Werewolves at Hogwarts

Chapter 23

All the kids were with Molly Weasley, the restaurant booking having been made before Christmas. Maxims of Paris on St Valentine's Day was the most romantic Muggle place to be. Monsieur Rober's was the Wizarding equivalent, and it had taken quite some palm greasing and name dropping to get a table for six reserved for eight pm.

Harry and Ginny floo-ed in first, Ginny doing a discrete cleaning spell over both of them as they exited the fireplace and were greeted by the Floo Keeper. Ginny was glad she had managed to get Harry into his penguin suit as the majority of men were in evening dress robes, the ladies sporting satin and enough diamonds to buy a small third world country. Besides, on top and before any other consideration, Harry always did justice to formal robes. While never the tallest or the strongest or the handsomest in any group, Harry had a presence that almost guaranteed he would never be overlooked. It had nothing to do with the wretched scar that was all but unnoticeable since Voldemort's defeat. It had to do with force of personality and the air of calm competence that surrounded him. Harry was a Man and Ginny was very proud to be his wife.

The maitre de gave them a couple of minutes to collect themselves before coming forward and bowing ingratiatingly. His smile became even more unctuous when given the reservation name, graciously bowing them to a very well placed table. A waiter and a sommelier came at a click of fingers, as Harry seated Ginny and slid into the seat beside her. Taking her hand, he kissed her fingers and told the staff they would just have some pumpkin juice until the rest of the party arrived as one of them was a real wine connoisseur, and he wouldn't dare offend Draco by ordering something crass.

A second later a discrete chime summoned the Floo Keeper to the floo foyer again to greet a very tall couple who exited the fireplace, pulling robes straight and Monsieur casting cleaning charms over Madame, who was obviously unwell from travelling the floo. He coughed discretely and handed her a glass of very pale green liquid, which her husband urged her to drink down. It was a calming potion the restaurant had developed centuries ago and was quite famous for.

"Better, Love?" Ron asked solicitously, as Desiree regained her normal colour.

"Yes, thank you. I'll never get used to floos, I'm afraid," she commented ruefully. "How beautiful," she exclaimed, as she saw the main dining room."

"You have a reservation, Sir?"

"Oh, er, either Potter or Malfoy, I suppose. Did Ginny say who had booked?" Ron asked puzzled.

"Weasley," Desiree said decisively.

"Certainly Madame, come this way please."

"They booked in my name?" Ron said in surprise. "Must been a slow night."

"Oh Ron!" There was not a lot she could do against her husband's ingrained inferiority complex, but he was getting better with time. "Oh there's Harry and Ginny already. Hi, isn't this place something?"

"Hi Dez, it certainly is," Ginny agreed pecking her sister-in-law's cheek. "It's so romantic and so beautiful on Valentine's Day. Love the robes, and even my big brother looks good in formal robes," she teased as Ron went the same colour as his hair.

"How's life treating you Ron?" Harry inquired to take the heat off his oldest friend.

"Ah, pretty good," Ron sighed and fiddled with his knife.

"Oh yes? I know that tone from way back, so what's wrong?"

Ron took a breath then sighed again. "Nah, not now and not yet, wait until we have all been mellowed by good food and wine. Bet you the girls make us get up and dance."

"No bet," Harry chuckled then turned his head. "Draco's here."

"How can you tell?" Ron asked fascinated.

"The fireplace just blew up."

Everyone turned to stare as a cloud of smoke and ash billowed out of the fireplace, rolling across the ceiling to be caught by the charms and contained. The flames licked the mantelshelf as a small blond and a sleekly coiffured brunette stepped out of the enlarged space.

"Why does that always happen when Malfoy arrives?" Ron muttered derisively.

"Because his fireplace is bigger than your fireplace," Harry shot back wickedly.

"Making crude jokes about my floo system again?" Draco's purring tones sounded from behind them, and Harry laughed aloud.

"What else? Spectacular entrances are a Malfoy trait, aren't they?"

"Of course they are. Bourdelais '32 and not that rubbish Robert the elder was trying to pass off last time we were here. Ginny, Desiree, how beautiful you both look. You are far too good for this motley pair of Gryffindorks. Ouch! 'Mione darling, don't beat on me like that!" he yelped as his wife slapped his arm, the rest of the group laughing at his dramatics.

"Sit down you show-off," Hermione told him with fond exasperation. "And what wine did you just order so casually?"

"Oh, I think you'll all like it, soft and not too dry, lots of body and nose, with soft fruit after palette," Draco said casually, then laughed at their puzzled looks, "Philistines."

"We were just not subjected to a classical education like some of us." Harry grinned. "But we do learn. Notice, we didn't dare order anything until you got here."

"Not after last time, that's for sure!" Ron shuddered in remembered horror. Draco had chucked a complete tantrum when the wine was not what the label promised, even though they couldn't tell the difference. Dining with a pureblood snob had rather unusual ramifications, both good and bad.

"A toast, Gentlemen? To our beautiful, talented and sophisticated wives, may they never realise they are far too good for the likes of us!" Draco proposed, as their glasses were hurriedly and discretely filled.

