There were two things in the world that totally unnerved Harry Potter, being told he was about to be whipped in public, and teenagers. He thought it had something to do with their chewing bubble gum menacingly, or that they seemed to believe that they knew everything, but they put him out regardless. He was standing in a room with three teenagers thinking that this week was largely about him facing these challenges head on. Ron gave him a confident smile, though Harry knew that confidence was basically impossible for his partner at that moment. Ron had been dealing with some things that week himself.
Harry composed himself and sat down in front of the teenagers. He dropped a file next to him, which Ron picked up and thumbed through. The file was empty, but the kids didn't know that. Ron smiled and pointed to one of the blank pages, Harry leaned back and looked at the spot Ron's finger was resting on, he smiled too. Ron put the file down and leaned against the wall behind Harry. Harry put his hands on the table and moved in closely.
"The True Blood Brotherhood." He said.
The kids all went pale, the girl turned to her brother and gave him a look, her brother nodded. None of them spoke. Ron walked forward and slammed his hand down on the table.
"The Brotherhood. Talk."
The kids all began talking at once, from what Harry and Ron could hear they were all saying that they knew nothing about anything like that. Harry raised a hand to silence them. He stood up, indicated that Ron follow him and they both started toward the door.
"Azkaban for this lot." Harry said, Ron grunted his agreement, "Almost definitely going to have their wands snapped, kicked from school." Ron nodded along.
"Serves them right, ask me."
From behind them, as Harry opened the door with his free hand , a small female voice sounded, "They came to us."
"Who?" Harry asked.
"Shut up." Thomas scolded his sister.
"I'm not about to live out my days in prison, or as a squib." Ella protested.
"I got a cousin, what's a squib." Godfrey nodded, "She's right."
"Then talk." Ron crossed his arms and closed the door with his foot, "Because it'll be squibbing it up in Azkaban for the lot of you if we don't hear what we want."
"The Brotherhood came to us, while we were in school last year." Godfrey began.
"We're in different houses, but we all grew up together." Ella added.
"Right, and like I was saying they came to us. We don't know much about them, but they said we could belong, like we could have a proper family, if we joined up."
"So you joined? Rough for you at home?"
"Our father is never around, and our mum drinks." Ella said quietly.
"Same story." Godfrey agreed.
"Did they ask you to attack me?" Harry asked.
"Not exactly, no." Godfrey said.
"Thomas thought that we might get to be respected members if we moved ahead the agenda." Ella pointed out. Thomas scowled at the two of them and said nothing.
"What agenda?" Harry pressed.
"We..er... They are big on the Pure Blood movement. They want to take out all muggles, and you." Godfrey pointed at Harry.
"Why me?"
"You're a fucking traitor." Thomas spit out.
"Why?" Ron leaned in.
"He's descended from greatness, but acts like a filthy fucking muggle lover." Thomas looked Harry straight in the eye, "You belong to Slytherin, like it or not. It's your birth right."
"What?" Harry recoiled, "I'm not related to Slytherin."
"Yes, you are." Ella corrected.
"I am?"
"Yeah." Godfrey said cautiously.
"Huh. Fancy that." Harry looked over at Ron.
"Yeah. Explain to me why that matters?" Ron raised an eyebrow at Ella, she was the most talkative.
"We worship the bloodline of Salazar Slytherin." She said, "It's the truest bloodline left, we believe that it retains the most magical properties, and makes descendants in that line more powerful wizards. Voldemort was descended from Slytherin."
"Blimey." Ron pulled up a chair and sat down, "You people are completely insane."
"Hey!" Godfrey and Ella said at once.
"Man has a point." Harry shrugged, "There are loads of really powerful wizards that aren't descended from Slytherin."
"Yet the two most powerful wizards of all time are." Godfrey said, "It makes a kind of sense. Even you should see that, traitor or not."
"You kids are absolutely pickledy. You realize this yes?" Ron leaned in, "You've been brainwashed into a cult that believe that Salazar Slytherin's bloodline is the be all end all, and to make nice with this cult you attacked a blood member of that line. Where exactly does this become sanity to you?"
"It... all seemed to make sense at the time." Ella hung her head.
"Well, that's lovely." Harry stood up, "Ron?"
