"Hi, Harry." Hermione slid into the chair across from him at the Three Broomsticks. "Got your owl. What's up?"

"I got that file you wanted from Diplomatic Relations," Harry said, sliding a manila folder across the table.

"Oh, wonderful!" She opened Fenrir Grey's personnel file and eagerly looked through it. She wouldn't read it all here, of course—it was thick with background checks and performance reviews—but in the front was a summary of Fenrir's employment with the Ministry. He hired in to Diplomatic Relations, as the Hogwarts newsletter had said. After a year in the British department, he was given an assignment in Greece. He advanced quickly there and was already the immediate assistant to the ambassador, when the summary abruptly cut off with: "15 April 1959: Voluntary termination due to chronic illness."

"That was really Greyback?" Harry asked.

"Everything I've found says so." 1959. That rang a bell. Hermione dug into her bag and pulled out the letter she'd gotten from Greyback's Thief's Pouch. The year at the top was 1959. She sounded out what she assumed was the month. "Aprílios, do you suppose that's April in Greek?"

"Where did you get that?"

Hermione blushed and tucked it back into her bag along with the personnel file. "It was a legal salvage operation."

"You!" Harry shouted loud enough to draw attention from a few other patrons. "I knew it was you. You and Corbin caused so much drama at work today!"

Tonks rolled her chair back and scratched on the cubical wall between her and Harry to get his attention. "Is that Chris Corbin's voice?"

Harry cocked his head and listened to the person talking with their receptionist. "I think so."

Tonks raised herself out of her chair to look over the cubicle wall, then plunked back down. "Why am I looking? I can't recognize him, either."

"Hey, Tonks, you over there?" Chris called. "I could use a little help here."

Tonks stood and went to the reception desk. "Wotcher. What's up?"

"I was just telling Ms. Robertson here that I pulled Fenrir Greyback's Thief's Pouch for a private client last night. There was some stuff in there you guys need to see."

Ms. Robertson said, "And I was just telling Mr. Corbin—"

"Chris, please," Chris interrupted. He had pulled a pair of thin gloves out of his pocket while he talked, and now put them on.

"—that the Greyback case was handed over to the Werewolf Capture Unit when he was arrested, so he needs to take them down there."

"No, I really think it needs to be here, because this was in it." He reached into the bag slung over his shoulder and pulled out a silver flask.

Tonks took it. Her eyes went wide, and she covered her mouth with her wooden hand. "Oh Merlin."

"You OK, Tonks?" Harry asked.

She shook her head slowly. "It's Mad-Eye Moody's. Look."

Harry joined them and took the flask from her. "Oh my God."

"Harry," Chris said. His appearance snapped into place in Harry's mind; someday Harry would get used to that. "I've got about a dozen items, all more or less identifiable like that. And frankly, if I have to deal with Marolt's bullshit after how badly last night went, I may never pull another Pouch again."

"Whoa, what's this about Corbin not pulling any more Thief's Pouches?" the new head Auror asked, leaning out of his office. "It is Mr. Corbin, right?"

"Chris, please, Mr. McKeithan," Chris said. "I don't get on with my folks. And I'm just blowing off steam."

"OK, but what happened?"

"Bad pull. It was painful for the client. And honestly, they were kind of freaking me out."

"Anyone I know?" Harry asked.

"I don't divulge my private clients, Mr. Potter."

It has to be Hermione, Harry thought. She starts researching Fenrir Greyback, and suddenly the resident Latromancer gets into Greyback's Thief's Pouch after four years? You don't have to be an Auror to see that connection.

"But what's this about Marolt?" McKeithan asked. "Has he been giving you trouble?"

"Every goddamn day, just about. He is always riding my arse for something or other."

"Like what?"

"Emptying mokeskin, cracking lockboxes, whatever. Sometimes I think he's just there to wind me up. He's been on me about picking some lock for more than a month now. I've told him flat out it'll be a cold day in hell, but he just won't lay off."

"Of course a werewolf isn't going to help the Werewolf Hunters! What is he thinking?"

"Could you tell Hembree that, too? 'Cause she's almost as bad."

"Yes, I can. Ms. Robertson, get Hembree and Marolt up to my office. We're going to end this right now." McKeithan turned back to Chris as the receptionist started writing an interdepartmental memo. "The favors you do for this department are too valuable for the Hunters to be interfering. Is this why you've insisted on staying a M.I.R.A. instead of transferring to Law Enforcement? Because you'd have to help the Hunters?"

"It's definitely a contributing factor," Chris said, "but since when do you guys hire werewolves?"

"Why wouldn't we hire werewolves if they're qualified?"

Chris laughed. "Sir, no offense intended, but I'm not going anywhere unless you put your gold where your gob is."

McKeithan held out his hands. "We've got openings. Do you know anyone who'd be interested?"

"As a matter of fact, I know a lady who'd be perfect for this."

"Let's send her an owl. If she's interested, we'll get her tested. Ms. Robertson?"

Robertson folded the memo into a paper airplane and sent it flying down the hall, then took out a piece of plain parchment. "Right away, sir."

"And when Hembree and Marolt show up, send them back to my office. We're going to stop their nonsense once and for all."

"You should have heard the yelling match between the Hunters and McKeithan," Harry said. "I didn't catch all of it, but highlights included 'you are easier to replace than Corbin is, Marolt'."

"Ooh," Hermione said with a sharp intake of breath. "I bet he didn't appreciate that at all."

"Nope. It's true, though. There's maybe three Latromancers in the whole country, and Chris is the only one that'll work with Law Enforcement. McKeithan does not want to lose him, so suffice to say, Christavious Corbin is no longer a resource available to the Werewolf Capture Unit."

"Good for Chris. I hope they leave him alone."

"They're going to regret it if they don't." Harry leaned forward. "Hermione, are you OK? Chris said it was a bad pull."

Hermione curled her fingers into her palms and cradled them against her chest before she realized she was moving, the memory of the pain coming back to her. The Dementors had done that to Greyback multiple times a day, every day from May until his death in January, and it hadn't been just his hands. "I'm all right," Hermione said as Harry reached for her. "I'm just learning some pretty awful things."

"You expected that with Greyback, didn't you?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "But it's not just Greyback I'm learning them about."