Disclaimer: Thanks to J.K. Rowling for allowing me to take her characters for a lengthy stroll through my imagination.
Twenty-Six
A Crack in the Ice
Harry stared at the wireless set in the aftermath of the interview with the werewolf. Lost in concentration, he absently imaged penetrating the shell of polished wood to the inner workings full of tall glass ampoules, tiny transistors, and glowing filament wires which danced with the timbre of another’s voice.
Not that a magical wireless set worked according to those same principles, he considered inwardly, recalling a scene from when he’d been barely tall enough to see over the workbench in the basement at Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon had been fiddling with an amateur transmitter he’d painstakingly constructed in his spare time. Mistaking Dudley’s incursion for curiosity, Vernon had patiently explained how the contraption, which resembled a miniature underwater city like the one they’d seen at the cinema, was actually a radio.
“It allows me to communicate with other ‘hams’ throughout the entire European continent,” Vernon had declared proudly. Harry hadn’t understood completely until he decided it must have something to do with his uncle being such a die-hard supporter of the West Ham Rugby League.
Nevertheless, he’d been fascinated with Vernon’s explanation of how invisible sound particles were snatched from the very air by the skyline of tubes and wires and translated into words for all to hear. He would have given anything for a closer look, but it was infinitely safer to keep silent behind his cousin lest he be accused of consuming more than his fair share of oxygen. All too soon, Dudley found an excuse to dart away from his father’s stuffy hobbies and Harry had no choice but to follow in his orbit. Who knew what evil ulterior motive his Uncle Vernon would have attributed to him if he’d shown an interest?
Years later, Arthur Weasley had begged for a similar explanation of Muggle electronics but Molly had forestalled Harry from removing the back panel of the wizarding wireless set to use as a visual aid.
“It wouldn’t do to have the magic escape now, would it?” she’d warned with a gentle smile, no doubt protecting a household item that would have been costly to replace.
The upshot of which was that Harry still had no idea how wizards used the airwaves to communicate. Perhaps one day he’d screw up his courage to ask one of the technicians at Ginny’s workplace for an explanation. If only he could devise how to keep from coming off as a total git in the process.
“What’s got you so entranced, mate?” Ron posed at Harry’s elbow. He mimicked staring wide-eyed into the wireless until he barely caught himself from falling face-first onto the carpet.
Harry joined in the laughter as he rubbed his eyes wearily before readjusting his glasses. “Dunno,” he replied as a fragment of something skittered just out of reach. “Can’t quite put my finger on it.”
“Well, if you ask me,” Hermione suggested, “that was hardly an illuminating interview. I thought Remus had been sent to draft some hard-hitting interrogation questions.”
“He was,” Tonks affirmed. “But Kingsley was adamant that the subject would clam up if he suspected that were the case. He counted on Remus to be suitably subtle.”
“So subtle that he leaves the rest of us in total darkness?” Ron moaned.
“Tonks is right,” Harry emphasized. “We could hardly have expected an interrogation to be carried live on the wireless. That would violate all sorts of regulations.”
“Not to mention that his agent would never have agreed,” Tonks opined.
“So what was the point of this exercise?” Ron demanded.
“Kingsley got the agent to agree to allow a few, pre-approved questions to be interjected into the interview. It was a condition of being allowed to broadcast directly from Greyback’s cell in Azkaban.”
“Tell us, Harry, do you buy into Kingsley’s theory that Greyback took the fall for someone else?” Ron issued from the edge of his seat.
Hermione harrumphed, “We don’t know for sure it is Greyback.”
“Who else would it be?” Tonks interjected. “Even Remus is fairly certain of that; he just can’t prove it.”
“Right. Assuming it’s Greyback….” Hermione conceded.
To the expectant eyes trained upon him, Harry expounded, “Sure Kingsley’s angle makes sense in a general way, but it falls apart when you stop to think: what did Greyback have to gain? He’s not some deranged Hufflepuff like Umbridge “ no offense, Tonks; it’s like Moody says: there’s bound to be one bad apple. If he’s not motivated by some twisted ideal of loyalty, he would have had to be promised some sort of reward.”
“By whom?” Hermione urged.
“That’s the key question,” Harry affirmed. “Voldemort’s dead, the Death Eaters are scattered. Only the Malfoys seemed to have survived with their ruddy fortune intact --”
With quiet fervor, Tonks corrected, “Narcissa lost the most important thing in her life. You may think Lucius a cold, aloof slimebag, but he doted on Draco.”
