The Auror Cometh

There were two Aurors waiting for them in Minerva's office. Hermione almost choked when she recognized them. From the way Snape stiffened, he was having much the same reaction.

"Deputy Headmaster Snape, Miss Granger, these are the Aurors who are investigating Remus' death," the Headmistress said formally. "Auror Bulstrode, and Auror Trainee Creevey."

"Hello, Professor... err, Deputy Headmaster, Miss Granger." Millicent Bulstrode held out her hand to each of them in turn and each of them took it automatically. "I believe you know my new trainee as well: Dennis Creevey. The Headmistress has told me what you've found, and we wanted to talk to you, of course."

Snape nodded. "Please forgive my surprise. I knew you'd become an Auror, but I was expecting a more senior agent would be assigned to investigate a presumed murder."

"The Auror Corps isn't as popular as it once was," the Slytherin answered without rancor. "I'm one of the more senior field agents now."

"If Harry..." Dennis began, only to be shushed by his superior.

"That's not the business of the public, Trainee." Millicent gestured at the chairs. "With your permission, Headmistress, let's sit down and talk about Mr. Lupin. His mediwitch says he died of silver poisoning, and your own autopsy confirms this. Correct?"

Minerva inclined her head in assent. "Yes, I asked Madame Pomfrey and Deputy Headmaster Snape to perform some tests to see what they could find out about Mr. Lupin's death. And yes, they found silver poisoning.

"And you believe it was murder because of this gadget you found connected to his water supply?" She pointed to the contraption sitting on Minerva's desk.

"That's right."

"Who do you think would want to murder Mr. Lupin? Please, any of you feel free to answer. This isn't a formal interrogation. Professor? Miss Granger? Any thoughts?"

"I really don't know," Snape replied thoughtfully. "I haven't had any contact with him for the last few years. He'd found another source for his Wolfsbane potion."

"Miss Granger, any ideas?"

"My first thought was that it was someone with a grudge against him due to his war work." She took a long breath and continued, "The war has been over for years, and it doesn't seem likely that the murderer would wait that long. The same reasoning applies to anyone Remus might have offended while he was at Hogwarts – either as a student, or the one year he taught. It's been too long."

"Makes sense. Anything else? Headmistress?"

"It's extremely unlikely to be suicide," Minerva replied. "From what we can tell, it would take months for him to die using this means. Most suicides are a bit more..."

"Immediate?" Millicent offered. "Yes, I agree. This doesn't smell like a suicide." She drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. "Dennis, take a long walk, would you?" The younger Auror's eyebrows rose, but he said nothing, only got to his feet and left the room. "He's a good kid," she continued, lowering her voice, "but he hasn't really learned the corollary of keeping one's ears open."

"Keeping one's mouth shut?" Hermione asked. "That's a bit of a liability in an Auror."

"I know. But as I said, we're so short-staffed that he'll be made a full Auror in the next month unless he does something phenomenally stupid. But that's not why I sent him out of earshot." She paused a moment until Dennis' footsteps faded. "Let me say everything I've got to say before you start interrupting."

The other three all nodded in agreement.

Millicent nodded. "Good. This is the fourth of these gadgets I've seen in the past year. There are probably others that I don't know about. My conclusion, to state the obvious, is that someone is trying to kill off werewolves. My boss doesn't see this as a problem, though, and we have standing orders to bury any reports involving werewolves as soon as practicable and not discuss it with anyone, especially not the press." She grimaced. "Scrimgeour would at least listen to his people. Dawlish and Shacklebolt got sacked for comparing notes on two possible werewolf murders, and Tonks got reassigned to a desk job for asking too many questions."

"Who's the head of the Auror Corps now?" Snape asked. "I didn't realize Scrimgeour had stepped down."

"Mundungus Fletcher. He took over about four years ago. There were never any announcements made, so it's not surprising that you hadn't heard. And Scrim didn't step down; he was asked to resign. I don't have many details on why; the standard Auror Confidentiality charms make it difficult to ask questions without attracting the wrong kind of attention. It was all done very quietly. I do know that the request came from high up in the Ministry – and there aren't that many people with that kind of pull."

"The Minister himself, obviously," the Headmistress said, thinking aloud. "Perhaps some of the Department Heads."

"No more than half a dozen people," Hermione agreed. "But before we take this any further, I've got a question." She looked directly at Millicent. "Why are you telling us this? It could get you sacked."

"Because my job – no matter what Dung Fletcher thinks – includes investigating murders!" The Auror's pent-up frustration burst out. "It's all too tidy; Scrim resigns and all of a sudden, we're supposed to forget about part of our duties, and actively hinder any investigation. We didn't start turning up these gadgets until after Dung took over. And," she continued, "I respected Mr. Lupin the year he was here. I believe he was murdered, and I want to see his killer brought to justice."

"I suppose it would not do to go back to Lupin's place and look for more information," Snape commented. "I can see that course of action causing all sorts of trouble."

