Six Hours, Thirty Seconds

Chapter 30

Six Hours, Thirty Seconds

It was forebodingly quiet. The soft sounds of footfalls were the only evidence of life in the narrow, dark entryway closed off from the world. Moody and Shacklebolt approached the unmanned desk atop of which sat a small bell, which stood out prominently on the otherwise bare desktop. Moody rang the bell, and after a few seconds, a house-elf Apparated.

The small grey-skinned creature regarded the Aurors briefly. "Two shekels." Moody threw the money on the table, and the elf collected the coins. "Welcome to The Glass Slipper." The elf snapped his fingers, and the wall behind him disappeared. The two humans stepped inside the crowded nightclub. Deafening music and bright flashing lights assaulted their senses.

"It's loud," Shacklebolt said.

"What did you say?"

"I said, I'm already not liking this plan of yours, Alastor."

"Have a little faith, sir," Moody replied. "By all accounts, we're just a couple of patrons."

"Do you come here often?"

Moody smirked. "Now, that's not very original, is it?" He perceived Shacklebolt's annoyance telegraphed through her silence. "Let's just say it's a place I happen to pass on my way to volunteering at the local animal shelter."

"How noble of you, Alastor."

He shrugged, ignoring her sarcasm. "It's a layer."

They ventured deeper into the crowd and were surprised when a rather boisterous woman, wearing a feathered boa, grabbed Moody brusquely by the arm. "Alastor! Where have you been? I haven't seen you in a dog's age!"

"Good evening, citizen"...Moody shrunk under Shacklebolt's sideways glance..."whom I have never met before tonight."

The feathered woman coaxed Moody along. "Do you want your usual table by the cages, dearie?"

Shacklebolt took Moody by the other arm and jerked him free. "I suggest you get your own date, miss. This one has work to do."

The lady turned her attention toward Shacklebolt. She whipped her boa back over her shoulder, inadvertently hitting Moody in the face. "You must be the new girl?"

Shacklebolt returned the lady's glower. "And what if I was?"

"I wouldn't let Paul catch you wearing that dreadful outfit if I were you."

Moody thought it prudent to interrupt before things came to a head. "Thank you, madam, but we're just here for the ambiance. We'll manage fine on our own."

"Suit yourself, Allie." Her hand graced Moody's cheek. "You know where to find me, yeah?" She left, but not before giving Shacklebolt a parting once-over. With a flourish, she turned to leave; her boa whipped behind her.

Moody spat out a feather. "Poor girl. She obviously has me confused for some other Alastor."

"How many 'Alastors' can a person know, I wonder?"

"Now that you mention it, Queenie, there is an Alastor who works on the ninth floor back at the Ministry. I can't tell you how many times our post has gotten crossed."

"Ah, you must mean Alastor Gumboil."

"That's him."

"Then I can see how the mistake could've been made, given that he is a whole foot shorter than you and talks with a lisp..."

"Does he, now? I've never noticed."

Shacklebolt had grown bored with Moody's continued pretence. "This herbologist of yours frequents this establishment, I take it?"

"Yes, but not as a patron." Moody craned his neck over the crowd, scanning the room. "And she's not in her cage which means she's working the VIP section in the back."

"VIP section?"

"It's... where customers pay a premium for 'premium' services."

Shacklebolt scoffed when Moody directed her toward the beaded veil prominently displayed to the right of the stage that marked the entrance to the VIP section. It was guarded by two fierce-looking wizards who kept a tight watch on entering patrons. "Am I to understand that our contact is a prostitute?"

"I wouldn't call her that," Moody said, rubbing his cheek thoughtfully. "Performer is more accurate. You should see the work that she puts into her act."

"And you gleaned all of this information from a simple walk-by on your way to the animal shelter?"

"I may have popped my head in on rare occasion." Moody smiled weakly.

She rolled her eyes in response. "This is a waste of time that we don't have. We should go."

"With all due respect, sir, surely you have been in the field long enough to know that conventional methods don't always apply."

Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow at Moody's persistence in using her own words against her. "All right, Alastor, but I hope your asset produces."

"All we have to do is sneak past the curtain to find out," Moody replied. "They employ off duty Hit Wizards; I recommend we use stealth."

"I agree." Shacklebolt removed her headdress. Her braided hair magically unravelled. "What are we up against?"

