Harry Potter is owned by JKR

Trigger Warnings at End of Chapter

Chapter 52

Harry stood in the nearly empty cell block at the top of Azkaban prison, along with Robards, Mackenzie, and Robinson. The wind whistled incessantly, and crashing waves far below echoed distant thunder, somewhere over the North Sea. In front of them, lounging on the metal cot, grey prison smock hanging off his gaunt form, sat Rastaban Lestrange.

"Any useful information you provide could result in leniency in at your trial, assuming you are found guilty," Robinson said.

"You can suck my left testicle," Lestrange replied as he grinned, showing off his rotted teeth.

Robinson rolled his eyes and passed the parchment back to Robards, who handed him a vial of clear liquid in exchange.

"Veritaserum," Harry thought.

Mackenzie wordlessly aimed his wand at Lestrange to hold him still and force his head back, while Robinson transfigured the bars open and stepped into the cell to let a few drops fall onto the prisoner's tongue. Mackenzie forced him to swallow, and his eyes glazed over as Robinson stepped back.

"Who are the other Death Eaters currently alive?" Robards asked.

"Alecto, Rod, Augustus, Anton, and Bella," Rastaban replied.

Harry frowned at the mention of Bellatrix; the Death Eaters still considered her one of them.

"Are they in Britain?" Robinson asked.

"Yes," Rastaban replied.

"What's Rookwood planning?" Mackenzie asked, and Rastaban grinned as he replied.

"He's going to use a ritualized potion to infuse a fatal poison into every muggle within a thousand kilometres," Lestrange said.

A glow brightened from the Death Eater's chest, visible through the smock, and ended in a dull flash. Harry blinked to try and readjust his eyesight back to the gloom of the prison as Rastaban Lestrange's form flopped lifelessly onto the metal floor.

"No! Fuck!" Robards said and he slammed his hand against cell bar; clearly, Rastaban Lestrange was dead.

"What just happened?" Harry asked.

"Unbreakable vow," Robinson said as he stared at the corpse.

"I'm sorry, I-I didn't know," Mackenzie said.

"Fucking twat," Robards said.

"How could I have known?" Mackenzie said. Harry felt for his trainer; it was definitely on the list of questions they intended to ask, and Rastaban had had no choice with the veritaserum, though from his reaction, he probably would have chosen to answer anyway.

"Not you, Rookwood," Robards said, "He's a former Unspeakable. He knew we would eventually ask that question."

"Given that or the rest of his life with the dementors, it makes sense," Harry thought, "still, we could have at least got something out of him. Fuck, we should have asked him if he was under an Unbreakable Vow first, then we could have been more careful."

Harry couldn't help but think Dawlish would have not made the same mistake. The acting Head Auror thumped a fist against the wall again, then turned to the others.

"Potter, arrange cleanup in here, Robinson, mobilise your team to try and narrow down which toxic potions can be easily ritualized. Mackenzie, debrief."

They saluted and Harry called his patronus to light their way down the steps and back to the DMLE. The guard house had been dismantled, and now a pair of dementors hovered in its place. They parted and glided to either side as the quartet of Aurors passed between them. Back in London, Harry spent a few minutes to fill out the form to notify the DMLE of the death of an inmate and dropped it into Administration's inbox.

"Lunch time," he thought as he glanced at the clock. He took the DMLE floo directly to Andromeda's cottage.

Harry's eyes narrowed as he spotted a vase of fresh yellow flowers in the centre of the dining table.

"Harry, is that you?" Andromeda called from the kitchen.

"Yes," he replied as he approached. Andromeda sat in her usual spot, assisting Teddy with lunch. He now mostly fed himself, though quickly grew distracted and Andromeda had to make sure he finished a full meal or he'd be hungry again in half an hour.

"Hawwy!" Teddy said with a gigantic grin as he caught sight of him. The metamorph's hair turned jet black and dishevelled as he raised his hands. Harry gave him a double high five and earned some partially chewed carrots on his palm as a reward.

"How have you been, how is work?" Andromeda asked.

"Busy, eventful," Harry replied, "has Dawlish been by?"

Andromeda nodded.

"A few times," she replied, "has something come up?"

Harry nodded.

"He's supposed to stop by after lunch, if you'd like to help feed Teddy," Andromeda said.

Harry smiled and alternated scoops with her. For his part, Teddy thought switching back and forth to take bites was great fun, laughing as he ate. A knock sounded at the front door.

"Come in," Andromeda called, and Harry glanced over his shoulder as John Dawlish entered the cottage.

"Afternoon Potter," he said.

Harry resisted the urge to stand up and salute. He desperately needed to speak with his former boss about the package dropped through his mail slot, but he couldn't, not in front of Andromeda.

"Sir," Harry said, "been keeping busy?"

Dawlish nodded.

"More or less," he replied, "you?"

"Little of this, little of that," Harry said.

Andromeda alternated glances between the two of them.

"Why don't you both take a walk and talk about whatever it is you need to talk about, while I finish up with lunch," she said.

Harry grinned sheepishly as he stood, and Dawlish led the way back outside. He walked several metres down the path towards the road, and stopped in the middle of the patch of woods. The leaves had turned brilliant gold and red, but the trees still obscured the view from the road and the cottage.

"You received my package?" Dawlish asked.

Harry nodded.

"I did, and I was there this past Thursday, but nobody came," Harry replied.

"Hmm," Dawlish said, "keep trying, maybe he missed a week."

Harry nodded and debated whether to voice the question burning in his mind.

"Why me sir?" he asked.

Dawlish didn't respond at first, and merely regarded him with a neutral expression.

"I mean, I get that there's still a mole at the DMLE, but…" Harry said.

The former Head Auror crossed his arms.

"You were already involved, and who better?" he replied.

"He used an illegal method to track down your quarry," a cold voice whispered to Harry, "it would not stand up in court."

Harry decided to change the subject.

"I guess the point is moot, there isn't really much of an option right now aside from watching and waiting," he said, then he raised an eyebrow, "…Flowers?"

Dawlish sighed.

"They're yellow roses, Potter. We've known each other a long time, since Hogwarts, and we've both lost a lot of people," Dawlish said.

"Uh huh, sure," Harry said.

Dawlish shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Don't you have reports to write?" Dawlish asked as he turned and hiked towards Andromeda's home.

Harry smirked and followed along behind.


"Would you like another?" the server asked. The pretty brunette witch somehow made her green pub issued employee apron look flattering.

Harry startled from the daze he'd been in and glanced up at her. He'd arrived at O'Malley's on the northern side of Diagon a bit early and polished off a pint on his own because he'd needed the break from his life, but now Shawn was twenty minutes late. The front door opened and Harry glanced over to see the dark-haired would-be Auror straighten his robe as he ducked through and closed the door behind him. Harry nodded to the waitress and held up two fingers to indicate a pair of pints.

