Don't Stay

Don't Stay

Chapter 1: The Ex

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

Paperwork.

If there was anything in the world Harry Potter hated more than dark wizards, it was paperwork.

Unfortunately for Harry, his job as detective in the Los Angeles Magical Protection Agency required him to complete paperwork -- a lot of paperwork.

Harry sighed as he looked at the coffee table in his rather modest flat ... er, apartment. He'd transferred to Los Angeles from London 15 months prior, but he still found himself using British terms now and then. He caught hell from his American co-workers every time he used a Britishism, so he took it upon himself to correct himself when he used a British term, even if it was merely in his own head.

Anyway, his coffee table was now groaning under three 2-foot high stacks of paperwork from old cases. Harry had let the piles build up for months, promising his lieutenant he would complete the paperwork but never actually doing so.

His procrastination had worked like a charm ... until that afternoon. His lieutenant had cornered him at the office and asked him why he hadn't turned in his paperwork as promised. After 90 seconds of Harry's hemming and hawing, the lieutenant told him to turn the paperwork by 8:00 the next morning or find work elsewhere.

Harry looked at his watch: 8:00. He had 12 hours to complete three months work of old case files, and he had to do it thoroughly or risk getting disciplined by his boss for doing a half-assed job.

Harry sighed again. He had no doubt this would be an all-night job. Sinking into the squashy blue couch directly facing the coffee table, he picked up the first file. Frowning, he looked at the suspect's mug shot.

Matt Gruenwald, the name read in bold, all-caps lettering above the photo of a scowling middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a jagged scar on his cheek.

Harry closed his eyes, remembering the case. He and his partner, Charlie Lane, had investigated Gruenwald for smuggling dangerous creatures into the United States from Canada. After four months of legwork, they raided a Wisconsin house belonging to Lane, uncovering 11 species of different deadly creatures. It had been the largest bust of its kind in nearly a decade. The agency buzzed with excitement for nearly three weeks after the discovery.

After glancing through a copy of Charlie's case notes, Harry got to work, detailing the investigation in his familiar spiky writing. Twenty minutes later, he was finished with his description. Harry looked at his summary and nodded his approval. Good enough, he thought.

He placed the Gruenwald file on the cushion next to him, creating an unofficial "finished" pile.

With yet another sigh, Harry picked up the next file. Before he opened it, however, his thoughts turned to Charlie, wondering what his partner was doing now. Charlie had invited him for a night out on the town, but he'd had to beg off, using his mound of paperwork as an excuse. Life isn't fair, Harry thought. He gets a night out on the town; I get a night of this.

Of course, Harry wouldn't have gone out on the town even if he could.

It wasn't that he didn't like Charlie; in fact, he considered the blonde his closest friend in America. But despite Charlie's frequent invitations for nights out at the pub ... er, bar ... Harry continued to refuse.

There was a simple explanation for Harry's reluctance to hit the town: his divorce. Since his marriage fell apart a year and a half ago, he had shunned human interaction.

The divorce had rocked Harry. His friendships took a hit, and his work performance suffered. Eventually, not wanting to deal with any more of the fallout, Harry fled London. But even though he was thousands of miles away, the divorce still affected him. He didn't have to deal with any of his former friends and acquaintances anymore, but he still had to deal with himself -- and that was hard enough.

Harry sighed again, this time for a different reason. He didn't know how long it would take for him to get over the divorce, but at least in America he wouldn't have to see his ex-wife anymore.

He opened the file, looking at the smug expression on the face of William Dekker. For the first time, Harry was thankful for the mounds of paperwork; if anything, it would provide a nice distraction from his gloomy thoughts.

That thankfulness faded quickly, as Harry realized why he'd put this paperwork off for so long. It was tedious work that never seemed to end, but finally it did.

After closing the final file over Frank Edwards' grim expression, Harry rubbed his eyes and looked at his watch.

He groaned: It was 6:15. No rest for the weary, I guess, he thought.

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

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Charlie Lane was saying an hour and a half later when Harry shuffled into the Los Angeles Magical Protection Agency squad room, still half-asleep. "And might I put emphasis on dragged," Charlie continued.

"Oh, sod off," Harry mumbled, collapsing into the desk opposite Charlie's.

"I'm sorry. I don't speak British," Charlie said, grinning. "What was that again?"

"Just insert whatever verb you'd like in front of 'off,'" Harry said. "Just make sure it's a four-letter verb." Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out his magically shrunk files of paperwork.

"Wow," Charlie was saying. "They make everything travel-sized now, don't they?"

