Chapter 25
"Thank you for joining me, Mr Jameson," Ghost offered appreciatively. "I am going to be frank with you. When Greyback managed to escape custody, one hundred and seven others fled with him, well, not with him exactly, but they left the prison."
"Do you have any idea what happened?"
Ghost released a deep sigh of frustration.
"We were not granted permission to investigate the circumstances around the escape. It was handled by local authorities who reported that whoever was responsible undoubtedly had assistance from someone on the inside. The problem with that line of inquiry is that only those within the prison, a member of the ICW, someone on my own team, or someone of local power to the prison under their own laws of jurisdiction could've perpetrated such a thing."
"That is concerning," Harry mused aloud.
"Indeed," Ghost agreed. "Naturally, I have personally cleared every member of my own team, and I have been assured by a personal friend that the prison workers have all been cleared."
"So, that means it was a member of the ICW or a local power."
"Neither of which bring me comfort, Mr Jameson," Ghost replied. "Anyway, the reason I have asked you here is that we could really use your assistance in locating some of these wayward prisoners. We have recaptured more than half, but many others remain at large. Some of these people are amongst the most dangerous in the world, Jameson, and the first I wish you to find is the very definition of that," he added warningly as he slid a file towards Harry across the table.
He opened it and found himself looking at a picture of a rather unassuming man.
He wasn't grotesque, nor did he appear to be so dangerous, though Harry knew appearances could be deceiving.
"Virgil Van Basten," Ghost said darkly. "Arrested and convicted some fifteen years ago for nineteen counts of murder, desecration of the dead, using human remains in experimental potions, buying and selling human products on the black market, and possession of illegal ingredients. He was sentenced to life in prison. Van Basten is quite deranged, Jameson, and not of a sound mind. We suspect that he returned home to Amsterdam, but we have been unsuccessful in locating him."
"That's not the smartest move," Harry murmured as he continued reading the file.
"He is rather insane," Ghost reminded him, "and I would think the very same as you if it wasn't for this."
He placed what appeared to be a newspaper article on the table between them, and Harry frowned as he read it.
"More than fifty graves have been discovered to have been robbed in the past few months," he murmured.
"All fresh corpses," Ghost pointed out.
Harry shook his head.
"It says in the file that he murdered children and virgin women for his experiments. I would bet most of those graves contained neither."
"You could be right," Ghost replied, "but it is the only lead we have. Van Basten never left Amsterdam, Jameson, and he is nothing if not a creature of habit. It is possible he is not there, but I would like you to verify it for me."
Harry nodded his understanding.
"I will," he assured the man.
That conversation had taken place four days prior now, and ever since, Harry had found himself hard at work.
In truth, much of it had been a rather dull affair.
He'd spoken with the local newspaper in Amsterdam that had published the article and, with little more than a quick reference from the graves that had been desecrated to their various death certificates, verified that most had died older and had enjoyed marriage and children.
Only three fit the criteria of Van Basten's interest, but for Harry, it seemed to be more of a coincidence than anything else.
Nonetheless, he was determined to be able to report with certainty that the infamous man wasn't responsible.
That, however, proved to be more complicated than he'd first thought, particularly with the breakthrough he was on the brink of making.
For four days, he'd been investigating the ins and outs of the magical Netherlands and even the mundane side of the country in a bid to thoroughly prove his thoughts regarding Van Basten, and thus far, all had gone according to plan until this morning.
Harry had visited a muggle café to supplement his lack of sleep with a strong mug of coffee, only for his brief respite to be interrupted by the local muggle police entering the establishment and frantically pinning several notices up around the room.
Accepting one which had been handed to him, Harry felt his stomach sink.
"Have you seen any of these girls?" the worried policeman asked.
Harry shook his head and subtly cast a translation charm.
"No, has something happened?"
"They went missing in the night from the orphanage just down the street."
With that, he rushed from the café to continue the search, and Harry followed only a moment later, hoping beyond hope that his earlier assumptions about Van Basten had been right.
He was certain the man had fled, but given the latest development, a sense of doubt came over him.
