Chapter 26
Edgar's expression was one of displeasure as Amelia entered the study, and her brother gestured for her to take a seat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk.
He said nothing for a minute or so as he read through several slips of parchment before releasing a deep breath and shaking his head.
"Four letters," he sighed. "In just a few days, I've received four letters from other Lords stating the unhappiness that you were seen with Harry in his restaurant sharing an intimate dinner."
Amelia frowned at her brother.
She did not wish to discuss her private life with any, not even Edgar.
"What's happening, Amelia?" he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Between you and Jameson."
"I don't believe that is your business, let alone anyone else's."
"It shouldn't be," Edgar placated, "but like it or not, you've drawn attention to yourself, and I need to know how I am to conduct myself in front of the other Lords. Some will not care, and others will disassociate themselves from us. I couldn't care less about that, but I need to be in a position where I can categorically tell them to bugger off. Is there something happening between the two of you?"
"Would it matter if there was?"
"No," Edgar answered simply. "I would be happy for you. I raised you from when you were ten years old, and that is all I have ever wanted for you. I've not seen you happier than you are with him, and I would never stand in the way of it. You both care for one another, any fool can see it. I just need to know if this is merely a tryst."
Amelia couldn't believe Edgar was asking such a thing, and she could not deny she felt the urge to curse him until she realised he wasn't doing so to be nosy but out of necessity.
The other purebloods were taking notice, and Edgar needed to be able to take a stance.
He couldn't do that if he didn't know what he was defending.
"I like him, Edgar," she sighed. "I really like him."
"Like him?"
Amelia said nothing, but she felt her cheeks growing warm.
Edgar offered her a smile and nodded before throwing the piece of parchment into the fire.
"That's all I wanted to know," he murmured. "You're a sensible woman, Amelia, and I trust you entirely not to do anything silly."
She nodded as she fought the urge to blush.
Amelia wouldn't deny that her self-control with Jameson was being sorely tested, and if anything, it had been Harry who had refrained from taking things too far between them.
"Aren't you going to insist I marry him?"
"Well, if you did, it would make my life easier," Edgar chuckled, "but no, of course not. Just be careful, Amelia. There are those who will take a particular disliking to the two of you having a romantic relationship."
"I know," Amelia huffed. "Lord Black said the same thing. Who wrote to you?"
"Malfoy, Lestrange, Nott, and Selwyn."
"Nosy gits."
Edgar nodded his agreement.
"They are, but they're also rather dangerous in their own way. Don't worry, I will handle it."
Amelia released a deep breath, wondering if she should mention it to Harry when he returned home.
Yet again, he'd left rather suddenly two days prior, and though she missed him more than anything else, she was worried.
As he had the last time, he'd said little as to what he was doing, and Amelia could only assume that he'd taken another job from the Department of Justice of the ICW.
He'd given her no reason why he'd started working again, and Amelia hadn't asked.
Still, she wouldn't deny that he was cut out for such work.
She had seen him operate, seen his brilliance for herself, and there were many across the continent who could sleep easier at night with Harry, whether they knew it or not, fighting their corner against the most unpleasant elements of society.
"Are you okay?" Edgar asked, pulling Amelia from her thoughts.
Amelia nodded.
"Would it be easier if I hadn't fallen in love with him?"
Her brother's eyes widened.
"Is that what this is?"
Amelia nodded once more.
"I think so."
"Then I am happy for you both," Edgar offered sincerely. "You deserve this, Amelia."
"Thank you," she replied, a sense of excitement and nervousness filling her at verbally acknowledging her feelings for Harry.
For two years, she'd been so uncertain what it was she felt for him.
He had a way of getting under her skin, annoying her to no end, but there had always been something endearing about him.
Harry brought fun into her life, and though he was often childish, mischievous, and often so mysterious, there was so much more to him.
He wasn't intimidated by her job; despite everything that had happened, he had never patronised her.
Nonetheless, it was as equally terrifying as it was exhilarating to know what it was she felt for him. For two years, she had been confused and perhaps skirted around what Harry had come to mean to her.
