“It was that muggle what done it,” the grizzled-looking man who played host to Harry Potter and Hermione Granger declared in a muted growl. His name, Harry recalled, was Charles Fournier, but his nickname was Three-Arm Charlie. According to Dumbledore, he hated being called this. Harry had wondered idly at the time why the Headmaster had even included this little tidbit in his letter. Now he realized it was a warning, and Harry was certainly grateful for it.
Charles Fournier held a book that contained some of his Auror records in one hand, flipped through it with another and held a cup of tea he was sipping with his third. The short, sinewy arm grew out of his side, covered by an improvised sleeve that stopped at the elbow. Hermione felt brave enough to ask a question, the first time either of them had spoken a word since both had let out a fearful “Hello” at the front door. Appropriately enough, it was about the muggle in question, the father of the young club owner they had met last week, Terry Nichten-Teach. “Excuse me, Mr. Fournier, but what motive did Frank Nichten-Teach have to murder the Evans’?”
Three-Arm Charlie gave her a mild look of disgust. “Since when do muggles have to have a reason to kill other muggles? Who knows why they do what they do? I told ‘em, no point in us investigating this one. Best leave it to the Aren’tors.”
‘Aren’tors’, Harry knew from Mad-Eye Moody, was a term Aurors used for muggle policemen that wasn’t exactly complimentary. “But,” Harry spoke up nervously, “they were the parents of a witch and Atlas Filch was a suspect. Surely you interrogated him, didn’t you?”
“Of course,” Mr. Fournier answered with a scowl. “But he had an alibi, didn’t he? All sorts of people saw him at that muggle club of his. Besides, I don’t think I’ve ever seen no proper wizard go on about ‘Auburn Summer’. Usually it’s just kids pulling pranks or some muggle who’s found out about the wizarding world for the first time and wants a li’l piece of the action.”
“Sir,” Hermione piped up in the most polite voice she could manage, “what is Auburn Summer?”
“A fairy tale,” Three-Arm Charlie snorted contemptuously. “Muggles, squibs and wizards with limited powers thinkin’ they can become Order of Merlin-class wizards by killin’ a couple o’ dozen muggles and chanting some old incantation. Not a bad idea in practice, but it never really works.”
“You weren’t in Slytherin house, by any chance, were you?” Harry asked wryly without really thinking. Hermione shot him a look of exasperation.
Charles Fournier shook his head dismissively. “Nah. Didn’t go to Hogwarts. Me Mum insisted I attend Durmstrang, like she did. Wonderful old place. Lots of good memories there.” Three-Arm Charlie seemed to lose himself in thought for a moment and then turned his attention back to the two teenagers. He handed Hermione a folder that must have contained information on the case. “Open and shut, really. The thumbprint at the scene was the muggle’s and that master key to his club could only have belonged to him or Mr. Filch.”
“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking,” Hermione began cautiously, “if Mr. Nichten-Teach was so obviously guilty, why didn’t the muggle police bring him up on charges?”
The old Auror waved all three of his arms in a gesture of disgust. “They believed a bunch of tripe from some young muggles about him being at the club, wearing a mask. Said they could recognize his voice anywhere. They were having some kind of disguise celebration that night, apparently. Leave it to muggles to celebrate their limited ability to conceal their identity.” He scoffed. “But even muggles have those wreckherding devices that capture their voices and play them back. I for one didn’t see how even they could be that monumentally stupid.”
As Hermione perused the folder she had been handed, it was left to Harry to make awkward conversation. Unfortunately, he came up empty. “Well, I suppose we’ll be going then.”
“If you’ll wait a moment,” Charlie Fournier said with a slight growl, “I’ve owled my old partner about you two. He’s active, so if you need any help from someone who’s still in the field…” As if on cue, a brown and red spotted owl flew through his window. “Ah, there’s Talon now.” The bird flew to his right-most hand and the old Auror used his other two to remove a message from the bird’s leg. When he read it, his eyes flew open in horror. “Britannicus, he…he’s been attacked!” Hermione dropped the manila folder in her lap and Harry rose to look at the message once it fell from the old Auror’s worn hand.
“A serpent,” Harry stated aloud and he and Hermione shared a knowing look. Harry had told her about his dream from the night before and both of them had almost instantly known that it was related to ‘Auburn Summer’ somehow. This, evidently, was the how. Harry folded the message and returned it to Mr. Fournier out of respect for his privacy.
However, the ex-Auror revealed the rest of its contents to the two teenagers anyway. “He’ll be fine, for the most part. Britannicus always did keep loads of anti-venom potions around, but he’ll be incapacitated for a while. The Ministry’s asked me to fill in for him until he gets back on his feet. Er, so to speak. I reckon they’re swamped now that everybody knows You-Know-Who is back.” His middle arm withdrew a pair of spectacles and placed them gingerly on his face. “I’ll owl them back, let them know I accept…”
Hermione shot Harry an urgent look that said that it was time to go. “We’ll just leave you to that, then,” Harry rambled quickly.
