Eight Hours, Thirty Seconds

Chapter 29

Eight Hours, Thirty Seconds

The halls of St Mungo's were dark and desolate at this hour. Moody opened the stainless steel door for Shacklebolt and followed her inside. It was cold. A bank of rectangular lockers, three rows high, lined the wall leading to the main examination area. Three oblong metal tables were placed in the center of the room. A white sheet, draped over each table, served to cover its gruesome contents.

"You're late."

The two Aurors looked about in search of the source of the quiet, somber voice. A small elfish creature came out from behind one of the tables. He wore a white robe covered by a blue plastic apron and matching gloves. He approached, half-absorbed with writing on the clipboard he was carrying.

"Forgive us, Healer Bunbley," Shacklebolt said. "But you know us humans."

Bunbley grunted and looked up from his clipboard to regard Moody. "What's he doing here? You know I don't like too many humans crowding me."

"Come now, Bunbley." Moody said. "You're surrounded by humans on a daily basis."

"Dead humans... the best kind, in my opinion."

Shacklebolt knelt in front of the small creature and shook his hand. "You don't really feel that way about me, do you, Bunnie?"

"Well, you're different, Queenie," Bunbley replied, kissing her hand. "Now, what's this to-do about a mystery you had for me?"

She handed the elf her bracelet. "It appears as if this Portkey has been compromised."

Bunbley took the bracelet and examined it briefly. "Using secured jump points?"

"Naturally."

"Then it shouldn't be possible, but I'll look into it just the same."

"Thank you." Shacklebolt rose to her feet and stood next to Moody as Bunbley resumed his examination of the subjects under the sheets.

"As you requested, Queenie, we popped back to the crime scene and scoured the area for every magical artifact we could find. There wasn't much left after the Fiendfyre, I'm afraid, but I can see why you wanted to keep this under wraps: Aurors turning up dead can't be good for the Ministry's propaganda machine."

"As always, your discretion is appreciated, Healer," Shacklebolt said.

"Let's get started, then." Bunbley uncovered the first sheet without ceremony. "Auror Murphy of Wolf Squadron. Cause of death: magical cessation of life functions consistent with defaulting on an Unbreakable Vow."

Moody regarded the dead Auror. "The last thing he said to me was that he never liked me."

"Something we obviously had in common." Bunbley removed the second sheet. "Auror Whitney of Wolf Squadron. Cause of death: destruction of the Reticular Activating System brought about by aggressive spinal trauma at C2."

"For Merlin's sake," Moody said under his breath. "Can't you just say he got his bloody neck snapped? Save a tree, will you?"

"I'll try to use smaller words, junior," Bunbley replied. He threw off the final sheet, uncovering what looked like a large lump of coal. "This body was burned beyond recognition, but going by the wand we were able to scrape from the remains, we were able to confirm the decedent as Auror Radler of Wolf Squadron."

Moody's brow furrowed. "Are these all the bodies that were recovered?"

"Yes. Nothing of any import was left behind."

"Aurors Brignast and Terrence and Tabitha Sweets are missing?" Shacklebolt said, finishing Moody's thought.

"Nobody popped in before my team, and I found no evidence of natural predation. So, if they're not on my table, then your Aurors are probably still alive somewhere." Bunbley looked up from his clipboard to regard the worried expression shared between the two Aurors. "That's a good thing, right?"

Shacklebolt smiled weakly. "Of course it is. Please continue."

Bunbley led them to the counter along the adjacent wall atop of which were various tagged exhibits. "As I said, we also recovered a number of magical items at the scene." He picked up the first exhibit. "Here we have one redwood wand. The inferior craftsmanship leads me to believe that it is of the black market variety."

Moody nodded in agreement when he recognized the grainy textured wand. "This is the wand that was allegedly used to kill Ozymandias. It is virtually identical to the wands Ledley and I recovered from the Fletcher sting. The bloody thing almost got me killed in a duel."