It wasn't until he'd returned from Canada that things had truly changed, that Amelia realised how much she'd missed him, and when he was back, she found she wanted to be away from him less than ever.
Idly, she wondered where he was now and what he was doing.
Whatever it was, it was likely dangerous, and though she was worried about him, she knew that he would be back.
He always came back, after all.
(Break)
"When you have captured this one, your training will begin."
"My training?"
Ghost nodded.
"You will see what it entails when the time comes."
His words had been ominous, but Harry needed to concentrate on the task at hand rather than dwelling on what was to come.
Athens was a fascinating city, to say the least. Since arriving the better part of three days ago, Harry had visited the Parthenon, the Odeon of Herodes Atticus, and he'd even visited the cemetery of Kermeikos, though he had not done so as a tourist, nor was he able to truly enjoy the sights.
No, Harry had been sent here to hunt a deluded Italian who believed he was descended from the gods of old and had conducted a rather vile ritual in the hopes of absorbing their powers.
Vincenzo Rossi had kidnapped 12 people, one for each of the gods, and had sacrificed them inside the Parthenon in his pursuit of power.
The ritual had not worked as intended, even if Rossi believed it had.
It had taken a dozen local Aurors to subdue the man, who had merely laughed on his way to prison.
According to the guards, his state of mind had only deteriorated throughout his imprisonment. Rossi spent most nights muttering in his sleep, seemingly planning his own resurgence when he was released.
Little did he know he was not supposed to see the light of day again but had taken the opportunity to abscond when Greyback had escaped.
It was troubling, to say the least, but the man had been rather quiet until a week prior.
Three men had been found over the course of a few days, each having been stabbed to death in the Greek capital.
Such violence was unusual in itself, but the runes carved into their bodies had caught the local Ministry's attention.
They'd deduced that Rossi was responsible, which meant that he was once more operating in the same area he had previously.
It wasn't the brightest of moves, but it was not as though the man was in possession of all his faculties.
The Mind Healers that had worked with him during his time in prison had all reached the same conclusion: Vincenzo Rossi was deluded beyond help, and now, Harry had been tasked with finding the man.
That very reason was why he was in Athens.
As much as he attempted to blend in to spot any sign of the wayward prisoner, he was anything but.
Rossi operated in the muggle world and knew it well enough to hide his presence effectively.
Harry had been to every imaginable place of interest, some of them several times since he'd arrived, and yet, there was nothing.
Rossi's presence had been noted at the places where he'd murdered the three men, but it was as though he'd simply vanished without a trace after.
Harry didn't know how he managed it, but he suspected that because he'd used no magic in his attacks, he left little behind to follow.
It was frustrating, but Harry would not give in.
Rossi would emerge once more, and when he did, he would be ready for the man.
(Break)
"Oh, you're in for a treat," Alastor growled as the rowdy Quidditch fans began filing past them into the stadium.
"That bad?" Shacklebolt asked.
"Aye," Moody chuckled. "Just ask Bones here how many times she's been spewed on."
Amelia grimaced at the myriad of memories that surfaced.
She probably would have been vomited on less if she'd become a Healer instead of an Auror.
"It's either puke or being punched in the nose. How many times has yours been broken now, Moody?" Amelia asked.
"Seventeen," the man declared proudly, but I've broken close to forty, so, the way I see it, I'm ahead."
"Is it really that bad?" Imelda asked.
Amelia nodded.
"Best keep your wits about you," she urged. "Quidditch days are some of the hardest you'll face doing this job, and it doesn't help that the Bats are playing today. They have the worst fans."
"Great," Imelda replied sarcastically.
"It's not all catching murderers, and there's nothing glamorous about what we do."
"And there was me hoping the uniform would make me more attractive."
"It does," Amelia assured her. "Just to the wrong sort."
Imelda snorted amusedly.
"Well, I don't think anyone is going to be interested in me if I'm spending my time with broken noses and being covered in sick. You're not married, are you?"
Amelia shook her head.
"No. I'm lucky enough that my brother didn't insist on it when I finished school. Given your name, I would've thought your father would've."
