Harry Potter and the Aevum of Eternity

by Thundercracker-TC

The survivors of the second wizarding war suffer the scars of Voldemort's reign as they struggle to pick up the pieces of their lives. Harry is spread thin across multiple responsibilities as he and Ron join the Aurors, where new challenges and mysteries await. Not all is as it seems though, and powerful forces lurk in the darkness, biding their time... Cover art by a.heesher

28. Chapter 28

Harry Potter is owned by JKR

Trigger Warnings at the end of the Chapter

Chapter 28

Beta by FedererEx

Harry squinted into the mid-morning sun and loosened his outer robes as he walked down Diagon Alley. A biting wind when he left Grimmauld at sunrise had convinced him to wear his winter Auror robes, but the day was shaping up to be one of those deceptive winter mornings that ended up blossoming into a reminder that spring had just about sprung. To his right, Ron, who had finally managed to acquire some well-fitting Auror robes, walked in lock step with him as they turned towards Knockturn Alley.

Ron sighed heavily, and Harry looked over to see him frowning at the cobblestones.

"Chin up, maybe one of them will have a lead," Harry said.

"It's not that," Ron replied, "I broke up with Miranda last night."

"Oh," Harry said, and stayed quiet as they walked. The sigh told him that Ron wanted to speak.

"She was… amazing to look at, don't get me wrong," Ron said, "but the only thing she could talk about was fashion and whatever's in those gossip magazines. She mentioned articles about us at least twenty times, and that was when I stopped counting."

He shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"And when I brought her to the Burrow, she had this really unpleasant look on her face the whole time," Ron said, "I s'pose she didn't like that I live with my mum and dad, y'know? Plus, she's just not…"

Ron quirked his lips to the side in thought.

"Well, it wasn't working out, so I cut her loose, and that's that," he finally said.

Harry thought Ron might have been about to say 'she's just not Hermione'.

"So… now what?" Harry asked.

"Dunno, probably play the field a little bit," Ron replied.

Harry nodded. He'd hoped Ron might consider reconciling with Hermione, but it didn't look like the redhead was keen on that, and Harry wasn't about to press the issue.

"Right, here we go," Harry said as they passed the sign for Knockturn. They both drew their wands as they turned down the twisting streets. The narrow passages blocked out the sun, and Harry felt a chill run through him that had nothing to do with the temperature. He didn't think anyone would try to take a shot at two Aurors in the middle of the day, but life favoured the prepared. Dark robed figures ducked into side streets or shopfronts, and heavy window curtains cracked open to let unseen watchers observe them as they passed. Harry led Ron to Odds and Ends, one of several pawn shops in Knockturn. The bell tinkled as they pushed in, and they were greeted by the long-faced proprietor, Slump, whose belt was again pulled up to his ribs. His face, already frowning, turned even sourer when he caught sight of them.

"Auror Potter, Auror Weasley," he said in a gravelly voice.

"Good morning, Slump," Harry said as he produced the pictures of the missing items from Edmund Macnair's house, "seen any of these passing through?"

"Hmm," Slump said as he examined the pictures, the same pictures as Harry had shown him the last time he'd visited.

"If perhaps some of them can be acquired, will the Ministry compensate me for the expense?" Slump asked.

"You're lucky you still have your licence at all, after that business with the shrunken heads," Ron said, "better tell us what you know, otherwise there might be another raid."

"Stolen items will need to be returned to the original owner, but there's a reward for the vanity, so you'd be entitled to claim that," Harry said, "there's also a reward for information leading to the arrest of the Bandit."

"Hmm," Slump said as he regarded both Ron and Harry, then without a word he walked to the rear of the shop and vanished into a back room.

"Bugger creeps me right out," Ron said quietly, and Harry couldn't help but agree. There was something off about Slump, but then again, there was something off with most of the denizens of Knockturn Alley.

Harry heard the rear door open again, and Slump emerged, pushing the missing vanity on a wheeled trolley. The missing silver timepiece, also from Macnair's house, sat beneath the mirror.

"Brilliant," Ron said, "can you tell us who sold them to you?"

"I do not know his name," Slump replied slowly, "he is young, and blonde."

"It would be even better if you could provide us with the memory," Harry said.

"I am not in the habit of handing over my memories, Mr. Potter," Slump replied.

"The sooner we catch this guy, the better," Ron said, "you never know, it might be your shop that's hit next."

Slump appeared unmoved, and Harry took a step forward.

"I promise it won't be used for anything except this case," Harry said, "you'd be helping with an ongoing investigation, which would go a long way towards, uh, smoothing things over, in the future."

After what felt like a minute of deliberation, the shop owner nodded.

"We shall see, Mr. Potter," he said. He walked to the front counter and drew a wand from beneath the register, then pulled a silvery gossamer thread from his temple. Harry produced an evidence jar and sealed the memory inside.

"Thank you," Harry said, "I'll return it once we examine it."

Slump only nodded, and Harry walked to the vanity.

"Your top two buttons are undone," the carved metal face at the top of the vanity said as he stepped in front of the mirror, "you don't want to go out looking like a slob, do you?"

"Silencio," Harry said, quieting the magical furniture. Then he hit it with a featherlight charm and handed the timepiece to Ron.

"Thank you, Slump, see you soon," Harry said.

"Not too soon," Slump replied, "visits by Aurors are bad for business."

Harry ignored the man and picked up the vanity.

"Public floo near the Leaky," Harry said, and Ron nodded.

Harry spun in place and apparated with a crack, appearing on the street, Ron right behind him.

"This could be it mate," Ron said, no longer hiding his excitement.

"I know, let's get these over to the Tracers and see if Dawlish will let us use the Pensieve," Harry said, "Ministry of Magic."

Green flames roared and the two Aurors appeared in the entry foyer and towed their evidence through the Atrium to the lifts. They labelled, logged, and deposited the timepiece and vanity on the evidence counter, then strode past the nearly deserted cube farm and offices to the Head Auror's office. Harry knocked twice.

"Come in," Dawlish said.

They opened the door to reveal the office in its typical organised chaos, with letters and folders scattered about. The Head Auror wore freshly pressed robes, but the dark circles under his eyes betrayed how tired he truly was.

"Sir, I think we might have a break in the Bandit case," Harry said, "one of the pawn shops bought some of the items from a young blonde. We have the memory of the sale here, and were hoping we could use the Pensieve to possibly identify the seller."

With a flick of Dawlish's wand, the cabinet holding the DMLE's Pensieve opened and the stone basin descended on the small track. Without ceremony, Harry opened the evidence jar and dumped the contents into the swirling mist, then the three of them dove in head first.

The memory opened to the view of Odds and Ends from Slump's perspective as he charmed a broom to sweep the floor. The bell tinkled and he looked up to the entrance. The windows were pitch black; the memory took place at night. A slight figure stood before the closed door; the vanity set beside him and the silver timepiece rested on top of it. Slump shuffled slowly to the counter.

"How much for these?" the thief asked. The hood obscured his face, but his voice sounded young. Harry tried to duck down to see who was beneath it, but of course there was nothing there; it wasn't part of the memory.

"I think, fifteen galleons," Slump said.

"The mirror is enchanted," the thief said.

"Twenty," Slump replied.

"Done," the thief said. Slump slowly counted out the coins and 'accidentally' dropped one on the ground. When he bent to pick it up, the image of the thief's face and a tuft of blonde hair flashed by. The memory stopped and reversed slowly, then stopped at the angle looking under the hood, and Harry's heart sank as he recognized the boy's youthful face, even if his eyes no longer held the wonder they once did.

"Dennis?" Ron said.

"You know him?" Dawlish asked.

"Dennis Creevey," Ron said, "he was part of the DA, fought in the last battle. His brother died there… I don't think he returned to school, did he?"

Ron looked to Harry, who, still in shock at seeing Dennis Creevey's face, older than when he'd last seen him but still very recognisable, shook his head wordlessly. He couldn't exactly recall whether Dennis was currently at Hogwarts, but they would be able to find out fairly quickly.

"Looks like he's carrying a grudge," Dawlish said, "assuming he's not at the school, see if you can find out where he lives… judging by his age, I'd start with his parents' house."

"Dennis, what have you done…" Harry muttered as the memory ended and they found themselves back in Dawlish's office.

Harry fished out the memory and dropped it back into the evidence jar, which he then replaced in his pouch. Slump was disreputable, but Harry meant to keep his word to him about the memory.

"I'm issuing a warrant for his arrest," Dawlish said as he stepped behind his desk and scribbled on a piece of parchment, "see if he'll come peacefully, but bring him in regardless. Deadly force authorised only in self-defence."

The parchment folded itself into an airplane and zipped to the door to wait there.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said as calmly as he could as they saluted and left Dawlish's office and made for the lifts. The paper airplane shot over their heads as Harry's thoughts swirled in turmoil.

"Dennis, really?" Ron said, echoing Harry's internal voice as the doors closed and they started their descent.

"It might not be," Harry said, "he didn't even finish his OWLs, and the bandit always apparates away. Maybe Dennis only received the items from someone else."

Even as he said it though, he knew how unlikely it was. The hardened expression on Dennis' face wasn't one he ever recalled seeing on the youngster. The doors opened and they crossed the Atrium.

"Maybe Colin taught him while they were on the run," Ron said, "where are we headed first?"

"Hogwarts," Harry replied, "first to make sure he isn't enrolled, plus, they'll know where his parents live."

"Hogwarts," Ron said as his steps slowed.

Harry stopped to turn around and caught the apprehension on Ron's face.

"Ron, you're going to have to talk to her at some point," Harry said.

"Some point doesn't have to be today," Ron said.

"She's probably in class now anyway," Harry said, "come on."

He scooped out some floo powder and tossed it into the fireplace.

"Hog's head inn," he said, then stepped through.

He emerged (and managed to keep his balance) into the dimly lit and sparsely populated pub, and waited a few extra seconds for Ron to appear. Just when Harry started wondering if he was about to chicken out, the floo flashed green fire and Ron stepped through. The two of them exited straight into the town and Harry squinted despite the overcast sky as his eyes adjusted to the outdoors again.

"Expecto patronum," Harry said, and his blue-white stag coalesced onto the street, "tell Professor McGonagall that Harry and Ron are here to visit, Auror business."

The stag winked out and vanished towards the castle. Harry and Ron hadn't made it halfway to the wards when McGonagall's tabby returned.

"Please proceed to the Headmistress' office," McGonagall's voice said.

