Chapter 5. Roy Hunt and the Head Hunter
Harry and Andy dropped off Jane Doe at the Toronto Hospital for Magical Illnesses and were patiently awaiting the Healer's preliminary assessment.
She was pacing, and patience for her meant annoying any hospital employee unfortunate enough to happen to pass where they were waiting. He was staring at the almost empty cup of iced strawberry and banana smoothie in his hand, the cold sensation just about the only thing keeping him awake as they waited. The witch who sold it to him looked at him strangely, having not had any such sale for a long while. He was replaying Jane Doe's bizarre message in his head and continued to come up with nothing.
A Muggle television set was just above him and at that moment, the morning wizard news was on. A word caught his attention, 'Gringotts'. He looked up to watch the breaking news alert. There was chaos at the scene. An attack? A robbery? A missing Goblin? Not known at the time, Aurors were investigating. Definitely Bellatrix Lestrange.
Ten years after Voldemort, the old hag was still kicking around, and until recently, really just doing petty, irritating little things. She was a husband lighter. A few years ago, Rodolphus Lestange died, a complication from infidelity. Her band of followers were still called Death Eaters, maybe as a tribute to her mentor, probably because she was not creative enough to come up with a new name, and most likely because it was easier to recruit into an established organization. Dean had said there were rumblings everywhere that she was gaining support and that she had acquired some needed brains into her operation. Unlike Voldemort, Lestrange was not averse to working with others.
It was a cycle after all; calm and terror, peace and war, order and chaos. But as always, Ministries of Magic everywhere lacked the foresight to plan for this, London not being any different. The Ministry was once again dragging its feet, playing down the obvious, hoping for the best.
Just last week, he saw a former Hogwarts teacher who had made the trip to Toronto to convince him to come back to London. Harry agreed; the Order of the Phoenix was needed again. But no, he had to stay where he was.
It was six in the morning before Harry and Andy were able to leave the hospital. The staff party line was they would do the best they could but it could be days before there was anything to report. More tests had to be run. They weren't even sure if they could wake Jane Doe up to a state where she would be able to answer questions.
He was so frustrated. It was beginning to look more like it was going to be another dead end. They Disapparated to the Atrium of the Headquarters of the Ministry of Magic on 199 Queen St. West to complete their paperwork and to attend the daily morning briefing at seven.
The Ministry Headquarters in Toronto, unlike the one in London, was mostly above ground. It was a more cheerful place and was actually registered in Ontario as a business called the 'House of Magic'. The ground floor for any Muggle passer-by was a Magical Costume and Prop Store, all Muggle manufactured of course, and a business that in the past year had a net profit. The staff was a bit expensive to maintain considering a Legilimiens and at least a Hit Wizard had to be around during business hours.
As they entered the 7th floor Auror offices and found their desks, a brown folder was neatly stacked at the top of his overflowing in-tray. Andy glanced at the label on the front.
"I'll fill out the report," she said to him as she sat on her desk. With a flick of her wand the monitor in front of her came alive and she started putting the report into the keyboardless and mouseless magically modified Muggle computer.
Harry took the folder and set it in front of him, staring at it for some time, acutely aware that Andy was casting looks at him every now and then. A name was stamped across the face of the folder.
MALFOY, DRACO
His access to the file was not totally legal. Andy used some of her connections within the Magical Law Enforcement (MLE) to acquire information on Malfoy that any North American agency might have. All it would take for them to be in trouble was for someone to find out that the witness who swore Malfoy was sighted in Toronto with a gang of known miscreants did not exist. It was personal and Andy knew she could not convince him otherwise so she helped him instead.
He opened the file and started reading, looking for any evidence that Draco was into criminal activities or performing the Dark Arts illicitly. He firmly believed that all this good guy stuff was an act, a ruse to meet at least one vile or self-serving end. Why Hermione did not see this was still beyond his understanding.
The very light file was from the Detroit, Michigan MLE.
It began with Malfoy's background, where he came from, who his parents were, known associates, known memberships. There were no surprises there. Malfoy and his mother, Narcissa, moved to the Detroit area a few days after his father received the Dementor's kiss. They apparently stayed for a few months with one of Narcissa's distant cousins who had children about Malfoy's age; no names.
