Serve and Protect

Serve and Protect

There are wards to track magic in Muggle residential areas. Not because it's forbidden, strictly speaking. They're just to keep things from getting excessive. A Lumos charm on a dark night never hurt anyone, and who couldn't use a good warming charm when it's cold out? But when you light something on fire, it's going to catch the ministry's attention.

The Department of Secrecy was the first on the scene. They Apparated in wands raised, the word 'Obliviate' hanging on their lips, ready to give some careless wizard a wag of a finger and a stern talking to. Then they saw the house burning and the lone man crying in front of it. Almost wiped his memory on the spot, those trigger happy blokes, but thought better of it. Five seconds later, there was a crack like lightning outside my door and I barely the urge to jump in my seat. I listened for several moments in tense anxiety before the knock at the door set me at ease. Dark wizards don't knock. They barge in wands blazing. I slightly loosened my death grip on the wand and met Dobes at the door.

Dobes is a balding man twice my age and twice my size around the middle. He made his way to the top without the help of a strong bloodline or deep connections. Just a hard worker and from what I hear, a heck of a nice guy to work under. I tried to like him, but couldn't. He runs his department well enough, but he's got no perspective on the larger picture.

"Potter, we've got another situation," he said, as if there were any other reason he could possibly be here. With a flick of my wand my work robe flew from the coat rack and hovered before me. I slipped both arms in silently before addressing Dobes again.

"Was there a mark?"

"No, nothing so unpleasant," said Dobes. "Just a fire."

"Good." The last time a dark wizard left an unknown signal in the sky, it had taken the department a week to dispel the thing. With no single banner for them all to fly under, each mark left was completely different, and there was no single way to dispel them all.

"They hit a little house in Langley off the corner of Martin and Richmond."

"And are there any witnesses with half their faculties intact?"

Dobes was too smart not to catch the dig at his department. "Roland's already there. He'll brief you when you get there."

We walked in silence out my door and to the edge of my wards. I took a deep breath and steeled myself for Apparation. I'm old enough to know that I'll never grow to like it. In near unison, Dobes and I turned on our heels and disappeared.

I found myself in the driveway of another home. The night sky was polluted with thick dark smoke rolling from the smoldering ashes. My partner Matt Roland stood next to me adjusting the flames of his cauldron. I'm not an ace at potions, that's why they teamed me up with Matt, but from the color of the liquid it looked like it would be an hour at least before the tracking solution was complete. The potion was more of a formality than anything. It would track the wizard's latest Apparation and nothing more. Once we got there, most likely the wizard who set the fire would be gone already. Then Matt would have to make another potion. By that time, the bloke would probably have Apparated a dozen times more.

Only an idiot got caught by a tracking potion. Judging from the damage done by the heat of the flames, this wizard had some wits about him. The fire even melted the brick foundations of the house. Only rubble was left.

"You missed the flames, Harry," said Matt. "Was a nice little camp fire before you showed up."

I forced a smile. "I guess it's too late to roast some marshmallows, isn't it?"

"Yeah," said Matt before the smile disappeared from his face. I knew this type of thing sickened him just as much as it did me. He nodded over toward the Muggle standing in front of the house. "The man who camps out here is waiting to talk to you."

"Ah, so Dobes decided to leave a Muggle with his brain this time?"

Matt simply shrugged. "There's a first time for everything. One of the Department of Secrecy members talked with him briefly. He's the owner of the house." Matt's face grew even graver as he said, "Give him the gentle treatment, Harry. He's more than a little shaken up."

I nodded. Matt didn't need to tell me to play nice with the guy. I wasn't that jaded, not by far.

The Muggle didn't look up as I approached him. He kept his eyes trained on the smoking rubble.

"Mr. Logan," I said making my presence known. I used Legilimency to find out his name. I didn't dare dig any further than that with his mind in such a fragile state. "I need to ask you some questions."

Logan looked at me and through me at the same time. Like he knew I was there, but had no idea what I was. He probably would have looked at his best friend the same way. I don't think my robes were helping the matter.