Harry and Ron hiked up to the castle and reached the large double doors just as a light drizzle started. Ron kept looking around the deserted hallways as they made their way up the steps of the grand staircase to McGonagall's office, and they arrived to find the stairway already open. McGonagall sat at her large desk and Harry smiled as he spotted her; she responded with a small smile of her own.

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley. Tea?" she asked as she gestured to a small China set.

"No thank you Professor, we're here as part of an investigation," Harry said.

"Very well, how can I help the Ministry today?" McGonagall asked.

"Did Dennis Creevey enrol this year?" Harry asked.

"Dennis, no," McGonagall replied, "after the battle, well, you can understand why his parents wanted nothing to do with us."

Harry grimaced.

"He's wanted in connection with a string of robberies and vandalizations," Harry said.

"The bandit, is Dennis Creevey?" McGonagall asked as her hand went to her chest.

"We think so," Ron replied, "he was spotted fencing some of the stolen goods at a pawn shop in Knockturn Alley."

"If you could provide his family's address, it would help us track him down," Harry said, "before he gets himself into any worse trouble."

"I have the address where he and Colin used to live," McGonagall said as she stood up and walked to one of the many large bookshelves lining the walls, "I understand his parents split sometime around the start of the school year, so I do not know if he still lives there."

She levitated the tome over to her desk and flipped several pages, then wrote down an address in flowing cursive on a spare piece of parchment.

"Thank you, Professor, we'll do everything we can to bring him in unharmed," Harry said.

"Please do, that family has had enough tragedy," McGonagall said.

They left McGonagall as she muttered 'Dennis Creevey', and started walking down to the ground level, though this time classes had let out and the halls teemed with students. Ron's head craned this way and that and he tried to hunch down to make himself less noticeable, with limited effect; his shock of red hair stood out like a beacon above most others' heads, and everyone gave both him and Harry a wide berth.

"Harry, Ron!" Ginny said, and Harry couldn't help but burst into a smile as he saw her approach from a side hall. He pulled her into a hug, kissed him quickly on the lips, and the stone on his mood ring flushed deep crimson.

"Missed you," he said.

"Me too, you didn't say you were visiting," she said.

"Ministry business," Harry said.

"Speaking of which, we should probably get a move on," Ron said as he continued glancing around.

"Are you sure you can't stay? I'm sure Hermione would love to catch up," Ginny said with a mischievous smirk, "she's down in the lab now."

"You're not helping, Gin," Ron said.

"Actually, I might stop in and say hi," Harry said, and Ron glared at him.

"You two are the worst," Ron said, "I'm going to head back and request the anti-apparition wardstones, because, you know, we have a job to do."

He left the two of them in the hallway.

"He's not really angry," Ginny said.

"I know," Harry said, but Ron's mood was the last thing on his mind.

Harry wished he could pull Ginny away just for a few minutes but as he looked around with her hand clasped in his, he realised they drew far too much attention to be able to duck into an alcove or an empty classroom. While all the other students kept a respectful distance, he counted no less than a dozen pairs of eyes on them. He looked back to Ginny and instantly knew she was thinking the same thing as she folded her lower lip between her teeth, leaving it moist.

"Wish I had a free period now," she said quietly.

"Next time," Harry said, "too many people watching anyway."

"It's only weird if we stop while they're watching," she said, "if we keep going, then they have to stop watching or they're pervy gits."

Harry snorted a laugh at that. The best part was he wasn't sure if Ginny was joking or serious.

"I love you," he said and pulled her into another tight hug.

"Love you too," she said, "got to run, or I'll be late."

She pulled away from him to rejoin the rapidly thinning flow of students, and Harry watched her fiery hair bounce as she hurried away. She glanced back to make eye contact for an instant as she rounded a corner, then she was gone.

Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Right, Hermione," he thought, and changed direction to the dungeons.

He took a guess as to which classroom she'd staked claim to, and smirked to himself when he found the door warded.

"First try," he thought as he knocked twice.

The door opened and there she was, in all her bushy haired glory. She held a pair of dragonhide gloves in one hand, and the smile she offered him was dazzling as she lunged for a hug.

"Harry!" Hermione said.

She glanced over her shoulder, then stepped out to join him in the hallway.

"It's great to see you," she said, still smiling, "what are you doing here?"

"Ministry business, figured I'd stop by and see how you're doing," Harry said with a smile of his own, "since I haven't seen you since the uh.. breakup."

"Oh," Hermione said as the corner of her lips turned down, "I suppose I'm doing… I'm fine."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"If it's any consolation, Ron broke up with that model," Harry said.

Harry thought for an instant she seemed pleased with this news, but if she was, she hid it quickly.

"Not really any of my business," she said as she glanced away.

Harry nodded.

"Well, I just wanted you to know that… even though Ron's my best mate and all, if there's anything you need from me, anything at all," Harry said, and paused.

Hermione's frown turned into a small smile as she waited for him to finish.

"Erm, you're my best friend too," Harry continued while not trying to sound sappy, "and that's not going to change, for anything."

"You too Harry," Hermione said as she hugged him again, "it means a lot that you came down to see me."

"Right," Harry said as he pulled back, "err, how's the project going?"

She blinked away a few tears.

"Really well," Hermione said, "we've had a breakthrough… I think we might… well, I don't want to jinx it."

"Really? Wow," Harry said, then realised how surprised he sounded, "I mean, I knew you would."

"We haven't actually done it yet," Hermione said, "but we're so close, I can almost taste it."

Harry grinned. Seeing Hermione in her element, how her eyes and entire face lit up when she talked about the potential new discovery, buoyed his spirit and brought him some measure of comfort that at least something was going right.

"You'll tell me when you succeed, right?" Harry asked.

"You'll be the first to know," she replied.

"Good," Harry said, "I've got to go now, I'm supposed to be in the middle of an investigation. Say hi to Neville for me."

"I will, thanks for stopping by," Hermione said.

"Anytime," Harry said.

She vanished back into the classroom, and Harry made his way out of the school and to the edge of the wards, where he apparated back to the entrance of the Hogs Head Inn. He dropped a few sickles on the counter to pay for the powder, then floo'd back to the Ministry. He found Ron leaning against the wall at the entrance to the DMLE, one of the Ministry's black satchels used to carry the wardstones slung over his shoulder.

"Alright Ron?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Ron said as he looked up, "so… how is she?"

"She's okay, project is going well," Harry replied.

"Good," Ron said, then he stared off into space for a moment.

"Ron-" Harry started, but just then, Liz Moore walked out of the DMLE, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt.

"Right," Ron said as he pushed off the wall, "we've got a house to find."

Harry frowned, then glanced at Liz.

"Tammy and Matt?" he asked.

"Tammy's on holiday, Matt's on Azkaban patrol," Liz said.

"Eh, three of us should be plenty anyway," Harry said, "he only went up through his third year."

Harry and Ron changed into muggle clothing first, then found the address on a map, in Bexley, on the outskirts of London. They made the final approach on foot, disillusioned. Silenced footsteps allowed them to pad quietly along a damp path besides the narrow road, quaint houses occupied plots to their left. On the right side of the road, a few scraggly trees lined the border between the residential area and plots of patchy brush or farmland. The smell of spring filled the air, and hungry chicks chirped from unseen nests. The house itself was brick and shingles with a one-car garage. A small yard offered a patch of green in what was otherwise a grey and dreary plot, and a large 'For Sale' sign stood, planted in the rectangle of earth. Flanking the front door, two large windows faced the street, although with heavy curtains drawn, the view was limited.

"Do you think he's in there?" Harry asked.

"We'd have to stake the place out to be sure," Ron said.

"Or we could ask. Let's put up the wards," Harry said, "there's not much chance of him trying to apparate into the house right now, and if he's inside, maybe I can talk him into turning himself in…"

They each took a stone, placed them in a triangle around the house, and met up by the front door.

"Ron, take the front, Liz, take the back, in case he tries to run," Harry said. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching, stepped up to the front porch, dropped his disillusionment, and rang the bell. The door opened to reveal a middle-aged blonde woman wearing dark, heavy earrings. Her face had probably once been beautiful, but now she looked sleep deprived, and small crows-feet spread from the corners of her brown eyes.

"Are you Mrs. Creevey?" Harry asked. At her nod, he continued, "is Dennis here?"

She glanced up the stairs.

"What do you want?" she asked quietly.

"Just to talk," Harry said.

She gasped as her eyes made the familiar flick to his scar, and back to his eyes.

"You're Harry Potter," she said, shaking her head, "I… I don't think he wants to talk to you. We don't want anything to do with you or your kind anymore. You should leave."

She started to close the door, but Harry was quick to put his trainer in between the door and the frame.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Harry said, "there's a warrant out for his arrest."

She covered her mouth and glanced up the steps again.

"What's he done?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"He's wanted in connection with a string of burglaries and vandalizations," Harry replied, "if I could just talk to him-"

"You should be helping, Harry!" an anguished voice issued from up the steps.

"Dennis?" Harry said as he nudged Mrs. Creevey aside. She covered her mouth again and shrank away, eyes wide, terrified, as she stared at the wand in Harry's hand.

"Please, don't hurt us," she said, as if aware she was completely powerless to stop Harry from doing as he pleased, even in her own home.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Harry said, "I just want to talk with Dennis. Stay here."

Harry stepped up the carpeted stairs, past the pictures of what was once a smiling, happy family. Floral wallpaper that didn't show even a hint of peeling covered the walls.

"Dennis, I'm coming up," he said. The sound of a door slamming and the click of a lock echoed from above.

"Why'd you do it Dennis?" Harry said as he walked down the hallway, "the war is over, you should be helping your mum."

"They're Death Eaters and Snatchers Harry," Dennis said from behind a closed door.

"Shit, he really did do it," Harry thought as whatever hope he had that Dennis was merely a go-between evaporated like mist in the sun.

"They're not, they're family members of Death Eaters," Harry said, not as loud now that he stood right outside the locked door, "you can't go around stealing things and destroying homes because of someone's family."

"Are you going to arrest me?" Dennis asked.

"I think you should come in for questioning," Harry said, "you're underage, so if you plead guilty, maybe you can receive a lenient sentence."

Sound of some commotion came through the door, items tossed about; Dennis was rummaging around the room.

"Colin died trying to help you!" Dennis said, his voice quavering, "and now you're… you're protecting them?"

Harry heard the sound of a window opening and he moved quickly.

"Alohomora," he thought, and the door unlocked with a loud click, but when he pushed the door, it thunked against something heavy.

