Disclaimer: This story is based on the characters and world created by JK Rowling. Anything you do not recognise is my own creation. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

– CHAPTER TEN –

Death Unmasked

Neville sat outside Bogand's office, fidgeting furiously. He had located an eye-witness that could pin-point the target, all within twenty-four hours. He was pretty sure this feat was unheard of in the Unit. It would fast-track him to promotion. This meeting with Bogand could well be career-defining.

Neville looked down at his feet. The flickering blue candles above were reflected in the black floor, making it look like Neville was floating on a sea of dark water.

'Stone … Death … Stone … Death … Stone … Death …'

He could not get Lazarus' voice out of his head. Why did it have to be Lazarus? Why did it have to be someone who was being guarded by Aurors day and night? It was the only reason why he was sitting outside Bogand's office and not starting the final hunt.

Most troubling of all was the fact that Lazarus was alive. Death was meticulous, Death was a perfectionist. He had left a single hair behind at the Fletcher scene, a hair that did not even belong to a person. He had killed every single potential eye witness at Merlin's Beard. There were no signs of a break-in at Dumbledore Tomb: Neville had checked it after he had dropped Alice off at Bill's.

And yet Lazarus was alive. Had Death assumed that the Ministry would not break the law and dive into Lazarus' mind? If Neville's hunch was right and it was a turncoat from the Unit, he would know that not to be the case. Had Death been distracted at the crime scene? There were certainly no signs of that: Neville had canvassed it twice and, other than the anomaly of Lazarus' survival, the scene was immaculate. Not even a stray hair this time.

Which meant Death wanted to leave Lazarus behind.

Without warning, Bogand's door sunk into the floor. Neville got up. Every step he took echoed down the empty hallway.

Bogand's office was the reverse of the hallway. In fact, it was an exact replica of Neville's office: everything down to the position of the potions in the glass cupboard was the same. Neville suspected it was a glamour to protect Bogand's work. The intense light meant Neville had to squint before he could properly make out his boss sitting behind the desk Neville had grown so accustomed to.

The most conspicuous thing about Boris Bogand was his relative youth. He alone amongst the Minister's Council was under the age of fifty. Unlike any self-respecting ex-Director, Bogand was healthy and wholesome. His tendency to wear Muggle clothing – he was currently wearing a dark, expensive-looking suit – put him at odds with the other senior Ministry figures, who were all pure-blood. Not that Neville knew his blood status. In fact, the only thing he was sure of where his boss was concerned was that he knew nothing about him. Neville might have questioned whether the man was indeed Head of the Department if it weren't for the heavy bags under his eyes.

Bogand waited for Neville to sit before he barked, 'Report.'

'I have an eye witness that can give us a physical profile on Target 201.'

Bogand folded his arms.

'Then why are you here?'

'The eye witness is in St Mungo's; his mind is addled. We would have to break in by force.'

'I repeat: why are you here?'

'It's Lazarus.'

Bogand leaned back in chair and carefully ran his hands through his slicked-back hair. A protracted silence fell between them as Bogand stared at a spot somewhere over Neville's shoulder.

Finally, Neville had to break the silence. 'So, can I stage a body swap?'

Bogand considered Neville for a moment then said, 'No.'

'No? How else do you suggest we get at Lazarus?'

'Find another witness.'

'There'll be no other witnesses!'

Bogand's eyes narrowed. 'Perhaps you are too close to this, perhaps I should assign another …'

'No!' Neville took a deep breath; Bogand was a man of hard facts and cold logic. 'I'm the best wizard for this one, you know that. Why can't we take him? We out-rank the Aurors.'

'We may not be accountable to the Minister,' said Bogand carefully, 'but we are accountable to the Security Council at the Wizengamot. Any attempt to move Lazarus will alert not only the target, who left him there for this exact purpose, but also the Ministry.'

Neville had to fold his arms to stop himself from slamming his hand on the desk.