"Do you mind if I ask you some questions?" I repeated a bit louder. I watched as the glazed-over look slowly left his eyes.

"Okay," he said, returning his gaze to the pile of rubble that was his home.

"Have you seen anything strange happening around your home lately?"

"No."

"Have you come in contact with anyone suspicious recently?"

"No... no we were on vacation..." Logan said this as if it were an explanation. Nothing could have happened officer, because we weren't here. This isn't real because I just got back from the Hampton Islands. As if tragedy could only strike during a normal work day.

"When did you get back?" I asked.

"Just today... Emily, my wife, she came back early with John... John was tired so they drove back in the car. I told them to go ahead while I packed up the RV... I didn't think... how could I know?"

The perpetrator was probably a squatter. It was hardly uncommon for wizards (especially hunted wizards) to hide out in vacationing Muggles' houses. One only needed to cast a Muggle detection charm to alert you when they returned. Then it was a simple matter of Apparating away. No harm, no foul. Only this time, the squatter left a parting gift. I hoped to god I'd be able to return the favor.

Mr. Logan startled me from my contemplation with his next words. "You don't think it was an accident, do you?" he asked. I hardly noticed that he turned back to look at me. His eyes pleading and hoping. "A... a gas leak or something, don't you think?"

Here I had a decision to make. It would have been so easy to tell him a lie. In fact, he had already supplied me with one. Mr. John Logan Sr. could live the rest of his life believing that his wife and child died in an unpreventable gas explosion. He could believe he was simply a victim of misfortune and the world would go on all the same. I could have easily placated the Department of Secrecy by reminding them of how little the man had seen and left his memory intact.

But I heard a voice in my head. A gas leak killed little John and Emily Logan. It's an outrage. A scandal! I took a deep breath. He deserved to know.

"We have reason to believe that this was an act of arson."

Logan's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "But who would... why would anyone...?" he began to ask, but then suddenly stopped. He stood there staring at me. I stared back in silence. After several long moments, Logan asked, "Why?"

"Mr. Logan," I said, hating the words even as they left my mouth, "there are people out there with abilities greater than your own. I am one of them."

I pulled out my wand and wordlessly lit the tip with a Lumos spell. Logan looked on with mild interest. I then transfigured my clothes into a Muggle police uniform and back to my Auror robes again. Logan took four steps away from me and put his hand over his mouth.

"What did you just do?" he asked. His face showed the first signs of true life I'd ever seen from him.

"Magic," I said, trying to sound as reassuring and confident as possible. "People like me... we exist everywhere. Most of the time we hide from non-magical people. We do it to protect you as much as ourselves."

There was no easy way to take something like that in. Logan continued to stare at me in shocked disbelief.

"But there are some of us out there... a small minority... who hate your kind for no real reason. They have it in their sick heads that it's okay to hurt other people because they're different from them. Because they can. It was a man or woman like that who killed your family and there's nothing you or even I can do to fix that."

I took a pause before speaking again. I made sure to meet his eyes as I said the next part.

"I am going to try my hardest to catch them." I pointed to Matt standing over his cauldron. "Even now we're doing our best to track them down. I won't lie to you. Most likely they will get away. But if they've hesitated for a single second or made even the smallest mistake, I will catch them because that's my job. It's the only thing I'm good at. And when I catch them, the ministry will make them pay."

Logan stared at me for several long seconds. I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes, trying to make heads or tails of a foreign situation. This wasn't just something he never thought would happen, this was beyond anything he'd ever experienced. I wasn't surprised when he turned back to the remains of his house and shook his head to clear it. This wasn't reality to him. It was fiction.

"So he killed them," he said slowly. It was the only thing he'd taken from my speech. I decided not to respond.

"He didn't even know them... didn't care... he just killed them."

"Yes, Mr. Logan." What else could I say?

Logan brought his hands to his face and wiped at tears that wouldn't stop coming. If I thought nice words or an arm around his shoulder could alleviate his pain, I would have offered them. Instead I stood in place, not ready yet to leave him but not willing to give him the false hope that he wouldn't have to be alone.