Harry stood up and shook Shawn's hand vigorously.

"Hey, great to see you mate," he said with a smile, "how've you been?"

"Good, you know, busy," Shawn replied, "what's with the outfit?"

He gestured to Harry's satin trimmed black and white dress robes.

"Official event after this, can't be bothered to change," Harry replied.

Shawn smirked, and they both sat down in Harry's booth as their glasses arrived. They clinked, spilling a little bit of the brew onto the table, and Harry took a nice large gulp; the start of the second pint went down almost as easily as the end of the first.

"Right. I wanted to tell you in person," Harry said, "Fawley finally came through with the exemptions to the WEA, which means you can, at long last, join the team."

Shawn's smile faded, and he sat back in his seat and frowned.

"You know, six months ago, I would have been over the moon," the pureblood said.

To Harry, it sounded an awful lot like Shawn didn't want to join after all.

"Are those second thoughts I hear?" he asked, "I thought you were dead set on being an Auror. I mean… you went through the training, passed the Trials."

"Yeah yeah, I know, but now I'm doing something else. The money's a lot better, and it has the added benefit of not having to risk my life," Shawn said.

"Really?" Harry asked, "there's no way I can change your mind?"

Shawn shrugged.

"Told you I wouldn't wait around forever. Money's money," he said as he took another sip.

"Fuck, that's a blow. We really could use him," Harry thought.

"Well… damn. Good for you though mate," Harry said, "What are you doing then?"

"You know those muggle mobile phone pouches?" Shawn asked.

Harry nodded.

"I'm selling them to every shop in Britain and Ireland, commission based," Shawn said, "also helping with researching the next improved versions."

"Hang on, the ones Draco Malfoy is making?" Harry asked.

Shawn nodded.

"That's right," he said, and he pointed an index finger at Harry, "I forgot you know each other."

"Yeah, 'forgot'," Harry thought. Here, though, was the perfect mole to find out exactly what Malfoy was up to.

"Well… what else is he doing, aside from the pouches?" he asked.

Shawn scratched his head.

"I dunno, little of this, little of that," he replied.

"Come on, I know the pouches aren't the only business he's into," Harry said, "at least give me a hint."

Shawn shook his head.

"I can't… if he found out I said anything, I'll be sacked for sure," Shawn said.

Harry leaned forward and lowered his voice.

"At least let know if he's doing anything illegal or dangerous," he said.

Shawn chuckled and held up a placating hand.

"Give me some credit, would you? If there were, I'dve let you know a long time ago. Far as I can see, there aren't any Statute breaches, and he's not doing anything illegal, at least, not that I'm aware of," Shawn said.

Harry hmmed. The image of Draco having a complete breakdown over the dead muggle girl in the prostitution den came to him.

"And how is it, working for Malfoy?" he asked, "how is he?"

Shawn shrugged.

"Pain in the arse, don't tell him I said that," he replied with a laugh, "but he mostly seems interested in expanding, which is why he's on me all the time. It's alright, keeps me honest. The commission helps."

Harry smirked. Shawn had definitely been lacking in the motivation department.

"Maybe they're good for one another," Harry thought, "though I still don't trust Malfoy…Then again, we did catch Rastaban because of him."

"Well, best of luck to you, let me know if you change your mind," Harry said.

"I will," Shawn said as he clinked glasses again, "and you let me know if there's anything you need… offer still stands."

"I won't forget, but do me a favour… keep your eyes open, let me know if there's anything illegal or dangerous," Harry said.

Shawn merely raised his glass in response. They finished their pints and Harry paid for them, then he returned to the Ministry. Ragnar IV had extended him a personal invitation to a formal lunch with many of the more influential goblins in Britain. Harry made his way to the Goblin Liason's office and knocked on the door. Macmillan, Head of International Cooperation, opened it and stepped aside to let Harry enter, and he closed the door behind them.

"Harry Potter, thank you for accepting Ragnar's invitation. Are you ready to depart?" the Fenlok, the young Goblin Liason, asked as he stood up from his seat behind the desk.

Harry nodded.

"Do I need to bring a gift or anything?" he asked.

"It is not necessary," Fenlok replied, "with agreement all but assured, thanks to the hard work of your colleagues, this lunch is mostly a formality."

Harry nodded again. He felt like there was some deeper meaning to the young goblin's words, but with his limited understanding of goblin culture, he couldn't discern it. Fenlok led them to the Atrium and then to the Ministry floos.

"Goblin Bureau Banquet Hall," Fenlok said, and he stepped through the green fire.

Macmillan followed, with Harry going last. He emerged into a large, windowless dining hall, with stone walls and incredibly detailed architecture and reliefs carved all the way up to and along the arched ceiling. Goblin sized suits of polished golden and silver armour and weapons stood on plinths set around the edge of the room. In the centre, a circular table dominated the room. Wood torches lined the walls and provided light, but the smoke appeared to vanish as it rose towards the high ceiling. Plates heaping with food sat spread out around the table, including vegetables, what looked like potatoes in cream, at least three kinds of breads, and slabs and slabs of various meats. At least a dozen goblins sat around the table, most of whom wore the three-piece suits typical of what Harry associated with Gringotts employees. Three of them, however, wore goblin armour beneath grey cloth tabards. The metal plates protecting their forearms glinted in the torchlight. Harry immediately recognised Ugluk the Bold by the purple scar over his eyebrow, seated at Ragnar's right. As soon as the fiery goblin caught sight of Harry, his eyes widened in surprise and he leaned over and started whispering in Ragnar's ear, but the would-be goblin monarch put up a hand to forestall him.

Ragnar stood up.

"Welcome, Angus Macmillan, for this celebratory feast of our long-fought agreement, and Harry Potter, for your staunch advocation for the advancement of the rights of our people," Ragnar said, "we invite you into our hall to share in this meal together, as a demonstration of our hospitality, and the unity of our cooperation."

"We humbly accept your invitation," Macmillan said, and Ragnar motioned for them to take their seats, with the floo directly to their backs. Fenlok sat next to Harry. At first, Harry thought he might be slightly dizzy from the two pints he'd just polished off, then he realised the middle portion of the table slowly rotated, which allowed all dishes to be eventually come within reach of the attendees without them having to move. A trio of goblin servants clad in white appeared from hidden doors all around the room, each bearing a large brown jug. They split up and started pouring a thick reddish gold liquid into crystal glasses. Ugluk continued whispering to Rangar as the glasses filled, and Ragnar nodded repeatedly, then held up his hand again and stood.

"A toast, to the budding integration of our two societies," Ragnar said.

"A toast," the goblins said as they stood and held their glasses up. Harry quickly followed suit. A loud bang from Ragnar's side drew his attention as Ugluk slammed his mailed fist on the table.