'The Ministry couldn't detect our presence if their lives depended on it,' said Neville.

'And yet with Lazarus so well guarded, there is always the chance of a mistake. Our primary goal is not to get caught: if the Minister were to discover us, the consequences would be dire, both for us and our counterparts abroad.'

'I could claim to be working on my own if I'm caught.'

'Until the Department discovers a fool-proof way of fighting Veritaserum, no Unit agent is to stand trial.'

'This target is dangerous, sir! Isn't one of our main aims to protect important magical items? Well, the target has the Elder Wand and possibly Harry's cloak.'

Bogand's expression steeled. 'The Resurrection Stone is safe. Which means that you can focus on your main objective: to apprehend the target for attempting to murder one of our own. We shall recover the other items when we have the target in our custody.'

'The target is one of us!'

Bogand stood up swiftly. Neville had never seen him so angry; it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He had only ever felt such raw power when, in his fourth year at Hogwarts, Dumbledore stormed off to the castle at the end of the Triwizard Tournament. Or perhaps from Voldemort when he had killed the Dark Lord's snake.

'It is not one of us.'

Neville could not believe what he was hearing. How could Bogand be so close-minded?

'Suspect everyone: isn't that what we're meant to do? Isn't that what differentiates us from the Aurors?'

Bogand sat back down and his demeanour was composed once more. 'I know far more on this topic than you could imagine. We leave Lazarus be: that is my final decision. Now get on with the case or I'll assign someone else in your stead.'

Not trusting himself to speak, Neville stormed out of the office. He had expected praise, perhaps a word of caution. He might even have expected a reasoned debate … but this? It was almost as though Bogand did not want him to find the target …

Neville stood stock still in the room with the revolving doors.

'Due to the careful warding around Victim 345's residence, the Unit's investigation points to Target 201 being a Muggle-born witch or wizard.'

'Is tha' what the Ministry sent yer here fer? It's just like I told that twit in a suit, see?'

Neville shook his head as he paced down the ninth floor corridor and hopped into an empty lift.

There was no way … could Bogand be Death? It was preposterous, but then … was it? What did he know about his boss? Perhaps he feared Harry rising too high in the Unit and one day superseding him. He failed to kill Harry using Muggle means, and knew that the Unit not taking on the case would raise suspicions with the Wizengamot. But there were so many holes, so many problems with the theory.

Neville had to talk to Harry.

'Alright, Longbottom, how's the kid?' called Eric the watchwizard as Neville swept past.

'Shit,' muttered Neville. He was late for picking Alice up from Bill's. Neville swerved off to the right, flung a handful of Floo powder into a gilded fireplace and said, 'Northey Avenue.'

Neville rolled out of Bill's fireplace to find the family eating around their dinner table. Three things put Neville on edge. Firstly, the table was missing a Bouillabaisse. Fleur always whipped up the most delightful Bouillabaisse on Friday evenings as a reward to the family for a hard week's work. Secondly, the family was happily eating away despite the fact that it was midnight. Finally, there were only four plates set at the table.

Alice was missing.

Neville's wand was instantly in his hand.

'Bill,' he said.

Rather than jump in fright at the unexpected appearance of Neville in his living room, Bill merely turned his head lazily. The other Weasleys did not even look up from their plates. They merely continued ladling their food in utter silence.

'Yes, Neville?' said Bill. His voice lacked warmth; it was robotic, pre-programmed.

'Bill,' said Neville, 'where's Alice?'

'Alice?' It was as though he had never heard the name before in his life.

'Yes,' said Neville, his voice shaking a little, 'my daughter.'

'She was never here,' said Bill, with finality.

'Legilimens!' hissed Neville. Bill's eyes grew wider and wider until they seemed to swallow up the whole room. But there were no memories to find here. Just a thick fog. Neville had seen this fog before: Bill had been Obliviated.

Rather than question the intrusion on his privacy, Bill turned back to his meal and continued as normal.

