Chapter 22

Harry paced up and down the narrow pathway that led to the dilapidated country home. He hadn't been home since Hogwarts, too busy going over the meager information he could find on Chester Edevane – the more he had read the more excited he had got. Somehow, this boy was entangled in this case, it all fit too well to be otherwise.

Chester had gone to Hogwarts, a Hufflepuff. He'd been a quiet boy, according to the interviews of his friends and professors included in Fawcett's case file. Muggleborn, he was lucky enough to have turned 11 the year after the war and had therefore never experienced the pain and trauma of being accused of stealing his magic. At least not first-hand. Chester had never pursued a career after he graduated, and the very next year he had disappeared. This happened to be mere months before Elle was born.

Harry's pace faltered. Alright, so it didn't fit perfectly. It was a hell of a stretch to assume that Chester Edevane's wand had cast the spell that transfigured the wreath one of his agents had found in an abandoned graveyard. But Elle's mother had been in that graveyard – that, he knew. And chestnut was a rare wand wood. And damn it if it wasn't the only lead they had.

"Ye might as well stop pacing an' come in and talk to me now" a gruff voice called out. Harry, immediately wrenched from his thoughts, spun around to face the old, weathered man that was looking at him from his front door. "John Edevane?" Harry asked, and the old man nodded his head. "I'm-" Harry started, but John cut him off. "I knows who ye are." The old man didn't wait for Harry to reply but turned and walked back into his home. Harry had no choice but to follow.

"You know who I am?" Harry asked. John walked with a limp. He waved his hand dismissively as he led Harry to the back kitchen. "I know yur one o' them. Magic." The last word was a sneer. "I'm Harry Potter. I work for the ministry for magic as an auror." Harry said, trying to introduce himself properly. John made no noise other than a groan of pain as he lowered himself onto a kitchen chair. Harry took the seat opposite from him.

Now that he was close up, he could see more of the old man. His face was wrinkled and creased, a scabbed over cut near his left temple. His eyes were bleary, his chin unshaven. He smelled of whiskey and, faintly, piss. Harry fought the urge to wrinkle his nose.

"Ye look like te others." John said, taking a swig from a flask he had retrieved from a back pocket. "Te ones who came te talk to me about my boy." John laughed then, an abrupt noise that startled the quiet early morning air. "Theys don't think I remember tha' day" John said, grimacing. Harry shuffled the papers he had brought from the ministry in front of him. "There's no record of any aurors coming to speak to you after your son's disappearance." John shrugged. "I didn't tell 'em much, other than te fuck off. Maybe not worth te report." John took another swig from his flask.

"Your son" Harry said, trying valiantly to continue his interview, despite rapidly sinking hopes that John would be of any use. He was already thinking that he might have better luck with re-interviewing his old schoolmates when the old man spoke up. "Chester" he grunted. Harry nodded. "Do you remember when Chester disappeared?" John nodded slowly. "Did anything stick out to you about his behaviour before that day?" "Hows am I to know?" The old man said. "I wasn't around, was I?" "Where were you?" Harry asked. "Been kicked out for years by then. Hannie left me after Chester got into that fancy school. Didn't tell me where she moved te. Took Chester with 'er. Never saw 'im after that." John tipped his head back and poured the last few drops from his flask into his mouth. "No' tha' I blame her." John added as an afterthought.

Bitter disappointment mingled with disgust in Harry's chest. "Well. I see that you can't help me. Thank you for your time." Harry stood up, gathering his papers in preparation to leave. "Wait" the old man said. Harry paused. "Why don' you stay for a drink?" There was something in the old man's eyes. Instinct told Harry to stay.

"Alright" Harry said, conjuring up two glasses and a bottle in front of him. He saw the old man's eyes widen in surprise. "But I won't drink that swill" he said, gesturing to the empty whiskey flask dripping on the table. Harry filled the two glasses with Firewhiskey. Harry had two motivations for this. Firstly, he really did not like muggle whiskey very much. Second, firewhiskey was much, much more potent. If John Edevane needed liquid courage to admit something to Harry, he would get him there as quickly as possible.

The next few hours passed in a blur. It turns out, John could hold his liquor. John also wanted to talk. It seemed he had not had someone to listen to him in quite a while.

