Regardless of the victorious smirk on Tom's lips as they strolled through the Ministry, the tour turned out to be good for Harry. He was sick of the tension radiating between them in his — their — shared cubicle. The tiny space amplified it to near unbearable proportions. Every shift, every sound of movement from Tom's side of the office made Harry's heart pound. He felt braced for impact. Poised for flight. Sitting rigid on the edge of his chair, he kept his head down, scribbling Merlin knew what onto a memo that he'd already forgotten who for, too busy half wishing Tom would stride across the four feet separating their desks and do something. So getting out of the office was a blessing. By moving about, by introducing Tom to fellow employees, Harry kept the nerves at bay.
Mostly.
I very much want to kiss you.
Try as he might, he couldn't keep Tom's announcement out of his head. He really had to deal with this and yet the mere thought of broaching the topic made Harry sick to his stomach, so when Eddie hailed them on level three (Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes), Harry enthusiastically welcomed the distraction. A moment later, however, as Eddie passed him that morning's Daily Prophet with a grim 'you should see this' expression, the enthusiasm withered away.
Though Rita Skeeter had turned her ambitions to radio and book publishing, she could have fooled anyone into thinking she'd taken up her old post at the Prophet as the article on the front page was little more than her account of the attempted robbery.
"I've been a lifelong admirer of the Elladora Works," Rita Skeeter reveals to me as we wait in the Aurum's tearoom for confirmation that the career criminal known only as the Collector has indeed been apprehended. "They are very fragile, irreplaceable pieces. I do hope the Aurors are careful."
It took just another line for 'the Aurors' to be listed by name and by the end of the article Rita Skeeter had managed to suggest suspicions as to why two Aurors (one of which being utterly unknown) were now partners, as Aurors "strictly work alone."
Does this radical change have something to do with the overhaul of arrests seen in the last two days? Is Minister Shacklebolt making even more changes to the structure of our tried and true law enforcement? Why was the Chosen One on guard duty instead of bringing in the dangerous Dark wizards he swore he'd protect us from?
Harry stopped reading, feeling that if he continued he'd hit his head against the wall. He passed it back to Eddie, wondering how much longer it would be before the Prophet got wind that the 'unknown' Auror had brought in Voldemort's wand. Not long, judging by how the other Aurors could talk about anything else when Tom was present.
"I heard a rumor that she's planning another book," Eddie admitted with the tone of someone who felt that it was better to get unpleasant news out in the open rather than let them fester. "Might be another biography."
Harry groaned. "Who's the lucky bastard?"
Eddie looked at him pointedly.
"Ah."
"It might not be that bad."
"It's Skeeter writing about me," Harry disagreed. "It'll be bad."
Sympathetic, Eddie clapped Harry on the shoulder, said farewell and headed back to the Auror Department.
"I would think by now you'd be indifferent to what the press says about you," said Tom.
Nettled, Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, you'd think."
Tom's gaze was far too understanding and far too soft. Suddenly Harry realized how close they were standing without Eddie there.
Tell him, Harry urged. Tell him it's over.
"Erm, Tom."
"Yes?"
Merlin, he'd forgotten how stunning Tom's eyes were. He cleared his throat.
"Listen, there's something I need to —" But a warmth against his knuckles cut him off. He pulled the Ministry coin from his pocket just as Tom fished out his own, which Robards had recently issued to him.
"We have a case," said Harry, reading the message curled on its edge.
xXx
Someone was dead.
Finally.
They Apparated to a small playhouse in Appleby. Obliviators were already on the scene, carding off the theater's front steps and keeping the curious Muggles at bay. They were dressed as standard police officers though one had forgotten the proper garments, instead donning a flower-pattered uniform with a beaver-fur hat. Tom and Harry were shown inside, where a cluster of actors in costume were cloistered around the stage. The body — a man in the classic regal attire of the 17th century — lay sprawled on the floor.
"Harry! Thank goodness!" A short, tiny man scurried across the stage toward them.
