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Disclaimer: What you recognize, it belongs to J. K. Rowling. What you do not recognize, it belongs to me.
Author's Note: You'll see a song with every chapter. That song, of course, does not belong to me but since I have a movie soundtrack obsession, I figured I could bring that here to help set the mood. If you happen to have the song that I point out, listen to it while reading this. If you don't, then it's alright! I'm sure you can enjoy this story regardless.
Author's Note #2: Jami was awesome enough to not only provide with the title to this fic but also the medical/science help! Thank you! And for that I say that you must check out her Marauder's Fic: Before They Fall (M). Also! CambAngst was awesome enough to once again beta for me. So please! Check out his stories such as Marked (M) or Conspiracy of Blood (M). You're missing out if you're not!
Her hot pink heels clucked against the laboratory’s pristine floor with every rapid step she took towards the director’s office. She weaved through the numerous hallways and several security doors thinking of what had just happened. And most importantly, what they needed to change in order to prevent the horrible outcome from happening again.
The experiment had failed despite the high probability of success. They had transferred the same virus strand that had worked flawlessly with the lab rats into the subjects, but instead of reaching the desired outcome, the subjects died. She had watched from behind the glass window as the subjects’ bodies began to show signs of failure; their antibodies had begun a battle against the virus and in the end had lost.Their temperature had increased dramatically to the point of developing second to third degree burns. It looked as if they had literally caught on fire from within. The doctors had done everything possible to help them but in the end all three subjects had died due to their body’s inability to sustain the virus and the burns it had caused. She never bothered to learn their names; they were test subjects not people she was going to have over for tea. She did, nonetheless, appreciate their sacrifice, for they had died for the sake of science. Something she could only hope for in the end of her own life.
After minutes of walking she finally arrived at her destination feeling rather nervous about her meeting; it needed to get done no matter how much she was dreading it. Before daring to knock, she straightened the name badge on her left lapel, made sure that no strands of her dark hair were loose and checked to see that her clothes were wrinkle free. There was nothing she could do about the blood stains on her lab coat, much to her dislike. She always took pride in matching her own appearance to that of the immaculate lab. As her grandmamma always used to say ‘cleanliness is next to godliness’. The only thing she could do from now on was to learn from this mistake and keep a spare coat in her locker just in case. This ritual of hers wasn’t something she did because she was attracted to the man. In fact she was terrified of him. She had witnessed the director’s volatile mood many times and its terrible outcome. The last thing she wanted to do was to give him more reasons to be mad at her.
She took a deep breath, knocked once and waited; her clipboard was becoming heavier with each passing moment. She knocked again and prayed that he wasn’t in for the day. That way she could just let herself in, place the files on his desk and leave without having to face him. She knocked one last time with no answer; a small, victorious smile crept up her face. She was about to unlock the door with her key when the lock clicked and the door opened by itself. Moments like these were the ones that both terrified and fascinated her. They went against everything science stood for but it was real. The director’s magic was real.
She poked her head in and found him sitting behind his desk typing away on his laptop. If it weren’t for the natural light coming in from the large windows behind him, she would’ve found him in total darkness save for the light coming off his computer’s screen. She hesitated for a moment at the threshold, wondering if she should just leave him to whatever he was doing. “If you wish, I could come back later,” she said. Internally she was proud that she had managed to keep the fright away from her voice.
“No, come on in,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here, to be honest. I’m just about done with this file, so I need you to take it to Murphy after you’re done reading through them. Now tell me, what can I do for you, Cassandra?” he asked as the printer’s power button started flashing and printing the paperwork he’d just finished spat out onto the tray in precious quick movement.The file piqued her curious mind but she needed to deliver the bad news first before dwelling in other matters.
“Experiment 0253 failed, sir,” she explained as she handed him the files. “All three subjects died of the result of extremely high temperatures. When we tried to lift them onto a trolley, everywhere we touched them, their pores began to seep with blood. There was nothing we could’ve done to save them, sir.” She cringed internally as he began to flip through the files. He was a man in his late forties, with brown hair trimmed in the military fashion and stern brown eyes.
“Perhaps we need to go back to the first virus we were successful with and modify it,” he said. “Are the subjects from experiment 038 still leading a normal life?”