“If we would need more information on the case, sir, would you be so obliging…?” Hermione started to ask, but his one idle hand shushed her with a wave.
“Yes, yes,” Charles Fournier declared, his eyes never leaving the parchment in front of him. “Now go on. Must be more exciting things for young ones like yourselves to be doing on a day like this than investigating twenty year old murder cases. Solved ones in particular.”
“Harry,” Hermione practically hissed as soon as they had bounded down the steps of Charles Fournier’s small flat and in the direction of her green moped, “if you saw that snake attack Britannicus Leslie, then it had to be…”
“Voldemort,” Harry finished for her, giving her an apprehensive and appraising look. “He was behind it. I suppose the question now is: why?”
Hermione’s face filled with worry. “I’d like to say that it’s a coincidence, that V..Voldemort is just trying to get at any Aurors that he can, but I just don’t think so. This has something to do with what happened to your grandparents, I know it. I can almost feel it.”
Harry nodded solemnly. “There’s something else, too. I don’t agree with Three-Arm Charlie in there. Mr. Nichten-Teach is dead, so he could hardly be doing it again. This case is far from solved.” He interpreted the fact that Hermione didn’t immediately disagree as a sort of understood assent. “Which means we have to do it. And I know just where to start.”
***
Harry Potter inserted a copy of the old master key to the Serpent’s Tooth from twenty years ago into the lock and sincerely hoped that it still worked. To both his and Hermione’s relief, it did. As Harry tentatively entered the “muggle club”, as Charles Fournier had called it, that the two of them had visited only last week under very different circumstances, Hermione withdrew the key and looked at it apprehensively. “Mr. Fournier probably left this in the folder by mistake. I can’t imagine that we’re actually supposed to have any old evidence from the case.”
“Yeah, well we’re not supposed to be here, either. But we are.” Harry’s voice, although practically a whisper, carried through the empty building much more than he would have liked. Mentally, he willed no one else to be here, as it might make things terribly awkward. Making sure that Hermione wasn’t looking to back out, he grabbed her hand and the two of them advanced as quietly as possible through the abandoned nightclub. It seemed spooky somehow, in a way that most places he’d run across in the wizarding world didn’t. Houses where muggles lived seemed utterly lifeless when they were away from them, as there were no moving portraits or enchanted objects to give the place a sense of vivacity.
Taking a quick look around the first floor, Harry and Hermione discovered nothing out of the ordinary: the large dance floor Harry remembered with some embarrassment from when they had been here before, a few tables and chairs (and some nicer furniture probably left over from when this place was for adults only), and several bar counters from which drinks were dispensed. “I guess the business offices are upstairs,” Hermione told Harry in a barely audible whisper. With a quick nod, he led the way back to the spiral staircase and ascended it as quickly and quietly as possible.
As the two of them looked around, they discovered that Hermione’s suspicions proved to be correct. A row of similar-looking doors led down a hallway not far from the small row of tables where they had briefly sat their last time here. Harry used the key to open each one in turn, as there were no signs indicating which one led to what. After discovering a broom closet, a matching set of blue and pink-painted loos, (which he could only imagine were for public use but he really couldn’t fathom why they weren’t labeled) and a luxurious reading room that looked like it hadn’t been used in years, Harry found what he had been dreading most: someone else, emerging from a door Harry was just preparing to unlock.
Letting out a startled gasp, Harry came face to face with Violet Mogle. The faintly pretty young blonde’s eyes were wide and she too looked very startled. ‘No reason she wouldn’t be,’ Harry thought glumly to himself. ‘We’re not supposed to be here.’ “Hullo, Violet,” Harry said quickly. Thinking fast, he withdrew the key from her sight, but did not pocket it, as he didn’t want to look like they had anything to hide. “What brings you here?” he asked, as if it were she who was the one trespassing. He could practically feel Hermione hiding a grimace behind his head.
Luckily for the two Hogwarts students, Violet did not get huffy and turn the question back around on them immediately. “I…I was looking for Terry,” she stammered, her eyes looking glazed over and hazy. She looked rather like Luna Lovegood at this moment, Harry thought idly, although slightly taller and with a flatter nose.
Hermione’s face wrinkled in confusion. “Didn’t he say that he’s taking day classes for that summer business course at Oxford on Wednesdays?” Harry hadn’t remembered this, but Hermione had reminded him once they had exited the ex-Auror’s house. Harry had managed to tease her about hanging on Terry Nichten-Teach’s every word, but privately he appreciated the fact that Hermione was so attentive to detail.
“Oh, of course,” Violet replied, her eyes darting around as if they were searching for some quick method of escape. “I must have forgotten.” They stood in silence for a moment, all three of them feeling awkward at their current situation. “So…what brings you two here?”