"No, my father isn't like the rest of my family here," Imelda explained. "He fought in the war against Grindelwald and moved to America to be with my mother. They met on the battlefield."
"Ah, that explains a lot," Amelia replied thoughtfully. "So, Titus would be your uncle."
Imelda nodded.
"My father and uncle aren't close," she sighed. "Things happened when they were younger, and my grandfather forced my father to join the ICW army. They never really patched things up, and they didn't approve of him and my mother."
"Ha, do you remember when Jameson threw Yaxley out on his arse?" Alastor interjected. "That was not a clever fight for the idiot to pick."
"Who's Jameson?" Imelda asked curiously.
"He owns a restaurant in Knockturn Alley," Moody answered. "One of your cousins decided to act like an arse in there, and Jameson did not take kindly to it. Your uncle got upset by Jameson's reaction and tried to make something of it. He ended up regretting that decision. It's not smart to cross Harry Jameson."
Imelda's eyes twinkled in amusement.
"I'm sure my father would enjoy that story. He always said his brother was too big for his boots."
"Well, if you hang around with Bones long enough, you'll meet Jameson," Alastor informed her. "The two of them are drawn to each other like a moth to a flame. Ah, the match is starting," he added, not missing the glare Amelia sent towards him.
"Is this Jameson your boyfriend?" Imelda asked.
"That is a complicated question," Amelia sighed. "Best pay attention to what's going on in there. It can get ugly quickly."
Imelda nodded and eyed her curiously, but Amelia did not elaborate on anything pertaining to Harry.
They'd not really discussed what they were to one another, and with her thoughts having shifted to the man once more, she found she missed him terribly.
Whenever he was away, she missed him, but it seemed only to get harder not to have him around.
Still, he would be back soon enough, she hoped.
It just wasn't the same when he wasn't around. It was as though something was missing, and it wasn't until he wasn't there that Amelia realised just how big a part of her life he'd become.
(Break)
He watched as the four men entered the private room he'd hired to host the meeting, each of them wearing a grim expression. They knew they had failed and that the Dark Lord was not best pleased with their efforts.
He'd given them more than a year without his interference, and they had achieved next to nothing.
"Thank you for joining me, gentlemen," he greeted them cordially, though his irritation was not easily suppressed. "Tell me, have you lost faith in my plans."
"Of course not," Lestrange scoffed. "Things have just proven to be more difficult than we anticipated. The Aurors are on high alert still, and with Leach in office, it has been all but impossible to put any of our legislation forward in a way that would gain enough support. There are too many mudblood sympathisers on the Wizengamot. We are not the many."
The Dark Lord released a deep sigh.
"I must say that I am rather disappointed," he informed them. "I expected better from each of you."
Each of the men scowled but said nothing.
"What progress have you made?"
"Well, with us having to stop the protests, very little," Nott answered with a shrug. "To the others who might choose to follow you, you are a figure in the shadows. Most don't even believe you exist."
The Dark Lord hummed.
"Then perhaps a demonstration is due," he mused aloud. "I will see to it. Have you managed to bring any other on board?"
Yaxley nodded.
"Bode is with us, as is Antonin Dolohov."
"The duellist?"
"The very same," Yaxley confirmed. "He is an excellent addition to our ranks."
"He is," the Dark Lord agreed. "What about political ties?"
"We are having to tread very carefully," Selwyn murmured. "Until we have demonstrated our effectiveness, few will take the plunge."
"Or if you can convince someone of influence," Voldemort pointed out. "What of Black?"
Selwyn shook his head.
"Arcturus will not join," he sighed. "He fought against Grindelwald, and his heir will follow in his footsteps. Cygnus can be convinced, and he has a very talented daughter who could be swayed."
"A second son?" Voldemort grumbled. "Malfoy?"
"Abraxas will not join. He would not take such a risk, but he has a son at Hogwarts who is much more arrogant than his father. Lucius could be a future asset."
The Dark Lord shook his head.
"Potter?"
"Potter and Black are as thick as thieves," Yaxley answered. "Charlus is married to Arcturus's sister, and even if he wasn't, you'd never convince him. Both he and his father fought against Grindelwald. I heard Charlus almost killed him. How true that is, I don't know, but Potter is not one to cross lightly. Grindelwald's followers feared him for a reason."