"Enough!" the scarred goblin shouted as he stood, "Ugluk the Bold will not share food and drink with the one who violated our sovereignty and stole from us, not until the wizards' blood debt is paid."

"You're out of order Ugluk," Ragnar said.

Ugluk pointed a finger directly at the centre of Ragnar's chest.

"It is not I, but you who are out of order," Ugluk said, "We will not be part of any agreement that absolves the wizards of the debt owed."

Ugluk glared at Harry for a moment and then back at Rangar. Harry thought for a moment they might come to blows, but Ugluk swept his crimson cape as he turned, and the other two armoured goblins turned their backs on the table and departed through a large double door at the opposite side of the chamber. Ragnar watched impassively as they left. The door shut with a resounding boom.

"A toast," Ragnar said.

"A toast," the goblins replied.

Harry, with the words 'constant vigilance' echoing in his head, feigned taking a sip of the honey scented drink. He set it down and glanced to Macmillan, who wore a schooled, impassive expression, then turned to Fenlok instead.

"What happens now?" Harry whispered.

"Now? We will vote," Ragnar IV replied from across the table, "we still have a quorum. But first, we eat."

Fenlok nodded to Harry, and they tucked in. His mouth watered as the slabs of meat steamed on his plate, and his knife slid right through them; the morsel of perfectly seasoned mutton practically melted in his mouth. He forced himself to stop after only a polite amount, though he really wanted to gorge himself. When all was said and done, the group of goblins and two wizards had barely eaten even half of the food that had been prepared.

Ragnar stood up again.

"Now that we have eaten together, we shall complete the vote," he said, "wizards are not permitted entrance. We shall return shortly."

The goblins stood and filed out through the same double doors Ugluk had departed through. Harry tried to get a look beyond, but it appeared to be pitch dark inside.

"Don't worry," Fenlok whispered, "the terms will be agreed to even without Ugluk and his followers, and it may even be a unanimous vote."

The young Goblin Liason trotted to catch up to the others before the door closed, leaving Harry alone with Macmillan.

"What was all that was about?" Harry asked.

"Hmm. There's more going on here; your presence wasn't necessary and it obviously agitated Ugluk," Macmillan replied, "I suspect Ragnar is trying to drive a wedge between him and the rest of goblin society. Now, he can say he alone delivered Wizengamot seats to the goblins."

Harry nodded. It was definitely a political move, and although he had only met the poorly dispositioned goblin a few times, Harry knew Ugluk the Bold would not stand idle after this. He picked at his food a little bit more, and, now that nobody had keeled over, decided it was safe to try the drink, which turned out to be a sweet, honey infused wine. He finished draining his glass just as the doors opened.

"Mr. Macmillan, the goblins are pleased to inform that the proposed terms are acceptable," Ragnar said. He passed a rolled up and sealed parchment to Fenlok, who ferried it over to the wizard and held it high with both hands as he bowed.

"Excellent, I shall bring word once the Wizengamot affirms," Macmillan replied as he took hold of the document, "on behalf of Wizarding Britain, we thank you for your gracious hospitality."

Macmillan and Harry both bowed, and then flooed their way back to the Ministry.


Just over a week later, Harry sat in his plum Wizengamot robes, palms sweating and heart pounding, as the vote to add a small number of Beings to the governing body was tallied. Winthrop stepped up to his podium.

"With exactly two-thirds in favour, the motion is passed," Winthrop said, "representatives will be submitted for goblins, veela, leprechauns, and house-elves within a week's time."

The black globe made a booming echoing sound as Winthrop tapped it on its cradle, and applause echoed around the chamber as the press descended on him. Harry sighed in relief.

"What a monumental achievement," Arthur said.

"I don't know how he did it," Harry said.

"Well, people were very happy the crime wave is finally petering out with the Aurors not having to patrol Azkaban anymore, and the goblin and muggle outreach is already paying dividends in terms of revenue and employment, so that paved the way a bit. Plus, the Progressives were always going to be on board," Arthur said as he rubbed his chin, "on the other side, a good number of the Traditionalists were afraid of being branded blood supremacists, perhaps with some encouragement, and I suspect another four or five may have been bought off through concessions somehow, we'll have to wait and see."

Harry shook his head. Winthrop was turning out to be quite the politician.

"Less than six months in, and goblins have five seats on the Wizengamot, with two each for the other Beings," Harry thought.

"It wasn't perfect though," Harry said, "the vampires are left out in the cold."

"True, but we cannot let perfect be the enemy of the good. I suspect the Minister will try for specific legislation addressing vampires later," Arthur said, "the problem is in order to exist, they must take or be given wizard or muggle blood. That automatically makes them Dark creatures, which… I don't know how I myself feel about it, to be honest. It would help if there was a way to create an artificial supply of blood for them… but nothing like that exists yet."

The Weasley patriarch trailed off as he internally followed his train of thought.

"He's right, it is better to take the good rather than shoot for perfect and get nothing," Harry thought, "and this is still a huge victory for Being rights."

"We should celebrate," Harry said.

He agreed to set a date with Arthur and a few other progressive members of the Wizengamot, but on his way back to the DMLE to check up on the ever-present paperwork, Ron, wearing jeans and a brown and white flannel shirt, practically tackled him as he exited the chamber.

"Thought I was going to have to leave you, come quick," he said. He jogged back to Auror Headquarters and Harry had to run to catch up to him.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"You have to see it for yourself," Ron said. He led Harry into HQ and they found an empty meeting room. Ron locked the door behind them and then reached into his pouch to pull out a torn envelope. He turned it over and a heavy ring clacked onto the table, a very familiar ring with a creepy skull engraved on it.

"Scabior's ring," Harry said.

"Read the note," Ron said as he handed a small piece of parchment over.

Harry's eyes widened as he scanned the scrawl.

I can give you Travers, but I want amnesty. 3pm today, corner of Piccadilly and St. James Street. Come alone.

"That's not far from here," Harry said, "that's not long from now either though."

"Think it's a trap?" Ron asked.

"Entirely possible," Harry thought, "worth the risk though."

"I'll go with you under the cloak," he replied.

The two of them hustled out of the Ministry and onto the streets of downtown London, with Harry hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak. About a ten-minute walk through the blustery roads and they reached the busy intersection a few minutes before three.

"D'you think he's here already?" Ron asked as he looked around.

"I dunno," Harry replied quietly. He stuck close to Ron to avoid being bumped by any pedestrians or cyclists. A ringing bell sounded over the traffic and horns, and Harry glanced around.

"There, the phone box!" he shouted, and realised Ron couldn't see him pointing, and shoved his friend towards the red booth.

They both squeezed in, and Harry managed to close the door behind him. Ron looked at the ringing receiver and picked it up.

"Erm," the pureblood said as he stared at the numbered buttons.