It didn't take long for Logan to stop crying. He still had his sense of dignity. He was the type who wouldn't completely lose it until he had time to himself. I hoped to get this over with as quick as possible so he could contact a relative and find a place to stay for the night. But still there was one more question that needed asking.

"Can you live with it?" He looked at me with slight confusion. I elaborated. "Knowing this was no accident. That they were taken from you and there is nothing you can do. You can't even tell anyone because honestly... who would believe you?"

"Can't tell anyone?" he asked. The possibility had not occurred to him. "They killed my family and you're worried about me talking about it, like it's some bloody secret."

I involuntarily took a step back from the man. I guess it's only natural he'd be angry.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Logan. It's my job."

"Screw your job! It's my... family," he said, squeezing back fresh tears.

I saw that look in his eyes of self-righteous anger. The unflinching knowledge that things were not the way they should be. Piercing me with a bitter-anger, he stared past his tears. His eyes screamed injustice at the world he thought he knew.

It was the last real thing he did that night.

I said, "Obliviate."

--------------

"So we have a deal then?" asked the man extending his hand.

John Logan looked him over carefully. He didn't seem like a normal salesman. His hair was messy and unkempt and there was something about his eyes that was unsettling. Dark pools of green that seemed to look past the conversation into some previously shared experience. John felt like he had known the man before. As if they were friends. Still it was a big decision, so John made a scene of thinking it over before slowly reaching out to shake the man's hand.

"Deal."

"Excellent," said the man. "I'll draw up the papers on Monday, but as far as we're concerned you're covered from tonight forward. We honor all verbal commitments. It's one of Hogwarts Insurance's guarantees. We take care of our customers, Mr. Logan."

And John could tell that. There was something more than smarmy reassurance behind those words. The salesman was someone who truly felt he was helping people. It was a rare thing to see these days. Refreshing even.

"Call me John."

"Alright, John," said the salesman. For the life of him John couldn't remember his name, but somehow felt like that wasn't very important right now. "Now remember, you're covered for floods, fires, and any general accidental damage to the structure of your home. If a plane crashes through your bedroom window, Hogwarts has you covered."

John couldn't help but smile. "Now I hope it doesn't come to that," he said. But at the moment he couldn't care less if disaster struck his home. One-hundred percent coverage for thirty pounds a month was an unbelievable deal and somehow he managed to get the salesman to agree to pay out almost twice the retail value of the house.

"Oh, you never know," said the salesman, his smile momentarily faltering. He donned a serious expression. "Awful things happen all the time. That's why I have this job: to protect people when they can't protect themselves."

A strange silence hung in the air at these words. The feeling of honest familiarity increased to an almost uncomfortable level. John felt as if he was swept into a hidden current behind the man's words. But just as it descended, the awkwardness was gone.

"But hey, you've got my card," said the man, pointing at a card that John didn't realize he was holding in his left hand. It read:

Hogwarts Insurance

Agent Harry Potter

(342) 234-2778

Rising from his seat, Mr. Potter said, "If you go home and find so much as a paint chip has fallen off of your house, you give that number a call."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," said John. "I'll be sure to do that."

"It was a pleasure talking to you," said Potter, looking at his watch. John vaguely remembered that the two of them had been talking for hours. "The time sure does fly. Good luck to you, John. I hope you'll never have to see me again."

"Likewise," said John with a smile. The two shook hands, and parted ways.

When John walked outside the bar, he was a little uncertain of his surroundings. For some reason, he couldn't quite recall what bar he'd just been in or even where he was. But he didn't check the sign. He felt compelled to walk forward without looking back. Eventually he reached streets that he recognized and his feet took over on autopilot.

He wasn't sure why he had come to the bar tonight, or when he had been approached by the insurance salesman, but he was glad that both happened. It was rather fortunate, really. He could not remember why his vacation had ended so suddenly, or why his family had headed home without him. But he did remember John Jr. smiling sweetly in his sleep as Emily placed him into the family car. He remembered kissing her just a bit longer than normal when they parted, and whispering in her ear that he loved her.

John looked back on this fondly. It was a nice vacation, but it was time to go home.