"I remember the day they showed up on me door" John said, amused. "Silliest lit'le caps on. Wearin' dresses in the middle of July. Even the men! Said my boy was special…" John hiccupped. "'course Hannie didn't believe 'em. Wan'ed te call the police. Until they turned the living room vase into a parrot! Imagin' tha." Harry nodded, smiling thinly.

"My Hannie" the old man said, supressing a belch. "She was some'in. Smartest lass you ever did see. Met her at uni… 'course I dropp'd out. She finished though… go' a real nice job. Fixed her life up real nice. No one ever under'ood why she stayed as long as she did." John was starting to get harder to understand. His voice was slurring quite dramatically now. "Ches'er was around by then though… I reckon she stay'd for 'im…"

The sun had crawled high into the late February sky at this point, and John was starting to nod off. Harry, despite his best intentions, could feel the warm hum of the firewhiskey lighting up his stomach. Over the course of the last few hours, he had learned a lot of very useless facts about John Edevane's life. He had not, crucially, learned much about Chester.

"Chester" Harry began delicately. "You didn't see much of him growing up?" The old man nodded sleepily, but as the words sunk in, he sat up straighter. "Hannie knew" he muttered, looking to the floor. Shame softened the old man's harsh features. "Knew what?" Harry probed.

The old man did not speak for a measure of time. Harry did not find it necessary to break the silence. "I wasn't always in the drink, you know" The man finally said, speaking more sharply than he had all morning. "I had a sponsor once, who went over me life with me. He wanted me t' make connections. Be'ween my life and my drinkin'." Harry nodded, feeling like they were getting off track again. Something stopped him from redirecting him, however. Maybe it was the emotion in the old man's voice.

"Firs' big drop was when Hannie gradua'ed. Easy enough to follow. My wife was smar'er than me. Didn't sit well." The old man trailed off again. A thousand emotions flitted across his face like shadows in candlelight. The old man held his empty whiskey glass like it was a rope thrown to him at sea. "But the sec'nd. Tha' was the wors'. Before the' it was bad, but func'tional. Hannie knew. Kicked me ou' real quick."

John raised his head to fix his bleary eyes on Harry. They were a shade of brown that would have been described as warm on any other face. "Hannie lef' me because she knew that I was jealous of me own son."

Harry looked at John Edevane. There were deep creases drawing lines of pain down his face. But his lips were shining wet, and his cheeks were red. A drunken old fool. "Twelve" the old man breathed out. "I was jealous of a twelv' year ol'." He was crying now, blinking out tears just as rapidly as they reappeared. Harry felt no sympathy.

John looked at Harry's impassive face and turned his gaze away. He had found no pity there. Maybe that was a relief to him, because the next moment John reached into the pocket of his shirt and produced a letter. He handed it to Harry. "I loved my boy" the man said thickly. "I just hated myself more."

Harry waited until he was out on the country lane before he opened the grubby letter. It was addressed to John Edevane in neat, loopy writing.

Father.

I hope that this letter finds you well. I trust that you remember that we use owls to communicate. Or at least I hope that Hunter did not scare you too much if you forgot

Harry skimmed the letter from there. It was full of polite updates on nearly a decade of missed life. The last few lines were what he was looking for.

… which brings me to my point. I met a girl, and she's so wonderful. I want you to meet her, and I was hoping we could come and stay for a while. It would do us both some good to get out of town. If it's not too much of an intrusion, I would like to stay for a few weeks. Please let me know at your earliest convenience if that is suitable for you.

The letter did not end with 'love', or even 'sincerely'. Chester's signature stood alone as an ending. The letter was dated a mere two weeks before his disappearance. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that 'the girl' was Jessica Williams. So was Chester Edevane Elle's father? What had caused his disappearance? It was clear that he had never shown up on John's doorstep. Something in their plan had gone wrong. But what were they running from in the first place? It felt clear enough that they were hoping to hide from something. Or someone.

The letter had answered maybe half of a question. And posed at least a dozen more. Harry growled in annoyance. The firewhiskey in his veins didn't help his thinking. Harry looked up and down the deserted country lane and made a split-second decision. "Accio" he muttered under his breath, and the conjured bottle of firewhiskey flew from the house into his outstretched hand.