"Professor Flitwick?" said Harry, taken aback. "What are you doing here?"
"I spend my summers in Appleby," said Flitwick. "I'm the director of the theater."
"Oh."
It was obvious that Harry found the reality that his former professors did not live day in and day out in their Hogwarts quarters jarring.
"Did you witness the death?" Tom asked.
"Yes," said Flitwick. "We were rehearsing the second act of the Warlock's Hairy Heart when poor Hector collapsed. There was nothing any of us could do. He was gone in seconds."
Behind Flitwick, half in shadow, a woman released a sob. Another older woman wrapped an arm around the girl's quaking shoulders.
"Maybe it would be better if everyone went to their dressing rooms," Harry suggested to Flitwick, also noticing the strained actors.
Flitwick nodded, just as pale as the body they stood over. "I'll see to it."
As the tiny professor shuffled the actors and stagehands off the set, Harry bent down closer to the body. Tom eyed the corpse from above. He was just a few years older than Harry. Twenty-two, possibly twenty-four. His nut brown hair was slicked back with oil. Whether that was his own personal taste or a requirement for the role, Tom could only guess. The man had fallen forward, resting on his stomach, and the bit of face Tom could see was contorted. Whatever had done him in had not been gentle.
"Was Hector suffering from anything?" Harry asked when Flitwick returned.
"No," said Flitwick. "He was a healthy, strapping young man. I don't understand how this could have happened."
"So no illnesses?"
"He didn't so much as have a cough. If he suffered from something, he kept it very well hidden."
Tom squatted down beside Harry. He peered closely at the man's fingertips. They had a very faint blue cast to them and his skin was already ice cold.
"How long ago did he collapse?" Tom asked.
"Not but five minutes ago."
"You may want to make sure no one leaves the theater," Tom advised. "Your lead man was murdered."
"Good gracious," Flitwick breathed.
"Why do you say that?" Harry asked sharply.
Tom pulled out his wand and transfigured a button from Hector's costume into a needle. He pricked the man's index finger. Harry bent closer. His eyes widened behind his glasses as he watched the bead of blood well up and turn instantly, vibrantly blue.
"He's far too cold, too quickly," Tom explained. "In another five minutes, he'll be stiff as a board. It's common side effects of Runespoor venom."
Flitwick covered his mouth.
"Runespoor?" said Harry. "You're confident it can't be anything else?"
"Highly unlikely."
"But he wasn't attacked," said Flitwick in a strangled whisper. "There isn't a Runespoor in the theater."
Tom pulled up one of Hector's sleeves.
"What are you looking for?" Harry asked.
"I'm trying to see if he was … ah, yes. Here we are."
Beneath the man's right ear was a small bruise.
"This was where our murderer injected him. It wouldn't take much venom to do the job." Tom peered closer to the bruise. "He was pricked with something small."
"Like a needle?" Harry suggested, looking pointedly at the one Tom had transfigured.
"Possibly. He probably didn't even notice it. Might have thought it was a bug bite. The venom acts quickly so whoever pricked him did so in the last twenty minutes, I'd wager."
If anything, Flitwick grew even more ashen.
Harry released a low breath. "Okay. Stay with the body. I'm going to tell the Obliviators that they can transport him to the morgue. Professor, if you'd make sure no one leaves, we need to question everyone who was here."
"Whatever you need, Harry," said Flitwick at once. "Oh, poor Lenora."
"Lenora?"
"They've been engaged for three years. This will crush her."
"Is Lenora here?" Harry asked.
"No, she owns the bookshop around the corner, but I saw her on the street this morning. She often walks – walked – with Hector to the theater on her way to open her shop. Oh, good gracious. This is terrible. If you don't mind, I'd like to be with you when you tell her. She was in my house."
.
.
Harry was surprisingly skilled at coaxing information from people. Nearly as good as Tom was. He was patient. Understanding. Consoling. One might even go so far as to think he cared for these strangers. Tom found it all highly amusing. Perhaps being an Auror wouldn't be as dull as he'd originally feared.