"Potter is of no concern to me," Voldemort said dismissively. "Gentlemen, we need support. If a demonstration of my power is what they need, then they shall have it. What other news do you have?"
He did not wish to discuss their failure any further.
His frustration had only grown throughout the duration of the conversation, and it threatened to spill over into anger.
"Little," Lestrange replied. "As ever, wizarding Britain remains stagnant, but that will change soon enough when we are ready to make our move."
"What of Jameson?" Nott interjected.
"Jameson?"
"Is insignificant," Selwyn snorted. "He's just some fool teaching a duelling club at Hogwarts."
"No, there's more to him than that," Lestrange muttered. "I can't quite work it out, but I'm sure I've seen him before, and I'm not remembering him for anything good. He's dangerous. I can feel it."
"For the love of Merlin, he beat Stebbins," Selwyn huffed.
"He toyed with Stebbins," Lestrange pointed out. "Stebbins was trying his best to hurt him, and Jameson didn't flinch."
"He's a mudblood."
"No, there's something about him that unsettles me," Lestrange returned unhappily.
"What say you, Nott?"
The man shrugged.
"What he did to Stebbins was impressive, but Stebbins is nothing."
"Yaxley?"
The man looked uneasy and he deflated in his seat.
"I have had a run-in with Jameson," he admitted ashamedly. "I'm inclined to agree with Lestrange. There's something off with him. He should be watched closely."
"Is that so?" the Dark Lord asked curiously.
If Lestrange and Yaxley were convinced this man was dangerous, then they were likely right.
Neither were the type to exaggerate, and certainly not show a modicum of respect to someone they believed to be inferior to them.
Whether it was done begrudgingly or not didn't matter.
Both had acknowledged this Jameson with something akin to admiration.
"What do you know of him?"
"Very little," Yaxley replied. "He's young, in his twenties, and received the very best grades in his exams. He owns a restaurant in Knockturn Alley. That's all the information that is available at the Ministry. Nothing of his family or relatives, where he attended school, or what he did during the years after he finished. He's something of an anomaly."
"Why would such an incomplete record exist?" Voldemort asked.
"It could be that he grew up abroad," Selwyn answered.
"Or that whatever records existed have been heavily redacted from the public archives. That would suggest he is an asset of sorts to the Ministry."
"Interesting," the Dark Lord mused aloud. "I would have him watched."
"Impossible," Lestrange denied. "He owns the restaurant, but is not there often, and there is no record of address for where he lives. It's as though he is a ghost when he isn't running his duelling club."
Voldemort pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Then find a way!" he instructed. "Now, if there is nothing else, I have much to attend to. I expect you will hear from me soon enough. Perhaps then you will truly dedicate yourselves to me."
With that, he took his leave of the room, somehow more irritated than when he'd entered it.
If they wanted a demonstration of what he was capable of, the Dark Lord was more than happy to comply.
Perhaps then there would be no more doubt, and others would opt to join his ranks.
If they didn't, he would find another way.
His task was already a monumental one, and without assistance from those in positions of power, it would be all but impossible to achieve his goals.
No, something drastic had to be done, and as a dozen ideas began forming, Lord Voldemort smiled to himself.
They would indeed see what he was capable of soon enough.
(Break)
The match had begun relatively subdued, and with the score staying steadily even, the crowd had remained in good spirits. That was until the Tornados had pulled ahead by fifty points, and the Bats' fans did not take the development well.
A cluster of them had started ripping seats apart and hurling them onto the pitch below.
The Tornados' fans had not taken kindly to that, and the rival factions had come together below where the match continued, and the violence had erupted soon after.
A contingent of forty Aurors and dozens of security guards had descended on the field to put a stop to the melee, and it had gotten rather ugly.
Punches were thrown along with the chairs, and it had taken the better part of twenty minutes to break the fighting up. In the interim, the match had been abandoned, and Amelia now found herself overseeing the transportation of the worst of the offenders to the Ministry holding cells.