"Yeah. Let's get the hell away from these kids." Ron shook his head and followed Harry to the door.
"What's going to happen to us?" Thomas said.
"Assuming all of this helps our investigation, we'll see." Ron walked out the door after Harry, closing it behind him.
* * *
"You should find this interesting." Hermione pointed at the desk where she had dropped a file.
Harry looked down at the file, smiled as he opened it up. The smell of her was intoxicating, he was having trouble concentrating, which didn't help him get through the file at all. He focused as much as he could, acknowledging that the file pertained to Slanton, before he began to imagine situations in which he could get away with giving Hermione a quick kiss. When several moments had passed Hermione cleared her throat. Harry looked up at her, blinked twice, remembered that he was meant to agree with her statement.
"Yes. Very interesting." He said
"Did you even read it?"
"Not a word." He shook his head, "You smell wonderful, did you know that?"
"Harry, they've killed people to get to you. They're trying to kill you."
"This effects my sense of smell, how?"
"Less flirting with me, more putting this Brotherhood behind bars."
"I don't really want to stop flirting with you. Is there a middle ground here we can suss out? I'm okay with compromise. I'll flirt with you for another few hours, then I'll heroically knock on doors."
"I don't think so. Read the file."
"Or you could explain it to me." He smiled, "I like to watch you talk."
"I can leave if I'm too distracting."
"I'm reading!" He looked at the file, "See, reading."
The file wasn't really about Slanton proper, but about Abby. It seemed to be a record of her hiring from the Ministry personnel archives. Harry skimmed through it, trying to decide why he was meant to find it interesting. He tried squinting at it, tried to turn it on an angle, tried to read some of it backwards and struck nothing.
"I give up." He looked at her over the file, "Why is this interesting?"
"Because she wasn't recommended for this job by her father."
"Yeah, it says he was opposed." Harry pointed out.
"She was recommended by Adam Tennent."
"The head of the Department?"
"One and the same."
"That is odd, why is it interesting? He recommends a lot of people every year. It's his department."
"Yeah but how often does he willingly fight another member of the Wizengamot?"
Harry tugged on his chin thoughtfully, "I liked this conversation a lot better when it was about how good you smelled."
"You know what this might mean. She could be a plant, that means that Tennent could be a member of the-"
"Yeah I got that." He cut her off, "This is not a line of thought that makes for good prospects on career advancement."
"Since when did you care about that?" She smiled.
"I don't." He confessed, "But you and Ron do."
"I'm with you, no matter what." She put her hand on his shoulder, "You know that. I'm sure Ron will be too."
"Yes, I do know. That's why this is dangerous for you guys." He put his hand on top of her hand, "What do you want to do about this?"
"Well, we have to at least look into it."
"I know. I know." Harry pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes, "Merlin. This whole thing is insane."
"That's true, but it isn't going to just go away, body count is getting too high."
"Yeah. I know. Shit." He straightened himself on, "Okay. I'll look into this bit."
"What are me and Ron supposed to do?"
"For now, keep out of it. Plausible deniability."
"You're going to have to stop protecting me."
"Why? Is it too misogynistic?"
"No, it's sweet. But you're going to dig yourself a hole even you couldn't talk your way out of."
"Maybe." He shook his head, "I'll just have to pick up a shovel. Also I've been thinking about hiring a publicist."
"Couldn't hurt."
* * *
Ron wasn't used to doing all the leg work on this case, but with Harry still hurt from his whipping that had fallen on him. He wished it hadn't. He was still reeling from the Sam thing. He tried not to show it, but he had really connected with her, having her turn up dead because of him had been a shock he wasn't able to completely recover from. He spent his time waiting around, wishing he was someone else, or simply wishing that he could move time forward or backward. Time turners never seemed to turn up when he needed them, he wondered if that was the manufacturers desire, Harry and Hermione had used one, but he never would, it had to be because the distributors for the product secretly hated him.
In the meantime Ron had managed to make his way out to the site where Sam's body had been found. According to her autopsy reports there was a small burn mark on the beck of her neck, no doubt the killing curse used on her as well before she had been made to look like she was strangled. The pedestrian bridge she had been found on was closed to the general public, but Ron still had his secret service paperwork and managed to get beyond the cordon.
