All For You - Chapter 20

Chapter 20

“Alright, gather around you lot. Come on, stop fannying about and get your hides over here,” Grimm instructed, calling the meeting to order in his own abrasive way. “Now, what I’m holding here is a letter from the Minister himself. He’s had enough of the rise in violence at the Quidditch matches. With the league underway again, he wants it stopped, so that means you are all going to be there to stop it,” he announced.

“Great,” Moody declared. “So, we’re going to be breaking up fist fights, stopping people from pissing in places they shouldn’t be, and acting like babysitters for louts.”

“They are the scum of society, Moody, and they all like to gather in one place to give each other a slap on the weekend. It’s giving the league a bad name,” Grimm replied irritably. “Well, the Minister wants them hauled in and charged. The Magpies are playing the Wasps this week, and I’d say it’s going to get a bit tasty. I’ll be there to get stuck in with you all. We will meet here at ten in the morning.”

With that, he left the meeting room, and Moody slumped backwards in his chair.

“I hate working at the matches,” he groaned. “There’s always trouble, and if Grimm says it’s getting worse, we’re in for it.”

“Is it that bad?” Amelia asked.

Alastor chuckled humourlessly.

“Lass, you will finish that shift covered in only beer and blood if you’re lucky,” he assured her. “I remember Auror Wilkes was pissed on by someone in the stands.”

“Great,” Amelia grumbled, echoing Moody’s sentiment.

“Ah, it could be worse,” Alastor sighed. “At least they’ll be out of the way of Diagon Alley. They’ll give each other a hiding, but there won’t be much property damage unless they tear the stands up again. They do that sometimes to use as weapons.”

“Why not duel?”

“In such an enclosed space with so many people around them? Even the louts aren’t that stupid,” Alastor replied. “A few punches is a slap on the wrist from the Wizengamot. If they hit an innocent with a spell, it gets much worse for them.”

Amelia nodded her understanding.

“Well, I suppose I’ll get an early night then if we have all that to look forward to.”

“Aye, I would,” Alastor urged. “It’s going to be a long day.”

With that, Amelia left the meeting room, and with her paperwork already complete for the day, she returned home.

“You’re early,” Edgar commented, his gaze shifting towards the clock on the wall in his study.

“We are on Quidditch duty tomorrow,” Amelia explained. “Apparently, the violence is escalating.”

Edgar shook his head amusedly.

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy that,” he sighed. “Anyway…”

He was cut off by the door opening, and Amelia found herself wrapped in the tight embrace of her younger brother.

“You’re home already?”

Chris nodded.

He’d grown so much in the past year and a half, so much so that he was now taller than Amelia.

“We finished today,” he explained. “Did you know Harry is going to be running a duelling club at Hogwarts?”

“Jameson?” Edgar asked as he stood. “He’s back?”

“He came to Hogwarts just over a week ago,” Chris explained. “I’m surprised Amelia didn’t tell you.”

“You knew?”

“He came back the night I stayed at his house,” Amelia explained.

Edgar frowned at her.

“You didn’t mention it,” he chided as he removed some parchment from his drawer.

“You’re writing to him?”

“I’m going to invite him for dinner.”

“Why?”

“I like Jameson,” Edgar declared.

“Because he’s as much of a pain in the…”

“Language,” Edgar chided with a grin. “You don’t mind if I invite him over, do you?”

“I don’t,” Chris answered.

Amelia rolled her eyes at the grinning duo.

“Why would I mind?” she asked.

“Then it’s settled,” Edgar declared.

“You do realise I can just ask him,” Amelia pointed out.

“Are you seeing him?”

“I wasn’t planning to, but I can stop by.”

Edgar quirked an eyebrow at her.

“You do that,” he urged.

“Ergh,” Chris grimaced. “She’s got that look on her face again whenever someone mentions him. I wish I hadn’t now.”

“What look?” Amelia asked irritably. “I don’t have a look.”

“You go all gooey-eyed. It’s disgusting,” Chris snorted.

“I do not!”

“Yes, you do,” Edgar interjected.

“You stay out of it,” Amelia growled.

Chris shook his head.

