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Pulling the Strings by Acacia Carter

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The questioning chamber at the Ministry of Magic was meant to make the people in it uneasy, even when they were there by invitation, as Neville was, rather than required by law. The walls were an unremarkable shade of beige, with a single abstract painting breaking the monotony on one wall. There was no visible light source; the light simply was. In the middle of the room, Neville sipped his tea nervously as he glanced around.

Harry set his lips into a thin line as he observed his friend through the wall that, to Neville, was only a wall. "Hardened criminal, right there."

The statement earned him a sidelong glare from McKinnon. "Good to see you retain your impartiality, Potter."

"Impartiality has nothing to do with it," Harry snapped back. "I've been profiling killers for more than half my life. Look at him - really look at him. He's nervous, yes, but he's confused. If he's hiding something, it's buried so deep that he's not even thinking about it."

There was a long silence. "I still don't know if you'll be able to stay neutral," McKinnon said finally.

"Fair enough." Harry nodded in acquiescence. "You go in first, then. I'll stay out here. If he starts clamming up, I'll tag you out and be a comfortable, familiar face."

McKinnon looked surprised for almost an entire second before lapsing back into his stoic mask. "Sounds good." Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode from the observation room.

The door in the questioning chamber opened with a muffled click, and Neville's head snapped towards it, wilting visibly when he saw that it was not Harry entering the room. "Professor Longbottom," McKinnon said in no-nonsense tones.

"Auror McKinnon," Neville responded, straightening.

"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Of course not." Leaning forward, Neville put his empty cup on the table. Harry crossed his arms and set himself to watching Neville's body language; what he was saying wouldn't be nearly as important as how he was saying it.

"How well did you know Marcus?"

Neville shrugged. "He was one of about seventy-five Gryffindors, and until last year, he was one of about two hundred Herbology students. I try to get to know my students, but it's always a little difficult when you're dealing with that many."

"But he was going out with your youngest daughter."

"He was." Nervously, Neville cleared his throat. "I tried to not let it interfere with my duties."

"You had him over for Christmas, you said? How did that come about?"

"Maggie begged," Neville said simply. "And - it's not as though he's a bad kid. He's not."

He was still using present tense, as though Marcus was still alive. Harry made a mental note of that. Killers didn't often have trouble transitioning from present to past tense when referring to their victims.

"You say he's not a bad kid as though you're not sure about it," McKinnon said slowly. "Why is that?"

Neville hesitated, looking to the side. "He didn't come from the best background," he admitted.

"Because he was Muggle-born?" prompted McKinnon.

"What? No, not at all," Neville said, surprised. "His mother just wasn't around all that much; his dad was the one who raised him and his sister. He was... shall we say... feisty when he first came to Hogwarts."

"Feisty."

"Quick to rise to a fight," Neville clarified. "He tended to fly off the handle when anyone tried to insult his mother. It took a few years and more than a few detentions to calm him down." He shook his head. "He's not a bad kid. That wasn't why I..."

"Why you disapproved of him?" McKinnon asked shrewdly.

Neville let out an explosive breath. "Do you have any daughters?"

"One," McKinnon admitted.

Blinking, Harry filed that information away as astonishing and slightly amusing.

"And what did you do when she started paying attention to boys?" Neville pressed.

"She's thirteen. I haven't had to worry about that yet." If Harry hadn't spent some time with McKinnon before, he probably would not have been able to detect the wry twist of the words.

"You should start worrying right about now." Neville's fingers twitched towards the empty paper cup as though he dearly wished for something to occupy his hands. "Your daughter's Ashley? Ashley McKinnon?" He chuckled at McKinnon's nod. "Yes. Definitely start worrying."

"I think we're getting a little sidetracked," McKinnon said loudly, gesturing behind his back for Harry to come in.

Harry lost the next several sentences as he made his way to the door, entering the questioning chamber in the middle of Neville assuring McKinnon that, as far as he knew, Ashley was perfectly well-behaved, but she tended to turn the heads of boys who had recently discovered the glorious differences between boys and girls and might fancy exploring those differences further. If Harry hadn't been very well-versed in the art of keeping a straight face, he may have burst out laughing at the well-concealed distress behind McKinnon's eyes.

