Disclaimer: Even after this long a wait, I still own nothing.

Author’s Note: First things first, I’m so sorry for how long this has taken me. Real life took over for several months with a viva in December and my Spring Exam in February, so I spent a lot of time revising. After the exam, I did a lot of procrastinating and mainly just enjoyed the rest of the term (I even had someone try and convince me that they worked for the MoD which was highly amusing). But this chapter has been in the back of my mind, niggling away and making me feel so guilty. I don’t think I’ve ever rewritten so much before. It’s all been unbelievably irritating. As always, thanks to those who reviewed (it was quite nice to know people were still reading this after so long without an update) and a major thank you to Diogenes for checking through this for me. Hopefully it’s OKish.

Chapter Fourteen

“Peppermint toads!” The stone gargoyle hopped aside and allowed them entry to the spiral staircase that had previously been concealed behind the now sliced open wall. Harry dutifully followed Professor McGonagall onto the rising staircase, absent-mindedly registering that the password to Dumbledore’s office had changed from two years previous, though the sweet theme still remained.

Vague and indistinct murmurs could be heard as they swiftly approached the oak door. McGonagall gave him a tight smile that was clearly meant to reassure him before she lifted the griffon-shaped knocker.

She had collected him from the Great Hall midway through breakfast. He had been sitting alone, having left the Gryffindor tower while Ron was still asleep and Hermione nowhere to be seen. Part of him had hoped that Padma might be there, but she too had been absent.

At the knock, the voices from within the headmaster’s office quietened. “Come in, Professor McGonagall.”

His head of house gave him one last look before she pushed the door open to reveal Dumbledore’s office. Pale sunlight streamed in from the windows while a roaring fire blazed merrily to one side of the room, the scent of crackling firewood mingling with the smell of musty old tomes. Some of the strange objects spread out through the room emitted the occasional odd sound.

Portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses peered at him from their frames. Some were pretending to sleep and only occasionally opening a single eye to see what was going on. Others were rather more obvious in their observations; one of the portraits – a rather voluptuous woman with a powdered face and a mountainous blond wig – had taken out a pair of opera glasses to get a closer view.

The headmaster stood behind his desk, his back to Harry and the professor as he stared out of the large window. One hand gripped his high backed chair.

Dumbledore wasn’t alone. Standing beside the burning fire, a middle-age man dressed in royal blue robes skimmed his hand along the polished wood of the oak fireplace. Piercing blue eyes set in an angular face watched on, slowly lifting upwards as they focused in on the infamous lightning bolt scar.

Feeling awkward under so direct a gaze, Harry turned his attention to the woman sitting on the visitor’s chair. A small smile graced her young, impish face as she twisted round to look at where he and McGonagall stood. Dark brown hair was pulled back from her face except for a few escaped curls which had sprung loose.

Dumbledore turned around. “Ah, there you are, Harry.” He gave him a small smile and gestured him further into his office. He then looked towards Professor McGonagall and nodded at her in dismissal. “That will be all, Minerva.”

For a moment it looked to Harry that Professor McGonagall may protest, but a pointed look from Dumbledore had her giving a sharp nod in acquiescence. She gave one last concerned look in Harry’s direction before exiting the office.

“I would like to introduce you to Auror Morton,” Dumbledore gestured to the man standing by the fireplace, “and his partner Auror Proudfoot.” The woman smiled, her eyes similarly making the familiar trail across his forehead.

Harry nodded in acknowledgment, unsure whether he was supposed to say anything. He swore he could remember the name Morton from somewhere, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember where.

"They are here to investigate the incident yesterday evening," continued Dumbledore, confirming what Harry had already guessed.

"We'd like to ask you a few questions about what happened," said Morton, speaking for the first time. He abandoned his current position and strode nearer to the desk.

"Oh, right," said Harry since Morton's sharp eyes were looking at him expectantly. "That's fine."

Before long, Harry found himself sitting in a conjured chair next to Dumbledore while he explained in in detail what had happened the previous night. The headmaster had given him a brief explanation that, since Harry was a minor in the eyes of the law, he would be acting as his guardian throughout the interview.

As he answered each question thrown at him, a quill rushed across a long piece of parchment recording everything he was saying. He found the unmanned scribblings rather off-putting but decided not to voice such an opinion out loud.

Morton kept a professional air throughout the whole thing; his face remained stoic and his eyes gave nothing away. He would occasionally nod at something and probe deeper while other details were glossed over.

Proudfoot, on the other hand, was less able to conceal her thoughts on certain aspects. For instance, when Harry mentioned how it was Abravan leading them to the North Tower, she had immediately glanced in Morton’s direction.

Eventually the interview came to an end and the Aurors made to leave. “Thank you for your time and cooperation. It is possible that we may have to interview you again at a later date, but it is unlikely.”

Harry nodded in understanding as he too got up. “Er – is the death suspicious, then?” It was something he’d been wondering since the Aurors had been introduced. After all, it wasn’t as though he’d been interviewed over anything else during his time at Hogwarts, and there had certainly been occasions where he was pretty certain the Aurors should have been involved.