“You’re worse than some of the girls at school,” he teased. “A lot of them like him, too.”

“They do?” Amelia asked curiously.

Chris nodded.

“Jameson is cool.”

“I’m not cool?” Amelia asked.

“I’d be careful how you answer that one, Chris,” Edgar urged.

“You are, in your own way, I suppose,” Chris answered after a moment of pondering it. “But, you know, you’re an Auror. You’re strict and stiff,” he added with a shrug.

Amelia narrowed her eyes at her younger brother.

“I did tell you to be careful,” Edgar sighed.

“I bet Jameson is strict,” Amelia huffed.

“He is,” Chris agreed, “but he’s still cool.”

With another shrug, he left the room, and Amelia glared at his retreating form.

“I was cool when I was at school,” she muttered. “I was on the Quidditch team, and I was popular.”

“So was I,” Edgar pointed out, “but according to Chris, I’m mostly a boring, old git now.”

“Jameson is the same age as me.”

“Yeah, but you’re Chris’s sister. He’s never going to think you’re cool.”

“Well, I guess I learned something new today,” she murmured. “I’ll break the news to Jameson that he is now cool. He’ll get a kick out of that.”

“And invite him to dinner,” Edgar reminded her. “Don’t forget to do that.”

“Aww, do you think he’s cool too?” Amelia mocked. “Would you like me to get his autograph for you?”

“Shut up,” Edgar returned with a frown. “I like Jameson, and not just because of what he’s done for us. He’s fun, and I think all of us could use some of that sometimes.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Amelia acknowledged. “I can’t fault him there, can I?”

(Break)

“These seem to be some very fair prices, Mr Jameson, and you say all of your produce is organically grown?”

“All of them,” Harry assured the man.

He hummed thoughtfully.

“This is legitimate?”

“I own the farm that will be supplying the produce.”

“Well, then, I would be foolish to turn you away. When the crops are ready, do bring some in, and I will gladly sample them.”

Harry nodded.

“Thank you, Mr Owen. I’m sure you will be very satisfied with the product.”

Harry left the muggle restaurant in Knightsbridge, satisfied that he had secured another customer.

Throughout the day, he had visited more than a dozen restaurants, each of the owners and chefs demonstrating a keen interest in what he had to offer.

In time, when he had samples, he would begin looking into supplying the magical plants being grown to apothecaries, potioneers, and perhaps even St Mungo’s for their own stocks.

That wouldn’t be for a number of months yet, not until the first big harvest from all twenty-five greenhouses had been completed.

Nonetheless, he was hopeful of his success and returned home satisfied with his work for the day.

“Master Harry, sir,” Bart greeted him as he arrived. “We have two new baby Thestrals.”

“Two more?” Harry asked. “How many do we have now?”

“Sixty-three, sir,” Bart answered proudly.

Harry chuckled.

The thestrals were thriving, as were the Hippogriffs.

“Well, I will come and check on them shortly,” he promised the elf.

Bart truly had a passion for caring for the beasts on the land, and Harry was already considering looking into others for him.

The only one he didn’t care for was Zelda, and that was only because the large serpent saw the elf as possible prey, no matter how many times Harry had told her he wasn’t.

Miss Amelia is here, sir. She is…”

“In the kitchen eating my food?”

“Yes, sir,” Bart answered, a grin tugging at his lips.

“I thought as much,” Harry said amusedly, making his way towards the kitchen where Amelia was indeed eating. “You know, I do wonder how you’re not excessively overweight with how much you eat,” he commented.

“I stay active,” Amelia answered. “Besides, we don’t get to eat much when we’re on shift.”

“So, you save it for when you come here?”

“Sometimes,” Amelia answered unashamedly. “You wouldn’t deprive a hardworking Auror of a meal, would you, Jameson?”

“Like I have a choice,” Harry snorted. “How are things, Bones?”

“Not so bad,” Amelia replied. “I’m not looking forward to working the Quidditch match tomorrow, but it could be worse.”

“I’ve not been to a Quidditch match in years,” Harry murmured.

He hadn’t.

The last one he’d been to outside of Hogwarts had been the World Cup final between Bulgaria and Ireland.

