Chapter 2

A/N: Still not mine. Please review!

Moody's head emerged amid a dozen scattered leaflets, a scale model of a Firebolt, and a basket of merchandise from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Ash flooded his unprotected nose and forced out a whine that was neither sneeze nor cough. No one came, and he grumbled, finally cleared his throat, and gnashed his teeth.

"What? Oh, Mad-Eye." Harry Potter swept a lock of dark hair from his eyes and started toward the fireplace. "What now?"

"McGonagall."

"Obviously." Harry's tone was pure exasperation, but his expression was more resigned than anything. "But honestly, we're not even sure this falls under our jurisdiction. Aurors are Dark wizard catchers..."

"Don't talk down to me, boy." Moody blew a puff of soot at the young department head. "And a woman's dead. Minvera McGonagall's dead, and you're bothered about protocol?"

"Look, we're totally worried, okay? I put Weasley and Malfoy on the case, but a stabbing isn't exactly our territory. Magical Law Enforcement and Misuse of Muggle Artifacts want a piece of the pie, too." Harry pinched his nose in his fingers and rubbed absently at his scar. "I can share case updates with you, as you're retired personnel, but I don't even know how much I'll have. Honest."

Nearly knocking his head against the fire grate, Moody nodded. "Potter, if you need something, Floo. I can't get my hands dirty so much anymore – Polyxena, you know – but I want to be damn sure you're doing everything in your power."

"She was my Head of House," Harry said quietly. "I'll do more than that. I appreciate the offer, Mad-Eye."

Moody snorted, grunted, and pulled his head back toward his body. A grimy sleeve across his face caught the worst of the ash, and he turned to face the assembly in his kitchen.

"Well?" Polyxena tossed him a damp towel.

His answering shrug illuminated the entire conversation.

"Typically arrogant Potter." Snape caught the edge of Hermione's glower, but went on. "Admirable as defeating the Dark Lord was, I find that he's rested on his laurels these past years. Potter performs his duties as though encased in a permanent Bubble Head Charm."

"Mmph." Moody shifted, discomfited that he and Snape were in complete agreement.

"It has been seven years." Hermione hovered before the window to watch the children zooming around the garden on waist-high broomsticks. "Seven years gone, seven Horcruxes. Perhaps a copycat?"

"That's plausible." Snape joined her at the window in time to see Monica apprehend Albus and plunge a stick through a cheap, plastic locket. "But would a copycat not have used Dark magic?"

"No one is foolish enough to use Dark magic anymore." Hermione beckoned to the children. "And it's hard to find a store of Dark knowledge any longer. Too much was confiscated and destroyed." The Ministry's destruction of suspect books rankled with her a bit. Books were books and knowledge was knowledge, after all.

"Durmstrang teaches the Dark Arts," Polyxena said. "And many such books are still privately held. Papa's library has never been raided. If someone went to the trouble of stealing – "

"But they didn', did they?" Dung croaked. "Jus' ran 'er through."

"Yes." Polyxena gave an anxious sigh and waved to her own children. "Yes. It feels dangerous, though. I hate it, it's as though the Dark Lord's back."

* * *

"Victim fell facedown from the pavement into the street. Contusions on her forehead and hands consistent with the fall." Ginny suppressed a shudder and walked a slow circle around her former professor's body. "Knife gash in the back, about ten centimeters deep. No sign of magical interference. Where's the coroner?"

"Here, I'm here." Luna Lovegood crouched beside the body. "No sign of Dark magic anywhere."

"And no Dark Mark," Ginny said. "Luna, we need to get her out of the street. Can you give us a time of death?"

"Between six and eight AM." Luna's wand hovered in the air as she performed a standard spell. "Based on the rate of decomposition."

"She was bloody well stabbed, Ginny. With a Muggle weapon." Draco bobbed his foot up and down on the curb. "It was probably some Mudbl- Muggle born's parents."

"And the theory behind that?" Ginny tightened the belt on her pink trench coat and scowled at him. "The parents of 'some Muggle born,' who, by the way, have no idea who Minerva McGonagall is, bring a knife to Diagon Alley while they shop for school supplies?"

Draco smoothed his thinning blond hair. "Look, maybe some kid's Muggle sibling was pissed off they didn't get into Hogwarts. Surely their wizard brother would have pointed out the Headmistress."

