Moonlit Carvings

Harry put the crystal goblet patiently down on the polished wood.

"Mrs Fraser, I understand this is a very distressing time for you and please let me know if there's anything I can do to help. However, we need some vital background information on your husband." He gestured at his partner, Ron, who had sprawled all six foot five of himself on the couch, making it look tiny in comparison.

Mrs Fraser sniffed into a very worn looking handkerchief, displaying swollen eyes from behind the pink frilliness. "He was a g- g- good man," she stuttered.

"We know," agreed Ron sympathetically, helping himself to another chocolate biscuit. "That's why we're here to help."

"When was the last time you saw your husband?" Harry asked calmly, hoping she wouldn't burst into tears again. He had never been sure how to deal with emotional women.

"Last Thursday," she replied automatically, pulling antagonistically at neat greying curls. "The police have already asked all these questions," Mrs Fraser reminded them, again. "Where did you say you were from?"

"We're from the Missing People's Association," Harry lied fluently, wishing that it were more difficult for him.

"Oh," sniffed the older women. "Would you like some tea?"

Harry shook his head. "I still have some fruit juice left." Her gaze shifted to Ron.

"And you, Mr. Webber?"

Ron shook his head, his mouth still full of biscuits. "I'm quite happy with my milk," he muffled, holding up the glass to show them. Mrs Fraser smiled indulgently.

Harry blinked twice, before sighing deeply and rolling his eyes. Ron was a hard, business-like, trained, Homicide Auror. Well, he was until food made an appearance.

"So, last Thursday," he prompted, shaking black hair out of his eyes. "What time?"

"Eight O'clock before he went to work," she replied, seeming to have some sort of hold over her emotions for the time being.

"He worked in London, yes?"

"Yes," agreed the older woman. "He made blinds. He was paid very well."

Internally Harry nodded, Daniel Fraser had either been very clever or very stupid. It had always been frowned upon - marrying muggles - but even more so in the rise and reign of Voldemort. But to keep the fact he was a wizard from his wife for over twenty years, it seemed nearly impossible.

Dan Fraser had been a better part of the Department of Mysteries; he'd worked his way up the ranks steadily, earning trust and respect. The Order of the Phoenix had accepted him into their midst at Dumbledore's request. Now he was missing, and it was their job to find out why.

"Has Mr Fraser mentioned anything or anybody in the past few weeks that in any way sounded suspicious?"

The woman shook her head mutely, once again appearing to be on the verge of tears. Ron stood up, his expression clearly saying 'we're not going to get any help out of her'. Harry nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"Well, thank you for your help Mrs Fraser," he said formally holding out a hand for her to shake. It seemed she almost clung to the gesture, wishing they wouldn't go, wouldn't leave her alone with all the possibilities.

Ron looked longingly at the remaining homemade biscuits before unexpectedly being engulfed in a hug by the stout middle-aged woman.

The tall redhead disentangled himself politely, but with difficulty, Harry observed with amusement.

"I'm sorry," apologised Mrs Fraser, wringing her hands. "You just remind me so much of my son." Her eyes went glassily wistful. "I wish he would come back."

"That's okay," assured Ron, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. "Thank you for the milk and biscuits. We will do our utmost best to find your husband for you."

The first smile they'd seen flitted across her face. "I know you will," she reached up - and it was a long way - to ruffle his hair familiarly.

Harry fought down the grin, but lost miserably as it broke over his face. Ron's expression was priceless.

They left the small cottage, waved off from the door by the enigmatic, but weeping, woman.

"She has a grip like iron, I can tell you," exclaimed Ron. "We could get her on the force as a detainment officer!"

Harry chuckled at the mental picture this conjured up. He sobered; "She's a poor lady though."

"And absolutely no use at all," observed Ron. "We haven't got much to go on for Fraser's disappearance."

"No," agreed Harry, concentrating on the road that led from the small cul-de-sac in rural Kent back into London. "Maybe the Dark Sheep found something though."

"Oh yes," snorted Ron, throwing Harry a glance of hilarity. "Maybe the dark-side has something to offer. Like it even exists anymore," he mocked

"It always exists," countered Harry, thinking far too deeply for his liking. "But I doubt it will be of any use in this case."

"It does seem quite open and closed doesn't it?" the redhead agreed munching on some Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans. "He probably just went off for some alone time and will be back safe and sound next week."

"We can only hope," Harry muttered. "We can only hope."