“I agree, you can pretty much assume Malfoy is still licking his own wounds and will stay out of it,” Ron remarked. “Who does that leave?”
With a dark scowl, Harry volunteered, “Someone who was in power then and is still in power now.”
“That could be just about anyone in the Ministry,” reasoned Hermione. “Surely you’re not suggesting Scrimgeour?”
“See, that’s where that line of reasoning peters out,” Harry explained. “No, I don’t think Scrimgeour was ever a Death Eater; like a true Slytherin, he’s focused on his own personal goals to the exclusion of all else.”
“That’s not the sort of person you could trust,” Ron emphasized.
“I don’t,” Harry agreed. “But that doesn’t mean he’s evil to the core. Nor do I think he’s the sort who could have been manipulated like Fudge.”
With a sage nod, Hermione noted, “You have to admit Fudge’s truculent denial of reality played right into Voldemort’s hands.”
“But I wager he’s regretting it now,” Tonks added.
“Actually, I have my own theory about Greyback.” Harry proclaimed with little fanfare. “He’s out to save his own skin; plain and simple.”
“How would volunteering for Azkaban accomplish that?” Hermione countered.
“Perhaps he’s committed much worse crimes than we’ve discovered,” Tonks responded. “Things where the sentence would be absolute.”
“Like a mandatory death sentence,” Ron supplied.
Harry turned to face his best friend directly. “Wait, didn’t you say that if a werewolf’s bite resulted in the death of another that was grounds for execution right there?”
Instead, it was Hermione who answered, “If he’s found guilty in a court of law. That requires someone brave enough to confront him before the Wizengamot.”
“And the witness is required to identify the werewolf in question, not just his human face,” Tonks amended. ”The procedure involves choosing from a series of photographs taken during a full moon.”
“That’s no different than picking out the perpetrator in a Muggle line-up,” Harry observed.
“Perhaps in theory,” Hermione clarified. “But werewolves can look very similar and they hardly hold still for the camera.”
“Wouldn’t it make sense to Stupefy them first?” Ron suggested.
“Most spells just bounce off a werewolf’s hide,” Hermione affirmed. “That’s how they’ve managed to survive outright persecution all these years.”
“Would it be possible to drug them in some way?” Ron persisted.
“If you can win the argument that it’s humane,” Tonks cautioned. “Bear in mind that it’s necessary to have a selection to choose from so that involves getting innocent werewolves to volunteer.”
“The Ministry’s track record doesn’t exactly foster cooperation from werewolves,” Harry opined. “Let’s not forget that.”
Hermione continued, “All that aside, statistics show that the witness is most likely to remember the attacker’s eyes. So to give him a fair shot, the photo needs to capture a werewolf that has not been sedated in any way.”
“I can’t believe no one came forward to point the finger at Greyback, though,” Ron mused darkly. “He admitted to deliberate acts, not just accidents that occurred while drunk on moonlight.”
Harry weighed in with an opinion of his own. “Perhaps the Ministry didn’t search high and low, either, since they already had him in hand.”
“If you consider that most of his victims were children, you can see how it would be an uphill battle to get any of them to come forward,” Tonks provided. “Parental objection, experts who claim the best thing is to put the attack behind them, et cetera.”
Harry nodded with a grim set to his lips. “Not to mention that a large percentage would have buried the incident so deeply in their subconscious, it would take years to resurface. Remember Neville and the attack on his parents.”
“What about Remus?” Ron insisted. “He could finally have gotten justice after all these years.”
Tonks leveled a steely gaze in return. “And at what cost? Surely you don’t think such explosive proceedings could have been kept out of the press, do you?”
“Don’t forget that the Prophet is hardly known for keeping to the facts,” Harry defended.
“It would just have made it that much harder for him to keep his post at Hogwarts,” Tonks elaborated to the startled looks around her. “Yes, even with Minerva staunchly behind him and an Order of Merlin to his credit.”
“So you think Remus weighed the alternatives and decided that a life sentence in Azkaban was enough to satisfy him?” Hermione postulated. “Despite the monster’s glorified rampages?”
“I’m certain of it,” Tonks testified. “Reality made a stoic out of him at an early age.”