“Well, I’d avoid this one,” Amelia urged. “Hooliganism is on the up, and we’ve told to deal with it.”

“Quidditch hooligans?” Harry laughed. “I’ve heard of football hooligans.”

“Football hooligans?”

“The muggle sport,” Harry explained. “Over the years, there’s been some problems with them.”

“How much trouble can muggles cause?”

“World War two,” Harry answered simply. “Not that football hooliganism is on such a grand scale. People get a hiding and glassed occasionally, but not much else.”

“Glassed?”

“They smash beer glasses in each other’s faces.”

“Sounds painful,” Amelia murmured. “Let’s not give our lot that idea. I imagine it’s quite messy.”

Harry nodded.

“Have you seen the new arrivals yet?”

“No, I was waiting for you,” Amelia replied. “Bart is really excited about them.”

“Shall we go now?”

Amelia nodded as she stood.

Throughout the conversation, she had polished off what food was on her plate.

They left the kitchen into the grounds, where they were intercepted by Bart.

“You must be quiet,” he said firmly. “The thestrals are skittish right now.”

Harry grinned at the little elf, and the two of them followed Bart towards the treeline in the distance where the herd could be seen as only shadows in the darkness.

“Oh, look,” Amelia gushed at the sight of two baby thestrals being closely guarded by the rest. “They’re so tiny.”

Harry nodded as they simply watched the creatures and was taken aback as one of the females approached with her new-born foal. He quirked an eyebrow as they headed towards Amelia first, who carefully kneeled down to greet them.

“Hello, little one,” she said gently.

The foal was cautious but sniffed the woman curiously and eventually allowed Amelia to pet it on the nose.

“How long have you spent with them since I’ve been away?” Harry asked.

“Not so much time,” Amelia said dismissively.

Harry didn’t believe her.

He suspected she’d spent hours with the thestrals and likely the hippogriffs in his absence.

“Well, they seem to like you,” he chuckled as the pair ambled back towards the rest of the herd.

Amelia nodded.

“I’ve grown fond of them,” she replied. “When things were hard, I’d come out here with them. They’re so calming.”

“They are,” Harry agreed. “Come on, let’s leave them to get settled.”

Amelia stood and followed him back towards the house.

“Edgar has invited you to dinner,” she informed him.

“Well, I can hardly turn that offer down, especially after you’ve eaten all of my food.”

Amelia rolled her eyes at him.

“Stop being dramatic, Jameson,” she sighed.

Harry offered her a grin.

“You know I’m only joking. You’re welcome here anytime.”

“I know.”

“And said with no shame,” Harry snorted.

“If you didn’t want me here, you’d change the protections to ensure I couldn’t get in,” Amelia pointed out. “I’m thinking of putting a sign on the door to my room.”

“Your room?”

“Do you use it?”

“No, but I might.”

“And what would you use it for, Jameson?”

Harry shrugged.

“Maybe for storage.”

“Oh, so I’ve been relegated to a glorified cupboard?”

Harry felt his expression darken, and Amelia looked at him curiously.

“Did I say something..?”

Harry shook his head.

“No, just bad memories,” he said dismissively. “It’s not important.”

“It seems important.”

Harry released a deep breath.

“My first bedroom was a cupboard under the stairs when I lived with my aunt and uncle. They weren’t very nice people.”

“Your aunt and uncle treated you like that?” Amelia asked, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

Harry chuckled.

“It was a long time ago. Stand down, Auror Bones.”

Amelia shook her head.

“That’s just not right.”

“It isn’t,” Harry agreed. “Life often isn’t right or fair, but we can only work with what we have. They were the last of my relatives when my parents were killed. It was either them or an orphanage, and I’ve seen what living in one of those can do to people.”

Amelia continued to frown, but she didn’t comment on his treatment further, though she seemed to want to.

“Chris says you’re going to be running a duelling club at Hogwarts.”

“Apparently so,” Harry sighed. “I went to have breakfast and ended up agreeing to it. If Albus had his way, I’d be back teaching.”

“Isn’t that what you are going to do?”

