A/N. I have been warned.
XXXXXXXXXX
Chapter 4 - Finding Out
The time teller behind the bar read 11:52. There were not that many patrons at Finnigan's that Monday night. The bartender was trying to appear busy, stacking liquor and supplies under the counter, hoping that he'd get lucky and the regulars would leave early. Finnigan's was a pub strategically situated along Diagon Alley around the bend from Knockturn Alley. It wasn't worth the money and effort serving drunks of dubious character who frequented the place at the late hour.
The bell at the entrance jingled. He looked up. Two hooded figures came in through the right side of the door and headed straight for the bar.
Shit!
The barkeep recognized one of them. He was usually more discrete. The man had reason to be pissed but surely not enough to get him killed!
Shit!
The older wizard sat on the stool right in front of him while the other leaned on the counter, facing the almost empty room, presumably to watch the Head Auror's back.
"Hey Dung. Firewhiskey, in a clean glass, please."
Mundungus Fletcher, less malodorous and more kempt than years before, took a dirt free towel, wiped down a shot glass, filled it and set it in front of him.
"What about your partner?" he asked anxiously.
Harry Potter looked calm enough. Maybe he wasn't so pissed.
"He's working," Harry emptied the glass in one motion, "Let's talk."
"I'm busy."
He filled the glass again.
"Let's talk anyway. Tell me about the burglaries."
"I told Teddy what I know," he replied and cast a furtive glance at the table of misfits in the corner of the pub.
"You told me didly squat, asshole," the other wizard cursed at him.
"I could get killed if someone sees me talking to you," he ignored the rookie's remark and hissed at the Chief hoping Harry would back off and they could take this conversation elsewhere.
"If you told Ted what I needed to know I wouldn't be here. You brought this onto yourself," Harry said to him matter-of-factly, "You know the drill. The sooner you tell me something I can work with the sooner I'm out of your face. So, what will it be?"
The Auror summoned the bottle of firewhiskey and poured more into the glass himself. If Harry Potter sat there long enough someone would definitely recognize him and come to the conclusion that the Head Auror wasn't there for the firewhiskey. This was the lengthiest he'd stayed in an honest job and he was too old to move or find something else.
"Fine," he relented, resigned to the fact that Harry would not leave him alone. "What do you want to know?"
"I want names. Good ones, not the crap you sent Ted on a wild goose chase on."
The barkeep looked around again before answering without moving his lips, "Bole, Montague."
"Which one?"
"Both."
"Both?"
"Both."
"You're telling me they've gotten much better than the bungling teenagers they were a couple of years ago."
"I'll be sure to tell them you said so."
"And?"
"That's all I know."
"Well I guess you'll have to make a third one up and lie. We both know those two are mediocre hired hand. Who's the brain?"
"Fuck, Harry. I swear to Merlin I don't know."
Harry's eyes bored straight through him and let it go, maybe deciding that he was telling the truth.
"Borgin and Burkes?"
"Part of the hit."
"And Borgin's murder?"
"If I told you what the word out on the street is you wouldn't believe me. I wouldn't believe me."
"That'll be no different for some of the stuff you tell me. What's the story?"
"You know Borgin and Burkes Sr. built the store from nothing. When Senior died years ago, Junior inherited everything but didn't have the stomach for the kind of business they were running. He wanted to buy ole Blutus out and go all legit but it wasn't until recently that he finally had the cash to make a decent offer.
"Anyway, Borgin's been blabbing in here to just about anyone who'd listen that his partner did not have half the balls his old man did. There was no way in hell he was selling or changing his business, not for all the money in the world. So the word is Junior killed his partner."
"Because he wanted to go legit?"
"Ironic, I know but maybe more for the dig on the weight of his bollocks than for anything else. A man's got to protect his privates."
"And he staged it to make it look like it happened during a robbery."
"It was by happy coincidence the place got robbed. That is if you believe in coincidence."
