at the wrong time.

'Auror Delacour's appointment with Harry isn't until eleven, Kevin,' I called. 'That's probably why you can't find it. Issue her with a visitor's pass, please, and I'll take her up to the office.'

'Auror?' the receptionist asked, staring at the blonde in frank disbelief.

'Bureau des Aurors de France,' she told the young man. Turning, she threw an enquiring look in my direction.

'I'm Martha Nicholson, Harry's personal assistant. I arranged the meeting.'

As I introduced myself, I held out my hand. She strode towards me, stepped past my hand and grabbed my shoulders. I found myself being enveloped in an expensive fragrance as I was enthusiastically kissed on both cheeks. Twice!

'You are the famous Martha!' she exclaimed joyfully. 'Harry's "other woman." Enchantée.'

'Charmed, I'm sure,' I replied. Unsure whether to be pleased or worried by her description, and uncertain what I should do or say, I simply indicated the receptionist. 'You'll need to take your Visitor Pass before we go any further, Auror Delacour, otherwise you'll set off our alarms.'

'Gabrielle, please,' she insisted.

Taking the pass from the receptionist, she thanked him with a smile that made him stagger. 'Harry speaks highly of you,' she told me, making me feel good, too. I tried not to be distracted by the compliment.

'You're very early,' I observed as I led her toward the lifts.

'I hoped to see Harry, and Denis, before the meeting,' she said.

'You won't see Harry,' I told her. 'Not unless there's a major emergency. He may even be a little late; he and Ginny are at their local swimming pool. It's half term, and their children are doing their swimming awards this morning.'

'Swimming?' she asked. A strange smile appeared on her face. 'I remember first seeing Harry in his swimming trunks, when I was small.' she held out a hand at waist height.

I nodded politely. 'Dennis will be in the office.' I paused, and pressed the button for the lift. 'As will Stan. At least they'd better be, because they haven't filed their case closure report with me.'

'How is Stan?' her concern sounded genuine. 'He was so sad when he left. Seeing people's emotions, even briefly, can be a curse.'

'He's a lot less...' I thought for a moment and discarded many of the unfavourable words that came to mind.

Saved by the arrival of the lift, I paused, and indicated that Gabrielle should enter first. After the doors closed, I again tried to answer her question, this time taking a different tack. 'Since his return from Paris, Stan seems to be rather more sensitive to other people's feelings,' I told her diplomatically.

'Every Englishman is a castle, guarded and fortified,' Gabrielle observed. 'But Stan's defences have been breached—by une ballot fille of all things—and he doesn't know how to repair them. I suspect that he doesn't even know if he wants to.'

I didn't understand the French term she'd used, so I simply gave a noncommittal murmur. As I hadn't asked for a translation, I wasn't offered one. We continued to the Auror office in silence.

Both Dennis and Stan were at their desks, and each called out a hello to Gabrielle when we entered. I watched as she greeted both men with kisses like the one I'd received.

'So that's Auror Delacour,' said Bobbie Wood, arriving at my side. 'She's very early, and as annoyingly beautiful as everyone said she was.'

It seemed that Bobbie was bursting to tell me something else, but she said nothing. I watched her assess the French Auror, who was now admiring the photographs on Dennis' desk.

'I'm to call her Gabrielle,' I said. 'Watch out for those kisses, I got several. And she's early because she was hoping to see "Harry and Denis" before the meeting. But never mind them; you have news, don't you?'

Bobbie laughed. 'You don't miss anything, do you? Yes, I have news. There's likely to be a request for a reference on your desk. I'd like a word with Harry after the meeting.'

'Congratulations,' I said. 'Who knows?'

'Ollie, but no one else,' she told me. 'I'd like to keep it that way if possible, Martha. At least until I decide what I'm going to do.'

'No problem,' I assured her.

I looked at the clock; it was eight minutes past eleven. The meeting should have begun, but there was no sign of Harry. Worse, he hadn't contacted me. I'd shown everyone into the meeting room. Even the last of his visitors had arrived five minutes early, so they'd all been in there for at least fifteen minutes.

I didn't like the idea of them being kept waiting by my boss, and I was just about to get in touch with him when he breezed in. He was wearing shorts and a polo shirt, and looking rather warm.

