The Heiress

I took a deep breath, waiting for the pressure on my shoulder to ease. When it didn't, I wrenched out from under it and spun around with a sort of desperate hope that my ears were playing tricks on me.

They weren't, and neither were my eyes. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

Cormac McLaggen guffawed and slammed his hand down on my other shoulder. "How's that Weasley? That's no way to greet an old mate, eh?"

"Old mate?" I looked around. Every wand was aimed at my head, and I knew that if I so much as shuddered, I'd be in a body-binding curse - or worse.

"I don't see any old mates here. Just you and this lot."

McLaggen laughed again and let me go. "You've always been a funny bloke, Weasley. Sometimes you made me laugh and you didn't even have to open your mouth."

He looked round at all the others, chuckling. They laughed, too, more out of loyalty, it looked like. And although he was being his customary git-like self, I relaxed a little. It wasn't what I'd been expecting, but if it was only McLaggen I had to deal with, I reckoned I had a pretty good chance of coming out ahead.

"Blimey, Weasley," he said after he'd settled down a bit, "I know they don't pay piss at Gringotts', but I didn't know you bank blokes couldn't even afford furniture." He swept his arm through the air, kicking up a bit of dust. "I thought we had the wrong place until you popped in. Thought that was a nest of doxy eggs over by the window but it just turned out to be a bit of carpet fluff ..."

As McLaggen went on with something else about how dodgy and dusty my flat was, I was barely listening. My eyes slid over his shoulder and settled on the bloke who'd come out of my bedroom. The wanker was still holding Hermione's lacy bits up to the light as if he expected them to start singing to him. I took a step forward, not caring about still being in the crosshairs of four or five different wands.

"Oi, you!" I shouted. "Drop those knickers."

"A bit forward, aren't you, Weasley?" McLaggen's voice was teasing. "You and Gorsam haven't even been properly introduced."

"Brilliant, McLaggen. Do I laugh now or wait until it gets funny?"

McLaggen grinned and told the bloke to stop arsing about and put Hermione's underthings in an evidence bag. Then, much to my relief, though I acted like I didn't much care, he told the others to put up their wands, repeating that "Weasley and I are old mates" nonsense. This time, I didn't argue with him.

And though I would never admit it to anyone, it wasn't too far from the truth. Well, not much, anyway. McLaggen had been a true tosser back in Hogwarts, always screeching about how he'd really beaten me out for Keeper on Gryffindor's team back when I was a Sixth-Year, and rot like that. But in the war, he'd fought bravely. He'd saved a lot of Muggles from the same sort of Death Eater attacks that arseholes like Whetwistle had orchestrated, and he had the scars to show for it. After the war, he'd entered Auror Training at the same time as Harry and me. We didn't really talk much then, though I always looked forward to the pickup Quidditch games after training so that I could show everyone who was still the better Keeper.

I'd never worked with McLaggen out in the field and I never really saw him much during my time at the MLE, but after all that happened after the trial, I'd read in the Prophet that there'd been a petition for my reinstatement to the Corps. Aside from Harry, only a handful of Aurors had signed it, but McLaggen had been one, which had shocked the piss out of me. I'd lost track of him but I'd heard snippets here and there. McLaggen had risen fast in the ranks - probably thanks in part to his Uncle Tiberius - and was now a Spotter, which was someone who went with Aurors right out of training to supervise them on their first field assignments. I hadn't thought about McLaggen or had any reason to think about McLaggen in years. And I would've been more than happy to have kept it that way.

Taking another quick look around, I noticed how young everyone looked and was surprised. If the Ministry was so keen to find Hermione that they'd shut down Gringotts, why in the hell would they send a bunch of new Aurors looking for her, even if they did have someone more experienced with them? I reckoned this lot might be the pick of the crop as far as the newest Auror class, but another look at that Gorsam git again, and I dismissed that thought.

"So," McLaggen said, swinging his wand back and forth. "We're looking for Hermione Granger. We're told you might've seen her. From the looks of it, you have seen quite a lot of her, eh, Weasley? Unless those knickers are yours." He laughed again, putting the evidence bag in a pouch at his hip. "Whatever happened to that muffin you married? Slytherin chit, wasn't she? Daisy?"