"To our wives," Harry and Ron echoed with feeling.

The meal, all six courses, was delicious, served at a leisurely pace, and interspersed with romantic music and dancing to a candle lit orchestra. Ron relaxed enough to enjoy the meal, the company and the wonderful ambiance of the top class French restaurant. He and Ginny had never dreamed that one day they would be able to experience such luxury while they were growing up. Now they could easily afford it, and were relaxed enough in such company to enjoy it. Desiree was dancing close, her blond head on his shoulder, her high heels making her nearly as tall as he. They were probably the tallest couple in the room, and Draco and Hermione were probably one of the smallest, but it didn't matter on a night like tonight.

As they settled back at the table, Harry cleared his throat portentously. "Nice to have us all together again and we would just like to say, Happy Seventh Wedding Anniversary Draco and Hermione."

The happy couple blushed while the glasses were raised and they basked in each other's smiles. Ron grinned as his best friend blushed vividly remembering the fuss they had all kicked up when they realised she was going out with 'the enemy'! It was an even greater shock when the Order's foremost witch and it least known spy quietly announced they were going to get married as soon as possible, as they had miscalculated. The biggest shock of all was when the ceremony proved to be a permanent contract, not a timed contract, and that Draco Malfoy - king of the pragmatists - was actually a closet romantic. It hadn't stopped Ron and Harry trying to talk Hermione out of such a rash and dangerous move, but she had steadfastly refused to take any notice, to the point of Silence hexing Ron and putting a Lead Foot charm on Harry.

They'd come to accept the wedding after a while and then come to appreciate Draco's odd way of looking at the world, and trust his word that he really was on their side. In the final battle it had taken all of Draco's skills to keep Ron alive. Harry had been protected by Snape as he removed the biggest threat to the Wizarding world, all but single-handedly. Which was why, once they had all floo-ed back to England, and to Malfoy Manor, to finish off the night, that Ron rose and propped himself up at the mantle shelf, a signal that he had some grave news to discuss.

"What do you know about the werewolf problem?" he asked generally.

Draco snorted. "The only problem I know the werewolf is having, is keeping the fact he is deep in my Godfather's robes from becoming public knowledge."

"Draco Malfoy, you just behave yourself!" Hermione yelped, slapping him hard.

"Ouch! Oh come on, it was so obvious they were ignoring each other then sneaking peeps across the room on Boxing Day. I nearly wet myself trying not to laugh."

"It was so sweet watching Remus trying not to be too obvious and Severus trying to stop his robes from wrapping around Remus every time he came anywhere near. I told Severus to just disenchant them but he swore he hadn't enchanted them in the first place, and there was no sign of a spell." Hermione laughed too.

"Oi, back on track, people," Ron grimaced and snorted. "What Snape does in his own time is his business, and I don't want to know details! I'm just concerned with the werewolf murders and disappearances."

"What? What werewolf murders? That's not common knowledge," Hermione exclaimed, sitting forward as her interest was caught. "What's going on?"

"I don't know, and that's the trouble. I get information across my desk saying this person or that person has vanished into thin air. The Aurors who go out to investigate come back with nothing, not even the name of the person who has vanished, in some cases. I thought it was really odd and I began to investigate some of the disappearances myself. That's how come I found out they were werewolves in the first place, the only common bond. In two cases I found evidence that the families of the missing had been Obliviated, and that's when I began to sneak around a bit more carefully. Last week I noticed my desk had been rifled and a number of my files and personal notes had been copied."

"Should have encrypted them, Ron," Harry said grimly, stroking his lip thoughtfully.

Ron snorted in disgust. "Right, like I left them in the open? Of course they were encrypted, Dodo, and in a locked cabinet, but that seems to have barely slowed the inquisitor down."

"Think it was an Unspeakable?" Draco asked thoughtfully.

"I am an Unspeakable," Ron smirked at the blond, who shrugged, unconcerned with definitions. "All I'm saying is that I don't know who is supposed to be in charge of this investigation. I don't know who is reporting to whom, and I don't know who is supposed to be correlating the information, as it has not been given to my department."

"So what do you know?" Hermione asked, snuggling against her husband and preparing for a long briefing. "Dicta-quill it, Harry, you know you have one in your pocket."

"He better not have," Ginny exclaimed, then sighed as her husband hauled out the offending quill sheepishly. "I thought you weren't going to write tonight?"

"'Snot my fault," Harry disclaimed promptly.

"It's a trained tracking quill then, is it? Tracked you all the way to France and then jumped into your pocket. Honestly, Harry, you are hopeless." Ginny sighed; a resigned sort of sigh, then giggled. "Can't you picture it?"

All three women went off into fits of laughter.

"Should never have given them that second bottle of wine," Draco muttered and earned a matrimonial poke in the ribs for his trouble.

"Shush, let Ron talk, please, I want a bedtime story."

~~*~~

Easter was approaching fast, chocolate rabbits proliferating in the lunch room and Easter cards appearing on notice boards. Kingsley grinned at the latest cartoon to cross his desk then glanced up at the young girl all but sitting on her hands in the chair across from him. "Tell me again what you were told, what you did and what you thought, Luanna," he murmured, staring down at the folder in his lap as if disinterested.