"Harry," Neville said with genuine relief, looking up as the door opened.

"Don't get your hopes up," Harry cautioned with a small grim smile. "I'm not here to be nice. This is a murder investigation."

"Right," Neville said, face falling. He swallowed. "It's easy to forget that."

The chair that Harry slipped into was meant to be utilitarian, not comfortable. As such, his lower back almost immediately began to ache. "I understand you met with Marcus the night he died. What about?"

A cloud drifted over Neville's face. "His marks had been falling," he said slowly. "Steadily. They'd never been good in the first place, but he was coming dangerously close to failing two of his three subjects. I was trying to intervene, get him back on the right track."

"And how long did that meeting last?" McKinnon interjected.

"Two hours? Maybe a bit more?" Again, Neville was toying with the empty cup.

FACT: Marcus had met with Neville Longbottom for approximately two hours the evening of 18 March.

"That's a long time to be talking about marks," Harry said, leaving the invitation open for Neville to keep talking. There was something else there. He could tell. Things would go so much more easily for Neville if he just let it into the open.

It almost seemed as though Neville was not going to take the opportunity; he was silent for several seconds before he drew a breath. "Maggie's marks were suffering too," he said very slowly and deliberately. "And they were both skipping lessons. They'd both just got detentions for - for 'inappropriate use of classroom space'."

Harry was very careful to keep his face composed, while McKinnon may as well have been made of stone. The tips of Neville's ears had turned bright pink - whether from embarrassment or anger, it was difficult to tell. The meaning of the glance that passed between Harry and McKinnon was unmistakeable: Are you going to ask him, or shall I?

"This is an unpleasant question," Harry finally ventured. "But where were you this morning between the hours of two and six?"

It almost looked as though Neville had been punched in the stomach. "Oh God," he said, his eyes widening. "You - you think I did it."

"We're just trying to rule you out -" Harry began, but Neville continued right over him.

"I was in my quarters. I was asleep. I - he left at about ten, and I stayed in my office to cool down for a while, and then I went to my greenhouse - to calm down - and then I went to my quarters and went to sleep. I didn't do it. I - he's not a bad kid! I just - I was angry at him, and the discussion got a bit heated, but I didn't - I didn't kill him -"

"No one is saying you did," Harry said loudly, in an attempt to derail Neville's babbling. Neville continued stammering, his words making little sense, until Harry slapped a hand down on the table with an echoing THUD. "Neville. We are trying to rule you out. Work with us, all right?"

Wordlessly, Neville nodded, his face pale.

"Do you think you could construct a timeline for us?" Harry asked, looking very intently at Neville's face. "When he entered your office, when he left your office, when you left your office, and when you went to bed? As well as anything in between? Be as exact as you can. The more precise you are, the more solid your alibi."

Neville mouthed the word "alibi" with a nauseated look, glancing at McKinnon's unwavering steely gaze. "Yes," he said, sounding dazed. "All right. Yes. We had an appointment for seven. He showed up at about a quarter past. I don't have a clock in my office - I usually just wear a watch..." He trailed off and coughed. "We talked until about... it was a quarter to ten, I think, because it wasn't late enough for me to write a pass for him to be out past curfew, but I told him to hurry to be in the common room by ten." His eyes had the far-away look of someone trying to remember details. "I poured myself a drink in my office, and when I finished it, I went to my quarters - it's my week to stay overnights - and it was ten-thirty by the time I went to sleep. I remember because my alarm clock said so."

"You're sure that's accurate?" McKinnon asked casually.

At Neville's earnest nod, Harry's stomach fell.

Neville had left out the trip to the greenhouse he'd mentioned earlier.

FACT: Neville Longbottom unable to consistently reconstruct his activities between 21:45 and 22:30 on 18 March.

 


 

"Don't even say it," Harry said shortly as McKinnon walked into the break room, where Harry was contemplating a cup of very black coffee.

"Sorry." McKinnon slid into a chair across from Harry. "Is this your first time it's got personal?"