The scene was mildly disturbing if only for it's normalcy. He could clearly see that Sam had not been killed there, only dumped. This did little to help his disposition that morning. When he was finished looking around, having determined that he couldn't find anything pertinent on the bridge, he waved to the police officers and left. He was halfway to the Ministry phone box when he was struck by a sudden idea. He walked into a disused alleyway and apparated.
He appeared in Hogsmeade. He had not been there in a long time, something about the proximity to Hogwarts unnerved him. He walked up the lonely stretch of road to the castle. It's high towers and charming grounds swelled memories in him that he wished he could forget, and some that he wouldn't trade for the world. He laughed when he saw the branches of the Whomping Willow moving slightly in the breeze. He opened the great doors and walked the flights of stairs up to the Head Master's office.
Hogwarts had not officially opened for the school year, but the one thing you could always count on was that Head Mistress McGonagal would be in, reviewing the submissions and sending out late letters of acceptance to the soon-to-be first year students. Ron went through the gargoyle, and emerged at the top of the stairs. McGonagal's office was very much unlike Dumbledore's. It was neat and in order, if a little on the sparse side. It looked like she had just recently moved into the place. Ron looked around but couldn't spot her. He decided to sit around and wait. He wondered what had happened to all the trinkets that had once been on the desk.
The trinkets not being on the desk made the whole place different. It was like the difference between his own and Harry's desk. They were the exact same model, but the clutter made them unique. Ron smiled sadly as he fought back another wave of memories. It was once his biggest fear to have to sit in this room, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Now he sat with authority, the law on his side, and yet was still humbled by the space around him. This was the highest honor academia could offer. Hermione dreamed of one day becoming Head Mistress. It had driven him nuts, he could never understand the allure.
He got up and sat on the other side of the desk. From McGonagal's chair the room seemed no different to him. He shook his head and chuckled. He still didn't understand the allure. He made a mental note to tell Hermione about it, then dashed it off just as quickly. He wasn't angry with her, he wasn't in love with her romantically anymore, she just bothered him. She always had, but before she hadn't been so irritating. Like an itch that can't be reached. He got up and looked down at the empty chair he had vacated. Some days he was glad he had decided to be an Auror. Just then the door opened and the Head Mistress stepped in.
"Weasley?" She smiled, "How wonderful to see you."
"Minerva." He tried out using her first name, which it turned out he didn't feel super comfortable with and decided not to do it again, "How are you?"
"I'm just fine, admiring my chair were you?" She pointed to the chair next to him.
"Just sorta feeling it out."
"Missing school?" She sat down and offered him some biscuits she had conjured.
Taking a handful of the sweets he sat down, "Wish I could say that this is a social visit."
"Business is it? What could the Auror Office want with Hogwarts?"
"We just had a break in our case. Turns out it was four of your students that attacked Harry on his birthday."
"Oh dear." She gave a stern look at her desk, Ron wondered if she was practicing for when she spoke with the kids, "What would you like from us?"
"The usual in this type of situation. We need a list of close friends, class schedule for last year, boarding arrangements. We just need to shift through it all."
"I imagine they'll be forbidden from magic, the seriousness of the incident and all."
"Harry wants to cut them a deal. Let them stay on as wizards."
"Whatever for?"
"The True Blood Brotherhood is who he's really after."
"Ah yes, nasty business, that."
"Yeah it sure-" He dropped the biscuit he was eating on his desk, "What do you mean? You know about them?"
"I should hope. I was the one that disbanded the club."
"Club?"
"Yes, they're, or rather they were, an unofficial club here at the school last year. Held meetings in the room of requirement, much like you did as children."
"They were an extra circular?" Ron's mouth dropped.
"Certainly not." She shook her head, "They held their little meetings and made trouble. Problematic when all was said and done, but it's all broken up now. They attacked a muggle born, did you know?"
"No way."
* * *
Harry found it difficult to use the urinals with his cane. He had tried to tuck the cane under his arm, but the end of it would hit the stall doors behind him. He tried to lean it against the sink, but he would always accidentally leave it behind. Finally he decided to balance it against his leg while he pissed. It was not an elegant solution, but no solution made in bathrooms are. He kept a watchful eye on the door, thinking it would not be wonderful if someone walked in to see how dignified he looked.