It took him only a few moments to find the orphanage in question. He needed only to follow the stream of police officers pinning notices to every streetlamp leading up to the large secure building.
Concealing himself within his cloak, Harry first inspected the enormous, wrought Iron gates, which he quickly found to have not been tampered with either magically or by any other method.
That meant that if the three girls had been kidnapped, which became increasingly more likely, whoever had taken them had entered the orphanage another way.
Once more, his suspicions only deepened as he carefully made his way through the halls of home, avoiding the many muggles he came across.
It wasn't so obvious at first, but there was indeed an undeniable presence that didn't belong, and though Harry couldn't quite figure out what it was until he entered the bedroom the girls shared, it quickly became obvious.
Potions.
He could smell the very faint aroma of a sleeping draught and the lingering sense of excited magic.
Most would've missed it, but Harry did not, and he clung to the very frail thread and followed it.
Whoever was responsible had been exceedingly careful not to use his wand in the vicinity of the orphanage, but as Harry followed the trail he'd picked up, they'd grown bolder the further away they'd gotten.
Still, they'd not needed to cast much.
A few simple spells to hide their presence and a shrinking charm had been implemented, but nothing else, which meant that the girls had remained unconscious throughout their ordeal to this point.
It was almost two hours of following the trail that led Harry to where he found himself now, and though the magic had scarcely grown any stronger, there was something else more concerning than residual magic.
Death.
He could smell it in the air around him, along with the heady mix of fresh blood and organs.
Dread.
It filled Harry as he fought his way through the thick bushes and into an opening where he fought the urge to vomit.
He'd see his fair share of harrowing things throughout his life.
He'd watched as Cedric Diggory was murdered in front of him and even the piles of dead at the conclusion of the war.
This, however, was something that Harry would never have thought he'd need to be prepared to see.
Although they'd been hastily butchered and relieved of their organs, there was no mistaking the remains scattered before him.
Worse yet, there was still no presence of strong magic, which meant that they'd been hacked into with unfettered brutality.
Harry could only shake his head and do his utmost to maintain his composure.
The best thing he could do for these girls now was bring their killer to justice, though Harry wasn't sure his composure would hold when he caught up to Van Basten.
Any doubt he may have harboured that the fugitive wasn't involved had all but evaporated, and as he continued to follow the trail that grew colder with each passing moment, Harry pondered what he would do when he caught up with the man.
(Break)
"Master Harry isn't back yet, Miss Amelia," Helga informed her for the fourth morning in a row.
When Harry had not returned the night he'd left, Amelia had gone to work the next morning, unable to distract herself from her maudlin thoughts.
What was he doing that required four days of complete silence?
He'd said he be returning late, but he hadn't returned at all.
"He is okay, Miss," Helga assured her. "Master Harry is well."
Amelia released a deep breath as she nodded.
"If he comes home…"
"I will come to tell you immediately," Helga broke in. "I haven't forgotten, Miss."
"Thank you, Helga," Amelia offered, and though the elf did not seem to be worried about Harry, Amelia couldn't say the same.
It wasn't unlike him to be away for days, weeks, or even months at a time, but not so suddenly and not without telling her where he was going or what he was doing.
No, something was different about this, and even though it was not so out of sorts for Harry, Amelia could not ignore that niggling feeling that there was more to it than a simple excursion to Canada or something similar.
(Break)
The trail he'd been following throughout the day was a strange one; subtle, yet distinct, but also inconsistent. There were times Harry thought he'd lost it, only to find another faint trace and then the occasional spike in magic where the person he was following attempted to cover his presence.
It was an oddly effective way of doing so and would catch many out, but Harry was relentless in his pursuit, which had eventually led him to a village square several miles out of Amsterdam.
Where he was now, he didn't know, but the presence of the child killer had not been stronger since he'd first felt it.
Along the way, he had sent a message to the muggle police so that the girls would be found and buried with what dignity could be salvaged, but the end of the caper had just begun.
"The sewers," Harry whispered in realisation beneath his cloak as he felt the same presence he'd been pursuing all day below him.