"No." After taking a sip, Harry shuddered at the bitterness. "But it's the first time I didn't expect it."

The coffeepot behind them gurgled, and McKinnon cleared his throat.

"It doesn't mean he did it."

"Don't say it," Harry insisted. "Sympathy won't make it any easier to be impartial." He traced the pattern of the years-old coffee ring stains on the surface of the table. "It's so out of character, though," he said suddenly, making his hand into a fist. "Everything I know about him makes the notion absolutely ridiculous." Obviously, McKinnon knew better than to mouth platitudes at him, which simultaneously irritated Harry and made him feel better. He puffed out a sigh and looked up at McKinnon. "Are there any results back from the lab on what the poison was?"

"Not yet," McKinnon replied blandly. "But the boys who picked up the body agreed with Longbottom. It looks like Dragonbane."

"Of course it does," Harry said under his breath. He took another long draw from the paper cup. "He's back at Hogwarts by now, I assume?"

McKinnon nodded. "We don't have enough to keep him here. He knows not to leave Britain, though."

"Well, there is that," muttered Harry to himself. More loudly, "I want a list of every license Nev - Longbottom has. I want to know what he's permitted to grow and what he's permitted to research, and I want to know where he does it."

If the bequest or Harry's switch to Neville's surname surprised McKinnon, he didn't show it. "That last might be a tall order."

Harry shook his head. "For Category Three and above, he has to say where he's planning to cultivate in order to obtain the license. Not that it's enforced worth a damn, but I want to know what he's growing in the greenhouse that he forgot he told us about."

McKinnon rose from the table, hesitating. "You're as good an Auror as you ever were, Potter."

The bitterness of the coffee was not nearly enough to match Harry's disposition. "Thanks."

 


 

FROM THE DESK OF: Penelope Wainwright, Office of Herbological Licensing and Permits
TO: Harry Potter, Department of Magical Law Enforcement

CONFIDENTIAL

Auror Potter,

Following is the list I have compiled of Professor Neville Longbottom's licenses and permits on file with this office. All are current and valid as of 19 March 2023.

LICENSE TO CULTIVATE (DISPENSION PROHIBITED):

Baneberry (CAT 5)
Ashweather (CAT 5)
Spotted Ivy (CAT 5)
Amazonian Ground Creeper (CAT 4)

Demon's Bulb (CAT 3)
Star Violet (CAT 3)
Catspaw (CAT 3)
Sleeping Lilac (CAT 3)

Dragonbane (CAT 2)

Professor Longbottom does not currently hold any licenses to cultivate any restricted items above Category 2.

The registered address on file for cultivation of Category 3 specimens and above is listed simply as 'Private Greenhouse, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland.' Because Professor Longbottom holds no permits for Category 1 specimens, an inspection of his facilities has never been required per section 702.1 of the Restricted Cultivation and Dispension Surveillance Act of 1903.

Should you require any additional assistance...

FACT: Neville Longbottom had easy access to a large selection of poisonous herbs.

 


 

"He didn't do it," Maggie blurted as soon as Harry stepped into the room. "He didn't like Marcus, but he wouldn't have -"

"That's not why I asked you here," Harry said smoothly as he took the chair across from her and her mother. He placed the cup of water he was holding on the table and pushed it forward. "Take a drink and a few deep breaths."

It was not surprising that Maggie was still upset; her boyfriend had been discovered dead and her father was unofficially a murder suspect, and it wasn't even lunchtime yet. She reached out and took the cup, gulping down air in a way that probably wasn't as calming as Harry had intended. Harry leaned back and studied Neville's youngest daughter as she sipped from the paper cup and very gradually descended from her near-hysteria.

Fifteen and a strong representative of the typical Longbottom physical architecture, Magnolia Longbottom was not willowy or fragile. She'd inherited her father's tendency towards stoutness as well as her mother's short stature, which she had admirably made work to her advantage: if Harry remembered correctly, she was a Beater for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, and what could be mistaken for bulk under her school robes very likely disguised some impressive strength and muscle. Coupled with an earnest, freckle-smattered face and short hair more light brown than dark blonde, she definitely was not society's idea of superficial beauty, but something far more practical and down-to-earth.