When he was through he washed his hands, the cane shoved roughly on top of the sink. He made his way slowly back to his desk and sat down. Hermione was waiting for him, she was casually flipping through the pages of the daily prophet. She set it down in front of him and pointed to the interview he had given Ginny.
"When did you give that?" She smiled, "You sound like an absolute git."
"My charm is difficult to read in print."
"Was all the flirting strictly necessary?"
"That's how interviews work." He shrugged, "It's a goddamn nightmare, but what can you do?"
"Dare to be different?"
"They'll just twist your words around anyway. Not worth the effort."
"Why did you tell the world that you lounge about your flat all day?"
"It was a poorly constructed trap."
"You really think you ought to be luring the brotherhood to you? They seem to do fine as is. Three attacks and counting speak to it."
"Two and half at best." He smirked, "The birthday attack was pathetic."
"Didn't seem so at the time." She frowned.
"Well, that's only because you're not used to it anymore."
"Used to what?"
"The brilliant, bloody life and death of it all." He leaned his head back and smiled, "The quickness of it, blink an eye and it could all be over, the sheer heart pounding adrenaline of it all!"
"Oh my god, you love it don't you?" She stared at him, "The battle, the hunt, you're loving this."
"Love is a strong word." He shrugged, "It drives me up a wall, makes me paranoid, but I would be lying if I said that there wasn't something about it I enjoyed."
"What is there to enjoy about people wanting to kill you?"
"See, you're not getting it. It's not the people wanting to kill me part that I enjoy, it's the other stuff." Harry looked off wistfully, "The broom chases, the tracking leads, that feeling you get when you know, just know in your bones, that you're hot on the trail of something vital. I feel alive in this line of work."
"Aren't you afraid?"
"Of course, but that's all part of it." He indicated his back, "Some times you have to take your lumps if you're going to make your life spectacular."
"It could be argued that your life was already pretty spectacular."
"Yeah, to the historians."
"How do you mean?"
"After I'm dead and gone, which reminds me: Huge monument, it's not much to ask."
"Duly noted." She chuckled.
"After I'm gone my life will seem interesting to the people who read about it. But right here, in the present, if I sat back on my laurels, that wouldn't feel like anything spectacular to me. Running about and helping people, that's spectacular."
"There will be whole libraries devoted to your history at this rate."
"Consider it my gift to you, you always did like to bury your nose in a book."
"Please." She smiled, "I think you'll have to try a lot harder when you look for gifts for me, Mr. Potter."
"Challenge accepted."
Hermione leaned in and all of a sudden she was serious, "Harry, living the way you do, not to say it's a bad way to live or anything, but that was fine in the then."
"What now?"
"It matters to me, now more than ever, whether you live or die chasing your saving people thrill."
"You want me to quit?" He balked.
"Not at all. I want you to be more careful the next time you think about throwing yourself into the line of fire. I love you, Harry. You're not just living for yourself anymore. Because in that library containing your history, I hope very much to be an important figure."
"I..." He looked at the floor, "I hadn't thought of that."
"What if the roles were reversed?"
"I don't think I can live without you." He shook his head, "I just never really thought that you would.... I mean I knew, in my heart I knew, but I never thought about it."
"Well, I hope you will from here on out. Because it kills me to see you walking with that cane, to see the lashes across your back, and to know that one day you're just going to do it all to yourself again."
"What was it you said?" Harry put a thumb on his chin, "We have to grow together."
"I may have said something like that." She smiled.
"You've got a bit of a head start on me, but I swear I'll catch up."
"And you'll be more careful?"
"I will."
"Thank you."
* * *
Draco ran for what felt like hours. He ran over forest bed, over stone covered ground, through creeks and finally on hard tar roads. He always kept a weathered eye behind him, searching for the dark robes and especially for the green medallions. Finally, at the end of his endurance, he came to a hotel. It was a squat and shabby little building, with red brick everything. He climbed up to a second floor window, hoping against hope that it was not occupied. He used his forearm to pry it open and crawled inside. He made it two feet from the window before he passed out.