Then it started; entries, weeks after they arrived in the States. A series of non-magical violent scuffles, physical injuries, documented as he was seen at a Detroit Magical hospital several times over a period of weeks. Harry felt no sympathy. The git deserved every bit of it and more. Too bad he could not compliment the upstanding individual (or individuals) responsible for making a part of Malfoy's life less cozy. It seemed that Malfoy did not know any of his attackers.
Next was a request for a valid Muggle school transcript so Malfoy could attend University. It was approved and he spent the next seven years preparing for and attending a Muggle Law Program at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor without notable incident. He couldn't begin to imagine why he would do something like that. His mother, maybe, but still all very strange.
Shortly after graduating from law school, he joined the Public Defender's office in Detroit and remained there until he moved back to London following Narcissa Malfoy's untimely death from an illness about three months ago. He was now working as a pro bono solicitor for a Muggle charitable institution. There was something very wrong about this picture.
Then nothing. What?! No, that can't be it! There had to be more! He vigorously flipped through the pages again turning each leaf front to back, making sure he did not miss anything. Nothing.
Harry slammed the folder shut against his desk, startling Andy and the few witches and wizards who were starting to file into the office. He closed his eyes forcibly, ran his fingers through his black hair and sighed heavily as he asked himself why he couldn't catch a break. He just wanted one thing to go his way. Was that too much to ask?
"I know someone who works there and owes me big time. I'll get him to poke around some more," Andy's calm voice filtered through the tension in him and broke it down. As he opened his eyes and acknowledged her offer, he saw that she had summoned the folder and had read the Malfoy file herself, shoving it into one of her drawers.
He felt something tug at his heart. Sometimes, Andy reminded him of her. Hermione always had a way of making things better and he desperately needed her to make things better just about now.
"Come on. Unless you want to take a shower," Andy jogged him back to reality. She preferred to be in the Briefing Room early.
The Briefing Room was still almost empty when they got there and they settled in two chairs at the back. He watched as the room filled in, hearing Andy in the background as she joined a conversation with two other witches about which Toronto neighbourhood was a good area to buy a house.
He had been thinking a lot lately about how such mundane conversations were absent from his life. The loneliness was seeping in again big time. What he could use was a good talk with someone who would just listen. He looked at his partner and contemplated. Maybe. Or maybe he should just go find a real Dr. Hyde.
Finally, Jack Muller was at the podium. He was a tall, burly bald wizard with a booming voice who spit when he talked. Everyone avoided the front row seats during briefings. Harry had to speak with him now. It was Andy's advice to ask him favours as early in the morning as possible.
"Jack, do you have a minute?"
"What's going on?" Muller was snappy, must be having a bad day already.
"I need a few days off, a week tops. I have an urgent matter to take care of in London," Harry asked, somehow knowing what Muller would say.
"Harry, you can't, not this week. I've rescinded vacation because of this blasted event," came the response Harry expected. "I need all hands on deck so unless it's a matter of life or death, I can't approve it."
Muller turned away from him signalling that their conversation was over. He could go AWOL but that could mean he would not be able to come back as an Auror. His life was already littered with lots of burned bridges and this was one bridge he didn't want to burn, not until Greasy was in Azkaban.
As he walked back to his seat he wondered. Would waiting one more week to see Hermione matter? One more week of thinking about Malfoy with her and not doing anything about it. One more week of Malfoy, dating her, touching her, holding her soft hands, kiss …
Yes, it definitely mattered a lot. So much that it could qualify as a 'matter of life or death'. Somehow, Harry didn't think Muller would see it that way. Maybe Andy would cover for him for a few hours.
Harry thought about the most efficient way to do this. Dean could help him track Hermione down. He would just have to ignore her furious expression as he took her wand away, silenced and bound her with a couple of curses to make her stay and listen. It may take hours but for sure, she would see the light. He'd be back in Toronto in time for tomorrow's briefing.
He was definitely losing it.
"The Annual Symposium of Magical Researchers," was all the Head of the MLE (and its Auror Office) said and that was enough to cause groaning among grown witches and wizards. Muller continued, as he magically handed out information packages, "It's such a pleasure coming to work everyday with a bunch of whiners."
"When is it again?" someone asked.
"The 10th through the 14th," Muller replied and there was more groaning. Harry remembered that Muller had mentioned this a month back but everyone in the MLE seemed to think if they ignored it, the event would go away.