“As for whether it’s Greyback or not, I believe that was the major reason for including Mad-Eye as part of the team,” Harry volunteered.
“What if Mr. Anonymous’ literary agent saw through that and banned Moody at the last minute?” Hermione countered.
Harry confirmed that was highly unlikely, adding what little facts he’d been able to learn, “He spent months pouring over the particulars of Azkaban and the safety features afforded by the magic-repelling doors.”
“Ginny said there were a number of obstacles to setting up a wireless feed from the start,” Ron commented.
“But they managed it in the end,” Hermione noted.
“Yes, just as they discovered that Moody’s eye can only penetrate the metal casing of the magical locks,” Harry supplied. “It’s a very narrow view, to be sure. But by happy coincidence, there’s a small skylight that allows for a bit of natural light. When the metal furniture is returned to his cell after each full moon, our prisoner always situates the small writing table and chair beneath the skylight “ and right in the line of sight.”
Still unconvinced, Ron pondered, “What if he chooses to sit with his back to the door? Did they take that into consideration?”
“No warrior would sit in such a fashion,” Tonks pronounced with certainty. “That’s just begging to be knifed in the back. He will sit facing the door; bank on it.”
“So much preparation and there’s bound to be something that was overlooked.” Hermione fretted.
“Don’t forget the double-guard,” Harry stressed. “Two Aurors present except when one Apparates to the mainland to retrieve his replacement. That’s in addition to the Azkaban guards. Mortimer, the agent, insisted on it and Kingsley found it gave him additional flexibility about who he stationed.”
“You can’t anticipate everything,” Hermione insisted. “That’s what worries me.”
“Assume that the most unpredictable element of all was the interview itself,” Tonks soothed. “That’s why Eunice had both Ginny and Remus at her back, ready to improvise at a moment’s notice.”
“So what was supposed to be so enlightening?” Ron groused. “All they did was let the man do a bit of grandstanding.”
“Seems to me he was toying with us,” Hermione put forth as her eyes quickly reviewed the transcript. “His voice fairly reeked of triumph in places.”
“Right,” Harry latched on to the barest thread. “So he led us where he wanted us to go.”
“Wasn’t Remus supposed to lead him?” Ron argued.
“Who’s to say you can’t do both at the same time?” Tonks supplied. “That’s the key to an ideal interrogation: make the subject want to tell you.”
“How do we know he’s not purposely misguiding us?” Hermione prodded.
“Focus on any mistakes he made,” Tonks instructed. “Any infinitesimal slip that may have given away more than he intended. That’s the key to solving the puzzle.”
“I can’t see where he did that at all,” Ron muttered as he read over Hermione’s shoulder. “He was singularly smooth.”
“Not so,” Hermione postulated as she pointed to a particular line in the transcript. “Right here, see? He quickly slipped in the part about how even identifying a dead person was problematic.”
Tonks nodded as she reread the words for herself. “Now why would he be so insistent on adding that part? He’d already presented a valid reason why he hadn’t named any names.”
“But he did anyway,” Hermione added with mounting excitement. “At the very end, he couldn’t wait to mention that he’d overheard his contact being called ‘the Mistress of Pain.’”
“See?” Ron proposed. “That precisely how he’s manipulating the listeners to follow his every word. He heightens the suspense by denying us first, then throws it at us in the end.”
“You may have something there, Ronald,” Hermione remarked. “So everything was a build-up to that one revelation…”
“Only it wasn’t much of a shocker,” Ron asserted. “At least not to us. We suspected that it was Bellatrix from the start.”
Only that didn’t quite fit, Harry thought to himself. If that had been the case, Greyback would’ve had no need to mention the problems that revealing a living person could create at all. Why provide additional facts? He was inclined to think that the man had revealed too much, thus the hasty amendment at the end. With sudden clarity, Harry announced, “He only wants us to think it’s Bellatrix; the truth lies elsewhere.”
“Assume it’s someone still living,” Tonks took up the argument. “Which is what we would naturally have done if he hadn’t added in that last bit. Any ideas?”
“Not a one,” Harry allowed dismally.
“The Death Eaters were nothing but a sadistic social club,” Tonks scoffed. “Bella may have been the vanguard, but there had to be more rats hiding among the floorboards.”
“Any names?” Ron prompted.
Tonks shook her bright pink locks grimly. “Sorry.”
“It’s Umbridge,” Hermione breathed so softly they had to strain to distinguish the words.