"Like I believe in Santa. And Burkes?"
His body stiffened and he started sweating like a pig. Mundungus heard about the execution in broad daylight. He didn't want to get involved.
"Nobody talks about that one, Harry. You get what I'm getting at?"
The Head Auror got up and slid a couple of galleons on the counter.
"Fair enough. Thanks Dung. Say hello to Seamus for me and you might want to reserve the watered down stuff to drunks."
Mundungus Fletcher blushed and watched Harry Potter leave Finnigan's. He was relieved but not by very much.
Shit!
He owed Harry for setting him up with the bar owner and for what was left of his life. As much as he wanted to avoid the man because he was reminded of what a coward he was, the Boy Who Vanquished would have his loyalty forever and would assist, albeit sometimes reluctantly, if need be. He and Dumbledore were two of a kind.
Shit!
Having the information beaten out of him was preferable to what he was feeling at that very moment.
XXXXXXXXXX
Harry and Ted Disapparated back to the Ministry after visiting Mundungus Fletcher at Finnigan's. He did not like doing what he just did. He was more recognizable than anyone else on the force and any hint of someone being a snitch was as good as a death sentence. That was why he sent Ted in the first place.
But he was desperate and a bit peeved that Ted got shafted. While Dung Fletcher was a retired thief and recovered drunk, he lived vicariously through the lives of the lowlifes he served at Finnigan's. He knew stuff and always would. Harry needed him for this one and he came through.
"You believe the asshole?" the younger man asked
"He's telling us what he believes to be the truth."
"I've never heard of Bole and Montague," the younger Auror was skeptical.
The names weren't brought up during Auror discussions. Bole and Montague were young, average skilled independents, not typical suspects for a job the size they were dealing with.
"Whoever planned this knew how we would start looking and it was quite ingenious to hire thieves we wouldn't even think about," Harry told Ted what he thought.
"The git was obviously holding back," Ted commented, miffed and out for more blood after he spent the day chasing the ghosts Dung sent him after, "I can come back at closing time and ask the question again. I promise to ask nicely."
Harry looked at his godson. It was past midnight and he was still high on adrenaline. He remembered the days when each and every case was like that for him.
"Maybe if it was someone else but not Dung," Harry had a point to make, "He knows what the questions are. He'll sleep on it and then he'll come forward if he thinks he can help."
Harry knew that didn't make sense but such things were always difficult to explain.
"I don't get it. He has information vital to the case."
"Probably but he's spooked. Remember informants are not suspects or witnesses. We need their help. If you get a reputation of burning your bridges with them you will have a harder time getting your job done," he explained, "Listen. It's late. We have debriefing in the morning. Go home to your wife."
Ted hesitated. Harry was familiar with what he was going through; long hours at work, pregnant wife waiting at home. He realized then that he needed to set his godson straight. Just not right now.
"I'll pass on the names to the on-duty and then I'll go home."
When they got to the second level offices they split paths and he headed for his office. Although she was probably still up waiting for Ted, it was too late to call Tory. He'd talk to her in the morning.
He went straight to his desk and sifted through the mess of parchments and documents on it. In a couple more minutes Harry stacked the last of the case files but was not quite ready to call it a day. He rubbed his tired eyes, got on his feet to stretch and gazed out the panorama of London lights outside his window. A nagging feeling of unease about the case plagued him.
While the conversation with Dung gave insight into the robbery and possibly Borgin's death, for him things were more befuddling. Before meeting with Dung his gut told him that Burkes' murder was connected to Borgin's death and the robberies. Dung was telling him they weren't and that didn't feel right.
His confrontation with the Minister and his right hand man was spot on. Maximus admitted to being the git behind releasing Burkes earlier that day but seemed genuinely appalled by news of his death. Apparently, Caractacus Jr. was a classmate and close friend of the Head Unspeakable's from their days at Durmstrang, and Max (the name he preferred to be addressed as) thought it improper to hold an upstanding citizen who wasn't a flight risk against his will when he could be interviewed in the privacy of his home.
