Restitution

"Restitution"

by Paracelsus

Chapter 12: Help from All About

Evening comes early to Christchurch in the winter. The city's lights are lit by five o'clock... but here on the outskirts of town, they did little to dispel the gloom. On this night, the overcast skies only added to the gathering darkness. One might have thought the local inhabitants would appreciate a new light source hovering overhead.

Rewa Otimi cast another unwilling glance at the Dark Mark glowing over the block of flats. Everything about it seemed designed to oppress the mind and spirit. The green skull's surface roiled, as though about to drip with liquid decay. The serpent protruding from the skull's mouth twisted this way and that, ready to strike at any who dared approach. The Mark was an obscenity, reeking of corruption and death.

"Isn't there any way to get rid of that thing?" he muttered.

Potter looked up, teeth bared in rage. The glowing serpent took notice of him... it turned its head and glared, baring its fangs back at him. Potter met the serpent's eye and hissed a long sibilant phrase - what sounded like a snake's cursing, if snakes could talk.

"No," he replied after a moment. "We never found a counter-spell that worked. It'll fade on its own in a few hours... we'll have to wait it out." His voice was tight, the voice of a man holding strong emotion under rigid control. "Damn them," he whispered, and meant it.

Standing next to Potter, Dr. Pohuhu shivered under her thin coat. They had barely taken the time to change into Muggle clothing before Portkeying from the school, and it looked as though she was regretting her choice of garb. "It will be warmer inside," Otimi assured her.

She nodded without speaking. Potter turned his attention to her. "You don't have to..."

"I do have to," she cut him off curtly. "You heard Master Torohanga."

Together they entered the building. Otimi's aide came up to them as they approached the door to the Pohuhu flat. "Accidental Magical Reversal Squad?" inquired Otimi.

"They're here. They've already got their Obliviators working with all the Muggles in the neighborhood," replied the aide. "We're hoping to pass this off as a lost carnival balloon, but..." He shook his head despairingly.

Otimi gave a nod of approval, then frowned at the people standing outside the door. He recognized one of them: Hana Thompson, who had been with Nana Pohuhu at her granddaughter's flat a week ago. Her 'student,' the elder Pohuhu had called her. He assumed the others standing with her were likewise members of Pohuhu's group... they seemed vaguely familiar.

Randy, his aide, noticed his frown. "Tangihanga," he explained briefly. "As long as they're out of our way, we told them they could stay."

Otimi grunted. He looked again at Potter and Pohuhu. If the Headmaster hadn't come into the hall as they were about to leave and explicitly told him that Dr. Pohuhu was to accompany them... Wordlessly he ushered them past the crowd at the door and into the flat.

Mahine 'Nana' Pohuhu's body lay in the living room. In death, the tiny old woman seemed somehow smaller, as though in life her will and spirit had made her physical form larger. She looked as though she had collapsed in a faint... there were no signs of a struggle, no indication that intruders had been present... exactly as presented in the first four murders.

Two Magical Law Enforcement agents were still checking the flat for evidence... one knelt by Nana's body, collecting samples of tissue and blood, while the other had just finished casting a spell to identify curse residuals. Otimi could see a tiny ghostly image floating in the middle of the living room: a miniature version of the Dark Mark outside.

Potter noticed the image as well. "Morsmordre," he said. "Only Death Eaters know the exact details of that spell... only they can cast it. Not that we needed the confirmation..." He looked around. "No other spells?"

The agent shook his head. "It's the same as the others, sir. No curses, no violence, nothing..."

"But this time, we can check for potion effects, as well as potion ingredients," said the first agent, still kneeling by Nana's body. "It would help if we knew what we were looking for... the same effect can be caused by several potions. But this is a start."

"Fine." Potter turned to Dr. Pohuhu. She was still at the door, staring at her grandmother's body. Her breathing was ragged and uneven, her eyes unfocused. "Hail Mary, full of grace," she was whispering rapidly. "The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our d-d-d--"

The last word wouldn't come out. She sucked in a breath as though she'd been punched in the stomach, and turned away from the gruesome scene. Potter took a step towards her, but it was Hana Thompson who reached her first. She wrapped Pohuhu in her massive arms and gently began to rock her back and forth. With a firm look Thompson warned Potter away.

He nodded and took a step back. His face was now a perfectly expressionless mask. He watched Pohuhu for a moment, then turned and began to look about the flat. "Your aide said something about... tangihanga," he commented.

