Probers: Part 1
The three cloaked figures at the table in the corner of The Drunk Boggart had been talking in hushed voices all evening. Marty had good ears though, and even when the pub had been noisier with the clinking of glasses and the loud laughter of inebriated men the barman had been able to overhear their every word. Now that they were the only people left it was unimaginable that they were still under the impression he could not hear them which, given the nature of their conversation, made him more than a little uncomfortable.
“I still think Professor Savidge should be informed sooner rather than later,” said a deep and warm man’s voice. “He could help.”
“It is too dangerous,” a woman replied. “Perhaps he is involved as well. He might not have known the truth of why they needed the information, but he did make it available.”
“He wouldn’t-"
“I agree it is unlikely.” A gruff voice, belonging to another wizard. “But it is not a risk we should take, not until we know more.”
“Not telling him might have even graver consequences,” said the first. “Is that a chance you are willing to take?”
“No one knows we were here,” said the witch. Marty shuffled his feet nervously. “We can afford to give ourselves another week. You are close to the Headmaster. Try to find out what you can and report back to us when we meet again.”
“Where-”
“I will contact you shortly with exact details,” said the gruff voice. “Now..” He rose from his chair and stretched his arms. Marty’s hand slipped into his pocket and closed around his wand. He had never been great at duelling but had been in many a tavern brawl and knew how to hold his own.
“We will meet within the fortnight. Until such time, try to keep contact to a minimum.” The other two nodded and stood as well.
“I will settle with the barman,” said the woman. They exchanged brief goodbyes and the two men left. A little silver bell chimed as the door opened, and again upon closing. Marty’s heart was racing.
The witch searched her pockets (Marty tightened the grip on his wand) and retrieved a small and practical leather wallet.
“How much do I owe you?” She approached the bar, and in the candlelight Marty could make out her face beneath the hood of her cloak. She was pretty; dark eyes, high cheekbones and lips painted deep red. Under different circumstances Marty might have complimented her, tried a chat-up line or two, but his throat felt tight and he remained silent.
She smiled at him.
“Do I make you nervous?” she said, and placed a galleon on the bar. “Sensible. You heard us talk, and now you are wondering what I am going to do to you.”
“I won’t tell no one, promise. I.. I know how to keep my mouth shut, I-” She pressed a soft fingertip against his lips.
“Worry not,” she whispered. “I will not hurt you.” She moved her face closer to his. Marty drew his wand.
“Stay away from me,” he growled, but she seemed unimpressed by the threat. She was so near now that he could feel her breath on his skin. She smelled like the first rain after weeks of drought, like the sea near Cornwell and the mountain air of the Scottish highlands.
“Amortentia,” he said hoarsely.
“The most effective perfume on the market,” she said, “if you know where to find it.”
“Why-” But then she kissed him, and he found himself unable to resist her. He loved her. She was all he had ever wanted, the embodiment of everything that was dear to him. Why had he not realised this before? He could not remember putting down his wand but he must have for his right hand was touching her hair and gently pulling her closer.
When the kiss ended he was breathing heavily. His head felt light, and he steadied himself on the bar.
“I am sorry,” she whispered. She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and cleaned her lips. It came away red.
“What for?” he said. “That was.. oh..”
He lost his footing, but she caught him before he hit the ground and let him down onto the floor carefully. His vision turned black, his limbs grew heavy.
He heard the tapping of heels on wood, and the soft ringing of the silver bell in the distance. Once.. twice. She was gone; he was alone.
Was he indeed? Marty had always had good ears, even now that the potion was consuming his memories and dulling his senses. Something or someone was moving in on him from the other side of the bar quietly. The footsteps were muffled, and there was a rustling sound of something dragging over the floor as well – a cloak? A tail?
The sounds stopped. Marty could feel its presence looming over him, could hear soft, slow breathing nearby...
“One murder, one person reported missing.” Arthur Thornton entered the office with The Daily Prophet in his hand. He was a wizard in his mid-fifties with short, coarse grey hair and black eyes that were glaring at the newspaper from beneath a thick set of eyebrows.
“Good morning to you too.” Ann Forrester looked up from the most recent copy of The Journal of Applied Potioneering and turned her chair to face him. She had worked as investigatory auror (condescendingly called ‘prober’ by the rest of the Auror Office) and analyst at Magical Forensics for three years, all of them under Thornton’s command and guidance.
