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 SIXTEEN –

And The Truth Will Set You Free

I reappear in the front garden of our half-destroyed house at Godric's Hollow. Soon it will be whole.

Soon I will be whole.

I pace up and down. I need to think logically, like this is another mission. The goal is to reawaken my darling Luna. The key is to create a Horcrux. That way I can cross into the land of the dead and find her. I need to take this step by step.

I know how to create a Horcrux. An act of killing followed by the right intent, and the right spell. I have the intent. I know the spell.

And I know just the right person to kill.

I laugh and, for the first time since her death, it comes from deep within me. I hear a flap of wings as birds take flight. A pair of Muggles glance at me before scuttling away. But I do not care.

It is so elegant.

I will find the scum who killed her. His death will pay for her life.

My gut tells me it is Bogand, but I must make sure. There can be no mistakes with this. It must be just right. I need to find out exactly who accessed the register of homes before her death.

'During the preparation for war, the Ministry had every wizarding family register their home with the Ministry.'

If the law was enacted during wartime, the register must be under the control of the Auror department. This makes things a hundred times more difficult. Even with my Elder Wand, I cannot hope to break in by force. And there are Aurors working around the clock, so sneaking in is not an option either. I must hide in plain sight.

I will adopt the mask of grieving husband one last time.

I Disapparate and land in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. There are a handful of harried-looking witches and wizards hurrying towards me. I rearrange my face so it is solemn and funereal. But my wand is close to hand … just in case.

I walk slowly towards the golden gates at the far end of the hall. Most of the commuters are too wrapped up in their journey home to spare me a glance. One or two double-take, however, but I do not give them a chance to speak.

I am at the golden gates when a voice calls, 'Mr Potter!'

I silently curse before turning around. A badly-shaved wizard in peacock blue robes is hobbling towards me. The effort of the ten metre dash seems to get the better of him.

'Hello, Eric,' I say.

He bends over double and takes deep, halting breaths. 'Mr Potter,' he wheezes, 'I'm sorry, but you're not authorised to enter.'

I almost laugh at the idea of Eric preventing me from entering the Ministry. But I must not make a scene. I cannot alert Bogand.

'I'm not here on Ministry business,' I say.

'I have orders, I'm afraid.'

Eric finally looks up at me and, like the commuters, does a double-take. Surely Eric is used to seeing the Boy Who Lived To Lose His Mind?

'Are you – are you ok, Mr Potter?' he says.

'Yes,' I reply. 'I have some important information for the Auror department. It's about my wife.'

Eric's face twists into the kind of pitying stare that makes me want to curse him into oblivion.

'If you tell me, I can pass the message on.'

Not fucking likely.

I raise my wand. Eric has only a split second to register surprise before I say, 'Imperio!'

The familiar feeling of tingling warmth flows from my mind and through my wand.

'Very good, Mr Potter,' says Eric, 'I will escort you down to the Auror department.'

'Thank you.'

We enter the lift closest to us in silence. The grilles slide shut and, with a crash, the lift ascends slowly, chains rattling. For the first time in my memory, the lift judders upwards, all the way to the floor I need without interruption. It is almost as the very building wants me to find the truth as quickly as possible.

'Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services.'

We step out into a corridor lined with doors and turn a corner. Perfectly in step, we walk through a pair of heavy oak doors and emerge in a cluttered open area divided into cubicles. Even at this time of evening, it is alive with the buzz of talk and darting memos. The same lopsided sign I saw before my fifth year at Hogwarts still reads: Auror Headquarters.

As we walk past the first few cubicles, the chatter dies and a hushed silence rolls across the floor.

A scarlet-robed man with a long ponytail who, seconds before, was reclining in his chair, his boots on the desk, jumps to his feet. His cubicle is papered with Daily Prophet cuttings; one depicted our half-destroyed cottage, another the funeral, and many more on my Hallows.

My heart does a somersault as I lock eyes with my Luna's bright, wide eyes. Her hair is in the bun she usually wore while working at the library and her wand, as ever, is stored behind her ear for safe-keeping.

'Mr Potter,' says the Auror, and I tear my eyes away from Luna. He looks at me with slack-jawed disbelief. 'Wha' – I mean, we weren' expectin' yeh.'

'I wasn't expecting to be here either,' I say, lacing each word with grief, 'but I have information for the Auror conducting my investigation.'

'Tha' wud be me, bu' I'm 'fraid –'

'The Minister cleared him to come down here, Denton,' says Eric, 'so long as he sticks with me.'