"Funerary rites," said Otimi. "The tupapaku - the body - shouldn't be left alone at all until it's buried. A little awkward in this case, since I'll insist on an autopsy, but we'll try to accommodate her friends and whanau."

"Mmm. So you let them stand around by the door," said Potter, only half attending. He was still looking about the flat, as if something were still waiting to be found...

"To talk to the deceased, and make their peace with her. Maoritanga holds that the spirit doesn't leave the body's vicinity until the burial."

Potter absently nodded again, then looked quickly at Otimi as though he'd just registered what the latter had said. "Nana's spirit hasn't left yet?" he shot out. Without waiting for an answer, he ran back to the door where Thompson still held Pohuhu.

"Margaret?" he asked urgently. Without looking at him, Pohuhu angrily shook her head. Thompson tried to quiet Potter, but he continued, "Margaret, please look at me. Your hands can sense her presence... I need your help..."

She whirled to face him. "Shut up!" she lashed at him savagely. "Just leave me alone! How can you have the nerve to ask my help? This is your fault! Your fault Nana's dead!!"

If she'd stabbed him in the belly with a fishgutting knife and twisted, she might possibly have hurt Potter more. His own face showed shock - and in rapid succession, pain and guilt. Before anyone could react to her outburst, Pohuhu had turned her face back to Thompson's shoulder and begun to sob. "Nanaaaaaa!" she wailed.

Hana Thompson looked at Potter over Pohuhu's head. "She's hurting, tohunga," she said hesitantly as Pohuhu's sobs subsided. "That was her pain talking... she didn't mean it."

"She did, though," said Potter heavily. He glanced at Otimi. "And she's right. The Dark Mark is proof of that. Her killers wanted me to know they're here. They chose Nana because she knew me."

"You don't know that..." Otimi began.

"Sure I do. You think it hasn't happened that way before?" For one brief instant, Otimi could see in his eyes the depth of Potter's own pain... pain so great that Otimi wondered how he could bear it. How many people have died that Potter might have saved? How does he carry so many deaths within him?

The instant passed - the mask was back in place. Potter seemed to regather his resolve. He looked back at Nana's body, and an idea seemed to strike him. "Worth a try," he muttered.

Again Potter reached out for Pohuhu. She glared at him - for a moment, Otimi thought she might physically attack him. He smoothly laid his hand on her upper arm, effectively pinning it, and spoke before she could respond in any way. "Your skills are needed now - Doctor," he told her in even tones.

The appeal to her professionalism seemed to break through Pohuhu's grief. She watched, resentful but unresisting, as Potter took her hand in his own and turned its palm upward. From a pouch at his belt he brought out a small glass vial filled with fine powder. Carefully, holding her hand steady, he drew a circle of powder on her palm. "Hold your hand just so," he told her quietly but firmly, "and don't move it."

When he was certain he would be obeyed, he released her hand. He dusted his own hands with the rest of the powder in the vial, as though it were talcum, and began to rub his hands together briskly. "Come on," he murmured under his breath. "Come on... yes!"

Pohuhu's hand had begun to glow with a faint golden light. Potter raised his own hands before his face and flexed his fingers. "Bless you, Madame Dauxerre," he said in grim satisfaction.

He strode to Nana's body and knelt beside it. After a moment's thought, he stretched out his hands over her, one hand over her head and the other over her heart - his hands very close to the body but carefully not touching it. He rocked back on his heels, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes. By his attitude, he was listening for some elusive thing...for whispers too faint for living ears...

All eyes were fixed on Potter as he remained as motionless as a statue. Once he opened his mouth as though to speak, but no words came forth. The room grew noticeably colder - colder even than the winter air outside - and Potter's breath began to form clouds of icy vapor. The crowd by the door was growing... more of Nana's students were making their appearance, asking hushed questions, falling silent as they watched. Otimi paid little heed to them, his attention given to the man kneeling on the floor...

"How could you, Kupe?"

The choice of words, their tone and timbre, were those of Nana Pohuhu... issuing from the mouth of Harry Potter. Otimi quickly turned to the door, in time to spot Kupe Umaga just as he was entering the flat. Kupe froze at the sound of his name - turned and began a hasty departure. But his moment of hesitation was all Otimi needed to catch the eye of his aide Randy.