Bunbley guffawed obnoxiously. "What were you thinking, duelling with a black market wand?"

"I didn't have much of a choice at the time," Moody replied. "Did you do a backtrace on the spells cast by this wand?"

Bunbley rolled his eyes. "A backtrace, eh? I wish I'd thought of that...." He sneered and replaced the wand. "Of course not, you silly boy."

"Why not?"

"Seeing as how that this specimen is not wandlore grade, a Priori Incantatem would be unrevealing, Alastor," Shacklebolt answered.

Moody averted his eyes. "Right."

Bunbley picked out the next exhibit on the countertop. "We also found this walnut wand. We haven't been able to trace it."

"It's Edgar Bones' wand," Moody said.

"Edgar Bones the Alderman? What was he doing on the scene?"

"That's another detail that requires your discretion, Healer Bunbley," Shacklebolt said. "Please continue."

"The next series of items was taken from purses found on two of the bodies. There are samples of over two hundred species of magical flora." He handed Shacklebolt a manifest.

"Aurors collecting samples?" She said while mulling over the list. "For what purpose?"

"If I were to guess, I would say they were conducting some sort of botanical survey."

Moody peeked at the list from over Shacklebolt's shoulder. "Is there any value to these items?"

Bunbley shrugged. "Maybe to a herbologist."

"Say, Bunbley, can I borrow this manifest of yours?" Moody said.

"Of course not, silly boy, it's evidence!"

"May I borrow it?" Queenie asked.

Bunbley grinned. "Sure."

She handed the notebook to Moody, ignoring his exasperated expression. "Thanks, Bunnie, I owe you one."

"You owe me thirty-seven. But I'm not counting, love."

The Aurors left the morgue and exited the hospital via the back entrance so as not to risk being seen. They walked in silence back to the car. Their visit with the Magical Medical Examiner had raised more questions than it had answered.

"Bunnie," Moody thought aloud. "That certainly explains how you get such a fast turnaround on your forensics."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Alastor."

"Why did you address Bunbley as a Healer?"

"Because he acquired his certification through the Ministry, graduating at the top of his class, and he did his residency at St Mungos."

"What's he doing in the basement performing autopsies on cadavers, then?"

"I imagine that is the only job someone like him can get within the Ministry that makes use of his skills."

"It makes sense, I suppose: a corpse can't exactly lodge a complaint against a house-elf, emancipated or not."

"He's not a house-elf. He's a forest-elf."

Moody snorted. "I didn't know there was a difference."

"What matters is he thinks there is, and I acknowledge that. You would probably find him more amenable if you did the same."

"I'll keep that in mind, sir"...he clenched his jaw at Shacklebolt's reprimanding glare in forgetting to address her informally..."er, Queenie."

"Having three rogue Aurors at large complicates things."

"True, but you don't exactly sound surprised."

"You perceive correctly, Alastor. Wolf squadron was one of our best field teams; each member was a fierce combatant in his own right."

Moody was not impressed. "We took them out easily enough."

"We were lucky."

"I thought the maestro said there's no such thing as luck..."

"We were lucky." She waved her wand, and the car doors opened. "So, what are your thoughts so far?"

"Pardon?"

"What are your thoughts on the case?" When they got in, she closed the doors. "You do remember that we're working on a case?"

"Yes, Queenie, I just didn't think you'd be interested in my opinion."

"That's a silly thing to say, Alastor. We are partners, after all."

Moody fidgeted uncomfortably. "Well, something Bunbley...er, Healer Bunbley...said about the samples he recovered that reminds me of something Dumbledore mentioned about the forests of the northern country: he said they were a 'treasure trove for any herbologist'."

Shacklebolt pursed her lips. "Unfortunately, it would be impractical to add every known herbologist and academic to our suspect list."

"Still, it may prove helpful to consult with one."

"Where are we going to find a herbologist whom we can trust at this hour?"

"I have an idea." He smiled. "Can I drive?"

"No."