Cassandra pulled out what appeared to be a rectangular compact mirror but in in fact it was both her mobile and personal holographic tablet. “Yes, sir," she said as she pulled up the files. "Mr. Alex Pettridge-subject four of that particular experiment- has been married for a while and his wife just delivered a healthy child. The baby girl is six months old and is already showing signs that the virus has been passed on to her as well. Apparently, according to the update we received from Mr. Pettridge, she has managed to levitate her own soft toy towards her. And I’m sure you’re well aware of the activities the first successful offspring?
“Aye, leading a political career in London. Can’t say that I agree but it is his life to lead, not mine.” She knew that the director bore no love for politicians of any kind. Then again, she didn’t know if he loved anything save for the laboratories he had created along with his old friend. Cassandra had been his assistant for over five years, yet she didn’t know much about the man before her. Thanks to the picture he kept on his desk, all she knew is that he was once a happy child from a happy family. Aside from that, she couldn’t recall any detail about him that would stand out of the ordinary. “Tell Anderson to re-evaluate the virus strand from our very first successful test subject.”
“And the bodies of the last three subjects?”
“They’re being examined by Meadors sir, but it is merely a standard procedure.”
“Did they sign the waivers before they agreed to do the study?”
“Yes sir and their families will be compensated for their loss. I’ve contacted our team of lawyers, just in case the families decide to sue us.”
“Good,” he grinned at her, sending her chills all over her body. “I’m glad you’ve thought of everything, Cassandra, and that you’ve already taken care of it. This way, you will have time to look through these papers next, instead of fussing over small details.” From a cabinet, he took the long piece of wood that always sparked fascination in her. Her scientist mind wanted to take it from him, cut it in half and examine it, but Cassandra knew better than to act on those impulses. Instead she watched with allure as he flicked his wrist and the papers flew towards her and landed in front of her in neat pile. She scanned through the ten page information report on a person she had never heard of. “Harry Potter. Who is he, sir? If I may ask.”
The director stood from his chair and limped towards the window. She could tell that he was tense and hurting just by his posture as he leaned on his cane. “He’s the man who took everything I loved from me, Cassandra, and in return I’m going to take what is important to him: his magic.”
Well, what do you think about this prologue? I know it doesn't say much but that's the point of a prologue! Any comments and/or critiques, let me know! Don't forget to review!
Special Thanks To: CambAngst aka Dan, aka JK Rowling in disguise. He was awesome enough to Beta-Read this for me. Please do yourself a favor and read anything by him. Whatever you chose, it'll blow your socks off. You're seriously missing out if you haven't read any of his stories.
Disclaimer: What you recognize belongs to JKR. Anything else, they belong to me. Thank you!
Song: In the Morning Light by Yanni
Album: In the Mirror (1997)
“Would you just think about it, Ronald?” When Ron Weasley looked into his wife’s brown eyes and saw the determination they held, he knew that he wasn’t going to get away that easily. He had known her for as long as he could remember and knew perfectly well that once she had set her mind on something, there was no way she would let go of it anytime soon. Ron could already see the steps she would take in his mind. First she would get mad at him for refusing, followed by the reasoning behind her idea before taking the final step: silent treatment. That was the step he was dreading the most. The last time she’d given him the silent treatment, it had lasted well over a month. You never realize how much you can miss something until it's taken away from you.
“Why are you so obsessed about this, ’Mione?” he asked as he tapped his mug to fill it with more orange juice before he settled himself once again on his chair. “I’ve only been in the force for about thirty years. When I first started, there were blokes who had survived the war and were there for over fifty years before they even started to think about retirement. I’m still young!” And in brilliant shape at that, he thought.
She walked up behind his chair before giving him a peck on the cheek, her arms gently wrapping over his shoulders in a hug; a comforting gesture that always relaxed him when he was stressed out. “I know that, Ron. But you-and Harry for that matter-started fighting dark wizards when we were eleven years olds. The other blokes you worked with had a much more peaceful childhood. We didn’t. And I just think that we ought to be able to relax and enjoy ourselves for once. Go travel, do things we want to do instead of raising children and work."