Randy put his hand on Kupe's arm just above the elbow, not twisting but ready to do so - while his other hand held his wand at the ready. "Don't try Apparating," he hissed in Kupe's ear. "Just come along with me, now..." He led Kupe out into the corridor, where Otimi knew they would shortly leave for the Ministry of Magic.

Potter, in the meantime, was on his feet and walking with purpose to the kitchen. He inspected the sink, then waved his wand in a small circle over the drain. Slowly a small globule of cloudy liquid emerged from the drain, drifting upwards to hover just under the tip of Potter's wand.

"They poured the extra potion down the drain," said Potter very softly to himself, "but didn't take the time to run the tap and flush it away. A little mistake... but it's enough." He brought from his pouch an empty glass ampoule. A twirl of his wand, and the globule of liquid began to spin, assuming a conical shape... as though it were being poured through an invisible funnel. Carefully not touching the liquid, he brought the ampoule's mouth to the tip of the cone and let the liquid flow into the ampoule.

Another wave of his wand sealed the ampoule. Turning to Otimi, Potter declared, "There were two of them. They used a squeeze bulb, rather like a nasal spray. They Apparated into the flat, sprayed the potion into Nana's face, and used Evanesco once she was dead." He looked out the window, where the light from the Dark Mark could still be seen. "They didn't know she was expecting company - the friends she said she'd talk to, at dinner. They were surprised. One sent up the Dark Mark, while the other disposed of the extra potion. They Apparated away before anyone could see them... but Nana recognized one. She remembers."

Potter looked around the flat. "Thank you, Nana," he concluded. "You were right, as usual... we did speak again." He shook himself, as though taken with a chill, and handed the ampoule to Otimi. "There should be enough in there to be analyzed... and compared with her tissue samples."

"We'll do that." Otimi gave the ampoule to the agent who'd collected the samples, and nodded dismissal. Approaching the door, he addressed Dr. Pohuhu. "Doctor, if you'd like to return to Te Whare Wananga, our Portkey is at your service. If you'd prefer to return to your home, one of my agents can take you... or you can remain with your friends here." It had finally become clear to Otimi that Margaret Pohuhu was innocent of the murders... and he could no longer dictate her comings and goings.

Potter held back from the group at the door, his blank mask in place again. Otimi spoke in a low voice. "Stay. We can do the routine work... your place now is here."

He nodded without seeing Otimi - his eyes were already on Pohuhu. She was still crying, but she tried to speak to him. "I... I'm... I didn't..." She couldn't finish the sentence... nor could she meet his eyes.

"I know you didn't. It's all right," he said, and reached over Hana's arms to put his hands on Margaret's shoulders.

"It's just... Nana's all the family I had left..."

Potter considered this. "You know, someone once told me... the ones we loved never truly leave us. And you should believe that, Opaleyes... because I do." Gently he wiped away the tear tracks. "If I didn't before, I certainly do now."

Hana extended one of her arms to gather Potter into her embrace, along with Pohuhu. After a moment, another of Nana's students joined in the hug... and then another. Soon all of the group were huddled together... in mutual mourning for their teacher, and giving comfort to the magical doctor and her pakeha tohunga.

*

Leaving Whare Wananga turned out to be more difficult than Hermione had imagined.

After Harry had Portkeyed away with Otimi and Margaret, Hermione had been left at the dining hall with Ginny, Charlie, and Te Matorohanga. The Headmaster had come back to the hall almost as soon as Otimi had arrived... he'd obviously heard about Nana's death, though how he'd learned was a mystery. He proved very insistent on two points: first, that Margaret return with Harry and Otimi to the murder scene. Second, that she, Ginny and Charlie not immediately leave for the Rose Cottage.

"There is a karakia, a protective magic, which is invoked in dangerous times," he told them. "It will help protect you." Such was his sense of urgency that they soon acquiesced.

In physical terms, the ceremony was simple enough: they'd gone outside to the courtyard, where the Headmaster brought an earthen pot filled with water. He'd slowly poured the water from the pot; at his direction Ginny, then Charlie, then Hermione had washed their hands in the water as he poured. Though Hermione watched closely, that was all she could see him do; she didn't doubt, however, that the aged tohunga was pouring out his power along with the water.

That done, Hermione and Ginny had taken their Portkey (a hairbrush), while Charlie readied his own (a teaspoon). They activated their Portkeys together, expecting to arrive at their inn. They were sadly disappointed.