"I did tell you it would be fun," Alastor chuckled as he strongarmed a struggling man into the arms of two other waiting Aurors.
His face was caked in dried blood from a deep cut above his eyebrow, but as ever, he was smiling after the rush of the incident.
"You're a twat!" a man snarled at Alastor as he was dragged away.
He too was sporting his share of injuries, and the Auror grinned proudly.
"He hit me first," Moody defended.
Amelia could only shake her head, though she was not spared the vicious tongue of the man who glared at her.
"Mudblood lover!"
He spat at her feet, and Amelia was taken aback by the venom in his voice, and the way he leered at her was as personal as if she'd cursed his sainted mother.
"Get him out of here!" Moody snapped.
It took three of her colleagues to do so, and the man continued to hurl his vile insults until he was taken away by the portkey.
Usually, Amelia was oblivious to the words of those in custody. Over the years, her skin had thickened to where it no longer bothered her, but the man insulting Harry in such a way had infuriated her.
"Are you alright, Bones?" Alastor asked.
Amelia nodded.
"I'm fine," she insisted.
It was clear that Alastor didn't believe her, but he didn't comment further on her apparent rage, choosing to assist the others with removing the rest of those who had been arrested for their part in the violence.
"Well, that's the last of them," Moody spoke, pulling her from her thoughts. "Come on, lass, don't let the prat get to you. Jameson is ten times the man than any of that lot, and that's what bothers them."
"I know," she sighed irritably. "I shouldn't have let it get to me."
"It's not so easy when they make it personal like that," Alastor comforted. "Want me to pay a visit to him in his cell?"
"No," Amelia snorted amusedly. "He's not worth it."
"Exactly my point," Alastor replied, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "Tossers like him aren't worth getting upset over. Come on, we'd best get this lot processed. I wouldn't expect an early night with all the paperwork we've got to do. You hear that, Yaxley? Forget about putting your glad rags on; you've got a date with a quill."
"I bet it will have more personality than the last guy I went on a date with," the woman said with a shrug. "He wouldn't stop talking about the thickness of cauldron bottoms."
"Well, you'll soon learn this part of the job is about as interesting as that," Alastor chuckled. "Best get on with it if we want to get home before midnight."
The two of them vanished, and Amelia took a calming breath before following, doing her best not to let the insult towards Harry continue to irk her, something that proved not to be so easy.
(Break)
Unfortunately for Harry, Athens was not one of the cities that slowed down when the sun set in the evening, and continuing his search was not made easier, as he'd hoped.
If anything, with the lack of children being led through the streets and the revellers having become raucous from drink, his task became increasingly difficult.
Nonetheless, he knew he would have much better luck working into the night, where Rossi was more likely to strike.
Thus far, there had been no sign of the man, but Harry was hopeful that would soon change. He couldn't quite explain it, and perhaps it was merely because he was surrounded by so many intoxicated men and women in an unfamiliar place, but there was something rather sinister in the air.
For the most part, he had been observing from afar, hoping to catch a glimpse of anyone acting suspiciously, but with Athens being a capital city full of a myriad of people, there was an abundance of them.
No, he knew he would have no success from observing.
Harry would have to be among the revellers and keep his wits about him.
Rossi was here somewhere, and he would not be able to ignore his urges with so much temptation around him.
Doing his utmost to blend in with the crowd, Harry began milling around the city centre and took the opportunity to purchase some food from a nearby vendor.
He ate as he continued to watch groups move from one bar to the next and as they slowly but surely became more drunk.
Still, there seemed to be nothing amiss, no ambient magic of which to speak, and no one acting out of the ordinary of what he would expect.
Nonetheless, he just could not shake the feeling that he was missing something, and just when he was prepared to call it a night, it made itself known to him.
It was little more than a mixture of scents on the air permeating from a table nearby, and for the briefest of moments, he found himself scanning the crowd for Amelia's red hair.
He'd gotten the merest of hints of her distinct aroma, but the second one he detected shook him from his state of confusion.
Polyjuice Potion.
He'd experienced the smell of the brew many times over the years, and it was one he would not easily forget.