"Depulso," he said with a wave of his wand, and with a bang and splintering of the doorframe, the way lay open as the contents of the school trunk that had been placed to bar the entrance flew and scattered across the floor.

Dennis, already astride a broom and halfway out the open window, glanced over his shoulder, giving Harry a clear view of his tear-streaked face.

"Don't!" Harry shouted, but Dennis ducked his head and kicked off.

Harry leapt over the trunk and knelt, bracing himself on the window frame.

"Finite!" he said, aiming for the broom. All those target sessions with Mackenzie paid off. His dispelling charm hit the broom right in the bristles, and Dennis pitched forward and tumbled to the ground, narrowly missing impaling himself on a metal fence.

Harry saw Liz hurry towards him, the details lost in the dim light. Harry looked around; he hoped there were no witnesses. Underaged or not, a Statute violation in addition to the thefts and property damage would almost definitely mean serious jail time. A dim red light flashed in the backyard, and Liz waved to him from above Dennis' still form. With Dennis secured and no muggles in sight, Harry headed back down the stairs to make sure he was alright. At the bottom, Mrs. Creevey wore a petrified expression as she wrung her hands. Ron stood head and shoulders above over her as he guarded the front door.

"What happened, is Dennis alright?" Mrs. Creevey asked.

"He should be, it was only about three metres," Harry said, "Ron, see if you can give Liz a hand, both of you carry him, in case anyone is watching."

Ron nodded and trotted out of sight, heading around the house.

"Please, if you're anything like Colin said you were, please don't take Dennis away from me too," Mrs. Creevey said, "His father's already left and…I don't know what I'd do… I couldn't bear it."

The realisation of what had happened to Colin's once whole family in the wake of his death washed over Harry.

"More bloody misery, does it ever end?" he thought.

"I am sorry for your loss," Harry said, and he really meant it, "but the best place for him right now is with us, so he doesn't do anything else to get himself in trouble. Dennis helped during the war, and he's underage. I'm going to do everything I can to help him, I promise."

Liz and Ron appeared, jointly carrying an obviously feather-weighted Dennis Creevey. Liz had both his wand and hers clutched in one hand, while Ron held the broom. Harry noticed one of Dennis' arms bent at a sickeningly wrong angle as they laid him down on the foyer floor.

"Oh my god," Mrs. Creevey said as Ron closed the door behind them.

"He broke his arm in the fall," Liz said, "stand back."

She knelt down next to Dennis and Harry definitely didn't step back as he watched in curiosity as she pulled his sleeve up.

"Brackium emendo," Liz said as she slowly waved her wand in a series of loops over the break. A soothing cream coloured light encompassed Dennis' arm, and the bone snapped back into proper position with a clearly audible click. He grunted in unconsciousness, but otherwise didn't move.

"Is it… set?" Mrs. Creevey asked.

"Set? It's healed," Liz replied as she stood up, "I mean, he'll need to take it easy for a few days, but…"

Mrs. Creevey stood there, staring at Dennis' newly mended arm with her jaw hanging open.

"Right," Harry said, "Mrs. Creevey, I should remind you that discussion of these events with anyone not covered under the Statute of Secrecy is strictly prohibited. Any deliberate violations…"

He trailed off as he noticed she wasn't listening. He picked up the still featherlight Dennis with one hand and hoisted him off the ground.

"I'll update you as soon as I can," Harry said to her, then he looked to Ron and Liz, "we'll take the DMLE floo at Diagon."

That was in London, not too far. Mrs. Creevey looked like she was going to say something as Harry turned, then he apparated with a loud crack to an empty room with nothing but a door and a fireplace. Liz and Ron appeared next to him with a pair of pops.

"Think we should obliviate her? Make her think Dennis had gone on a trip or something?" Ron asked.

Harry shook his head.

"She's been through enough," he replied as he walked to the floo, "she deserves to know the truth, even if it is painful."

Harry tossed a pinch of floo powder in.

"Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Intake," Harry said.

He appeared back at the Ministry, specifically into the room where Aurors brought newly arrested individuals. To his left stood an open door through which he could see a solitary barred cell beyond. Before him, a black countertop stretched the length of the room, long enough a half-dozen people could stand in front of it comfortably. To his right, a door leading to the hallway and the rest of the DMLE currently sat closed. A single Ministry employee wearing dark blue robes sat behind the long counter. He sat up straight and closed the book he was reading as Harry appeared.

"Dennis Creevey, arrested for burglary and vandalization," Harry said as the floo behind him roared again.

"Right," the slightly overweight Ministry worker said. He scribbled a note down in a ledger then led Harry to the small room on the left. The bare stone room was empty save for a small pedestal to the right. The pedestal looked to be made of the same stone as the walls and floor, and only held a single unlabelled dial and a pair of buttons. Vertical bars split the room in two, with a holding cell at the far side, though there was no door through which to enter. Only a single small window looked into a large open area beyond.

The jailor produced a wand from his robes and wordlessly transfigured the bars, causing them to bend open wide enough to enter. Harry dropped Dennis in the centre of the cell and stepped back as the jailor frisked the boy, then ran what looked like a bent golden antenna over him.

"A probity probe," Harry thought. It would chirp if it detected any concealment charms or hidden magical objects.

The Ministry worker stepped out of the cell with a nod of satisfaction and transfigured the bars back to their original shape. He then turned the dial a tick, and with a deep rumble, the entire cell shifted. Dennis's unconscious form slid to the left, and Harry watched another empty cell move into view.

"Afternoon," Ron said as they returned, "we'll need to check these in as well."

The broom and wand sat on top of the counter. The clerk wrote some notes in a ledger while Ron's stomach growled and Liz waited quietly by the door.

"That's that," the jailor said, "any special instructions?"

"He's underage, please treat him gently," Harry said.

The clerk wrote down another note.

"Right, done and done," he said as he put the broom under the counter and placed the wand on his desk, "congratulations, now comes the fun part, writing the report."

Ron, who had been looking rather chipper, visibly slumped. They filed out of Intake and found an unoccupied interview room. It was little more than a few chairs set about a table, but more than sufficient for their purposes.

"I'll get the forms and ink," Harry said.

"Can't do this on an empty stomach, I'll get snacks," Ron said.

"Right, I'll hold the room," Liz said.

They split up, and Harry walked to the records rooms where the forms would be, but his steps slowed. He decided to take a detour to Auror Headquarters, just to see if Dawlish was in. The Head Auror's door was open, and Harry knocked on the frame as he arrived; Dawlish waved him in.

"Good news or bad news?" he asked.

"We caught Dennis. He was the bandit," Harry said.

"Good news then," Dawlish said as he continued shifting papers about, "congratulations."

"Sir, I was wondering if there was any way we could request leniency for him?" Harry asked.

Dawlish looked up, and Harry got a sense of the weariness the head of the Auror department felt.

"That's not our job, Potter, we only bring them in," he replied as he looked back to the parchments on his desk, "it'll be one of the district judges who decides punishment, and if he doesn't like the judgement, he can appeal just like anyone else."

"What if I acted as a witness in his defence?" Harry asked as he recalled what Dumbledore had done for him at his Wizengamot trial.

Dawlish sighed as he set the parchments down again and studied Harry. Harry suspected he was attempting to determine what, or how much to say.

"So long as it doesn't interfere with your duties, how you spend your personal time is up to you," he finally said.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said.

He almost jogged as he returned to the DMLE to collect the supplies for them to write their reports, and nearly dropped them as he backed into the meeting room.

"Did you get lost?" Liz asked.

"Made a small detour," Harry replied as he started distributing report forms, inkwells, and quills, "where's Ron?"

Liz shook her head and shrugged, but Ron appeared, cheeks puffed out so much that it was clear that he had bitten off more than a mouthful from one of the pre-packaged sandwiches available for purchase by the lifts. He dropped an armload of sweets and snacks on the table, then held up a finger as he chewed and attempted to swallow some of what he'd crammed into his mouth.

"Take your time, not like this silence is growing more awkward by the second or anything," Liz said, and Harry grinned.

"Had some trouble with the vending machine," Ron said around the masticated bread, "bloody thing kept arguing with me about how much sugar I was buying. I had to explain about three times that it wasn't all for me before it would let them go. They should really see about fixing it."

Ron collapsed into a chair as Harry summoned a ham sandwich from the heap dumped on the desk, stripped the packaging from it, and took a bite. The bread was stale but seeing as he'd missed lunch, it was like manna from the gods. He continued to chew as he flattened the parchment before him and chose a quill. Cognizant that Mrs. Creevey was trying to sell the house, Harry made sure to mention the broken doorframe, so the Ministry would pay for its repair.

"How did you guys know him?" Liz asked.

"His older brother Colin, he was a big fan of… well, me," Harry said.

"Fan? He worshipped the ground you walked on, mate," Ron said, "always with that camera…"

The image of his small body in the castle after the battle came back to Harry, and he sighed heavily. Thinking about Colin and his good-natured enthusiasm, snuffed out before his time, was difficult.

"Anyway, Dennis is… was… Colin's younger brother. They were on the run last year, same as you were," Harry said to Liz, "they were both part of the DA and Colin came back for the final battle, but he didn't make it."

Harry blinked tears away as he tried to imagine how that would have impacted the happy family he'd seen in the photos on the staircase.

"Dennis must have taken it hard," Harry said, his voice growing monotone, "the whole family, really. His mum lost a son to a world she knew nothing about. His dad left soon after; I didn't get the full story from Mrs. Creevey."

He shook his head and focused on his task, but his thoughts were muddled. The more he thought about it, the more he realised Dennis and his family were simply more victims of Voldemort's reign.

"Anyway, I'm going to try to act as a witness in his defence," he said, "hopefully that'll get him a lesser sentence."

"Hmm, me too," Ron said, "let me know."

Harry nodded, and Liz flicked her gaze between her two team mates. She chewed her lip and stroked her cheek with the goose feather in thought before she continued writing. They swapped stories to ensure their reports were as complete as possible, and the whole exercise took on the air of a study group, albeit with Liz instead of Hermione. A little twinge of guilt gnawed at Harry. Since they were working together, he and Ron saw each other all the time, and he resolved to make more of an effort to stay in touch with Hermione, despite the recent breakup.

"Especially because they broke up," he thought.

They finished up well after the rest of the Ministry had departed for the evening, and went down to the pub to share a pint and celebrate a successful arrest where everyone would be going home safe.