“I wouldn’t think of Quirrell as a dark wizard per se,” Ron argued as he got a whiff of Hermione’s scent; he could smell the freshness of her garden along with a hint of the coconut shampoo she always used as her long graying tresses tickled his face. She always fussed about her graying hair, and the suddenly appearing wrinkles. Although to Ron, she was just as beautiful as the day they admitted their love for one another. Hermione kissed him again on the other cheek. “Please think about it?” Another kiss on the lips, just to give him a taste of what might come...if she got her way. In a teasing tone she added, “please?”
Ron tried his best to not start giggling like a silly school girl as his wife sat on his lap and continued to kiss him, showing just how much she wanted him to think long and hard about his retirement. She had apparently been working on a new tactic to convince him and right now, as far as Ron knew, it was working. “Fine. Alright," he finally relented, "I’ll think it over, but don’t be angry if I reach a conclusion you don’t like.” Hermione smiled at him with that giddy smile that he liked so much, and always had a way of exciting him. He wrapped his arms around his wife's waist, giving her a firm caress making it clear of what he wanted, and gave her a passionate kiss.
“Oh bloody hell, stop it! Gross!” Hermione broke away from Ron, startled, to find to find their youngest son, Hugo, standing in the kitchen’s entrance. Thanks to Charlie’s influence, Hugo had started to grow his hair out and now, at twenty-two, it was every girl’s dream; according to Ron's many nieces, long, wavy hair was the ‘in’ thing young witches wanted.
“Does no one say good morning in this house?” Ron asked as Hermione regretfully slid off his lap. Silently, he cursed his son’s early rise. He had already fancied himself getting lucky before work, and the look Hermione was giving him said he might have been right.
“I’m sorry Dad; my morning greeting disappeared along with my appetite as soon as I spotted my parents snogging in the kitchen. The place people eat, you know. Don’t you people do that in private to begin with?”
“You’re up early, sweetheart, I thought you were off today and going to sleep in.” Hermione’s cheeks were still red but she managed to move on from the incident as if she hadn’t been caught red-handed.
"Lorcan wants to meet up with me today. ‘Bloke's day’ he called it."
“Will you be meeting us for Nana Diana’s dinner?”
“I believe so,” he said as he fetched his blue scarf from the chair and wrapped it around his neck. After one quick sweep into the fridge, one of the few muggle things Hermione couldn’t let go, he gave his mother a kiss on the cheek. “I really hope she’s making her meatloaf tonight. In the meantime, I ought to get going now. Lorcan must be waiting for me,” he said as he shoved Ron’s last piece of bacon in his mouth. Ron sighed and looked at his plate with sad eyes; his eggs and toast looked rather naked without his favorite morning food. His son had a lot of cheek.
“Alright, be careful, Hugo.”
“Don’t worry Mum,” said Hugo with a dismissive wave of his hand and a smile. “Just hanging out with Lorcan. I'll see everybody at Nana’s.”
“Alright, just don’t be late!” Ron called out as their son walked out of the room.“You know how Nana Granger can be when it comes to time.”
“I won’t, Dad!” he shouted before he disapparated with a loud pop.
Ron groaned as he looked at his watch. “Speaking of leaving…I must get going as well, sweetheart.” With a few surgical swipes of his spoon, Ron finished off his breakfast before downing the entire mug of orange juice. Something he immediately regretted as it went down the wrong way.
After the alarming coughing fit, he straightened his robes and bid his wife a good day. “So you promise me that you’ll think about it?”
“Yes, ‘Mione, I’ll think it through.” He thought of carrying his wife to the bedroom and enjoy some personal time with her now that the house was empty. As tempting as that thought was, however, he was running late and his boss didn’t appreciate tardiness. Things would have to wait until after dinner with the Granger family and this time he’d hex his son if he dared to interrupt them.
With one last kiss, Ron left the house and with a blink of an eye, and a lot of concentration, he found himself on one of the designated apparition points within the Ministry’s atrium.
Right after the war, the Ministry of Magic did a complete about face, both in terms of the way things were run and the building itself. The most obvious change was the removal of the Magic is Might sculpture, Voldemort’s offensive replacement for the Fountain of Magical Brethren. In their stead was a large black monument honoring those who had died fighting or had been victims. Every time Ron found himself staring at the monument he would find the familiar names. Specially the one that still hurt no matter how much time passed.