"Daphne. We're divorced."

My confidence drained a bit as soon as he'd mentioned Hermione's name and my mind wandered when he went on talking about something else. Apparently the MLE was on Hermione's trail, but they hadn't found her yet, apparently, or they wouldn't be in my flat, poking through my things. I understood then that I'd sealed my fate the minute I'd broken from my plan and had come back to mine to get that money. It was too late, now - for me, anyway. I supposed that if I could keep Hermione from getting dragged down with me, it wouldn't all be a complete loss.

I shook my head softly and forced myself to tune back into McLaggen's chatter.

"... Divorce," McLaggen was saying, walking in a wide circle around my bare living room. "Well, it happens to the best of us. Romilda and I've called it quits. Four years now - no, five. Something like that. I miss my boys, but that bint can rot, for all I care. She's taken up with some Muggle actor. Alan something-or-other. Bloke's twice her age and has a nose like old Snape's. But he can have her, the selfish tart. Always having something to say, but when I wanted her to do something productive with that mouth of hers -"

"- Who told you I'd seen Hermione?" I broke in. It was a funny thing - the more McLaggen talked, the less he seemed to really be doing anything related to his job. But his lack of attention was taking him closer to my stash of gold. The presence of several Gringotts sacks filled with gold in an empty flat that I just happened to pop into was not something I wanted to explain while in wand-range.

McLaggen looked round. "Eh? What's that, Weasley?"

"What makes you think she'd be here? She and I weren't on the best of terms, you know."

I pulled my eyes up from where he was standing nearly on top of the money. I cursed myself again for being greedy enough to go for it. I should've taken the chance of dashing off with Hermione and getting a message to Harry ... he would've found a way to help us somehow.

"Potter said she might be here. He said she'd been in London a while now and part of it was spent over here, with you." For the first time, McLaggen studied me a bit too closely for my liking. "You saying Potter didn't have his facts right?"

My cheeks got hot. That changed things a good bit. So Harry told them that she'd been here? Why? I couldn't understand what Harry was about, more or less sending Aurors straight to Hermione. What if she had been here? Not three hours before, she had been. An uncomfortable thought came to mind: Maybe Harry knew that Hermione wasn't with me and he'd sent the Aurors to find me so that he or Ginny or someone could get to Hermione and get her hidden away somewhere.

But then, Harry had to know that if the Aurors thought I was hiding something, they'd go at me hard. With Veratiserum. Again. I wasn't sure what to think of the idea that my best mate had sacrificed me for Hermione, but considering that I had thought to do the same thing, I couldn't really argue with Harry's line of thinking, if he had actually thought about it in that way.

"No, she was here for a bit. But then she left. She was staying with Ginny and Harry for awhile."

"Yeah, he told the Minister that. But he said she left there early this week. They had some sort of row and she took off. He doesn't know where she might've gone, so he suggested we talk with you. When was the last time you saw her?"

I didn't answer for a moment. McLaggen was being far too casual now. He knew something. I could see a strange, hard light in his eyes, though his team didn't seem to pick up on it. They were lagging about, almost bored, some of them looking out the windows. I thought back to the plan I'd cooked up between the time I'd shuttled Hermione out of Gringotts and my leaving the Gainsvert. I knew that I had to bang ahead with it; first off, I had no time to come up with any other plan, and second, I wasn't sure that anything I could say would get me out of this, so it was probably better that I just go along with what I'd rehearsed.

"About an hour ago." I paused and readied myself for the first lie. "Right before she threw a cup of ... uh ... water at me and popped off."

His eyes widened and he breathed out in a whoosh. "What? An hour ago? Where? Was she hurt?"

I just stared at him for a second, amazed at two things: one, that McLaggen had said that in almost one breath, and the second, that I wasn't being carted to a holding chamber. The lying part aside, I had just admitted to seeing and talking to a person that half the wizarding world was out looking for, and all McLaggen wanted to know was -

- Was she hurt? I frowned. That was strange. How would anyone have known what Whetwistle had done to her? Unless they'd been there, or had talked to someone who was, or ... had seen her themselves.