---

Harry knocked twice on the door of McGonagall's old office. He'd wandered the eerie corridors of Azkaban prison at least a dozen times on guard duty and he wanted nothing more than to head home and collapse into bed until he was due back on shift in two days. As he had been about to leave the ministry though, he received an owl from Professor Winthrop requesting a meeting at Hogwarts at Harry's earliest convenience.

Harry knocked twice.

"Come," came the response.

Harry pushed the heavy door open. The man in question sat at his desk, a prodigious pile of paper before him. He looked over his horn-rimmed glasses as Harry shut the door behind him.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter, please have a seat," Winthrop said as he gestured to a chair adjacent to him. Harry sat down and glanced at the essays stacked up in various piles on the desk, with odd looking paperweights holding down some of them.

"Definitely don't miss this," he thought.

"Any word on the investigation?" Winthrop asked.

He had a slight accent that Harry couldn't quite place.

"We have a few leads we're following up on," Harry said, "as soon as we hear anything, I'll let you know."

Winthrop nodded but looked otherwise unconcerned.

"Maybe he's using occlumency to keep his emotions in check," Harry thought.

"Thank you," Winthrop said, "though the case isn't really why I asked you to meet today."

Harry turned his head to the side, questioningly.

"I was hoping to see you at tomorrow's meeting," Winthrop said.

"Tomorrow… what's tomorrow…" Harry thought, "shit, the vote."

"Oh, right, the Werewolf Protection Act," Harry said, "umm, sure, yes, I'll be there. It has the votes to pass, right?"

"It should, but I do try not to leave anything to chance," Winthrop said as he glanced at Harry with a slight smile, "plus, it wouldn't look good for you to miss this vote."

The bill was proposed in honour of Remus, and Harry mentally kicked himself; he would have regretted not casting his vote, and not just for the public castigation he would receive.

"No, I suppose it wouldn't," Harry said.

"I've been so damn busy, I completely lost track of time," he thought. The unfairness of his situation and increased responsibilities, from regular Auror work including the damned Azkaban shifts, to trying to make time for Ginny and Teddy, to relationships with his colleagues and friends, and trying to learn how to navigate politics within the department and with the goblins, plus his duties to the wizengamot, threatened to overwhelm him.

"You're more influential than you realise," Winthrop said, interrupting his self-flagellation, "I think if we worked together, we could accomplish much."

Winthrop dipped his quill in ink again and continued to grade.

"Accomplish what, exactly?" Harry asked.

"Well, I don't intend to stop at werewolves," Winthrop replied, "I want to draft a proposal for expanded rights for other beings. Unfortunately, I don't think I'm going to be able to get it through on my own. But if you were to join me as a co-sponsor…"

Harry nodded slowly.

"I think it makes sense," Harry said, "I was speaking with the goblins, they have some legitimate grievances."

"As do most other beings," Winthrop replied.

"It would have to make sense though," Harry said, "I mean, you see what's happened with the Wizarding Equality Act. It was passed with good intentions, but it wasn't thought through… it's flawed and needs to be fixed."

Winthrop nodded.

"I agree," Winthrop said, "every new piece of legislation has winners and losers… that one in particular was stuffed up and has far too many losers. With rights expansion for beings… well, some people will be unhappy with it, but it's our job to ensure it will be worth it in the long run."

"Yes, well…" Harry said.

"Bloody hell, yet another thing to add to my plate," he thought.

"I'll think about it," Harry said.

"Please do, but don't think too long," Winthrop said, "time waits for no man."

Harry took that to mean if he didn't join Winthrop soon, he would look for another co-sponsor.

"Let's get through tomorrow's vote first, and then maybe meet up again in a few weeks," Harry said.

"Excellent," Winthrop replied, "now if you don't mind my saying, Mr. Potter, you look exhausted, and I apologise for dragging you to Hogwarts."

"It's alright, I'm glad you did," Harry said, "but yes, bed sounds good."

"See you tomorrow, Mr. Potter," Winthrop said as Harry departed.

---

The following morning, almost fully rested, Harry pulled his plum coloured Wizengamot robes from his closet and held them against his body. He'd not worn them since the fitting. Something inside him had resisted the acceptance of this responsibility, a pair of seats in wizarding Britain's highest legislative body. Now though, with the Act literally named for one of his fathers' best friends and the father of his godson, Harry wouldn't forgive himself if he missed the event, even if his vote would be only symbolic. He sent a silent thanks to Winthrop for the reminder. Eventually he would need to delegate one of the seats to someone else to take advantage of both votes, a duty he'd shirked so far, but not today.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry flooed into the Ministry, feeling uncomfortable in his Wizangamot attire but thankful they'd done away with the headpieces. He drew a few stares but nobody accosted him, and he took the lift to level two, the Office for Wizengamot Administrative Services. He prayed none of the Aurors he knew well saw him in this outfit; he'd never hear the end of it. Harry walked briskly to the legislative chamber. Two security wizards stood outside a pair of large ornate wooden doors, currently open; the only acknowledgement from the security was a nod from each. He passed between them and into a dimly lit antechamber. Harry ignored the witness galley staircases to his left and right, and walked straight towards the seats in the centre of the room. Another pair of Ministry security guards stood by a chain across the path to the Wizengamot seats, and one of them opened the chain to allow Harry to pass through.

He entered into a wide and richly decorated chamber. A large crystal chandelier lit with magical orbs hung from the ceiling. The chandelier did not light the room alone though; a soft diffuse glow emanated from the ceiling itself. It provided enough illumination to see all the way around the oval shaped room. Plush carpeting of blues and greys covered the floor and deadened his footsteps. The chamber opened up to two concentric rows of seats, complete with large wooden tables, far more space than for the lords and ladies of the Wizengamot; the extra seating was for assistants or other staff. Several tapestries and paintings depicting various former members or landscapes, none of which Harry recognized, hung from the walls around the room. At the opposite side of the chamber, a large dais supported a pair of thrones and two podiums, the designated spots for the Chief Warlock and the Minister of Magic, and behind them, engraved on the wall, the Seal of the Ministry of Magic. Beneath the dais near the centre of the room sat a young man with a pile of parchment and a quill, the court scribe. On either side of the table, large rolls of parchment sat on the floor, which Harry assumed would automatically roll as the quill filled the paper. Around the entire chamber, a viewing galley lay empty, just as the rest of the room was empty, save for the clerk in the centre. Harry took a deep breath and started walking around the outside of the room. Fortunately, the seats were labelled, and Harry found he recognized several names on the bottom row; many were old pureblood names: Abbot, Macmillan, Longbottom, Macnair, Nott, Doge, Malfoy, Black…

"Right next to Draco's seat," Harry thought, "who could I pick that would make a good Wizengamot member…"

He pondered the question as he ascended the steps to the second row of seats, looking for his own.

He found Arthur Weasley's spot, the one he'd been granted in the aftermath of the war, the Selwyn's former chair.

"Umbridge's old seat," Harry thought with a degree of satisfaction.

He found his own name just to the right of the Weasleys' and sat in the padded chair, then glanced about the room. As he was over an hour early, it was still deserted except for the clerk, a dark-haired young man in his twenties, who Harry noticed stared at him without blinking. He stared right back for a few seconds, then waved. The clerk slowly raised his hand. Harry put his hand down. He wondered how many other Wizengamot members would even acknowledge the clerk… probably none.

Witches and wizards filtered in over the next hour or so, and Harry tried not to make eye contact with any of them, instead choosing to study the pattern of the wood table in front of him.

"Harry," a familiar voice said next to him, and he glanced up to see Arthur Weasley, looking odd in the same plum coloured robe Harry wore.

Harry nearly knocked his seat over as he stood up and felt himself smile.

"Good to see you. First one, right?" Arthur said as they shook hands, "any questions just let me know."

"Thanks," Harry said as relief flooded through him. A single friendly face, and the entire room seemed brighter.

Arthur left him there to shake a few other hands, and the chamber continued to fill up. Idly, Harry wondered how many sat at his trial three, almost four years ago, and he estimated slightly more than half. Harry spotted Professor Winthrop, who stood near Neville's grandmother, easily identified by her signature stuffed bird hat, as well as both Macnair and Macmillan. Edmund Macnair glanced in his direction and made eye contact, then began purposefully walking towards him; Harry stood up as he approached.

"Lord Potter," Macnair said as they shook hands.

"Really, just Harry is fine," Harry replied as he felt heat rise to his collar with the honorific.

Macnair nodded and reached into a pocket of his robes to produce a small rectangular package.

"I can't help but express my disappointment that you chose this particular legislation to make your debut, but once it's behind us, I hope we can work together to focus on the future of Britain," he said.

"I'll look over the proposals as soon as I can, I promise," Harry said.

Macnair nodded, and passed the parcel to Harry.

"A gift," Macnair said, "a thank you for bringing in the burglar who vandalized my property."

"Oh, you didn't have to-" Harry said.

"I insist," Macnair said, then glanced to Harry's left.

"Weasley," he said. Arthur and Macnair shook hands, and then Macnair returned to the lower level to mingle with a few others.

Harry glanced around as he considered whether he should open the package right away; nobody else seemed to be watching him at the moment. He sat down at the table and held the package in his lap, below the level of the desk, as he tore off the thin wrapping paper to find a small black and white photograph in a silver frame. Two gentlemen stood before the entrance of the chamber Harry now sat in, and both wore dark robes, the old traditional Wizengamot headpieces, and severe expressions. Unlike most wizarding photographs, this one didn't move. He turned the photo frame over.

"Henry Potter and Peter Macnair, March 1917"

Harry turned the photo back over and looked more closely at both men; he suspected the one on the left was his ancestor.

"All rise for the Minister of Magic, and the Chief Warlock," a loud voice said from the entrance. Kingsley entered, followed by an older man with deep lines on his face, though still with plenty of black hair on his head: Tiberius Ogden.

When two men reached the podiums at the front of the room, everyone else sat down, and Harry took his cues from them.

"It's an old pureblood custom," Arthur whispered, "he wants to work together. Macnair is a traditionalist by nature."

"What do I do?" Harry whispered back as Ogden called the session to order.

"You meet with him," Arthur replied with a small smirk and nudge.

Harry nodded and tucked the wrapping paper and picture frame away in his extendable pouch, already thinking about where he might set it at home. The session started with a series of budget proposals, and Harry found himself struggling to follow what was going on, as many of them were referenced by number. It seemed like dozens of the Wizengamot members demanded a turn to speak, not that many of them seemed to say much of substance, at least not that Harry could make out. He resisted the urge to slouch in his chair, and eventually resorted to pinching himself to stay awake as the session dragged on. During one exceptionally long-winded speech, he glanced across the room at Theo Nott's empty chair.