Unfortunately, regardless of their efforts, no one in the theater seemed glaringly guilty. Hector Sparrow himself appeared perfectly normal, a shoe salesman with a thirst for the theater.
"That makes ten out of ten," Harry sighed after their latest witness, the sobbing young woman from the stage, departed. "Everyone loved Hector."
Tom watched the woman shuffle down the hall, barely able to see straight through her tears. "Perhaps too much," he muttered.
"You'd say that," said Harry, rather shrewdly.
"I'm only pointing out that she seemed far more disturbed than anyone else."
"Her friend just died in front of her! Of course she's upset."
Tom shrugged. "It seemed excessive to me."
Harry opened his mouth, and then seeming to decide against it, turned for the door.
"Come one. We need to go see that fiancée."
Outside on the street, Flitwick hurried them to a small bookshop round the bend. Though the village was stagnantly Muggle, the store had a section in the backroom that housed all manner of magical volumes. It was there, crammed around a tiny table overloaded with boxes of books and precariously balanced tea cups, that Harry broke the news.
Tom studied the young woman closely. He always enjoyed analyzing faces, even as a very young child. It was the same morbid fascination he felt while watching someone twitch and flail under the Cruciatus Curse. Or a spider trying to crawl away with broken legs. They were all specimens to study.
"Hector?" the girl — Lenora Ruffing — whispered. She was a slip of a thing. Pale and mousy. Her second-hand skirt had been re-hemmed rather clumsily. Magic too had been used to whiten the lackluster grayness of her blouse from one too many washings, but the spell was fading quickly. Upon their entry, she had hastily lifted a pea-green coat off one of the chairs, making room for them to sit. The cuffs, Tom had noticed, were unraveling, the pearl buttons down the front winking rather forlornly.
"We're very sorry for your loss," Harry murmured.
Tom barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. Worried he might lose the fight, he shifted his attention to the box of books by his elbow.
"When was the last time you saw Hector?"
Flitwick conjured a handkerchief for Ruffing. She buried her nose in it.
"This morning. We — we walked to the playhouse together. I wished him good luck and I opened the shop."
"Was Hector having any troubles? Any difficulties at work? An upset customer?"
Ruffing shook her head.
"No one wanted to hurt Hector," she choked. "Everyone l-loved him. He was — he was wonderful."
Tom put the book he'd pulled from the box back with a louder thump than was warranted. Harry shot him an annoyed scowl.
"We'll keep you informed," Harry told her. "Thank you for your time. Professor?"
"I will stay with Lenora," said Flitwick, patting the girl on the hand and refilling the teapot with a point of his wand.
Back on the street, Tom put his hands in his pockets, his robes transfigured into a long, black overcoat, same as Harry. Policy, apparently, for duty in Muggle areas.
"She's lying," he stated.
"Is that just your suspicions or do you have a reason for thinking that?"
Tom smiled. "You know my talents at spotting liars and she was far from honest."
"Well, get used to it," said Harry, unmoved. "Hungry?"
Startling Tom, Harry crossed the street toward a sandwich shop. He followed.
"Excuse me?" Tom asked, stepping into the deli after Harry, a bell announcing their entrance. "What do you mean by that?"
"Everyone lies to Aurors," said Harry. "Well, not everyone," he amended. "But most people fib about something. It's natural. We're asking all sorts of questions and eventually we get to one that they really don't want to answer. So they lie. If you're going to get all ruffled every time someone's dishonest you're not going to last very long."
Tom wasn't ruffled. "If you knew she wasn't being honest, why didn't you question her further?" he demanded as the line shifted forward.
"Which sounds better? The Cornish beef or the tomato and bacon? Ooh, they have prawn!" Harry spotted Tom's glare. "I don't know if Lenora's lying about anything. You said that. But if she is, we'll figure it out. What we need is more of a picture of Hector's life. We need a look inside his flat."
xXx
"I was not aware shoe salesmen made the sort of money to afford this level of decor," Tom observed.