Muller added, "As you may or may not remember, the Conference is the biggest and best of its kind and we as a City are honoured to host the event annually, or what? Anyone?"
He looked across the room and found his equally frank Auror in the back.
Poker faced, Andy obliged with an answer, "Or make every appearance that we are, Sir."
"Exactly! So suck it up everyone. I want happy faces for five days and I don't care how you are for the rest of the year."
Muller rattled on specifics about the assignments and expectations from the MLE as Harry remembered the events of last year. It was the same conference that brought him to Toronto a year ago, setting off the series of events that would change his life forever.
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February 13, 2006 - Ministry of Magic, Hit Wizard Office
"Potter, Thomas, in here!" bellowed Alastor Gumboil from his office door. Gumboil was the boss.
Harry gave Dean a quizzical look, "What did you do this time?"
Dean answered back, "I was about to ask you the same question."
Dean had been his partner for five years and they were pretty good about backing each other up, particularly when it came to the boss. Last night, the Cannons won their Quidditch quarter-final match for the Queen's Cup. They were meeting the Harpies in a few days in the semis and Ron hosted a party that ran through the morning. He and Ron had a difficult talk about Hermione after and Harry was a bit late coming in. Surely, that tardiness wasn't what this was about. Unless…
"You don't think good ole Roy squealed on us, do you?" Harry asked his partner.
"If he did then it's his word against ours," Dean replied.
Roy Hunt was a garden variety crook, a con man, who dabbled in everything and anything illegal. He was a Squib and his specialty was robbing witches of their hard earned Galleons using his natural charm. Too bad he did not put his good looks to better use.
He and Dean had been on his ass for two weeks, and they couldn't pin a thing on him. Hunt seemed to know they were watching and knew what not to do to avoid arrest. The guy was smart or at least, very lucky. Sick and tired of seeing him date and seduce women (which initially was an interesting learning experience), they 'modified' usual protocol, arrested him without notifying dispatch and with less than the usual probable cause.
They had to be a bit creative, both swearing never to reveal which of them dressed as a woman to be the bait to spring the surprise on Hunt as he attempted to steal a valuable family heirloom. They found other stolen items on his person at the time of his arrest last night. Case closed.
As they got to Gumboil's office, a stern expression met them. It was going to be a tongue lashing for sure and they had an audience in Head Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt.
"You both know Mr. Shacklebolt," Gumboil said to them.
Kingsley acknowledged them, dispensing of the formalities, "Harry, Dean."
They nodded to him. They must have screwed up big time.
"Roy Hunt," Gumboil started, causing them to look at each other. "He's filing a complaint."
"Of course he is," Harry replied, "He's got nothing better to do in jail."
"He said he was physically abused and is suffering humiliation because of it."
"Really?" Dean feigned surprise. "Did he say that during or in between the cold compresses that he has to put between his legs?"
Harry could not control himself and a snigger escaped from his mouth. He was amazed that Dean could keep a straight face.
Gumboil chose to ignore the amusement Harry was getting from this, "He said one of you shrunk his penis with magic."
Again, a snort.
Dean turned to him and deadpanned, "I don't know, Harry. For two weeks we've been watching him stick his worthless dick into women before robbing them. It always looked smallish to me. What do you think?"
"He's teeny-weeny, minute," he confirmed. "We have it in notes somewhere I'm sure. He must just be trying to get himself a free engorgement job. Which of us did he say performed magic on him, because Dean and I both know that's wrong and we could lose our jobs for it."
"He said a beautiful woman kicked him in the groin and used a wand."
At that point Harry and Dean burst into uncontrollable laughter. Even Kingsley found it funny but the boss did not even break a smile. Poor schmuck. Must be tough going through his entire life not having a sense of humor. After some time, he yelled out.
"So who was it?!"
It was really pointless for him to get upset.
"Geez, Dean, your Mom is going to be pissed if she finds out you've been in her closet again."
"And you can stop pretending you like women and just come out of yours."
They did this for fun, get on Gumboil's nerves. Looking over, Harry realized they probably overdid it this time if not for Kingsley saving them.
"Alastor, Hunt must be lying. I mean, really, can you imagine either of these two being described as 'beautiful', man or woman?"