"He wasn't exaggerating," Harry thought.

"Proposal number 1999037, sponsored by Abel Winthrop, may he rest in peace," Ogden said, and Harry sat up straight, "major provisions: reclassification of werewolves from Dark Creature to Witch or Wizard, with all the rights thereby associated, repeal of the restrictions imposed on witches and wizards living with lycanthropy, and funding for lunarly wolfsbane potions to be provided to all such afflicted in Wizarding Britain, free of charge."

"Motion to move to immediate vote," Winthrop said as he stood up.

"Seconded," Macmillian said as he also stood up.

"Motion is recognized, and seconded," Ogden said, "all in favour?"

Harry immediately thrust his hand into the air, and although only a few hands went up at first, more and more appeared, until there was a solid majority.

"All opposed?" Ogden asked, and a smattering of hands went up, Macnair among them.

"Motion passes," Ogden said, "please note the date and time, session is adjourned for lunch."

He tapped a small globe on his podium and a loud thump reverberated around the room; clearly it was magically enhanced. A buzzing went up around the chamber, and Wizengamot members crowded around to congratulate Winthrop. Harry caught his eye and he motioned for Harry to move closer.

"Thank you for coming," Winthrop said once Harry crossed the room, "I feel that without your presence, the vote would have been much closer than it was."

"It was you who did all the work and pushed it through," Harry said, "I think your father would have been proud."

Winthrop nodded with just a hint of melancholy in his expression.

"I think you underestimate your influence," Winthrop replied.

A flash went off near the centre of the room, and Harry spotted several members of the press corp; with the session in recess, they were now given free reign.

"Mr. Winthrop, are you working with Harry Potter on additional legislation? What's next for you after this success?" the shouted question preceded more, as multiple voices attempted to drown each other out.

"No comment," Winthrop replied with a coy smile, "but how about a photo?"

He stood with both hands held out, palms up, with Macmillan to his left and Harry to his right, and they smiled for the cameras.

---

"Dennis Creevey," Harry said. He stood at the large Intake counter where he'd turned Dennis in after arresting him. The clerk, this time it was a dark-haired witch in her mid-thirties, looked over a ledger.

"Sorry sir, he's not here," she replied, "they moved him to Azkaban yesterday."

"What?" Harry said, "he's fifteen!"

The Ministry worker shrugged.

"He's only there until his trial, day after tomorrow," she said, but Harry was already on his way out the door, striding with purpose to the Ministry entrance to Azkaban. He blew past the waiting room; the receptionist took one look at his Auror robes and his face, and waved him through to the portkey. He gripped the iron ring and then the chill sea salt spray hit him as it always did. He fumed as he walked the narrow strip to the guard house.

"Azkaban, really?" he thought as he rapped on the door.

Matt Wilson opened the door, and Harry spotted Mackenzie sitting at the small table.

"Potter?" Mackenzie said, "I knew you were dedicated, but coming to Azkaban when it's not your shift?"

"Here to see a detainee, Dennis Creevey," Harry said as Matt ran the golden wire over him.

Harry deposited his pouch in a small tray provided for the purpose.

"He's in minimum security, number 314," Mackenzie replied.

Harry nodded as he finished inspection and passed through the checkpoint. Ahead, the metal prison loomed large, and near the top, dozens of dementors circled among the dark clouds. Harry shivered despite not actually feeling their chill from this far away. He stalked through the green tinted metal passages until he came to Dennis' cell.

"Hello? Who's there?" Dennis asked.

Harry walked into view.

"Harry…" Dennis said. He looked very small in the cell, nothing like a bandit who'd hit at least a half-dozen homes and businesses and stolen their valuables. Dark circles lined his eyes, and his cheeks looked slightly sunken, but he didn't look half as bad as some inmates of the prison, not yet, at least.

"Harry, you've gotta get me out of here," Dennis said as he clutched the bars, "this place, it's driving me mad. I'm so tired, but I can't sleep… there's whispers, all the time. I want to go home."

"Dennis…" Harry said. He wanted to promise the kid he'd get him out, but he knew the charges facing him were significant.

"I'm going to do what I can to get you a reduced sentence, but… we have laws, you can't just run around breaking them and think nothing's going to happen," Harry said, "and… you're not helping, you're hurting people, businesses and families who had nothing to do with the Dark Lord, or Colin. He wouldn't want this for you."

"What do you know about Colin?" Dennis asked, his face filled with bitterness.

Harry stared at him until Dennis seemed to realize he'd make a mistake and shrunk away from the bars.

"I'm sorry, I guess you've lost people too," Dennis said.

"I would have saved them all if I could have," Harry said quietly.

"I know," Dennis said as he stifled a sniffle, "I'm sorry, I know I made a mistake, I just… I have to get out of here."

Harry sighed deeply and stepped closer.

"Listen, I'm going to tell you something, and it's not going to be easy to hear," Harry said, "but you don't have the option of messing up again. Colin fought because he wanted to, because he wanted you to have a shot at a normal life. I need you to promise you'll stay out of trouble, otherwise you're going to end up right back in here, and probably for a long time."

"I will, I promise," Dennis said, nodding feverishly, and Harry believed him.

"Alright, I'll see what I can do," Harry said.

Harry ignored the apologies that followed him as he left Dennis in his cell and mentally went through who he could ask for help. He didn't want to go to Kingsley. He doubted the Minister would intervene, and second, it wasn't the right thing to do. Dennis had broken the law, and he had to stand trial and be fairly judged.

"I didn't know they were going to send him to Azkaban though," Harry thought, "then again, where did you think they were going to send him?"

He retrieved his pouch from the guard house and apparated home from the platform with the slab of rock with the iron ring embedded in it. Kreacher appeared with a pop.

"Master Harry has returned," the elf said. Harry stripped off his extremely damp Auror robes and handed them to Kreacher, who vanished without a word.

He needed to talk to someone. Harry pulled out Ginny's Christmas gift, the journal that would let them write to each other. He opened it to see her neat cursive already there:

"I saw you were angry, then worried and guilty, is everything okay?"

The mood rings. He looked at the one on his hand and the stone swirled a light blue colour, which he'd come to associate with concern from Ginny.

"I arrested Dennis Creevey last week, and now he's in Azkaban waiting for trial," Harry wrote, "he was robbing shops and homes."

"Merlin," Ginny wrote back.

"I know," Harry wrote, "I feel terrible. I'm trying to figure out a way to get him a lighter sentence, legally."

"You did the right thing, imagine if he tried to rob the wrong person, someone could have got hurt, or killed," Ginny wrote. A series of dots followed, and Harry understood this to mean she was jabbing her quill into the page as she thought.

"Probably biting her lip right now too," Harry thought with a smile, and a warm sensation filled his chest.

"Terry Boot's apprenticed at Tilworth and Jones, they're the best law firm in Britain, maybe he could help," Ginny wrote.

"Brilliant," Harry wrote, "I love you."

"What would you do without me?" she wrote back, "love you too, see you soon!"

He watched the words appear on the page and smiled at the way she made a little circle at the bottom of her question mark and exclamation points.

Harry went to fetch parchment and ink and started writing a letter to Terry…

---

The next morning, Harry read the reply from Terry, which had been owled to his desk at the DMLE.

Dear Harry,

Sorry to hear about Dennis, of course I'll help. Don't worry about the fee, I couldn't charge anyone from the DA. I'll need the full case file though. You can post it to me at my home address.

Terry's address followed, and Harry folded the letter and stuck it in his robes.

"Brilliant," he thought. He scribbled off a request to have the case file copied and walked it down to Administration. On his way back to his desk, he ran into Robert Parkin, the Tracer.

"Morning Robert," Harry said, "I meant to ask you, has that evidence from the Macnair case been returned to him?"

"Yeah, but never mind that," Parkin replied, "remember the portkey you brought in from the Winthrop property?"

Harry nodded.

"Right, Robards wants to see you, double time," Parkin said, then made a motion with his head as if to say 'I can't say any more right here or now'.

"Great," Harry thought as he changed direction and made for Robards' office.

He crossed the threshold to find Patrick Robinson, who'd acted as one of the targets in his Auror trial not too long ago, already seated. Robards stood behind his desk, a frown on his face.

"Close the door Potter, and have a seat," Robards said. Harry did as instructed and shared a nod with Robinson as he sat down.

"Right," Robards said, and with a flick of his wand the blinds covering the window to his office turned flat, blocking them off.

"We have a lead on a Death Eater safe house," Robards said, and Harry's heart skipped a beat, then started thumping against his rib cage, "that key we found outside of the Winthrop home, the Tracers were having trouble tracking the destination, until today. It's an address in Barnton, no wards except a notice-me-not to keep the muggles away. Keep in mind the destination was completely hidden until now, so even odds it's a trap, but we're going in anyway. Two teams, standard anti-apparition, anti-portkey. Obliviators are already on standby. Robinson, you're overall lead on the ground, and your team's going in the front. Potter, Dawlish wants you to act as lead for your team, and you're going in the rear. Full briefing is in ten minutes in meeting room number two, and we apparate five minutes after that. Any questions?"

By the time Robards finished speaking, Harry had to grip the armrests of the chair to stop his hands from shaking.

"Rules of engagement?" he asked.

Robards fixed him with a glare.

"All occupants are assumed hostile. Lethal force in self-defence only, no unforgivables," he replied, "anything else? No? Good, go gather your teams."

Twenty minutes later, a disillusioned Harry crouched next to a similarly disillusioned Ron on the far side of a black iron fence. A seven stone anti-apparition and anti-portkey ward had been set up in a wide circle around the house and nearby structures. The house itself, a solid looking red brick semi-detached structure, looked nearly identical to the rows upon rows of other semi-detached homes in the neighbourhood. At the briefing, Ron had suggested only going in with a two-man team, so there was backup in case things went sour or someone got away. Harry had stationed Tammy and Liz in the rear, spread out, and Matt above on a broom to keep a bird's eye view, and to allow him to enter the second story through a window if he needed to. Harry tried to control his breathing. Cold sweat made his wand slippery in his hand as he waited.

Then his wand vibrated.

"That's the signal," Harry thought as the pre-synchronized alarm charms all went off.

He vaulted over the iron fence and hit the garden running.

"Reducto!" Ron shouted and a jet of blue light shot from his outstretched wand. The back door blew inwards with a crash of splintering wood and shattering glass. Similar explosions echoed from the front door and foyer.

