It was a bitterly cold day, but thankfully the northerly gale had blown itself out. The November sky was striped with hopeful shades of grey. Bright threads of sunlight slipped between dark grey clouds. A glowing white patch of cloud showed where the sun was struggling to break through. Close to this bright blot on the grey, there were even a few tiny patches of blue sky. Good conditions for Quidditch, thought Harry.
He walked up to the main gates of Hogwarts School alongside Ron and Neville. The three trainee Aurors weren’t alone. Ahead of them were recently promoted Senior Auror Aubrey Williamson and Aurors Philippa Fortescue and Leonard Lister. At least none of them were wearing their navy blue Auror uniforms. Harry had persuaded Deputy Head Auror Patience Blood that casual clothing would be best.
Harry hadn’t had time to send Ginny an owl to tell her the bad news. Their mission had been authorised only two hours earlier, after a review of yesterday’s interview. They had been in the mission briefing until a matter of minutes ago.
The Headmistress stood at the gates to meet them. Williamson sent his Patronus through the closed gates to speak to Professor McGonagall. She waved her wand and the gates opened. As she glanced at Harry, he caught the tiniest wrinkle of a smile in the creases around her eyes.
‘Do you really think that he’ll turn up, Auror Williamson?’ Minerva McGonagall asked, a serious expression on her thin lips.
‘Probably not,’ the pony-tailed Auror admitted. ‘It would be very foolish for a wanted Death Eater to attend a Quidditch game here. But Madam Blood has been persuaded that it’s worth checking out.’ He glanced at Harry as he spoke. ‘According to his wife, Wylde watched every game he could when his son was selected, and, this year, his daughter is playing, too.’
‘Girls on the Slytherin team,’ grinned Ron, ‘the world has changed.’
‘I hope that it has, Mr Weasley,’ said the Headmistress severely as, with a flick of her wand she re-secured the school.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to get about your business, Auror Williamson. You can find your own way down to the Hogsmeade gate, I’m sure.’
‘Yes, Professor,’ said Williamson ‘…Headmistress,’ he hastily corrected himself after a single twitch of McGonagall’s right eyebrow.
‘And, Williamson.’
‘Yes, Headmistress?’
‘If your activities in any way disrupt today’s game, or worse, injure any of my students, I will be very unhappy.’
‘Er, right; we’ll do our best, Headmistress.’
‘Good,’ Minerva McGonagall turned and strode towards the Quidditch pitch. Williamson rolled his eyes exasperatedly at his fellow Aurors.
‘Do that again, Williamson,’ said the Headmistress, without turning round, ‘and I’ll be having words with Head Auror Robards about your attitude.’
‘Sorry, Headmistress,’ Williamson spluttered.
A subdued Williamson led the team stealthily and silently through the school grounds, past the pitch, and down to the small wooden gate leading to Hogsmeade village. As they walked, Harry gazed lovingly around the grounds. He wanted to walk down to the lake, to the tree which had been his “ and Ginny’s “ favourite hiding place. He wanted to see inside the rebuilt school. Most of all he wanted to see the Quidditch pitch, to see Ginny’s first game as Captain.
He was concerned that he might not see Ginny. He might even miss the game. Ginny didn’t know where he was or what he was doing and he could not tell her. Only two hours after suggesting the idea to Deputy Head Auror Blood he was regretting it.
‘Are you certain that you’ll be able to identify him,’ Williamson asked, ‘even if he’s taken Polyjuice potion?’
‘Yes,’ replied Harry.
‘Good,’ Williamson turned to the others, ‘Form a circle, sixty yards across,’ he ordered. ‘Space yourselves out equally.’
‘We can remember your briefing, Aubrey,’ Philippa Fortescue observed quietly. ‘You only finished it a quarter of an hour ago.’
‘Well, get on with it then,’ said Williamson grumpily.
Harry left them to it. His instructions were to wait by the gate. He watched as the three Aurors, Ron and Neville Disillusioned themselves.
‘Hold your positions until the target is identified,’ Williamson ordered.
‘We’ve done this before, Aubrey,’ Philippa told him, her exasperation obvious in her disembodied voice.
‘The trainees haven’t,’ Williamson replied. ‘Everyone, be quiet!’
Harry was left, apparently alone, by the gate. He pulled on his invisibility cloak. The moment he did so the path to the pitch became deserted and silent to any casual observer. On the other side of the gate, Harry now knew, there would be a queue forming. Many local residents, together with several proud parents who had made the journey to Hogwarts, would be waiting to be allowed into the grounds to watch the first Quidditch game of the year. Parents and Hogsmeade residents had, apparently, always been allowed into the Hogwarts grounds to watch the games except, for security reasons, during his third and sixth years.