“Maybe,” Harry answered thoughtfully. “I’ve not decided yet.”

He hadn’t, but he knew it was likely.

“Are you staying tonight?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, it’s getting late,” Harry pointed out. “What, you think I don’t know how many times the protections around the house were triggered when I was away? Funnily enough, they only happened once a day several times, so I’m guessing you stayed over quite frequently.”

“Is that a problem?” Amelia asked haughtily, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“No,” Harry assured her. “It’s a big enough house. You can stay as often as you like. I just worry what your brother might think if he notices,” he added with a grin.

“I didn’t know you were so concerned for my honour, Jameson. Maybe I’d tell him I was somewhere else.”

“Do you really think he’d believe that?”

“No,” Amelia conceded. “He wouldn’t.”

Harry chuckled.

“What must he think of his little sister.”

“Whatever he thinks, he’ll keep to himself if he knows what’s good for him. Besides, do you think he’d be so nice to you if he thought you were defiling his little sister, as you put it?”

“Maybe not,” Harry murmured. “Well, if you’re staying, you know where everything is. I have some paperwork to catch up on. Goodnight, Bones.”

Amelia nodded.

“Goodnight, Jameson.”

Harry left her in the kitchen and made his way to the basement.

He did have some paperwork that required his attention, and he’d already put it off for long enough.

With his return to Hogwarts impending, he didn’t want to leave anything neglected.

(Break)

In all his years serving on the ICW, there had only ever been one incident which had caused the alarm in Albus’s office to sound so shrilly in the dead of night, and that had been when his predecessor had passed away.

Considering he was now the Supreme Mugwump, as he exited his sleeping quarters and entered the office, he could only assume it was something of equal importance that required his attention.

“Marcelo, what has happened?” he asked sleepily.

The Italian representative shook his head gravely.

“Greyback, along with more than one hundred other high-security prisoners, have managed to escape.”

It took a moment for the words to register, and when they did, Albus felt his heart sink into his stomach.

“So many?” he asked.

Marcelo nodded.

“We do not know how, but it is being investigated as we speak,” he explained. “All of the guards are dead, and there is no sign of the prisoners.”

“What has Bosko to say on the matter?”

“Not much,” Marcelo sighed. “He is there now. He is furious, as you can imagine.”

Albus nodded.

“I will call a meeting,” he decided. “We must get to the bottom of this. Have the Hit-Wizards been notified?”

“They have,” Marcelo assured him. “They are already on the hunt to round them, but it will take time, Albus. “These are not foolish, run-of-the-mill criminals they are looking for. These are the very worst.”

“I am aware,” Albus murmured. “Keep me posted with any developments.”

Marcelo offered him a final nod before his head vanished from the flames.

This was as bad as any news that could’ve been broken to him.

Those that had escaped were an accumulation of decades of work carried out by the Department of Justice of the ICW, and for so many to roam among the masses once again was nothing short of frightening.

Albus shook his head at the thought.

This would undoubtedly make international news, and the pressure would truly be on to find them.

The Hit-Wizards would work tirelessly to do so, but even that knowledge brought Albus little comfort.

Between now and then, there was no telling what harm such a dangerous group of men and women could cause.

(Break)

‘Crucio!’

She knew she was dreaming, but reliving what she endured in her sleep was somehow worse than the experience itself. The man who had tortured her had relented after only a moment or so, but in Amelia’s nightmares, he did not.

Over and over again, he would curse her until he tore a scream from her throat, and when she relented, they came so freely with each time she was placed under it.

The dreams did not come so often, but when they did, they were as bad as ever, and there was no escape from them.

Still, Amelia thrashed against her binds in a bid to do so or to alleviate the sheer agony that lanced through her in sporadic waves.

Nothing helped, and until she woke, she would simply have to endure it.

‘Amelia?’

The voice that spoke her name was no louder than a whisper, and she wasn’t even sure if she’d truly heard it.

‘Amelia, come on, wake up!’

She gasped as she breathed in a lungful of fresh air, and the pain dissipated immediately.

Amelia was drenched in a cold sweat, but it was the warmth holding her tightly she felt most.