"Protego!" Harry thought as he crossed the threshold and threw up a wide bubble of protection over Ron and himself as they entered the house. Glass and broken wood crunched under their feet as he felt the thrum of several detection spells pass through him as he looked for anything out of place.

"Kitchen clear," Ron said.

"Sitting room, clear!" someone called from another room.

One by one, the all-clears sounded from the ground floor, then the upstairs bedrooms. Harry walked to the new doorway Ron had blown open and motioned for Liz and Tammy to enter. Seven Aurors gathered in the kitchen around the door to the cellar. Liz checked the door for magical traps or wards, and, finding nothing, waved her wand to pull the door open. The coppery scent of blood immediately hit Harry, and he flashed back to when he found Abel Winthrop's corpse hanging upside down in his bedroom. Robinson descended first, his boots thunking on the wooden steps.

"Merlin," he said, "better get down here."

Harry clumped down after him, as did Ron and a few of the others. Harry heard what sounded like a buzzing insect and wondered if the entire cellar was infested, but he wasn't prepared for what he saw. Illuminated by Robinson's wand, a mangled and bloody corpse lay in a bloody ritual circle. Manacles encircled its legs and cuts and punctures were visible, even from a distance. As Harry drew closer, he saw there was no latch; the manacles were transfigured to the floor to chain the occupant in place. Several potions bottles either stood or lay nearby, but the rest of the cellar was bare. Much of the blood had long since dried, but Harry could see dark pools still shining in the light of several wands. Ron stifled a gag next to him, but Harry was drawn to the corpse. The squat, somewhat misshapen body and pig-like face was almost immediately recognizable.

"Amycus Carrow," Harry said.

"Good, maybe they're killing each other now," someone said next to Harry. He glanced over to see Brandon Clark, the muggleborn Auror he'd met at the Renewal Festival, use his boot to nudge Carrow's arm over to expose the faded Dark Mark. Robinson stepped near to the ritual circle and held a light over Carrow's head, but as Harry leaned over to get a better look, Robinson shifted to hold his wand just above Harry's forehead. Harry squinted in the light, but still saw what had piqued Robinson's interest. Someone had carved the unmistakable shape of a lightning bolt into the skin of Carrow's forehead. Although larger and more stylized than the scar on his own forehead, it was in exactly the same spot; the symbolism was undeniable. Harry expected his own scar to prickle, but instead all he felt were the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"Bloody hell," Ron said next to him as he looked over the mangled corpse. Harry glanced over and caught Robinson's gaze for just an instant before the lieutenant looked away, this time checking the circle.

"This is what was hiding the safe house from the Tracers," Robinson said as he inspected the circle, "it lasted until Carrow died and the blood stopped flowing. Clark, jar those potion bottles, we'll send them for analysis. Everyone else fan out, see if you can find anything worth bringing back."

Robinson returned to the ground level as the Aurors busied themselves with a comprehensive search of the cellar.

"Potter, kitchen," Robards' voice echoed from the top of the steps.

Harry ascended to the ground level to find the slightly overweight Captain and the lanky Irish Robinson both eyeing him.

"Why's that corpse have a lightning bolt carved into its forehead?" Robards asked.

Harry alternated looking between Robards and Robinson.

"Wait, you don't really think I had anything to do with this, do you?" Harry asked, "I didn't know about this safe house until the briefing, and why would I come here alone? I almost died fighting Avery."

Robards narrowed his eyes at Harry.

"Payback for New Years, maybe," he said.

Harry was at a loss for words for a second; he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"If I found out about where any of them were hiding, I wouldn't kill them," Harry said, "we need to take them alive to get information to find the others."

"Remarkably inconvenient then, that Carrow is so recently deceased," Robards said, "remind me Robinson, who was it who found the portkey?"

"Potter," Robinson replied.

"I had no idea about any of this," Harry said, "I'll testify under veritaserum if I have to."

"Veritaserum can be fooled," Robards said.

Harry stared at the captain for another few seconds, determined not to let Robards get the best of him.

"Dawlish will decide what to do," Robards said, "call the rest of your teams in. We'll sweep the whole property and bag everything suspicious for analysis. Collect a few blood samples too, so we can verify it's him."

Harry and Robinson both saluted and went about their tasks, but Harry felt a growing unease in his gut.

"Who killed Carrow, and why did they cut a lightning bolt into his forehead?" he thought.

Later, after the evidence was gathered, the grounds were scoured, the house repaired, the wards collected, Harry sat with Ron and the others writing their incident reports, but he couldn't get the image of the carved symbol on Carrow's forehead out of his mind.

"What do you think?" Harry asked Ron.

"I dunno," Ron said as he dropped his quill into his inkwell, "vigilante maybe, another Death Eater killed him and was trying to frame someone? He's a marked Death Eater though, it'd be tough for one person to take him down, unless they caught him by surprise maybe. It doesn't make any sense."

"Robards is convinced I had something to do with it," Harry said.

"Do you want me to talk to him?" Wilson asked, "I mean, we all know you didn't."

Liz and Tammy nodded their agreement.

"Thanks guys, but I think this is something I need to deal with on my own," Harry said, "it's really going to come down to what Dawlish thinks anyway."

He ignored their stares and focussed on his work. A few seconds passed before the others did so as well.

"Look at the bright side," Tammy said, "however it happened, there's one less Death Eater at large."

Harry supposed she was right, even if it didn't feel that way.

---

Harry was halfway across the Ministry atrium, midway between the floo entry point and the wrought iron lifts, his head filled with incomplete clues and theories when a familiar voice brought him up short.

"Harry," Seamus said.

Harry saw his friend walk towards him quickly and smiled. They met near the reflecting pool.

"Morning Seamus, sorry I haven't been by to see you. Err… how are you?" Harry asked.

"I'm right as rain, no long-term side effects," Seamus replied as he tapped his temple, then shoved his hands in his pockets, "ehm, I just wanted to let you know, I've still got me coin. You can count on me."

"I know mate, I don't blame you," Harry said with another smile.

Seamus shook his head.

"No, I meant, I can help," he said.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, glanced around, and leaned forward slightly.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked quietly.

"Oh, right," Seamus said and he took a step back and glanced around, "can't talk here, o' course. Just ehm… keep me in mind, would ya? Wouldn't mind a little payback, if ya catch me drift."

Seamus winked at him and started whistling as he walked on towards the floo fireplaces.

"What is Merlin's name was that all about?" Harry thought as he watched his friend leave.

Harry ran through the conversation in his head in the lift and into the DMLE until Matt Wilson, walking in the opposite direction, interrupted his train of thought.

"Morning Potter, Dawlish is looking for you," Matt said.

"Thanks," Harry said.

Matt tapped Harry on the shoulder as he passed, and the force of it nearly knocked Harry over. After he caught his balance and flexed his arm, Harry proceeded straight to the Head Auror's office.

"Morning Potter. Close the door," Dawlish said as he looked up when Harry entered.

Harry did as instructed and noted Amycus Carrow's picture pinned to the wall now sported a large red 'X' as he took a seat in front of Dawlish's overflowing desk.

"Seen this morning's Prophet?" Dawlish asked as he produced the paper from his desk and laid it out on top of all the folders and files.

HARRY POTTER'S DEATH EATER HUNTERS

by Rita Skeeter

"Bloody hell, that woman," Harry said as he scanned the front page. A clear drawing of the stylized lightning bolt carved into Carrow's forehead appeared halfway down, and Harry could now see it looked almost like a pair of sevens joined together, top to bottom. He flicked his eyes to the caption.

"We are the Sevens, and we hereby declare war on all surviving Death Eaters."

A few other passages caught his eye.

…is it possible Harry Potter is directing a secret squad of Death Eater Hunters? The answer is an emphatic YES!

…fortune inherited from the House of Black. He has the motivation to run every last one of them down. He has built his own secret fighting unit in the past AND he has deep ties to the late Albus Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix, both of which were instrumental in the overthrow of You-Know-Who.

…better results in three and a half months than our entire Ministry run Auror force in nearly a year. Given the current crime wave, should we not be glad at least someone is doing something?

Harry looked up to see Dawlish regarding him seriously.

"Potter, I think I know the answer already," the Head Auror said, "but I want you to look me in the eye and tell me: Are you working with, or have any knowledge of, an off the books vigilante group?"

"No sir," Harry said as he shook his head and felt a light brushing at the front of his thoughts. He struggled against the reflex to compartmentalize, and managed to keep his mind open.

"You swear, you haven't heard anything, none of your friends from Dumbledore's Army, none of the old Order have mentioned anything?" Dawlish asked.

Harry licked his lips and thought back.

"No, sir," Harry said.

"Hmm," Dawlish said as he took the Prophet back and stared down at the lightning bolt diagram.

"Who do you think it could be, sir?" Harry asked as he stood up to get a better look at the symbol.

"Could be any number of things," Dawlish replied, "Seven is a powerful magical number, and that might have something to do with it. Could be there's two of them, you see it's like two seven's joined together. Could be fourteen, or some other random number of people. There's no shortage of individuals who'd want to hunt them down."

"Right, a rogue group of people with a bone to pick, but older, more experienced than Dennis," Harry said.

Dawlish nodded.

"I want you to reach out to your friends, the DA, the Order, see if they know anything, if anyone's approached them," Dawlish said.

Harry nodded.

"I will," he said.

"One more thing: Get yourself over to the Daily Prophet and interview Rita Skeeter," Dawlish said.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Someone's been talking to her," Dawlish said, "she didn't come up with this sketch by herself, and her knowledge of how the raid went is too accurate. It points to a leak somewhere in the DMLE. Press sources are protected so we can't force her to tell us, so I want you to see if you can get her to give something up voluntarily."

"Why does this assignment feel like I'm being punished…" Harry asked dryly.

"You're neck deep in it now, Potter," Dawlish said, "having second thoughts?"

"Not yet sir," Harry replied.

"Good, dismissed," Dawlish said. Harry saluted, left the office, and continued on his way to his desk.

---

Harry sat in the meeting room on the second floor of the Daily Prophet and drummed his fingers on the table. He would have been disgusted with Skeeter, but the mystery of who was behind the killing of Amycus Carrow took front and centre in his mind, at least until the door burst open.

"Well well, isn't this a pleasant surprise," Rita Skeeter said in a fake breathy voice.

She wore a garish electric blue dress and some kind of yellow lace in her hair. Her lips peeled back to reveal her perfectly white teeth, practically glowing, as the quick-quotes quill hovering next her started scribbling away.