Carefully, he silenced a nearby drain before removing the lid and descending, ensuring that he did not make a sound as he did so.
It smelt terrible in here, and Harry's nose wrinkled from the unpleasant waft of faeces and other human matter, some of which was undoubtedly in a state of advanced decay.
It reminded him of the inferi he'd encountered years prior, and he found his steps slowing somewhat, and hoping Van Basten had not resorted to creating any of the vile beings.
"Oh, you were all such fine specimens. Yes, you will serve your purpose," a gleeful voice spoke somewhere ahead of him. "Such fine, fine examples indeed."
The unpleasant smells only grew the further he proceeded, and as Harry rounded another corner, he saw a slither of flickering light at the crack of a door ahead.
Finally, he'd found the man he'd been sinking, and though he did not wish to enter the room Van Basten had sequestered himself within, he knew he had little choice in the matter.
Choosing a refined approach rather than blasting the door off its hinges, Harry strung together a series of protections that would ensure the man couldn't escape, something that didn't go unnoticed.
"No, no, you will not take them from me!" a petulant voice sounded, followed by a flurry of activity.
Van Basten had felt the protections as they were erected and was seemingly determined to make a final stand.
Quickly ensuring nothing immediately dangerous awaited him, Harry melted the door with a touch of his wand, and what he came face to face with was something he would likely never forget.
Strewn about the filthy room were human remains: feet, hands, arms, legs, and even a few whole torsos and heads.
The source of the smell was revealed to be coming from three bubbling cauldrons, the concoctions within a macabre brew designed for purposes only known to Van Basten.
The man himself stood at the back of the room with his wand drawn, his entire nude body covered in blood and offal, his maniacal eyes wide in a mixture of excitement and fear.
"You will not take my girls from me, swine!" he spat.
Harry had remained beneath his cloak, and with a shake of his head, he sent a flurry of spells towards Van Basten as he charged.
The spells were deflected but served as the perfect distraction, and Van Basten collapsed to the ground from the punch that collided with his jaw.
"NO!" he screamed in protest as he was relieved of his wand.
He began clawing madly at the air and burst into a bout of laughter.
"Do not worry, my beauties; the swine cannot keep me from you. You will live again, and again, and again, and again."
There was no doubt that the man had taken leave of his senses; whatever sanity he'd once possessed was no longer with him.
Not wanting to hear his mad declarations, Harry stunned him with a flick of his wand and made the error of looking around the room.
Along with the bubbling cauldrons was what appeared to be a well-used butcher's block and another table where Van Basten had been carrying out experiments with dissected parts of humans.
There could be no less than twenty dead bodies here in all, though Harry did not care to be the one to count them.
No, he'd done his part, and leaving a strong magical trace in his wake, he secured Van Basten, ensuring his modesty was covered before activating the portkey Ghost had given him before he'd left the office almost five days ago.
The room he appeared in this time was a reception of sorts, and the woman seated behind the large desk looked at him curiously as he approached, an expression which quickly shifted to horror as she saw the state of the man he'd apprehended.
"Virgil Van Basten," Harry announced tiredly. "Escaped prisoner, who will now have to be put on trial for at least three more murders. I have left a strong magical trace in a village some miles outside of Amsterdam. It can be found following this," he added, placing a metal shield similar to his portkey on the desk.
The woman quickly composed herself, though she shot a look of disgust at Van Basten before tapping something in front of her with her wand.
"The guards will be here shortly," she informed Harry quietly.
He waited only a few moments before a trio of cloaked figures emerged from the corridor behind the receptionist, and two of them immediately took the unconscious Van Basten away.
"Excellent work," the third praised in Ghost's familiar voice. "We have had some difficulty finding him. You are relieved of your duty for now, but I daresay I will have need of you again soon enough. Well done on your first successful capture. Now, get some rest. I expect you need it."
With that, he retrieved the shield Harry had left on the desk and vanished down the corridor in the wake of the others.
Not wanting to wait around, Harry did indeed activate his own portkey to return home, where he pondered all that had transpired over the previous days and showered.