Thornton sat down behind his desk and put the Prophet away.
“Where is Robert?”
“Getting some coffee. He’ll be back-” The door opened again, and Rob Forrester came in, balancing a tray with three large mugs on it in his left hand.
“-shortly.” Rob smiled at his wife and greeted his boss with a polite nod.
“You are late,” Thornton grumbled, taking his mug from the tray.
“Because you need your morning coffee,” said Rob.
“So.. a murder and a missing person,” said Ann. Thornton sighed and tossed Rob the newspaper. Rob scanned the headlines and read the relevant articles quickly.
“Barman Martin Spears found dead in his bar,” he cited. “Cause of death as yet unknown. The address is 3 Serpent’s Way, it’s just off Diagon Alley.”
“The Backalleys,” said Ann. “A shady area. The local Magical Disciplinary Force have been trying to put an end to the illegal trade there for years but they might as well have been busy trying to catch demiguises for the number of culprits they’ve uncovered.”
“A revenge kill, then?” said Rob. “Punishment for a broken deal maybe, or an unpaid debt?” He looked at Thornton uncertainly. “Sounds like a job for the Backalley MDF, not the Auror’s office.”
“It does,” said Thornton.
“Yet you pointed it out to us,” said Ann. Thornton nodded.
“And the missing person?” Ann asked Rob.
“A witch called Helen Heart, early twenties, former Ministry of Magic employee. She used to work down at administration, now has a waiting job at The Hungry Horklump in Hogsmeade. Last seen by her colleagues when she finished her shift at seven pm yesterday evening. She did not return home to her muggle boyfriend afterwards. He contacted the Ministry of Magic by – apparently we have a muggle hotline – phone when the muggle police refused to send out a search party for her so soon after her disappearance. The article seems to focus mostly on the fact that muggles can now contact the Ministry of Magic rather than on the disappearance itself, and I can’t say I can blame them. It does sound like she ran off with some guy and forgot to inform her beloved.” He looked at Thornton, who was smiling at him expectantly.
“But you seem to think differently.”
“Indeed so.”
“Care to share with the rest of us?” said Ann.
“I happen to know Miss Heart,” said Thornton. “Lovely girl, competent too. She helped me many a time when I needed access to old files in the archives. She was fired a few weeks ago for copying secret Ministry of Magic documents. I found it odd at the time, she didn’t seem the type. Also, her relationship with John, the boyfriend, was rather serious. They were considering engagement shortly before she left here.”
“Do you think she stole the files?” said Ann.
“Oh she probably did,” Thornton replied, “but either way it gives her story a whole new dimension, don’t you think? If she did steal the files, then what kind of files did she take, and whom did she show and why? Did she know something she was not supposed to know? If not, then what was she fired for instead, and why did her superiors lie about it? There are too many unanswered questions to simply consider her disappearance a young woman’s tantrum.”
“And the murder?” said Ann. Thornton nodded towards the Prophet. Rob read the article again, and Ann looked over his shoulder.
“Cause of death as yet unknown?” Rob said after a while. “That does seem rather strange for a settlement of an account. Usually the blood’s all over the place to make an example of the victim.”
Thornton smiled.
“An unknown cause of death indeed,” he said. “Suggestions?”
“The killing curse,” said Rob.
“..non- or difficultly detectable poison,” said Ann.
“..internal bleeding..”
“..targeted organ destruction..”
“..natural death?”
“Each is a possible explanation,” said Thornton, “and it is difficult to determine the right one without more information.” He opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a standardised form, an ink bottle and a quill.
“Robert, I want you to go down to The Drunk Boggart and see if the Backalley MDF has come across any new evidence yet. Also try to collect some samples – blood, saliva, anything else they will let you have – so that Ann can analyse them when you get back.” He dipped his quill in the ink and started filling out the form.
“Ann, find Dumas and get this signed and sealed by him,” he said without looking up from his writing. “It will decree number 3 Serpent’s Way an Aurors Only Accessible Area for as long as we require it to be. When you have the signature, join Robert at once and get the MDF out of there.” He signed with his own name and the date, rolled up the parchment and gave it to Ann.
“How about you?” Ann asked, taking it and tucking it into her pocket.
“I will be going down to administration,” said Thornton, “and see for myself which secret Ministry documents Miss Heart could have found worth stealing.”