He remembered the smell of it on Crouch's breath as the man bragged to him how he'd been responsible for orchestrating Voldemort's return, of how Barty had posed as Alastor Moody, fooling even Dumbledore.
The memory was one of many unpleasant that remained so lucid despite Harry suffering the effects of the Acromantula venom coursing through his veins.
To smell it here amongst the muggles was disconcerting, and as his eyes drifted towards the table both smells appeared to be coming.
Harry frowned in confusion at the sight that greeted him.
Two couples were sitting there, chatting amongst themselves, none of whom would've drawn his suspicions were it not for the smell.
Had he made a mistake?
Harry watched them carefully for a few more moments to be certain, and he narrowed his eyes as one of the women left and returned shortly after, carrying a tray of drinks.
"You sneaky little shit," he whispered to himself as what he was witnessing fell into place.
Naturally, his focus had been on the men, and though he'd not ruled out the possibility of a disguise, he'd not expected Rossi to adopt such an approach.
Harry couldn't help but respect the creativity of the man he was pursuing, and so few would've caught him.
Vincenzo had opted to use Polyjuice Potion supplemented by dosing his victim with Amortentia, and if Harry had not been caught so suddenly by the scent of Amelia wafting under his nose, he may just have gotten away with it.
Shaking his head, he looked on and listened in to the conversation and quickly learned that Rossi had attached himself to the group, claiming that he had lost his own friends in the crowd.
It was a plausible story, but the kindness of the strangers would only be repaid with the death of at least one of them.
Harry carefully looked at each of the muggles and found that only one seemed to be showing the tell-tale signs of having been administered the potion.
For a muggle, the dose would have to be minimal to prevent them from making a fool of themselves, the same way Ron had when he'd become the unintended victim of Romilda Vane's attempt to be the object of Harry's affections.
Despite the dose likely having been considerably diluted, the man continued to look at the disguised Rossi in a troubling way, and with the other man and woman seemingly preparing to leave, the delusional Italian's moment seemed to be all but assured.
"Are you coming, David?"
"No, I think I'll stay a little longer," the inebriated man answered.
"Suit yourself," his friend chuckled. "Don't do anything I wouldn't."
He received no response from David, who continued to stare unashamedly at the man in the guise of a woman.
"Would you be kind enough to walk me home?" Rossi asked. "It's not so far, and I am sure I can make it worth your while."
Harry felt his stomach turn as David nodded dumbly and followed Rossi away from the other revellers and towards a labyrinth of alleyways.
Knowing he had to do his utmost not to break the Statute of Secrecy, Harry fell into step behind them at a distance so as not to be caught, something which proved to be easier said than done.
Evidently, Rossi knew the alleyways well, and although Harry entered only a few seconds behind them, they'd already left his sight by the time he did.
Ensuring he was not being watched, he donned his cloak and silenced his feet, drawing his wand as he sprinted to catch up.
"Homenum Revelio," he whispered worriedly, knowing that time was of the essence.
In the maze of side streets, there was only a handful of people, and paying heed to the feedback from his wand, Harry ducked into one a short distance away and then into another as the presence of the duo shifted.
Knowing he wasn't far behind, his pace quickened until he caught sight of Rossi and his unsuspecting victim.
The sudden glint of silver in the darkness spurred Harry into action and with a flick of his wand, the Italian let out a squeal of surprise, and the knife he held clattered to the ground with the man's hand still grasping the hilt.
Casting a quick silencing charm to prevent the inevitable scream from being heard by others, Harry stunned Rossi and found himself confronted by a confused and horrified muggle.
"Obliviate!"
David's expression became blank, and Harry allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief.
"You have no idea how bloody lucky you are," he chastised lightly, modifying the man's memories. "Now, go back to your friends and tell them you had a good time. You're going to be feeling rough for a few days."
David complied, and it took only a few moments for Harry to clean up the mess he'd made before he was ready to transport Rossi back to the ICW, where the man belonged.
It had been a long week at best, and he was pleased his pursuit of the deluded Italian had come to an end.
All Harry wanted now was his own bed and the peace and tranquillity of his home.