It was a good thing that the Minister's Office was designed to be Impertubed. The shouting match that occurred after between the Head Auror and Head Unspeakable was forgettable for the petty argument brought no new information to him. The Head Unspeakable was an untrustworthy, ambitious, nosy, control freak who dipped his hand into other people's businesses and meddled every chance he got. Harry discretely assigned a few senior Aurors to keep an eye on the Head Unspeakable.
I am not the Keeper.
The Keeper of what? A magical artifact perhaps?
I can't tell you. I'm not the Keeper.
Maybe a secret; a Fidelus.
Burkes' Ministry friend claimed that he did not know either.
He glanced at the file he just reviewed that was on the very top of the centre pile on his desk. Looking for a different angle, he pulled the closed case out of archive and read it to refresh his memory. Big bold letters were stamped across it.
Morpheus Gaunt
CLASSIFIED
Harry spent a good half hour going over the file and the case that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, his memory of how Caractacus Sr. died during that operation was not as vivid as he would have liked and in the end he was disappointed to find the documentation lacking.
Admittedly, he was unconvinced that Junior would kill Borgin for the lame reasons Dung said he had. Senior died more than fifteen years ago, a 'civilian casualty' of a Ministry action. Maybe Junior got wind that Borgin had something to do with it, perhaps through the very same Ministry friend who set him free. Maybe it was about revenge.
Then he got murdered for a different reason? Harry disliked coincidences. Typically Harry preferred these things wrapped up neat and tidy.
That brought him into thinking about Hermione again. Hermione worked that case with him. She would remember because she never forgot a thing and he made a note to ask her about it when she called.
Worried, he told Ron of the bizarre phone call earlier that day and her ex-husband promptly sent her a message through his Protean charmed time teller. Her immediately reply was the same thing, that she would call him back.
It would be almost seven in the morning where she was. She should have returned the call by now. He was about to contact Ron again when his pager buzzed. It was the night watchman.
"Rocco, what's going on?" Harry greeted over the phone.
"You are still in your office. We've got a situation here," the elderly wizard's voice came through the receiver, "We found an intruder past the third tier wards."
Third tier meant the lifts and into one of the non-public access areas. At this time of the night when the Ministry was closed, the security protocol called for Aurors to assess threat level. The fact that Rocco could make the phone call told him it wasn't much of one.
"Get the on-duty to deal with it."
"Um...I think you'd want to personally deal with this one."
Rocco hung up. Harry had a lot of respect for the wizard and knew he wouldn't bother him if it wasn't important. In a minute Harry found himself in the twelfth level barracks just outside the doors to a staff lounge where the trespasser was being kept.
"The kid says he was testing Ministry security as part of a Hogwarts assignment," Rocco said in a hushed voice, "Harry, it's your son."
Harry looked into the small window on the door and saw a scrawny teenager with dark hair pacing anxiously. Al would never do something like this. James, maybe, but Al?
"I'll leave you to sort this out," the wizard said to him, "He tried to hex me. I would have fried him had I not recognized him."
Harry thanked Rocco and went through the door, closing it behind him as the night watch man left. Al could have been seriously hurt and as frustrated as he was he wanted to hear Al's version of the story.
"You're supposed to be in school. This better be go…"
He stopped short of the table that separated them, recognizing instantly that something was amiss. The boy had his wand drawn out and was unsteadily pointing it at him. This wasn't Al. He was about an inch shorter, his hair a bit longer and his eyes a slightly deeper shade of green.
Hard shadows were etched on the child's face and for someone his age had a rare edginess that was carved out of experience, as if he had to grow up fast over a short period of time. It was like looking into a mirror twenty five years ago.
"My Mum needs your help!" the boy cried out, his eyes puffy and red, spent from crying, "You have to come!"