Kingsley was dead on. The 'woman' was actually butt ugly, but there was nothing that a few drops of Amortentia and a Confundus Charm could not make beautiful. For Hit Wizards, both methods were Ministry unapproved. And while there were no rules against Aurors using magic to apprehend dark witches and wizards, the regulations that applied to Squibs and Muggles were as tight as Gumboil's ass.
"Fine," Gumboil let it go. Really, he couldn't afford to suspend anyone, much less fire them. Still steaming, he said to them, "Mr. Shacklebolt would like a word with you."
The moment Kingsley took over, the conversation took a more serious tone.
"Gentlemen, what I'm about to say is highly confidential and must not be repeated outside this office. Do I have your word?"
Kingsley looked at them both as they nodded.
"We know you've been following Hunt for quite sometime. The Auror Office has been, too, even before you and we've been tipping him off so he would elude arrest. Last night, we dropped the ball."
"What?!" Dean and Harry exclaimed in unison.
"You were letting him rob all those witches?!" Harry asked. It just wasn't right.
"Hear me out," Kingsley interrupted, taking command of the room.
"A year ago, a German Healer, Helga Braun, was found dead in a Downtown Toronto Hotel, apparently a victim of a common Muggle robbery. She was sexually assaulted then beaten severely, her face unrecognizable, and suffocated in her own pool of blood. It was a gruesome murder. Money and jewelry went missing. No suspects or arrests have been made, the case remains unsolved."
"Quite by chance, we arrested a Canadian tourist just last month trying to peddle intellectual property that has been proven to belong to Healer Braun."
"Intellectual property?" Harry asked for clarification.
"Reports, documents, notes, magical healing studies. She was in Toronto attending a research conference and interviews with her colleagues since have confirmed that she had a briefcase full of her research work while she was there that was never accounted for," Kingsley answered.
Hermione just left a few hours ago for some research meeting in Toronto.
"We found a few more attendees who lost or momentarily misplaced something similar, almost all of them trivial they didn't even bother reporting to authorities."
Harry said, "The ones that have gone missing are obviously unpublished."
Kingsley confirmed, "Mostly drafts, works in progress."
"I don't understand," Dean was a bit confused. "Why steal them during the meetings when you can steal them any other time?"
If not for his years of experience hearing Hermione talk about research, he would ask the question too.
Harry replied, "True but useful only if you broke in and knew exactly what you were looking for. There's research and there's research. Unless you're one of them, it's hard to tell the good from the bad, but when they get together, they always bring their best. The meetings are an opportunity to network and connect. Most magical researchers bring with them drafts and proposals just in case they find potential collaborators or colleagues working on something similar."
Kingsley added, "Also, it appears that considerable effort was made so that the owners never suspected foul play."
"So someone was desperate for ideas and a Healer was maybe murdered for hers," Dean summarized, then asked, "What does this have to do with Hunt? Was he in Toronto last year?"
"No, he wasn't. But this man was."
He handed them a picture of a rather angelic, plump faced, dark haired individual who looked like he couldn't hurt a fly. He looked to be in his thirties.
"Who's 'Chubby'?" Dean liked making nicknames.
"He goes mostly by the name of Tex Waxball; we think he's American. There are a few aliases but like 'Tex Waxball' none of them have traceable remote history. He's based in Toronto and is a known head hunter for some very nasty Dark Witches and Wizards. Our very own Bellatrix Lestrange uses him. Roy Hunt is going to Toronto on his invite and is booked for a flight tonight."
Harry followed what Kingsley was implying, "So you think this Waxball-Hunt connection is related to the meetings this year. But what would a recruiter want with a two-bit lowlife like Hunt?"
"We don't know," Kingsley admitted, "Hence the plan to tag him all the way to Toronto. But you arrested him."
Dean said acerbically, "I guess we should be sorry for doing our jobs. I could think of many other things Harry and I could have done with our two weeks."
"We couldn't tell you. It had to be business as usual."
"What do you really want, Kingsley," Harry asked pointedly. "Obviously, it's not to slap our wrists for messing up your case."
"Hunt is the only lead we have," Kingsley replied, "We need him to go to Toronto and make contact with the head hunter. We need to find out what this is about, if it's indeed related to last year's murder and maybe even find out who's behind it."
"You want us to talk him into going?" Dean asked, but Harry's guess was more accurate.
"No. He wants one of us to go to Toronto as Roy Hunt."
"And the other to help with the prep," Kingsley confirmed.