How long he'd be allowed to enjoy it before his services were called upon again, he didn't know, but he was determined not to return to Athens for the foreseeable future.
(Break)
He hadn't visited Hogsmeade since he'd been a student.
He remembered trying to get Mrs Cole to sign his permission slip, and the woman had refused until he'd begun making her life exceedingly difficult.
A few dead pets later and an unexplained fire in the kitchen had changed the woman's mind, and the young Heir of Slytherin had been granted the opportunity to leave school on the occasional weekend to explore the quaint village.
It had changed over the past couple of decades.
Some of the shops he remembered fondly were no longer there, either replaced or closed down entirely.
Still, he wasn't here for a nostalgic trip down memory lane.
No, it was tonight that his campaign would get underway, and his actions would silence any doubt any had of him; those already loyal to him amongst them.
The Dark lord had been absent for so long, and it seemed that there were those among his companions who had forgotten what he was capable of.
Tonight, they would remember.
A smile tugged at his lips as he reached the village square, and as he drew his wand, it only widened in anticipation of the chaos that would follow.
(Break)
It hadn't been until after midnight that she and Imelda had finished their paperwork, and Amelia had opted to go to Jameson's home instead of her own.
After the day she'd had, she wanted nothing more than a little peace and to feel closer to the wayward man.
Where Harry was, Amelia didn't know, but missing him was somehow both easier and harder when she was here.
It was easier because she was among the things that reminded her of him; his scent, his belongings, and the memories they'd already shared here, but it was also harder for the same reasons.
"Get a grip," she huffed, though she shot to her feet as the sound of the floo being activated echoed throughout the house.
Amelia all but sprinted into the entrance hall to be greeted by the sight of the tired Harry, and she fell into his arms without hesitation.
"Did you miss me?" he chuckled.
Amelia nodded into his chest.
"Maybe a little."
"Only a little?"
She could feel him grinning, and Amelia shook her head.
"Shut up, Jameson," she huffed, poking him in the ribs.
"That's Auror brutality," Harry groaned. "I'm going to make an official complaint."
"Aww, would you like me to get you a form to fill out?"
He scowled at her, and Amelia grinned.
"What a nice way to be greeted when I get home," he sighed.
"How would you like to be greeted?"
"That's a very dangerous question, Auror Bones," Harry replied, and Amelia felt her cheeks redden.
"I wish you wouldn't do that."
"Do what?" Harry returned with a smirk.
Amelia narrowed her eyes at him.
"One day, you won't affect me so badly," she warned.
"That will be a very sad day."
Amelia hummed thoughtfully.
"Or it might just be the best thing that's ever happened to you," she said demurely, unsure of where the sudden burst of confidence she felt had come from.
He looked at her hungrily, but Amelia refused to look, choosing instead to wrap her arms around his neck and press her lips against his.
The rush from the brief interaction was unlike every other time she'd kissed him.
Amelia felt the same hunger she'd seen in his eyes flow through her, and though it wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, this time, she could scarcely control her inhibitions.
Perhaps it was the relief she'd felt at seeing him, or that she was just growing more comfortable around Harry; regardless, she didn't want this moment to stop.
Reality, however, came crashing down around her as the card in her pocket began to vibrate urgently, and Amelia ended the lustful encounter with a gasp of surprise.
"What is it?" Harry asked worriedly, noting the shift in her demeanour.
Amelia removed the card and swallowed deeply.
"Major incident," she whispered. "All Aurors have been called to Hogsmeade."
"Major incident?" Amelia nodded, changing her attire with a flick of her wand.
"I have to go."
Without waiting for a response, she rushed towards the fireplace and threw a handful of floo powder in.
Her stop home lasted but a few seconds whilst she caught her bearings, and she tapped her identity card.
What greeted her when she arrived at her destination was an intense heat, the sound of crackling flames, and dozens of people rushing around the outskirts of the village in panic, many of them screaming fearfully.
Hogsmeade was burning, and everywhere Amelia looked, people were doing their utmost to snuff the flames, to no avail.
"BONES!"