"Rumour has it that Britain's number one most eligible bachelor has taken time out of his busy schedule and away from his adoring fans to request a meeting with… moi?" she said as she oozed into the room and closed the door behind her.

"Tell me Mr. Potter… or is it Lord Potter?" Skeeter said, "well, first, congratulations on dispatching your second Death Eater in three months."

"I didn't dispatch him," Harry replied.

"Oh right, of course not, your henchmen did," Rita said as she put a finger to her lips. The quill scribbled furiously.

"No, I don't have any 'henchmen'," Harry said, "I don't know anything about the sevens."

"Of course you don't," Rita said with a smile an exaggerated wink.

"No I don't, I… look, that's not why I'm here," Harry said, "I came to find out who gave you the diagram."

"I've no idea which diagram you're referring to," Skeeter said.

"The diagram of the sevens on the front page of this morning's Prophet," Harry replied, "this isn't a joke, peoples' lives could be at stake."

"Peoples' lives are always at stake," Skeeter said with a wave of her hand, "so how is lovely Ginevra, no strain on the relationship with her still at school with at least two ex-boyfriends and you out in the field, attending Ministry events and being approached by all manner of beautiful witches?"

"No comment," Harry said, as he felt his blood start to boil, "listen Skeeter, if you don't want your little secret to get out, you'll tell me who gave you the diagram."

"Strike that," Skeeter said, and the quill made two sharp strokes.

She looked at Harry over the top of her bright green lenses and blinked a few times, fluttering her extraordinarily long and almost certainly magically enhanced eyelashes.

"I don't think you would," Skeeter said, "I think it would eat at you, knowing you put me there to waste away."

"Ruining this woman and putting her in a cell to rot would make the world a better place," a little voice whispered to Harry.

"Try me," Harry said as he leaned forward, "I put people in Azkaban for a living now, and I don't particularly like you in the first place."

Rita Skeeter leaned back and eyed Harry as if seeing him for the first time.

"I received a letter in the post," she said.

"Bring it here, I'd like to take it in as evidence and run it through the Tracers," Harry said.

Skeeter's eye twitched and Harry could practically see her internal struggle, self-preservation warring with chagrin at being blackmailed.

"She can still cause a lot of problems," Harry said, "better not piss her off too much."

Harry sighed.

"Look, give me the letter, and anything else you receive from the sevens, and if it leads to the capture of any Death Eaters, I'll grant you an exclusive interview," Harry said, "but no nonsense or sensationalist bullshit: a legitimate, one hour interview."

She smiled a wolfish grin at that and reached out a perfectly manicured hand to shake. They sealed the deal and she stood up to retrieve the letter, heels clicking loudly on the floor. She returned a moment later with an unsealed envelope. Harry opened it up and scanned the letter. It was printed using typeface, rather than being a normal hand written letter. The lightning bolt diagram covered the top centre of the page, and below it the quote he'd seen in the Prophet: "We are the sevens, and we hereby declare war on all surviving Death Eaters."

But there was more to the letter:

"The body of a Death Eater will be found today at the following address in Barnton:"

Harry's eyes widened as he read the address; it was the exact house they'd raided yesterday. He pulled an evidence jar from his pouch and dropped the letter and envelope in. He was about to return to the Ministry to hand it over to the Tracers, but he stopped with his hand on the doorknob and slowly turned back.

"Hang on, this letter didn't mention me at all," Harry said, "why do you think I'm involved?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Skeeter replied as she lazily stood and took a step towards Harry, "they made their mark on the body, right… there."

She stopped just short of touching his scar with a single blood-red fingernail; Harry could see the makeup caked onto her face and smell her sickeningly sweet perfume.

"How did…?" Harry asked, "you were there."

"A good reporter never reveals her sources," Skeeter replied with a smile as she stepped back to the table.

"Merlin, I really should report you," Harry said.

"Tsk, how rude. Besides, if anything, I'm doing you a favour, Harry. Can I call you Harry?" Skeeter said, "early indicators are that today's edition is one of our fastest selling this year. The people do so love a man who takes charge and gets results."

Skeeter batted her eyelashes at him again, and Harry resisted the urge to vomit.

"Stay out of our crime scenes, they're not safe," Harry said, "and if you receive any more letters, contact us straight away."

"Certainly," Skeeter said, "is that all?"

"Yes, I wish I could say it was enjoyable," Harry said as he pushed through the door, "until next time, Skeeter."

She leaned out of the door as he walked towards the stairs.

"Don't forget our deal," she called after him.

---

"Witness for the Defence, Harry James Potter," Terry said.

Harry stood to be recognized by the district judge, a slim and severe looking woman with dark hair pulled back into a tight bun, then sat again until it was his turn to speak. Ron, who sat next to him, crossed his fingers. The bench in the courtroom was uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable, Harry imagined, as the one Dennis sat in, in the centre of the room. Smaller in size than the one Umbridge used to sit in judgement over muggleborns during Voldemort's reign, the décor was nearly identical. Harry and Ron sat in the second row of dark benches surrounding the chair in the centre of the room, for the accused to sit in. Dennis Creevey currently occupied the seat, though the manacles and chains were left unshackled. Terry Boot stood to his right, and the Ministry prosecutor, a smartly dressed wizard in his late twenties or early thirties, with short brown hair, stood to his left. Two Ministry officials stood by the entrance to the courtroom.

"Charges?" the district judge asked.

"Seven counts of burglary, three counts theft of magical items, ten counts of vandalism, seven counts of apparition without a licence, plus twelve counts of circumventing the Trace and twelve counts of using underage magic outside of school," the prosecutor said as he handed a folder to the judge.

"Quite the record," she said as she leafed through the file, "how do you plead?"

"Guilty, Madam," Dennis said quietly.

"So noted," the judge said, and she looked at Terry.

Harry's former classmate looked very different from when he'd last seen him. He wore dark blue dress robes with silver trim, and looked every bit the competent professional barrister, even if he was still only in his first year with Tilworth and Jones.

"Good morning Madam," Terry started, "my client admits he did these things, but the court must recognise that he is still several years under age, that he has suffered greatly due to the Ministry's own policies, and therefore cannot be held fully responsible for his actions."

Harry watched intently as Terry made his case; he described how Dennis and Colin went on the run in the wake of Dumbledore's death and hid out in the woods, how they looked out for each other. Then they both returned during the final battle and risked their lives, with only Dennis surviving. His parents blamed each other for Colin's death and split, with Dennis caught in the crossfire. He noted how Dennis never hurt anyone, and distributed the funds from fencing the stolen items to other muggleborns who'd lost family during the war.

"In summary, Dennis has suffered greatly over the past eighteen months. It is true he broke the law, but he did so out of a misguided sense of justice, in an effort to right the wrongs in our society. He is still a child, and he should be in school," Terry said, "he needs guidance and rehabilitation, not punishment."

Terry made a motion with his hands.

"Harry James Potter, witness for the defence," the judge said.

Harry stood up straight.

"Do you agree with this argument, and is it your assessment that Dennis Creevey is not a danger to society?" she asked.

"I think that given the right guidance, he'll be able to stay out of trouble, yes," Harry said.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, witness for the defence," the judge said, "same question."

"Yes, I agree," Ron said as he stood up.

The judge glanced back at her notes and turned a page, and Harry glanced at Ron. The two shared a shrug and sat back down.

"The court agrees in principle, but there is the matter of the damage caused, and of the stolen goods, only a portion of which have been recovered," the judge said, addressing Terry again, "all told, seven thousand twenty-eight galleons, one sickle, and 26 knuts worth of uninsured damages is levied. Is the accused or his parents able to meet this obligation within thirty days?"

"Unfortunately, no, Madam," Terry said, "Dennis' father cannot be located, and his mother is without a means of supporting herself."

"The court recognizes that the accused does not have a means of paying restitution. Enrolment in the Gringotts work program is recommended, and twenty percent wage garnishment is established, along with enrolment in the Hogwarts tuition assistance program, and probation until Mr. Creevey comes of age," the judge said.

The sound of a gavel rapping on a plate echoed through the room.

"Mr. Creevey," she said as she looked down at Dennis, "the crimes you have pleaded guilty to are serious, and carry a sentence of five to ten years in Azkaban. Your talent is undeniable; very few fifteen-year-olds would have been able to master apparition, much less without a proper tutor. I hope you can use your talents in a law-abiding fashion in the future; any additional crimes will be dealt with severely. Am I understood?"

"Yes Madam, thank you Madam," Dennis replied quietly.

The judge nodded to the officials in the rear of the room, and one of them stepped forward to escort Dennis from the room. Harry tried to make eye contact with him, but the boy kept his eyes on the floor.

"I've got a meeting with Robards," Ron said quietly, then mimicked vomiting, "wish me luck."

Harry nodded to Ron and noticed Terry waving him down. He descended to the lower level, where Terry and the prosecutor shook hands.

"Thanks Terry," Harry said.

"Anytime Harry," Terry replied, "have you met Jonathan?"

Harry looked to the prosecutor. Up close, his robes appeared immaculately pressed and his hair perfectly styled, not a single strand out of place.

"Lord Potter, Jonathan Beckett, it's an honour to meet you," the prosecutor said as they shook hands, "I've no doubt you'll be keeping us busy in the days to come."

"Hope so," Harry said.

"Counsellors, approach the bench please," the judge said.

"I'll see you later, Harry," Terry said.

Harry exited the courtroom and looked around, but Dennis and Ron were already gone. Harry tried Intake, and by a stroke of luck, he found the boy at the large black counter collecting his wand and broomstick, and turning in his Ministry issued robes.

"All set, Dennis?" Harry asked.

Dennis jumped as he heard his name, then looked down again.

"Come on, let's get you home," Harry said.

They walked out of the DMLE and across the Atrium without a word, then floo'd to Diagon.

"Are you alright to side-along?" Harry asked.

Dennis looked at Harry and sighed, then gripped his elbow. Harry took them to the outer room of the Auror floo exit in Bexley. The spring sun shone down, keeping them warm despite the chilly breeze. Dennis stopped and looked up, then closed his eyes and soaked it in.

"They put me in Azkaban," he said.

Harry paused and nodded. He understood all too well the effect the island could have on people, and Dennis had been there for days, even if it was only the lowest level.

"That's where they put people who break the law," Harry said.

Dennis looked like he was about to say something, then he paused.

"I don't ever want to go back there again," Dennis said with a shudder.