"Do you always have to be so damned cheery at 8:00 in the morning?" Harry grumped, pulling out his wand and restoring the files to their proper size. To tell the truth, he didn't mind Charlie's teasing. It usually made the days go faster.

Charlie Lane was known as the jokester of the Los Angeles Magical Protection Agency, or LAMPA, as some of the lazier detectives had taken to calling it. Charlie had joined the agency right out of Camelot Wizarding School in Los Angeles. Now in his mid-20s, Charlie made up one-half of the agency's top detective team, though you wouldn't know it by looking at him. He was of average height and average weight, with short blond hair and blue eyes hidden behind nondescript wire frames. Charlie had told Harry once that part of the reason he joked around so much was so he could stick out from his rather average looks.

Harry had become the other half of the top detective team after transferring from his job as top Auror at London's Ministry of Magic following his divorce. His reputation as Voldemort's vanquisher had preceded him. Voldemort hadn't made much of a stir in the States at all, so Harry wasn't treated as the great wizarding hero here. That became patently obvious on Harry's first day at LAMPA, when his new partner spent the entire day ribbing him for what he called a "butchery of the English language."

Now, Harry considered Charlie a friend. He marveled at how fate seemed to have given him a replacement for Ron in the United States ... though he didn't really need a Ron replacement, as the real Ron was alive and well and starring for the Chudley Cannons back in England.

"You weren't the only one who had a long night, you know," Charlie said, watching Harry put his re-grown paperwork into neat stacks to carry into the lieutenant's office. "Even us fun-loving types are tired."

"Oh, please," Harry said, pausing in his task. "If you're tired, then I'm the Queen of England."

"Well, you'd better start practicing your wave, Your Highness," Charlie said, raising his right hand to his right eyebrow in a mock salute. "Because I didn't get any sleep either."

Harry laughed in spite of himself. "Whatever you say, Charlie."

"You would know if you'd gone," Charlie said. "Lots of beautiful women there last night who would have loved meeting a man with a British accent. For some reason, women seem to dig the fish and chips factor."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not exactly beating them off with a stick."

"Maybe that's because of the 'leave me alone' look you've got permanently attached to your face when you're around women," Charlie shot back. "C'mon, man. I know you got divorced, but that doesn't mean you have to swear off women forever."

"In fact," Charlie said, "I'm going to take it upon myself to find you a woman." Harry snorted in reply. "You scoff, but I'm going to make it happen. What are friends for?"

"Please," Harry said. "I have a hard enough time believing you find women for yourself, let alone women for me."

"Oh, I've got plenty of options for you, my friend," Charlie said. "For example, what about Gina?" he asked, indicating Gina Moore, a pretty but vain fellow detective. "She told you the other day that you reminded her of James Bond. That's got to be a good thing."

"Yes, but she also probably thinks James Bond is a real person," Harry said. "I think that would qualify as a bad thing."

"True," Charlie said, rubbing his chin. "Besides, office relationships never work out well anyway."

Harry grimaced, but the effect was lost on Charlie because their lieutenant's secretary, a middle-aged woman named Etta Hughes, had suddenly materialized in front of them.

"Etta, what brings you here?" Charlie asked. "If you've come to ask me out, I'm free next Tuesday evening."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Etta said, "but no. The lieutenant would like to see you both. And he told me to tell you," she continued, looking at Harry, "that you'd better have your paperwork done or you can expect nothing but shoplifting cases for the next year."

"Don't worry," Harry said, grimacing at the thought. "It's done."

"I wasn't worried either way," Etta said, leaving.

"Well, time to meet the boss, I suppose," Charlie said. "Shall we, partner?"

"We shall," Harry said, "but only if you help me carry some of this."

Charlie sighed. "Manual labor. Oh well, ladies dig muscles too." He picked up the smaller of the two piles on Harry's desk and immediately staggered. "So when I actually get some, I'll be even more irresistible."

Harry chuckled, easily picking up the other pile. "Come on, partner," he said, leaving a still-struggling Charlie in his wake as he strode toward the office. "Don't want to leave the boss waiting."

Charlie grumbled. "Show-off."

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

Lt. Joe Brooks exuded power. At 6-foot-4 and a burly 220 pounds, he looked precisely like the type of man a person shouldn't mess with. And in this case, looks were not deceiving. Before his promotion, Brooks had been Charlie's partner, specializing in the nearly impossible-to-crack cases. He was a 20-year veteran of the agency and professed to have seen it all. As such, he had little patience for incompetence from his detectives.