A sick feeling wrapped round my stomach. What if I'd had it backwards? What if they'd already gotten to Hermione and had her somewhere and was trying to see what I'd say and catch us both lying? I couldn't really read anything in McLaggen's bland expression and I couldn't just rearrange my plan under the assumption that we'd already been found out. I had to just crack on with what I'd decided on earlier and hope for the best.

"Yeah," I muttered, my eyes narrowing. "She'd been choked and slapped about by a bloke who'd been representing himself as a Squib. His name was -"

"- Whetwistle." McLaggen's eyes matched mine and his body tensed. "He's in that special wing of St. Mungo's now, toes-up. He was a Death Eater, you know. Why d'you suppose he attacked her?"

I went slowly through the story, omitting certain small details like what I'd seen in the Pensieve and me taking Hermione to Gringotts. I knew that would come back to bite me when and if they ever got round to talking to people there, but I couldn't worry about that. While McLaggen and his team goggled at me, I told them about Hermione's visit to his shop and the fight and that she'd only stunned him with the block of wood, but then I sort of prettied it up by saying that she'd gotten away from his clutching hands immediately after she'd hit him.

"We've read Potter's report on this Whetwistle character. Figured that it tied in with that disaster at Gringotts," said McLaggen. "Scrimgeour was furious after he found out that Potter had known this bloke existed and had doubts about him and that he had ties to that cursed gold in those vaults. I thought the Minister was going to kill Potter - going behind the MLE's back like that and doing his own poking about? Not even Potter has the authority ..."

He cut off, and I frowned. I felt a little worried for Harry, but it passed quickly. Even I knew that Scrimgeour wouldn't be mad enough to do something to the greatest wizard of an age.

I glanced back at McLaggen, and my heart stopped; he was back near my hiding place with the gold, and he was looking down at the floor, scuffing at it with the toe of his boot. If he looked to the left -

"Anyway, we need to find Granger," he said, raising his head. "Hopefully she's not far off, if you just saw her an hour ago. Why'd she throw water on you, anyway?"

"To get away from me, I suppose," I said. "I told her we needed to find Harry and tell him what happened. I think she was afraid Harry might make her go to the Ministry to make a statement."

"What would've been so wrong with that?"

"Well, she's not exactly the MLE's favourite person," I said quietly.

McLaggen looked lost for a moment, and then he blushed, lowering his eyes.

"Yeah, I reckon not." There was an uncomfortable silence before he cleared his throat. "Still, we need to find her. We can't close out this case until we do."

"Why not? This bloke tried to ..." My throat closed on the words even as the image of Whetwistle's hands all over her floated in front of my eyes. "He tried to force himself on her, and he was a Death Eater -"

"Seems obvious that she banged him around to defend herself. No one's disputing that," McLaggen said. "He took a few good whacks - not enough to kill him, though. Likely the Killing Curse did him in."

He looked thoughtful. "So we need to figure out who did him in, if not Granger. In fact, it makes it even worse if it wasn't her. The Minister thinks that if this bloke was able to hide out for so long, there still might be more Death Eaters lurking about, maybe planning ... something, and maybe one of them came back and finished Whetwistle because they thought they were about to be exposed."

He started to pace again. "That's why we need to find Granger. Minister thinks she should be in protective custody until we figure a few things out. Seems she spent a lot of time alone with him. He might've told her something. Or she might know something that she doesn't realise she knows, if you catch my meaning."

I did catch his meaning, and the sick feeling came back with some friends. In other words, they'd try to force whatever they thought she might know out of her. I could barely believe it. The MLE knew that she had nothing to do with Whetwisle's death and they still couldn't wait to get their bloody hands on her. Protective custody my arse.

All that meant was that Scrimgeour wouldn't let them get too rough with her until he thought that she wasn't telling him what he wanted to hear. Right after I'd gotten kicked out of the Corps, Hermione had "resigned" her post. Harry told me later that Hermione had been all but forced out, that Scrimgeour had blamed her for the amnesty programme going to piss. I didn't want to think about her being cooped up under his sort of protective custody with ten years of anger and resentment just itching to come out.