Instead of the B&B, the three found themselves in a large, cheerless room filled with a dozen desks. Each desk was manned by a weary-looking clerk, dealing with groups of shouting travelers, stranded as Hermione and her friends had been. The clerk who took charge of them (a Mr. Minsky) would answer none of their questions until he'd minutely inspected their Portkeys.

Finally satisfied, he returned the Portkeys to them. "Sorry for this," he told them perfunctorily, "but we've had to suspend all Portkey and Floo travel for the duration of the emergency."

"'We'?" demanded Charlie. "'Emergency'?" asked Ginny.

Mr. Minsky sighed. "Right, sorry. The Department of Magical Transportation, acting under the orders of the Minister of Magic, has suspended Portkey and Floo travel until such time as the Dark wizards currently at large are brought into custody. Does that answer your questions? Because we really are quite busy this evening, if you hadn't noticed."

"What about Apparition?" Hermione persisted.

"The Apparition Point on the Beam has likewise been closed. While we cannot stop private individuals from locally Apparating as they please," and here Mr. Minsky looked at them in pinch-faced officiousness, "the Ministry strongly requests the public to curtail their travel as much as possible, to aid us in apprehending the fugitives."

"We were expecting a friend to Apparate from Australia this evening... a Ronald Weasley. Will he be allowed through?"

"Eventually, I daresay. Now if you please, young lady..." Mr. Minsky reached into a bowl on the desk filled with brass buttons. Drawing out three, he tapped them with his wand and held them out. "These Portkeys are good for one use only. They will deactivate once you've arrived at your destination."

Recognizing that they'd gotten all the answers they were going to get from Minsky, Hermione reached for one of the brass buttons. She braced herself for the all-too-familiar jerk as the Portkey whisked her to the parlor of the Rose Cottage. Seconds later, Ginny and Charlie landed beside her. They looked at one another, but nobody felt like speaking.

"Well," said Charlie at length. He stepped over to the front desk and laid the teaspoon, now useless as a Portkey, on the counter. He coughed and said, "Well... I can stay here with you two, if you'd like me to wait..."

"No, no... you should go on back to Awamotu while you're still able," said Ginny. She came up beside him and deposited her own Portkey on the counter. "Your dragons need you more than we do," she added.

Charlie managed a smile at that. "I reckon they do." He sighed and looked away. "I can remember the final years of You-Know-Who's first reign of terror," he said somberly. "The panic, the feeling of helplessness. And I remember when he came back during his second reign... the same thing happened. And now... now it's starting all over again." Charlie shook his head, suddenly older and wearier than he had any right to be. "The Light help us all."

"The cases aren't parallel," Hermione reminded him. "This time, we don't have to deal with Voldemort... just some of his leftovers." She snorted. "Jackals pretending to be a basilisk."

"And in any case," said Ginny stoutly, "Harry stopped them before, even when Voldemort led them. This time will be no different. As long as Harry's here, this new crop of Death Eaters doesn't stand a chance."

"No," said Charlie, and his smile was genuine now, "no, they don't." He embraced his sister in a firm bear hug. "Be good, Ginny. You know how Mum would worry."

"Yeah." Ginny held on to her brother for a long moment before letting him go. Charlie turned, hesitated, then hugged Hermione with equal warmth. "And you... you take care too, okay?"

"Oh, honestly... it's not as though we won't see you again," Hermione chided. She released him as, with a final wave, he Apparated away.

Wearily, Ginny and Hermione headed up the stairs to their rooms. Hermione stopped at her door and beckoned to Ginny. They went inside, where Ginny fell onto one of the wooden chairs and Hermione flopped onto the bed. She staring unblinking at the ceiling. "I wonder when they'll let Ron come back," she said after a pause.

"They're not going to leave all those travelers stranded indefinitely," Ginny pointed out. "He'll get back."

Another minute of silence. "Charlie will be all right, don't you think?"

"I should think so. He's not exactly defenseless, is he?"

"True." This time the silence lasted for nearly a minute and a half. "I hope Harry..."

Ginny waited, but Hermione left the sentence unfinished... there were, after all, so many ways she could complete it. I hope Harry doesn't stay out all night. I hope Harry doesn't go after the Death Eaters on his own. I hope Harry comes back.

"We should get some sleep," Ginny finally said. "We'll probably need our wits about us tomorrow."

"It isn't that late, really. I thought I'd try to finish reviewing the Sigurdson files for Harry. I ought to've finished them earlier..."