It was those qualities, along with her stubbornness and steadfastness, that helped her to calm down by the time her cup was empty. She placed it carefully back on the table and drew one more shaky breath, wiping the back of her hand across a tear-stained cheek. "Sorry," she mumbled.

Harry shook his head reassuringly. "Don't be sorry. I know this is difficult. Let me know when you're ready."

Maggie puffed out her cheeks as she exhaled forcefully. "I'm ready."

Glancing at Hannah, who nodded very slightly, Harry leaned forward. "We know almost nothing about Marcus. I was hoping you could shed some light on him for us."

Swallowing hard, Maggie echoed her mother's nod. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, I understand he had a knack for borrowing trouble," Harry began encouragingly, but he was startled to see Maggie's face darken.

"Everyone thought that. Even Dad. He hasn't been in a fight since he was thirteen. He hadn't even had detention for two years until yesterday." Her cheeks coloured slightly, and Harry was positive that she was recalling the reason for that detention. She did not elaborate, and Harry didn't ask her to - not in front of her mother. "He made mistakes. How is it fair that he's only remembered for those?"

Harry bowed his head momentarily in acquiescence. "You're right. I apologise. I only ask because those who invite trouble tend to have enemies - and I need to know who may have wanted to hurt him."

To her credit, she did not break down at his blunt words; though she looked stricken and paled considerably, she only closed her eyes for the barest of moments to compose herself. "I can't think of anyone. He was a bit of a loner, but - I mean, no one was really mean to him."

"No old grudges from his more troublesome 'mistakes'?" Harry pressed.

Maggie shook her head. "Not that he ever told me. And even if there were..." Tears welled up in her eyes and she wiped them away almost angrily. "Who would want to kill him over it? What does that get them?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," Harry said, inwardly wincing at how trite it was. Hannah reached over and rubbed Maggie's shoulder while Harry turned a page in the pad on the table in front of him, stalling while Maggie pulled herself back together. "He left your father's office at about a quarter to ten, but he didn't use the Gryffindor portrait hole for another half an hour. Do you have any idea why it took him thirty minutes to go up one set of stairs?"

There was no mistaking her blush. "We - we usually..." She fell silent and studied the surface of the table very carefully.

After one long moment stretched into several, Hannah cleared her throat. "Do you want me to leave?" she asked her daughter very softly. Maggie shook her head forcefully.

Harry shared a glance with Hannah and coughed. "Everything you tell me is in the strictest confidence. I won't tell your father."

Maggie drew a breath and nodded, not tearing her eyes from the table. "We usually would sneak out and find a classroom and have sex," she said in one rushed sentence, as though saying it quickly would be easier.

FACT: Marcus Akers and Magnolia Longbottom were involved in a sexual relationship.

Maggie did not look up at her mother; Harry glanced at her, but Hannah did not look surprised. It was likely she had already been told about the detention and what it had been for. "I was waiting for him to get done meeting with Dad," Maggie continued haltingly. "I'd almost given up because he'd been so long, but then he came and - he was really upset."

"Upset about what?" prompted Harry.

"He and Dad had had a row. He - he usually doesn't get that upset. We talked for a bit, and I calmed him down some, and we went back to our common rooms." Her voice had grown thick. "And that was the last time I saw him."

FACT: Neville Longbottom and Marcus Akers had fought shortly before Akers's death.

Harry nodded slowly. "Maggie, the last thing I want to do is upset you more, but it's something we really need to know, so I have to ask -"

"No, I don't think he killed himself," Maggie said dully. She looked up, and her eyes were shining with tears. "We were talking about my leaving school after my O.W.L.s. How we'd - we were going to run away and just live somewhere until I turned seventeen and we could get married. And then Dad wouldn't be able to say anything." She sniffed and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "He wouldn't have said any of that if he was planning to kill himself. He'd have said something - he'd have acted different, but nothing was different..."

