"Chief?"
Harry looked up at his assistant, Gwendolyn Fuller.
"Yeah, Gwen. What is it?"
Harry had felt set-upon all morning. When he apparated into the Atrium at seven, a flock of journalists greeted him. Word got out on Sunday that a high-ranking Auror had allegedly used "excessive force" against several Muggles. The Prophet and a number of other prominent publications all wanted a comment from the Chief of the Auror Department.
"New report from Stonehouse," she said, slipping a thin file onto his desk. "Nothing new."
"Thanks." He glanced at her. "Close the door. I want to ask you something."
Gwen did so, looking at him curiously, and seated herself on the worn leather couch facing his desk. The light from the mottled glass ceiling above gave her face a freckled glow.
"What's the mood out there?" he asked, sweeping a hand at the windows that encircled his office.
She sighed. "Hard to say. Some think DMLE is in the right, discharging Callahan and snapping his wand. But you know how much pull he had. A lot of people don't like how things were done, that he wouldn't have done what he's accused of...and if he did, is it really that bad? They say he's being made an example..."
"Right," said Harry, frowning. "Is that sentiment directed towards anyone in particular?"
"Not in the Auror Department, per se," said Gwen, looking apprehensive. "Just DMLE, I gather."
Harry wanted to ask if he, the Chief, was seen as pursuing the Callahan case too hard. But, he resisted. He could tell by the stiff manner of some of his fellow Aurors that they thought he was abandoning one of the Department's most trusted and effective Aurors to the crusading tendencies of the government prosecutors down the hall. Harry didn't have much choice in the matter. The Auror Department was a sub-division of the larger Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Hermione's office.
"Thanks," he said. "Keep the memos on your end, will you, unless they're urgent?"
"Will do," she said, standing. She flicked her wand at the ceiling and the memos circling the light fixture queued in a neat row behind her, like ducklings following their mother. "Counselor Granger will be here momentarily."
He nodded vaguely, already opening the file Gwen left on his desk.
The first page included a summary of Theodonus Callahan's case. The experienced Auror had been on assignment in Cainscross in Gloucestershire on August 29th, seven days ago. He was sent there to surveil the childhood home of a former Death Eater, one Deedrick Rudge, who'd recently been spotted in Diagon Alley after several years in hiding.
What happened next made no sense to Harry. In crisp typewriter face, the report said Callahan arrived at 9 Ashway Court, Rudge's former home, at eleven that night and found a Muggle family inside. The rest of the report was rather gruesome. According to Callahan's first interrogation, the Auror tied up a Muggle couple and their two children—a girl of fifteen and a boy of eleven. He performed illegal and invasive Legilimency on all four of them. At some point, Callahan used the Cruciatus on the parents, while the children watched. Before he left, he performed a violent version of the Memory Charm. Each member of the family had sustained significant memory loss and possible brain damage.
When Harry got word of the attack, he had the family quietly removed to Saint Mungo's in hopes that the Healers could restore their memories. A week later, there was no progress. The teenage girl was still in a magical coma.
Harry flipped to the interrogation transcript, one line jumping off the page:
Callahan: I was happy to do it. The regulations these days, they bind the hands of an Auror. If it were a wizard family, no one would have batted an eye if I used Legilimency or not. Only if it's Muggles does this Ministry seem to have a problem. They forget who they work for.
There was a knock at the door. Harry closed the file.
"Chief, your twelve o'clock."
Hermione stepped inside. She wore a formal, tailored dress beneath a dove-grey half-cape hanging loosely from her small shoulders. The dress stopped just before her knees, directing Harry's eyes downward to velvet black heels. Her hair was loose, but neat.
"You look nice," he said, standing. "What's the occasion?"
"Just came from a hearing," she said slightly breathless. She looked around the office. "Should we start here?"
Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Lunch, maybe? Don't know if you've noticed but the atmosphere's a bit tetchy at the moment."
She gave him a closed lip smile. "I did notice."
Harry grinned, grabbing his coat. "It's not you, love. Just your department in general."
Despite the tension in the Auror Department, Harry and Hermione received quite a few waves and "afternoons" as they made their way across the Ministry's gleaming Atrium. Harry glanced at the fountain at the center of the enormous hall. It was a round orb, a facsimile of the earth. Impressed into its surface, almost as if they were sinking into it, were the figures of a wizard, witch, Muggle, centaur, goblin, and house elf. Their hands were linked. Crystal water ran from the northern pole, sliding down the crevices of the statues' faces.