'Morning, Martha. Sorry I'm late; you can tell me off later. James got his eight hundred metres.' Despite his apology, it was obvious that he wasn't even slightly repentant about his late arrival. His pride in his kids' achievements trumped everything else. 'It's a long way to swim. It took him longer than we thought, and then we had to take photos, and there were certificates to buy. Is everyone here? Anything I need to know?'

'Everyone's here,' I told him. 'And—according to Lavender—Anne would like to leave straight after the meeting. Nothing too serious, her sister's in labour, she's been taken into St. Mungo's. Anne wants to visit, but you know what she's like. Work always comes first. Also, Bobbie wants a word with you after the meeting.'

'Thanks, Martha,' he gave me a grateful smile. 'Let's get started.'

He strode towards the conference room door and held it open for me. Picking up my parchment and a minute-taker quill, I stepped into the room. Only two seats remained at the meeting table.

'Morning, everyone, sorry I'm late,' he said. The woman from the A.L.A. was staring at him open mouthed. I wasn't certain whether because he was so casually dressed, or merely because he was Harry Potter.

'How did the kids do, Harry?' Dennis asked.

'Eight hundred metres for James, four hundred for Al, and two hundred for Lily,' said Harry proudly. 'But I'll tell you later, Den, if you're really interested. Hi, Gabi, long time no see. You're looking great, as always.'

'Bonjour, Harry.' The French Auror stood, and I watched her exchange kisses and an embrace with my boss. It was obvious from the way he returned the kisses that Harry knew exactly what was expected of him.

'Right,' said Harry brusquely as he took his seat. 'We're here to discuss Muggle Interface Team case six-zero-eight: the death of a Muggle—Tommy Harris—at the hands of a witch. I called the meeting to determine what action is to be taken by this office. For the benefit of the minutes, we should introduce ourselves. I'll start: Harry Potter, Head Auror.'

I glanced at him, and raised an eyebrow.

'Sorry, I mean Harry Potter, Director of Auror Services. Thanks for the correction, Martha. I'm sure I'll get used to the new title eventually,' He winked at me.

'Chief Inspector Roberta Wood, Auror Service, Muggle Liaison Officer.'

'Senior Auror Dennis Creevey.'

'Auror Stanley Cresswell.'

'Auror Gabrielle Delacour, Bureau des Aurors de France,'

'Anne White, Auror Service, Forensic Magic Unit.'

'Graham Pilkington, Wizengamot Prosecution Service.'

'Glynis Hughes, um, I'm, er, from the Apparition Licensing Agency in Swansea.' It was obvious that the young woman from the A.L.A. was unused to such illustrious company.

'Martha Nicholson, Principal Administrative Officer, Personal Assistant to Director Potter and minute-taker,' I said, closing the circle and taking my seat at Harry's right.

I'd been watching the quill carefully, making certain that the names were all correct. When my name appeared, I nodded to my boss.

'I've read all of the statements and reports,' Harry began. 'We have statements from the three French nationals directly involved, and our investigations show that Tommy Harris died because of the actions of one of the three Frenchwomen, Éloïse Joubert.'

'She...' Stan began to protest. Harry held up his hand to silence him.

'We'll establish facts and determine jurisdiction before we hear any mitigating circumstances, Stan,' Harry said. 'This became an Auror Service case after the initial crime scene visit showed magic was involved in the suspicious death of a Muggle. First question. Was it murder?' He again waved Stan into silence. 'Anne, we'll take the forensic report first. I'm told that your sister's having a baby. You've got better things to do than sit in here. You've read Éloïse's statement?' He turned briefly to Gabrielle. 'Thanks for the translated copies, Gabi,' he told her. She smiled.

'I've read everyone's statements, Harry,' the round-faced little Forensic Magic Specialist said. 'And they agree with my assessment of the physical and magical evidence from the New Music Theatre. The evidence confirms that Éloïse Joubert had no intent to kill anyone. In my opinion, this wasn't wilful murder, but an accident. She was, it seems, unaware of the dangers of an international Side-along Apparition, particularly one involving a Muggle. We could make an argument for—and in my opinion, prove—involuntary manslaughter under the magical common law. However, I'll bow to others with more expertise. I believe the matter may actually fall under the Apparition legislation.'