'Did 'e now,' says Denton. His suspicion is palpable, but he appears reluctant to question Shacklebolt's orders.

'I won't take up more than five minutes of your time,' I say.

Denton nods and summons a chair from a nearby cubicle. I take the proffered chair and Denton returns to his, but is now sat bolt upright. As he does so, he rearranges some of his papers. This is not lost on me.

'How far have you gotten in your investigation?' I ask.

Denton shakes his head. 'Sorry, Mr Potter, bu' I can' discuss the facts o' the case.'

I decide to dial it up. 'I – I just want to help any way I can. Anything to catch her killer!'

Denton lays a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. 'I get it, trus' me, I do. Bu' the best thing yeh can do is leave it to t' experts.'

'I know, I just feel so helpless …'

'You said you had some information,' presses Denton.

'Yes,' I say. 'As you may already know, there were powerful enchantments around our home which made it almost to breach.'

'Correct, which is why we reckon it's spell exp –'

'So if someone wanted to break in, they'd have to know exactly what wards have been put in place. It's been brought to my attention that the Ministry keeps a register of the wards around every wizarding family.'

Denton leans forward, the lines of suspicion etching further into his face. 'An' 'ow the 'ell wud yeh – '

'My friend Hermione looked it up,' I say truthfully, 'she has access to Ministry libraries.'

'I see,' says Denton. I consider the Imperius Curse, but since the last war, Shacklebolt has made throwing off the curse a key part of Aurors' training.

'Well?'

'Well wha'?'

'Aren't you going to check the register?'

'Mr Potter –'

'My wife is dead! And you're not going to do this one check that could rule out murder?'

'It's not as –'

'My friend Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic, assured me that his Aurors would chase all leads. Are you not one of his Aurors, Denton?'

'I am –'

'Good, I'm glad that's settled. I'll wait here while you check, shall I?'

Denton gets to his feet. He appears no less wary, but my cocktail of grief, logic and name dropping appears to be doing its work. He nods and drifts away.

I glance around, wait until nobody is looking, before donning my invisibility cloak. I command Eric to take my place. A few taps of my Elder Wand on his face and any casual observer would mistake him for me. I rely on the reports in the Daily Prophet questioning my sanity to prevent anyone coming in for a closer look.

Satisfied, I search for Denton. He is almost certainly with Gawain Robards, the Head of the Auror Department: partly to get his orders, and partly because, according to Hermione, only Robards would have access to the register.

Quickly as I dare, I dart past the rows of cubicles and through the open door to Robards' office at the end of the hall.

The office is sparse and barely larger than the cubicles outside; it is made even smaller by the many shelves and cupboards that line the walls. I barely have enough space to squeeze in. Robards, the quintessential grizzled old Auror, sits behind a wooden desk that does not match the upholstery. Denton stands with his hands behind his back, oddly formal.

'– I know what you're saying, but it's not as easy as that, son,' Robards is saying.

'It's one of the firs' lessons they teach in t' Academy,' says Denton, firm but respectful. 'Killers always wanna know wha' we're doin', if we're closin' in on 'em.'

He is right, of course. One sure-fire way of catching a killer is lying in wait outside the Auror Department. I have done it many times. But the suggestion that I killed her …

'Naturally,' says Robards, 'but, equally, there is a chance that you're wrong. Think about what happens if we bring Harry-bloody-Potter in for questioning mere weeks after his wife dies and we're wrong. It'll be carnage. Especially after we already officially concluded on the spell experimentation line. Shacklebolt will have both our heads, kid.'

'So yer suggestin' we give 'im a pass cos 'e's famous?' spits Denton.

Robards stands up. He is a foot shorter than Denton but still effortlessly owns the room. He opens a cupboard to his left and pulls out a large, dusty book.

'No,' says Robards. He dumps the book on his desk and a mushroom cloud of dust rises. 'I want you to put a tail on him first thing tomorrow morning. Someone good, someone who won't get caught. You will re-examine the scene, look for any evidence of foul play. Start with that neighbour who saw a Muggle skulking about before it happened.' He opens the book and flicks through. 'Moon … Nott … Parkinson … Here we are. Interesting.'

I lean in, my heart beating wildly in my chest.

'Anyone access it, boss?'

Robards frowns over his spectacles. 'Yes. William Sayer.'