Harry and Hermione squeezed into a red telephone booth and ascended to street level. Hermione's back was pressed against his chest and Harry briefly registered that her curls smelled like honey and the pages of new books.
Once they reached the alley, Hermione turned to him. "So, Diagon Alley or just wander around here?"
"I'm all right with Muggle food. You?"
"Sure. I'm not quite dressed for it but that's all right," she said, removing her cloak, which left her shoulders bare. "Have any cash?"
Harry dug into his wallet. "Two quid. Sorry."
"It's fine." She reached into her bag and removed three galleons. "Come stand by me."
Shielding her wand from view, Harry watched as Hermione transfigured the galleons into three 10 pound notes.
"Sure that'll work?"
"Of course," she said, looking almost affronted. "They won't ever know and it's permanent."
Harry smirked. "I think I'm supposed to mention—just as the head of the Auror Department—that counterfeiting money is illegal in Muggle Britain. Magical Britain, too, come to think of it..."
Hermione crinkled her nose. "Going to report me, are you?"
He rolled his eyes and she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. It was chilly in the alleyway and they were grateful to emerge into the bright sunlight of a busy, central London avenue. Businessmen and women on their lunch break crowded several well-known establishments, forcing Harry and Hermione into a comparatively empty Vietnamese cafe.
As the waitress left with their orders (two bowls of pho), Harry tried to delay the inevitable conversation. "You look very nice today, I think I said?"
"Not the usual trousers and button-down, I know."
"I like it."
Hermione smiled slightly. "Don't get used to it. I can't pull off heels everyday, even with Morton's Heel Pain-be-Gone."
It occurred to Harry that Ginny always seemed to be wearing heels.
Their food arrived unconscionably fast and they slurped their pho in companionable silence for several minutes before Hermione paused to tear fresh basil over her bowl. "We should probably get to what we're avoiding."
Harry put down his spoon, resigned. "Right."
"I don't like it any more than you," she said, digging into her bag. She pulled out a A4-sized notebook and a ballpoint pen she kept on hand for Muggle environments. "But I do need your comments before I can finalize the report."
Harry nodded. "Just tell me what Lakey decides and I'd ask that you let me know before any significant actions are taken."
"I will," she promised. She grasped her wand in her bag and muttered "Silencio."
"Muffliato," Harry whispered.
"All right. First, tell me your understanding of the facts. When did you send Callahan to Cainscross? What did you tell him to do there?"
Harry took a sip of tea. She had that look in her eyes—a look he'd grown accustomed to over twenty-six years, ever since their first Transfiguration lesson when she knew the answer to a particularly difficult question. It was akin to a cat about to pounce on an unsuspecting rodent. Harry didn't much like being on the receiving end of that look.
"Well," he said, "we received an anonymous tip that Deedrick Rudge was spotted in Diagon Alley and that he was responsible for a recent spate of robberies in the area. Rudge is one of the last remaining Death Eaters still at large, so a whole unit was dispatched. One of them interviewed the owner of the shop where Rudge had been spotted and she confirmed the description: a tall, bald man with a scar running along his scalp, upwards from the ear. The team briefed me upon their return—this was probably around four o'clock. I dug up Rudge's file. It had been several years since he'd made an appearance, you see, and I wrote down several locations to monitor, including his last known whereabouts in London, his ex-girlfriend's residence in Leicester, and his childhood home...at Cainscross."
Hermione was scribbling away, barely looking at him.
"I sent five Aurors to the London location. Two went to Liecester. Only Callahan was available anywhere near Cainscross. He had been in Gloucester, following up on an unrelated case. I sent orders to Callahan via patronus, directing him to conduct initial reconnaissance and report back. He confirmed receipt with his own patronus. By 'reconnaissance' we both understood that to mean he would scope out the area. At most, he could use demystifying charms to see if any deception spells had been cast around the house. He was to provide hourly status updates and, if he found anything, to report to me immediately and we would begin the process for an entry warrant. He was never to reveal himself to the Muggle family inside, let alone approach or interrogate them. He seemed entirely in his senses when we spoke."
He scraped his spoon along the bottom of his bowl.
"In all honestly, I didn't expect him to report back until morning because—again—no one thought Rudge would be at Cainscross. Theo Callahan has an independent streak. He doesn't like meaningless tasks and has made no effort to hide that fact from me. So, I left Headquarters that night around ten, informing the Aurors on call that Callahan might submit a report but that it may not come until morning. I apparated home. I helped Ginny with the wash. The kids were leaving for Hogwarts in two days, as you know. I went to bed without hearing from Headquarters."