“That hasn’t yet been decided,” Morton told him with a frown.

“At the moment it seems like death through misadventure, but we’ve got to follow procedure,” said Proudfoot with a small, almost apologetic shrug.

“Oh,” said Harry since he couldn’t think of a better response.

He was still thinking about it as he descended the spiral staircase and walked past the stone gargoyle. He thought about the look in Trelawney’s eyes – that not-quite-there gleam – before she let herself fall. It didn’t seem like a tragic accident to him.

He was so lost in thought that he almost walked into Padma. It was only her saying his name that brought him back to reality.

“Sorry, I was miles away,” he said, quickly taking in her appearance. She looked pale and drawn. There was a tightness around her eyes that hadn’t been present before, and her attempt at a smile didn’t make it further than a twitching of the lips. “You OK?”

“I’ve had better days,” she said with a slight shrug and a small wrinkle of her nose. “I still can’t...”

“I know.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I’m guessing you’re going to see Dumbledore,” said Harry for lack of anything better to say. He wanted to take away that drawn look but wasn’t sure how he could.

She nodded. “Madame Pomfrey told me I needed to come here. I don’t think she was pleased that you left the hospital wing last night. I heard her muttering under her breath.”

“If she had her way I’d spend half the year in the hospital wing,” said Harry with a half-grin that she weakly returned.

“Look,” he told her with a sudden change of topic, “it’s just two Aurors who ask you a bunch of questions about last night. If you want I can wait here for you.”

“That’s really nice of you, but you really don’t have to. I don’t want to be a pain.”

“You’re not a pain. Besides, I want to,” he told her honestly.

She looked at him with tender eyes and he suddenly found himself being hugged. She pulled back slightly. “I-” she broke off and hugged him again. This time Harry moved to put his arms around her. He couldn’t help but notice how certain parts of her body pressed into his chest in a way he’d never noticed when Hermione or Mrs Weasley had hugged him.

When she did eventually release him she was blushing and her eyes kept darting from him to the surrounding empty corridor. “Um, I should probably... They’ll be expecting me.” She made a small pointing action to where opened slice of wall was.

“I’ll be waiting,” he told her, smiling at how flustered she was.

She gave him a wide smile as she stepped onto the spiral staircase platform. “I’ll try and be quick so you don’t have to wait too long.”

Harry just smiled back at her as the staircase swirled into action and left him standing in a deserted corridor with only the ugly stone gargoyle for company. Shooting a quick glance at the now stationary statue, he sat down so his back was propped up against the stone wall.

He checked his watch. Ten past nine.

He imagined most of his classmates would be in the Great Hall eating breakfast right about now. The black drapes from last night were still up and the single topic of conversation would be Trelawney; everyone would be putting their own theory of what had happened atop the North Tower.

Ron and Hermione would be wondering where he was. He could almost picture Hermione’s head scanning all over the Great Hall in search of him while Ron continued to eat until he eventually got fed up with Hermione’s search and told her to stop it. Thinking about the scene made him smile until he remembered that when they did catch up with him he’d be expected to go over the events of the previous night for the second time that day.

He checked his watch again. Twelve minutes past nine. He sighed and started to tap a tune out against his leg.

It was strange: in all his previous exploits Ron and Hermione had usually played a major role. Events had sometimes conspired to remove them from the finale  - such as Hermione’s petrification and Ron’s broken leg - but this year it seemed like they weren’t involved at all, like he was almost disconnected from them. He still considered them his best friends, but something had changed.

He supposed it had started after the World Cup when Hermione and Ron had disappeared off together for extended periods of time. He knew the reason for it now, but at the time he’d just felt like the odd one out. He hadn’t realised quite how much time he spent with them till they weren’t around to spend time with.

Then he’d met Padma. He smiled slightly at the thought of her and briefly wondered whether their visit to Hogsmeade could be counted as a date. That led him into wondering whether Padma could be considered his girlfriend. It was a bit of a woolly subject and he made a note to ask Hermione about it.

He let his thoughts drift around for a while. He had a Transfiguration test coming up on Tuesday which he needed to revise for. He still needed to finish an essay on some goblin rebellion that was due in tomorrow morning. He also needed to find out whether Hermione and Ron were staying at Hogwarts for Easter as they usually did. More to the point, he would have to ask Padma if she was staying.

The sound of someone humming pulled him out of his thoughts. Listening more closely he could make out the childhood tune of ‘Ring a Ring ‘o Roses’. The humming grew louder.

Rounding the corner came a skipping Luna Lovegood. Her long blond hair was in a tangled disarray and radish earrings jangled up and down with each skip. A vague expression lined her face and Harry was inexplicably reminded of Professor Trelawney just before she fell off her tower.

Luna stopped skipping just in front of him and her lips stretched into a smile. “Hello Harry Potter.”

“Er, hi Luna.” He quickly cast about for something to say. “Um, what are you doing around here?”