I have to stop myself from crying out. Sayer? Nothing could have prepared me for this. It makes no sense. Why would Sayer want to kill Luna? Other than that ball celebrating the Mind Healer initiative, we had never come across him before she died. What motive could he possibly have?

It makes no sense.

' –an 'Ealer at St Mungo's or summat?'

'Yes, he is. Potter's Mind Healer, as you should know.'

'Bu' what's 'e doin' snoopin' around in tha' register?'

Robards turns his back on Denton and gazes out of the window, where thunder rumbles and rain lashes down.

'I … don't know.'

''ow does 'e even 'ave access?'

'Healers can access the register in case there's an emergency and they need to get to their patients. But Potter wasn't his patient then. He shouldn't have had access … This changes things. I want you to call everyone in. And I mean everyone. I want two Aurors on Potter and two on Sayer. I want Sayer's house and office searched. Get someone to alert the Minister –'

My feet lead me out of the room, past the cubicles and back to the lifts.

William Sayer. The man I have been spilling my thoughts to every single fucking week. The same man who might have killed my darling Luna.

I need answers. I need to be sure. I need to know why.

Aurors will be swarming all over Sayer's office in a matter of moments. In any case, he'll be done for the day. He won't be home, either; he's an unmarried man in his twenties.

I crash past commuters in the Atrium but do not stop. I have to get to Sayer.

I think back to our sessions. What do I know about him? He owns a Pensieve. He went to school in France. He is probably a Muggle-born. That's it.

Think, Harry, think!

He has never shown any interest in my Hallows. None at all. He had the information to make a good go of finding them, but he never did. So what else could he possibly want?

I take long, deep breaths. Then I have it. The one thing I know for sure: the Muggle living at Walcott Square performed the deed.

I Disapparate and reappear in the old, Victorian street, directly outside number twenty-three.

With a swipe of my wand, the gate swings off its hinges with the force of a bomb blast. Another crash and the door caves inwards.

A woman rolls into view, a gun in her hand. I slash upwards and she is blasted off her feet. She crashes through a door at the far end of the hall and moves no more.

The man, Jack, thunders down the stairs. I stop him in his tracks and summon him towards me so he hangs in the air in front of the house like a puppet on invisible strings. He has answers. And he will tell me.

'William Sayer,' I snarl, spitting rain.

'W – What?'

'You know that name?'

'P – Please –'

'DO YOU KNOW THAT NAME?'

'Y – Yes!' cries Jack. A sodden stream runs down his trousers and trickles onto the remnants of the gate.

'How do you know him?'

For a moment, he is frozen with fear and horror, but the faint sound of sirens seems to galvanise him. 'H – His family lived down the road when I – I was at university!'

'What?'

'I – I swear. P – Please, it's the truth. I – I used to babysit them on my holidays.'

'Them?' I say. My voice is barely audible over the wail of sirens.

'T – They were a-always together …'

'WHO?'

'William and Luna.'

I crash to my knees. William and Luna. Luna and William. My hands are on my head; I am pulling my hair. Could it be? Were they childhood sweethearts? Did he love her? Did she love him? The thought comes unbidden and awakens a monstrous rage deep inside me.

But of course. I was meant to be at home. Luna was meant to be away. Sayer wanted to kill me. With me dead, he could have Luna all to himself. And is that what she had wanted? I – I don't know. My world is crumbling around me. I have to ask her!

'Put your hands behind your head.'

I whirl around. Through the stinging tears and curtain of rain, I see flashing blue lights. Muggle police. I slash the Elder Wand again and again and again. Cars explode. Bodies go flying. A crater rents itself through the pavement. But the destruction is nothing, nothing compared to my burning heart.

Alone among the dead, I tear down the road.

I don't want to feel.

I want to die.

Then I feel that familiar twinge. The twinge I felt the last time I was here. I whirl around and look up at a house. There is something about it. It is newer than the houses on either side. Then I remember a conversation with Luna, from a lifetime ago.

'Have you … I mean, who … has anyone you known ever died?'

'Yes, my mother. She was quite an extraordinary witch, you know, but she did like to experiment and one of her spells went rather badly wrong one day. I was nine.'

It was here, this house. It is the final proof I need. Luna once lived here. And so did Sayer.

In the wake of this final, terrible piece of evidence, a strange calm washes over me. In my mind's eye, I am in the Forest again.

I take the Resurrection Stone from my pocket and trace the etching. There is only one way I will learn the truth.

I will go to her grave and face death once more.