“It’s alright,” a low voice soothed. “It was just a dream.”

It took a moment to realise that Jameson was cradling her in his arms as he spoke to her softly, and Amelia felt her breathing begin to even out.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“Waking you.”

Jameson shook his head.

“It’s fine, but if you could take your nails out of my arm, I’d really appreciate it.”

She hadn’t realised she was gripping him so tightly, and as she withdrew her hand, she felt something warm run down the length of her fingers and drip onto the bed.

“You’re bleeding,” Amelia gasped.

“Don’t worry about that,” Jameson said dismissively. “Are you okay?”

Amelia wanted to say that she was, but she would be lying, and Jameson would know it too.

“It doesn’t happen every night.”

“No, but when it does, it never gets easier.”

Amelia frowned.

“Do you have dreams like that?”

Jameson nodded.

“Sometimes,” he answered. “My mother. I still see her being murdered and hear him laughing.”

Amelia swallowed deeply.

As terrifying as her own dream was, she couldn’t imagine watching the final moment of her parents when she was at her most vulnerable.

“How do you cope with it?”

“You don’t,” Jameson replied. “Occlumency helps, but they still get through occasionally. It’s an emotional scar that manifests itself from time to time. It doesn’t get easier to cope with, but you get better at it, eventually.”

It brought her little comfort to know that, but Amelia nodded.

“Was I screaming?”

“I thought you were being murdered,” Jameson snorted humourlessly. “Bloody hell, I’ve not run so fast in years.”

“Sorry,” Amelia repeated, “and thank you.”

“Think nothing of it,” Jameson murmured. “We all have our demons and burdens to bear. Sometimes, it helps if someone is there.”

“It’s still not the nicest way to be woken up.”

“It’s not,” Jameson agreed. Would you like some clean pyjamas?”

“Please,” Amelia answered.

Her own were drenched in sweat.

With a flick of his wand, Harry summoned some for her, and Amelia accepted them gratefully.

“Maybe a quick shower,” she decided as she kicked the duvet off.

Oddly, she didn’t feel at all embarrassed about what had happened.

Unlike anyone else, Jameson understood what it was like to endure such nightmares, and his own solemn demeanour spoke volumes of how much it had affected him.

“I’ll wait for you,” he assured her.

Amelia nodded and having entered the bathroom, she showered quickly, taking the time to calm herself down.

By the time she returned to the bedroom, Harry had changed the bedsheets for her and even fetched a jug of water.

Amelia quirked an eyebrow at him.

He was already in the bed, reading through a stack of parchment.

“Better?” he asked.

Amelia nodded.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Jameson huffed, pulling the duvet up on her side.

She climbed into bed, finding the moment to be odd but not uncomfortable.

“You know you don’t have to…”

“You know you don’t always have to be the tough Auror,” Jameson cut her off. “Not around me.”

“But I am a tough Auror,” Amelia returned.

“I know,” Jameson said with a grin, “but sometimes, you’re allowed to take a break from that. I think this is one of those times. There’s nothing wrong with being scared and shaken up by things.”

“How did you used to cope with it?”

“I used to hide under my duvet,” Jameson answered unashamedly. “It’s strange how much safer you can feel when you do that as a kid. It doesn’t work so well when you’re an adult.”

“It doesn’t,” Amelia agreed.

Jameson took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Well, since neither of us is likely to get much sleep, I thought we should do something productive.”

“What can you do in bed that is productive?”

She immediately regretted the question as soon as the words left her lips, and Jameson’s eyes crinkled amusedly.

“I never did tell you about that, did I?” he chuckled.

“Shut up, Jameson,” Amelia grumbled. “What are we doing?”

“Well, in the absence of the other thing, I thought you could help me plan lessons for the duelling club.”

“You don’t need my help with that.”

“Maybe not, but I’d appreciate your input,” Jameson replied. “This is what I have so far. If there’s anything you think I should include, I’m all ears.”

Amelia was not naïve to think that he needed her help, but she did appreciate what he was doing. He was trying to distract her from the dream she’d had, and as she read though his notes, she realised just how seriously he took magic.