"The entire building is laced with Anti-Confundus Charms; however, I think if we tune our cloaks appropriately, we can defeat their countermeasures."

Shacklebolt shook her head. "We should go for a simpler solution."

He failed to respond upon regarding Shacklebolt, who began to caress herself surreptitiously in the anonymity of the crowd. As she uttered the incantation, her clothes Transfigured right before his eyes. The hemline of her dress rose past her upper thigh. The sleeves rolled up her arms and disappeared altogether, exposing her shoulders. At the spell's end, she smoothed the fabric along her body, which had become a two-piece leopard print mini joined by a sheer black mesh that covered her midriff.

"Invisibility is an attitude." Shacklebolt smiled under Moody's silent gaze. "Well, how do I look?"

"Amazing..."

She cupped her ear. "What was that? I couldn't hear."

"Er...I said... I don't understand how this is going to get us in?"

She placed a hand on her hip and started to twirl her newly unfettered locks with her finger. "Start by asking me to dance." She bit her lip.

"Would you like to dance?" Moody enunciated clearly over the din.

"I thought you'd never ask." She took his hand and led him to the edge of the dance floor where she started to move with the music. He perceived her strategy and started to sway along with her, though at a respectful distance. She stopped, her hands on her hips. "What do you think you're doing, Alastor?"

"Er... you asked me to ask you to dance, didn't you, sir?"

"Not like you would with your mum at the Yule ball; if I don't believe you, their security won't either." She pushed him away. "And stop calling me sir!"

Shacklebolt left him and meandered deeper into the crowd...fishing. Her nails gently raked along the backs of two blokes on either side of her. A look over her shoulder was enough to steal them from their dance partners. She led them to the centre of the floor, one at her back and one at her front, the three of them fused together and moving as one to the music's primal beat.

Moody's jaw clenched. The way those two pairs of hands explored her made his blood boil...or maybe it was the way Shacklebolt egged them on. Her eyes seemed to tease him. He plowed his way through the dance floor, grabbed the blokes by the scruff of their collars and pulled them off of her. This act did not gain their favor, as one would expect, and they engaged the Auror, reaching into their pockets. Moody already had the hilt of his wand at the edge of his sleeve.

There was sparkle of light. The two men stopped their advance upon Moody and sauntered off, content to dance with each other instead. Shacklebolt concealed her wand before anyone took notice. Moody approached her, amused by the arrogance behind her mischievous smile.

She turned her back to him and continued to dance on her own.

He came upon her from behind and brushed her hair aside to expose the nape of her delicate neck. His fingers graced her shoulders and continued down to her arms. He leaned in and touched the curve of her neck with his lips.

She reached behind his head and pulled him closer. "Can you make me believe?"

His hands cradled her gyrating midriff, and he pressed against her tightly. Her shoulders moved loosely about and worked her body against his at every angle. Where she moved, he was obliged to follow. His hands dared to drift around her hips to indulge themselves in palmfuls of her round, supple flesh. Who is she dancing for?

They put on their private show up until the song's final riff, ending with an embrace. The couple stilled at the song's end, staring into each other's eyes.

Shacklebolt levitated off her tiptoes to a comfortable height. Their lips were so close they could feel each other's heat. "Yes..." She coaxed herself from Moody's arms and led him from the dance floor and past the guards.

They were believed.

The music was dulled behind the veil. Shacklebolt released Moody's arm, and the Aurors proceeded deeper into the maze of rooms...each one being sectioned off by its own privacy curtain.

Shacklebolt deigned to peek inside one of the rooms. She grimaced and closed the curtain. "Which one is it?"

Moody's lip curled. "I'm not sure."

"What do you mean you're not sure?"

"Believe it or not, I've never been back here."

"I believe you, Alastor, but we can't wander about all night." She straightened and folded her arms, employing a rather stern look.

Shacklebolt's sudden change in demeanour made Moody nervous, but he persisted. "We won't have to; her act is very unique." He took out his wand slyly and cast the spell, "Arboris Revelio." His wand led them to a remote room in the northwest corner. Moody sniffed the air and detected the scent of honeysuckle. "This is it."