Neville staggered backwards. His daughter had been taken. Blood began pumping in his ear. His heart constricted painfully. His head was light and dizzy. His Alice. Gone. Taken by Death.

Taken by Bogand.

Neville clutched the mantelpiece for support. No. No, he would not let this happen. He had to gather his thoughts. He must not panic. That is what Bogand wanted …

… But he could not. Alice. The love of his life. Gone!

He needed help. He needed someone objective, somebody trained in tracking people down. Somebody who was completely unconnected to Bogand and his damned Unit. Had it been any other situation, he would not have dreamed of it. But he was the best young tracker the Ministry ever had. They said he spent his days drunk. For Alice's sake, Neville hoped beyond hope that he did not spend his nights in a similar fashion.

Neville grabbed a handful of Floo powder, his hand shaking so much that some of it drizzled onto the carpet below.

'R – Ron Weasley's House!'

He found himself in a living room that may once have been cosy, but now bore the wounds of neglect. The putrid stench of festering vomit and rum hung in the air; the shelves lay at an angle; and a man, no older than Neville, lay beside an upturned armchair, his loud snores rising and falling like a tide.

As Neville drew closer, he realised that the smell of rum was coming from Ron himself.

'Rennervate!' said Neville, his voice barely above his whisper.

Ron groaned and turned his head. His lank, sodden hair clung to one half of his face. A glance at the other half made Neville think that this was an improvement. Every inch of skin was covered in wiry beard, dirt or bruises. His red hair made it look as though his entire head was on fire.

'Ron,' said Neville, 'I need your help.'

But Ron's head had collided with the carpet with a dull thud and his snores filled the room once more. This man was beyond a Sobriety Potion; what he needed was a stint at St Mungo's. And meanwhile Alice could be dead, or worse.

Neville stood and took deep breaths, trying to calm himself. Alice was a target, not his daughter. A target that he must find. Calm down and do your fucking job, thought Neville.

The thought of Alice sprawled in a ditch somewhere crossed his mind. Or, worse, Bogand with his pale hands around her neck.

'Harry,' breathed Neville. 'I need Harry.'

Neville felt a tug at the navel and Bill's kitchen swirled out of sight. It was replaced by the dining room of Harry's new flat. The first thing he saw was blonde hair and a round, pink face.

'Alice!' cried Neville, relief flooding over him.

Alice was seated on Harry's black leather sofa, avidly reading a first edition copy of The Free House-Elf. Her feet were hanging off the edge of the sofa where they kicked merrily. She was safe.

'Alice,' said Neville again, but Alice did not look up. Fear smothered him once more.

Neville closed the gap between them and tried to embrace his daughter. But he could not. Alice looked up at him. No, she looked right through him. She did not know he was there. Was this some spell of Harry's to protect her from Bogand?

'Uncle Harry!' she cried, so suddenly that Neville jumped. 'I'm at the part where you free Dobby. I'm reading it all by myself!'

'Good girl.'

The voice was hoarse through lack of use, but it was unmistakeably Harry. Neville whirled around. Harry stood by the narrow doorway. He had lost a lot of weight; robes that once clung to him were hanging loosely. Heavy bags under his eyes betrayed a lack of sleep and his skin was deathly white.

'Now go get ready for bed,' said Harry, his eyes fixed on Neville. 'It's getting very late and you need to be up nice and early tomorrow.'

'Yes, Uncle Harry,' said Alice. She gave Harry a brief hug and disappeared down the corridor.

'You can lift the spell,' said Neville, finally finding his voice. 'I can protect her from here.'

'I know you can,' rasped Harry, his eyes boring into Neville. 'Would you like something to drink?'

'No,' said Neville, frowning.

'Suit yourself.'

Harry sprawled onto the sofa in the spot Alice had just vacated, looking like nothing was wrong. Neville kept his wand in his hand and positioned himself between the fireplace and the window, opposite a gold-framed portrait of Godric's Hollow.