It was strange. Hector's flat was nice, far nicer than Harry knew Hector Sparrow should be able to afford on just the pension of a clerk. Though not a connoisseur of the arts, Harry could tell that the giant pieces on the walls would have cost a hefty sum.
In the kitchen Tom let out a low whistle. "Our dead man had taste. I count five bottles of goblin-made wine. Top vintages."
"How much do they cost?"
"Two hundred galleons. Each."
"Two hundred galleons?" Harry sputtered. "For a bottle of wine?"
Tom lifted one. "Shall I open it?"
"How in the world was he affording that?" Harry wondered.
"Clearly he was getting funds from other means."
"No one's mentioned him doing anything other than sell shoes. What sort of side job would put that kind of gold in his pock—"
Harry froze at the kitchen window. The flat was on the second story and the kitchen overlooked a back alley. Half hidden behind a trash bin was a stooped figure dressed in patched robes. He had long, scraggly hair.
"Dung," Harry breathed.
"Pardon?"
Harry didn't wait to explain. He darted out of the flat, speeding down the stairs, taking them two at a time. He blew out of the apartment's back door and into the back alley. Mundungus spotted him, released an alarmed shout and made to Apparate away, but Harry already had his wand out.
"Stupefy!"
Mundungus collapsed, banging head first into the trash bin, sending a terrified cat racing for cover.
Back in Hector's kitchen, Harry deposited Mundungus in a heap.
"And who is this?" Tom asked coolly.
"Mundungus Fletcher," said Harry, panting slightly. "A smuggler." He pointed his wand at Mundungus' chest. "Rennervate."
Mundungus stirred. Grunting, his hang-dog eyes opened and for a moment he peered up at Harry and Tom slightly out of focus. And this his gaze sharpened. His blood-shot eyes darted from Harry's wand to Tom to Harry's wand again.
"Wha's this?" he demanded. "Wha' right you got kidnappin' me?"
"I wouldn't need to kidnap you if you didn't always try to turn tail," Harry pointed out. "Why were you lurking outside this flat?"
"I wasn't lurkin'— "
Bang!
A shot like a starting pistol ricocheted through the flat. Mundungus screamed, cowering with his arms over his head.
"You were saying?" said Tom lazily, his wand held loose in one hand, a small, smoking hole in the wall next to Mundungus' left ear.
"You crazy?" Mundungus bellowed. "Threatenin' me? That's against the law, that is!"
Tom shifted his wand to point at Mundungus' kneecap. Terrified, Mundungus pulled his knees into his chest, wrapping his arms protectively around them.
"I was lookin' for Hector, all right!"
"Why did you want to see Hector?" Harry asked.
"Cuz 'e stood me up! I thought 'e might have gotten another contact, the bleedin' dodger."
"Contact? You were providing goods to Hector?"
Mundungus shook his head, his long, scraggly hair whipping. "'E supplied me. 'E gave me the eggs and I passed 'em along."
"What eggs?" Tom asked.
"Runespoor eggs! Hector's breedin' 'em."
That explained the cash flow. Runespoor eggs were a hot item on the black market. But the snakes weren't in the flat. Tom would have heard them.
"Was it you, then?" Tom asked, casually moving his wand to point at Mundungus' temple. "Did you get tired of being the middle man? Thought it was time to have a bigger slice of the pie?"
"Wha's 'e talkin' 'bout?" Mundungus demanded to Harry.
"Hector's dead, Dung."
Mundungus' mouth fell open.
"From Runespoor poisoning," Tom added.
At that, Mundungus' mouth snapped shut. His eyes bulged.
"Oh, no! You ain't pinning this on me! I had nothing to do with no poisoning! I got stood up. We was supposed to meet in the park and when 'e didn't show, I came here! I don't know nothing about no snake poison."
"Do you know where he keeps the snakes?" Harry asked.