As he stood next to the wall by the gate, Harry withdrew the Marauders Map from his pocket. Ginny’s last letter came out with it. Harry’s heart began beating rapidly, and not because he was on his first real mission as a trainee Auror. He should open the map, prepare himself. Instead, he opened the letter and re-read the last few lines.
You must come to the changing rooms before the match. Don’t be late!
Forever yours
Ginny x
Harry sighed. What was happening between them, he wondered? When they had been together over the summer things had been wonderful. But these days, they weren’t together. He was in London and she was in Hogwarts. He wondered how serious Ginny was about their relationship. She had told him, often, that she was serious. But she didn’t always act like she was. She was just seventeen, and still a young schoolgirl, as several of his fellow Aurors never tired of telling him. She was certainly young enough to be frightened of commitment, they told him, especially to “the Chosen One”, or “the Boy Who Lived.”
Aurors Strang and Lister, in particular, never let up. Both were older than Harry, about the same age as Charlie Weasley. Both were married men, and both constantly ribbed him (and Ron and Neville) about going out with schoolgirls. They also advised the young men not to get married, to play the field. Harry had lost count of the number of times that Dominic Strang had leeringly told him that he could have any witch he wanted. What frightened Harry was that this might possibly be true. Lots of girls flirted with him, something he’d never get used to. He’d even been propositioned by some of the Ministry staff. Harry didn’t want to play the field, though; he wanted Ginny. But did she want him?
He had ended the letter he’d written just before the first Hogsmeade visit “all my love,” but when they met Ginny had made a joke and changed the subject. She obviously hadn’t wanted to talk about it. Then, at the party in the Hog’s Head, she had been determined to make certain that Neville stayed. After revealing the tight vest she was wearing, she had wandered around the room arm-in-arm with Neville. Harry had been more than a little worried about the way she had resolutely clung to his friend and fellow trainee Auror.
When he’d got back to the party, after taking Ginny back to school, he had questioned Neville. He’d had to prise his friend away from an annoyed Hannah Abbot to do it. According to Neville, Ginny had been acting oddly at the party. She had asked Neville lots of questions about Romilda, but she had not been listening to his answers. When Harry had flown Ginny back to the school gates, she had “ Harry’s heart lurched when he remembered “ suggested that it would be a good thing if Neville and Romilda broke up.
He consoled himself by remembering their conversation at the school gates. He’d asked Ginny about her behaviour. She had admitted that she was jealous. Jealous of Cho, of all people! He’d wondered if Ginny’s behaviour towards Neville had been due to that. But she’d been keen to make sure that Neville stayed before Cho had approached him with her news.
At the gates they had talked a little, kissed a lot, and sort of made up. Ginny had assured him that everything was all right between them. She’d kissed him goodbye mere feet from where he now stood. At the other side of this very gate. The memories of that farewell kiss still sent shivers down his spine, even now, five weeks later. The passion of it had resulted in several very wild dreams which he could not discuss with anyone, certainly not Ron.
Yet, despite that goodbye kiss, Harry had dwelt on the party in the Hog’s Head for days. There was no one he could turn to for advice. He couldn’t ask any of the Weasleys. His only real alternative, Hermione, was at Hogwarts and sharing a dorm with Ginny.
Ginny certainly had something on her mind when they parted. It was as if she’d been waiting for something, as if there was something unsaid between them. It showed in their correspondence, too. Their subsequent letters had been polite, chatty and full of news, but somehow also slightly stilted and formal. He had gone back to ending them “yours, Harry,” as “all my love” had not been well received.
He had brought up the subject of Ginny with Neville so often during training that Neville had thought it necessary to assure him that he thought of Ginny in the same way Harry thought of Hermione. Neville was one of the most honest and trustworthy people Harry knew, and he certainly seemed to be besotted by Romilda. But, in his darkest moments, Harry admitted to himself that Neville was the one bloke he was worried about. Neville was clever, resourceful and brave. He had almost been the chosen one, and Neville had asked Ginny out, too; he had taken her to the Yule Ball. He must have fancied her, way back then, when Harry had barely noticed Ron’s little sister.
Harry’s dark and depressing musings were, fortunately, interrupted. Sadly, the distraction was Argus Filch, who was stomping down towards the gate. Harry hastily prepared for his mission. Putting Ginny’s letter carefully back in his pocket, he opened the Marauders Map. He was ready just in time.
Filch opened the gate and the spectators began to enter the school in twos and threes. Harry watched as their names appeared on the map. The first person through was a determined looking middle aged woman who the map told him was called Branwen Lloyd. Harry recognised the name from Quidditch Weekly; she was the assistant trainer and scout for Holyhead Harpies.