For good measure, he showered again, but it was the filth on his conscience he would struggle to rid himself of and not the remains that soiled his skin and clothes.
(Break)
"Hello, stranger," Alastor greeted her amusedly. "How has it been having a mentee?"
"Not as bad as I thought," Amelia answered honestly. "Yaxley is keen and capable, so I have no complaints."
"Aye, seems as though you got a good one," Alastor replied. "That doesn't always happen."
"Is yours not so good?"
"Shacklebolt is quiet," Alastor answered thoughtfully, "but he's damned good with his wand and remains calm. He'll do well here."
Amelia nodded and almost jolted out of her seat as a gentle pop announced the arrival of Helga.
"Master Harry is home now, Miss Amelia. He is resting now," the elf declared with a smile before vanishing again.
Amelia breathed a sigh of relief, and Alastor offered her a look of curiosity.
"Was that Jameson's elf?"
"It was," Amelia confirmed. "I told her to let me know when Harry returned home."
"Harry?" Moody asked, his lips twitching in amusement.
"Don't start, Moody," Amelia warned.
He held up his hands as he laughed.
"Did he go to Azkaban or something? You seem relieved to hear that he's home."
Amelia shook her head as she closed the door to her office with a flick of her wand. After casting a few privacy charms, she shrugged.
"I don't know where he went," she said worriedly. "We were going to have dinner last week, and he received a floo call. His whole demeanour changed, and he told me he would be back late. That was five days ago, Alastor."
"And he's only just home," the man mused aloud. "He didn't expect to be away so long, so what was he doing?"
"I don't know," Amelia murmured. "I know he can disappear, but not like that, not unless there was an emergency that he'd tell me about."
"You don't think he's been working a case, do you?"
"I can't think why he would," Amelia replied. "His restaurant is never empty, and he has other businesses that make him plenty of gold."
"Aye, I've seen his house," Moody said thoughtfully. "He's not short on gold. Maybe you being out of trouble for so long has made him bored," he added with a bark of laughter.
"Do you think that could be it?"
"It might be," Alastor sighed. "Some men are just cut from a different cloth, Bones. Some of us need the chaos and conflict in our lives for it to feel right. You said yourself that his life has been a struggle. Maybe there is a part of him that needs that. I moan like hell about this place, but I wouldn't be without it. It reminds me that I'm alive and I get to help people. Maybe he's just not ready to let go of it."
Amelia nodded.
Alastor could be right.
Harry had spent his formative years dealing with the murder of his parents and would have to have been young when he joined the Hit Wizards.
Maybe it is just an ingrained part of who he is that he can't change.
"That doesn't stop me worrying about him," she huffed.
"Aye, and you're an Auror," Alastor pointed out. "Anyone you end up with will worry about you the same way. Why do you think so few of us here are married or have relationships that last? It takes its toll on those out of the loop of what we do. Long, dangerous hours, and sometimes, we don't know when we are getting home. What Jameson did is just like us but on a bigger scale. For you, the shoe is on the other foot. You're worrying about him, but I bet he worries about you too. Come on, lass, I've seen the two of you together. You both care, so you will both worry."
"He's never said he worries about me."
"You should've seen his face when he heard about the kidnapping," Alastor sighed. "I've never seen him scared, but he was terrified then. He worries about you, Bones, even if you don't realise it."
Somehow, knowing that he worried about her made Amelia feel better about everything.
She didn't want Harry to spend his days wondering if she was going to be injured or killed whilst she was at work, but knowing he cared so much brought a smile to her lips.
"There it is," Alastor chuckled, nudging her with his elbow. "Regardless of what he's doing, he's a good man, Bones. You won't do much better than him."
"What do you mean?"
Moody shot her a pointed look.
"Just because I'm happily free of the burden of the opposite sex, I'm not blind to it. You two are soft on each other. I never thought I'd see the day when you admitted it."
"I haven't admitted anything."
"You didn't need to," Alastor laughed as he stood. "The mentees have training this afternoon. If I were you, I'd make sure all my work was done. Maybe you can cut your day short and check on him."
He left before Amelia could respond, but she wouldn't deny that she liked the idea.