'You took Alice from Bill's house,' said Neville.

'Yes.'

'And you Obliviated them in the process?'

'Yes.'

A cold feeling was trickling down Neville's spine. The dismissive way Harry admitted to his crimes worried him more than the deeds themselves.

'Why?'

'Because I needed to see you.'

Neville involuntarily took a step backwards.

'You could've just messaged me with your Patronus.'

'I needed you to take the call seriously.'

'So you kidnap my daughter and put her under an enchantment?'

Neville was struggling to keep the panic out of his voice. Harry had snapped. How could he have missed the signs? His demeanour at Luna's funeral had reminded him of the Carrows before they tortured a student. But, of course, Neville had dismissed it as grief, seeing what he wanted to see. And he had stopped seeing his godson. This should have been a clear sign. When Harry was in school, he had shut himself away from his loved ones when he felt like he could hurt them. Now, in adulthood, he was doing the same thing. He wanted to protect Teddy from Death.

Harry wanted to protect Teddy from himself.

Harry had murdered Mundungus Fletcher. Harry had tortured Lazarus. Worst of all, Harry had violated the tomb of Albus Dumbledore, the man who had loved and protected Harry as if he were a grandson. Neville felt sick. How could he have possible missed the signs?

But what was his motive?

Neville had to focus on the matter at hand: ensuring his daughter's safety. Neville drew his wand and pointed it right at Harry's heart. Harry did not so much as glance at it; he merely drummed his fingers on the couch and the wooden smile remained etched on his face.

'Explain your actions,' said Neville. With considerable effort, he managed to control his rising panic and posed the statement as though he and Harry were partners again, and Harry had violated Unit procedure.

'I needed you to come here,' croaked Harry, 'because only you can help me. You see, my time off gave me a lot to think about. I started questioning things. Started wondering who could possibly want to hurt my Luna.' At the pronouncement of her name, Harry's voice faltered and his face betrayed pain for the first time. In the blink of an eye, it was gone, and Harry continued.

'It was clear to me that nobody wanted her dead. So I went over the crime scene, which showed that she wasn't the intended target. You see, I was supposed to be off work and at home that evening. She was supposed to be seeing the Cannons match with Alice and Bill's family. That would've been the information that the killer was working with. He wouldn't have known that, at the last minute, you called me into the field, and that the Cannons' seeker caught the snitch in less than five minutes. He wouldn't have known that she was at home and I wasn't. So I started working the case from the angle that her killer is my enemy.'

'You shouldn't have been working the case at all,' snapped Neville.

'Did you honestly think I'd just sit at home twiddling my thumbs? I started poking around, seeing what I could find. Except I didn't have my usual poking-around companion. My cloak was gone. And then I learn that the Elder Wand was stolen. Luna's killer's motive suddenly became abundantly obvious. It was one of those idiots who thought that they could become "master of Death".' Harry chuckled mirthlessly. '"Master of Death". A stupid fucking meaningless title. A children's story mistranslated. That is why she's dead.'

The cold, emotionless way Harry pronounced this terrified Neville.

'We both know I know this,' said Neville. 'The only missing piece is why you've trapped Alice.'

'But it's all linked,' said Harry, as if explaining something very simple to a child. 'I searched for the Resurrection Stone in the Forest. The centaurs told me that a man in Ministry garb removed it years ago.' Harry laughed again, making the hairs on the back of Neville's neck stand up. 'And then I remembered that I'd actually told Luna's killer where the Stone was.'

Neville leaned forward, frowning.

'It was Bogand,' said Harry, his jaw set. 'Bogand removed the Stone and put it in the one place nobody would think to look: the Unit headquarters. So he has the Stone, he has the cloak, and, if not for pure chance, he would now be in full control of all three Hallows. Which brings us to Alice.