The smell of honeysuckle was overpowering as they stepped inside. An older wizard sat just in front of a small stage; his attention remained focused on the entertainment, Pomona Sprout, who strutted around a large squash, wearing only a pair of emerald-green stilettos. Two vines followed her about, their large leaves served to conceal her woman parts. She kissed one of the tendrils, and it shot vertically erect into the ceiling. She grasped it firmly; her legs did the splits as she lowered herself over the gourd. The vine pulsated under her weight as she slid lower and lower...until the squash was gone. The old wizard rose from his chair, and he cheered, throwing his money on the small stage. Pomona finally took notice of the new entrants, yet she continued on with her seductive dance, her belly distended.

Moody approached the stage, although Pomona continued to ignore his presence. "I didn't realize that butternut squash was in season, Holly." He was careful to refer to Pomona by her stage name.

"I grow them myself." Using the vines for support, Pomona folded herself in half and eyed Moody from betwixt her legs. "Now, get out of here! Can't you see I'm with a client?"

"Sorry, Holly, but I require your expertise; it's a matter of life and death."

"Something's always a matter of 'life and death' with you. You'll have to wait until the end of my shift."

"DOWN IN FRONT, YA YOUNG PUNK!"

Moody obligingly stepped aside but still engaged Pomona. "It can't wait, love. I'm afraid I'm going to have to call in some markers."

She laughed as the vines swung her upside down. "What markers? There are no markers between us, you git!"

"No? What about my continued silence to Edgar Bones in regards to your... vocation, 'Cousin'?"

Pomona stared at Moody blankly. "I really do hate you."

Moody grinned. "I know."

The vines lowered Pomona at her command. "Come on, then."

However, her client was not happy. "Where are you going, Holly?"

"I'll be back in a blink, love," Pomona assured him while she collected the money on the stage.

"For how long?"

"Patience, Elphias." Pomona squatted over the old wizard. She bore down, and the squash fell into his lap. "If you're a good boy, mummy will make you very happy when she gets back."

"I-I can be a good boy, mummy."

Satisfied, Pomona led the two Aurors through the door situated behind the small stage. Once inside, she summoned a robe and promptly dressed herself. She paid the Aurors no mind as she kicked off her heels and sat at her vanity. She turned on the light and started to preen her flyaway hair. "Spit it out, then. I don't have all night."

Moody looked to Shacklebolt, who nodded in return. He handed Bunbley's manifest to Pomona. "What do you make of the items on this list?"

Pomona mulled over the list briefly and snorted. "Are you doing a survey, Alastor?"

"What if I was?"

"Then you should fire your contractor. Bloody amateurs... the items aren't even categorized correctly." She returned the manifest. "You know, I could do it for you properly...for a fee, of course."

"Hold on to that thought, love," Moody replied. "Would you say that the preponderance of these samples have any value?"

"That all depends. Where are the goods processed? Is there a distribution strategy? Do you have any buyers lined up? Have you taken the cost of licensing into account?"

"I have no idea." He shrugged. "Let's just keep it simple and assume everything will be run out of Wizarding Britain."

"Good luck there. The Herbology market is a tough nut to crack. On top of that, the tariffs would eat up any profits made from importing these specimens."

"But I just told you we would grow them domestically. Why would I import them?"

Pomona laughed. "You're serious?"

"Well, it's all theoretical, right?"

"Damn right it's 'theoretical': every single item on your list has been extinct in Wizarding Britain for at least a century."

Moody blinked. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," Pomona spat. "Most of the sustaining farmland in Wizarding Britain...the natural magic in the earth...has been plundered and defiled for generations. As a result, we must import a great deal of our goods."

"How could we let something like that happen, I wonder?"

For the first time, Shacklebolt deigned to speak. "Humans and nature have always been at odds."

"She's right," Pomona said. "Nature will always take the piss so long as people remain in the equation."

No people. Moody snorted in realization. "For the sake of argument, Pomona, what if these flora were found to be growing native?"

She shrugged. "It would be huge. Wizarding Britain would be virtually self-sufficient."

Moody shared a knowing look with Shacklebolt and continued, "You're talking about a fundamental shift in the economy, then?"

"Of course. A lot of money could be made." Pomona smiled in reverie as she put the finishing touches on her makeup. "If I could get in on the ground floor of something like that, I certainly wouldn't have to bother with getting up early for my interview with Dumbledore in the morning..."

Shacklebolt looked back in Pomona's direction. "Dumbledore of Hogwarts?"