"I have reason to go there," the Headmistress pointed out. "As Executrix of his will, I can say I'm making sure that nothing of his was left behind."

"Better do that today," the Auror said. "Once I make my report and Dung sees this gadget, the place will be cleaned up by one of his special salvage teams and there won't be any evidence left to find. For the sake of any future actions, please, if you find anything suspicious, photograph it before moving it." She raised an eloquent eyebrow. "If this was an ordinary case, Madame Pomfrey would find herself in a certain amount of hot water for taking it upon herself to remove that device."

Minerva nodded sharply in understanding and rose to her feet. "Professor Snape, I have some errands to run in Aberdeen today, and it's best I get started on them right away. I should be back by dinnertime. Please remind the house-elves that the wake is set for tomorrow afternoon." She jammed her pointed hat on her head and swept out of the room in a flurry of green tartan.

"Dennis will be back soon," Millicent said into the brief silence that followed the Headmistress' exit. "If there's anything else you want to ask, better do it now."

"Is anyone else working with you, or are you trying to figure this out on your own?"

"There are others," the Auror replied carefully, "all very faithful." The last word was stressed just slightly. "I can tell you that if you were to go to that new pet shop in Hogsmeade and ask Mr. Sharples about the care and feeding of opossums, you might find his reply instructive."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "And Mr. Sharples is one of the faithful?"

"Yes." She rose. "I'll be going now. I'll send the Headmistress an official copy of my report. I expect she'll have it in the next few days."

"One more question before you leave, Auror Bulstrode," Snape said. "Who appointed Fletcher?"

"It came down from the Minister's office." She began rummaging in one of her pockets. "I've got a copy of the order here. We have to carry them to prove chain of command at all times." She handed a rather tattered parchment to Hermione who was closer to her.

She spread it out on Minerva's desk so that she and Snape could both look at it. "It just looks like a standard promotion... Oh no!"

"What?"

Hermione pointed at the signature at the bottom. Though slightly obscured by war, it was clear enough. Dolores Umbridge for Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic.

~*~

The first thing Max did the next morning was Apparate to the Burrow and hand a copy of the filed ORR to the sleepy-eyed house-elf who answered his knock. He still intended to come 'round for tea that afternoon, but he wanted to make sure Maureen realized that he was dependable and true to his word. That done, he returned to his office. Before he'd finished his breakfast, he had a reply in hand, delivered by owl, reminding him gently that he needed to take a copy to Mr. Weasley. "As if I'd forget," the solicitor muttered. He finished his meal and Apparated over to Chudley-on-the-Rye, making a note to himself to be sure to keep a closer eye on Mr. Weasley's comings and goings. It would not do for him to catch even a breath of impropriety. The Cannons were on a good-will tour of Europe, but their Pitch Manager was more than happy to give Maxwell a detailed copy of their itinerary. The team was currently in Rome, with a match scheduled for the next day. It took only a short time to arrange for an International Portkey, and Max found himself standing in front of their hotel, the Flying Sorcerer, shortly thereafter. A sign in the front window proclaimed it to be the most modern wizarding hotel in all Italy.

Max pushed the door open and went inside. The lavishly furnished lobby was virtually empty, save for a house-elf sweeping the floor, and a bored-looking clerk leaning on the polished marble counter. He approached the clerk, who put on a welcoming expression that showed far too many teeth.

"Good day, sir! Welcome to the Flying Sorcerer! How may I be of assistance?" His English was almost completely unaccented and the solicitor suspected the subtle use of a translation spell.

"I understand that the Chudley Cannons are staying here. I'm here to see Mr. Weasley."

The clerk nodded. "Yes, they are here. They have a big match scheduled tomorrow against the Custodes – the Guardians, you would say. Everyone is very excited, and people from all over Italy are here. We even have some guests from America!" He blinked rapidly. "We have only a few rooms left, sir, but I'm sure we can accommodate you."

Max produced one of his business cards. "I'm not here for the game, I'm afraid. As I said, I need to see Mr. Weasley."

The clerk peered at the card nearsightedly, mumbling under his breath as he examined it. Finally he looked up. "A solicitor? I hope there is no trouble? Should the manager be informed?"

"That won't be necessary," Max answered reassuringly. "It's just a small matter, but I'm sure Mr. Weasley would like to have it settled before the game tomorrow. If he's distracted, it might affect how he plays."

The clerk blanched. "That will not do at all!" He pointed off to the right. "Use the left-most lift. The password for the Penthouse is Bricklebrit. Mr. Weasley said no visitors, but as you're their solicitor, I'm sure it will be fine."

"The Penthouse?" Max asked. "Are all the Cannon players staying there?"

"Of course not, sir!" the clerk answered in an offended tone. "We're not one of those dreadful American hotels. This is the Flying Sorcerer! Mr. Weasley asked to change his room to the Penthouse. As it was available, we accommodated him."