I tried to force something, some new plan, to come to my head, but my mind was blank. There wasn't really any need for one, if I was being honest. I'd done more or less what I'd set out to do, plant a bit of misdirection to get the Ministry off Hermione's trail. They didn't know where she was, yet. McLaggen didn't seem to think I knew where she was, either. That didn't mean things couldn't change, but I was relieved at the thought that if I played it just right, my little detour wouldn't backfire after all.

"McLaggen, I -"

He made a noise that stopped me in my tracks. Then: "Blimey! Weasley, what are you playing at?"

I started to shake. McLaggen was right there, looking inside the cubby, which held more than a few bulging Gringotts sacks. There was a long silence as he reached in and pulled out -

"Isn't this a replica of the banner from when the Cannons made it to the final round of the Quidditch Cup in '09?"

I blinked, not quite believing that what he was waving at me was a dusty, tattered bit of cloth that was so stained and torn that you could hardly make out the cannon printed on the lower left.

"Uh ... yeah?"

"And you have it tossed over here like some old dust rag? What sort of bloody fan are you?"

"Well, I did have it out, but one of my brothers got sick all over it. Bad flu," I said casually. "Those stains are -"

"Eugh!" McLaggen threw it hastily back in its corner and moved away from it - and the Gringotts sacks. The two-ton hippogriff that had been sitting on my chest eased off and I was able to breathe again.

"Ever hear of a cleansing spell? This whole bloody flat could use a right good one, I think. Right, well, I guess that's it then. Sooner we all get back to headquarters, the better. Reckon you know the way, Weasley?"

I took a step back. "Me? Why do I need to go? I've told you all I know. I don't know where she is."

"C'mon, Weasley, it's not been that long, has it?" McLaggen looked a bit exasperated. "I need to make a report of your official statement, you need to swear to it on your wand, and that. Just a formality, but it's got to be done."

I kept my eyes on McLaggen, and even before he'd stopped talking, I knew I'd done it. He believed me. He'd bought my story. It'd be routine: words on parchment, muttering something and touching my wand to the paper, and I'd be on my way.

And I knew I couldn't do it. Knowing now that the Ministry wanted to hunt Hermione up even knowing she couldn't have killed Whetwistle made my blood run cold. It meant this had gone beyond one dead ex-Death Eater now, but I couldn't know just what it was all about - and I had to know, for Hermione's sake. For mine, too. Maybe. And without knowing where Harry was, I could see only one way of getting to the truth and keeping her out of danger.

"Fine. I'll go. But I want a word with the Minister."

"And I want gillywater to taste like Ogden's, but no joy there, either." He shook his head. "You'll not be there five minutes."

He leaned close and lowered his voice. "Look, if you're thinking about what the lads'll say, seeing you there, don't worry, most of them don't remember what happened back then, and the ones who do, they don't blame you ..."

I thought about the line of Aurors outside Hermione's room at St. Mungo's after she'd been cut on the arm. I remembered the thinly disguised hate some of them had in their faces when they looked at me, and I wondered if maybe McLaggen had been Confounded or something. Wouldn't've been the first time.

"You don't get it, McLaggen. There's something I need to say, and I'm only going to talk to the Minister." I saw him starting to protest again and went on, "Or I could go tomorrow and tell him that you knew I had information and wouldn't let me have my say."

"What could you have to say that you'd need to speak to Scrim- er, the Minister?" His voice had taken a hard, swotty edge to it, and I couldn't tell if that was for the benefit of his watchers or if he was really starting to get hacked off. I knew I was walking a fine line. McLaggen seemed like he was on my side, for the most part. Pushing him might give me a result I didn't want, but I had to risk it.

"Take me to Headquarters, and you'll see," I said, backing him down with alook. He seemed rather helpless, actually, as he glanced around at all the young faces watching him, wondering what he'd do next.

"All right," he said at last, motioning for one of them to grab hold of me. "I can't promise you'll be able to see him, but I'll see if he can spare you a few minutes if it's really so important. It's to do with this case? With Hermione Granger?"

"It's to do with the case. He'll want to hear what I have to say," I muttered. "Believe me."