"The same." Pomona sniffed haughtily. "He wants to hire me for a teaching position."

"You're going to be teaching?" Shacklebolt said, warily. "Children?"

"You got a problem with that, dearie?"

"I might..."

Moody wisely interrupted, putting himself between these women of incompatible temperaments. "What was that bit about acknowledging others, Queenie?" He was relieved when Queenie acquiesced.

That didn't stop Pomona from getting her last word in, however. "I'll have you know that some of us didn't have the good fortune of being born into a wealthy family, but that doesn't make me any less of a lady..."

Suddenly, there was loud rapping at the door. The voice on the other side sounded agitated. "Holly! Why do I have a paying customer sitting out here sniffing your squash!"

"Two seconds, Paul!" Pomona yelled back. She threw her hairbrush at the door, and the rapping stopped. "... Fookin' arsehole."

"We don't want to get you into trouble," Moody said, satisfied that he gotten all the information that he needed anyway. "We should be off."

"It's probably for the best." Pomona rose from her seat and regained her composure. "Sorry I couldn't be of more help."

"On the contrary, you've been extremely helpful, love."

Before he could leave, Pomona took Moody by the hand. "Listen, Alastor, you're not going to say anything to Eddie about my... profession and all, are you?"

"My lips are sealed, Cousin." He smiled and kissed her forehead.

The pounding on the door resumed. "HOLLY!" At the end of his patience, Paul let himself in. His face turned pink when he saw her hugging Moody. "You'd better not be turning tricks on my time!"

"Nothing of the sort, I assure you, Paul," Moody replied. "Holly here is my... cousin. I was just relaying news from back home."

He narrowed his eyes at Moody then turned his attention toward Shacklebolt, who had been standing quietly in the corner. "You're not one of my girls."

Shacklebolt returned Paul's glare. "You are correct."

"Get out, the both of ya." He pointed to Pomona. "And, you, get back out there and shake your tits!"

Pomona stormed out, cursing under her breath. "For Merlin's sake, you'd think a girl could have a minute to pee and soak her corns!"

Moody and Shacklebolt were escorted out of the building. The walk back to the car was unremarkable as they pondered on the direction that the mystery was taking them.

When he noticed Shacklebolt shuddering in the chill of the night, he took off his travelling cloak and draped it around her.

She straightened. "It's not necessary..."

"Take it." He persisted. "It's cold out."

"Thank you."

They walked a few more paces. Events of the case were not the only thing weighing on Moody's mind. "About what happened back there... if I was in any way untoward in my actions..."

"Don't do that."

"Sorry?"

"That annoying English predilection for apologizing when you have nothing to apologize for."

"Sorr...er...right." He put his hands in his pockets to keep them from fidgeting. "I just can't help but feel that you're angry with me."

She sighed. "It's just been a long night, Alastor."

"Pomona is not really my cousin, in case you were wondering."

Shacklebolt ignored the comment. It did, however, seem to encourage sharing her thoughts on the mission. "Your... performer friend was quite helpful, well worth the 'effort' it took to get the information."

Effort. Moody snorted at the word.

"In the absence of human interaction, the ecosystem up north has somehow healed itself over the centuries; it would certainly make for very lucrative real estate if the Ministry were to annex it."

"Were it not for those pesky, territorial giants, that is."

Shacklebolt nodded quietly. "Their removal is a compelling motive. However, there are still quite a few missing pieces to gather."

"Which invites the question, where do we find the next missing piece?"

"It's your lead, Alastor. You tell me."

Moody pursed his lips in thought. "I suppose we should turn our attention toward the murder weapon?"

"I would agree." She smiled reassuringly.

"In that case, Queenie, we'll have to spring Fletcher out of lockup."

"Who's Fletcher?"

"He's your generic, everyday scumbag who fancies himself a businessman. The wand used to kill Ozymandias looks suspiciously like one of his black market wands."

"I see. I have a friend in the clerk's office who can push the paperwork under the table." They arrived at the car. She stopped when Moody opened the door for her. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Pardon?"

"Is there any particular reason why you're holding the door for me now?"

"It's what a gentleman usually does for a lady, is it not?"

"I'm capable of opening my own door, thank you." She took off his cloak and handed it back.

"Fine, then."

Shacklebolt flinched when Moody slammed the door, and he paid her no further mind as they entered the car on their respective sides.