Greeting everyone he knew as he walked towards the lift that would take him to his office on Level Two, Ron mulled over his conversation with Hermione. The idea of not having to wake up early to come to work, to travel the world with his wife and to live a quiet life after many years of chaos was indeed tempting. He knew that if things got boring, he could always help out his brother in one of the many Wizard Wheezes stores. He still felt young, however, and well capable of hunting dark wizards for many years to come if Hermione would stop thinking about retirement.
As he stepped out of the lift, Ron bumped into a young recruit whose name he couldn’t remember, let alone recall the last time he’d seen him. He was a scrawny boy, apparently fresh out of the training academy, with hazel eyes and brown hair. Ron tried, with all his might, to picture the young lad in front of him dueling against a Neo-Death Eater and winning. But after much thought he couldn’t believe the kid in front of him could even be capable of surviving the first minute of a duel. For the sake of peace and tranquility in their world, perhaps retirement wasn’t a good idea.
“Good morning, lad.”
“Sir, the Head of Office wishes to talk to you as soon as possible. He sent me to fetch you just in case you were in your office already.” As the young man talked, Ron wondered if he was ever like that when he first joined-too annoyingly perky in the morning.
“Is he in his office?”
“Yes, sir,” he answered with a single head nod and a beaming smile.
“Better not make him wait, then. Thank you, lad!”
“It’s Hunter, sir.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“My name.” Hunter explained with a sly grin across his face. “Just in case you forgot.”
Cheeky bastard, Ron thought, as a lie formed in his head. “No, no, of course not. Just, you know, I like calling everyone ‘lad’. Well, better get going; don’t wish to make the boss wait any longer.”
“Right. Have a good day, sir!”
Without bothering to respond, Ron made his way to the Head of Office wondering how he was going to approach the whole retirement idea with him. Would he take it kindly? Wholeheartedly agree? Ron had no idea but when he knocked on the door he knew that he needed to talk to him. Or at least to get a second opinion on the matter. “You called for me, Harry?”
“Morning, Ron.” Harry Potter, his Head of Office (and his best friend) greeted Ron without bothering to look up from whatever paperwork he was doing. “Come on in; I want to talk to you about something.” His office was small compared to the other Heads of Office. The only thing that kept the lack of space from driving Harry mad was the enchantment placed on the windows that mimicked the weather outside and the filing cabinets with an Extension Charm. Ron took a quick look around the office and it dawned on him that the place hadn’t changed at all since the first day they had set foot in it as Aurors in Training.
“Yeah, I just wanted to talk to you about a few things without being interrupted,” he said as he scribbled rapidly on a piece of parchment. “The Minister wants me to update everyone’s personal profile, just to make sure everything’s up to date. Did you know that Ravastan has been married five times?”
“No…but now I do.”
“Anyway, I wanted to ask you something.” He took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. His hair was still as messy as it was when Ron had first met him, however, the jet black was slowly turning white and the wrinkles around his eyes started to show his friend’s age. Perhaps Hermione was right, he thought as he started to ponder on his own looks. His ginger hair had lost its vibrant color and it was not only turning white but also thinning on the top. His wife thought it cute, that it made him resemble his father, but it only made him feel old. It wasn’t the first time he’d wondered what had happened to him. “Would you be capable of taking care of the department for me?”
Ron blinked. “What do you mean? Is everything alright with you?”
“Yes, nothing to worry about,” Harry reassured Ron. “I only ask because Ginny is talking about me retiring and well…the idea doesn't sound too bad, really."
Ron narrowed his eyes. “Has she said something about you battling evil wizards since the tenderage of eleven and that she wants to see the world with you?”
“Yes,” Harry replied slowly.
“Hermione said the same thing to me! I think those two witches are conspiring together.”
“You think they’ve been talking?”
“Of course I think so.” Ron replied. “They want us to retire while the young ones take care of the threats.”
After a few seconds of pondering, Harry asked. “So what do you think?”
“To be honest, part of me is tired of waking up early and come to work. I can still handle it, mind you, and I can take a few dark wizards with my eyes closed if necessary.” He paused for a moment and a small smile crept up his face. “Do you remember those days right after the war?”
