Werewolves at Hogwarts

Chapter 28

"Right you!"

Ron looked up startled as Divisional Inspector Shacklebolt slammed the door closed and strode over to lean on the desk menacingly. "Can I help you, Kingsley?" he asked, his voice going cold as the palpable waves of anger rolled off the older man.

"Where is it?"

"Where is what? Make sense man. If I don't know what you are asking for, I really can't help you." Ron leaned back and steepled his fingers over pursed lips.

"The autopsy report that I ordered on Lou Smith. It was sent to you and that was the last it was ever heard of, like too much information in this bloody division."

Ron frowned, his mind cataloguing the myriad reports he had seen over the last few days before he shook his head. "No report on a Lou Smith has crossed this desk in the past week and a half, before or after the Easter break. I haven't seen an autopsy report on anyone for at least a month, come to think of it."

Kingsley stared at the man, his Legilimens senses confirming that the redhead was telling the truth. Snarling wordlessly, he flung himself into the visitor's chair and slammed a fist into the desk. "Damn it! Ever heard of the Dead Memo Drop?"

"Of course," Ron snorted, relaxing a trifle as his visitor seemed to be distracted. "It's the fabled place where dead memos go to rot, who hasn't?"

"One of my Auror trainees found it, and brought forward some interesting information past and present. Here, read these."

Ron read the wad of information with a growing sense of anger and uneasiness. "We have a traitor, don't we?"

"That was my thought," Kingsley confirmed and Ron glared.

"You thought it was me? What changed your mind?"

"Oh, a few things, like your hurried flight to Hogwarts when it looked like Remus Lupin was injured or worse. The way you have been hiding minor non-human transgressions - before they can be acted upon - is a give-away, little things like that. The fact that a lot of this missing stuff has been addressed to you in such a way that you wouldn't get it and the tone of the messages is less than respectful. So, what are we going to do?"

"Find out who this 'Mr White' is and nail his balls to a wall?"

"Good start. I need to find that autopsy report too. I think it is a confirmation of something I suspect."

"Did you ask the forensics department for another copy?"

"I'm not authorised," Kingsley said in disgust.

Ron frowned, "How come? You are equally placed with me in the scheme of things."

"You are on a different chain of command. You are authorised to see everything up to Ministerial level, as the clearing house for all information. I am the ex-hitwizard in charge of general investigations and murders, and therefore some knowledge is strictly on a need-to-know basis, even if I ordered the report in the first place."

Snorting in disgust, Ron went over to the fire and tossed in a pinch of floo powder. A few seconds later the desired report was in their hands and both men were immersed in the reading.

"This is crazy! Why would anyone want to swallow Sodium Arsenate and Purple Moonflower seeds in the same day? And silver nitrate? Was this guy crazy?" Ron exclaimed, pointing out the passage to Kingsley when he demanded.

"Blast! That sort of blows my theory out of the water! Oh, I thought our Mr Smith might be a werewolf in hiding and he had been caught by the group going around killing them."

"Nope, silver nitrate to a werewolf is like arsenic to us. No self respecting werewolf would touch the stuff. Damn! I wish Snape was at Hogwarts. He decided to escort Remus up for New Moon at the Isle of Cardoul, some sort of political meeting. He was going to.... What is it? What did you think of?"

"The moon phases, that was the jarring note! The Roebottoms specifically mentioned the moon, as if it was a time frame. Our Lou Smith wasn't the werewolf or the intended victim, it was the Roebottoms, one or the other, or even both! See you Ron, I have to go!"

"Whoa, slow down Kingsley, you're not making sense." He made Kingsley reason out his intuitive leap before nodding sagely, and rising too. "You go on and I'll take this report to the potions division and see what they make of this poison in his stomach. Meet me back here this evening and we'll compare notes. Hey Casey!"

The young Auror trainee glanced up with a willing smile. "Yes sir?"