"Oh, Maggie," Hannah breathed, reaching around to hold her daughter close, tears standing in her own eyes. She looked over the crown of Maggie's head at Harry. "Can we be done for now? Please?"

Harry nodded. "One more, and then I'll let you both go home. Where is Neville's private greenhouse at Hogwarts? I don't recall there being room for one in the courtyards."

"It's in the Room of Requirement," Hannah answered somewhat shortly. "He didn't want students to be able to break in, and no one knows that room like he does."

"Thank you," Harry said simply. He rose and bit his lip awkwardly. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said as gently as he could manage, ignoring how patronisingly inadequate it sounded. He'd spent most of his life doing this, and he still hadn't worked out the right thing to say at times like these. That he knew Maggie and Hannah made it even worse.

His office was not empty when he arrived ten minutes later, not that he'd expected it to be. McKinnon rose from the chair where he'd been waiting, holding up a square of parchment stamped with the wax seal of the Chief Warlock.

"Search warrant?" Harry asked shortly.

"Ink's not even dry," McKinnon confirmed. "The question is whether Longbottom will cooperate and let us into that damn room."

Kneading his temples, Harry sank into his chair. "Well, if he doesn't, it's another mark against him." A glance at the clock told him it was hardly past three; the day felt as though it had lasted three years so far. "Take your best men. And - be respectful. If I know him at all, he's got rare things in there, not just dangerous, and they'll be his pride and joy."

"He doesn't get preferential treatment just because he's your mate," McKinnon began bluntly, but he stopped when Harry held up a hand.

"No. But he doesn't get treated more harshly just to prove that we're not giving him preferential treatment, either." Odd, how Harry had become so accustomed to adopting that note of authority, even with Aurors fifteen years his senior. More odd still that McKinnon actually looked abashed for a moment before nodding.

There was a knock at the door and McKinnon turned just as it opened to admit Altair. "Sir, Aubrey is here to see you. From Forensics," the personal assistant clarified when Harry raised a questioning eyebrow, and then he ducked out of the doorway when Harry waved in acquiescence.

"Do you have toxicology results yet?" Harry asked briskly as Aubrey slipped through the doorway into his office.

"Not yet, but Hansen is staying late to push them through," Aubrey replied in his clipped accent. "I doubt they'll be necessary, though - we're rather certain we've found how Akers was poisoned." With a small flourish, he held up a cellophane-wrapped sweet and tossed it to Harry. If Aubrey noticed how Harry froze once he snatched the sweet from the air and stared at it in his palm, he did not indicate it. "It's some ghastly liquorice sweet with a soft centre," Aubrey continued, pulling another from his pocket. "We found these in Akers's robe pocket, as well as an empty wrapper. We tested a few on a hunch, and in some of them, those soft centres were laced with -"

"Dragonbane," Harry supplied in a resigned tone. He did not look up from the sweet in his palm as he raised his other hand to cover his face. "Shit."

Several moments slipped by before McKinnon cleared his throat. "Potter?"

"Confirm it for me when you're there later," Harry said finally, holding up the sweet, "but if memory serves, Longbottom keeps a bowl of these on his desk."

 


 

TOXICOLOGY REPORT

SUBJECT: MARCUS RYAN AKERS
SEX: MALE
AGE: 16
TIME OF DEATH: 3am-5am 19 MARCH 2023

Subject is a 16-year-old male of average vitality. No trauma (contusions, etc) noted on body. Sclera shows evidence of localised jaundice 1mm surrounding iris. Nail beds blue, consistent with reports from on-scene forensics. Capillary beds observed to be hypersensitive to post-mortem bruising. Subdermal blood pooling and coagulation consistent with field estimate time of death between 3:00 and 5:00 19 March 2023.

Blood, intestinal lining, and lymph nodes tested for Dragonbane, Baneberry, Scarlet Demise and Lethevine.

Blood, intestinal lining, and lymph nodes POSITIVE for Dragonbane.

Blood, intestinal lining, and lymph nodes NEGATIVE for Scarlet Demise and Lethevine.

Intestinal lining NEGATIVE for Baneberry.

Blood and lymph nodes INCONCLUSIVE for Baneberry.