McLaggen gave me a questioning look, but I didn't say anything else as we all readied to Apparate to the Ministry's entrance. I was too busy anyway for conversation, since I was rehearsing just exactly what I was going to say when I confessed to killing Gregory Whetwistle.

~*~

The Auror Division headquarters was buzzing when we arrived. McLaggen sent the rest of his team scurrying while he had a quick conversation with a short, stern-looking woman at the head desk. He still clutched the bag that contained Hermione's underthings - insisting that it was "vital to the case."

He tossed the pouch at the woman. "Log this in, will you? It's evidence."

She glanced inside and then looked up at him, red-faced and narrow-eyed.

"Evidence of what? That you're a randy little berk?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, Carlyle?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her. "How about next Friday night? You can bring your own knickers. Or don't. I won't be fussed either way."

She gave him a look that pretty clearly spelled out "up yours" before huffing off. He watched her leave and she turned around and shot another glance over her shoulder that added a bit more to the message.

He gave me a little smirk and led me through the maze of activity to his desk. Unlike the last time I was there, it was packed. I recognised a lot of faces, and I could tell by the expressions that they recognised me back. Some stared out of curiosity and others looking like they'd just as soon Avada me as look at me. So much for McLaggen's assurance that I'd be welcomed with open arms.

"Have a seat, Weasley." He pointed to a chair. "Just have to write a few things out. These ruddy reports, you know ..."

I eased myself down and took another long glance around, realizing what it was I didn't see. Harry. It looked like the whole Corps was there, and it made no sense that he wouldn't be.

"Is Harry out in the field, then?"

"Potter?" McLaggen looked up. "No. The Minister took him off this case."

"What?" I was half out of my chair. "Why? He's the best you have!"

"Conflict of interest. Granger's his friend, you know. And he already cut the MLE out of the loop with this business with the Death Eater and all that hexed gold at Gringotts." He shook his head in disbelief. "He's lucky he didn't get tossed out of here on his arse. Anyone but Potter pulling that sort of stunt would've gotten the sack."

"Where is he, then?"

"At home knitting tea cozies. How would I know? It's not my sister he's married to." He chewed the tip of his quill. "I need a bit of quiet while I sort this out."

McLaggen sounded irritable as he made a correction on his parchment and scribbled out something for ten minutes while I tried to pretend I didn't care being ripped into one glance at a time. No one would look me straight in the eye, but I felt the stares as much as if it'd been the sword of Godric Gryffindor poking me in the back.

"This'll do for now. Read it over. You agree with what it says, mark it with your wand." McLaggen stood up. "I'm going down to Level One and see what I can do for you there. Shouldn't be but a minute, but remember, can't promise anything."

McLaggen wandered off and I tried to get comfortable while reading over his sloppy scrawl. It seemed like he'd written exactly what I'd said, but it didn't matter. If he'd put down I'd been found dancing naked on tip-toe, I would have put my wandmark on it. A big lie was as bad as a small one when it came down to it.

I put it aside and glanced at my watch. It was nearly eight-thirty, and my heart sank. It seemed more and more like it would be a long time before I'd see Hermione again, if I ever did see her again. The best I could hope for was that if I got in to see the Minister and confessed, they'd rule it was on Hermione's behalf and Whetwistle was a Death Eater anyway, so it was all justifiable. At worst ... Azkaban for life. But either way, I couldn't see how I'd get out of there before ten o'clock.

I had a sudden image of Hermione, alone and small, on a railway car going Merlin knew where. I thought about her last words to me, that she'd start hating me if I din't get back in time. I hated myself plenty right then.

If I hadn't gone for the money, I wouldn't have gotten backed in by McLaggen, my old plan might've worked, and I might've been back at the Gainsvert with Hermione, having the rest of that hot chocolate. As it was, I couldn't even get a message to Harry. I was good and truly fucked, and I'd done it to myself.

Sighing loudly, I put my head in my hands, wondering if I could blot out the image of Hermione all alone and not sure if the next step she took would somehow be her last. Just as I was starting to get somewhere, a snivelling, strident voice washed over me.

"What's that piece of shite doing here? He's not an Auror anymore!"