The girl huffed slightly and cleared her throat. "Auror Weasley called me into his office and asked me about my latest job. I told him I had gone out with Auror Talbot to follow up on Lawrence Calderwood's disappearance. He asked me what we had found, and I told him that the man had gone out to the shops to buy his wife a packet of tea, and had not returned for four days. Auror Talbot looked around the house but there was no sign of foul play, no spell traces, and his wife's wand came up clean with priori incantatem. We looked around the neighbourhood then came back to the office to make a report, and put out an APB."

"Now be very sure of this, Miss Jones. Who wrote the report on the missing man?"

"Well, Auror Talbot said he would actually. He said he was going to send it in a memo, so I guess he did." The girl frowned then nodded decisively. "Yes, he was going to memo it to Auror Weasley as soon as he had finished it."

Kingsley glanced up briefly and smiled a little. "Talbot was going to memo the report in, humm? And what happened then?"

The girl giggled. "When Inspector Weasley asked me where the report was, I told him it was a memo and he should have received it already. He said he hadn't and that I should get him another copy of the memo, and put it on his desk personally."

"Did he really? And did you?"

"Well, no. I couldn't find the original memo to make a copy of it, so I asked Auror Talbot and he said he had no idea of where the thing was, and if I was so insistent of finding it all I had to do was track down the original memo." The girl blushed as red as her uniform and screwed her fingers together in her lap. "And that's when I found out just how many missing memos there were."

Kingsley put his hand over his mouth to hide his grin as he picked up a yellowed piece of parchment off the pile on his desk. "'14.07.1962 Minister Longheath, rumours of dark wizard activity are unfounded and should be down played at all cost. This is the official policy of this ministry. Signed, Chief Inspector Morrisett.' I think you may have found the dead memo dump," he muttered distractedly.

"Yes Sir, most of these were totally inanimate. Sir, there were an awful lot of them, and some of them seem to have been deliberately misaddressed, as if they were supposed to get lost."

She was quick, this girl, a little too quick, maybe, Shacklebolt thought before he glanced up piercingly. "Did you find the missing memo?"

Luanna bit her lip then opened her robe and pulled out a sheaf of memos that had not been put onto the pile on the desk. "I found a lot more than one, Sir. Each of these is addressed to Mr Weaslet or Auror Bilius or Billy Weasel and they all concern missing persons, our missing persons. Since Inspector Weasley's name is Ronald Bilius Weasley, I sort of inferred...."

"Interesting, and who are they from?" Kingsley asked in his most disinterested tones.

"That's just it, Sir; they aren't from anyone in the department. Some are from Misters Red, Black, Orange, Blue and most from Mr White. But there is no one in our department with a name like that and the only one close is Mr Green, who runs the clerical pool in the Apparation Licensing Department. He's too old to be a field operative."

"Is there a report on your missing Mr Lawrence Calderwood amongst them?"

"Sort of but it doesn't make a lot of sense."

"Read it to me," Kingsley requested, staring at the ceiling.

"Yes Sir. 'My dear Weasel, another one bites the dust, one less piece of vermin to contend with. Cliff Jumper will bring in a thousand galleons, which nearly covers the cost of the last three. He won't be drinking any more tea, nor giving Mrs Calderwood a jolly rogering again, now will he? That silly bitch Jones wants to write you a story on 'the case', but why bother as it never happened. Good luck with your investigation of will-o-the wisps. Love and kisses; Mr White.' That's all, Sir." The girl gnawed her lip as her departmental head continued to stare at the ceiling in rapt concentration.

"Miss Jones, I am going to ask something of you that is rather difficult, but at this stage I feel it may be vitally important. I want you to keep absolutely quiet about these memos and everything you have found in the lost memo dump. As you say, there are no such people as these colour names, and for the time being, I want it to stay that way."

The girl's eyes lit up. "You do believe there is a conspiracy happening!" she said in delight then cringed as her boss glared at her. "Sorry, Sir."

He relented slightly. "Miss Jones, you are a bright girl but please don't be so bright that you blind yourself to the fact that, if there is a conspiracy, then the people involved are dangerous and you may become one of the missing if you speak of this to the wrong person."

Luanna blinked then nodded grimly. "I'm not stupid Sir; I know how dangerous people can be. Oh there is one more thing you might be able to use, whether it is relevant or not, I don't know. Inspector Weasley hides reports about werewolf and vampire misdeeds so that no action is taken. Not big things but the little, stupid shit that some people still insist on bringing against them. You know, things like, 'the werewolf was seen to snarl at a woman and her children in a threatening manner.' When really all that had happened was the woman was rude and pushed the werewolf out of the way, and he or she had glared at the woman's back."

"Really? Sounds like the sort of quixotic thing Weasley would do." Kingsley chuckled then became stern. "As I said, Miss Jones, you know nothing, for your own safety. Off the record at this point, I can say well done."

The girl beamed and left the office, the pile of memos still scattered across Kingsley's desk. He scrubbed his shaven head and sighed deeply before beginning to sort out the wheat from the chaff.