”Sure, we’d all like to think that,” Ron allowed with a wry twist to his mouth. “But how could anyone possi--”
But Hermione was already one step ahead of him. “Tonks, does Remus keep any foreign language dictionaries in the house? A Spanish one in particular.”
“Probably,” Tonks confirmed as she scanned the three walls of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that surrounded them. Then in the next breath, she Summoned one from behind the desk with a flick of her wand.
Hermione could barely contain her excitement as she flipped through the pages. With a satisfied grin, she proclaimed, “Dolor is the Spanish word for pain. What’s more, the plural, dolores, can refer to a non-specific pain so it’s also translated as ‘woes’ or ‘troubles.’”
“Then the Mistress of Pain could easily refer to Umbridge,” Harry finished.
“Say, Hermione, when did you decide to take up a foreign language?” Ron wanted to know.
With a slight blush, Hermione asserted, “I didn’t. It was just a random fact from a conversation I recalled. Remus said that Umbridge’s mum must have been a bit of a Seer to name her such.”
“Could it just be a coincidence?” Tonks cautioned. “Ron’s right about the wishful thinking part.”
But for Harry, it had all fallen into place. Shaking his dark fringe vigorously, he pronounced, “It fits the profile perfectly. Don’t you see? Greyback “ or whomever “ sees himself as superior to everyone around him. Thus he toys with us; gives us contradictory statements, bits that he’s certain we will only misinter--”
Hermione gasped, “He even went so far as to suggest that the same person was behind the overtures he received from two separate factions. Made it sound like he was pulling our legs with the absurdity of it all.”
“Yet with Umbridge in the driver’s seat, it could very well be the truth!” Ron cried. “We’ve solved it!”
“So has Remus, I might remind you,” Tonks added.
“And none of us can prove it,” Harry groaned.
“Without proof, it’s nothing but a theory,” Hermione sighed.
“If only we had encountered Umbridge outside of school,” Ron mused. “A disgusting thought, but it might give us more to work with.”
Harry grimaced as he considered that Umbridge’s reign of terror at Hogwarts was best forgotten. No doubt, he was not the only student who revisited those events in his nightmares. Turning to Tonks, he suggested, “Did you ever run across her while you were in the Auror Department?”
Tonks shook her head. “She was too firmly tied to Fudge’s robes to ever mingle with the rank and file. Besides, even at the Ministry, it was widely accepted that nothing good ever came of attracting Dolores’ attention.”
“Wait, I may have something!” Hermione’s voice was tinged with urgency. “Viktor told me that Umbridge had once visited Durmstrang to lay the groundwork for the Triwizard Tournament. Fudge had a conflict and she was sent in his stead with Barty Crouch, Senior.”
“Of the International Cooperation Bureau,” Harry supplied. “That makes perfect sense.”
“Crouch is dead,” Ron complained. “Not much of a credible witness.”
“True,” Hermione allowed. “But they were accompanied by a third man. Viktor was certain he was a Quidditch coach, but it must have been Ludo Bagman.”
“Did Viktor actually confirm it was Bagman?” Harry stressed carefully.
“I never got a chance to ask him point blank,” Hermione admitted with a slight frown. “But who else could it have been?”
“You may be mistaken about that, Hermione.” Harry offered as the memory came floating back. “We ran into Ludo Bagman at the Broom & Bucket and Viktor barely remembered him from the Triwizard Tournament.”
The boisterous activity of the famed Quidditch pub bumped shoulders with him once again. Laughter like peals of thunder radiating from the low rafters, snatches of conversations combining into a montage of illogic in the back of his mind. Amid a roiling carpet of bodies, Bagman had spied their party from across the room and woven his way over to say hello. Viktor turned around with the friendly grin he reserved for fans, but it was clear he didn’t recognize the washed out features before him.
With a good-natured chuckle, Bagman acknowledged Viktor’s bewildered expression, “You don’t remember me, do you?”
Viktor shrugged apologetically. “Am atrocious vith names, I admit.”
“Ludo Bagman. We met at the Triwizard Tournament. I was one of the judges.”
“Of course!” Viktor nodded emphatically. “I vas bundled nerves before facing dragon; smoking vith scrapes and bruises after.”
Bagman laughed at the wry description. “You did look rather shell-shocked.”
“Like in ocean?” Viktor responded to much amusement.
