Sighing, Harry dribbled sealing wax next to his signature on a document and stamped it with his signet ring. No matter how long he sat behind his desk, the stack of parchment would never shrink - and this was just the important paperwork that actually needed the attention of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The items that crossed his desk were ones of the utmost importance, and the appointments in his diary were with important people, scheduled months in advance.

His eyes caught his watch as he folded the parchment; in about an hour, he had his morning meeting with the Chief Warlock, and then he had lunch with the Minister. It was Tuesday, and that was just what happened on Tuesdays. His schedule was so tightly booked that he was fairly certain that somewhere, perhaps in a safe behind one of the portraits in the Minister's office, the itinerary for the rest of his life was penned in indelible ink in some eldritch tome.

The knock at his door was not what happened on Tuesdays. Nor was his personal assistant popping his head in with a bemused expression. "McKinnon here to see you, sir."

Harry blinked and put down his quill. "All right, send him in." And who was McKinnon again? The name plucked at something close to recognition in his mind...

His question was answered as soon as the stocky greying man passed through the doorway. Harry bit back an unsavoury word. Nothing good ever came of McKinnon coming to see him personally. Even the sporadic memos the head of Unusual Crimes sent were usually bad news.

"So what's new in Unusual Crimes?" Harry asked blithely, gesturing for McKinnon to take a seat in the chair on the other side of his desk.

"Murder," was the terse reply as McKinnon sank into the chair. "Poisoning, we're fairly certain."

"You'd go to Homicide if it was just a murder," Harry said, pushing his glasses up with one finger as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "In fact, Homicide would have the case if it was just a murder. Or you'd give it to one of your team. What makes this one special?"

"It was at Hogwarts."

FACT: There had been a death at Hogwarts.

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled; his breath felt frozen in his lungs. His face, however, he managed to keep perfectly smooth. "When?" he asked shortly.

"The body was discovered this morning in the Gryffindor common room." McKinnon tossed a red folder onto the desk. Harry opened it, his eyes scanning quickly, words jumping out at him as he constructed the case in his mind.

FACT: Deceased was a sixteen-year-old male by the name of Marcus Akers, a Gryffindor student in his sixth year.

"We don't know much yet, then," Harry said finally. There was only the single page in the folder.

"We haven't begun questioning yet. We only just discovered he was poisoned."

"Are we sure he was poisoned by someone else? He didn't take it himself?" Harry absently drew a blank sheet of parchment towards him and began writing notes.

"That's not clear yet. We'll need to speak with his peers and teachers, see if he was a candidate for suicide." McKinnon's voice was perfectly emotionless. Harry looked up, raising both eyebrows.

"You don't think it's suicide."

"No." No explanation, just a bald statement.

Harry nodded distantly. "Don't give this one to Homicide. I want to look into it myself."

The expression on McKinnon's face did not change, except for his eyes; they gleamed, somehow, as though in self-satisfaction. "We thought you might." He stuck out a hand as he stood; Harry stared at it for a moment before reaching out to grasp it. "I haven't worked with you in a long time, Auror Potter. I'm curious to see if you're as sharp as you were as a pup."

"Let's hope so." Harry accompanied McKinnon to the door, through it, and into the open space outside filled with people hunched over countless clusters of desks. Harry just sat in his fortress and scribbled on papers - these were the people who actually ran the place.

His personal assistant approached him with a single sheet of parchment. Harry shook his head, and he should not have been amused at the confusion this wrought on the assistant's face.

"Altair, I need you to clear up the next several weeks for me. I'll be working with Unusual Crimes on a case. I'll reserve Thursdays for paperwork, but otherwise, I am indisposed."

"Very good, sir," Altair said, nodding. Harry left without another word, confident that his absence would be smoothed over with hardly a feather ruffled. His staff was, after all, some of the best.

"How long has it been since you last saw Hogwarts, McKinnon?" Harry asked conversationally as they waited for the lift to bring them to the Atrium.

McKinnon appeared to be doing arithmetic in his head. "Thirty-four years."

Harry nodded. "Twenty-five. It will be interesting to see how the place has changed."

"Hogwarts doesn't change. Just the people."

Although Harry would reserve his judgement until he'd walked the grounds, he couldn't help agreeing - nor could he quell the odd feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was somehow returning home.