"Yes, well... you've been rather busy," said Ginny dryly. "Between rediscovering Potion Evanescence, and helping Margaret, and researching..." She stopped abruptly.

Hermione sighed. "You still think it's a lunatic notion... even after what Margaret said?"

"Well... no offense, Hermione, but..."

"If you can come up with another notion that explains all the facts, I'm listening."

Ginny said nothing. "All your research, all my own research, has found nothing to refute it," Hermione continued. "Granted, this is a field in which virtually nothing is known... but you'd think someone would have discovered what we want to know."

"Do you still have the letter from Mr. Scamander?" Ginny asked.

Still maintaining her dry stare at the ceiling, Hermione reached over to her nightstand. She opened its drawer and took out the parchment she'd received the day she'd left London. "Keep it. By now, I've read it so many times I've practically memorized it."

"Thanks." She took the letter but made no move to leave. "Hermione... you should sleep. You can't do Harry any good if you're worn out..."

"I can't do him any good at all, at the moment..."

"Don't talk nonsense!" Ginny snapped, a bit sharper than she intended. "He needs you, Hermione. He needs you. Even he's figured that out!"

Hermione raised her head to regard her friend. "He... he needs all of us, Ginny. You, and Ron, and me. And we'll be there for him, no matter what."

With a nod, Ginny headed for the door. "I'll see you in the morning, then. Get some sleep, Granger."

Hermione's head flopped back onto her bed. "Nag, nag, nag... bossy know-it-all."

*

Oh, is this the National Kiwi Insane Asylum? Sorry, I was looking for the Ministry of Magic...

Harry had witnessed many confused scenes in his life, but few were as chaotic as the Ministry upon his return from Christchurch. Frantic witches and wizards were scurrying through the corridors... shouting to one another, pawing through books, reading maps, sending messages - trying to get a handle on a new and dangerous world before it overwhelmed them.

He caught up with Otimi near the interrogation room. "Ah, good," said Otimi. "I was just going to watch the show... come, you might find this interesting." Together they entered the observation cubicle, and watched through the transparent wall as a pair of M.L.E. agents took turns questioning Kupe Umaga.

"Deathcap spores. Did you know they're a Class C non-tradable substance?" asked the first agent roughly. "Hard to find, hard to buy when you do find them. Oh, but you'd already know that, wouldn't you, Umaga? Who gave you the money to buy them last month?"

"And ioca leaves," commented the second agent, more sympathetically. "Most poisonous plant known to wizardkind, ioca. I'm sure you had a good reason to keep them around."

"Lots of other interesting things in that potion, Umaga," said the first agent. "All of 'em deadly, and most of 'em rare. Only a few merchants carry wares like that, and they're real anxious to stay on our good side. They're only too happy to tell us who's bought from them recently."

"So actually, we've got all we need, Kupe," the second agent continued. "We can prove it was your potion that killed Nana Pohuhu. Why not make your life easier and admit what we all know?"

Umaga spat. "You rutheads think you know anything? You're so pathetic... you can't see what's right in front of your noses."

"Only thing in front of us at the moment is a last-rank wizard facing life imprisonment," the first agent shot back.

"While your friend goes free as a bird," noted the second agent. "Helped you kill Pohuhu, but he's out there and you're in here - hardly seems fair, does it now?"

"He'll come for me! He knows who his loyal supporters are..."

Déjà vu - Umaga's words and their fervor chilled Harry. He was immediately reminded of Bellatrix Lestrange's trial, and her absolute faith that Voldemort would rescue her. Even in death, Lord Voldemort's ideas could instill such loyalty among his followers. Was it possible...?

Without a word to Otimi, he left the observation room and, paying no attention to the guard at the door, entered the interrogation room. Umaga glared at him and began to say something, but Harry ignored him. He took Umaga's wrists and turned his arms so that his forearms were visible. They were clear and unmarked.

"Looking for something, pakeha?" sneered Umaga. He seemed to know exactly what Harry had expected to see.

"What are you doing, Potter?" asked Otimi, who had belatedly followed Harry.

"Death Eaters have Dark Marks branded on them... if nothing else, to show their loyalty. The Death Eaters I dealt with had Marks on their forearms, but..." Harry looked up from Umaga's arms to study his tattooed face. He gave a twisted smile. "But they're more easily hidden inside moko, aren't they?"