It was dark by the time Harry stumbled home. He was in the kitchen, trying not to make the dishware clatter too much as he searched for a glass of water. "Ridiculous" he muttered to himself, "am I a wizard or not? Augamenti" he said, holding his wand up to his parched mouth.

The kitchen light clicked on. Ginny was sitting at the table, her mouth a thin line. Harry sighed. He knew he'd fucked up. But his head was pounding, and he just wanted to go to bed. "Can we do this tomorrow?" He asked. "No. We're doing this right now" Ginny said. She was tapping her foot. She only did that when she was really mad. "It's been damn near twenty-four hours. Not an owl. Not a word. I didn't even know you weren't at the ministry until Teddy came here looking for you." Harry supressed a groan.

"I was working the case" Harry said. "From the inside of a bar?" Ginny retorted harshly. Harry sighed. "You know this isn't an easy case for me, Gin." Ginny did not stop tapping her foot. "Your son is upstairs night now, serving out two weeks suspension. And you covered for him!" Harry looked at her uncomprehendingly. "I damn well know you don't keep any Polyjuice potion in the house. Albus brewed that himself." Harry nodded. He had almost forgotten about that. He fought back a small smirk just a second too late.

"You're a better father than this" Ginny said. That cut deep. "Can't you see I'm doing this for him?" Harry asked. His voice was raised, despite himself. Ginny shot a muffliato spell at the door. "You're doing this for yourself" Ginny said firmly. Harry was angry now. How could she not see why he cared so much about this damn case?

"I'm doing it for Elle" Harry growled, slamming the door to the cupboard shut. Ginny didn't flinch. "You're killing yourself over this case. You see yourself in her." "So what if I do?" Harry shot back. "This isn't the same" Ginny insisted. She was speaking much more evenly than Harry was. "It's close enough." Harry replied. "This isn't how you fight it. Not alone. This. Is. Not. The. War."

"I WAS A CHILD DAMNIT" Harry roared. That had come out wrong. He had meant to say 'she is'. He slammed his fist on the counter in defeat. Ginny was already by his side, swiping the hair out from his eyes, sweeping his bangs across his forehead to cover the famous scar. "You can't save yourself by saving her" she murmured.

"I just want her to have a childhood. I want them all to just be kids." Harry said. The anger had blown out of him. He felt deflated. Ginny knew that by 'all' he had been talking about Albus. "He never would be just a kid. You knew that." Ginny said. There was a soft sadness in her voice. "He's too much like you." That was the crux of it.

"When they come for Elle, he'll be there" Harry said, and he sensed the awful truth in it. He was his father's son. "I know" Ginny said, worry edging in her voice. "I knew the moment McGonagall sent that letter the first week that Albus was at Hogwarts, saying that he and Elle were friends." Harry's shoulders dropped tiredly. "I think a part of me knew too. It's why I've been fighting so hard - so he won't have to." Ginny's small hand lightly touched his shoulder in a familiar, comforting gesture. "This isn't the way to fight." Harry's shoulders sagged even lower. She was right.

"I'm not ready to give up just yet" Harry whispered. "I still think I can find her, before anything gets to them." He drew Ginny's chin up so she would meet his eyes. "Please, Gin. Believe in me." Ginny nodded. "I can't tell you what to do, Harry. I can't tell you if that's possible" Ginny said. "But you're losing him", and with that her eyes wandered up to the ceiling, where Albus was undoubtably sleeping only a floor above them.

Harry felt so, so tired. "The tighter I try and hold on to him, the more he slips away." He sighed. "So don't hold on. Just be there." Harry massaged his brow. "The thought terrifies me" he mused. Ginny laughed softly. "We signed up for this when we had kids. The terror, I mean." Harry returned the light chuckle.

Ginny pressed a glass into his hand. "You were looking in the wrong cabinet by the way. Dumbass." Harry smiled. Ginny paused before she opened the kitchen door. "Don't do this to me again, Harry." She said softly. Harry could see the pain in her eyes. Hot shame burned his face. "Never." He agreed firmly. Ginny took a long look at his face, nodded once, and headed out the door.