"You should say something to him, he looks up to you," Harry thought. Images of the people he'd looked up to and who'd given him advice flashed through his mind's eye: Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore, even Moody; what would they say in a situation like this?

"I know it's difficult, maybe it feels like everything is falling apart," Harry said, "and I know it's not fair, and it might sound like an empty phrase but you need to find a way to grieve, one that doesn't involve hurting other people."

Harry glanced over to see Dennis glowering at the ground. Harry could practically feel the waves of anger rolling off the boy.

"They watch us, from beyond the Veil," Harry said quietly.

Now Dennis looked at him with curiosity in his expression. They stopped in front of Dennis' house.

"I saw them," Harry said, "my parents, Dumbledore, Professor Lupin. They watch us from the other side, they root for us, and they want us to be happy."

Dennis looked like he was about to cry.

"You swear?" Dennis asked.

Harry nodded, then blinked his eyes to keep from tearing up.

"Yes," Harry replied, "so live the best life you can, because Colin is watching you, and rooting for you, and waiting for you."

Dennis sniffed and wiped tears away, then looked up at his home.

"Shit, my mum's going to kill me," he said.

Harry grinned.

"She loves you, and she needs you. You need each other," he replied, then he turned to look Dennis in the eye again, "listen, if you ever need someone to talk to, or if you get into trouble, you can always come to me. I'll make time, and we'll work it out together."

Dennis nodded and tried to swallow away the rest of his emotion, and Harry turned back to the house.

"Right, let's go," Dennis said, and he led the way up the front walk.

He didn't slow pace as he opened the front door and walked straight into the house.

"Mum? I'm home," he called as he leaned the broomstick against a wooden stand set on the lower landing of the steps.

Mrs. Creevey came practically skidding around the corner and rushed over to pull Dennis into a crushing hug.

"Oh thank you," she said, "thank you."

Harry quietly closed the door behind him. Mrs. Creevey pulled back and looked at Dennis' face.

"You look exhausted. Go shower and change. I'll make lunch and we can talk then," she said.

Dennis nodded and with a backwards glance at Harry, he trudged up the steps and Harry heard the sound of a door close.

"Thank you, for bringing him back," Mrs. Creevey said quietly.

Harry nodded.

"I did the best I could," Harry said, "the Ministry will send a letter with the verdict and his sentence. He'll have to pay damages to the people he robbed for whatever couldn't be recovered. It's too late for him to return to school this year, so they're going to send him to work at Gringotts for the next six months."

Mrs. Creevey looked like she was going to speak, but Harry held up a hand.

"I have some connections with the goblins, and one of my friends also works for Gringotts," Harry said, "I'll put in a good word and make sure someone looks out for him. He should be fine, and it'll be good experience for him."

"But, about school," Mrs. Creevey said, "we won't be able to afford the tuition."

"The Ministry is going to pay the rest of his tuition," Harry said, "but he has to stay out of trouble; he'll be on probation. Any more major law breaking and he's going to be sent to Azkaban, wizard prison, that includes underage magic and apparition until he earns his licence, so he needs to be careful."

"I'll talk to him," Mrs. Creevey said, "and thank you again, I can't ever repay you."

"You don't have to," Harry said, "I'll check in from time to time to see how he's doing."

Mrs. Creevey smiled.

"Oh, where are my manners… can I offer you something to drink, would you like to stay for lunch?" she asked.

"I can't," Harry replied, "I'm working, but I'll drop by again soon."

Harry backed out of the door after several more thank you's and made his way back to the Ministry via the nearby floo station. He threw his robes back on in the loo and returned to his desk to write a letter to Bill, only to find a letter waiting at his desk.

Dear Harry,

No, I haven't heard anything about the Sevens group the Prophet mentioned, but I will let you know if anything turns up.

Aberforth

Harry dropped the letter into the bin next to his desk. He, Ginny, and Ron had reached out to all of the Order and DA members they could recall, but so far none of them had been contacted by the Sevens. Dawlish didn't seem very inclined to make going after the group a priority, but for Harry it was more personal; it was like that cut on Carrow's forehead was a message sent specifically to him. Unfortunately, he had no idea what it was supposed to mean, but he doubted it would be the last time the group would turn up.

Another envelope zipped around the corner and landed on his desk. Harry glanced down to see it was from the Tracer department. He tore open the envelope to find the report from the bottles they'd found near Carrow's body.

Potion trace analysis of eight bottles recovered:

1. Blood replenishing potion.

2. Blood replenishing potion.

3. Blood replenishing potion.

4. Blood replenishing potion.

5. Blood replenishing potion.

6. Blood replenishing potion.

7. Blood replenishing potion.

8. Blood replenishing potion.

Harry put the report down on his desk and stared off into space.

"They're all blood replenishing potions?" he thought, "there wasn't nearly enough blood in the ritual circle to account for eight bottles' worth. Did he use them before someone put him in that ritual circle, or after? Were they using him as a source of blood? Whatever for? Rituals?"

The case only grew more bizarre by the day, but without a lead to the rest of the Death Eater network, it looked like the safe house was a dead-end.

---

Harry tapped the wall in front of him, and Ron peeked his head over the cubicle.

"Just about done here, dinner?" Harry asked.

Ron winced.

"Can't, I've got plans," Ron said.

"Ready?" Tammy said as she walked past Harry's cubicle. She wore a bright orange Cannons jersey and matching cap. Harry glanced up at Ron with a questioning look.

"A thank you, for giving her the tickets to the home opener," Ron said as his cheeks reddened slightly.

"You want to come Harry? You could probably buy a ticket at the gate," Tammy asked with a smile.

"No thanks," Harry replied.

"Go on, I'll meet you at the lift," Ron said.

"Alright but don't take too long, I don't want to miss the opening toss," Tammy said as she departed.

"Ron, are you going on a date with Miller?" Harry asked quietly.

"No! Just as friends. She found out Miranda and I broke up and suggested it to… I dunno, cheer me up, I suppose," Ron said.

"That's a date, you realise you're on the same squad, and it's not allowed," Harry said.

"It's not a date, we're just two colleagues who both follow the Cannons, and we're going to see a match after work, that's all, I swear," Ron said.

"Alright… don't do anything stupid," Harry said, "it'd be a dumb way to get sacked and…"

Harry lowered his voice.

"…and I can't do this without you mate," he said.

Ron grew serious and nodded.

Harry glanced over to see Tammy had re-entered Auror HQ and was waving to catch Ron's attention.

"You'd better get going then," Harry said.

Ron smirked and jogged off, leaving Harry to figure out dinner plans on his own.

---

"Can I help you?" the goblin asked.

"I'd like to visit my vault," Harry replied. He'd just spoken with an assistant manager named Gragnaff, a meeting set up by Ragnar the fourth, to ask the goblins to look after Dennis when he arrived, and he thought the meeting had gone fairly well. Now though, he had another task in mind, something he'd been putting off for months. Several minutes and a jerky mine cart ride later, Harry stood in front of his lone remaining vault, where all his inherited belongings had been consolidated after he paid off his fine. His key clicked easily in the well-maintained goblin lock, and he stepped into the large stone chamber. Most of the piles of coins were gone, confiscated by the goblins, and what remained fit into a few small chests. Those weren't what Harry was after today though. He walked past them to where a row of wooden boxes rested on a table and opened them. Sets of gold, silver, and platinum jewellery sparkled and glittered with rubies, emeralds, diamonds and sapphires. It was part of his inheritance, the accumulated accessories of his ancestors, whatever hadn't been buried with them or lost.

Harry considered his mother's engagement ring, a simple gold band with a single diamond set in it. He recognized it from the photo album Hagrid had given him in the Hospital Wing at the end of his first year; it was the first one he'd seen of his parents and the one he'd spent the most time, hours upon hours, studying.

"This ring, my father used this ring to propose to my mother, and she said yes," Harry thought, "it was an expression of their love for each other, and her finger was right here…"

His vision blurred as tears dropped, and he blinked the emotions away and tried to refocus on why he was in the vault. It meant a lot to him to be sure, but did it make sense to give Ginny the same ring his father had given to his mother? He thought of Ginny being repulsed by putting her finger where Harry's mother's finger had been when she died, just four years older than Ginny was now, then shook his head and closed the box. He spent nearly an hour in the vault, comparing various rings and discarding them. He finally settled on a gold band engraved with a miniature laurel leaf pattern, set with a diamond that caught the faint light in the chamber and sent it sparkling and refracting in all directions. Harry didn't know anything about cut or clarity, but the ring felt right. It lookedlike it was the right size too… he pocketed the engagement ring and exited the vault.

"Now I need to figure out how I'm going to do this," he thought. He knew he wanted to wait until after graduation, so that left him a few months.

Harry arrived at the DMLE the following day to find a message from Katherine, Dawlish's secretary, on his desk: the Head Auror wished to speak with him, again. He didn't bother sitting down, and walked straight to Dawlish's office. Katherine's desk was vacant, so Harry knocked on the doorframe. Dawlish looked up and motioned him inside, and Harry shut the door behind him.

"Good job on the Creevey case," Dawlish said, "and I heard you added a personal touch with the goblins, that's smart thinking."

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied.

"Don't thank me just yet, I'm promoting you to team lead, and assigning you to a potential MPA violation up in Scotland," Dawlish said, using the short form of the Muggle Protection Act as he scribbled on a scrap of parchment. It folded itself into a paper airplane and zipped to the door, where it hovered, waiting for someone to open it.

"Promoted? Team lead?" Harry thought, but the Head Auror was still talking.

"They're interviewing a squib right now in room four," Dawlish continued, "get over to the observation room, find out what you can, and then I want you and your team to investigate."

"But sir, what about Abel Winthrop's death, and Carrow and the Sevens?" Harry asked.

Dawlish rearranged a few other folders on his desk, shoved a stack of them into a drawer, then closed it firmly.

"Carrow's dead, and the Sevens, whoever they are, haven't popped up anywhere else," Dawlish said, "so long as nobody but Death Eaters are getting hurt, I'm not too inclined to spend resources chasing them down. As for Winthrop, the case has gone cold so he'll have to join the queue; we'd need to double the force to handle everything, so the word of the day is prioritisation: we're not going to worry anything that isn't an immediate problem. We'll see if things change, but until then, room four."

The Head Auror emphasised his words with a finger pointed to the door.

Harry stood up and saluted.

"Yes sir, thank you sir," Harry said.

"Keep up the good work, Potter, dismissed," Dawlish said.

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Chapter 28 Trigger Warning: Gore