Name after name passed him. This was a foolish mission. Williamson was probably correct; the chances of a felon turning up to see his children play Quidditch were between slim and none. Then, to Harry’s surprise, Ariadne Wylde arrived. The wanted man’s wife was a pale, curly haired, wide-hipped woman. He hadn’t expected to see her. He sadly watched her walk up the path.
Harry had been field training with Auror Philippa Fortescue for the past week. They had interviewed Mrs Wylde yesterday. Ariadne Wylde had begun the interview by claiming to be a half-blood, and had nervously provided documentation to prove it. Despite reassurances from both Philippa and Harry, she refused to believe that blood status was no longer important. She was extremely nervous and terrified of authority.
Harry had been fascinated by Philippa’s interrogation technique. It was much closer to gossip over tea and biscuits than formal cross-examination. The plump, jovial, round-faced witch was an unlikely-looking Auror, but she got results. By the end of the interview, though Mrs Wylde had admitted nothing and Philippa hadn’t pressed her, both Harry and Philippa were certain that Ariadne Wylde was Muggle-born and that her pureblood husband had somehow protected her.
Harry was disturbed by the Wylde case. Wilberforce Wylde had worked at St. Mungo’s. He’d been a respected Healer, until he became the Muggle-born Registration Commission’s representative at the hospital. He had then been instrumental in removing Muggle-born healers from St. Mungo’s as part of the “unfit to practise” legislation drafted by Umbridge. The hospital had lost a third of its staff as a result.
It was now six months since the battle, but many of the former Healers, and many other Muggle-borns, remained missing. Some were, in all probability, dead; others, it seemed, had simply turned their back on the magical world which had treated them so badly.
Harry was anxious to find a link between the Death Eaters and the Muggle-born Registration Commission. He was desperate to bring as many charges as possible against Dolores Umbridge. He, Ron, and the other trainee Aurors were pursuing Umbridge with a vengeance.
The Death Eaters captured after the battle had stolen and murdered with impunity. They had behaved as if they were untouchable, because, for some time, they had been. Consequently their offences had been easy to prove. Umbridge, however, had written a discriminatory law, had it ratified, and then applied it. Until the Wizengamot decided which, if any, of the laws passed while Thicknesse was supposedly in control were lawful all the Auror Office had against Dolores Umbridge was theft and misuse of power. Her prosecution depended upon the Wizengamot deciding that the law had not been legally sanctioned.
This should have been easy, as almost half of the Wizengamot had gone into hiding when Thicknesse was installed as Minister and many of the rest had family members held hostage by Death Eaters to ensure their compliance. Twice already the Wizengamot had decided that the Thicknesse regime was unlawful and that none of the discriminatory laws passed had been properly approved. However, they were being scrupulous in their deliberations. A third and final appeal had been submitted. Harry was finding the legal process interminable, but Kingsley was determined that he would not rule by decree and was busily removing many of the powers his office had accrued since Voldemort’s first rise to power.
Only four known Death Eaters remained free. Wilberforce Wylde and Rabastan Lestrange were the only two on the run. It was therefore essential that they were captured. The other two Death Eaters not in Azkaban were Lucius and Draco Malfoy; both were in protective custody and were collaborating fully with the Auror Office.
The two male Malfoys had named names and provided details of every known Death Eater hide-out in order to avoid incarceration. Their co-operation had resulted in the rapid round up of most Death Eaters, dozens of Snatchers, and many other Riddle supporters within the first two months after the Battle. The Malfoys remained wandless. Lucius’ wand had been destroyed by Riddle, Narcissa’s had been lost by Draco, and Harry still retained Draco’s own wand.
Lucius Malfoy was under house arrest, restricted to the grounds of his home. As an escaped prisoner, he had been sent back to Azkaban to serve the remainder of his sentence. He had lasted a week before a carefully orchestrated diversionary riot had allowed half a dozen incarcerated Death Eaters to attack him. He’d barely escaped with his life, but would forevermore be walking with a cane. He’d been removed from the prison for his own safety, but he was not allowed to leave Malfoy Manor. Narcissa was running the family businesses, with some assistance from her reclusive son.
The Wylde family, however, puzzled Harry. By all accounts, Wylde had been a decent family man and a doting father, but he had suddenly become a Death Eater four months before the battle. Witnesses had confirmed that Wylde bore the Dark Mark and had joined Riddle at Hogwarts for the final battle. But, surprisingly, there was no evidence that he had actually fought. Dozens of witnesses placed him in the Forbidden Forest, but, despite rigorous investigation, no one on either side had seen him in the combat.