"Who are you?"
"There is no time! She says to trust only you!"
It was just what he needed at the end of today; some demented fan using a kid to meet him.
"Why do you look like my son? Who put you up to this?"
Frustrated, the stranger hesitated and then said to him, "I look like your son because I am your son!"
In one swoop of his wand, an orange hue fell over the boy and his appearance transformed right before Harry's eyes.
Hugo...
"Are you going to help my Mum or not?!"
Harry's jaw dropped and stayed there as a million tumultuous thoughts surged into his brain, paralyzing him.
Hugo was his son? Hermione's son was his son?
Are you just going to stand there and gape at him? Say something, preferably something that would make sense.
At the time of her pregnancy he considered it, maybe even hoped it, but the math didn't jive. Well, she obviously...
"She lied about when she got pregnant and she lied when she was due to deliver. It's all in the letter."
Hugo handed him a piece of parchment. Thankful for having something else to do, Harry almost ripped the thing in half as he opened and read it, acutely aware of the hard thumping against his chest that was intensified by the weight of Hugo's watchful eye on him.
He read fast, her neat writing on the paper contrasting with the rigmarole of emotions in his chest and brain. Her words gave him the facts that he craved for but left out why she did it. She ended with an apology that she had done what she had and that she wasn't around to tell him herself.
His face flushed as another set of emotions surfaced. He felt cheated, humiliated and angry. Folding the parchment back, he slipped it into his chest pocket and looked up. Harry met their son's cold stare, one thought in his mind.
Hermione, what have you done?
Hugo, business-like, gave him more letters.
"There's one for Aunt Ginny and one for my Dad. She wanted you to decide whether to tell them or not."
"She wanted me to ask you."
Leave it to Hermione to find a suitable icebreaker between him and the son he didn't know he had. What was she thinking? That she could hide this forever?
"I don't care one way or the other," Hugo said plainly, "She didn't want me to show you the letter. We can go with that. After we help her you can go back to the perfect life she wants you to have."
The sarcasm and resentment in his tone was obvious. Perfect life?
"She should have told me. She shouldn't have kept you a secret."
"I was just born into this. Take it up with her," his son snapped, leaving him with no doubt how Hugo felt all about this.
"Why didn't she send you to your Dad?"
"She said it wasn't his fight. She doesn't want him involved and made me promise not to tell him. I don't think she wants you to get involved either but you have to help her," Hugo answered rapidly, then stressed again, "We really don't have time for all this talk. She's in trouble."
"What trouble?"
"Something she didn't expect. She wouldn't have sent me to you if she had things under control. She came home wounded more than an hour ago and Portkeyed me to your house. The wards must have confused the Portkey and I just got there but no one was around so…"
"She's wounded?"
"Gunshot, her shoulder I think. There was so much blood," Harry imagined how that looked like and finally felt the boy's urgency become his own. "She said they were after her. She didn't want them to find out about me. We're wasting time. I've been trying to get to you forever. We should go back now!"
There were questions he wanted to ask but this wasn't the time. He pushed them aside.
"Hold on a minute."
Harry tried Hermione's number and got a not-in-service message. He saw the impatience in his son, reminding him of how he was a long time ago, how it was with Sirius.
"Do you have other means to get in touch with her?"
"I've tried her phone too and I've been trying the mirror but she's not answering," Hugo showed him the small reflector on the face of his wristwatch. It was dark, "She shuts it off sometimes when she's on assignment for the Ministry."
Harry pressed a button on his phone.
Ted answered, "Chief?"
"I'm down in the 12th level staff lounge. I need you here right now."
He called Ginny after. It was her voice mail.
"Hey Gin. Hugo just got here. Something came up and I have to leave. I'll have Ted drop him off. I'll talk to you later."
As expected, Hugo was already protesting even before he hung up.
"No, you don't understand! Call Aunt Ginny back! I'm coming with you!"