“Which ones?” Harry asked with a snort. “The ones where I was hiding from every witch and wizard who wanted to take a picture, shake my hand, or marry me? Or the ones where we rarely got any sleep due to small skirmishes from the Death Eaters that managed to get away?”
Ron shook his head. “No mate, the wanna be Death Eaters!”
Harry tried to hide his laugh with a cough. “Remember when we chased Arshan through an alley and he tried to jump a fence?”
Ron started laughing at the memory. “Bloody idiot got his robes caught on the fence and ended up face planting the flagstone.”
“I still wonder why he didn’t just Disapparate!” Both men continued to laugh at the memory of days gone by and it was a few minutes before they managed to regain their composure. “Those were the days.”
“Aye,” Ron agreed. “I hate to say this but part of me still misses it. The adrenaline. The thrill of knowing we made a difference. Do you honestly think the next generation of Aurors can handle this if we just leave?”
Harry sighed. “We are not leaving tomorrow, Ron. It’ll take some training and preparation before we can even bring this idea to the Minister. Also, Shacklebolt’s daughter just began her training. She’s good and with proper training she’ll be one of the best, just like her father.”
Ron sighed and nodded in agreement. He had seen Regina Shacklebolt’s performance during evaluation and had not been surprised by her talent. With Kinglsey as her father and Portia, a retired Quidditch player, it was no wonder she had aced all the preliminary tests of skill and agility. “The good thing is that with all the work we’ve put in, the worst of the country’s dark wizards were sent to Azkaban years ago or are dead. The ones that are still out there are nowhere near as powerful or dangerous as Voldemort and his minions.”
“Definitely not.” Harry agreed, the memories of the war started to creep into his mind. “Eh...tell you what, mate. I’ll speak with the Minister about the possible idea of us retiring. Maybe you and I can sit down with him and come up with a plan. As much as I would love to just hang my cloak and travel with Ginny, I think there’s more you and I can do. Imagine if we take Regina Shacklebolt and other recruits that are strong as she is and mold them into the perfect Auror department? We can’t walk away just yet...However, I do agree...you and I are not getting any younger. I just hope the Minister will take the news kindly.” Harry paused for a moment and sighed. “Speaking of Hughes, Ron, he’s been asking about that report about Runkin for about a couple of days.”
Montgomery Runkin was a middle aged wizard who, after losing a bet at a pub in Liverpool, had decided to seek revenge on the man who had ‘stolen’ his hard earn gold, Tristan Carlyle. Runkin broke into Carlyle’s home and had beaten the victim to death. The body had been found by his now widow, Elaine Carlyle, when she arrived home from holiday. Ron had been the primary investigator for the case along with two young Aurors who lost their lunch the minute they saw the body. It had taken some time but in the end, Ron had solved the case, giving Mrs. Carlyle the peace of mind of knowing that her husband’s killer was now serving life in Azkaban.
“Right then, must get going now.” Ron felt abashed. Here he was going on about young Aurors who might be be able to hand the job, when he himself hadn’t even started on the paperwork. “Those reports about Runkin are not going to write themselves.”
“When did he find out?” Brigadier Lance Mortlock asked as he set a file down on his desk.
“Hard to say when exactly,” Major Marion Johnson answered as she took a tablet out of her satchel to pull up the same file the Brigadier had to add the most recent information regarding the tutor. “But he didn’t take too kindly of what we were doing with the children. You would think that he would like that, the integration of humans and wizards after boasting about his Mum being part of the so-called Second Wizarding War, but he clearly didn’t. He told Magdalena that he was going to tell everyone who would listen to him about us and hopefully put a stop to our work. By regulation, they cannot come and harm us, “poor, defenseless muggles”, but I am afraid of the possible weight they may have with some of our high ranking officials or our Prime Minister.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about the Minister, Johnson,” Mortlock said with a simple hand wave. “What we need to worry about is him telling the wrong people what we’re doing. The children must continue their education within the Infinity Academy and their families must continue to reside within its vicinity. Get our best trackers, Johnson, and give them this assignment. He must be stopped from telling anyone of what we’re doing by any means necessary.”
“Yes, sir. Immediately, sir.”