It was fortunate that Draco had picked that particular room, because it was destined to not be occupied on that night. A few minutes before his arrival at the squat red bricked hovel two young lovers were in the check in room about to rent that very room. They had gotten in a heated argument and broken up, deciding to avoid the room, and each other. Two additional weeks would go by before, while drunk and desperate, the gentleman would call her to apologize. They would then make up, get married, produce a single child and divorce a year later when she called his mother a bitch. However, they would make up six weeks later in the bathroom at the end of the hall in the courtroom where the single child's custody would be decided.
None of this mattered to Draco, who simply slept, freed from his restraints for the first time in many years.
* * *
Harry was standing in the break room sipping from a coffee mug and watching the heads peeking out of cubicles around his office when he saw Ron run in. Ron was making a mad dash for Harry's desk, disregarding the normal courtesy of walking in the tight space. Harry called out to get Ron's attention. Ron turned his head, saw Harry and tried to turn to run toward him.
However, when Ron moved his right leg toward Harry the rest of his body seemed to have lost the memo. His waist twisted and Harry winced as he saw Ron's body disappear behind the wall of cubicles. Harry moved forward at his hobbling pace to check on Ron, but didn't even make it two steps when Ron's head shot up above the cubicle walls and he resumed sprinting toward Harry. When Ron arrived he placed his hand on the edge of the door jam and proceeded to pant as thought his lungs had only just begun working again.
"Getting old." Harry said empathetically.
"Big news. Serious. Shit. Going. Down." Ron waved his free hand frantically, "Water. Need."
Harry walked back to the sink and poured Ron a glass of water. Once Ron had the glass he gulped it's contents down in a single sip and wiped his forehead as he stood up.
"Feel better?" Harry asked.
"Loads."
"So, why the running?"
"Last year there was a secret club run out of the Room of Requirements at Hogwarts, called the True Blood Brotherhood."
"How very after school special."
"My sentiments exactly, however, where there's a club there's a roaster."
Harry blinked twice before he smiled his slow smile, "You're a genius."
"I've been called worse." Ron returned his smile.
Harry patted Ron on the back and the two exchanged glances of unrestrained happiness. Hermione walked into the kitchen, curious as to why Ron had suddenly taken up indoor cardio. She watched as the boys congratulated each other non-verbally before she spoke.
"What are you two so happy about?"
"Ron's finally asked me to marry him."
"I'm thinking it should be a small ceremony." Ron added.
"As long as we write our own vows." Harry shook his finger.
"There is something deeply troubling about how quickly that came to the two of you."
"There's something deeply troubling about you still not asking to see the ring." Harry put his hand on his hip.
"I did pay a lot of money for it." Ron smiled.
"So." Hermione blew out some air, "What's really going on?"
"Ron may have found a break in our case."
"That's wonderful!"
Harry looked behind her, at the door to the interrogation room. Behind it were the kids who had his answers, he only needed a plan for how to ask. He smiled, a glint in his eye, he had a plan.
"Give me an hour and meet me in the mirror room."
* * *
A good interrogation requires a plan of action. A good partner comes up with one and shares it. Harry was not a good partner, and Ron didn't expect him to suddenly become one, which is why Ron was staring over the wall of his cubicle and waiting for Harry to pop up, brilliant idea formed. Ron planned to rush him, just run over and hit him with the first million questions that came to mind. He was on his knees, in his chair, his arms thrown over the wall of his cubicle. To an outside observer he looked like an eager child, but in Ron's mind he was a tiger, stalking his prey.
The added benefit of being proactive about Harry's lapses in teamwork skill was that it was a wonderful distraction. Ron's mind was focused on the hunt with the intensity of a laser beam, leaving no room for other, darker thoughts. The clock, placed on the wall just high enough to look down on Ron's cubicle, had become his greatest enemy. It was ticking away the long moments between work, his bastion, and home. When he was off duty he would be alone with his thoughts, and the horrible nagging feeling that he was incomplete. Divided in ways he wasn't mentally prepared to cope with.
Ron, for all of his wonderful attributes, was not okay with the blood on his hands. Sam had been a one in a million kind of woman, and he believed it was his fault she was gone. He wanted, and to some degree needed, to not have her float into his mind. He felt that if he could ignore the pain, it would just shrivel up and fall away. He could finally stop imagining the life they could have shared, stop trying to remember the sound of her laughter, the way that hair would fall over her eyes when she smiled. And mostly he could stop trying to figure out if falling in love with a dead woman was sick or just pathetic.