"No, you don't understand. You Mum sent you to me because she sensed danger. You said she's in danger. What kind of an idiot do you think I am to take you back there?"
"You don't have a choice! The house is unplottable and protected by a Fidelus! You won't be able to get in! You need me to get there!"
He guessed that Hugo Portkeyed from within the premises and that breach was all he would need. Harry summoned the old sneaker that was hanging off Hugo's backpack. He was drawing the line on this one.
"No, I don't."
Hugo's eyes turned murderous, "I can fight!"
It was deja vu. Maybe karma was a better word.
"Of course you can."
"Don't patronize me! I really can! She taught me herself! I can prove it!"
The kid aimed his wand and fired off a couple of mean hexes a lesser skilled Auror would have had trouble parrying off. For a thirteen year old he was pretty good but now was not the time to compliment him and encourage him about that. Harry quickly approached and physically restrained him, deciding that hexing him would seriously negatively impact any possibility of...bonding. Right.
"Will you stop!? I have no doubt that you can fight and knowing your mother she probably taught you spells she shouldn't have! But let me clear the scene, find your mother then we'll come back and talk about this! Because if your mother didn't want you to stay there, I'm sure as hell not taking you back!"
Harry was out of breath. He had been Hugo's father less than half an hour and he had made his first parental decision about the boy who did not recognize his authority. Hugo glared at him, tears of anger streaming down his cheeks.
"You may be my father but you can't tell me what to do!"
"I just did. Start getting used to it."
"I should have just gone back on my own! I shouldn't have given you the letter!"
Harry let that one slide as someone entered the room.
"What's up Chief?" Ted Lupin asked as he strolled in. His godson noticed Hugo and greeted, "Hey Hughie! Is that you?"
Hugo was still pissed and did not acknowledge the greeting.
"Your Aunt Hermione is in a bind. Drop Hugo off with your Aunt Ginny. Stay there and don't let him out of your sight until I get back."
The furrow on Ted's forehead deepened as he nodded. He would do as he was told and ask questions later. Harry's phone rang and he quickly picked up thinking it was Ginny. But it wasn't. It was the Minister.
"Leo, I can't talk right now. Something's come up."
The Minister carried on in a grave tone, "I have Ron Weasley in my office. He said you should know."
The bottom of his gut fell off at the mention of Ron's name.
"Is this about Hermione Granger?"
"Yes. I just found out and it seems like a lot of others have. It's all over Wizard News."
What? He activated a switch and a three dimensional image of the news projected from above. He read the headlines even before the sound came on.
Hermione Granger is Dead.
The newscaster went on to elaborate.
"Hermione Jean Granger, former Undersecretary for Detection and Defense against the Dark Arts and one time adviser to the British Minister of Magic, was found dead in a small farming town close to where she had been setting up the first Asian Integrated School for the Magical and Non-Magical. Details regarding the cause of her death have not been released although there are unconfirmed reports that it was an assassination. There is no comment from the Ministry at this time. We will be updating you as information becomes available."
The rest of it faded in the background. Harry didn't notice that he had hung up on the Minister and that he was leaning on the table for support as everything spun around him. He could not believe it. There had to be some kind of mistake. The phone call, the strange request, the meeting she was to attend, Hugo's story about her coming home wounded and now this. It was all a mistake. She was too careful and too skillful. It had to be a mistake.
There was sobbing in the background and he remembered. Hugo was in the room. Hugo saw and heard it all, his mother dead where he left her.
"No... I should have stayed…" the boy was weeping, shaking and in anguish, "It's not true…she's alive…she's still there…she needs help… "
Harry was about to reach for him when Hugo summoned the sneaker that lay idle on the desk.
"Portus reversus!"
XXXXXXXXXX
A/N. I know I'm pushing limits but I have in all the stories I've written. I totally understand if some stop reading. All I can promise is that the story will be Portkey compliant.