“Hunting for a Blibbering Humdinger,” she told him as though it was the most normal thing in the world. “They’re rather shy creatures, really, but they’re attracted to the sound of nursery rhymes. They’re not so afraid of children, you see.”

“Well I hope you manage to find one then,” he said because he couldn’t think of anything to say and, while she may be a bit strange, he didn’t want to hurt her feelings by suggesting that maybe the Blibbering Humdinger didn’t actually exist.

She smiled at him with a dreamy look in her eyes.  “I hope so, too. They are truly outstanding creatures,” she said before continuing to skip down the corridor, this time humming a tune he didn’t recognise.

Shaking his head slightly at the oddness of Luna Lovegood, he once again checked the time. Nine twenty one. It seemed he’d be waiting around for quite a while to come.

As it turned out, he only had to wait an extra twenty minutes before the gargoyle slid to one side and Padma appeared. She gave a small wave before stepping off the staircase to meet him.

“I hope you weren’t waiting that long,” she said as way of greeting.

Harry shrugged in reply. “How was it?”

“Not too bad,” she said with a slight scrunch of her nose. “I’m just glad it was my dad who came instead of my mother.”

“Your dad?”

“Yeah. Didn’t they get – oh!” She broke off. “I’m sorry; I wasn’t thinking. I just – I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He’d gone long enough without parents that he didn’t particularly miss their presence. That wasn’t to say that he wouldn’t give anything in the world to have them back, but he wasn’t about to pine away for what would never be for the rest of his days. He remembered Dumbledore’s words from his encounter with the Mirror of Erised – “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live”.

“I’m such an idiot at times.”

Harry grinned at that. “Surely a Ravenclaw can never be classed as an idiot. Where’s the hope for the rest of us if the smartest house is filled with idiots?”

She nudged him at that before grinning in return. Together they set off in the vague direction of the Great Hall.

“Now how come you didn’t want your mum to act as your legal guardian?”

“She’d probably have wanted to withdraw me from school to recuperate from such a stressful incident or something like that. She worries a bit too much. She wanted to take us away from Hogwarts in second year, what with the whole students being petrified and everything, and I’m so relieved that she never heard about Sirius Black entering the castle last year or else we’d have been on our way to India in a roar of green flames.”

Harry found himself mentally agreeing that it was a good thing her father had come to Hogwarts. He didn’t quite like the idea that Padma could suddenly disappear off to India. It did make him wonder about some things, though.

“How did she not hear about Sirius Black last year?” They walked down a rickety staircase that curved slightly in one direction, both of them unconsciously skipping the trick step.

“We decided it was in our best interest not to owl that insignificant piece of news and thankfully the Daily Prophet didn’t catch wind of anything. In fact, it’s quite a good thing that most stuff concerning Hogwarts doesn’t end up in the Prophet.”

“I’m guessing Dumbledore manages to cover it up,” said Harry who had been pondering that line of thought since his interview. After all, surely he should have been interviewed by the Aurors before over all the incidents in the last few years? That was, unless the Ministry wasn’t entirely aware of what went on at Hogwarts.

Padma nodded in agreement. “Dad always says Dumbledore’s one to run things his way and that Hogwarts has always been separate from the Ministry’s control.”

They had come now to the marble staircase that would lead them down into the Entrance Hall. Seeing it, Harry turned to her. “Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

“I didn’t have time.” He saw her looking at the brightly polished staircase with a hint of apprehension.

Over three years of being in the limelight – no matter how much he didn’t wish to be – had taught Harry a few things. He knew, for example, that should he or Padma step into the Great Hall, hundreds of curious eyes would turn in their direction. The rumour mill would have already started speculating why Padma hadn’t been present at yesterday’s announcement and why Harry had turned up in informal dress. The obvious conclusion drawn would be the truth – they had somehow been involved with the Trelawney incident. All that would be left to do is snoop out all the details.

Harry had dealt with such attention over the last few years and still felt awkward under those prying eyes. He had a feeling that Padma, who seemed to still be dealing with the events of the previous night, wasn’t really prepared to face what lay in wait in the Great Hall.

He turned to her. “Do you want to go to the kitchens?”

Padma gave him a look of relief. “If you don’t mind?”

“’Course not,” he said with a smile.

They made their way down the marble staircase, bypassing the double doors leading to the Great Hall and instead making their way through the other door on that side of the wall. A couple of minutes later and they were in the kitchens.

“Harry Potter, sir!” Dobby was flying towards him and Harry only just managed to stop the house-elf before he was engulfed in a hug.

“’Lo, Dobby,” said Harry with a half-smile. “Er, we haven’t really had any breakfast so-” instantly a group of house-elves approached carrying trays laden with bacon, eggs, toast, several types of cereal and a mixture of different fruits. They laid them down on the nearest table to where Harry and Padma stood.

“Er – thank you,” said Harry to the group of elves who all bowed very low before retreating. Shrugging at Padma, they both moved to sit down on the bench beside the table.