'I agree,' Harry told her. 'If you think you'll have more to add to our discussion, then stay, but if you want to leave...' He tipped his head towards the door.

'Thanks, Harry! I don't think there's anything to add. If you're sure...'

'Go,' Harry told her.

'Thanks.' Anne White stood and left. I used my wand to ensure that the minutes reflected the fact.

'I don't believe we've met, Glynis,' Harry said, turning to the A.L.A. representative. 'Welcome to the Auror Service. I don't think we'll take up much of your time. We only called on Alun Treadwell two or three times a year. Is he enjoying his retirement?'

'I... I don't know, I'm sorry,' the woman admitted, looking startled. There was silence—she didn't realise that was her cue.

'Licence,' I reminded her.

'Oh, yes,' she said gratefully. She looked down at her notes. 'The young lady, Elly-wheeze Joo-bert...'

'Éloïse Joubert!' Gabi's correction was sharp and forceful.

'Yes, her. Well... we've been in contact with the...' she glanced down at her notes, then nervously across at Gabrielle, and decided against attempting to pronounce the words. '...with our opposite numbers in France. She has a valid French Apparition Licence and—under the terms of eat—she's...'

'Eat?' Harry interjected.

'Oh, er, um, E.A.T., the European Apparition Treaty, sorry, sir,' said Glynis, floundering for a moment. 'Um, well, er, she is fully entitled to Apparate within the UK.'

'Anne referred to the Apparition legislation. Under UK law, causing death by careless—or dangerous—Apparition is an offence, correct?' Harry asked her.

'That's right,' Glynis nodded, happy to be on safe ground. 'The offence carries a maximum sentence of fourteen years in the case of death by dangerous Apparition, and ten years if it's careless Apparition, but I...' She stopped, and I could see panic in her eyes. She was looking for a hint from Harry. She didn't know what conclusion he wanted her to reach.

'Go on, what's your view on the jurisdiction issue.' I said, hoping that Harry hadn't realised why she was hesitating. He doesn't like it when people tell him what they think he wants to hear. I made a mental note to have a word with her after the meeting.

'I... I'm not certain where we stand, legally, Mr Potter,' Glynis began nervously. 'Miss ... the French lady ... Disapparated from London and Apparated to Paris. The offence on statute refers to Apparition, and for that reason, I'm not certain that—technically—this offence took place in the UK.'

'Which is why Graham is here,' said Harry, turning to the elderly man from the Wizengamot Prosecution Service.

'I've looked at the law, and I've spoken to the French Authorities, Harry,' the elderly man spoke slowly and carefully. 'Glynis is quite correct. The use of the word Apparition—rather than Disapparition—in the legislation would indicate that any legal action must be taken by the responsible authority for law enforcement at the destination. I expect that any appeal to the Wizengamot—were one lodged—would reach the same conclusion. There has been no case law regarding the jurisdictional issue, nor—so far as I'm aware—have there been any previous international cases anywhere in Europe. It seems that, since the current legislation was introduced in nineteen-sixty, the Sheriff's offices have dealt with only three cross-Shire death-by-Apparition incidents. However, having checked the paperwork on those cases, I have discovered that the Sheriffs, albeit informally, used different reasoning to determine jurisdiction.'

'They did?' Harry asked.

'Yes. As I said, there have only been three reported cases of death by Splinching, Harry, and in every case the Sheriffs have decided that the Sheriff who has the head of the victim is the one who takes control of the investigation, and carries out any prosecution. I've checked, and in every case the head—or most of it in one case—was at the destination. Although, from a legal perspective, they used incorrect reasoning, they did, in fact, comply with the law. This case is the same: the French Authorities have the head and, as they are also at the Apparition point, then...' Graham Pilkington paused and took a sip of water. 'I don't want to pass the buck, as it were. The victim was British, after all. We could make a case to the French, if you wish to try to retain jurisdiction. But if they objected, then I believe we have little chance of success.'

'I'm happy to let the French Authorities deal with it,' Harry observed.

Gabrielle, Dennis, and Stan all nodded their heads. I didn't make a note that fact.

'Gabi,' Harry said.

'I have spoken with the procureur magique—I do not believe that you have such an official...' Gabrielle hesitated.

'They do in Scotland,' Harry said. 'Or at least the Procurator Fiscal has a very similar role, I believe.'