Enc: objective lab results with confidence levels and margin for error.

SIGNED 16:29 LEX ANDREWS

19 MARCH 2023

FACT: Marcus Akers had died of Dragonbane poisoning.

 


 

The paperweight that Harry passed from hand to hand was not nearly fascinating enough to merit the attention he was giving it. "Say that again."

McKinnon appeared eager to oblige. "The Dragonbane showed signs of being recently harvested. Everything else looked as though it hadn't been touched in ages."

"Recently." Harry was having trouble making his thoughts match up in his mind. "How recently?"

"Within the last day - or so Jacobs said."

FACT: The poison used had been harvested between the time Neville Longbottom learnt of the extent of Akers's involvement with his daughter and Akers's poisoning.

The long, heavy sigh Harry heaved did not do anything to ease the weight pressing at his ribs. "So Longbottom hears about the detention. He's likely suspected that Akers has been sleeping with his daughter for some time, but he could always pretend to be oblivious before, and now, he's got proof. He's angry. He's not thinking straight. He goes to his greenhouse to calm down, sees the Dragonbane, knows that its taste would be masked by the taste of liquorice. He prepares several sweets - he'd know if Akers liked them, or he'd use different ones - and summons the kid to his office. Pushes a handful on him to ease the tension. The conversation starts off innocuous and becomes more accusatory, until Akers leaves with the poison in his pocket."

"Nearly untraceable to the source, or so he'd think," McKinnon interjected. Harry nodded wordlessly. "Means, motive, and opportunity." Harry nodded again and didn't look up, even when McKinnon coughed. "Potter, no one else we've questioned has had any of those."

"I know. And I hate it." Harry placed the paperweight very precisely in the middle of his desk; the crystal refracted the rays of the setting sun from his magic window into a full spectrum over the sheets of parchment scattered across the desk's surface. "After I arrest him, I'm taking myself off the case."

There was a moment of silence. "Prudent, I think," McKinnon said. There was something in his voice that made Harry lift his eyes from the paperweight; McKinnon almost looked to be vacillating over what he was about to say. "You don't even have to make the arrest, you know. I can go in with some of my boys and do it."

"No," Harry said decisively, standing up and walking to the cupboard in the corner. "If he's going to Azkaban for murder, he deserves to know who gave that order."

 


 

The castle was dark, the corridors quiet. The last classes of the day had been out for some time, and the students were likely in their common rooms, the library, or eating a late supper in the Great Hall. Harry had asked Professor Sprout, and the Headmistress had seemed to know what they were there for. Her eyes had been wide as she revealed, in a disbelieving, faltering voice much unlike her usual strong tones, that Professor Longbottom was in his office.

Harry tugged at his collar. He so rarely wore his actual uniform, preferring plainclothes now that his authority had been firmly established in his department. But he somehow felt he owed this to Neville. Harry owed him anything he could manage to make it easier to separate Auror Potter from the Harry he had known in school, the Harry he had lingered over ale with during their young adulthood, the Harry who had stood for Neville as a groomsman in his wedding. To understand that Auror Potter was doing his job.

Taking a deep breath, Harry drew his wand from its holster, squaring his shoulders as he faced the office door. "Let's go."

McKinnon knocked. There was a moment of startled silence and then an answering "Come in" came from behind the door, along with the noise of a chair scraping across the floor. Neville had probably stood up.

For the barest of moments, Harry closed his eyes, before turning the handle and entering the office.

Neville was standing, confusion plain on his round face. The stab of recognition twisted in Harry's gut, and though his lungs were full, he felt as though he hadn't drawn a breath for week. "Neville Augustus Longbottom," he said, and his voice did not shake, "by the authority granted to me by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Ministry of Magic, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Marcus Akers."

The blood drained from Neville's face as Harry levelled his wand at him; McKinnon's nonverbal Incarcerus winding a rope about his wrists went almost entirely unnoticed.

Harry swallowed hard and continued. "You have the right to remain silent under Auror questioning. You have the right to legal counsel; if you do not have a counsellor, the Ministry is prepared to appoint one on your behalf..."