As they ate, Dobby kept them entertained with his hero-worship of Terry (though Dobby referred to him as Harry Potter’s Booty). It seemed Dobby had been the only one impressed with Terry’s Ode to Dobby. “Not that your Booty can possibly compare to your greatness, Harry Potter, sir!” Dobby had quickly reassured; he looked almost terrified that he might have possibly offended the Boy Who Lived.

“I’m sure I’m not all that great,” said Harry, who was very aware of Padma’s presence.

“Harry Potter is too humble and modest,” Dobby declared.

Feeling rather uncomfortable, Harry quickly diverted the conversation by asking whether Padma wanted any bacon.

“I’m fine, thanks. I’m actually a vegetarian,” she added looking a bit self-conscious.

“Oh. I didn’t know that,” said Harry to which she shook her head, smiling.

There was a slight lull in the conversation as Harry finished off the last of the bacon. He gazed around the room taking in the house-elves as they worked. He looked on as one elf washed up a wine glass in a sink full of soapy suds before handing it to another elf to dry with a tea towel embroidered with the Hogwarts crest. Watching the scene, an idea occurred to him.

 

“Dobby, did you hear about what happened to Professor Trelawney?”

In response Dobby’s tennis-ball eyes lowered to the ground and his bat-like ears drooped, making the tea cosy on his head slip further down his small forehead. “A very bad thing, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby does not like to think of it. House-elves see too much.”

“You said that before,” said Harry as he recalled the first time he visited the kitchens. “But what does it mean? Have you seen something, Dobby?”

But Dobby was shaking his head and wasn’t saying anything.

“Dobby, please? The Aurors are investigating the death and if you know anything then it could be really important. Dobby?”

“Dobby is not liking to be talking about it. No house-elf is.” His tennis-ball eyes held a wary gleam as he looked around the kitchens. He then leaned in so the tea-cosy almost bumped into Harry’s chin. “Something bad is in the castle, Harry Potter, sir. Old and lifeless. Professor Trelawney was not herself. Not herself for a while. Dobby cannot say anymore. Hogwarts protects her secrets.”

Dobby looked away then and refused to meet Harry’s eyes. He also remained silent, mutely shaking his head when Harry tried to pry further. In the end he had no other option than to drop the subject entirely.

But as Harry and Padma got up to leave the kitchens, Dobby turned to them. His enormous eyes were solemn. “Be careful, Harry Potter. Hogwarts is not safe.”

Outside of the kitchens the pair of them walked in a contemplative silence until they turned the corner. They both started speaking at the same time:

“What do you think-?”

“Was that just me or-?”

Sharing a chuckle, Harry indicated for her to speak. “No, you go ahead,” she insisted.

“I was just wondering what you made of that. Hogwarts is not safe.” The ominous phrase hung in the air.

“I don’t know what to think. If someone had told me that yesterday I’d watch a professor jump from a tower then I would have thought them mad, but...” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “But it happened and I still don’t understand why. Why would she jump? You were right there in front of her and she just let herself fall back. Why would anyone do that?”

Her voice broke and her eyes, now filled with unshed tears, looked at him in miserable confusion. Feeling hopelessly out of his depth, Harry patted her on the shoulder in comfort and soon found himself saying that he didn’t understand it either, that no one in their right mind would do such a thing and that, most of all, he was sorry that she had been there to see it.

Unfortunately for Harry this seemed to make things worse. She was now clinging to him and soaking his top with her tears - and likely some snot by the way she was sniffing. He tried not to think about the latter as he continued to pat her shoulder and mutter words of apology. Half of him wished someone would come along and help him out while the second half hoped no one would see him in such an awkward position.

What might have been an hour later but was likely closer to ten minutes, Padma was mostly back to normal - if one discounted the redness around her eyes and the way she was concentrating on breathing normally. “I must seem like such an idiot. I’m really sorry about all this. I’m really sorry about your top, too.”

It was true that there was now a large damp patch over the left side of his top. “It’s fine,” he told her. “It’s a good thing I like you so much.”

He caught her wide smile and the beginnings of a blush before she ducked her head out of view. “I quite like you, too,” she said quietly as her hand pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

The rest of the walk back to the Entrance Hall was made in a silence of shared looks and smiles. Their hands sought each other’s out and became loosely entwined. It felt like something important had happened even if Harry wasn’t sure precisely what.

“I probably ought to go and find Mandy,” she said as they walked up the marble staircase. “She’ll probably be wondering what happened.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “And I probably ought to go and find Ron and Hermione.”

“I’ll see you in Charms tomorrow, then?”

He nodded. “I’ll see you then. You’ll be alright, won’t you?”

“I’ll be fine. And sorry again for soaking your top. I’m not usually such a watering-pot.”

“It’s fine. Really.”

There was a moment of hesitation where they just stood and faced each other. Padma then repeated that she ought to go with a self-conscious laugh and a vague gesture and started to walk away.

He waited until she was ought of sight before starting to walk leisurely in the direction of the Gryffindor common room. There was no use putting off the inevitable.