"I want you to go down to every department in this building and ask them for copies of every memo they have sent up to me in the last month. I know, it's a tedious job, but it's important. I think our address has been stuffed up on the memo charms list and we aren't getting our mail. Tell all the departments to owl everything for either Kingsley or I in the future. So, meet back here at two o'clock this afternoon, Kingsley? See you then." The two men shook hands and went off in opposite directions.

~~*~~

"Auror Shacklebolt! It's... it's nice to see you again. Have you any news of Lou?" Stan Roebottom asked, shaking hands with the tall black Auror, but he was wary and it showed in his nervous licking of his lips.

"I have some news but it's not good, I'm afraid. Is your wife about? Ah, shall we join her then, so she can hear this too?"

They went into the farm kitchen, the Roebottoms exchanging long, meaningful looks as Kingsley took the chair the husband offered. He surveyed the two people carefully, taking into account their grey hair and slightly heavy lower jaws, their air of tense readiness before he smiled carefully, remembering to keep his teeth covered at the last minute.

"I'll come right to the point, shall I? When I first heard about the murder and checked out the scene, I thought your Lou Smith had been killed because he was a werewolf."

Both older people gasped, started and clutched hands. "We were afraid of that. The superstition around here is just terrible."

"Well, he was poisoned with silver nitrate, but obviously it didn't work, which was probably why they ended up using a heart crushing hex, we aren't quite sure which one. May I ask, who did you tell you were going out to visit your sister this Moon?"

"No one, we just decided on the spur of the moment," Lisa Roebottom said agitatedly then covered her mouth. "Oh. You know then?"

Kingsley nodded. "You let it slip at the interview but I didn't pick up on it until a friend and I were discussing a mutual acquaintance that has gone to Cardoul for the New Moon, and then it became very clear. So, the real question is who hates you two? Who knows about the lycanthropy? Who would wish you harm? By the way, is it both of you, or just one?"

"Both," Stan confirmed. "We didn't realise that the savage little puppy we found on our doorstep one night was a werewolf, until after he had bitten both of us."

"Poor baby, tossed out into the winter cold because he had been Turned and knowing no better at all, not even six months old," Lisa burst out defensively.

"It happens, although not so much any more." Kingsley nodded ruefully. "What happened to the child?"

"Why he grew up and married a very nice girl from Romania and we have three grandchildren from the first litter, six from the second." Stan grinned, gesturing to a photo on the mantle shelf of a very large family and two smiling adults. "They're better off over there, more employment, and those Dragons are a bit more robust than sheep to take care of."

"They look like nice kids. So, who do you think might hate you so much that they would want to murder one or both of you?" Kingsley sighed, returning his attention to the couple again.

"No one, everyone in the village knows what we are, but they don't hate us for it. Our families have been in these parts for centuries and werewolves are a known fact. Mother here is a guiding light in the Women's Institute, and I am part of the Farmer's Association."

Puzzled for a moment, Kingsley finally realised what they meant. "Ah, Muggle organisations, I take it? What about in the werewolf world, are either of you in a position of any power there?"

"Father is a Lore Giver; he is part of the group that basically makes up werewolf legends and past. Oh dear, I see you don't understand what I mean by that." The older couple exchanged looks and the man nodded almost imperceptibly, before taking up the conversation.

"For centuries werewolves have been wild animals, running singly or in packs, untamed and untrammelled by any convention. However, the human populations have grown - Wizard and Muggles - and open land is growing scarce. There is nowhere for the packs to go and they bump into civilisation all too often these days. Some of us realised how dangerous the situation was becoming but were at a loss on how to deal with it until the Wolfsbane Potion was perfected. Suddenly, werewolves could retain their human minds and think while running wild. Things we discussed as humans could be acted upon while we were wearing fur. Then the real fun and games started. Basically we had to trick the untamed wolves into accepting what we were saying about curbing themselves and acting responsibly, but the wild wolves didn't want to be responsible, until we came to realise that - above and beyond anything - most wolves respect hierarchy. Werewolves are no different. Ten wolves would go off in ten directions unless they thought the 'old ones' had said they had to do something in a certain way, and then there was no way to make them do it in a different way. Being carved in living stone is probably a less permanent state when measured against a werewolf's resolve, if tradition has been invoked."

