All Debts Must be Paid

Part Two: Summer 1995 - Two Years Later

Chapter Five: The Ministry - Jacks

Denis Jacks sat at his desk and stared at the file in front of him, reading the name written in green ink on the cover. Sirius Black. For the millionth time he thought about that day almost exactly two years ago, and cursed himself for a fool for what he had done. For God's sake, why had he made the man walk along that beach and allowed Crusher to kick him half to death? Why hadn't he done what he was supposed to do in situations like that and stunned the man then sent Crusher for re-enforcements? But he knew the answer to those questions, he'd answered them often enough. It was because, God forgive him, that he had wanted his own piece of revenge on Black as well. Not for anything Black had done to him or his, but for what he represented. One of the most powerful Death Eaters there had been they reckoned. When would he ever have got another chance to show how he still felt, goddamit, about those he had lost?

Too high and mighty to lay a finger on Black himself of course, but he'd been quite happy to stand by and let Crusher go berserk. Hadn't made that much of an effort to pull Crusher off him. After all, hadn't Crusher himself said it? What did it matter, so long as Black was delivered to the Ministry mostly in one piece? Who could blame them?

Who indeed. Except of course, it hadn't turned out quite like that. What was it that woman had said? Just because he's a monster of inhumanity, doesn't mean I am? The trouble was that if you showed evil bastards like that the smallest shred of decency they ruthlessly took advantage of it and used it and you. But no, he'd felt guilty over the way Crusher had carried on, had gone on not following procedures - hadn't even checked the room they'd put Black in was adequately secure. How stupid was that? But they'd been so bowled over by that woman's hospitality, and so narked that she wouldn't let them dump Black anywhere that couldn't be hosed down and disinfected that they'd just followed her instructions to put him in the conservatory. She'd been quite right that he stunk like a ferret, even a half drowned one, but then all the Azkaban prisoners did.

Jacks gave a snort of mirthless laughter as he thought about what had happened next. Black had just vanished into thin air - almost as if he could Apparate undetected. Except that he'd pulled the same trick last year at Hogwarts and any fool knew it was impossible to Apparate from Hogwarts, so it couldn't be that. It made him feel slightly better that Fudge himself had been responsible for that debacle.

Jacks sighed. And where had all his stupidity got him? He was lucky to have a job still - even if he was a glorified filing clerk in the records and archives section. And Crusher was in St Mungos where really he should have been sent years ago. All because Fudge, bless his incompetent heart, had insisted it was all covered up in case it made him look bad. Merlin, it was enough to make you turn to drink. Oh wait, Jacks thought sourly, it had done.

He glanced up at the clock, creeping round to half past four. Only another half hour then he could go to the pub and drink himself into oblivion. He stood up and put the file away. He was getting as bad as Crusher had been obsessing about Death Eaters. He supposed it stopped him going completely brain dead in his job.

Later, he sat by himself as usual in a dark corner of the Leaky Cauldron, looking blearily at the other customers over the top of his fifth pint of beer. This place was getting too damn respectable for the likes of him. Before long, they'd simply just bar him for being a nuisance and he'd have to go and start hanging out in Knockturn Alley. This thought stayed with him throughout the night, and he was still thinking about it the following morning. He knew that if he started drinking in Knockturn Alley, it was only a matter of time before he lost his job. Granted it wasn't much of a job any more, but it paid the rent and kept him in booze.

He knew why he'd turned to drink, it wasn't the disappointment or the humiliation, it was to fill the huge gap not being a Hit Wizard had left in his life. His job had been everything to him and he'd been pretty good at it, until he went and made that one, bloody fucking stupid mistake. But mistakes can be fatal and he knew perfectly well that if Black had gone on to kill Harry Potter then he would probably have done a stretch in Azkaban himself.

He'd been hearing some strange rumours lately, whispers overheard in the corridors, snatches of conversation from people who hadn't realised he could hear them. He knew of course that the Triwizard Tournament had ended in disaster; the whispers concerned the nature of that disaster. Something much worse than the Diggory boy's death. Something to do with You-Know-Who. But he'd never find out what it was as long as he was doing the filing.

If there was something going on to do with You-Know-Who, if he wasn't dead, then they'd need all the Hit Wizards they could get and then some. They might even give him his old job back. Perhaps if he managed to undo some the damage he'd done…

That evening, for the first time in months he didn't go to the pub. Instead, he took the Black file home with him - nobody ever asked for it anyway, not since all the fuss had died down last year. He was sure, just as he'd been sure two years ago, that there had to be a clue in it somewhere. He also took a copy of the Daily Prophet edition that Fudge had given to Black.

When he got back to his flat, he made himself a mug of coffee and set to work immediately, not sure what he was looking for, but quite clear that he would know it when he found it. Someone had added another entry after the business at Hogwarts last year and he noticed it had been cross-indexed to another file. He would have to look that one out as well. As he read his way through the file, he remembered what he had written two years earlier and wasn't inclined to change his opinion. There was something pretty damn weird going on with Black, and saying he had managed to escape through the use of the Dark Arts was a facile explanation for the credulous. If the man he and Crusher had re-captured in Caithness had been capable of using the Dark Arts he certainly would have done so. No, it had to be something else.