Max smiled tightly, nodded, and strode off in the indicated direction to the lifts. The left-most one was labeled "Staff Only". The others were labeled with level ranges, which Maxwell assumed referred to the different floors of the hotel. It seemed to be a very efficient way of shuttling guests around. He pulled his robes straight and entered the lift. A few moments later, he emerged into a small room. Directly opposite was an ornate door with a sign that said "Welcome to the Penthouse." The door swung open at his touch revealing a lavishly decorated sitting room. A doorway on one side led out to a balcony that appeared to encircle the entire building. Another led to a fancy kitchenette. A third door was closed, but the noises coming from the other side of it left him no doubt as to what was going on.

This was an interesting development, and Max wasted no time in taking advantage of it. He quickly transfigured a convenient vase into a camera and cast a Disillusionment charm on himself. This was followed by a Sound Muffling charm. A moment later, he stepped out onto the balcony and made his way around to where the noises were coming from. As he'd hoped, the door on this side was wide open and the occupants were completely intent on what they were doing. He grinned and began taking pictures, being sure to get clear shots of Mr. Weasley and both the girls he was with. Life was just about to get very good.

~*~

"Miss Granger, may I ask something that's very much none of my business?" By mutual consent, Snape and Hermione had decided not to discuss anything Millicent had told them until the Headmistress returned.

She looked up at Snape where he was leaning against his desk in the Potions classroom. The Aurors had gone, taking Remus, the gadget, and several rolls of parchments filled with their notes. She and Snape had thus spent the last hour cleaning up all traces of what had happened there, setting the room to rights for the classes that would begin in the fall. "I reserve the right to refuse to answer, of course."

"Why didn't Mr. Weasley sign an ORR for your sons at the same time he renounced you?"

"I don't know. I'd never heard of such an Order before Ron repudiated me. Maybe he decided it wasn't necessary because he thought they were Squibs. Or maybe he didn't want to spend the extra money it would've cost him. Or, knowing Ron, it might have just been an oversight. Why do you ask?"

"I find it very odd that this document was signed just as your sons' magic begins to manifest. And if you'll note, that doesn't appear to be Mr. Weasley's signature at the bottom." He straightened. "Come with me, please."

She put down the jar she was holding, making sure to return it to its proper place. "Where are we going?"

"The Headmistress' office." And not another word would he say until they got there. Hermione was almost dancing with curiosity as they went up the staircase and he murmured the password to cause the gargoyle to step aside.

Snape strode across the room, not heading for Minerva's desk, but for the table on the far side of the room where The Book and Quill were displayed in pride of place. Carefully, reverently, he opened The Book and turned to the last page. A slow smile spread over his face.

"Richard Arthur Granger. Robert Thomas Granger." He raised an eyebrow. "A family tradition?"

Hermione's answering smile lit the room. This was it – the absolute proof she'd wanted. "Yes, in my family, all males are known by their middle names. My father was Jennison Thomas Granger, but went by Tom. Ron insisted that they have names that start with R, but after he threw us out, I started calling the boys by their middle names. It was a small revenge."

Snape's mouth quirked upwards in what was almost a smile. "I believe, Miss Granger, that the best revenge is living well."

She turned to face him, still glowing with sheer happiness. "I have more than I'd ever hoped for now, Professor! I have a job at a place I love. My sons are going to be powerful wizards! Oh, Professor, I am definitely living well!"

~*~

With Snape's consent, Hermione decided to spend the remainder of the morning in the library looking for something, anything, she could springboard into a research project. She wanted to choose something meaningful, like the potion he was working on. She'd skimmed the Restricted Section briefly, as well as the latest issues of all the Potions, Charms, and Transfiguration periodicals she'd found. Nothing came to mind however, and she was idly flipping through the last few weeks of the Daily Prophet while letting her mind wander, hoping her subconscious would come up with something inspiring. She would've preferred the Quibbler, but Madame Pince had commandeered the latest several issues in order to do the crossword puzzles.

Apparently the Prophet had not yet managed to replace Rita Skeeter, for these issues contained items that were blessedly free of the dreck produced by Quick-quotes Quills. The one she was currently looking at contained an editorial about the current Ministry Budget, and the latest in what was apparently a series of articles on Finances for the Single Parent Household, written by a Gnorpfang Grizzleknut. She glanced briefly at the advertisements, and skipped over the personals pages. With a sort of twisted pleasure, she noted that the obituaries took up only half a page instead of the three to four pages that had been common during the War.

Her hand stalled and she turned the page back and began reading carefully. She put that issue aside and began leafing through others. Twice she rose and pulled older issues from the library archives. Most she returned to their proper place, but several more joined the first one. Once they were neatly sorted, a muttered Accio brought her parchment and quill, and she began reading again, taking careful notes. Half an hour later, she put down her quill and studied the figures with a sinking feeling somewhere in the region of her stomach. She needed more data to be absolutely positive, but the trend here was clear: the wizarding population was dying out.