The voice wasn't immediately familiar, but the sentiment was pretty clear, and clearly aimed at me. Everything stopped. I fancied even a few people were holding their breath. I raised my head and looked around to see who'd spoken. I noticed a bloke in the middle of the floor, face purpling in rage and glaring a hole in my jumper.

He was tallish and thinnish and prattish with dark blond hair and a piggy nose. I realised who he was then, and it was all I could do not to snarl. I got to my feet slowly, aware that everyone had stopped talking and was keeping track of my every move.

"Problem there, Smith?"

The other Aurors edged closer, their hands loosely at their sides. I knew the posture and it raised the hairs on my neck. They wanted me to be aware of two very important things: they were armed and I was outnumbered.

Zacharias Smith relaxed and barked out a cold laugh, leaning over a desk.

"We're running ourselves spare looking for that traitor Granger, and you have the cheek to show your face here? You've got your nerve, Weasley."

I folded my arms. That was deliberate, too. I wanted to show the tosspots that I wasn't going to go for my wand. I wasn't afraid of any of them.

"Yeah? And who's got your nerve, Smith?" I asked easily. "Or haven't you found it yet?"

He went pale as dragon's milk and there was low murmuring all about and a few cut-eyes his way. I thought I heard a chuckle or two but that could've been wishful thinking. The fact that Zacharias Smith was still a tossing wanker didn't shock me, but that he was an Auror made my blood boil. I still remember him running away from the final battle, shoving everyone he could out of his way so that he could get clear of the danger. Harry hadn't told me he'd joined the Corps - probably knew I would've come to Headquarters and set fire to it, or something.

"You've no right to be here." He shook off the restraining hand of one of his mates. "You're not an Auror and I know you're not here to help us find that two-faced -"

"Oi, Zach, leave it." The bloke who'd put the hand on his shoulder stepped in front of him, looking like he wanted to clap a hand over Smith's mouth. He was peering at me skeptically and I suppose he didn't like the look he saw in my eyes. "We've got to do our notes for our field debriefing. We don't have time for this."

"Yeah," came a voice from somewhere over my shoulder. "It's not worth it, Zach. Neither is he."

I didn't take my eyes off Smith, but my ears burned. Without Harry around, I was on my own, and any one of these gits could hex me and not fear being disciplined for it. In fact, that might make him a bloody hero.

I knew I was in danger, but a look into Smith's smug bastardly face and I didn't care. In my head, I saw the broken bodies of those who'd died in the last battle, those who hadn't skittered away like frightened nifflers looking to save their own skin.

"Right, Smith, run along," I said with a tight smile. "You're good at that, yeah? Or do you need your dad to come up and hold your hand while you foot it?"

There was more murmuring and a few discreet coughs. Smith glanced around uneasily but puffed himself up a bit more before facing me again.

"Pretty sad lot you are, Weasley," he said with an ugly leer. "Useless as an Auror, having to kiss goblin arse to make a living, and obviously can't keep your end up well enough to stop that bushy-haired slag from spreading them for a sodding Death Eater -"

I hadn't even realised I was moving toward him and had pushed aside the bloke in front of me until I was a wand's length away from Smith and my fist had buried itself into his fat, ugly nose. There was a satisfying crunch and his eyes went huge with shock as the blood gushed down his face.

Everything went a bit mad almost immediately. Smith clutched at his nose, someone grabbed hold of my arms and dozens of wands were pointing straight at me. I yelled, struggling against the hands gripping me, wanting another shot. If Healers were going to have to brew a new vat of Skele-Gro, seemed a waste if they'd only need it for his face.

"Quick! Stupefy him, somebody! -"

"- Are you mad? He's Harry Potter's brother-in-law -"

"- Who gives a toss? He attacked an Auror! Now he'll go to Azkaban, where he belongs -"

" - My node! 'E boke my node!"

"- Hold him, hold him! I hear he can do the Killing Curse without his wand. Potter taught him how -"

"WHAT THE SMEGGING HELL IS GOING ON HERE?"

McLaggen's shout came into the office before the rest of him did. He stormed through the crowd and people shot away as if broomsticks had suddenly materialised under their arses. A few stayed put: the blokes holding me, Smith, still moaning and holding his face, and one or two others who hadn't managed to slink away quick enough.