Mortlock watched as the Major walked out of his office at full speed before starting his video conference. Most of the tutors working for the Academy were unaware of what exactly what they were doing. All they knew was that they were helping young muggle-born children begin their magical training earlier than what was expected. A primary school for human children with very special needs, Mortlock had always said. However, someone had breached their contract by telling a wizard the truth about the Academy.
He dialed Sergeant Connor and told him of the breach and how it needed to be taken care of considering that the wizard had been working in his unit. Connor, a stern man in his late forties, agreed and said he had a suspicion of who it had been.
After they ended the call with simple parting words, Brigadier Mortlock opened the wizard’s file and memorized his face. He always did that when it came to ordering necessary executions.
For King and Country. That’s why he was doing all of this.
For King and Country.
After an uneventful day at work, Ron bid Harry a good night and left the office to deliver the report that Minister Hughes wanted. He said his goodbyes to those colleagues that still remained in the Ministry and apparated home to find himself being rushed about by his wife, who demanded him to be in proper clothes within thirty minutes; twenty if possible.
He managed to shower, shave and be ready within Hermione’s expectations and felt proud of himself when he ready to go before Hermione, who was doing last minute touch-ups of her make up. Once Hermione was ready, she descended the stairs and looked wildly around, clearly not bothering to acknowledge the fact that he had been ready long before her.
“Hugo is not back, is he now?” she asked as she began to ring him with her mobile without waiting to hear Ron’s answer. Ron didn’t quite understand why she had one, considering that she never really used it except to get in touch with the kids.
“It’s a lot faster this way, Ronald,” she had said when they bought the kids their first mobile phones for Christmas. “We can ring them while they’re out with their muggle friends. Can’t be very convenient to send an owl, now can it?”
Ron waited silently and watched as his wife began to look more crossed with each passing ring. “Went straight to voicemail,” she said with a stern tone. "Right, well we can’t very well wait for him all night. We best get going, Rosie is already with Mum.”
“Right,” said Ron. After so many years of marriage, he knew better than to contradict Hermione in any way, shape or form when she was irritated. Therefore, he gave her a reassuring smile, held his arm out for his wife to take, and together they disapparated to Nana Granger’s house.
He could feel his mobile vibrating from his pocket but he couldn’t quite reach it. His Mum was probably ringing him right now to ask where he was and why he wasn’t at Nana Granger’s house.
‘Well Mum, I’m in a bit of a fix,’ he thought as he struggled against the bindings. His wand had been taken away from him so even if he managed to untie himself he was at a loss of what to do after. He was locked in the boot of a car as if he were common luggage, and driving full speed down a busy motorway.
Lorcan’s owl had arrived at the crack of dawn carrying a letter that had asked-almost begged it seemed- to meet for breakfast; but to be discreet if anyone asked where he was going. Hugo was confused about the secrecy, even a bit alarmed, but he did what he was told so by pure loyalty. He had met Lorcan in a seedy muggle inn where he had breakfast while Lorcan told him how muggles were taking young muggle-borns into their "school" and brainwashing them. He had been hired by Headmaster Connor, a muggle-born himself, to help young muggle kids understand how magic worked. “An introduction to magic,” he had called it.
At first Lorcan had been excited to have such a job right after Hogwarts. To be able to teach young muggle-borns how to handle magic before they came to Hogwarts was a great responsibility. However, a few months back, he had spoken with Headmistress McGonagall and she had told him, as far as she knew no such school existed. At least not under the Ministry of Magic. That left Lorcan a bit suspicious and he had asked Magdalena, the girl that had helped him get the job and a fellow Ravenclaw house mate, about the truth behind the Infinity Academy.
It was then Lorcan had found the truth.
His mobile was ringing again. It was probably Rosie ready to chew him out for not coming to Nana’s and being the reason for Mum’s anger.
He screamed as loudly as he could but thanks to the clothing and tape over his mouth it only came as a weak, muffled moan. He had no idea who these people were. All he knew was they were strong, and most importantly dangerous; the surprise attack and his pounding head were enough of a testimony to let him know that he needed to cooperate with them no matter what.
As the tears started to sting his eyes, he had to admit he was rather scared. He wanted nothing more than to be home with his Mum and Dad, having dinner with Nana, making fun of his sister and of her dear Scorpio as he usually did when he saw her.