'So ... good.' Gabrielle nodded. 'Jean-Claude—the procureur magique assigned to this case—is in full agreement with your Monsieur Graham here,' she said. 'This is a French crime, and it is for the B.J.M., apologies, the Bureau de la Justice Magique to decide how to proceed. He has already begun to take action.'

'But, Anaïse...' Stan could keep silent no longer, 'And Éloïse, and...'

'Stan!' Harry said, once again staring Auror Creswell into an anxious silence. 'Go on, Gabi,' he added.

'I have discussed the case in detail with Jean-Claude, and we have carried out preliminary interviews with all three of the young women involved. Éloïse has told us that she will plead guilty to... I believe that the woman...' she indicated Glynis, '...called it "death by dangerous Apparition." She will have her licence revoked, be banned from Apparating for five years, fined, and—when the five years have passed—she will be unable to Apparate unless she is retested and found competent by our authorities. Éloïse has a broken heart. She begged for jail, but Jean-Claude is inclined to leniency. He believes she has already suffered enough. She will work within the community for at least one year.'

'Anaïse...' Stan began.

'Anaïse has also accepted responsibility for her actions,'

'She's truly sorry,' Stan told Harry. He turned accusingly to Gabrielle. 'I thought I was to be a character witness for her. I insisted!'

'Jean-Claude took your report—and the report of Denis—into account,' Gabrielle told him. 'He decided that he did not need to question you. Anaïse, too, will plead guilty to contributing to the death. I do not know what her crime is called in English; incitement, possibly? It is likely that she, too, will work within the community for one year. It may be longer, as Solène has accused Anaïse of assault, and is insisting that she be prosecuted...'

'Solène deserved to be slapped,' Stan said angrily.

'Stan!' Harry spoke firmly. 'Enough! That incident took place in Paris and is definitely a matter for the French authorities, take any protests to them.'

'I will!' He glowered.

'You will be required in court, Stan. Solène is contesting the charges against her.' Gabrielle shook her head in disbelief. 'She may, I suppose, be found innocent. If not, then she too will be punished.'

Stan continued to mutter under his breath. I ensured that my quill didn't record his words.

'Thanks, Gabi,' Harry said. 'Unless anyone else has something to say...' Stan leaned forward. 'About matters that actually fall under our jurisdiction,' Harry said forcefully. Stan closed his mouth. 'The Bureau de la Justice Magique have jurisdiction, and they have everything in hand. Does everyone agree?'

Around the table, every head nodded.

'Unanimous agreement from all those present,' I said for the benefit of the minutes.

'On that basis, and subject to an agreement that Stan—Auror Cresswell—will act as liaison and provide the Bureau de la Justice Magique with assistance should they require it, I recommend we close the case, at least from our side of the Channel,' announced Harry.

The other attendees chorused their agreement.

'Thanks. Muggle Interface Team Case six-zero-eight is closed. Reason: outside Auror Service jurisdiction,' said Harry. 'I'll sign the file off on that basis.' He turned his attention to Bobbie. 'We'll need an excuse for the police, and we'll need to close down their investigation, there's no point in their wasting any more time on this. We can talk about the details after everyone else has left. Does anyone want to add anything, any comments or questions?'

'I've been working through my holidays, Harry,' Stan said. 'Is it okay if I take a few days off now? I'll be available to help on this case, of course.'

'Fine,' Harry told him. 'Sort it out with Martha. Anyone else?'

Heads were shaken, but no one spoke.

'Good. Thanks for your attendance, everyone.'

We all filed out, all but Bobbie. I closed the door, giving Bobbie and Harry some privacy, and turned to Glynis. 'Before you leave, Glynis, I'd like a word,' I told her.

She looked terrified.

'Holidays,' Stan reminded me. 'I want to get back to Paris.'

'Spare me the details,' I told him. 'Just tell me how many days you'll be on leave.'

He looked at Gabrielle.

'I have found you two weeks accommodation in Observatoire, the fourteenth Arrondissement, Stan. It is not so far from Anaïse.'

'A fortnight, starting today,' Stan told me.

'Fine,' I said, making a note. 'Off you go, Stan. Now, Glynis, if you're going to be our new A.L.A. contact, I'd better tell you what Harry expects from you.'