He put the file down and picked up the newspaper. Everyone else had been fixated on the crossword clues, but nothing had turned up. The crossword compiler had turned out to be a harmless old bugger who lived in the wizarding area of Brighton and was a retired clerk from Gringotts. He flicked through the pages; even less sure of what he was looking for. He knew, because an exhaustive analysis had indicated as such, that there wasn't a single mention of Harry Potter in the paper. He sighed and put the paper down. He was tired. He didn't know what he'd expected to find - an answer perhaps. Well he hadn't found it tonight.

The next morning he managed to get to work before nine, which had been becoming unusual for him. He was intensely curious as to whose the other file would turn out to be, the reference had only had a number not a name. He found it eventually, and when he saw that the name on the cover was Remus J Lupin, he knew he might finally be on to something. The file itself simply contained a record of surveillance that had been carried out for a year from the spring of '81, the transcript of an interview on the 1st November of that year, and the report of an investigation into him the previous year following Black's disappearance from Hogwarts. This last was interesting as it included a statement from the Potions master at Hogwarts, Severus Snape, who was quite prepared to testify that Lupin had been helping Black. What was perhaps more interesting, was the fact that nothing seemed to have come of this statement. Jacks wondered why. After all Lupin was an old friend of Black's who had been at Hogwarts last year when Black had so conveniently managed to escape at the point of execution. Coincidence? Jacks didn't think so. Perhaps it was time the Ministry had another little chat with Mr Lupin.

Jacks grimaced. He could just see the reaction if he tried to march into Kellow's office, demanding he be allowed to carry out another investigation into Lupin. No, he had to at least have some evidence. He picked up Lupin's file again, and started re-reading it. Then he had an idea.

Later that morning while he was doing his rounds, delivering requisitioned files and uplifting others for re-filing, he stopped outside Kellow's office. Kellow's secretary, Joan something he thought, was sitting at her desk trying to look efficient. As soon as she had heard the door open she had made a feeble attempt to stuff the copy of Witches Weekly she had been reading out of sight, but Jacks could see where she'd put it and smirked.

"Hi, Joan, how's things?" he asked, "Busy?"

She glared at him. "What do you want, Jacks?" She was perfectly aware, as was everyone in the building, of the circumstances of his 'transfer'.

"Well, I was wondering if I could have a word with Kellow."

"It's Mister Kellow to you," she retorted. "What for?"

Jacks rolled his eyes. "I want to discuss his filing requirements with him."

Joan instantly bridled at this, flashing him a venomous look and he sighed inwardly. This wasn't going too well. He should be trying to butter Joan up, not antagonise her, but she'd always been such a bitch and trying to sweet talk her was more than he could stomach.

Fortunately, at that moment Kellow came out of his office. He looked Jacks up and down, and glanced at Joan, who was still glaring at him. The antagonism between them was old news. "Can I help you?" he asked with the merest hint of sarcasm.

Jacks looked at his old boss, and felt himself start to flush. Before he chickened out he said, "I was wondering if I could have a word, sir?"

Kellow said nothing for a moment; presumably taking in every detail of his shabby robes, and the effect the drink and the disappointment had had on his face. He reached behind him and held open the door. "I can give you five minutes," he said in a neutral voice.

Jacks let go of the breath he hadn't realised he was holding in. "Thank you, sir," he replied, and followed Kellow into his office.

Jacks sat down. He thought Kellow was looking at him with some sympathy, and he hoped he wasn't going to screw things up too badly. Perhaps it hadn't been sarcasm he had heard earlier. "It's about Sirius Black, sir," he began then distractedly ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Please don't think I'm obsessed with this, sir. I'm not turning into Crusher. It's just that he hasn't been apprehended, has he? Black I mean. And I simply had an idea for something that might help us catch him. Sort of make up for how I screwed up last time." Before Kellow could reply he added in a rush, "I've been hearing all sorts of rumours about You-Know-Who - can't really help but do that in this job. If these rumours are true, and I appreciate that you can't say if they are or not, surely it's more important than ever that we get Black?"

Kellow had said nothing throughout this speech, he simply sat with his hands steepled in front of his face and looked at Jacks.

Jacks looked back at him, trying hard not to look too desperate.

"What did you have in mind?" asked Kellow eventually.

"It involves Remus Lupin," Jacks began.

"Ah, the werewolf." Kellow began to look interested. "Go on."

And Jacks explained his idea. When he had finished, Kellow smiled, and said, "That's good. I like it. I think we can do something with that." He paused for a moment, clearly thinking. "Bit of a long shot though."

"But it could work," Jacks assured him, and this time he knew there was desperation in his voice.

Kellow gave him a sour smile. "Isn't it just your lucky day then, that I am being pressurised for results in this area and am willing to consider the very longest of long shots?"

Jacks stared. "You mean you'll do it?" he asked.

"I thought I just said that," Kellow responded, with a hint of irritation.

Jacks gulped. Fuck's sake, that's right, go and antagonise the man you idiot, he said to himself. "I'd, er, really appreciate it if you could see your way to letting me be involved," he finally choked out.

Kellow frowned. "It would have to be unofficially. And while I like this idea, because it's a long shot, I can't devote a lot of resources to it. He turned round and looked at a chart on the wall. "Right, report to Davis first thing tomorrow. I'll make it all right with your current supervisor. And remember, Davis is in charge." He smiled in a more friendly fashion. "You're right, though, we do need to catch Black. And we do need everyone we can get, so if this operation shows any degree of success at all, consider yourself back in."

Jacks felt as if fireworks had suddenly started going off. "Thank you, sir," he said and meant it.