Hermione's pen paused over the notepad. "And when did you hear of the attack?"
Harry winced. "The next morning. From the Muggle police commissioner in London. He'd received a report of strange activity in Cainscross. He's one of the few Muggles who would recognize magical activity on paper and all the hallmarks were there—all four family members passed out in their sitting room. No evidence of drug use or a gas leak. No memory of the events. The severity of their memory loss was also concerning. Apparently the boy was expected for a carpool to school and when he didn't show, their neighbor called the police.
"I went with several Aurors to the scene, had the family removed from the local clinic and transported to St. Mungo's. At the same time, I was trying to find Callahan. We eventually found him at the Leaky Cauldron of all places. He didn't seem at all surprised that we'd come to arrest him. And that was all."
"Have you spoken directly to Callahan since?"
"No. I was there for his discharge at Stonehouse. Lakey snapped his wand. I signed some papers and disapparated. Lakey told me he'll likely have to be arraigned there and tried at the Gloucestershire Wizengamot, if he doesn't submit a plea. I'll be visiting tomorrow."
Hermione nodded. "This is a full account of your involvement with the Callahan matter?"
"Yes, counselor," said Harry, the corners of his mouth twitching.
She watched him for a long moment. "I should tell you that Lakey's asked me to come with you two to see Callahan. I'm taking lead on the case."
Harry's stomach twisted strangely. "You—you want in on this one? It's already all over the papers. You know the punishment for Muggle torture…"
"I know." She returned the notepad to her purse and took down the silencing charms, the din of the café pressing against their ears. "That's why I want in on this one," she said, voice quiet and ferocious.
Harry glanced away. His eyes settled on the window behind her head, men in suits and women in brightly-colored coats flittering by.
"Hermione," he said, choosing his words carefully, "have you read the transcript of Callahan's interrogation?"
"I have." Her face was like stone.
"Then you know…from the looks of things, he has some anti-Muggle views."
"I reckoned as much."
Harry waited for her to say more, but she was silent.
"If he did what he's accused of, he deserves everything that's coming to him," said Harry cautiously. "But you should also know he has his allies in the Ministry, not least among the Aurors. Truth be told," he grimaced, "all Aurors have likely used some degree of excessive force at some point in their career...I include myself in that...in my earlier days. Restraint is one of the hardest skills an Auror—"
"Then you should teach them restraint, Harry."
He knew she was angry and he felt his face grow warm. After a beat of silence, though, her tone softened.
"I know you've used Legilimency without authorization on wizards, but you've never used the Cruciatus. You've never obliviated without cause. You've never done anything like that to Muggles."
Harry nodded but still couldn't meet her eyes.
"We can't make excuses for people like Callahan, Harry, no matter how talented or respected the wizard...or how guilty we feel about our own faults."
"I know," he said, clearing his throat. "You're right, of course. I won't spare any Auror who behaves like Callahan, but...a part of me is just confused, Hermione. You've never met him. You haven't worked with him for eight years. In all that time, I never knew him to say a harsh word about a Muggle or a Muggle-born..."
Hermione watched him, looking almost disappointed.
"It might shock you to learn," she said softly, "that people with views like Callahan don't always come across as miscreants and lowlifes. They're often very respectable and careful with their words...especially around their superiors."
Harry looked down. He was reminded again—as if their world could ever let them forget—that she was a Muggle-born and he was not. And despite growing up in the Muggle world for ten years, it was not an experience he could understand.
She sighed and waved to the waiter for their bill. "That said, I certainly don't want to give the impression that I won't give Callahan a fair hearing. I will. But if it turns out to be true, I'll go after him with the full weight of wizarding law behind me."
Harry gave her a half-smile. "Of that, I am sure."
The sky was low and grey as they left the cafe. A gust of wind down the alley pushed Hermione and Harry closer together and she replaced her hand in the crook of his arm.
When they reached the booth, Harry held the door back for her. She dialed the number as Harry latched the door shut. This time, they faced one another in the cramped interior.
Descending in the darkness, Hermione said, "So, we'll be going to Stonehouse tomorrow? Where exactly is that?"
"West Country, I think. Near the Forest of Dean."
The light from the Atrium began at their feet and worked its way up.