As soon as he entered the tower room he heard his name being called. Hermione and Ron were sitting together in one corner of the room. They quickly gestured him over.

After a quick round of greetings, Ron began to expound on how glad he was that he no longer had to bother with his Divination homework. He was interrupted when Hermione elbowed him in the side.

“Hey!” cried Ron indignantly. “What was that for?”

But Hermione wasn’t looking at him. Instead she was looking at Harry. “We didn’t see you at breakfast.”

“I had to go see Dumbledore.”

Hermione bit on her lip slightly. “They’re saying Trelawney jumped from the North Tower. Apparently Abravan and a couple of students saw the whole thing... You were one of the students there, weren’t you?”

He nodded and suddenly he was telling them everything that had happened on top of the Divination tower. Speaking about it for the second time made him feel that much more disconnected from the whole thing, as though he was merely retelling someone else’s version of what happened.

“Oh, Harry,” said Hermione when he finally stopped talking. She then got out of her chair and pulled him into a hug. “Why is it that these things always happen to you?”

“Bad luck?” he suggested weakly as she released him. He suddenly felt extremely awkward under Hermione’s sympathetic gaze.

In the background, Ron snorted. “You just seem to attract trouble.”

Harry had to grin at that, and for a moment it felt like everything was back to normal; that it was just the three of them and that together they could face anything.

“Did Dumbledore want to hear what happened, then?” asked Ron, and so Harry went into explaining the Aurors’ presence and what they thought about it.

As he talked about them he suddenly realised something. “They’re the same Aurors who were investigating the death of that train driver – Ernest whatever-his-name-was.”

Only he seemed excited by the epiphany, however.

“They’re probably in charge of this area,” Hermione dismissed. “They wouldn’t have known the exact details of Professor Trelawney’s death when they were assigned the case so I can’t see how they’d be linked.”

It was a valid point, but he couldn’t help but look in Ron’s direction for support. The red-headed boy just shrugged.

“I wonder what will happen about Divination lessons,” said Hermione in a clear change of subject.

“Probably just get a new teacher. It’s not as though Divination’s a cursed position. I just hope they’re not as batty as good old Trelawney.”

The conversation soon moved on to more inane things which frustrated Harry no end. There was a mystery here, he was sure of it: two strange deaths, Dobby’s warning, and something that didn’t show up on the Marauder’s Map. There was also Abravan, but Harry wasn’t sure what to think about the Defence professor anymore.

“I’m going to Hagrid’s,” said Harry, who wondered whether the gamekeeper would know anything. That, and he hadn’t seen Hagrid much outside of lessons for a while. “Either of you want to come?”

“Sure,” said Ron who started putting away his History essay. He’d only written two sentences and already seemed bored with it.

“You do realise that’s due in for tomorrow,” Hermione told him with a frown. “And you’ve got to work on your Engorging Charm.”

Ron groaned. “Fine, I’ll stay here and finish this bloody essay and figure out the stupid Engorging Charm.”

Harry looked at Hermione for an answer.

“I’ve got to revise for the Transfiguration test and I said I’d help out with the Engorging Charm. Tell Hagrid I said hi, though.”

Harry promised to do so before making his way out of the common room and outside onto the castle grounds. He only hoped that Hagrid was in and not down in Hogsmeade.

This, however, seemed the likeliest explanation when he knocked on the door of Hagrid’s hut and received no answer. He knocked again, saying aloud Hagrid’s name but he already knew – the hut was empty.

“Great,” he muttered to himself before sighing. “Just great.”

He probably ought to go back to the common room and do his own History essay. Somehow the prospect didn’t excite him.

Without really thinking of a final destination, he started to walk back to the castle. Instead of going within, however, he found himself walking around the castle’s walls.

As he approached the northern part of the castle he noticed a small, khaki-coloured tent had been put up. A couple of people dressed in royal blue robes were crouching down to examine something on the ground while a man clothed in lilac was holding a camera and taking photos.

A few minutes later someone appeared to have spotted him. One of the figures in blue began to walk in his direction.

“I’m sorry, but this is a crime scene and I’m going to- oh! It’s you.”

It was Auror Proudfoot. “I didn’t recognise you. Too short-sighted, you see. We’ve been having students try and get a look all morning.”

“Oh,” said Harry. “I was just walking and saw the tent.”

“Ah, of course,” said Proudfoot with such exaggeration that he knew she didn’t really believe him. He couldn’t be annoyed by the implication, however, since she was then asking him whether he wanted a closer look.

“Is that allowed?”

“Not strictly, but what the hell. There is a bit of extra flexibility since you’re a witness, and if anyone asks just say how you’re thinking about becoming an Auror when you graduate and this is like work experience or something. It’s not like this case is anything really important. So do you want a closer look?”

He agreed at once which had Proudfoot grinning. She quickly led him back towards the tent.

“First I better introduce you to everyone. The one with the camera’s Phil, and this here is our magical residue guru, Morris. No one calls him that, though.”

Harry looked over the stocky man with his shiny bald patch and greying beard. “What do you call him?”