Harry shoved the receiver against Ron's ear, then stuck his own on the other side so he could listen in.

"Who is this?" a voice asked over the phone.

"He even sounds slimy," Harry thought as he recognised Scabior's voice.

"Err… Ron. Ron Weasley," Ron said.

"Good. You know who this is," Scabior said.

"Scabior," Ron said, "I received your letter."

"I know," Scabior said.

Harry suddenly had a panicked vision of a bundle of dynamite blowing up from the pavement beneath their feet, but nothing happened.

"So, what kind of a deal can you get me if I hand Travers over to you?" Scabior asked.

"Why don't you come in and we can talk about it?" Ron asked.

Scabior laughed.

"That's not how any of this is going to work," the mercenary said, "you're going to get a deal for me, in writing, for a reduced sentence, house arrest, no Azkaban, signed by Fawley or the Minister, and then we'll talk."

"What do we get in exchange?" Ron asked.

A moment of silence passed, and Harry thought the line might have dropped.

"The location of Travers' safe house, and the reason why you've been unable to find the Death Eaters," Scabior replied.

Harry nodded, and hoped the motion would pass through to Ron.

"Alright, we might be able to work something out," Ron said.

"Fine, I'll call back here in four hours," Scabior said.

"I don't know if we can get an agreement that quickly," Ron said.

Harry continued to glance around as best he could with his ear pressed against the back of the phone receiver, looking for where Scabior might be observing them, but it was too crowded.

"Tick tock, he's not going to be there forever," Scabior said, "you'll miss your chance."

"Fine, one question though. Why turn now?" Ron asked.

A car horn honked and Harry jammed his ear in tighter to avoid missing the response.

"I have a feeling their luck is about to change, and I don't fancy turning up with a lightning bolt carved into my forehead, if you know what I mean," Scabior replied, "they're all scared shitless of the Sevens, even if they won't admit it. If they can't even protect themselves, I figure I've a better shot reaching out you lot directly."

"Yeah, okay," Ron said, "I'll do what I can."

"Four hours," Scabior said, and the line went dead.

Harry placed the receiver back on the cradle.

"Merlin, this is huge," Harry said.

"I know, but we've gotta get to Fawley," Ron said, "c'mon."

The two of them jogged back to the way they came and took the magical phone box into the Ministry.

"Should we talk to Robards?" Ron asked in the lift.

Harry thought about it for a moment as he pulled off the Cloak and stowed it in his bag.

"No time, we'll go straight to Fawley," he said. He led the way to the office of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Harry entered the Director's office. Worn blue carpet covered the floor and a pair of simple desks sat on opposite sides of the room, with a door leading to the Fawley's office in the rear. Only one of the desks was occupied, by a brunette witch, probably in her mid-thirties, her hair done up in a professional looking bun. She eyed Harry's Wizengamot robe.

"Lieutenant Potter, Auror Weasley?" she asked.

"We need to see the director straight away," Harry said.

She paused for a second, then stood up and knocked on the rear door, peeked her head in, spoke a few words, then looked back to Harry and Ron.

"She'll see you now," she said.

Harry and Ron entered into a functional office. A vase of bright pink and purple rhododendrons stood against a wall charmed to appear as a window looking sunny, grassy field. The rest of the office was almost spartan, with a hearth crackling off to one side, filing cabinets on another, and a few empty portraits around the walls. The head of the DMLE herself, Rebecca Fawley, a still-attractive middle-aged witch with fair skin and curly blonde hair, sat behind her large, heavy desk, her mere presence commanding respect. She wore black ministerial robes with the top two clasps undone, revealing a pure white blouse beneath. A brief lay open in front of her, but all of her attention currently focused on Harry as he sat down, and he forced himself to meet her eyes.

"This had better be good, Lieutenant," Fawley said.

"Best not waste any time," Harry thought.

"We have a lead on a Death Eater safe house, but the Snatcher who is willing to give us the location wants amnesty… a reduced sentence and house arrest instead of Azkaban,"

"Who is it?" Fawley asked.

"Scabior, willing to turn in Travers," Harry replied, "we just spoke to him over the phone."

Fawley opened the top right-hand drawer of her desk and pulled out a dossier. She set it on top of the file on her desk and opened it, flipping a few pages until she found what she was looking for.

"He was one of the top Snatchers… no Unforgivables or anything really relevant other than kidnapping though," Fawley said, "you're sure he's genuine?"

"He sounded genuine," Harry replied, "we could structure the deal so he gets nothing if we don't find Travers or get anything useful from him… the problem is he doesn't think Travers will be there for long, so we have to get it done and back to him in… three and a half hours."

"The Ministry's Head Prosecutor will need to sign off on it," Fawley said, "is Robards aware?"

Harry shook his head.

"We were short of time, so thought it best to come straight to you," he said.

Fawley studied him for a moment.

"We have a chain of command for a reason, Potter," Fawley said, "I'm looping him in; you need to go through your boss next time."

"Yes ma'am," Harry said.

"Is there anything else?" she asked.

"He'll only surrender to Ron," Harry said as he gestured to his best friend.

She nodded, stood up, and led the way out of her office.

"Wait here," she said as she motioned to the chairs by the empty desk and started issuing orders to her assistant.

"Call an emergency meeting with Balthazar Billingsley and Lester Robards, then draft up a plea deal agreement for commutation of sentence from Azkaban to house arrest," she said, and then rattled off a few other terms and conditions which Harry could barely follow. She swept out of the office, leaving Harry and Ron at the empty desk, a few metres away from the now feverishly working assistant.

"That went well," Ron said.

"Yeah, I guess… not much to do except wait for a few hours," Harry said. He stripped off his Wizengamot robes and kept to jeans and a long-sleeved shirt.

"No telling when I might have to rush back out into muggle London," he thought.

Fawley returned a few minutes later, Robards in tow. On the outside, he looked calm, but a split-second glance from him and Harry physically felt the contained fury radiating from the man.

"Right Lester, I'll see you in thirty," she said.

"Ma'am," Robards said. He clenched his fist at his side as she vanished into her office again.

"Potter, Weasley, with me," he said, and then glanced at the secretary as he strode out of Fawley's office. Harry and Ron followed him back to the DMLE, to the Head Auror's office.

"Sit the fuck down," Robards said.

"Here we go," Harry thought as he took a seat.

"I'm only going to say this once. I don't give a fuck how important you think your intel is, if either of you wankers goes over my head again, I'll make sure you regret it, and then I'll see you're kicked off the Corps," Robards said as remained standing and pointed a finger at each of them in turn, "now go wait at your desks, and don't discuss this with anyone. Dismissed."

Harry and Ron stood up and filed out of the room.

"All things considered, that wasn't too bad," Ron said when they arrived.

"Yeah, let's hope they can agree on everything in time," Harry said.