 

 

There was new stonework in Hogwarts, weathered from its score of years in the sun and rain and freeze but still virgin compared to the centuries-old stones around it. There were hallways that hadn't been there before, new portraits hanging in the corridors, and Harry thought he could detect far less exclusiveness in the groups of students he passed on the way to the Gryffindor common room. Emerald and silver ties could be seen mingling with gold and ebony, sapphire and bronze no longer clustered in groups of two or three but including burgundy and gold and the aforementioned emerald and silver alike. Perhaps it was his imagination.

The portrait in front of the entrance to the common room was still familiar; Harry smiled slightly when he saw it, and bowed his head for a moment. "Good morning," he said graciously.

The Fat Lady peered at him for a moment before bursting into a grin. "Ah, yes, you were one of mine, weren't you?" She twirled a lock of hair about one finger as she smiled fondly, but a shadow still seemed to haunt her eyes.

"I was," Harry confirmed. "I am Auror Potter. This is Auror McKinnon." He looked around; there were no students in the corridor, and though he'd sent an owl ahead Neville was not here to meet him yet. From the folks of his cloak, he pulled a notepad and quill. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

The Fat Lady's face fell, but she shook her head. "This is about the boy, isn't it?"

"Marcus Akers, yes. What time did he come back to the common room last night?"

"Ten thirteen," the Fat Lady answered promptly.

"Was anyone admitted to the tower after him?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Everyone else was already in bed."

FACT: No one had entered Gryffindor Tower by portrait hole after 22:13.

"Do you remember," McKinnon began, "the last time Akers used the portrait hole to leave?"

"He left the common room at four minutes past seven in the evening," she intoned sombrely.

AGENDA: Discover Akers's whereabouts between 19:04 and 22:13 the previous evening.

"Did he say where he was going?" Harry asked.

The Fat Lady shook her head.

"And do you know when his body was discovered?" McKinnon's eyes were hard and flinty. Harry kept quiet; they already knew this information, but confirmation was never something to be discarded.

"A boy brought the Head of House and the Headmistress back at six twenty-two this morning."

FACT: Time of death between 22:13 on 18 March and 6:22 on 19 March.

McKinnon drew a breath as though to ask another question, but he snapped his mouth shut as hurried footsteps echoed from around the corner. Following close behind the echoes was Neville Longbottom.

It was only years of training that allowed Harry to see the man first and his friend second. Neville was pale, his robes rumpled as though he'd thrown them on without a care for smoothing the wrinkles. There were blue shadows beneath his eyes, as though he had not slept, and stubble darkened his chin. He hadn't had time to shave, then.

"Harry," he said, and it was only then that Harry allowed his professional veneer to drop, if just for a moment. He accepted Neville's friendly one-armed embrace, clapping him on the back.

"I reckon you're a bit shaken," Harry said, squeezing Neville's shoulder before letting go.

Neville shook his head, a haunted look adding a new wrinkle to his forehead. "You have no idea. I... it's straight from my nightmares." His eyebrows furrowed in consternation. "I saw him just last night. He was fine."

"What time?" McKinnon asked brusquely.

Blinking, Neville turned to McKinnon. "Around seven or so. I had asked him to my office."

FACT: Deceased had had contact with Neville Longbottom between 19:00 and 22:13 the previous evening.

"Neville, this is Auror Clint McKinnon. He and I are going to be investigating this case," Harry said as pleasantly as he could.

"You were his Head of House?" McKinnon asked sharply, as though Harry's introduction had interrupted him. Harry shot McKinnon a look that was thoroughly ignored.

"Yes," Neville said, the haunted expression returning. "He was... the Auror earlier said it was murder. Do you think it was?"

"We can't rule out the possibility," Harry began at the same time as McKinnon said, "That's what we're thinking."

Neville looked between the two, his face carefully blank. "I see," he said finally. "I suppose you want to see the..."

"He hasn't been moved?" McKinnon asked sharply.

"Well, no." It sounded very much as though Neville were in shock. "I mean... he was obviously dead, so moving him wouldn't do anything..."

FACT: Deceased had not been moved since time of death.

"What made you contact the Ministry?" McKinnon's tone had not grown any softer.

Neville simply stared for a moment. "What else were we supposed to do?" His eyes widened slightly. "Was there something else were we supposed to do? Did we do it all wrong?"

Harry's first thought was that McKinnon needed an intense training course in reassuring smiles; his partner looked as though he wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into some unwary flesh. "Not at all. You did the right thing. May we get into the common room, Professor?"

"Of course." Turning to the Fat Lady, Neville glanced sidelong at McKinnon before saying firmly, "Canis Minor."

The Fat Lady nodded soberly and swung outward, smiling faintly in acknowledgement of Harry's small wave of thanks.