“No, like in an artillery barrage,” Harry confided in a loud whisper.
”Ah, hot blast from explosion that knocks to ground,” Viktor agreed. “Very apt description for Chinese Fireball!”
After a bit more aimless conversation, Bagman melted back into the crowd.
“He look a lot different during tournament,” Viktor conceded lowly once Bagman was out of sight. “Not recognize as same man.”
“So you did remember him after all?” Ron urged.
“Ya, Ludovic vas name of grandfather,” Viktor volunteered. “Even I recall such connection.”
“Dumbledore made a big fanfare of the introductions,” Harry supplied.
“Karkaroff, too,” Viktor recalled.
Ginny prodded, “You remember a more robust man, don’t you?”
Viktor nodded. “But this pale imitation of self, vas suffering vith great illness?”
“Not exactly,” Ron allowed as he described the scandal with the leprechaun gold and excessive gambling debts that brought about Bagman’s resignation.
“Crisis of judgment then,” Viktor summarized for Ron’s benefit. “He be your boss othervise, no?”
“Rumor was that he was so stressed most of the time, the entire department was in a constant uproar,” Ron attested.
“Or so says the rumor mill,” Harry amended.
“Bagman should be glad we’re feeling rather mellow at the moment,” Fred provided as he turned to face the rest of the group.
“Otherwise, he’d be buying us drinks until the end of time,” George affirmed as he detailed how they had been swindled of their winnings from the World Cup.
Viktor laughed heartily at the amusing manner in which the twins relayed their gambling woes. “But you two underage at time, right?”
The twins narrowed their eyes in suspicion, but then gave in with glum nods.
“So you break law; he break law. Is stalemate, no?”
“Bagman should never have accepted the twins’ wagers,” Ginny confirmed in an uncanny echo of her mother.
“True,” conceded George. “The wager was not legally binding.”
“But the tosspot should’ve at least been man enough to acknowledge that,” Fred insisted.
“You vould have been happy vith full refund?” Viktor surmised.
“Not happy exactly. After all, we gave up a veritable mountain of gold,” George stressed.
“With leprechaun gold, that should be a virtual mountain,” Ginny clarified.
“So we came to find out,” Fred sighed in dejection before a lopsided grin won out.
“You were lucky Harry invested the winnings from the tournament instead,” Ron pointed out.
Harry resisted the urge to mention that those very winnings had not been too lucky for Cedric Diggory and family.
“Otherwise, the two of you’d still be taking wagers on errant dragons to bankroll your business,” Ginny observed.
“You vagered against Viktor in First Task?” Viktor clutched his chest in mock outrage.
“Against me as well!” Harry emphasized as he fixed the twins with an icy look.
“In all fairness, mate,” Fred scoffed. “We gave extraordinarily long odds on the dragons…”
“…but there’s always those who won’t turn over their galleons unless they stand to win big,” George finished for him.
“And if dragon vin, vat vould you have done?” Viktor teased. “Conjure extra coins from dung left behind?”
“Blimey! We’d have been wearing black ‘til the end of time!” Ron concluded dryly.
“Let me put it this way, Viktor,” Ginny confided in a low whisper. “Nothing that crowd could have done to the twins would’ve compared to what our mum would’ve done. Nothing!”
“Right,” Ron nodded effusively as Harry finished narrating the events for Tonks and Hermione. “I recall that part of the evening quite clearly.”
“So Bagman is out,” Tonks confirmed. “Did Viktor provide any other details, Hermione?”
“Not really,” she shrugged. “It was just a passing reference to Luna’s new exhibit on the Toad Woman herself.”
“Didn’t you say Viktor described the man as a Quidditch coach, though?” Harry reiterated.
Hermione hesitated. “It could have been an assump--”
Catching Harry’s unspoken thought, Ron cut across, “And in Bulgaria, Quiddich coaches are often werewolves.”
“We need to know which one in particular,” Tonks pressed with mounting excitement.
“Assuming it is a werewolf,” Hermione cautioned, but it was clear she thought they were on to something herself.
“Then the first thing we need is a rogue’s gallery of suspects,” Harry concluded. “That, I can provide.”
With several long strides towards the drawing room hearth, Harry announced, “Ministry of Magic,” into the bright green flames as he disappeared from sight.