But now...he was in the boot of a car with Lorcan and with no idea if he was going to see him family ever again.
“It’s very odd of Huey to not answer his mobile, Dad, I’m worried about him,” Rose Weasley whispered to her father as they apparated back into her parents' house. Nana Granger, despite her age, was a fantastic cook and had lamented that Hugo had not been able to make dinner due to work. Or at least that’s what her mother had said to keep Nana Granger from worrying about her youngest grandchild. “You know very well how he is, Dad. If he could get away with it, he would use a Sticking Charm to securely keep his mobile by his ear at all times.”
“I know, Rosie, but maybe he’s just being a prat and decided to not show up for dinner. Instead of being a decent human being and letting us know, he decided not to answer it or even show up for tea. Don’t worry too much about it, sweetheart,” he said as he gave Rose a small kiss on the forehead. “I’m sure he’s fine. However, do us all a favor and do keep him in your thoughts…your Mum will not let him sly his way out of this one. I almost feel bad for him. Anyway, will you be staying over with us tonight?”
“Yeah, I’m just going to make myself a cup of tea, though.”
“Alright. Good night, Rosie.”
“Good night, Dad.”
Rose waited for the sound of their parents' bedroom door closing before she took her mobile out of her satchel. Scorpius wasn’t much of a fan when it came to muggle technology but Rose loved everything about them. They were magical in their own way and she had tried to explain that to her boyfriend but he would just look more confused with each passing moment. She rang her brother several times and knew, by now, that something was not right. He wouldn’t screen her calls. Mum’s, she could believe, but not his partner in crime.
She paced back and forth wondering what to do. She knew that her brother was meeting with Lorcan, one of his best mates from school, but anything beyond that was a mystery. Rose released a frustrated sigh and plopped herself on the couch. There was no way she could go to sleep knowing that her little brother was not home, safe and sound.
And Rose knew that no matter how her parents were behaving they were also worried about her brother’s whereabouts.
Sergeant Brandon Miller had arrived to the chaotic scene early in the morning. As he spotted his partner and superior, Detective Chief Inspector William Braxton, already hard at work, he wished he had arrived a bit earlier; his son and morning traffic had prevented him from beating Braxton and knew he wouldn’t hear the end of it.
“This one is messy.” Miller overheard Scott, the coroner in charge, say to DI Braxton as he joined the group. Braxton nodded to Miller in acknowledgement and asked Camille Scott to continue. “He was beaten to a bloody pulp, has a cracked cranium and several broken ribs. No gun wound as far as we can tell.” They walked up to the crime scene and body, covered in a white tarp, and looked around to see what they could collect for evidence without touching anything to prevent contamination.
Braxton pulled his small, black pocketbook and began to jot down some quick notes.. “A dark alley, it’s almost the perfect crime scene. No one can see anything from here and I bet you if we ask around, no one heard a bloody thing.”
“Your victim didn’t die here," stated Camille as she put a fresh pair of gloves on. She pulled the white tarp back and started to point in different parts of the body. "Your victim has a bloody nose and jaw but there's no blood on the pavement. Also, see how his hair is matted with blood?” She pointed to the head; the victim’s natural hair color was hard to see from all the dried blood. “Head wounds are always very dramatic. Even if you were to gash yourself on a cabinet door, you’ll bleed so much you’ll think you have to go see a medic. There’s no puddle of blood big enough to tell me that your victim died here. My guess is that he died elsewhere and dropped off here."
Braxton jotted everything the examiner was saying to keep a personal record of the scene. "Have tests done on him for drugs in his system," he ordered. "This could be gang related just like last week’s case." Camille nodded in agreement as she covered the body once more and proceeded get the ambulance medic to take it away to the morgue.
Once she was out of sight, Braxton uncovered the body and very gently lifted an arm to get what he had seen peeking from underneath the victim's body. "Miller do you have a handkerchief with you?"
Miller dug through his pockets and found a wad of napkins he had mindlessly stuffed in his trousers when he was helping his son. "No, no handkerchief. Would a napkin work, sir?"
"That would work just fine, Miller. Thank you." Miller gave Braxton several napkins and watched as the detective began to pull something from underneath the body. To a regular detective, the stick was worthless, not even worth of bagging as part of the investigation. To Miller and Braxton, that stick, with its intricate design and shape, meant a lot.