"So you are telling me that if an idea is presented as being traditional to a werewolf clan, then it is immediately set in stone?" Kingsley said thoughtfully, a note of questioning mutating to horror in his voice.

"Yes," Stan Roebottom said forcefully. "Which is why the Lore Givers have to be so scrupulously honest, united in what they tell the massed packs. I, myself, have to apparate up to the Isle of Cardoul this afternoon, to attend the meetings of the Lore Givers. Moon Walker wants to introduce us to the new Keeper of Howls, someone who can write down the Lore in a way that can be taught to werewolves all over, and the Lore can be preserved forever."

"It sounds fascinating! But tell me, what is the difference between Lore Givers and Lore Makers?"

"That's Law Makers. Lore Givers give us the basic tenets of society, Law Makers make and administer laws to live by, based on the Lore handed down by the Givers. Does that make sense to you?"

"So you are saying that your Lore Givers are pretty much like our Wizengamot?"

"Perhaps like your original Wizengamot that was first convened in a cave somewhere at the beginning of time. Don't forget, while werewolves have been around time immemorial, we have only been able to think rationally in the last twenty years or so. We are a very new race of beings and we have no legends, except those we make up and present to the others, who do not have the benefit of Wolfsbane potion when they need it." Stan smiled then glanced over at his wife. "What's wrong?"

She rubbed her stomach uneasily. "I feel odd - sick almost - like I had suddenly eaten far too much." She burped discretely into her hand and frowned deeply. "Oh, I do feel ill. Stan dear, cast acclaro over me and see if my ulcer has flared again," she commanded abruptly.

Stan raised an eyebrow and did as he was told, a gasp of horror breaking out. "Merlin's arse, Lisa, you are full of.... Oh God!"

Kingsley didn't even think, he quickly cast a Banishing charm over the woman's stomach, sending the contents to a bowl standing on the sink. She doubled up and almost screamed as the void in her middle threatened to send her into cramps, but both her husband and the Auror were on their feet, wands drawn. "Take her and the content of the bowl to St Mungo's and tell them what happened, and have them analyse the bowl's contents. Send a message to Auror Divisional Inspector Weasley as soon as you can, and he will watch over you both, now go!" Kingsley commanded, moving to a window.

"I don't understand," Stan whined, putting an arm around his wife.

"Someone translocated a potion into your wife's stomach, something I haven't seen since the war. The person best at it was Severus Snape but I know for a fact that he is at the other end of the country almost. Look, go! There may be side effects and you need her treated as soon as possible."

Stan finally nodded, grabbed the smelly bowl, wrapped an arm around his wife and apparated.

~~*~~

He knew the potion needed two hours to work but he was afraid he didn't quite have two hours to spare, so he crept up on the farmhouse after only an hour and a half. It was odd really, there should have been screams and howls, and perhaps ever the death rattle of the husband but no, there had only been silence. He knew they hadn't left the house as no one had come out of doors and the werewolves couldn't apparate once the potion was in their stomach. Still, he was impatient, and had no time to ponder conundrums.

There was no dog this time to growl and bark, no hired hand to rush out to see what all the noise was. No false werewolves to waste the potion and charm on, just the one, he supposed but that was enough to pay of the all the expense and trauma they had to go to, to garner a decent werewolf body for the potions market. The Potions Market was crying out for werewolf parts, any sort of non-human parts really. Since the reshuffle at the Ministry and in the Aurors departments, the number of convicted non-humans had fallen so dramatically, it made the black market prices for even one werewolf or vampire carcass so high, it was lucrative to go hunting. Even Veela bones and Mermaid hair was at a premium price, higher than it had ever been before. Of course, Mr White had the connections to sell the results of their extracurricular activities for a tidy profit. So, it was almost worth the risk of capture by Aurors, to get a share of that profit for your own pocket. Hell, even Ollivander had been after them to produce werewolf hair for his bloody wand trade.