“Ducky. No idea why, so don’t bother asking.”

“Oi, I thought I told you to get rid of the kid, not bring him back for tea.” Ducky was glowering in their direction with a scowl that made his beard twitch.

“Witness who happens to be very interested in one day joining our humble organisation, so be nice.”

“You’re too like your granddad, you are.”

Proudfoot grinned at him and called back as they entered the tent: “I take that as a complement.”

Harry looked at her in question.

“My family’s been Aurors for years. Skips every generation more or less. Granddad used to let me tag along at times. Said it kept me out of trouble, can you believe. But now you get to see the hub of Auror activity.”

Sitting inside the tent’s rather large interior were two men drinking tea. Both wore the royal blue robes that he assumed were Auror uniforms. He recognised one as Morton. The other looked relatively young (it was always so hard to tell with wizards) with no particular stand-out feature: brown hair, brown eyes, and of medium height and build. Proudfoot introduced him as Jones after the explanation as to Harry’s presence.

“You brought him in so he’s you’re responsibility,” Morton said. “Just make sure he doesn’t get in the way or touch anything.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” said Proudfoot with an exaggerated salute. She turned to Harry and winked. “Let’s show you all the cool stuff.”

The tent was divided into rooms by white partitions that hid each section from view. Harry wondered where the entrances were. His silent question was answered as Proudfoot made a movement with her wand; the elaborate swishing motion ending as a door materialised into existence. “Security,” she explained as she pushed the newly-formed door open and gestured for him to get inside.

The temperature seemed to drop as he moved further in, his shoes squeaking against the white tiled flooring. Two thick slabs of marble that reached up to his waist dominated the room. White units outlined the room with a couple of sinks on opposite sides of the room. More interesting were the jars filled with different coloured potions on top of the counters.

“This is where we examine the body. Well, Jones is the one who does the actual examining, checks through all the organs and does all the tests. I just get to stand in and watch.”

“Is he not an Auror, then?” he asked while thinking about the matching robes.

“Jones?” She made a sound of disbelief. “Circe help us if he was an Auror. He’s one of the few MMs that are attached to the DMLE. He trained as a healer before deciding that he didn’t like dealing with sick people and hypochondriacs.”

“MMs?”  

“Medicus Mortis. A doctor of death, so to speak. They’re not the most popular people around and every so often you get some crackpot going vigilante on one of them for despoiling cadavers. Sanctity of the dead and all that rot.” She rolled her eyes.

She then changed subject entirely. “The most important thing you’ll ever learn as an Auror is how to block out the smell. Dead bodies stink like nobody’s business after a while. I remember back in training where a group of us were sent out shadowing. No one bothered to teach us the spell. Something about taking the initiative and being in charge of your own learning or some such rot. Lucky for me, Granddad had taught it to me years before. In fact, do you have your wand on you?”

Harry nodded, pulling his wand out from the back pocket of his jeans. She rolled her eyes at his action but said nothing.

“Righty-o, first things first, the incantation’s Anosmia. Wand movement’s just three taps on the nose.” She did a quick demonstration on herself. “Got that?”

“Think so,” said Harry, who in turn held up his wand to his nose. “Anosmia!”

“Feel any different?” she asked.

“Not particularly,” he answered honestly.

She grinned. “Only one way to be sure.”

She then moved across the room and opened one of the unit cabinets, pulling out what looked like a goldfish tank, only no fish swam through the clear, amber fluid. Instead there was a large, reddish-brown lump sitting in the middle with a crease illustrating the two visible lobes.

“Are you ready?” she asked before sliding open the tank’s lid.

“Christ, that stinks!” His nose scrunched up in distaste of the truly foul smell.

“You may want to try that spell again,” she informed him cheerful with an unrepentant grin splitting her face.

Harry did so at once and after a few more tries managed to get the spell down. He supposed he always had worked best under the right sort of motivation.

“What was that smell?”

“Liver in Preservation Potion. Lovely, huh?”

He glanced down at the tank. “That’s not Professor Trelawney’s is it?”

“I’m not quite that callous, you know. It’s actually Jones’s good luck charm from his first cadaver. Pretty freaky if you ask me.”

Harry made a sound of agreement.

“Come on, I’ll show you the evidence room next.”

The evidence room was filled with grey trays. Several were laid out on a wooden table while the majority were in orderly stacks that lined the far wall. The ones on the table were filled with objects that Harry recognised as belonging to Trelawney: bangles of varying colour, the gauzy blue shawl she was wearing when she fell, her over-large glasses that were twisted and smashed from the fall and other such objects.

Proudfoot frowned when she saw the trays. “They were supposed to have been filed,” she said and gave him a concerned look as though the sight of Trelawney’s belongings might cause him some distress.

“It’s fine,” he assured her.

“No, it’s really not. You’re not allowed to see anything relating to an open case, but I suppose it’s too late for that now.” With a shake of her head, she brandished her wand; a few flicks later and the files flying towards the wall and neatly stacking themselves up.

“Have you figured out why Professor Trelawney jumped yet?”