Knowing that Harry was home, she felt lighter, relieved of the additional tension she'd been carrying for the past days, and as Yaxley entered the office, the woman offered her a questioning look.
"Someone's in a good mood," she observed.
Amelia couldn't even bring herself to deny it or to tell the younger woman to mind her own business.
(Break)
"Have you still not asked him if he is going to come back?" Minerva asked frustratedly.
Albus released a deep sigh as he poured over the latest pile of applicants for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position for the next school year.
It was a while away before he needed to make a decision, but it had been playing on his mind since he'd learned the current professor would only be staying on for the remainder of this term.
"I mentioned it," he answered, "but things have changed since then for Harry. He may not be able to return."
"Then maybe you should speak with him," Minerva suggested. "It is not often I would advocate for anyone to be appointed, Albus, but Jameson did well when he was here. The students like him, and he knows the subject. The duelling club has been overwhelmingly successful. You see how many of them attend every meeting."
Albus nodded.
"I will discuss it with him," he assured her.
"Good," Minerva declared as she stood. "Better sooner than later."
She left the room, and Albus's beard twitched in amusement.
Minerva hadn't been against Harry's appointment the first time around, but she'd certainly had her reservations.
He'd certainly proven himself and had done so again the previous week when one of the parents had attempted to undermine the work he'd been doing with the students.
It was all they'd spoken of in the days that followed, and Albus knew he'd be doing a disservice to the school if he could not find a way for Harry to return.
He'd expressed an interest in doing so, and all the headmaster could do was ask, even if he knew he would be unlikely to get the clearest of answers.
(Break)
Harry couldn't remember a time he'd slept so well; other than the night he'd killed Voldemort. Oddly, there was something so deeply relaxing about ridding the world of the abhorrent people that roamed it, and having returned home, showered vigorously, and climbing into bed, he'd been dead to the world.
Thankfully, his dreams had not been haunted by what he'd seen, and he idly wondered if he had simply become immune to such grotesqueness that it no longer registered.
However, he'd never forget what he'd seen.
He couldn't think of a person alive who would save for perhaps Riddle.
The man had proven time and again that he possessed no humanity.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Harry sat up to see that it was almost five the following evening. He couldn't remember what time he'd returned home, but he felt rested and satisfied with what he'd achieved the previous day, even if he wished he could've caught up to Van Basten sooner.
Perhaps then he would've prevented what happened to the three girls.
No.
Harry had all but convinced himself that Van Basten was not in Amsterdam, and it wasn't until the girls had gone missing that he thought differently.
He shook his head of the questions that were beginning to plague him.
He'd learned long ago not to dwell on other possible outcomes and scenarios that had never been. They served no purpose other than to torment, and Harry had experienced enough of that to last several lifetimes.
Instead, he left the warmth of his bed and made his way towards the kitchen, pausing as he reached the doorway and was greeted by the sight of a relieved Amelia.
Without hesitation, she cleared the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him.
"Has something happened?" Harry asked confusedly.
"I'm just happy to see you," Amelia murmured. "I've been worried."
"You've been worried?"
"Of course, I've been worried," she huffed. "You left without giving an explanation and said you'd be home late. It's been almost five days since then."
"Ah," Harry replied dumbly. "Sorry."
Amelia shook her head.
"You don't have to apologise to me, Harry," she sighed. "I've known you long enough to know that you don't live a normal life. We are quite similar like that."
"True," Harry chuckled.
"I don't suppose you can tell me what you've been doing?"
Harry shook his head.
"That's classified information."
Amelia narrowed her eyes at him, though she still looked worried.
"And how long have you been waiting to say that to someone?"
"Well, I never set out to say it, but I'm not going to deny that it was satisfying."
Amelia hummed.
"Can you tell me anything about what you were doing?"
"Not much," Harry said apologetically.
"Then that's all you need to say," Amelia assured him. "As long as you're okay?"
Harry nodded.
"It's been a difficult few days," he answered honestly, "but I'll be fine."
Amelia gave his hand a squeeze and led him towards the table.