The impassive face of Prometheus peered down at him, resigned to its harsh fate. Amid an angry swirl of robes, Zeus’ eyes were like daggers, daring Harry to be man enough to commute the sentence.
It was hardly a welcoming image, Harry decided. Selected more to command respect for the Ministry’s power than anything else. Just the sort of thing one would expect from a leader who had condemned countless souls to rot in Azkaban as former Head of the Auror Department.
The catlike tread of his trainers bypassed the empty row of other fireplaces as he made the obligatory stop to check his wand.
“Forgive me, Smathers. I seem to be without my credentials tonight.”
“No problem, Mr. Potter. Anyone would recognize you anywhere.”
“Thanks, but it never hurts to be careful,” Harry insisted as he allowed the measure of his wand to be taken then produced a miniature stag Patronus for good measure.
“Always a sport,” Smathers complimented him with a tip of his cap as Harry moved towards the golden bank of empty lifts.
Within seconds, he was stepping out onto the bustling corridors of the Auror Department. Tinny music poured forth from wireless sets on just about every desk, attesting that those on duty had been intent on the Azkaban interview just minutes before. Analysts looked up at his arrival then turned back to their notes.
Harry stepped up to the closest young man. “Brimley, isn’t it? I need to get some photos from our stores. An assortment of werewolves. Anything we have on file.”
Brimley grinned up at him. “Can’t get that growl out of your mind, can you?”
“It’s going to haunt my dreams if I’m not careful,” Harry returned. “Perhaps if I stared at some faces something might click.”
“You think you recognized the voice? I thought it had been altered.”
“It was.” Improvising, Harry confided, “But something in the pattern of speech keeps nagging at me…”
Brimley nodded in understanding. “Rather like that puzzle with the golden egg, eh?”
No wonder the man looked vaguely familiar. “Yeah,” Harry admitted with a note of self-deprecation. “I was out of my depth then, too. That entire contest was rigged, you know.”
Brimley chuckled in a friendly manner. “Life just substitutes one inscrutable puzzle for another, doesn’t it?”
“Certainly in the Auror Department,” Harry acknowledged as he followed the other man towards a long ribbon of black filing cabinets that dominated the back wall.
With a quick slice of his wand, Brimley commanded a number of documents to rise from various drawers and settle themselves neatly on a nearby desk.
“There you go, Mr. Potter. A selection of those in captivity as well as those still believed to be at large. Do you need the ones that are confirmed dead as well?”
“These should do just fine.” As a panicked thought occurred to him, Harry added as casually as possible, “Werewolf Registry has too many to choose from; best I concentrate on the ones we already suspect.”
Brimley agreed. “Werewolf Registry won’t reopen until Monday morning. Although if you need something immediately…”
“No, no, this is really quite adequate for my needs.” Harry quickly averted his eyes once he confirmed that Greyback was included in the stack. “It’s more to get my mind to stop reeling long enough to go to sleep.”
“You’re not one of those whose cognitive powers peak during sleep?”
“If I were, I’d demand twice the salary,” Harry joked. “The Headmistress once asked me the very same thing. Admitted she didn’t have that ability, either.”
Brimley flashed a small, nostalgic smile. “I never really got to know her in that capacity. She was just my no-nonsense Transfiguration teacher “ and I assure you, she was singularly unimpressed with me. The tournament took place during my final year.”
“But it’s essential --” Harry started to say, but Brimley cut across him.
“”for an Auror to have top marks in Transfiguration?”
“Exactly. Yet, here you are.”
“I wouldn’t be if my dorm mate hadn’t dragged me along by the collar. He was the talented one who agreed to a tosser for a study partner. But that was just the sort of chap Cedric was.”
“You were in Hufflepuff?” Harry gaped. Of all the ruddy luck! “I would have given anything for that confounded tournament to have ended differently! Cedric didn’t deserve to die.”
“No one who sacrificed themselves to stop Voldemort deserved to die,” Brimley fairly spat. “But Fate is a royal bitch, no?”
Unsure what to say in response, Harry remained silent.
In a more modulated tone, Brimley added, “But no one faults you. It was clear you were just as broken up about it as Cedric’s folks.”
Harry sat down opposite Edwin Brimley; the name had come to him like a stroke out of the blue. “You know, Eddie, Cedric’s dad works in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He’s been a consultant on this case.” He hefted the small stack of photographs for emphasis. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind hearing from one of Cedric’s friends.”