"Morning, lieutenant," Brooks heard. He looked up and saw Harry Potter, standing with a huge stack of files in his arms.

Brooks raised his eyebrows. "Finally decided to complete your paperwork, I see." At Harry's nod, he spoke again. "Well, congratulations. Just put it over in the corner, there," he said, waving a dismissive hand.

Harry obliged. "Now, where's Lane?" the lieutenant asked.

"I'm here," said Charlie, lurching through the doorway into the office. "Got a place where I can put all this down?"

"Over there," Brook said, indicating the corner where Harry had just finished placing his files. Charlie staggered over there and dropped the files with a large THUMP. Fortunately, though the pile wobbled, it did not fall over. Brooks and Harry both rolled their eyes.

"So, what's up boss?" Charlie asked, returning to stand next to Harry before the lieutenant's desk.

"Got a new assignment for you two," Brooks said, leaning back in his chair. "It's an important one ... bigger than the Gruenwald case, even."

Harry and Charlie glanced at each other, frowns coming to their fact. If it was bigger than the Gruenwald case, this was a big case indeed.

Charlie spoke up. "So what's the case, sir?" he asked.

Brooks leaned forward. "Let me find the file for you." His eyes racked the top of his desk. "What the hell?" he said, rummaging through the stacks of paperwork that covered his desk.

Harry and Charlie shared a grin. Their lieutenant may have been intimidating, but one thing he wasn't was organized. His reputation as a pack rat was well-known throughout the office, and it was probably his most major shortcoming as their commanding officer.

"Where the hell is it?" the lieutenant was saying. "I just had it a minute ago." He opened his top right drawer and searched it, tossing pencils and notepads onto the floor as he did so. Not finding it, he opened his top left drawer, slammed it shut quickly and opened the right drawer again. "Damn it!"

"Sir, why don't you just tell us what you know and get back to finding it later?" Harry suggested.

"All right," Brooks agreed, still picking up the files on top of his desk and looking underneath. "But I don't know where it's got - wait, here it is," he said, picking up two thick files that had been in his field of vision the entire time. "Here you go," he said, handing them each a file. "Here's the proper background on the suspect: known acquaintances, possible locations ... you know, the works."

Harry flipped open his folder. Glaring up at him was the countenance of someone named ...

"Regis Daniels?" Charlie asked, frowning. "Well, I can see why he turned to a life of crime. Imagine being named 'Regis.'"

"That's just one of many known aliases," Brooks said. "But it's the one he uses the most, so we've taken to calling him that."

The lieutenant sighed heavily. "Anyway, it seems our good friend Mr. Daniels has come to the good old USA from across the ocean. The London Ministry of Magic has been chasing this guy for over a year now."

Harry frowned at the name of his former employer. "For what?"

"Well, it seems he started out small after he finished his schooling," Brooks said. "Petty theft, potions smuggling, minor stuff like that. Illegal, but not wholly dangerous. About a year ago, he stepped up his game. Kidnapping, assault, possibly murder. He's linked to several disappearances of high-ranking British officials, including the Minister of Magic's personal aide."

"And now he's here," Charlie said. "Why?"

"The Aurors - the British detectives working the case," Brooks added, seeing Charlie's confused expression, "believe he is part of a larger organization, one that has international tie-ins. Ergo, they believe he came to America either to meet with someone from the group or to execute something the group has planned - something major."

"How involved is he with this group?" Harry asked. "Is he a foot soldier or a major player?"

"Our British friends estimate he is a major player, but not the major player. To put it simply, they don't consider him the head of the dragon - more like the shoulders."

"And what do we want to do?" Charlie asked. "Take him down, or bring him in to find out more about this group?"

"Right now, our priority is finding him and tracking his actions," Brooks said. "We'll go on from there. Any more questions?" Harry and Charlie shook their heads. "Good. I suggest you go out there and read the case notes. And when I say I suggest you do it, I mean -- "

"Do it," Charlie finished. "Understood." They turned to leave, but stopped when Brooks spoke up again.

"Oh, and one more thing," the lieutenant said. "The London Ministry insisted on sending one of its Aurors over to assist with the case. They feel it's proper, considering their involvement with the case." Brooks' tone indicated he didn't think it was "proper," but his hands were likely tied. "Either way, she'll be joining us sometime this afternoon."

"She?" Charlie asked.

The lieutenant shrugged. "That's what they told me."

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

Charlie yawned as he flipped to page 50 of the extensive case file on Regis Daniels. He had been eager at first to find out more about the suspect, but that feeling had passed quickly. Whoever had written this case report apparently had nothing but time on their hands, as they'd detailed pretty much a minute-by-minute account of Daniels' life. While Charlie knew the case was important, he didn't much care about Daniels' trip to Florean Fortescue's ice cream shop.