"I don't suppose you've been eating well."
"What makes you say that?"
"You never eat well when you're busy with things," she pointed out. "I would bet anything that you've mostly been living on coffee."
Harry couldn't deny it, and Amelia smiled satisfactorily.
"So, you're going to eat."
"Am I?"
"Yes," Amelia said firmly. "Don't argue with me, Jameson."
Harry chuckled and held up his hands, conceding defeat.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied, offering her a salute. "Would you prefer to eat here or at the restaurant?"
"I'm hardly dressed for the restaurant," Amelia pointed out, gesturing to her casual blouse and trousers."
"Bones, I own the place," Harry reminded her. "You could be dressed in a bin liner, and it wouldn't matter."
"And as the owner, you should be setting an example," Amelia replied. "Just because you are the owner, it doesn't mean you should lower the tone."
"Fine, would you like some time to get dressed?"
"And shower."
"Then I will do the same," Harry declared. "I will meet you back here."
Amelia nodded and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.
"What was that for?" Harry asked.
"I just felt like it," Amelia said with a shrug. "Would you prefer if I didn't?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then be quiet, Jameson."
Harry laughed and shook his head as she left the room.
Amelia had brightened his mood considerably, and it was easier not to dwell so much on what he'd endured throughout the past twenty-four hours being with her.
Maybe, just maybe, this is what he'd been missing since he'd rid the world of Voldemort.
Harry hadn't had anyone he could to turn to escape the aftermath and the years that followed. He'd been alone with his thoughts and unable to truly move on from all that his life had consisted of.
Having Amelia around made it almost easier to forget or, at the very least, have something else worth focusing on.
(Break)
"Four days," Ghost murmured. "He located and captured him in four days. Three of our own haven't been able to do the same in over a year, Fox."
"He got lucky," the woman scoffed. "If he hadn't taken those girls…"
"Jameson would not have given up," Ghost said dismissively. "He did it all without any formal training. He wasn't taught how to track, cover his tracks, or apprehend someone so dangerous."
"You tested him."
"I did," Ghost admitted unashamedly. "I wanted to be certain that it was him who caught Greyback. Perhaps I should've chosen an easier target, but it would've proven nothing. He persevered, and he did it. You saw for yourself how impressive he was when he came here. He even located you beneath your cloak and knew exactly what you were doing."
"He did," Fox conceded. "So, what now?"
"Despite his success, I would see that he is trained."
"Who's going to be given the honours of having to do that?"
"I will," Ghost declared, "and no other is to learn of it until I deem it necessary. He could be quite an asset to us, and I would prefer time to decide how best to implement him. You know as well as I do the filthy politicking that happens, and it just turns out that Jameson is going to find himself embroiled in it by his own efforts. There are many cases that remain unsolved, including what happened to us during the war and those we have our suspicions about. I would see them brought to justice."
"And you believe Jameson is the one to do it?"
"Perhaps," Ghost replied thoughtfully. "Whether he is or isn't, officially, it is best his work is kept known only to us. If any of our own are involved, I would have someone impartial uncover it. Until we are certain of our affairs, Harry Jameson does not exist in this department. Are we clear?"
"We are clear," Fox replied.
"Good, now leave me," Ghost instructed. "I have much to do."
The woman did so without another word, and Ghost nodded to himself.
Investigating his own team was not something he relished, but it had become something of a necessity.
Whoever was involved with much of the unpleasantness that had transpired on the continent were powerful, gifted, and connected witches and wizards, and Ghost could not deny that his department was rife with them.
He would have none bring his office into disrepute, and if none had nothing to hide, they had nothing to fear.
(Break)
"Mr Jameson, I wasn't aware you would be coming this evening," Elaine, one of the waitresses who'd started working when the restaurant had opened, greeted him.
"It was a spur-of-the-moment thing," Harry replied. "How are things going?"
"Very well, thank you. Just give me a moment, and I'll find you a table."
Harry nodded appreciatively.
"It's busy."
"It's always busy," Amelia replied. "Sometimes there's a two-week wait before you can get a table."
"Then Thomas has done better than I could've asked."