Before Harry could speak, Hermione blurted out, “We’ve been hoping to revive the Youth Masque, a festival this club used to host back when Terry’s father was alive. Harry and I’ve been reading old newspaper articles about the ‘Serpent’s Tooth’ ever since we left here. It’s all so fascinating.” Harry did his best not to look shocked as Hermione said this. She was getting so good with cover stories it was scary. “It was going to be a surprise for Terry, so if you wouldn’t mention it…”
“I won’t,” Violet assured her quickly. “That is, if you won’t say anything about my being here. Wouldn’t want Terry to think I’d been so forgetful.”
“Of course not,” Harry answered, finally finding his voice after what seemed like hours of silence. “Hermione and I were just going to see if there was anything in Mr. Nichten-Teach’s old files about the, er…” ‘Youth Masque,’ Hermione reminded him under her breath. “…so that we could help recreate the atmosphere a little better. I hope you don’t mind.”
As Violet assured them that she didn’t, Hermione grabbed his arm and looked straight into his eyes. “Actually, Harry, I’m feeling rather tired. I think I’ll take a seat and wait for you out here while you look through the files. After all, this was your idea.” She seemed to be speaking to him, but her voice was louder than it needed to be, as if she was hoping that Violet would overhear.
“OK,” Harry agreed in a rather confused tone of voice. Violet pointed them to the room she had just departed as the one they were looking for and, casting one last curious glance at Hermione, he entered the business offices of the ‘Serpent’s Tooth’ and began to examine them.
The room he entered was small, dusty and mostly empty. It contained a large oak desk with a swivel chair behind it, two rows of book shelves which now contained precious few books, a plain wooden door that likely led to a closet and a huge file cabinet over by the corner. Harry’s eyes roamed freely about the room, although nothing seemed immediately promising. The desk had nothing on it except an old calendar from 1988, a typewriter that was missing a few keys, an empty picture frame and a few pencils that had clearly been chewed. The desk drawers similarly revealed nothing of interest: paper for the typewriter, extra pencils and, Harry noted with disgust, more than a few mouse droppings.
Turning away from the desk, Harry Potter perused the shelves, finding only two books left on them: Norman Vincent Peale’s “The Power of Positive Thinking,” and William Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar”. ‘Everyone’s a Shakespeare fan,’ Harry thought as a thin smile crossed his face. Harry then let out an anxious sigh as he faced the metal cabinet, which seemed even more enormous now that he’d walked across the room. He couldn’t imagine how long finding anything relevant in there was going to take. Why wasn’t Hermione here with him to at least cut down on his workload? She would have some explaining to do once he got out of here, and he found himself strangely enjoying the idea of interrogating her. Finding the first drawer he tried unlocked (luckily, as he doubted his master key would work in the tiny hole on the file drawer), he pulled hard on the handle…and was nearly knocked down by the force he exerted.
Staggering slightly, Harry peered into the cabinet drawer, only to discover that there was absolutely nothing in it. Puzzled, Harry looked in every other drawer in quick succession, finding nothing but dust. ‘Why would you have this giant file cabinet at your disposal and not use it?’ Harry thought to himself. The answer came to him in Hermione’s voice as quickly as if the witch herself were there. ‘Because you have somewhere else you want to keep your information, of course. Someplace better protected.’
Harry moved to face the door that was to the immediate right of the mysteriously empty file cabinet. Perhaps this wasn’t to a closet after all. Harry opened the door timidly and stepped through to what seemed in the dark to be a large room, hoping he would find no one else who he didn’t want to run across, like Atlas Filch for instance. Harry had his suspicions about him, and if he was anything like Argus…
Harry’s fears seemed to be realized immediately, however, as the room was illuminated with artificial light. Someone else was here. Harry wondered if he should hide, but then thought better of it. He didn’t know the place well and his cover story would likely work better if he acted as though his presence here was normal. He suddenly found himself wishing fervently that he had brought along his invisibility cloak.
But, as Harry waited for someone to confront him accusingly, he was surprised to discover that there was nobody there. The lights could have been programmed to come on automatically, but Harry was almost positive that it was done with magic. For one thing, he could see no lights emanating from the ceiling. And for another, this was clearly Atlas Filch’s office, as evidenced by the nameplate on the spotless desk and the colourful portraits on the wall, which included one of Argus Filch. ‘So that proves it,’ Harry thought. ‘They are related.’
Deciding to look around the decidedly brighter and more lived-in room, Harry found a wood file cabinet that was similar in size and height to the metal one in what he assumed must have been Frank Nichten-Teach’s old office. Letting out a mental groan, Harry opened the topmost drawer and a file fell out almost immediately, its contents spilling all over the floor. He began to gather everything back together when a picture caught his interest. As he held it up to the strange light, his jaw dropped. It was a baby picture of Harry himself.