He tried to get some paperwork done, but with the chance of bringing in Scabior and Travers, to make up for the previous botched raid, focusing enough to write more than his name proved impossible.

Finally, with just a few minutes to spare before they would have to rush, Ron tapped on Harry's cube wall.

"Here comes Robards," the redhead said.

As Harry stood up, the acting Head Auror motioned to them and held up two fingers, indicating only the two of them should follow. They trailed him into his office and sat down in front of the desk. While a significant portion of the surface was piled high with parchment, the centre remained clear, in contrast to Dawlish, except for a single rolled up parchment, sealed with purple wax.

"Right, since this is need to know, and he reached out to you Weasley, you're going in alone. Potter's backup, but I want you out of sight," Robards said.

Harry's eyes widened in alarm; Ron would be alone and exposed.

"Out of sight…" he thought, and he nodded.

"Understood sir," Harry said.

Robards handed the scroll to Ron.

"House arrest and reduced sentence in exchange for Travers' location, with a bonus if he provides useful intelligence. For Scabior's eyes only," he said, "he only needs to sign it."

Ron nodded and tucked the plea agreement into his pouch.

"Sir, suggest prepping a quick-response team," Ron said, "if we retrieve the location of Travers' safe house, we may need to move quickly."

The acting Head Auror sneered.

"Think this is my first day on the job Weasley? Stick to your role, let me worry about mine," Robards replied, "any other questions? No? Get going, you have twenty minutes to make the meet."

Harry and Ron saluted and jogged out of the DMLE. Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak on in the privacy of the lift and Ron sent him a knowing smirk; of course, he'd had exactly the same thought.

They exited the Ministry and into downtown London, now lit with street lamps and floodlights on the landmarks. Rush hour traffic honked and pedestrians and cyclists dodged this way and that through the rapidly deepening dusk. Harry stayed right on Ron's heels to avoid getting run over by one of the weaving cyclists.

They made it with a few minutes to spare, but the pay phone started ringing almost immediately.

"You're early," Scabior said as Ron picked up, "I take it you have good news then?"

"Yeah," Ron said, still a bit out of breath, "I have the deal with me, house arrest in exchange for Travers. Fawley signed off."

"You'll pardon me if I don't take your word for it," Scabior said, "step out of the box and hold it up under the light of that street lamp."

"Err… Only you're supposed to open it," Ron said.

"Why, so it can blow up in my face or knock me out? Open it, unfurl it, and hold it up under the street light next to the phone box and face across the street, or I'm gone," Scabior said.

"Across the street…" Harry thought, "he must be inside the building."

Ron's finger hovered over the wax seal as Harry squinted up through the cloak to try and get a view through the windows of the three-story stone structure. Ron unfurled the single page parchment without issue, and held it up under the street light as instructed. In the flash of headlights from a turning car, Harry spotted the dark-haired Snatcher perched on the edge of the roof, a pair of ominoculars in front of his eyes, but then he vanished. The phone started ringing again, and Harry listened in as Ron answered.

"Looks good, I'm coming down," Scabior said, then he hung up.

A lorry rumbled by and the Snatcher appeared on the street after it passed, hair still long but looking very muggle in a leather jacket and dark jeans. He waited for a break in traffic, casual as ever with hands in pockets, then trotted across the road, and stopped a few feet away from Ron. They paused and stared at each other for a few seconds.

"Did you bring a quill?" Scabior asked.

"Err," Ron said.

"Fucking Ministry, competent as ever," the Snatcher muttered as he took a few steps, produced a ball point pen from an inside pocket, and snatched the agreement from Ron's limp hand.

He signed it quickly and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

"Right, how do we want to do this?" he asked, as he looked over his shoulder, "and let's be quick about it, if anyone sees us together, I'm fucked."

"We'll bring you in to the DMLE under disillusionment and interview you there," Ron said.

"We?" Scabior asked.

"Don't worry about it," Ron said, "hand over your wand."

"Not until we're safe inside your headquarters," Scabior said as he looked around again, "come on, let's get on with it."

With all the muggles around, Ron couldn't disillusion Scabior until they reached the Ministry entrance at the phone box, which had a notice-me-not charm on it. Scabior went first, followed closely by Ron and Harry.

"Straight," Ron said, "turn left here."

Scabior must have been in front of him.

"Level two," he said in the lift.

"I know where the fuck it is," Scabior whispered.

They walked into the DMLE and into an interrogation room.

"Right, wand," Ron said as the disillusionment sprayed off of Scabior. The Snatcher produced a thick wand and placed it on the table.

Ron produced a probity probe from his pouch and ran it over Scabior, who pulled out a mokeskin pouch and a mobile phone in a magic proof pouch, the same as Harry had. He breathed a sigh as Ron picked the wand up, then Harry quickly exited the room and jogged down to Robards' office, removing his cloak on the way. The door was open and Harry knocked on the door frame.

"We got him," he said, "he's in interview room three now, with Ron."

Robards stood up.

"Good work, what's the location?" he asked.

"I dunno, I came to tell you first," Harry said.

Robards circled around the desk and Harry exited to lead the way back to the interrogation room, only to nearly run into Ron walking the opposite direction with a scrap of parchment in his hand.

"It's here, are we ready to go?" he asked.

Robards took the address from him and scanned it. He looked over his shoulder.

"Katherine," he said and the personal assistant looked up from her work, "Auror guard on interrogation room three. No one goes in or out."

She nodded in response.

"He said he'd only talk to me," Ron said.

"Later," Robards said, "we're going to get this fucker. Better hope this isn't a wild kneazle chase, Weasley."

He handed the address back to Ron.

"Find out where this is," he said, "Potter, pull the rest of your team together for a briefing in room one."

Fifteen minutes later, Harry's team sat in the meeting room with Robinson's team, who Robards had also included, along with three satchels with twelve stones between them. A large map of England was currently projected at the front of the room.

"Alright Weasley, where is it?" Robards asked.

Ron cleared his throat.

"Right," he said as he stepped up to the magical map, "err, it's here, in a place called Lower Whitley."

He gestured with his wand and the map zoomed in.

"That's near Barnton, isn't it?" Robards asked.

"Err, yes, only a few kilometres away," Ron replied. The map continued to zoom.

"Hmm. Right, that the house?" the Head Auror asked.

Ron nodded.

"Too far to walk, we'll take brooms from the Ministry floo," Robards said, and he turned to address the rest of the group, "this is a time critical mission. We have intelligence on the safe house of Anton Travers. This is your chance at redemption after the last botched raid."

A few murmurs broke out but Robards ignored them as he pointed to the map.

"We take the DMLE exit point in Barton, and then fly up to this rally point, disillusioned. Final approach is on foot. Robinson, your team is perimeter and wards, Potter, you get the Death Eater. Try not to kill him this time. Any questions? No? Good, get your gear and let's go."