He drew out his wand and flicked it inches from Umaga's face. Umaga choked back a cry of pain and clapped a hand to his face. Otimi and the two agents pried his hand away to reveal a small section of the tattoo glowing faintly red. Without the glow, that part would be invisible against the full tattoo - with the glow, they could see it to be a vague skull shape...

"Dark Mark equals Death Eater, Kupe," said Harry. He leaned forward until his face was inches from Umaga's. "Which means we're done playing with you. You will tell us what you know... one way or another." Harry's eyes narrowed as he pinned Umaga with a penetrating gaze. He'd developed this habit during his years as an Auror - for some reason, he found his interrogations went better if he took this stance.

(Chief Naphtali had once suggested that he might be using Legilimency. He'd scoffed at the notion. After all, Harry never used the spell Snape had used on him, during their Occlumency lessons... he was only focusing on his subject.)

Kupe Umaga, on the other hand, seemed perfectly willing to believe that Harry was a Legilimens. He leaned back in his chair, as far from Harry as he could get, and shook his head nervously. He tried to avoid eye contact with Harry, and failed.

"Why Nana?" asked Harry softly. Umaga didn't respond.

"It wasn't only because she knew me, was it?" Harry continued after a moment. Umaga clenched his jaws together.

"She was organizing resistance, wasn't she?" Harry pressed. "You wanted folks frightened enough to join with you and your friends... you promised them safety from attacks, not telling them you were behind the attacks... but she wouldn't go along, would she?"

Umaga still said nothing, but his face showed plainly that Harry's words had struck home. Harry straightened. "I'm done with him... for the moment," he told the agents. "Sorry to interrupt... do please go on." With a last disdainful look at the prisoner, Harry and Otimi left the room.

"Veritaserum?" asked Harry as they headed for Otimi's office.

"Can only be administered under a magistrate's order in New Zealand," replied Otimi. "Which we'll get... in a day or two."

They arrived at Otimi's office to find Minister Tucker awaiting them. "Rewa, good to see you on top of the situation. Status report, please."

In concise phrases, Otimi described the results of the visit to Nana's flat, including Kupe's capture and interrogation. "The Umaga brothers are a link to the rest of the Death Eaters," he concluded. "With Mr. Potter's help, we should be able to..."

"No," interrupted Tucker. "No, I'm sorry, Rewa, but I think we've imposed on Mr. Potter's good will long enough. The current emergency has prompted the Council to restore the Auror Corps, effective immediately. They will be directly answerable to you, and will be charged with hunting down this new breed of Dark wizards."

Otimi was nonplussed. "Ma'am, we haven't the expertise to train a new team of Aurors..."

"I've been in touch tonight with the Australian Minister of Magic... he's agreed to assign some of their Aurors to help us. They'll be recruiting and training our new Aurors, as well as aiding us with the current crisis."

"Well and good, Madam Minister, but we have Potter here now... he's worked on the case and proven invaluable..."

"And the Ministry is grateful. But it's time we stood on our own feet, Mr. Otimi. New Zealand must have its own Auror Corps once more." She turned to Harry. "The Ministry regrets that your efforts on our behalf must end, Mr. Potter," she said with formal courtesy, "and we offer our sincere thanks for all you've done. Good evening." She nodded her head imperially and walked away.

Harry stood silently for a moment. "Correct me if I'm wrong," he said, "but have I just been given the axe?"

"Self-serving old bizzom," said Otimi with unusual venom. He glanced at Harry. "You see what she's doing, don't you? She's using this crisis as an opportunity to build up her power base here at the Ministry. I can only imagine who these new Auror trainees will be... and who'll be selecting them..."

"If she wants more Aurors on the case, then why the hell is she sacking me?"

He pursed his lips. "Call me cynical, but... you're too much a tall poppy." At Harry's scowl, he continued, "Any credit has to go to her... her initiative in restoring the Aurors, her Ministry solving the case... she can't afford to share credit with, uh..."

"With Famous Harry Potter. Yeah, that sounds about right..." On the other hand, thought Harry, if someone wanted to stall the investigation, this would be the perfect way to do it... and the perfect time.

"Well, then... I'll, uh, I'll send back those dossiers you lent me," Harry went on, trying not to let his anger show. "Will tomorrow be soon enough?"

Otimi nodded. "You know," he said slowly, "I could still use your help in an unofficial capacity..."