Mundungus shook his head again. "Kept it secret. But I followed 'im one time to London. Lost 'im outside one of them underground stations."
.
.
"Okay. Dung said Hector vanished somewhere around here."
They had left Hector's flat, Apparating to Elephant and Castle. It was growing late in the day and the flow of people coming in and out of the Tube station was thick with the evening commute.
"Do you hear them?" Harry asked Tom. "The Runespoors?"
"No one would be able to hear anything over this traffic," said Tom sourly. He stepped up to the brick wall and ran his hand over the mortar, frowning. Men with briefcases, university students with school bags and middle-aged women with their groceries banged into Harry as they entered and exited the Tube's entrance, many shooting Harry annoyed expressions.
"About Dung," said Harry, edging a bit more out of the walking path. "I appreciate your help, but you really shouldn't threaten to blow up people's kneecaps."
"I never threatened to do any such thing," Tom disagreed, still running his fingers over the wall. "If he happened to think that I would do something like that, that was entirely his own doing."
"You blew a hole in the wall and then pointed at his knee," Harry stated dryly. "What would anyone think?"
"We can discuss our different methods of interrogation later. For now, we have a Runespoor to collect."
Harry stepped closer. "You found the entrance?"
Tom fished out his wand and tapped it against a brick. A stretch of wall the size of a door shimmered into life. Nervously, Harry glanced over his shoulder at the passing Muggles, but they didn't seem to notice the sudden haziness of the brick wall. Tom strode straight through the wall and Harry hurried after him.
The noise of the busy street vanished. They found themselves in a sealed room that put Harry in mind of both the reptile house at the London zoo and a laboratory. An enormous glass cage took up nearly the entire space and inside it, its coils gently draped over a thick log was a Runespoor. Gleaming red and black stripes, three heads, and over six feet long, the snake was a formidable creature. At their arrival, the heads turned. Harry stepped closer and found that the cage was enchanted just like Hermione's beaded handbag and his own mokeskin pouch: it was far larger inside the cage.
A string of strange, unsettling hisses issued from Tom and Harry found himself staring as he spoke to the Runespoor. The heads rose, three tongues flicking the air. Unnerved by the noise, Harry tapped a message to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures onto his Ministry coin and then set to searching the room for clues. There were tools set out on a worktable to collect, store, and package the eggs. Harry found a stash of them in a wooden, padded box. Along a shelf stood a line of small, clear bottles. He picked one up, tipping it in the light. If he had to guess, he'd say each contained venom. There was a vacant spot in the middle of the line.
"It didn't happen to see the person who took one of these vials?" Harry asked, hopeful.
"Unfortunately she's been in a haze of daydreams for the last two days and the only person she's ever seen in here before the two of us was Sparrow. She's wondering when he'll be back."
"Break it to her gently?" Harry suggested.
Tom rolled his eyes, but turned back to the watching snake. His voice, Harry noticed, was lower and softer than before. Though he no longer understood Parseltongue — another unexpected blessing from no longer being a Horcrux — he could guess Tom's words. The giant snake shrunk in on itself. The sudden arrival of the Regulation Official forced Harry's attention away.
"Rolf?" he said, startled as the ginger-haired man appeared through the wall. He carried a rather battered briefcase.
"Harry," Rolf greeted warmly. "Nice to see you again."
"What are you doing here?"
"It's mandatory in the Regulation Department of Magical Creatures that a magizoologist steps in for a few months every year," Rolf explained. "I was asked if I could." He spotted the Runespoor and approached the cage.
"She's distressed," Tom explained. "She had a bond with her previous owner. I just informed her we found him dead this morning."
"You speak Parseltongue?"
Much to Harry's surprise, Rolf was not remotely alarmed to learn such a thing. Instead, he was exicted.
"I speak it, too," Rolf continued brightly. "Not as well as I'd like. Bugger to get a hold of. I always confuse my 'y's and 'k's."