* * *
Mabel hated this case. She had searched for other, stronger and more accurate terms, but there was none. She hated it. She hated the paperwork she had to read, she hated what it had done to Potter, she hated what it was doing to Weasley, she hated smell of fear that still lingered in her office from the families that had taken up temporary respite there. Right at that moment however she hated the parents of the children she was holding.
On her desk there were two dozen different threats from these four kids parents about Auror harassment, battery, and her own alleged misuse of authority. This was on top of the complaints from the concerned citizens. Some praising her actions, but most condemning them. She had a headache brewing that she was positive could decimate the population of a medium sized city were it weaponized. She glanced at her desk clock and sighed. Five more hours until she could go home, cuddle up next to her husband and slip into a well deserved eighteen year coma.
She had sent Potter an interoffice memo, asking how much longer he had intended to hold the kids, and his response had not brought a lot of joy to her day. He made some comment about the length of their natural lives, and signed it with a scribble of a heart. In the heart were his initials and her own. Below that was a post script which asked her if she thought monkeys could be taught to ride a broom effectively, and if it might just be a good idea for them to try and teach them.
Mabel was used to Harry's eccentricities, she had expected him to not take the question seriously, and she loved him for it, but it was still not anything she could use to answer the hate mail piling up on her desk. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered how far off retirement was. She also wondered about monkey's riding brooms, and try as she might she could not force the questions away.
* * *
Draco had relocated. He was now standing roughly adjacent to the Ministry. Watching the entrance carefully and waiting for Harry to emerge. Harry was his only shot at help, and he wanted nothing more than to get started as quickly as possible. He had toyed with the idea of just walking in, announcing himself and requesting Harry, but he knew that the Brotherhood had people on the inside. He just didn't know who they were, and no matter how he played it, he couldn't see him surviving long enough in that building to make his case to Harry. So he waited. He was a patient man.
* * *
"How do you want to handle this?" Ron asked, "Should we divide them up?"
They were standing in the room next to the interrogation room. It was technically called the viewing room, but most Auror's just called it the mirror room, and for some reason beyond explanation they all believed themselves clever for it. Through the glass they could see the four kids. Thomas, whom Harry had singled out as their leader, was sitting perfectly still. He was staring at the glass, as though he could see them. The other two boys seemed to be making awkward attempts to flirt with Ella, Thomas' sister. Harry smiled despite himself at the way that teenagers, no matter the circumstances, were always just teenagers.
"No, keep them together." Harry answered.
"What's the plan?"
Ron had not managed to snag Harry on the way to the interrogation room. He had been distracted when another Auror had walked over to ask him what he was doing hanging off his cubicle like a little boy and Harry had just walked to the viewing room. Ron noticed Hermione standing outside the door and made a bee line for the squat the room.
"Thomas seems to be the leader." Harry answered.
"You want to focus on him?"
"No. The opposite."
"What?"
"Don't pay any attention to him." Harry started toward the door, "We have to make him want to talk."
"You want to play lead on this one?"
"Don't I always?"
"Point." Ron rushed forward and held the door open for Harry, "After you, my lead."
"Well thank you, good sir."
The two men walked out of the viewing room and turned toward the interrogation room's door. Harry gave Hermione a very discreet smile on his way. Once inside Harry played up his injuries. He walked with tremendous effort and sat down slowly. He rested his cane on the desk. Ron stood behind the Harry, crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. Harry pulled open a file to a blank page and pointed to something half way down, Ron looked over his shoulder and nodded. Harry looked at all of the kids in turn, except Thomas.
"So, Ella?" He began, "What can you tell me about this?"
He reached into the bag he had brought with him and produced pictures of the muggle crime scenes. In each picture was a woman, laying dead, with strangulation marks. Ella glanced down, fear growing in her eyes. She got skittish, rocking slightly in the chair. She looked over at Thomas and he looked down at the pictures.
"She doesn't know anything about that." Thomas said, "We weren't involved in-"
"Thomas, was it?" Harry began.
"Yeah."
"I'm not asking you." Harry waved him off and refocused on Ella, "You've more than proven that you know nothing about what's going on. Now Ella, can you tell me why the Brotherhood would want to kill these young women?"