“Thanks, Mr. Potter; I’ll be sure to look him up.”
“It’s Harry. Kingsley may be caught up in formalities, but I’m not. School chums should always come out on top. Do I need to return the photos?”
With a wide grin, Eddie shook his head. “I already made you copies. No need to rush back on a Sunday.”
“You saved me from the fire, Eddie. I promised my wife I wouldn’t be but a minute.”
Harry tumbled out of the drawing room hearth to find the room as well as the adjoining study empty. With his folder of photos grasped tightly, he peered into the kitchen where Hermione was cradling Eleanor on her lap. Eleanor opened her round dark eyes to look up at them over her bottle.
He considered telling Hermione he’d just passed her off as his wife, but decided that Ron’s jealousy was just too volatile to mess with. Even for him. Instead, he settled for, “Did all the sudden activity wake her up?”
“Quite the opposite, mate,” Ron grinned from behind the cold cabinet door. “The sudden quiet made her restless.”
“Apparently, she’s got her father’s internal clock,” Hermione noted as Ron emerged with a sandwich in hand. “Tonks took the opportunity to check on Phoebe and Teddy one last time.”
“I’m surprised they’re not out cold from trying to teach Eleanor how to crawl,” Harry chuckled.
“They must have done a couple of miles each “ on their hands and knees, too,” Ron rejoined merrily.
“While Eleanor just watched them with the most intrigued expression on her little face,” Hermione cooed as she rocked her daughter back to sleep.
“Everyone’s where they should be,” Tonks assured them from the doorway. “Didn’t dare to smooth Teddy’s rumpled covers -- not even with my wand -- lest he wake up.”
“He’s old enough to pull the blankets over him if he gets cold,” Harry affirmed.
“Any luck?” Tonks motioned towards Harry’s folder then nodded with approval when he spread the photos out. “What about Viktor?” she posed to Hermione.
“I really had no idea where to find him so I sent a Patronus message. He’s certain to recognize my otter as much as he teased me about it.”
“What’s to tease about an otter?” Ron wondered.
“Knowing Viktor, probably that it doesn’t have wings!” Harry guessed.
“And a good thing, too!” Ron interjected. “Ruddy thing would look like a furry wyvern.”
“Have you ever seen a wyvern?” Hermione countered.
“In picture books,” Ron returned. “And I assure you, an otter is much more appealing despite being low to the ground.”
Their attention was diverted by the sudden flash of emerald flames from the hearth. Krum must have been relatively close or it would have taken considerably longer for the Patronus to locate him.
“So is party in Marauder’s Den and I not invited.” Viktor’s smile issued from the green coals.
Handing the dozing Eleanor into Ron’s waiting arms, Hermione knelt down in front of the grate. “I had no idea where to find you,” she admitted candidly. “It being Saturday night and all, I hope you didn’t have other plans.”
Viktor laughed deeply as her obvious embarrassment. “Rest of team vent to red light district, but Viktor tired of gawking years ago. Vy not join me in Paris? Have whole suite to myself. Ron and the others, too.”
“I’m not sure I’d know how to get there,” Hermione demurred.
“Is easy,” Viktor urged. “Hotel not far from Eiffel Tower. Just Apparate there and I come get you. Parisian taxis like amusement park ride: no rules.”
Tonks eased herself to the forefront. “I’m familiar enough with the area to get us there, but it’s not a good idea to Apparate with an infant in hand.”
“Is that Eleanor?” Viktor cooed as Ron rested his free hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “She is beautiful, Vicky. Ven I get to meet in person?”
With a delighted smile, Hermione promised. “Soon, I hope. She so adored the tiny Abraxan team you sent her. I’ve used it as opportunity to tell her all about you.”
“Princesses need royal steeds to pull their magical troikas,” Viktor responded. “Even if only toy.”
“Just no Wronski Feints until she’s old enough to walk,” Ron cautioned as Hermione hastily added, “At least!”
“Is deal,” Viktor agreed. “But I not need broom to sweep her off feet. Vomen of all ages alvays like Viktor. Is curse.”
Amid the chuckles that followed, Hermione dared to whisper, “I would’ve been mortified if my otter disturbed anything.”
Viktor chortled wryly, adding, “I not Floo back if in middle of romantic assignation. Only so much good looks and stunning Quidditch career can overcome.”