Putting the file down and stretching, Charlie looked at the desk opposite his and snickered. Harry was asleep, his file resting on his chest, rising and falling with each breath he took. At least he isn't snoring, Charlie thought.

Charlie opened his right-hand desk drawer, looking for something. He searched for a few seconds before finding a piece of paper with the telephone number of a girl he'd met at the bar last week. He considered it for a second, then shrugged. "Oh, what the hell," he said. He balled it up quickly and hurled it at his sleeping partner, landing a direct hit on his forehead.

Harry jerked awake. "What the hell?" he asked, grabbing blindly for his wand. Then he saw Charlie trying - and failing - to keep an innocent expression on his face. Pretty soon, he was howling with laughter, sputtering out, "You - should - have - seen - the - look - on - your - face!" then dissolving into laughter again.

"All right, all right - very funny," Harry said. "Are you quite done?"

Charlie sobered. "Oh, all right, Sleeping Beauty," he said. "But you have to admit you had a pretty violent reaction to a piece of paper."

"Is that what it was?" Harry asked, rubbing his forehead. He searched the ground and spied the piece of paper. He was about to throw it in the trash when Charlie put up a hand to stop him.

"Wait," he said. "I might need that. Give it back."

"What is it?" Harry asked, smoothing it out. "Whose number is this?"

"Nobody you'd be interested in, I'd wager," Charlie said. "Girl I met in a bar. I don't think she's your type."

"And why is that?" Harry asked, tossing the paper in the vague direction of Charlie. It landed with a flutter on his desk.

"Well," Charlie said, "she's attractive, and she knows how to have a good time. Clearly not your type."

"Wouldn't the 'attractive' part mean she's not your type either?" Harry countered.

"Ouch," Charlie said, chuckling. "Touche. But not to worry, I've already found your perfect mate."

"And who would that be?"

"Whoever wrote this report," Charlie said. "Clearly they don't understand the concept of fun."

"That bad?" Harry asked. "I didn't read it."

"I figured that, Sleeping Beauty. Don't worry; I think I read enough for the both of us. Besides, we can always ask the Brit when she gets here."

"What time is she getting here again?" Harry asked, looking at his watch. It was 12:30. At least I got some sleep, he thought. Don't want to make a bad impression on our guest of honor.

"Any idea who it's going to be?" Charlie asked. "You did use to work there, after all."

Harry shrugged. "No idea. The office is so big I wouldn't even wager a guess."

"Hmm ... well, OK. Hopefully it's someone who won't drag the investigation down." Suddenly, his expression lit up. "Well, speak of the devil. That's probably her now. And oh, she's not bad-looking. We might have to set the two of you up."

"What?" Harry whirled around. He saw Brooks talking to someone, apparently female. Charlie had the better view; all Harry could see was tied-back brunette hair. "I can't see her," he told his partner.

"Then get over here and look," Charlie said. "But try not to make it too obvious."

Harry hurried to his partner's side, then craned his neck to better see what his partner saw.

He caught a glimpse of the guest and paled. "Oh my God," he said.

Charlie turned and looked at his partner, puzzled. "What? Someone you know?"

"I'd say so," Harry said, color rising to his cheeks. "It's my flipping ex-wife."

"Really?" Charlie said, whistling. "My, Harry ... you had yourself a good one."

"Oh, shut up, you idiot," Harry said. "I've got to hide!" He crouched down next to Charlie, hidden by the desk.

"Oh, well done," Charlie said. "She'll never find you there."

"Shut up," Harry said again, his heart pounding. Of course they sent her, you idiot, he was thinking. She's their best agent.

"They're coming this way now," Charlie was saying. "Want to act like a man by standing tall and facing her?"

"No."

"Suit yourself, then," Charlie said, rising.

"So, this is where our top detective team works," Brooks was saying to the Auror as they approached Charlie's desk. "We'll get you a desk too, so you can work more closely with them. And this is one-half of the team, Charlie Lane."

Charlie put his most charming smile and extended his hand. "Pleasure to meet you," he said, clasping her hand for a second and shaking it. He received a nod in return.

"I'm not sure where our other top detective is," Brooks told her. "He was here not too long ago."

"Oh, don't worry," she said. "I can see him. He's hiding behind the desk."

Harry flushed, knowing he was caught. Slowly, he rose to his feet to greet his ex-wife.

"Hello, Hermione."