Several minutes later, Harry guided his invisible broom through the darkness, following the streetlights of the muggle road below. He set down into a small field off the country road and waited as others landed.

"Ron? Liz? Matt?" Harry asked, and each responded in turn.

"Potter, Robinson, your teams here?" Robards asked in the darkness.

"Yes sir," Harry replied, as did Robinson.

"Right, let's go," Robards said.

Disillusioned, eleven Aurors walked up the deserted country road. There were no street lights here, and the animals had gone quiet in the chilly darkness. Harry approached the house, a small, run down brick structure with creepers growing up the walls, though looks could be deceiving when it came to wizards and buildings.

"Hold here," Robards whispered as he waved his wand in an intricate pattern, "No wards. Robinson, three minutes to get the stones up, Potter, your team is on breach."

"Matt, cover the air," Harry said. He heard Wilson kick off.

He set his broom down and counted the seconds to give Robinson's team the time they needed to get the ward stones in place and prevent apparition or portkeys.

"Let's go, stay with me," Harry whispered. He felt more than heard Ron and Liz nodding to him.

He carefully stepped up the rotted wooden porch attached to the building. Disillusion sprayed away in a dark mist as Harry held up a protego while Ron aimed at the door.

"Reducto!" Ron said, and the weak frame splintered as it shattered into the house.

"Aurors, drop your wands!" Harry shouted. There were no lights, and Liz conjured a silent lumos and tossed the ball inside, forcing Harry to squint against its radiance.

"Hominem revelio," he thought. The wave of detection pulsed out from him, and he only felt Matt in the air above, Ron and Liz, and one other, in the cellar.

He pointed downwards as they crept into the main foyer; it looked like this dwelling had not been magically enlarged. Mud and dirt caked the floor; the entire place was filthy, with dirty plates and glasses left on every available surface. He checked his grip on his wand and slowly moved into the home, keeping his protego active, every sense alert to duck a trap at his shoes peeled off the floor at every sticky step. He came to a door in what used to be a kitchen, and assumed it led down to the cellar.

"Invenies felis," he whispered, but there were no charms on the door or the handle. With a tentative hand, ready to leap backwards, he pressed the latch down. The door creaked as it opened a crack, then banged as it slammed open. Dark wings buffeted Harry and he fell back as several flying creatures streaked out of the cellar, dodged the hasty hexes from Ron and Liz, and flew through the open door and into the night.

"Fuck," Harry said, "were those bats?"

"Yeah," Ron said. A trio of cracks, apparition, echoed from outside the house.

"Vampires," Ron said, "that's why they didn't show on the revelio."

Ron extended a hand to help him to his feet, and Harry threw a light down rickety steps into the cellar. The smell of mildew greeted him, and water wept from one of the walls into a drainage ditch, but as he descended, he picked up a familiar coppery scent, along with wet, ragged wheezing sound. Harry raced into the basement to see a tall, thin wizard, Anton Travers, stripped to the waist, and bound with transfigured manacles to the floor just as Amycus Carrow had been, a bloody double-seven lightning bolt already carved into his forehead. Unlike Carrow though, Travers was still very much alive, and bled freely from several wounds on his arms and legs. The worst injury by far was a gaping hole torn from his neck, and droplets of blood sprayed from his ruptured windpipe as he struggled to breathe. The Death Eater's eyes widened in recognition as he spotted Harry, who ran past several discarded and empty bottles and skidded to his knees in front of Travers.

"So much blood," Harry thought as the pool rapidly spread around them.

"Episky," Harry said as he aimed a wand at the man's throat, "shit, Liz, it didn't do a damn thing!"

Liz was at his side then and focused green healing magic on wound as Travers continued to wheeze, but the flesh barely knitted.

"At this rate, he'll be dead in a minute or less," Harry thought.

"Blood replenishers again," Ron said as he kicked one of the empty bottles.

"He's had too many, healing magic won't work," Liz said as she continued to focus.

Harry pressed his palm directly onto Travers' throat, and he looked into the Death Eater's panicked grey eyes as the man tried to speak, but only succeeding in mouthing words as more blood sprayed from the hole in his neck.

"Look at me," Harry said as he poured every ounce of willpower into his next words, "it's fatal, we can't save you. For Merlin's sake, don't fight me. Do something decent before you die."

Harry aimed his wand. He didn't know what the effect of using legilimency on someone while they died would be, but it was worth the chance. As he breathed in to cast the spell though, a silvery liquid appeared at Travers' temple, and Harry recognised it as surely as he did at the boathouse, when Snape had done the exact same thing just before he died. Harry abandoned the mind-reading spell and carefully tugged the memory out with the tip of his wand, and Ron held an evidence jar out. Harry tapped the memory in, and looked back just in time to see the light go out of Travers' eyes. The Death Eater collapsed backwards and gave off one last rattling gurgle, his grey hair soaking into a pool of his own blood. Harry looked down at his hands, completely covered in slick blood, coating his wand, soaking his robes, and he swallowed to keep the bile down.

"What in Merlin's name…" Liz said quietly.

Harry stared at the body for a few seconds, and then training took over.

"Clear!" he shouted, and the call was echoed from other areas of the safe house.

"Let's go see Robards," Harry said. Ron nodded and followed him up the cellar. They passed by Robinson on the way, and Harry ran into Wilson just outside the front door.

"Did you manage to stun any of them?" Harry asked.

"We didn't. It was bloody dark, couldn't see a damn thing," Wilson said.

"It's okay," Harry said as he patted him on the shoulder. It wasn't until after he had passed that he realised he left a bloody handprint on Matt's robes.

"Whatever," Harry thought.

"Sir, Travers is dead, killed by the Sevens," Harry said, "I think there were three vampires inside, maybe they're the Sevens. Travers couldn't speak, but he gave this memory to me before he died."

Robards looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he nodded.

"My office, double time," he said.

Harry retrieved his broom and the three of them apparated to London. Harry drew some stares as he walked through the DMLE covered in blood, but he could not care less. He paused to make sure the interrogation room with Scabior was still covered, then entered Robards' office. The Pensieve already sat out on its rails, ready for use.

"Let's see what we've got," the acting Head Auror said.

Ron closed the door behind them and dumped the memory into the bowl, and the three of them dove in.

A series of images flashed past, apparition, landing in a sunny day in a fallow field, with grey mist-covered hills in the distance. Muddy boots, a country road winding into the distance, birds flying above in a 'V' formation and calling to one another, a wooden barn, the sensation of passing through a ward, and finally, Travers' hand pushing open the barn door, with only darkness inside.

The memory ended, and Harry found himself back in the office. Robards fished the memory out of the bowl with his wand and tapped it back into the evidence jar.