"Well?" McLaggen snapped at a short, stocky bloke in stained robes. "Out with it, Cauldwell. There better be a damn good reason for all this!"

"He attacked Zacharias!" The Cauldwell pillock whined and pointed at me like a runny-nosed First-Year. "He should be placed under arrest for attacking an officer of the Ministry!"

McLaggen looked at me and then at Smith, and back at me again, and then back at Smith.

"He just up and attacked you, Smith? Just like that? You were just standing here with your hands folded and your eyes down like a bloody house elf, and for no reason, Weasley just hauled off and cracked you one?"

Even as he dripped all over the floor, I saw Smith pause and his mouth work uselessly. He'd been expecting sympathy, not sarcasm, and for a split second he looked soft and uncertain.

"'E boke my boody node C'mac!" He hopped from one foot to the other. "Son'f bish boke my node!"

"He should get a good smack upside that stupid face of his," said Cauldwell with a sneer. "Trash like him that goes around with traitors don't have the right to be here. I say let him go and let Zach get in a good punch or two or three!"

There were murmurs of agreement, though Smith didn't seem to fancy the idea much. I was breathing hard, still struggling to get free. Cormac watched me wriggle for a bit before he spoke again.

"Finch-Fletchley, take Smith down to the Infirmary for a pain potion and to get his nose re-set. Fremantle, Timmons, take your hands off Weasley. I'll take care of him. The rest of you, back to work."

I was freed only to be grabbed by McLaggen, who twisted my arm half around my back.

"Make a move, and you'll be on the wrong end of a Petrificus Totalus, Weasley."

Gone was all the arsey, overdone friendliness he'd shown me at my flat, and I was looking into the hard face of the McLaggen I'd known and wanted to kick across the Quidditch pitch back in Hogwarts. I wasn't so much afraid as I was confused. He mumbled something beneath his breath I couldn't quite catch and tightened his hold.

"Let's go, you. Out of the way, you lot."

He marched me through the crowd and across the office, his wand poking into my back. Voices rose and fell around me, but I didn't move my head, my eyes staring straight ahead, my mind blank. I knew where the holding cells were and we weren't walking toward them. That didn't make me feel any better. For all I knew, McLaggen was taking me to get the Dementor's Kiss in that little chamber just off the Department of Mysteries no one was supposed to know about.

We went out into the corridor and down the same damp hallway that I'd traveled that day Harry was talking to Whetwistle and his wife - the same day Hermione had been attacked outside his and Ginny's flat. McLaggen shoved me along, made a sharp turn and then another when he suddenly released me with a push. I fell back against a wall and McLaggen's face was suddenly so close to mine, I could count the bumps on his tongue.

"What the hell were you on about back there?" he hissed, glancing over his shoulder. "For someone who they said might run the Auror Division one day, seems you know bugger all about how things work around here!"

I rubbed my arm where he'd squeezed it to massage the feeling back into it. I wasn't sure where we were going, but I knew then that it wasn't to a holding cell or Azkaban. By rights, McLaggen should've stood aside and let me be pummeled. Aurors looked after their own, after all. I wasn't complaining that he hadn't, but it was odd to think that McLaggen of all people was being so decent to me.

"You're lucky I got back when I did. The could've carved you up like a Christmas goose and said they'd did it to keep you from murdering the entire floor or something."

"Smith's lucky you got back when you did. Another minute more and he would've been pulling his teeth out of his arsehole."

He glared for me for a second before sagging against the stones, shaking his head. "I can't fucking stand Zacharias Smith. Never could. Someone needed to break that grotty nose years ago."

"How'd he even get to be an Auror? Last I checked, the Corps had standards."

"Well, good connections'll open a lot of doors for you."

"You'd know about that I guess," I muttered. McLaggen gave me a sour look, and I looked away, feeling a little like a git.

"Yeah, I reckon I would. But I do my job, which is more than I can say for Smith. He'd be a Billy no-mates if it weren't for his father. Sad thing is, he knows it and hates it, but he can't do anything about it. Everyone knows he ran away from the final battle. That's a hell of a thing to have to live under. I think being an Auror is his idea of redeeming himself - or his dad's idea."