She’d never doubted he did, but seeing just how meticulous he was with his various uses for single spells, down to the very minutest of details, it was clear to see why he was a step above those she’d seen him face off with.

“It looks good,” Amelia complimented. “What about shields?”

“I will teach them, but not until they’ve learned to get by without them.”

Amelia nodded her approval.

She did not like to use shields unless necessary.

They were useful but could be both a hindrance and taxing.

She read through his notes twice more before yawning and shaking her head.

“Ready to try to get some sleep?” Jameson asked.

“I am,” Amelia replied.

Jameson took the papers from her and placed them on the bedside table before extinguishing the lamp with a flick of his wand.

Before Amelia could question what was happening, he wrapped his arm around her and eased her into the mattress.

“Don’t get any funny ideas, Bones,” he murmured.

Although she couldn’t see it, Amelia knew he had that stupid grin on his face once more.

“If I feel anything prodding me in the back, Jameson, I’ll swing for you,” she warned.

He chuckled.

“Auror Bones, if anything is prodding you in the back, I can assure you that it is only my wand.”

Amelia shook her head.

“Shut up, Jameson,” she sighed, wriggling herself so she was more comfortable against him.

(Break)

The werewolf was emaciated, his skin hanging off his skeletal frame as though it was a suit several sizes too small for him. Fenrir’s eighteen months in captivity had not been kind to him, and Lord Voldemort suspected that in his wolfish form, he would resemble a stray with mange.

Still, he seemed to have his wits about him, even if his memory had been wiped of what had happened during his capture.

Try as he might, the Dark Lord could not navigate the maze of thoughts that had been created.

He leaned back in his chair with a pensive expression.

“Whoever did this to you is an expert in the Mind Arts,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps the memories will return, but I do not believe it can be forced.”

Greyback merely grunted in response.

“What about the woman?” he croaked.

Voldemort hummed as he pondered what to do about Amelia Bones.

He’d set Yaxley and the others the task of ensuring she did not interfere in his affairs, but nothing had been done.

With Bones being an Auror, it was not the case of a simple murder, especially when one attempt had already failed.

The woman would die eventually, it was almost inevitable, but for now, it would not do to draw unnecessary attention to himself or those serving him.

“It will be remedied in time, Fenrir,” Voldemort assured the werewolf. “What I need from you is the recovery of your pack. When you are better, you will find them.”

Fenrir nodded.

It wasn’t as though he had much choice in the matter.

The Dark Lord had gone to great lengths to see to his freedom, and now, Greyback was very much indebted to him.

“I will find them,” the werewolf assured him.

“Good,” Voldemort replied with a smile. “For now, enjoy my hospitality whilst you recover.”

“This is a nice place,” Fenrir commented.

“That is why I acquired it for myself. The owners were reluctant to part with it at first, but I can be rather convincing when the occasion calls for it.”

He was currently residing in Bulgaria, just a short distance from the capital.

The home was isolated enough that he would not be bothered by the locals and stately enough that those he met with would take him seriously.

The Dark Lord could not conduct business from a disadvantageous position, after all.

Nonetheless, his efforts thus far were not without their troubles.

Greyback’s arrest was concerning, and what had happened outside of Blackburn more so.

Whoever had liberated Bones was a dangerous person, and though he’d considered all possible individuals he knew of, the Dark Lord had been out of Britain for so many years that he could not claim his knowledge to be of much use.

He kept up to date with political changes, but when it came to exceptional individuals, he was sorely lacking.

Dumbledore.

Even Yaxley had immediately put the name forth, but the Headmaster of Hogwarts was not cut from such a cloth.

No, there was another back home who’d managed to free Bones, kill her captors, and remove any trace of themselves.

It was troubling but not concerning for Lord Voldemort, who saw no threat to him from any.

Soon enough, he would return home, but until then, he had much to occupy his time and mind, which did not involve focusing on wayward strangers who were of no eventual consequence.

(Break)

“What is it, Albus? Your message sounded urgent.”

The headmaster looked more tired than Alastor had seen him as he nodded. The bags under his eyes were prominent, and his expression was one of deep concern.