"Get that to the Tracers, tell them to find out where that barn is," Robards said.

"But-" Ron said.

"Now, Weasley. That's an order," he said, "then get back in there and find out if that slimy mercenary has anything else to say."

"What the bloody hell?" Ron asked quietly as he and Harry walked past the Auror cubicles towards the Tracer department.

Harry tried to recall how Dawlish had analysed the memories with him whenever they'd used the Pensieve.

"That was recent," Harry said, "the birds were migrating, so it wasn't over summer, that was autumn. The Sevens got Travers. Maybe he's trying to tell us who they were, that they're vampires, and their barn is their base."

"Maybe," Ron said, "I dunno. None of this makes any bloody sense. How'd the Sevens know where Travers was? It was supposed to be a safe house! Think they have a mole in the Death Eaters? And how come they haven't told us who they are?"

Harry signed the form for Tracer analysis of the memory as Ron labelled the jar.

"Maybe Scabior will know something," he said.

They returned to the interrogation room.

"I'm fucking famished," the Snatcher said as soon as they opened the door, then he caught sight of Harry's bloody robes, "holy shit… I guess that means you got Travers?"

"Not exactly, he's dead," Harry replied. He remained standing while Ron sat down at the table across from him.

"Oh," Scabior said, "where's Granger and Bellatrix? We could have a good old-fashioned reunion."

His casual words didn't match his expression, though; whether it was shock or sadness, Harry couldn't tell, nor did he care.

"We ask the questions," Harry said, "who the fuck are the Sevens?"

Scabior looked at him, fear and confusion in his eyes.

"And here I was almost convinced they were with you," Scabior replied.

"No," Harry said as he shook his head.

"But… If they ain't with you, then…" Scabior said, then he cleared his throat, "Right, I'll answer all your questions, but I want some dinner first."

He folded his arms and leaned his chair back on two legs.

"I'm a bit hungry too," Ron said.

"Really…?" Harry asked, and Ron shrugged helplessly.

Harry rolled his eyes and left to find some food. He arrived at the vending machine, realised his hands were still covered in blood, swung by the loo to wash up a little bit, then bought the sandwiches and returned to the interrogation room and dropped four of them on the table, along with a pair of fizzy fritter drinks.

"Much appreciated," Scabior said as he lifted his bottle.

"Talk," Harry said.

"I've no idea who they are," Scabior said between chews.

"Any chance they could be vampires?" Harry asked.

"Vamp-?" Scabior said as he thought about it for a second, "Nahh, no way. I mean, I s'pose they could be, but I know at least some vamps are working with Rookwood. Hard to tell with the blood suckers."

"What's he doing, what's he planning?" Ron asked.

Scabior shrugged.

"Aside from kill or enslave all the muggles? Not really sure, they don't tell me a lot," Scabior replied, "I worked for Travers, who was his money man… well, he made most of the money anyway."

"We saw you exchanging the muggle cash for gold. What were they doing with it?" Harry asked.

Scabior chuckled.

"Bet you'd like to know that," he said. Harry was about to hex the git, but he continued talking.

"Rookwood was buying luck from Laklier," Scabior said. Harry got the impression this should have been a bigger revelation. He looked to Ron to see his own confused expression reflected back at him.

"Who?" Harry asked.

"Laklier? King o' the Leprechauns?" Scabior replied, "Merlin, how did you two jokers ever take down You-Know-Who?"

"Hermione would have known that," Harry thought.

"How could he buy luck?" Ron asked.

"Same way you can drink it, you ninny," Scabior replied, "the Leprechauns can move the stuff around, and none better than their king, but Laklier's price kept going up. With Travers in hiding and, well, now he's dead eh? Ain't no way Rookwood can keep up."

Harry thought about that for a second.

"So… what you're saying is… the reason we couldn't find them for so long was because of their good luck? Or our bad luck?" Harry asked.

Scabior shrugged as he licked his fingers clean.

"Maybe," he replied, "that's what I'm guessing anyway, figured I should cut a deal while I still can."

Harry stood there silently for a moment, lost in thought.

"Why'd you pick me?" Ron asked, "you could have picked anyone to turn yourself in to, why me?"

Scabior regarded him seriously.

"You coulda killed me at that muggle club, but you didn't," Scabior replied, and he shrugged again, "as good a reason as any, right?"

Harry shook his head; it didn't matter.

"We'll have to reach out to the Leprechauns, find out what they were doing for Rookwood," Harry said.

"You can try, but they won't tell you," Scabior said.

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"Because if they give up the goods on what bargains or contracts they've made in the past, they lose their magic, that's the way it works," Scabior said.

Ron looked at him, and Harry motioned him out of the room and closed the door behind them.

"We still have to try," Harry whispered, "I'll talk to Macmillan."

He opened the door again.

"Sit tight, we'll arrange accommodations for you," he said.

"I can't wait," Scabior said drily, "can I at least have my ring back?"

Harry closed the door without responding.


Harry patrolled the perimeter of the cordoned off edges of the room as Winthrop fielded questions. The press corps shouted at him, and he pointed to a reporter.

"Minister, a lot of people are saying your construction corps is taking on a majority of the outreach for muggles and construction for the Goblin initiative, isn't that a conflict of interest?" a reporter asked.

"The Disciple Institute is non-profit, and is comprised mostly of recent graduates who require employment," Winthrop said, "I take no gold for myself, and anything earned above cost is ploughed back into the Ministry budget to fund a training program for out of work witches and wizards, ostensibly to eventually be hired into the Ministry's Outreach program, though they would, of course, be free to utilise their training as they see fit."

"But Minister," Rita Skeeter said, her voice grating on Harry's nerves, "what of the rumours the ICW is considering sending a task force to Britain, owing to the increased Statute breaches your Being outreach programs have instigated? Shouldn't some of that funding go to improving obliviator capacity?"

"Obliviation is a very delicate procedure, we cannot simply hire anyone," Winthrop replied, "Rest assured, we are in constant communication with Chief Mugwump DeSoto, and I am confident the ICW will make the right decision. At this time, we believe the existing corps, which are among the best in the world, can handle the additional workload with minimal danger to the Statute, and we feel the funds are better allocated to filling out the Auror Corps, for stronger law enforcement."

"Minister! Minister!"

"That's all for today, thank you everyone, see you tomorrow," Winthrop said. Harry moved to the entrance of the room as press flashes dazzled his vision. They departed first, the shutters and flashes of cameras following them, Liz and Ron just behind. Ron made an eating motion, and Harry shook his head as he fell into step next to Winthrop. Winthrop glanced over to him and smirked as the two of them continued alone.

"Mister Potter, I don't think I've mentioned it yet, but congratulations on another Death Eater taken down," Winthrop said, "can't be many more left, can there?"