Wand in hand, he pushed open the front door cautiously, stepping into the gloom with a charm half said on his lips. The house was empty and deserted, but he didn't relax as he entered the kitchen and whipped around when the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

"You!" a voice exclaimed in shock but he didn't wait.

"Expelliarmus! Stupefy!"

The two spells hit Shacklebolt almost simultaneously and he keeled over as his wand flew from his hand.

His attacker stared down at him in utter horror. The head of Aurors' Investigation Department - the big man himself - was lying stupefied at his feet, and he had done it almost reflexively. For a second he wondered if he should finish the spells and apologise abjectly, then his resolve hardened. No, it was a fair cop, and he had caught the great Kingsley Shacklebolt all by himself!

Feeling rather please, he found the farm's floo powder and put a call through to Mr White immediately.

~~*~~

"Grandma, Grandpapa! Mama, Mama look whose came?" The shrieks were excited and multi-fold as the older couple apparated into the front yard of the modest house in the small Romanian village.

The sturdy bodied woman came out of her kitchen wiping her hands on a dishrag and smiled joyously at the two older people, her in-laws, and then she frowned when she realised there was something very wrong.

"What is it?" she asked, the translation charm conveying her sudden worry and fear.

"Eh Lass, I think she's poisoned. We need an Infirmary, quick like!" Stan said distractedly.

Never one to take her time, Ludmilla nodded once, called to her eldest child to take charge of the household. She offered her hands to give directions, and apparated the older couple straight out to the local hospital where a team of werewolf experts were on call twenty four hours a day. The need was quite great in this, the biggest werewolf district in the country.

~~*~~

"Look Mr White, it's not my fault, but there was a bit of a cock-up at the Roebottom place."

"A cock-up, Mr Red? What sort of a cock-up is that, Mr Red?"

The repeating of his name was ominous, but Mr Red simply gritted his teeth and spoke very carefully. "Well, for a start, I missed the werewolf, so I didn't get the skin."

"You missed from twenty feet? What sort of bloody Auror are you, you fucking moron? I thought you were a trained enforcement Auror, certified to react and to handle such situations that required hex slinging in close combat situations!" The mocking tones rose in pitch and turned into a screech of fury by the end of the stinging condemnation.

"I am well-trained and am a capable Auror, but even I can't skin a werewolf if there isn't one in the fucking house, you imbecile. It was a trap! It was a setup! It was a sting! Can you think of any other nouns and adjectives we may like to use here, such as 'you send me into a dangerous situation with inadequate knowledge and I nearly got caught'?"

"How bad was it?" The voice seemed to be definitely female this time, which was odd since he was supposed to be talking to 'Mr White', but he didn't question it in his agitation.

"Terrible. I didn't know what to do; he gave me a terrible fright, so I just stunned him without thinking. Now I don't know what to do with him."

"Who?"

"Shacklebolt, I stunned Kingsley Shacklebolt, and now I don't know what to do with him. Have you any bright ideas, since we are such morons, that is?" he added sarcastically.

Mr White choked for a second then began to laugh uproariously. "So the great Kingsley Shacklebolt is lying there stunned and at your mercy in the house of a werewolf? Oh fantastic just perfect." There was a few seconds silence then a low, evil chuckle. "Oh yes, just perfect, I think. Bring him to the Devonshire meeting point immediately. With a bit of luck we can turn this little piece of ill-luck into a splendid revenge. Make a portkey and hurry up, someone will miss him very quickly. Toss a confundus charm over both of you to hide your going."

Mr Red realised the fire was empty and sighed deeply. Devonshire, humm, oh well, it could have gone much worse! He turned back to the lanky, limp frame lying beside the kitchen table and shook his head. "Sorry," he murmured again.