"That makes no sense." Ginny motioned to the quill that was taking notes behind her. "There was no one out on the street when it happened, no witnesses. We talked to everybody who was in the Leaky Cauldron, and no Muggle came in or out. More likely it was a wizard who wanted a Muggle to get the blame. Malfoy, Floo Headquarters and get Potter for me. Luna, get Professor McGonagall to the morgue and let me know when you plan to autopsy."

Draco glowered, but shuffled off toward the Leaky Cauldron. Luna cast a quick Mobilicorpus, and McGonagall's sheet-covered body drifted toward Luna's Portkey.

"Get Potter for me." His lip curled as he whined Ginny's orders under his breath. Really, why had he even bothered to become an Auror? It wasn't as though he was struggling to make ends meet, even after the war. But Potter was suspicious, despite the life debt Draco owed him, and what better way to prove his good intentions than by taking the Auror exam? Of course... Draco heaved a sigh as he threw a pinch of Floo powder into the grate. Of course, Harry might have encouraged him to join only to humiliate him at the hands of Deputy Chief Ginevra Molly Weasley.

* * *

"It's worrisome." Polyxena spoke through the foam of her toothpaste, spat, and gazed into the thick, pink bubbles in the sink. "It's just...will you check on them again?"

Moody's magical eye spun until the blue disappeared completely. "Emma's asleep...wait...reading a Muggle comic under the duvet. Albus is...yes...there he is...sneaking leftover pudding."

"Bloody hell," she muttered, but made no move to leave. She threw herself down on the bed, picked up a book, tossed it aside, circled the room once, and threw herself down once more.

"The wards I've set up around this house," he growled. "We'll know if so much as a squirrel walks past."

Polyxena bit her lip. "But there's always a chance for surprise attack."

Moody dived across the bed and brought his lips roughly to hers. "Don't talk vigilance to me unless you mean business, lass."

"I always mean business." Their clothing fell away at the touch of her wand. "And I mean this: I want you to help the Auror Office. But do it carefully. Constant vig –" But the rest of her statement was lost in a tumble of blankets and limbs.

* * *

"How are you and Ginny getting on?" Potter smirked through the flames at his least favorite employee. "Enjoying each other's company, are you?"

"We're on the clock," Draco felt compelled to point out. "Maybe calling her Deputy Chief Weasley would be more appropriate?"

Potter laughed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Right, Auror Malfoy. So what've you got for me?"

Draco repeated the details in the dullest voice he could muster. Not that he was willing to admit it to Potter, but the Head of Gryffindor's death had shaken him to the core.

"Any theories?"

"A Muggle-born, maybe? Chief Weasley thinks not, but who else would use a knife?"

"Harz's lot," came the growl in Malfoy's left ear. "That's who."

Draco started and leapt three feet toward the fireplace.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE, laddie, constant vigilance." Moody stumped toward him. "Thanks for the details, Potter."

Harry glowered from the fire grate and vanished without another word.

"You've retired more times than Streisand," Draco said. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"You listen to me, laddie, that's no way to address a fellow Auror. I'm retired, but I'm consulting for you lot. Looks like you need it, too. Using the Leaky Cauldron's grate for official communications?" Moody's magical eye spun in every direction, finally fixing upon Draco. He scowled and continued in the voice Polyxena termed 'the crusty old general in his bivouac': "Anybody in this pub could be listening to the details of your case. Now, you'll address me as Auror Moody, and you'll show me the bloody crime scene."

"I didn't know you could leave the house without your wife's permission, Auror Moody," Draco said, but trudged back toward Diagon Alley.

"Changed her mind," Moody snapped. "Reckon she's worried about another attack, Auror Malfoy. Dark attacks, Stealth and Tracking. Seems to me, you should know all this. When did you start with the office? Yesterday?"

"Last week." Draco blushed and kicked a stone along the street. "Here's Chief Weasley."

"Auror Moody." Ginny extended a hand to him over the crime-scene tape that floated in midair. "Not here to take over my case, are you?" Professor McGonagall's death was personal – although not so personal she couldn't handle the case – and she wanted to solve it herself. She owed that much to her family, to Hermione, yes even to Harry. To all the Gryffindors she'd ever known.

"Depends on how you're running things," he grunted. "Officially, I'm here to consult."

"Ah, yes. Polyxena's rules." Ginny fought a smirk. "Well, you're welcome to observe, sir, but I don't think you'll find any problems on my end. We were here all night, and we're just about to release the crime scene. Not much evidence, honestly. No magic, no blood but the victim's. Thoughts?"

"Some. Nothing that makes much sense." Alastor took a swig from his flask. "You ever heard of Avery Harz?"