"I told you that she doesn't know." Thomas moved forward, an edge in his voice.
"Last time I'm going to tell you, little boy, interrupt again and I'll have you removed."
"This is bullshit!" Thomas shouted.
Ron rushed forward and slammed his hands down on the table, "You want me to see this little shit out?"
Harry seemed to consider the offer. Thomas began to stare at the Ron, a mixture of defiance and fear. Harry finally leaned forward, "No. Let's hear what he has to say."
"Fine." Ron snorted, "But he doesn't know anything."
"I know the most!" Thomas outraged, "They wouldn't have even been involved if I didn't pick them!"
"Why these women?"
"We weren't involved in that. I was only vaguely aware that it was going on." Thomas answered.
Harry's eyes glazed over, he smiled sadly at the boy before turning his attention to another of the kids, "Harris? What do you know about it?"
"Me?" Harris seemed alarmed. He looked at Thomas quickly then back at Harry, "I wasn't... I was only involved with the attack."
"How big is the Brotherhood?" Harry folded his finger together, "That so much could go on unnoticed by you, Harris?"
"I don't know." He looked down at his feet.
"Of course he doesn't know!" Thomas burst out, "I already told you they don't know anything!"
"Shut the fuck up!" Ron threw his finger in Thomas' face, "You're only here because you make your sister more comfortable!"
"What!" Thomas shouted.
"He's right." Harry smiled his sad smile, "We've already determined that you weren't involved in any of this."
"I'm in charge!"
"Do we really need this right now, Harry?" Ron asked.
"Thomas, it's very good of you to try to take the blame for your sister. I commend you for it, but it isn't helpful to this investigation." Harry nodded to Ron.
Ron grabbed Thomas by the arm and lifted him to his feet. Against the boy's protests he began to escort him from the room. Harry turned back to Harris.
"How do you identify the members of the Brotherhood if it's so large?"
"I.. I .." Harris stuttered, unsure what to do or say.
"We have pendants!" Thomas cried out from the door jam.
"That's enough young man." Ron said.
"Wait." Harry held up his hand, "Ron, bring him back over here."
Ron stood Thomas before Harry. Thomas smiled, a small and cruel smile, "We're issued pendants." He reached into his shirt and pulled out a flat green disk from a string around his neck. He undid the clasp and handed Harry the pendant.
"What is this?"
"It's how we know." Thomas grinned, "We were given them last year, when we joined the Brotherhood at school."
The disk was three coins thick, roughly as wide as Harry's palm, and mostly round. It had a raised engraving on the front, that looked like a serpent winding around a man's arm. Around the outer edge were various symbols, and below the engraving a Latin phrase, which Harry assumed was the club motto, scrolled out. Harry ran his finger over the motto.
"Per verum quod dolosus , nos constructum in a maior preteritus , nos opus obviam Licentia , nos pervenio pro divum." Harry read aloud, "What does that mean?"
"I don't know." Thomas shrugged, "I don't speak Latin."
"And every member of the Brotherhood wears one?"
"Yes." Thomas nodded, "Each of the symbols along the outer edge means something. They tell us the rank of the person wearing it."
Thomas leaned down and pointed to an apple on his pendent, "This one means that I'm one of the junior members, all us kids have that symbol, but this one hear, the snake eyes, means that I'm a member of the leadership. The other's pendents don't have that mark."
"So you do this rather than keep names?" Ron asked.
"A lot more effective than a tattoo on the forearm." Thomas said darkly.
"That it is." Harry stood up, showing no sign of the trouble he had entering the room, "Alright Ron, let's go."
Ron nodded and walked with Harry toward the door. When they opened it they heard Ella speak up behind them, "What happens to us now?"
Harry turned around and looked at her, like a puzzle he couldn't figure out, like he had only just seen her there, "I don't care."
The two left the room, the children sat inside, a general feeling of dread prevailing.
* * *
Ron walked back to his desk, back to the clock hanging over his desk, and back to the impending fear of letting his mind wander unchecked. It was a fear in two parts, the first part was largely mental. He was afraid that he was going to cry. Crying, while perfectly natural, was not something that grown human beings just did at work. Much like owning pictures of your cat/replacement for the whole in your life left by either not having children or having had your children leave home, crying at work was not something that Ron felt an adult should do. It was obnoxious, distracting, utterly useless, and tended to attract the kind of people that would attempt to relate to you. Ron hated few things in the world than other human beings deciding that your bad luck was an opportunity to shed light on their own sob story.