Tonks collapsed in the nearest chair as her knees grew weak from laughter. From out of nowhere, the thought struck her that Freddy would adore Viktor -- and not just due to the man’s raven-hair, either. Viktor’s self-effacing humor was the perfect foil for Freddy’s over-exuberance. Granted, Freddy rarely lasted longer than fifteen minutes between relationships; but then his entanglements tended to be short-lived as well.
Sizzling salamanders, she was as bad as Ginny and Hermione -- no use denying it to herself. And to think she’d chastised them just last week for hatching a demented matchmaking scheme to send Dobby on an errand to the Ministry Archives. Taking advantage that he was outdoors planting the spring flower boxes, the two of them had hurriedly explained how Philemena, the house-elf who worked as Abigail Creevey’s assistant, was an ideal match “ cut from the same cloth, as it were. It was obvious that Dobby’s long-time friendship with Winky was strictly platonic, they stressed with knowing smirks.
Tonks started guiltily as the subject himself offered to make them some tea or cocoa to go with Mr. Ron’s sandwich.
“No, thanks,” she declined graciously. “There’s plenty of cold cider and pumpkin juice if we get thirsty.”
“Don’t go just yet, Dobby,” Harry requested. “I might have use for your unique skills in a moment.”
With a small shrug, Dobby scrambled atop one of the kitchen stools to watch the proceedings.
Hermione was explaining how she hoped Viktor could recall the “Quidditch coach” he’d seen in Umbridge’s company so many years ago. Uncertain of the WWN’s broadcast radius, she judiciously omitted any mention of the interview. With luck, Viktor had been otherwise occupied in his Parisian hotel room and could approach the subject with a fresh perspective. Either way, it was best not to draw his attention to their objective.
“I’m sorry we can’t tell you more,” Ron added for good measure.
“Is all right. You did not earn Orders of Merlin for being incurable gossips. Is impossible to Floo directly between sites vithout prior permission from foreign office, so you sending photos by owl?”
“Actually, we have a better option,” Harry explained as he motioned Dobby over. “If you’ll just step over to the side, our house-elf will hand them to you.”
“Is not hampered by time and distance?” Viktor posed with a bemused scowl.
“Elvish rules differ,” Dobby volunteered in explanation. In the next instant, he handed the portfolio through the green embers and returned empty-handed.
“Just take your time, Viktor,” Harry instructed. “Don’t feel you have to pick any of those faces. It’s just a starting point.”
With a curt nod, Viktor’s Slavic features withdrew from the embers to review the dossier. Too late, Harry realized he’d not gotten the name of the hotel or even Viktor’s room number so they could reconnect from this end.
“We’ll just have to wait for him,” Tonks concurred. “It’s best not to skew the results by imparting a sense of urgency.”
It was only minutes later when the flames flared brightly once more. “Recognize vithout any doubt,” Viktor announced. “I put that photo on top of others. How do I return?”
Once again, Dobby bent over the hearth and reached into the soft coals. Very deliberately, he pulled back with the folder clutched in his long fingers.
Eleanor was fast asleep despite all the activity so Hermione took a moment to strap her into her carrier before joining the others clustered together, breath bated in anticipation. Harry caught everyone’s eyes to convey silently that their faces were not to reveal anything. Yet he couldn’t contain a small smile of triumph when Fenrir Greyback’s craggy features stared up at him from the first photo.
“I pick right von?” Viktor inquired from the grate.
“Let’s just say you confirmed our suspicions,” Harry remarked as he thanked Viktor profusely for his assistance.
Extracting a final promise from Hermione to Floo him later in the week to make definitive plans, Viktor faded into the glowing coals.
“Not that it really proves anything,” Hermione contended as she and Ron said their goodbyes. “But it’s one step closer to the truth.”
“Confirmation from an unbiased source can be very valuable,” Tonks raved. “You three accomplished more tonight than the whole bank of analysts on duty in the Auror Department, guaranteed.”
All Harry could think was that he couldn’t wait to tell Remus. Perhaps, he’d let the man greet his wife first, but Tonks would have to promise to not let the proverbial Kneazle out of the knapsack.
But when Sunday night dissolved into Monday’s first hour and the man had yet to return, Harry had no choice but to retire for the night. On the tea tray Dobby had equipped with a self-warming charm, Harry carefully leaned a note which read: We have solved it. He signed it simply with his initial.