"Three, sir," Harry replied, "Alecto Carrow, Rodolphus Lestrange, and Augustus Rookwood."

"Plus whoever pretended to be Avery," Harry thought.

"Well, keep at it, we'll all be better off once they're gone for good," Winthrop said, "but I suspect that's not what you wanted to talk about."

"Isn't it an issue, sir?" Harry asked, "the obliviators working so much overtime?"

Winthrop glanced at Harry again as the lift doors closed.

"While I'm sure they would appreciate your concern, Lieutenant, we don't need to expand the obliviator corps," Winthrop said, "they're being paid to do a job, and most of the time, they're sitting around waiting for an event. To be perfectly honest, I half suspect their griping stems from the fact that they've had to earn their wages for a change… unless you think we should scale back the Outreach until more obliviators are trained, sometime next year?"

In the past few weeks since the Wizengamot vote, the Outreach Program had ramped up significantly. Wizards were now providing Veela with assistance in covering up their nature from muggles, house-elves with additional placements and removal of pests from their dwellings, and of course the Goblin Outreach via facilitating purchase of real estate from muggles and construction of new wizarding homes, which had been the pilot for the entire program.

"But surely-" Harry said, but Winthrop interrupted him.

"If we suspended the Outreach, the Beings we promised to help would certainly question whether we intend to keep our promises, and the wizards and witches currently working with the Program would be put out of work again," Winthrop said as they arrived at the Minister for Magic's office.

He paused with the door open, halfway in.

"Sometimes it is not possible to make a decision where no one gets hurt. When it comes to it, I am confident the risk of a Statute breach is worth the growth of our economy and the tighter integration of Beings into our society," Winthrop said, "Trust the obliviators to do their jobs, and if the worst comes to pass and there is a significant breach, the ICW maintains an emergency corps to back us up."

Harry nodded quietly.

"It's not an easy job, he has to constantly weigh the consequences of each decision," he thought.

"I have meetings," Winthrop said, "and if the look on your colleague's face is any indication, so do you."

Winthrop waved to Harry in dismissal as he entered his office, and Harry turned around to see Liz trotting after him.

"Come on," she said as she grabbed his wrist, "the Tracers found that barn."

Harry let her drag him back to the lift.

"Where is it?" he asked.

"Near Barnton," she said, "Robards is putting together the raid now."

Thirty minutes later, mid-morning sunlight warmed Harry's dark hair as he stood in the fallow field from Travers' memory, though thankfully the ground was not nearly as muddy. Twenty metres away, a pair of specialists clad in dark blue robes worked to bring the wards down. He squinted and spotted Patricia Williams, the dark-skinned woman who had accompanied him and Ron to the casino, so many months ago. She stood up and looked over her shoulder.

"Clear," she said, and Harry approached, "everything is down except the muggle repelling wards."

Robinson nodded to his team. Several detection charms thrummed through Harry, and one by one the negative reports came in; it appeared the barn was deserted.

"Right, Potter, you're on point," Robinson said.

Harry and the rest of his team, four in total, stacked up by the entrance. Harry reached out and pulled the wooden barn door open, only to see another door, just a couple of metres inside. The antechamber was little more than a small wooden room with two sets of doors.

"Odd," he thought.

He pushed the inner door open to find pitch darkness. The sunlight from outside only penetrated into the entrance of the building, and whatever windows there were had been entirely blocked off. Harry lit his wand and stepped across the threshold, and immediately felt a chill go up his spine.

"You guys feel that?" he asked.

"Yeh," Ron said.

"Feels like another ward of some kind," Matt said.

"Lumos maxima," Harry thought, and tossed the ball of bright light high into the room. Rows upon rows of what looked like long troughs stacked five high, well above where Harry could reach, stretched into the distance. Above them, hanging from the ceiling, were what looked like large fluorescent lights. A hissing sound reached his ears, and Harry stepped up to the nearest trough to see a few strands of some kind of root or mould, rapidly disintegrating into dust.

"What the hell…?" he thought, "bollocks, it was pitch dark in here until we opened both sets of doors! It's the light!"

"Douse the light! Close the door!" he said as he noxxed his own. He sprinted back to the entrance and slammed the doors shut in Robinson's face. As he did so, he noted a heavy muggle circuit breaker switch, just to the right of the doors.

"Can't see a bloody thing," Ron said. Harry reached out and flicked the switch with a loud clack, and the lamps tied to the ceiling began to glow with an eerie red light, which grew steadily grew brighter.

"What's going on in there Potter?" Robinson asked from the other side of the door.

"They're growing something, it disintegrates in the light," Harry said loudly, "you have to close the outer door first before you come in."

Robinson started relaying the message to his team, and Harry walked between the rows of troughs, a little deeper into the long room. The sense of something 'arriving' grew stronger and the hair stood up on the back of his neck.

The inner door opened to admit the rest of the Aurors into the red-lit room.

"Look, it's safe under the red light," Harry said as he held up a strand of the mould farther from the entrance, "these troughs are all empty. Whatever they were growing here… most of it's been taken. We're too late."

"Spread out, see if you can find some clues," Robinson said, "Williams, figure out what that ward is."

Harry followed her as she walked deeper into the barn, and the ambient magical energy in the air grew to the point his heart started to thump and he wanted to jump out of his skin.

"Here," she said as she pointed at a reddish-brown circle on the ground with a series of runic metal stones placed around the edges, "it's a ritual circle of some kind, Blood magic… but if I'm understanding this runic configuration correctly, it doesn't do anything except release magical energy into the air. One of the wards on the outside of the barn was to keep magical energy in, so they were definitely doing something with it."

After thirty minutes searching the inside of the structure, they didn't turn anything up except another two blood ward circles, and some empty pallets tossed into a corner.

"Bugger, looks like whatever they were doing here, it's over and done. They were growing a lot of this stuff, though," Robinson said as he rolled a few strands of the strange plant between his fingers, "jar it and get it over to the Tracers."

He pulled Harry aside as the teams continued searching the inside of the magically enlarged barn.

"I'm thinking about asking Robards to bring in the Unspeakables," Robinson said quietly, "I don't like these blood ritual circles at all, you have any thoughts? Seen anything like this when you were hunting You-Know-Who?"

Harry shook his head.

"I don't have a clue… but look at the size of this place. Whatever it is, it's got to be big," Harry said as he thought about Rastaban Lestrange's confession that they planned to ritualize a potion to kill millions of muggles, "so yeah, I agree, no sense in holding back."

Apprehension filled him as he watched Liz and Matt jar what little remained of the stringy mould, while Ron stood in the centre, arms crossed, looking this way and that, with a thoughtful crease between his eyebrows.

"If anyone can figure out their end game, it's Ron," Harry thought, but as he met the redhead's eyes, he looked just as puzzled as Harry felt.


Chapter 52 Trigger Warnings: Gore