"I've already been working in an unofficial capacity," Harry pointed out. "And I'd rather not get you into trouble. If she fires you too, who'll run the new Aurors? Some political appointee?"

Harry knew he should tell Otimi about the mole in the Ministry of Magic... but he held back. He was almost sure it couldn't be Otimi himself - but almost was not quite. And he felt irrationally angry at the Ministry as a whole, and disinclined to help it further. They don't want my help? Fine, then. Let them deal with the leaks on their own.

Still... "You'll do fine without me, Otimi. You've two suspects in hand... you know where you're going, and the others will follow your lead. Just... just be careful who you share theories with. Loose lips sink ships, and all that." He owed Otimi that much, at least.

*

The home of Heather Craddock, widow, was dark, silent and empty. She'd been staying with her mother since the murder of her husband, James Craddock. Her family had urged her to put the house up for sale, but she couldn't yet bear to think of boxing up her husband's effects for storage - certainly not the books and papers he'd used to prepare his lectures on ecology.

Harry therefore had no trouble Apparating inside to search the premises.

This was his last opportunity to search Craddock's home. Certainly, Harry would have preferred to do so openly, in daylight and with the Ministry's sanction. But now that Tucker had pulled the rug from under him, he had to act immediately - even though it was well past midnight.

Without the Ministry's sanction, he had no business being in Craddock's home - at any time of day. It would be extremely embarrassing if Harry were caught... he could even be arrested and charged. Trespass, breaking and entering - and if he took away anything that might be considered a clue, theft at the very least, and obstructing a police investigation. But he was damned if he was going to drop the case halfway done, just on a politician's whim!

Hell, he'd ignored Fudge often enough, and Fudge was his own Minister.

A faint Lumos brought him enough light to navigate through the darkened living room. He walked down a hallway, looking into each empty doorway. He paused at one point, straining to listen in the silence. He thought he'd heard something - someone - somewhere in the house. Either he was growing even more paranoid, or else...

There's no one in the house but me, he told himself as convincingly as possible. He listened again, heard nothing, and cautiously moved on.

Eventually he found Craddock's study, where the desk remained littered with parchment, and books piled the chairs, tables and floor. They were the records of three decades of environmental activism, preserved by a packrat with no semblance of order.

Craddock was the third murder victim. We found a link between Sigurdson and Lacroix, the other two victims - he'd asked her to research pounamu. Somehow, there must be a link with Craddock as well. There must be...

With his wand Harry wrote "Sigurdson" and "Lacroix" in letters of fire in mid-air. As an afterthought, he spelled out "greenstone" and "pounamu" as well. Then he spoke the command "Quaero!" to send the words flying through the assembled books, parchments and files.

And this time, he struck paydirt.

*

It seemed to Hermione that she'd just fallen asleep when she was awakened by a loud, insistent knocking on her door. She looked at her alarm clock - one in the morning? How did that happen? - and hurriedly turned on the lamp. She didn't bother with a robe, but rushed to the door and opened it.

It was Ron. He barged into her room excitedly. "Have you seen Harry?" he demanded.

"Ron, when did you get back? Are you all right? What happened?" Hermione asked.

"Just a few minutes ago. I've been in Sydney all this time, they wouldn't let me Beam to the New Zealand Point and I didn't feel confident enough to bypass it but they finally let me go through..."

"Slow down, Ron, slow down!" Hermione tried to push Ron into a chair, but he bounced back to his feet again. "At least tell me what happened!"

"Get Harry and Ginny in here, I'll tell you all at once. Where is Harry?"

"He's not in his room?" asked Hermione, alarmed. She ran from the room and down the corridor to Harry's room. She knocked and waited.

"I already knocked," said Ron behind her. "No answer. Uh, I tried Alohamora too, but..."

"He must have added his own security spell to his room. Why am I not surprised?" Hermione thought for a moment, then raised her wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," she informed the door.

The lock clicked, and she pushed the door open. "He would've used a password that only one of us would know," she explained to an open-mouthed Ron. "Just in case we had to get inside."

"Without telling any of us the password, of course."

"It was obvious, Ron. You just have to know how Harry thinks." She stuck her head into the room. "His bed's not slept in... he hasn't been back tonight."

"He really needs to hear this, but so do you... and there's no point in waiting," said Ron. "Let's get Ginny."

Together they went to Ginny's room. Ginny opened the door on the first knock. "Thank Merlin! Ron, we were so worried!" Grasping hands with both of them, she pulled them into her room.