A soot-covered Grimm hurtled towards her; his breathing laboured as he fought to explain what was happening.
"Fiendfyre," he managed to gasp. "Magical Catastrophes are on their way."
Amelia surveyed the scene before her and shook her head.
"They won't make it," she replied severely.
The village was steadily being consumed by the cursed flames, and despite the best efforts of her colleagues, they were fighting a losing battle.
"They won't," Grimm agreed, "and Dumbledore is out of the country and unreachable."
Amelia spotted some of the Hogwarts professors amongst the Aurors.
"Bloody hell," she cursed, drawing her wand and sending a lunging fiery serpent backwards.
However, her efforts were merely a momentary success as it shifted its attention towards the nearby post office. Nonetheless, Amelia doubled down on her efforts and managed to prevent the fire from consuming the building as it had several others already.
This only served to anger the serpent, which once more lunged towards her.
Both Amelia and Grimm managed to keep it at bay, but it only seemed to grow stronger the more they fought against it.
With an ear-splitting screech, it inched ever closer.
Fiendfyre was something she had only ever heard of in her seventh-year Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons and during her training to become an Auror.
'Fiendfyre is as dangerous as any other spell you will come across. There is no real defence against it other than to overpower it, and that is no easy feat. You must make it submit to you. So many have died researching the magic, and very few would be willing to cast it. I don't expect you to come across it. Even Grindelwald never used the spell during his uprising."
Alastor had been so dismissive of the very notion someone would use it, and yet, Amelia found herself facing it.
Still, it fought to overwhelm the area, and though the Aurors had done an admirable job at keeping it from consuming the entire village, they couldn't hold it back indefinitely.
After only another moment, Amelia could feel herself waning, and though the serpent was no longer attempting to strike her down, its strength grew with the more damage it caused.
It was indeed and obscure magic, but Amelia would not give in.
"What the hell is that?" Grimm asked.
Amelia wondered what the man had seen, but an icy cold washed over her, and another screech of the fire caused her to gasp.
The flames slowly but surely began to dwindle, and as she no longer felt it attempting to overwhelm her, Amelia breathed a sigh of relief, her eyes widening as she spotted a familiar figure, his wand in hand as he fought the serpent back.
"Jameson!" she whispered.
She looked on as he seemed to tame the fire, and though it proved difficult, he eventually reduced it to a manageable size before snuffing it entirely.
He was visibly exhausted from his efforts, and although the building surrounding them continued to smoulder, the threat of being overwhelmed by the cursed fire had passed.
"Harry!" she called as she raced towards him.
He grunted as she slammed into his chest.
"I'm fine," he assured her. "I figured you might need some help."
Amelia nodded gratefully, and Harry sighed deeply as his gaze shifted towards the sky above them.
Amelia hadn't noticed during the chaos, but hanging eerily above the village was an effigy of an enormous green skull with a snake protruding from its mouth.
"What the damned hell is that?" Grimm snapped angrily.
"I would say that is a calling card," Harry replied darkly.
Grimm nodded his agreement before turning towards Harry.
"Jameson, is it?"
Harry nodded.
"Well, I expect there is going to be a lot of cheesed-off people I have to answer to," Grimm muttered irritably. "Thank you for…"
Harry waved the man off.
"I was never here," he said firmly.
Grimm looked at him in confusion before nodding.
"You were never here," he agreed. "I will make sure of that."
"Thank you," Harry said appreciatively. "I won't expect you home before the morning," he added to Amelia before apparating silently away.
She stared at the spot he had occupied before turning her attention to Grimm.
"Well, don't just stand there, Bones, help put these damn fires out," he barked.
"Yes, sir," Amelia answered as she did so.
"Was that Jameson?" Alastor asked as he joined her.
"I have no idea what you mean," Amelia replied.
Moody looked at her confusedly for a moment before snorting amusedly.
"Aye, it's like that, is it?"
Amelia merely nodded in response, a tired smile tugging at her lips as she remembered what she'd been doing before the call had come in.
Despite the fiendfyre and the impending fallout from the incident, she enjoyed herself considerably before she and Jameson were rudely interrupted.