McLaggen looked over his shoulder again and tilted his head forward. "C'mon. We can take the back stairs to the First Level. You know, if I weren't taking you where I'm taking you, I'd have to give you a smack or two for what you did to Smith, even though he's a wanker." He sounded apologetic. "You know how it is."

I shrugged and we walked down the corridor and down a flight of stairs that led to another hallway and then another flight of stairs. McLaggen was grim-faced and he kept looking over his shoulder. That kept me on my guard. I couldn't be completely sure that he wasn't softening me up so that I'd walk right into some sort of real ambush or that he'd change his mind about not smacking me one.

When we got to the First Level without anything happening, I felt a bit bad that I didn't completely trust McLaggen, but old habits were pretty hard to break. Still, I didn't feel completely at ease until we walked out of a doorway that fed into the main corridor of the First Level. But I tensed up again and a queer feeling washed over me as McLaggen herded me in the opposite direction of the Minister's suite.

"Where are we going? The Minister's office is behind us."

"I know. His assistant said his schedule's rammed. But since what you've got to say is so important, there's someone else who'd like a word."

I started to sweat. This had all the signs of a situation going straight to hell. It'd all be useless if I couldn't talk to Scrimgeour himself. I looked at my watch: It was ten of nine. I reckoned it'd be better to just forget it and go back to the inn to check on Hermione, talk to Harry and maybe come up with a new plan.

"Why didn't you just say so? It's the Minister I need to talk to, you know. If he's too busy tonight, then I'll just make an appointment for later in the week -"

McLaggen turned around, his wand raised and pointing at my chest. I stopped dead.

"It's not an invitation, Weasley. Whatever it is you wanted to say, you are going to say it. Now." The edge was back in his voice and I knew that this time it wasn't just for show.

"Where are you taking me?"

"You'll see in a minute. Keep your pants on," he said briskly, ushering me ahead of him down a dark and narrow passageway. At the end of it, there was a door with a yellow and black banner tied around the handle. We stopped there and McLaggen reached over my shoulder to knock. As he did, the banner moved and shifted into the shape of a badger clicking its huge teeth at us.

"Come in!"

It was a female voice, I could tell that much, but knowing that didn't make me feel any calmer. When we went in, I could tell a lot more. It was an office, but not one of the nicer ones. The furniture was a bit old-fashioned, but it had a comfortable look, as if people actually sat on it. There were frames on the walls and a large, plush-looking chair behind a mahogany desk. A woman was sitting there, her head bent as she read through a stack of papers in front of her. McLaggen put his scroll with my statement on the top of the stack and she reached for immediately and looked it over in silence for several long minutes. McLaggen cleared his throat after a bit to remind her that we were still there and our feet were falling asleep. She didn't look up.

"This report is very badly written out, Cormac. I can barely make any sense of it. Next time, use a Dict-O-Quill, please."

I glanced at McLaggen, who apparently didn't share the woman's opinion. Still, he kept his face on and made polite noises about doing better next time. I was impressed. Whoever this was had pull if she could make McLaggen straighten up and act like a proper wizard.

She finished reading, set the scroll aside and finally raised her head. My mouth fell open. All my practised words left me and I was left as staring and stupid and still as if I'd just run across a Basilisk.

"Here's Weasley to see you, like you asked, Deputy Minister," McLaggen said stiffly. "He's prepared to make an additional statement right now."

"I see." Her eyes flicked up and down before settling on my face. "I can hardly wait to hear it."

The last time I'd seen Susan Bones, it was the morning after we'd had the most brilliant night of shagging in the short amount of time we'd been together. She'd been sleeping soundly in her bed, and I was trying to dress quietly and not wake her. I'd been successful and I'd popped out of her flat and her life and never looked back.

Now here I was standing in front of her, being held at wandpoint by an Auror, and she was the Deputy-bloody-Minister of Magic. My life, and maybe Hermione's, too, was hanging in the balance, and I couldn't think of anything except that Azkaban would've been easier to face than this.