Neville gestured, and for the first time in twenty-five years, Harry ducked through the portrait hole into Gryffindor Tower.

Marcus did not look as though he had had a good night.

Harry had read the report, but words were a poor way to prepare one for facing the corpse of a person who had clearly suffered through his last moments of life. No matter how many times he faced situations like this, it was always fresh, always startling.

He didn't ever want to lose that. He suspected that, if he did, he would no longer be completely human.

If the scene disturbed McKinnon, he did not show it. He merely crouched down next to the body, an intrigued expression on his face. "Has rigor mortis set in yet?" he asked the forensics witch who hovered nearby.

"Yes," the witch said diffidently. "It's hard to tell without doing a complete workup, but I'd put the time of death around four in the morning."

FACT: Time of death between 3:00 and 5:00 on 19 March.

"And what makes you suspect poison?" Harry asked, kneeling down as well. The boy's eyes were open, staring into nothing, his teeth still clenched together in a terrible mockery of a grin. He was on his side on the floor, his back arched at such an angle Harry would have thought his spine would have snapped.

"His eyes," the witch answered promptly, crouching down to point with her quill. "See how the irises are ringed with yellow? He's not old enough for that to be cholesterol build-up, so that's something toxic his liver couldn't handle. It was a careful dose; otherwise, the entire sclera would be jaundiced."

FACT: The poison was administered in a near-exact amount.

"Who found him?" McKinnon asked, addressing Neville.

"A third-year, by the name of Marjorie James," Neville responded, not tearing his eyes from the corpse. He looked positively horrified, even if his eyes didn't seem to be focusing on the body at all.

"Do we know what the poison was?" Harry asked the witch in a low voice.

She shook her head. "That's going to take some lab work. The boys at the Ministry should be able to narrow it down in a day or two."

"Don't bother," Neville said faintly, his eyes still glued to the body. "I know what it is."

"Oh?" McKinnon asked, looking up curiously. "And how do you know that?"

Suddenly seeming very weary, Neville blinked hard and passed a hand over his eyes. "I didn't look at the eyes. I was too... it's Dragonbane."

"Dragonbane?" The forensics witch took hold of the corpse's hand, presumably to study the fingernails. "It could be," she said hesitantly.

FACT: Neville Longbottom is familiar with one of the possible poisons used in the murder.

Biting her lip, the forensics witch nodded slightly, as though to herself. "The nail beds are... but why Dragonbane? That's a Category Two Controlled Substance. How would he have got hold of it?"

Licking his lips, Neville glanced at Harry. "I don't know. But... why would he have it? Wasn't this a murder?"

"We can't rule out suicide," Harry said firmly. "That may be all this is." McKinnon glanced up at him briefly but did not contradict him.

"Suicide." Neville's voice sounded faint. "No, I don't - he was - I didn't know him as well as I should have, but he wasn't..."

"These things are always shocking, Professor," McKinnon said in what Harry assumed was supposed to be a placating tone, but Neville shook his head violently.

"No. I mean, I knew him. He was over at ours for Christmas. He's - or he was - going out with my daughter."

FACT: Marcus Akers had been romantically involved with Magnolia Longbottom.

"Does she know?" Harry asked sharply.

"What? Of course she knows. I sent for her as soon as - I mean, she knew before you lot did." Neville took a deep, shuddering breath. "She's in the hospital wing. She fainted. She - hasn't seen him yet. I - she's only fifteen. I didn't think that..."

"Did you approve of him?"

If he could have, Harry would have smacked McKinnon upside the head. Neville gaped and then swallowed. "I - well, he was..."

"Never mind, Neville," Harry said firmly. Grabbing McKinnon by the shoulder, Harry pulled him back and away from the knot of people around the body. "If you're going to interrogate him, at least have the decency to arrest him first," he growled.

"I know he's your mate, but he's hiding something," McKinnon replied in the same low, gravelly tone.

"He's in shock. Don't risk invalidating his testimony with leading questions." Only then did Harry realise how much his knuckles were hurting and just how hard he was gripping McKinnon's shoulder. He reluctantly let go. "We'll bring him back to Headquarters and let him calm down a bit, and then we'll question him - in a civilised and legal manner."

"You have to know he's a suspect," McKinnon said bluntly. "Don't be unprofessional about this."

Harry closed his eyes and held back a heavy sigh. "Yes. I know. That doesn't mean I have to like it."

SUSPECT: Neville Longbottom. Male, 43, head of Gryffindor House at Hogwarts.