“I think it is best if you come through, Alastor,” Dumbledore sighed.

Alastor did so, stepping through the fireplace of his own home into the office of his friend.

“What’s happened?” he asked immediately.

Albus shook his head.

“Sometime in the past few days, the prison Fenrir Greyback was being kept in was breached. He, along with most others, escaped.”

It took a moment for Alastor to digest what he’d been told.

“Bugger,” he growled.

Albus nodded his agreement.

“It is much worse than that,” he sighed. “The location of the prison is only known by me and the other representatives of the ICW. The only way anyone could’ve learned of its location…”

“Is if someone told them about it.”

“Indeed,” Albus murmured. “Willingly or not, somebody assisted whomever it was who broke in.”

“Any idea who it was?”

“None,” Albus said unhappily. “The place was a mess, and there was too much ambient magic to find any trace. It was meticulously planned and violent. None of the guards survived, and no alarm was raised.”

“No alarm was raised?” Moody asked confusedly. “Wouldn’t that be the first thing one of them did?”

“It would,” Albus confirmed. “I have not mentioned this to my colleagues, but upon inspecting the protections, the alarm was disabled and then re-enabled around twenty minutes later.”

“An inside job,” Alastor deduced.

“I have no doubt that there was help from someone within,” Albus declared. “The problem is, all of the guards on duty were killed, and the visitor log has mysteriously vanished.”

Alastor shook his head.

“Definitely an inside job of sorts,” he reiterated. “The question is, who would be able to pull it off?”

“Only a prison guard or a representative,” Albus replied darkly. “The guards have already been questioned, and each of them cleared of any wrongdoing.”

“So, one of the representatives,” Moody mused aloud. “Do you have any thoughts on who?”

“I’m afraid not,” Albus sighed. “I know these men and women, some better than others, but they represent the very best of their countries. I cannot fathom who is responsible.”

“You did say it was possible the help was given unwillingly,” Alastor pointed out.

“I did, but I am not so convinced. These are powerful witches and wizards, and it would be exceedingly difficult to compromise them in such a way.”

“You think one, or more of them, is compromised.”

“That is what concerns me,” Albus murmured. “What’s more, the diplomatic immunity granted to each of us will protect them from being investigated.”

Alastor could only shake his head.

“So, nothing will be done about it.”

“I’m afraid my hands are tied,” Albus replied apologetically. “Of course, officially, the Hit-Wizards will be looking to apprehend all those who have absconded, but that will take considerable time.”

“And until Greyback is found, Amelia is in danger.”

“Not so much,” Albus denied. “Currently, he is a wolf without a pack. The Aurors across the continent will be paying close attention to any attacks, and with a little luck, he will be tracked down.”

Alastor grunted.

“What truly concerns me is that it does not appear it is going to be made public knowledge. Those whom I have spoken with do not wish to create panic.”

“You do not agree?”

“I do not.”

Alastor nodded, pondering what it was that could be done about what had happened. Without notifying the public, and with so many having escaped, it was a truly dangerous thing to be kept under wraps.

“Jameson,” he said in realisation. “Couldn’t we…?”

Albus shook his head.

“It is not that I do not believe he would assist, but it is that he shouldn’t. If, as I suspect, one of my colleagues is involved, it will be an exceedingly dangerous undertaking, and I would not see him harmed for it. For now, at least, it is best dealt with via the official channels unless absolutely necessary. It is one thing to operate here under laws I can use to protect him but to do so in other countries is another matter entirely.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Alastor acknowledged unhappily, “but I will have to inform Bones. She may not be in immediate danger, but Greyback will not forget it was her who apprehended him.”

“He will not,” Albus agreed. “Best warn her discreetly.”

“Aye, I will,” Alastor grumbled. “Thanks for letting me know, Albus. If there is anything I can do…”

“Thank you, Alastor,” Albus said appreciatively. “I will keep you informed of any progress or developments.”

Alastor nodded and took his leave of the office through the floo network.

Arriving at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he made his way to the meeting room where the other Aurors were already gathered.

Grimm was already there, as was Amelia, who Alastor took a spot next to.