When they were all seated, Ron began, "Right then, you know I went to the Sydney Apparition Point to search the Beam records. I thought maybe I could talk the welcome witch into letting me have a peek. Except she wasn't on duty when I arrived. Instead, there was this old harridan, who looked at me like I couldn't be trusted or something."

"Imagine that," said Ginny dryly.

"Well, I waited a couple of hours, until the cute witch - her name's Mercy - came back on duty. So I chatted her up, and we talked for a bit... you know, getting to know each other. Mercy definitely remembered us from our last trip, Hermione... I mean, how often do people ride the Beam wearing Muggle hospital gowns and carrying a bag of blood?"

Enlightenment dawned on Hermione. "She didn't remember us - she remembered Harry. Oh dear..."

Ron coughed and grew red. "Well, yeah... but she remembered us too. Anyway, I sort of, erm, implied that Harry was on a top-secret mission, and that he'd sent me to search the Beam records, and I almost had Mercy convinced..." He grimaced. "And then the old harridan interfered. Almost accused me of seducing the girl, I mean really."

"What did you promise her, Ron?" asked Ginny.

"Nothing! ... Well, dinner, but that's hardly a crime, is it? Anyway, they kept me there for hours, and it began to look sticky. But then a Ministry courier Apparated through the Point, and he told us the news about the Dark Mark." Ron's face sagged for a moment. "Dr. Pohuhu's grandmother, wasn't it?"

Hermione and Ginny nodded. Like Ron, they too had gone somber at the reminder of Nana's murder.

"Well, after that, I finally managed to convince them to let me into the Beam records. Not completely... they wouldn't let me open them and look at them, of course... privacy and such. But I had the Quaero spell that Harry taught me, right? I wrote out the surnames he gave me, and I searched the records. And one of the names glowed! One of them was a match!" Ron paused dramatically. "Malfoy."

"Which Malfoy?" Ginny asked.

"Must've been either Lucius or Narcissa," replied Ron. "Seeing as Draco's been in a dungeon for all this time."

"Lucius Malfoy?" said Hermione. "One of Voldemort's top Death Eaters... here in New Zealand? Merlin's beard, that explains so much! Malfoy could be trusted with a mission so far from home, and he could probably find a legitimate reason for traveling here. Influential, rich, powerful... let's hope he didn't get his claws as deeply into New Zealand's Ministry as he did in Britain's!"

"Maybe he did," Ginny pointed out. "We know there's a mole here, don't we?"

There was a moment of silence as they digested the information. "So anyway," Ron resumed, "I tried to Beam back to New Zealand. And that's when we learned that New Zealand had sealed its Apparition Point. No one out, and no one in. I had to sit and wait there in Sydney, until finally Mercy persuaded the hag to put in a special request for me. And I arrived here just a few minutes ago... and here we are."

"Harry needs to know this as soon as possible," Ginny declared.

"Everyone needs to know this," agreed Hermione. "Especially in Britain. The British Aurors could find so much for us, if they knew Lucius' connection here. How can we...?"

"There's no way," said Ron, shaking his head. "The fastest way to communicate with Britain is by messengers Apparating along the Beam. And no one's using the Beam right now but government couriers - and I assume we still don't want the Ministry mole to know we know about him."

Ginny furrowed her brow. "And an owl would take days to get to England," she said, thinking out loud. "Hermione, what about your special Floo powder...?"

"I wouldn't trust it over this distance. Your head in England, and your body in New Zealand? Even with magic, time lag will be a problem... you'd probably go into convulsions or something." Hermione twisted her hair around her fingers, then tugged at it in frustration. "Blast it! I can't believe the wizarding world hasn't even thought about this! We're still using owls, for crying out loud! Honestly, we'd be better off if we were Muggles! At least Muggles can make international phone calls!"

She paused. "To other Muggles." Pause. "Like my parents." Another pause, and Hermione began to smile. "Who drove me to the Burrow that summer, for the Quidditch World Cup."

Ron grinned. "And if they're anything like you, they probably remember how to drive there - now that the Burrow's Plottable again."

Ginny quickly stood and began to shoo them out the door. "Hermione, you get dressed. Ron, you compose the message for the Grangers to take to Mum and Dad. We'll meet in the parlor in five minutes. There must be a pay phone somewhere in Wellington, don't you think?"