You are viewing a story from harrypotterfanfiction.com
Amidst the Ashes by TheHeirOfSlytherin
Chapter 2: Worries
A/N: Will be edited after betaed.
Harry stretched and yawned as he stepped out of the elevator and onto the Auror's department floor. He rubbed his eyes and made his way to his office. He stopped when Ron called his name and waited until his friend had caught up before continuing.
"Tired, mate?" he asked. "This case keeping you up at night?"
Harry shook his head slowly. "This case, any case, I can handle. It's the Halloween party that's keeping me up. Ginny won't stop talking about it; she's always planning and trying to get me involved. I don't think I can take anymore."
Ron gave him a sad smile and opened his office door for him, moving back for Harry to step through first. "Have you ever thought about just going along with it?"
"Are you coming to the party this year?"
"No." Harry ignored Ron's stares and read through the case file. "Has David gotten back to us about the writing?" he asked, not looking up.
"It's been almost ten years, Harry," Ron sighed. He ran a hand through his hair and stared at Harry with a look he hadn't seen in a long time. "It's time to let go."
They looked each other in the eye, challenging the other to give in first. They both knew who would look away first. And he did; Harry averted his eyes and stood up quickly. "I need to see David, he'll have the results by now."
"No!" Ron jumped back at the anger in his friend's tone and Harry calmed down, stuttering an apology. "No, Ron, I can't. I'm sorry."
Harry left his office, leaving his door open; he knew Ron would follow him to the Auror's office. He crossed the department floor and knocked once on the door, before entering. "Did you find out what it was, David?"
David turned his chair to face Harry and grinned. "Oh, yeah. It's ink."
"Ink?" Ron asked, entering.
David nodded, less enthusiastic than before. "Yep, common, every day red ink available in all stores for your writing pleasure. You can't exactly trace it."
"Damn," Harry murmured. "Did you get anything from the writing? Do you know what it means?"
David nodded. "That's obvious," he said. He picked up the piece of parchment he'd copied the message on to and read it out loud. "When the moon is full and the ghosts are out; well, the ghosts would be October 31st, Halloween, which I confirmed by the full moon." He turned and pointed to the date on the calendar on his desk. "Halloween is a full moon."
Harry grabbed the paper from his hands and read through the message over and over, then he picked up the calendar and placed them together. When he looked up, Ron could see in his eyes that he believed David. "I hate Halloween," he muttered softly.
The silence was awkward and David chose to look at the message rather than his boss. "You can tell from the way he wrote the message that's he angry."
Harry and Ron both turned to him, confused. He continued, his tone changing from light and carefree to sad and serious, "he wants something from you and he won't stop until he gets it."
Standing to his full height, Harry looked the man down, not moving until David looked back. "You know how to tell a person from the way they write?" he asked in disbelief.
David shrugged, his playful smirk back, and Harry thought for a second he had seen it before a long time ago. "I figured it would be an interesting class." Harry gave him a look that said he didn't believe him. "Fine, I followed a girl. But the class did pay off."
"That sounds more like you," Ron said.
David scoffed and shrugged. "Because that's a reputation I want; David Malloy, the guy who follows hot girls into classrooms. No," he shook his head. "That sounded wrong, pretend I never said that."
Harry chuckled lightly, forgetting his earlier worries, and Ron muttered how it was too late. He couldn't remember the last time he had truly laughed for no reason.
"What now, boss?"
Harry looked up quickly. "What?"
"Is there anything else you want me to check out before I go?" David asked.
Harry shook his head, no. "Where are you going?"
David stood up, grabbing his coat, and pulled it on. He fixed the collar, then answered Harry. "The crime scene is closed a little longer, I thought I'd take a look for myself, see if we missed anything. It's easier to do when you're actually there, not just staring at pictures."
"That's a good idea," Harry agreed. "Go." David picked up his wand from his side and placed it in his pocket, nodding once to Harry and Ron, before leaving. Harry narrowed his eyes confused; David's wand looked different to the one he had before he had left for his holiday, yet it looked strangely familiar to him.
Sighing and blaming it on lack of sleep, Harry placed the note and the calendar back onto David's desk and and turned to leave.
"Don't think this is over, Harry," Ron murmured. "We need to talk about this. This will kill you if we don't."
Harry turned his head slightly, so Ron could just see the sarcastic glare on his face. "Funny, where were you when I needed to talk ten years ago?"
He spun the spoon in careless circles in his drink and stared out into the street. The morning sun was rising, making it's way to noon, and the crowd was beginning to thin; people were working, schools were in session, mums were running errands.
He was watching.
No one noticed him, sitting alone, staring into the street. Good. Now was not the time for him to be seen, that time would come soon enough. For now he only needed to be heard.
He glanced down at the Daily Prophet, the murder staring him in the face. It had made the front page naturally. It was the biggest case of the year and the Aurors knew nothing. Everything was being timed perfectly. October had started with a bang, but it was the finale he was waiting for.
When it all started.
He folded the paper and put it away as a waitress came with his breakfast.
"Here you go, sir," she said, smiling. "Can I get you anything else?"
He shook his head. "No, thank you," he glanced at her name tag, "Annie."
His smile caused her to blush and she looked down at his hands, rather than his face. "Did you hurt yourself, sir?"
He lifted his hands up, inspecting them. "Oh no, it's just a bit of ink. I can't quite get it off," he answered. "Please, you don't need to call me 'sir', it makes me feel old."
"Well, what should I call you?" she asked.
"It's Moon," he replied, picking up his fork. He grinned. "Theo Moon."