“We’re still looking in to it. As we said earlier, we think it’s likely to be death by misadventure, but I’m not at liberty to say more than that, especially since the case is on-going. We don’t think you pushed her if that’s what you’re wondering,” she told him with a grin.

That thought hadn’t even entered Harry’s head but he grinned back all the same.

“I was also wondering - I mean in the interview you looked at Morton when you heard about Abravan and I was wondering...” he trailed off, feeling rather stupid for bringing up the subject and wishing he’d kept his mouth shut.

“He’s known to us,” she said tightly.

The subject was hastily dropped and she went on to run through the procedure involved in acquiring evidence. Every piece had to be checked for curses and any traces of potion before they could be properly examined.

“Do you use the Revealing Spell to check for curses?” Harry wanted to know.

“Aperio Arcana? We do for most cases, but sometimes a bit more finesse is needed so we use more advanced spells. You also get some detection spells that can find an echo, which is pretty helpful.” At his blank look she explained further. “Each wand has its own magical signature - much like everyone has different fingerprints, right? Whenever you cast a spell, part of the magical residue that lingers is made up of your wand’s magical signature, an echo of the caster, if you will. Unfortunately, some people know how to distort or simply get rid of their magical signature entirely. You also get the problem that it might be someone else’s wand, be from overseas and so not registered, or else have been brought from the black-market.

“So could someone get rid of their magical residue altogether?” He was thinking back on the train driver and the lack of a magical residue.

“Nah, that’s impossible. Just the magical signature.”

As they toured the rest of the tent’s facilities, Proudfoot gave out some more information about curses. It was especially interesting to hear that wands were one of the most commonly cursed items.

“It makes sense when you think about it,” she told him. “What’s the only thing you can’t point your wand at? The wand itself!”

Many curses were latent. The ones on wands usually only kicked in after a certain number of spells were used. Some people even carve runes on the wand to amplify the effect.

“Do you need to take Ancient Runes to become an Auror, then?”

“It’s helpful to have, but not essential. You need NEWT Defence, Charms, Potions and Transfiguration at EE grade at least.”

“Potions?” Harry couldn’t imagine passing his Potion’s OWL, let alone the NEWT. He’d actually been hoping to drop the subject as soon as he possibly could.

“Not a favourite subject I gather?”

“One of my worst. My teacher hates me.”

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “I can sympathise – my Ancient Runes teacher hated my guts and bumped up the NEWT entrance grade just so I couldn’t get in. Lucky for me, I had a friend who helped me out and I sat my NEWT after I left Hogwarts. Still failed, mind you.

“But Potions is one of the essentials, I’m afraid. You need to know all the different poisons and specific antidotes and how they affect the body. It’s also good to know about the different potions involved in concealment, like Polyjuice Potion. I’ve got one friend who passed Concealment and Disguise by brewing up a bunch of different potions to alter her appearance, so it’s pretty useful stuff to know.”

“S’pose,” said Harry who thought that it might be a good idea to start paying some attention in Potions from now on.

Proudfoot glanced down at her watch. “Seems it’s lunch time.”

“I probably ought to be getting back to the castle,” said Harry. “I’ve still got to write a History essay for tomorrow.”

“Goblin rebellion by any chance?”

“You had Binns too, I’m guessing.”

She grinned. “When he was still in the land of the living. I doubt death has improved his teaching ability.”

They were still discussing the pointlessness of learning about goblin rebellions when they came to the entrance to the tent. Morton and Jones were nowhere to be seen though their empty tea cups remained.

“So all that’s left is to ask is whether you’re interested in joining the Aurors after Hogwarts?”

Harry nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely.”

Proudfoot grinned and gestured for him to exit the tent.

“...was anaemic and she’s made a note that her alcohol consumption had-” as soon as Jones saw Harry he broke off.

“I’m guessing you got the medical records off Madame Pomfrey?”  questioned Proudfoot with a raised eyebrow.

Jones nodded sharply.

“Harry’s just leaving. It’s lunch time for him.”

“Right, well I hope you enjoyed the tour then. And enjoy Hogwarts’ meals while you still can.” Jones gave a tight smile and held out his hand.

Harry shook it before looking around at everyone. “Thanks for letting me look around. It’s really interesting.”

“Oh, and before I forget – finite!” Proudfoot waved her wand at his nose. “Figured you’d like your sense of smell back for lunch.”

Harry thanked her, and then thanked her again for the tour. He then turned to go only for Phil the cameraman to suddenly ask for his autograph. “If you don’t mind,” he added on.

Slightly bewildered, Harry agreed, and soon found himself scrawling his signature on several pieces of parchment (the others had decided they wouldn’t mind his autograph either).

“Well it’s not every day you meet the Harry Potter, is it?” Proudfoot told him with a grin. “And if you could make it out to Ellie, please. Oh, and you wouldn’t mind signing this for my gran, would you? She’s a bit of a fan.”