“It’s not like you to be late,” she said in greeting.

“Aye, I had some unpleasant news. I’ll explain when we get out of here.”

Amelia looked at him curiously, but Grimm cleared his throat, garnering the attention of the room.

“Alright, we already went through what I expect from you,” the Head Auror announced. “You will be in groups of four, which can be found on this piece of parchment. It will also tell you what part of the stadium you will be patrolling. That’s it from me.”

Grimm stuck the piece of parchment to the noticeboard before leaving the room, and Amelia took hold of Alastor’s arm.

“What is it?”

Alastor released a deep breath.

“You must keep this to yourself,” he said firmly. “Greyback as escaped from prison.”

“Escaped?” Amelia gasped worriedly.

Alastor nodded.

“Aye, along with dozens of others, according to Albus,” he explained quietly. “The Hit-Wizards will be working on rounding them up, but I don’t like it, Bones. Albus doesn’t think you’re in any immediate danger, but…”

“Constant vigilance,” Amelia broke in.

“Aye, constant vigilance,” Alastor agreed.

She seemed to be taking the news in her stride, but given what she’d been through, Alastor had no doubt the news had left Amelia feeling concerned, even if she wasn’t showing it.

He didn’t like Albus’s belief that one of the representatives of the ICW was involved in the breakout, and even less so, the man wasn’t doing something about it.

Had he not learned his lesson from Grindelwald’s uprising.

Alastor did not believe this was on par with what Grindelwald had done, but when it could possibly lead to Amelia being harmed.

No, it didn’t sit right with him, and he was of a mind to look into the matter himself for what good it would do.

(Break)

“You heard everything?”

Harry nodded grimly as he undid the disillusionment charm.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Albus murmured. “It is a rather precarious position I find myself in.”

“It is,” Harry agreed, “but partly, I think you’re seeing what you want to.”

“What do you mean, Harry?” Dumbledore asked curiously.

“The visitor log. I’m not convinced it was taken under the same context you are. I don’t doubt that it is possible someone on the ICW is involved, but if they are as brilliant and talented as you believe, taking the visitor log is an amateur move. It is what a fool would do to cover their tracks. Whoever took it knew it would be noticed, and the logic would be to begin looking at those who had access to the prison.”

Albus hummed thoughtfully.

“I had not considered that.”

“Because you are a logical man,” Harry pointed out. “You do not like to think that there is someone who could do something so simply convoluted to lead an investigation in such a direction. Either I’m wrong, or you are, but neither outcome brings me comfort.”

“Nor I,” Albus agreed.

Harry nodded.

Only one man who would have a vested interest in seeing Greyback freed and had the capability of achieving came to mind, and it truly brought him no comfort, even though he was confident in his deduction.

Voldemort.

I wasn’t lost on him that the Dark Lord had already attempted to get to Amelia for her apprehension of Greyback, nor that it had been the man himself to kill the woman from where Harry had come from.

Try as he might, it only seemed to grow less possible for him to avoid Tom Riddle, and with the man’s, albeit seemingly passing, interest in Amelia, it all began to feel somewhat prophetic once again.

It was a troubling thought but not one he could ignore.

Wherever he went or whatever he did, Tom Riddle seemed to be a shadow that would hang over him.

Releasing a deep breath, Harry nodded to himself.

“What are your thoughts, Harry?” Albus asked.

Of course, the Headmaster was not privy to what Voldemort was doing or his involvement in anything that had occurred, as far as Harry knew, at least, and he would prefer to keep it that way for as long as possible.

“I’m not sure,” he murmured in response. “I need to ponder it further.”

“As do I,” Albus sighed.

Harry nodded.

As determined as he was not to involve himself in what was coming, he could no longer deny that he already was in it much deeper than he’d like.

Nonetheless, he would see no harm come to Amelia, even if that meant he would have to do the very thing he wished to avoid.

“I need to think,” he murmured once more before exiting Dumbledore’s office, but it wasn’t towards the Entrance Hall his steps carried him.

Donning the invisibility cloak, he made his way towards the seventh floor.

He knew little of where Voldemort currently was, but he would never forget where he could find a part of the man.