Wylde was one of many who had gone on the run after the battle. Unlike the others, no-one, not even his wife, knew why. He could have “done a Malfoy,” an expression which was becoming popular among the wizarding community (it meant switching sides, betraying former friends, courting favour with those in power). He had not. Wylde must have something to hide, but what?
One particularly nasty rumour was that Wylde was Voldemort’s personal physician and that he had spirited away the body in order to once again bring Voldemort back to life. Despite the fact that almost every member of the Wizengamot had seen Riddle’s body and most of them had made public statements to that effect, the “He’s Back!” rumours continued sporadically. Capturing Wylde would lay to rest one more rumour. One that Harry, the Auror Office, and the Minister, definitely wanted to stop.
There were now only ten minutes until the start of the match, and Wylde hadn’t arrived. If the man didn’t come soon Harry would miss the start of the game; he would miss Ginny.
Five minutes!
Four!
The name Wilberforce Wylde suddenly appeared on the Marauder’s Map. He was a small, grey-haired man with a bushy beard. He looked nothing like the tall dark-haired and clean shaven man on the wanted posters. He was almost certainly using a Polyjuice potion. Harry let him get fifty yards inside the gate. Then, as planned, he ran to his intercept position and silently fired a colour-changing spell onto his target’s pointed hat. The man didn’t notice.
Harry threw off his cloak and aimed his wand at the wizard, trusting that everyone else was still in position. Williamson appeared directly in front of their quarry.
‘Auror Office!’ Williamson identified himself. ‘You are Wilberforce Wylde, wanted for questioning.’
As the Senior Auror appeared and shouted the warning, Ron, Neville and the other Aurors revealed themselves, surrounding the startled man. Wylde tried to Disapparate.
‘You can’t Disapparate within Hogwarts grounds, Wylde,’ called Philippa. ‘Put your wand on the ground and come quietly.’ The fugitive staggered and fell to his knees, weeping.
‘I’ll tell you everything,’ the man sobbed, holding up his hands, ‘on one condition.’
‘No conditions. Surrender, or else,’ Williamson told him.
‘What do you want?’ asked Harry. Williamson glared at him.
‘To see my children play Quidditch.’
‘Nothing else?’ Williamson asked.
Wylde shook his head sadly and held out his empty hands, accepting his capture. ‘Just let me see the game, please. I’ll come quietly. I’ll tell you everything.’
Harry looked at Williamson because he knew that the Senior Auror was a fan and there was no doubt that Williamson, too, would like to see the game.
‘Okay,’ Williamson agreed, ‘but you’ll be wandless and handcuffed.’ Wylde nodded.
‘I’ve got to go,’ Harry called.
Ignoring Williamson’s angry shouts, Harry sprinted towards the Gryffindor changing rooms.
‘Slytherin:’ he heard the voice of an unknown announcer call as he reached the Gryffindor changing room door, ‘Pinder, Pepperell, Zoë Wylde, Hockaday, Shuttleworth, Chatterton and Captain Aaron Wylde.’
He burst, breathless into the changing room to see Ginny, white-faced and nervous, marshalling her team at the pitch-side exit.
A ragged cheer broke out from the stadium.
‘Sorry,’ he gasped.
She ignored his apology.
‘I need a warm-up,’ she announced, running towards him. She jumped on him, throwing her arms over his shoulders and around his neck.
‘Gryffindor:’ the announcer began. The team remained in their dressing room while their captain, her arms and legs wrapped around her boyfriend, snogged him passionately.
‘Wait!’ Harry heard Demelza Robins order. He breathlessly concentrated on the kiss.
‘Gryffindor:’ the announcer said a second time after the team failed to appear. A nervous silence fell over the stadium.
‘Ginny,’ called Demelza urgently, ‘we need to go or we’ll forfeit the match.’ Ginny unwrapped herself from Harry.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘We’ll win, now.’ She lightly smacked Harry’s bum, told him, ‘Next time, don’t be late,’ and motioned her seeker to the door.
‘Gryffindor,’ the announcer called for a third time. The relief in his voice was noticeable when the young Seeker flew onto the pitch. ‘James Devine, Robins, Alizon Devine, Captain Weasley, Peakes, Coote and Sloper.’
Harry stood in the changing room, bent double, his hands on his knees. He desperately sucked in air. He’d been out of breath when he arrived and the subsequent kiss from Ginny had taken every last gasp of air from his lungs. He hadn’t even spoken to her.
‘Slytherin score!’ the announcer shouted.
Hoping that Hermione had saved him a seat, Harry rushed out into the stands.