'It was with the greatest regret that I cast the Reverse Fidelius on her, but it really is the only way I can think of getting you to comply with my request.'

'Which is?' snapped Neville.

'I'd like you to get the Stone from the Unit. Bogand knows it's only a matter of time before I suspect him. That's why he's insisting on such a long leave of bereavement: he's depriving me of Unit resources that would have sped up the process. His insistence on sending me to a Mind Healer casts doubt on my sanity. That way he can lean on the Healer to testify to my unfit state if I challenge him through legal means. He'll have set layer upon layer of security around the Unit to ensure that I can't break in.

'Right now, his priority is killing me, thereby winning the Elder Wand. But if he loses the Stone, his focus will shift to getting it back. That gives me time to bring him down without worrying about assassination attempts.

'Neville,' he said, and his voice was now pleading, 'I need you to get my Stone for me. I know he's your boss, I know this could get you fired, but you're the only one I trust. You've – You've been like a brother to me, and I hate asking. But you're my only hope.'

Neville marvelled at Harry's intelligence. Harry was banking on Neville being smart enough to have come to the conclusion that Bogand was Death on his own. And, mere minutes ago, it would have been a safe bet. Neville would have begun devising a plan to steal the Resurrection Stone in an instant, thereby allowing Harry to evolve from Death to master of Death.

But Harry, in kidnapping Alice, thereby ensuring Neville's compliance, had committed a grave error. It allowed Neville to take off his rose-tinted glasses and analyse the situation objectively. It allowed Neville to see the truth.

He admired how clever Harry was being, playing on the fact that Neville had never really had a close friend before Harry. The role reversal, making Harry seem like the trapped one rather than Neville, was a stroke of genius. He had understood Neville and was playing a near-perfect tune. But not perfect enough.

Neville knew he had to retrieve the Stone. This was not because only Harry had the power to bring down the Reverse Fidelius. He also wanted to make sure Harry did not realise that Neville had made the connection between Harry and Death. This way, when Neville had given Harry the Stone, he could set about pursuing his target unnoticed. He could set about pursuing Harry.

'And you will release Alice when I give you the Stone?'

'I swear,' said Harry sincerely.

'Then I'll get it,' said Neville, sighing. He needed to show some reluctance; Harry would be expecting that.

Harry stood up and smiled gratefully. It seemed genuine.

'Thank you, Nev. You wouldn't believe how important this is, how much closer it will get me to avenging her death.'

'Just do me a favour and lift the charm on Alice while I'm gone, will you.'

'Of course,' said Harry, who walked over to the fireplace and took something from the mantelpiece. He thrust into Neville's hand a small cracked stone. Neville frowned for a moment, then comprehension dawned.

'This is a fake I'm to put in the original's place,' he said.

'Right in one,' said Harry. 'I had it made by a goblin years ago, after the first Hallows-related attack on me. It's indistinguishable from the real thing to any eye but a goblin's.' Harry's eyes narrowed as though he had spotted some great danger. 'The goblin also told me how to tell which one's real. When you remove the Stone from the Department, an alarm will sound in Bogand's office, I reckon. But these alarms can't detect intent, only the fact that the Stone's been removed –'

'So I swap the Stones and make myself scarce,' finished Neville.

'Not quite,' said Harry. 'You put the real Stone away, and keep the fake in your hand. Make out that you're examining it, looking for any sign that it had been tampered with.'

It was Neville's turn to laugh drily. 'And I wait for Bogand to appear and explain what I'm doing.'

'Precisely. That way Bogand won't sound the Ministry-wide alarm and lock you in.'

And of course it would work, thought Neville furiously, since Neville had told Bogand he suspect someone in the Unit. Checking for magical residue on the Stone would be a natural next step in his investigation.

Neville sighed. 'I'll be back soon,' he said, taking the fake Stone.

He turned away. Harry had won this round. Neville would do as he asked. But soon – very soon – Neville would begin hunting Death in earnest.