For the first time Gumboil spoke about this, likely hearing the proposal for the first time too, "Why don't you send one of your Aurors?"
"Dean and Harry know him better than anyone on my team and can pass for a Squib easily because they have lived as Muggles," Kingsley explained, "We've managed to keep a lid on Hunt's arrest; no one knows except for a select few. As we speak, someone who looks exactly like him is going around town, preparing to go to Toronto."
"It will be Thomas, then. Potter is still on probation," the boss spoke.
Yeah, he forgot about that. He was on probation for a minor scuffle with a git of a co-worker who made a joke about him being on the bottle again. He was just trying to help the guy improve his sense of humour.
Kingsley interjected, "No offense, Dean, but probation or not, I would prefer if Harry went."
The suggestion did not surprise Harry at all. For years, Kingsley had been trying to convince him to join the Auror team. He had the necessary skills and training but preferred the low profile of a Hit Wizard. Less daunting expectations, no significant let down with failure. It was better if no one had to depend on him for anything important.
"I won't lie. This is dangerous. Harry knows more advanced magic and is better at it than you are, Dean."
"No arguments there," Dean shrugged. The truth never bothered him. In the five years they worked together, Dean was the one who always pointed that out. And, as a testament to how well Dean knew his partner, he made sure Harry had a way out, "That is unless Harry develops some sudden strange illness and can't go."
Kingsley looked Harry in the eye and talked as if he wasn't there, "Even if he does, I think he'd want to go, anyway."
He handed him a brown envelope and said as Harry took out its contents, "We were screening Hunt's Muggle mail and this came in first thing this morning. It's from Waxball. It's a profile of one of our Healers. We can only think that whatever job Hunt has been recruited for in Toronto, it involves her."
Harry didn't have to read further than the name on the dossier in his hand to decide that if somebody had to go, it would be him. Hunt's target in Toronto was Hermione.
"Pull her out, Kingsley. She's not bait," Harry could feel the heat rise to his face and head. He was getting miffed at how the Auror office made decisions on who to spare and who not to get out of harms way.
"Hermione's already bait whether you like it or not. I've asked the Canadians to keep an eye on her until we get there but they're swamped enough as it is I fear they have someone inexperienced doing that. And even if Hunt doesn't make it, others may be after her."
"Tell her, so she can choose to leave or at least be able to defend herself."
"We know what her answer to that would be," Dean interjected, with a warning.
Except for Gumboil, all of them knew she would want to help. In fact, his educated guess was she would insist against all reason to help. And the last time she helped with a case a few years ago she almost got herself killed. While the dangers they went through with Ron as teenagers should have made her risk taking acceptable to him, he realized more and more as they got older just how lucky they were to stay alive. She was a Healer now; death should not be an occupational hazard.
"We think this is big; it's too organized not to be and we have to get to the bottom of this. We have the German and Canadian Auror Offices working with us. Whoever is stealing research ideas they can't know that we know. So, she can't know anything about it. She'll be in more danger if she does."
Harry thought about what happened to Helga Braun. He really didn't have a choice.
"What do I have to do?"
Gumboil interrupted, smugly, "You're not going anywhere Potter. You're on probation."
Surely, Gumboil wasn't serious, pulling rank and being the petty pencil pushing idiot he always was. Gumboil always considered him a pain and the feeling was mutual, especially at that moment.
"Six more weeks according to..."
The large oak desk between Harry and Gumboil lost all its contents to the wind and started shaking.
"You really didn't mean that. You might want to take it back," Dean made a suggestion.
Gumboil, not having had the privilege of seeing Harry in any such state of wrath and not smart enough to realize what was happening, stammered, trying to save face, "I…I am the b-boss…I-I decide who g-goes."
"Harry, don't," that was Kingsley, "If you hurt him you're going to be locked up. You don't want to be locked up right now."
Kingsley had a point and his thought cleared enough for him to ask back, impulsively, "That offer to work with you, is that still any good?"
"I'm happy to sign a transfer immediately," came Kingsley's reply.
It was not a well thought-out decision.
"I'm sorry, Dean," Harry said to him then turned to address Gumboil, "Get him a good partner. I don't work here anymore."
Dean was smiling, as pleased as Kingsley, "After five years of being stuck with a moody, over-qualified ass like you, it'll be such a relief working with someone else."