Finally finishing all the requests, he eventually made his way back to the castle. Students were slowly filtering into the Great Hall for lunch and Harry joined the stream, soon finding himself sitting between Ron and Seamus.

“How was Hagrid?” Ron asked in greeting

“He wasn’t in.” He was bursting to tell Ron about what he’d been doing for the last few hours before he thought better of it. He already knew Ron’s reaction – jealousy. Instead he made a mention of walking around the grounds to clear his head.

“But how’s the essay going? It doesn’t take too long, does it? I still need to do it.”

He then got to sit through a lunch filled with a rant on goblin rebellions followed by a moan about Hermione. In the end, Seamus turned around and told Ron to shut up since they’d all heard it before. Ron left soon after.

“How you put up with Ron and Hermione all the time, I don’t know,” commented Seamus soon after Ron’s departure.

“You learn to tune it out after a while,” Harry told him.

He quickly finished off his lunch and was heading out of the hall when a voice called his name. Turning round, he saw Terry rushing towards him. They soon fell into step with each other.

“Padma told me what happened. Are you alright?”

He was the only one, Harry suddenly realised as he gave his usual “Fine” response, who had asked him that except for Madame Pomfrey, who always asked. More curiously, he wondered why he wasn’t surprised by that.

“How’s Padma?” he asked as they ascended the marble staircase.

“Coping, but still in a bit of shock over the whole thing. I think I would be too. Not every day you see a professor throw themselves off a tower.”

“No, it’s not,” agreed Harry before grinning at how ludicrous the conversation was. “Though I’d more say she let herself fall backwards rather than a throwing action.”

They took a left turn and walked seven paces down the stone corridor before stepping into a wall that was only an illusion. Beyond lay a small shaft that they walked along in single file. It brought them out to the other side of the fourth floor where a large spiral staircase made from stone stood. Harry led the way up with Terry following along behind.

“Did Padma tell you about Dobby?” Harry asked, turning his head back as they climbed.

“And his strange warning? Yeah, she did. Well, he did seem somewhat batty. The tea cosy’s probably gone to his head,” Terry laughed.

Harry didn’t laugh, though. “The last time I got a warning from Dobby it was about the Chamber of Secrets. He was even more vague then and ended up almost killing me in the name of protection.”

They went up the last few steps and came out to on the seventh floor. It wasn’t until he became conscious of where he was that Harry realised where he had been heading all along.

“What? You think Trelawney was murdered?” Terry couldn’t hide the incredulousness in his voice.

“No, of course not. I was there, wasn’t I? I just think there’s more to this.” At Terry’s sceptical look Harry felt the need to defend his belief. “Look, it’s more than just Trelawney’s death, alright?”

Understanding that a lot more needed to be said - only not in a main corridor where anyone could listen in - he gestured for Terry to follow him. Stopping opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, he imagined a room where they could talk and then gestured for Terry to enter when a door appeared.

“What is this place?” The Ravenclaw asked as he looked around the wood panelled room complete with a lit fireplace and a couple of comfy armchairs that bore a large similarity to the ones found in the Gryffindor common room.

“The Room of Requirements,” said Harry before explaining how special the room was.

“Sounds like a holodeck or something.” At Harry’s confused look Terry grinned. “Obviously not a Star Trek fan. My granddad loves it, but we figure that’s mainly since he’s got a passing resemblance to Patrick Steward.”

Harry knew the bare minimum about Star Trek – Dudley had never been intelligent enough to get his head around the concept of science fiction - and so decided to ignore the reference and get back on track. He detailed what he knew about the train driver’s death – “Murder most foul,” commented Terry - way back in September, made a passing reference to the Halloween Ball where Abravan had suddenly turned up in Myrtle’s bathroom, explained the relevance of someone not appearing on the Marauder’s Map, and ended with a recount of Trelawney’s death and a brief summary of his time spent with the Aurors.

Terry listened to Harry with only a few small interjections and stayed silent for a long time after Harry finished speaking.

“Do you think I’m mad?” Harry eventually asked. He had started wondering whether the adventures in the last three years had made him put together a mystery that wasn’t really there. Ron and Hermione didn’t seem particularly interested and Harry hadn’t really wanted to talk to Padma about it all in case it upset her or, worse, made her think he was mad. Terry was neutral ground: a friend but one whose opinion didn’t mean all that much in the grand scheme of things if he was being truly honest with himself; he had known him only a couple of months, after all.

“No, I don’t think you’re mad,” Terry told him. “Maybe a bit perverted for going to a girls’ bathroom but-”

“I was looking for Ron at the time,” Harry interjected.

“Then it’s Ron who’s a bit perverted,” said Terry with a grin. “But I don’t think you’re crazy. It all does seem a bit odd, but I’m not totally convinced that they’re all connected. Did the Aurors mention anything about the withered body?”

“Didn’t really have the opportunity to ask, and it would probably have looked a bit odd if I had. I did ask about Abravan, though.”

“What did they say?”

“That he was known to them. I don’t think she wanted to talk about Abravan.”

Terry looked intrigued. “In that case, I have a plan.”