Harry bit back on the laugh threatening to escape at Tom's flat expression.
"Perhaps I should assist you," said Tom.
As they discussed the best way to coax the Runespoor from her cage, Harry turned his attention back to his search. Much to his frustration, the room appeared clean. He lowered down onto his hands and knees and peered under the worktable.
"We just need to get her inside the briefcase," Rolf explained. "There's a good forest spot in there that she'll enjoy until I'm able to get her back to Africa."
"Lumos," Harry whispered, pointing his wand in the shadows under the table. Something glinted. He reached and picked up a small, pearl button.
"Are you comfortable joining me inside the cage?" Rolf asked Tom. "She seems to like you. She might be more willing to listen to you."
Harry fingered the button. It tugged at his memory. He'd seen one like it recently …
He rose in time to see the Runespoor slither into the open briefcase. As regulated as Undetectable Extension Charms were supposed to be, Harry was relieved that no one present cared all that much. Between the Runespoor's cage, his own mokeskin pouch, and now Rolf's briefcase, they stacked up quite the list of fines.
The tip of the Runespoor's tail vanished inside the briefcase, Rolf clicked the lid closed and Tom stepped out of the cage.
"What?" Tom asked, noticing Harry watching him.
"Look what I found."
Tom plucked the button from Harry's fingers.
"Seem familiar to you?" Harry asked.
"Very much so," said Tom softly, rolling the button between his ring finger and thumb. "I told you she was lying."
"No need to gloat," said Harry, putting the button away in his pocket. He gave Rolf a wave, letting them know they were heading off. "If we hurry, we might get back to her shop before closing time."
xXx
Lenora Ruffing was indeed in the process of locking up her bookstore when Tom and Harry appeared behind her.
"Miss Ruffing, may we have a word?" Harry asked. "There's been a development."
Ruffing had the same wide-eyed look of someone whose hand had been caught in the cookie jar. Her throat constricted as she swallowed.
"Of course," she said, unlocking the door and showing them back inside. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."
"We had an unexpected lead," Harry explained. "Did you know that Hector was selling Runespoor eggs on the black market?"
Three quick blinks.
"No," said Ruffing.
Tom crossed his arms and leaned against a bookshelf, settling in to count the lies.
"I find that difficult to believe," said Harry quietly, "as this was under a worktable in the safe room where he kept the snake."
Ruffing turned the color of milk at the sight of the pearl button resting in Harry's palm.
"One's missing from your coat," Harry pointed out as she convulsively gripped the neat line of buttons.
Tom's eyes traveled over her shabby, home-mended clothing. "Hector wasn't much of a sharer, was he? All that gold. That fancy apartment. And here you are running a second-hand bookshop."
Ruffing's eyes snapped to him.
"Money? I don't care about money. I've known about Hector's snake for months."
Tom cocked his head, his interest rising, but she mistook his expression.
"We were engaged!" Ruffing shouted. "And he was — he was —" She squeezed her eyes shut and Tom wondered if she was about to be ill. "I went to the playhouse yesterday to surprise him. Freida was in his dressing room. They were …"
Tom caught Harry's eye. Freida, the sobbing actress.
"They weren't rehearsing their scene?" Harry asked carefully.
Ruffing let out a shriek of a laugh. "Rehearsing? Three years we've been engaged but Hector kept putting it off, saying that we needed to wait until he got enough gold stored away that we'd live like kings, but I kept telling him I didn't care about that. I just wanted —" She broke off, her hands over her mouth. "Three years of my life waiting for him and he threw it back in my face like it was nothing," she whispered fiercely. She glared at them, her pale eyes wild with hurt. "Wouldn't you have done the same?" she demanded. "Wouldn't anyone?"
Harry didn't answer. He pointed his wand at her wrists, binding them in the same silver cord Tom himself had been chained in. Gently, he took her by the arm and walked her out of the shop.
.
.
A/N: And that might possibly have been the fastest murder case ever solved. I feel no shame. Next up, the dinner!