Most people tended to be self serving, rarely altruistic, and capable of great lengths to invade your sorrow with poorly aimed "good" intentions. That being the case Ron was certain of the probable outcome of his bawling like a baby at his desk. That outcome was violence. Someone would walk over, touch their hand to his back and try to comfort with hollow and redundant platitudes before dropping the pretense altogether to unload their issues in a futile attempt to bond. Ron would have no recourse left but to punch them in the face until it stopped resembling a face. If there was one thing less professional than crying at work, it was assault and battery, regardless of how justified it was.
The second of his two part fear was mostly physical. Ron could simply not break anything at his place of work, and by Merlin he would want to destroy something either beautiful or functional in order to feel better. Destruction is a very typical human response to death. Some people would want to have sex, or risk their life or money to feel alive in the face of the finality of death, but most people just wanted to break shit. Punch walls, throw complicated machines from parking structures, burn books of poetry, anything that was breakable, just to feel some measure of control in an uncontrollable world. Ron was a pretty typical person in this regard. He wanted to just decimate something, and he was fairly certain it would be the clock above his desk.
* * *
When Harry got back to his desk he didn't feel like breaking anything, but he didn't feel wonderful either. He played the part of the jaded Auror to such perfection that even he sometimes believed that he was that person. It was all a lie. Deep down he did care what happened to those kids in the interrogation room. They were mixed up, they were dangerous, they were competent that their actions were bad, but they were lost kids looking for a family. What could be more human than wanting to feel like one belonged?
Harry wanted them to receive a punishment unequal to their crime. He wanted them to walk away with a warning and a deeper understanding. He wanted them to be taught to respect all life no matter what conditions that life was born into. He didn't want them locked away, forbidden to use magic, he just wanted them set straight.
Of course that wasn't the man he was meant to be, that wasn't the man that the world felt he should be, and therefore that wasn't the man he could be. He felt sick, guilty, used and useless. He felt like a monster. No matter what he did he couldn't shake Ella's face from his mind. He couldn't forget the way her eyes pleaded, the hope resting there, the misplaced trust in a fair world and in him.
When he was young he had been forced to lead a kid away from the school yard during recess so that Dudley and his retarded friends could pummel him away from the prying eyes of the teachers. The kid was called Andrew. Andrew was a small, sensitive kid. He was so coddled by his parents that he didn't know how to react to bullies. When he was insulted he would just give the person a goofy grin and stare at them, unsure how to react or how to feel. Harry didn't know Andrew that well, Harry didn't know most kids that well. Like Andrew, Harry was an outsider, often picked on.
Dudley had promised to lay off of Harry for a month if he would lure Andrew away for the beating that he assured Harry the boy deserved. In desperation Harry had agreed. He had found Andrew playing with a set of cards on the steps, avoiding the children who hated him for reasons he couldn't understand. Harry had talked to him, asked him if he wanted to see something really cool. Andrew had few friends, and even fewer interactions with other children. It was impossible for Andrew to detect Harry's ingeniousness offer, he just assumed that Harry wanted to be his first friend.
Andrew smiled and laughed, and shared small, unobtrusive secrets with Harry. Told him about his collection of cricket memorabilia, and offered to invite him over for dinner. Harry could feel the lump rising, the hatred for himself bubbling just below his stomach. Harry knew what the future held for Andrew, and the fact that Andrew was happy in the moments leading up to it killed Harry inside. Harry would never betray someone like that again, he would never be bullied into accepting a fate for another. He would also never forget how much he hated himself in that moment.
When they arrived, and Dudley and his gang sprang out Andrew's face turned toward cautious curiosity. He looked at Harry for an answer, but Harry just ran away, too disgusted with himself to watch what he knew was coming, and too scared of being beaten himself to stop it from happening.
Sitting at his desk, picturing Ella's face, Harry could feel all those things bubbling up again. There were three things that totally unnerved Harry Potter; Being told he was to be publicly whipped, teenagers, and betraying people that trusted him.