"Do you even know how much gold this place makes?"
Harry shrugged.
"Not really," he admitted.
Amelia rolled her eyes at him.
"This way, Mr Jameson," Elaine invited, gesturing for the two of them to follow.
She showed them to a table and placed the menus.
"Can I get you something to drink?"
Harry looked towards Amelia.
"Wine, please," she answered.
"Wine will be great," Harry echoed. "I will trust your judgement on what you think is best."
"I will bring it in just a moment," Elaine assured him.
She left, and the two of them perused the menu.
"People are staring," Amelia said with a frown.
"I know," Harry replied. "They're purebloods wondering why one of their own is with someone who is not one of them."
He'd noticed the unsubtle whispering and poorly veiled pointing as soon as they'd entered the restaurant arm-in-arm.
"That's ridiculous," Amelia huffed.
"Not to them," Harry chuckled. "I expect most of them were at the protests or support them at least."
Amelia shook her head.
"Doesn't it bother you?"
"Should it?"
Amelia snorted amusedly.
"No, but it would bother most people. I suppose it helps that you don't really care what anyone thinks."
"I don't," Harry confirmed. "Ah, thank you, Elaine," he added gratefully as the woman placed a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table.
"Are you ready to order?"
Harry nodded.
"I will have the steak, medium rare, please."
"Of course, and for you, Miss Bones?"
"I'll have the same, please."
Elaine took note of the order before taking her leave, and Harry poured each of them a drink.
"Well, here comes trouble," he muttered as he spotted a familiar and unwelcome figure approaching them.
"Have you no shame?" the woman hissed.
Seeing Walburga Black not in portrait form was disconcerting, to say the least, but Harry's irritation grew too rapidly to pay much heed to his memories of the blustering woman.
"Excuse me?" he returned evenly.
"I was not talking to you! What would the Lord of your family think if he were to see you cavorting with him?"
"Madam, I suggest you return to your table. You are causing a scene," Harry responded, lightly pressing his foot on top of Amelia's to prevent her from interrupting.
Walburga puffed herself up to her full height, and her cheeks reddened.
"How dare you address me in such a way!"
"Seeing that I own this restaurant, I will address whoever I want however I see fit," Harry replied, "and I will dine with whomever I choose to, as will anyone else who comes here. Now, go back to your table."
Walburga was in a state of disbelief, but she remained undeterred.
"Do you have any idea who I am?" she asked dangerously, a malicious grin playing at her lips.
"I know exactly who you are," Harry assured her. "You're the woman who has rudely interrupted my meal, and you're really starting to get on my nerves."
"Walburga! What are you playing at?" an irritable voice growled.
Harry didn't think he'd ever be pleased to see Arcturus Black. The man was as cold and foreboding as Sirius had told him so many years ago.
"I was enquiring as to why a lady of a prominent house was dining with…"
"With what?" Harry broke in.
Arcturus's gaze swept between the two of them, and he shook his head.
"Get back to the table," he instructed firmly. "This is none of your concern."
Walburga opened her mouth to retort but thought better of it and did as she was told.
Arcturus pinched the bridge of his nose.
"You have my apologies, Mr Jameson, but as you can see if you look around, Walburga is not the only one who is displeased by this," he said, gesturing between them.
"That is their problem," Harry replied. "If anyone wishes to make it my problem, then that is their business. I can assure you, Lord Black, I will not be intimidated or cajoled by anyone."
Arcturus nodded.
"I didn't believe you would. I am merely urging caution," he said quietly. "There are those who harbour very passionate beliefs about who should and shouldn't be together in such a way, and they are not afraid to cause trouble because of it."
"I appreciate the warning," Harry returned, "but I am not one of the other business owners around here who will be forced to close because of people's bigotry. I would urge any who think they can succeed where others have failed to think again. I do not take personal threats lightly."
Arcturus nodded in response before returning to his table.
"He's not wrong," Amelia sighed. "Some of them will try to cause trouble."
"Then some of them will learn a very valuable lesson," Harry murmured as his gaze swept across the length and breadth of the dining area.