"Is that what I think it is, sir?"
"You're thinking right Miller, this is a wand." The older detective sighted as he straightened up, his joints hurting with each second. "And now I'm beginning to think that this is more than a gang related crime."
“Last time we dealt with that division was when they had a killer on the loose and he ended up killing a lot of our people.”
“And now they’re the ones who are ending up in our streets.” Braxton covered the wand with a few more napkins to preserve any fingerprints it may have and tucked it gently in his inner coat pocket. “Let’s go back to the office, we have to get in touch with Potter and Weasley right away and see if they can identify the body.”
Ah! I've finally updated!! This chapter has been completed for a while but decided to go ahead and post it. Got comments? Please, tell me what you think!! I'll take any good CC. Thank you!
Disclaimer: What you recognize belongs to JKR. Anything else, such as characters, it belong to me. Thank you for reading! Enjoy!
Song:Opening by Nicholas Hooper
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince OST 2009
Harry arrived to his office half an hour early. His plan was to finish some paperwork he had procrastinated doing for a few weeks. However, as he approached his office he was appalled to find the door slightly ajar. For Harry, it was a ritual to properly lock his door and add a few spells to make sure his space was protected every night after leaving. The distrust he had towards the Ministry was not something he could shake away after a few years of working for them. It was a distrust that lasted a lifetime. If they were capable of abusing their power to slander a teenage boy and make false arrests, just to look as though they were doing their job, what could possibly stop the people higher up from going through Harry’s office?
He listened carefully for any sounds coming from inside, like the shuffling of feet or the rummaging of his filing cabinet. The only sound he could hear, however, was something that closely resembled an angry bear. Harry racked his brain for any possible creatures that could have made it past security or any enemy he might’ve angered off recently; he had too many of them to really keep track of anything he had done recently.
He went for the spare wand he kept strapped on his right thigh and swiftly opened the door; he was not going to give whatever or whoever was there any chances to escape or attack. As ready Harry was to fight his intruder, nothing prepared him to find Ronald Weasley snoring away on the sofa Ginny had given him when he had been promoted. For a second, Harry aimed his wand at Ron but resisted the urge to hex him into St. Mungo’s. Instead he focused on taking several slow breaths to calm his nerves and rushing adrenaline.
Once his heartbeat had gone back to normal, Harry went back to the entrance to fetch for the briefcase he had left behind. He proceeded to walk to his desk and from his briefcase he extracted his quill, blank parchment paper and reports he still needed to read over and approve.
As Harry was settled for the day he contemplated on how boring and slow his day would be. Then an idea struck him and a small smirk form on his face. He went to his small bookcase and picked the heaviest leather bound book Hermione had given him-what it was about, he wasn’t sure. Using his wand, he levitated the book to the coffee table by the sofa Ron was snoring from. Once Harry made sure that the book would land on the center, he levitated the book as high as the ceiling would let him and without thinking twice, he brought it down with force.
The ear splitting bang caused Ron to choke during mid-snore and spin so fast out of the sofa that he fell face first. It also resulted in a colleague sending Harry a somewhat snarky message later in the day about how he was disrupting other people and their very important work.
“Whazzat?” Ron asked as he scrambled to his feet, too groggy to fully function or know what was going on. Harry couldn’t contain himself and busted out laughing. For him, this was the perfect payback for last month when he had been the victim of a new line of Wizard Wheezes products. Ron and George had been sure to give some to Lily, James, Teddy and Albus with the promise to get a ninety percent discount on their next visit if they tried it out the new product on Harry first. “What in the bloody hell was that for, Potter?!” Ron snarled as he straightened his robes.
“I’m sorry mate!” Harry said in between laughs. “No, wait. I’m not sorry. This was just too bloody easy to not do it. Besides, you gave me quite a fright just a few minutes ago. I really thought someone had broken into my office to rummage through my files. You know I don’t trust this place entirely, no matter how they keep saying that they’ve changed.”
Ron gave Harry a nasty glare before apologizing for coming into his office to sleep without sending an owl first. “You and Hermione have another row?”
Ron shook his head and settled on the sofa again. “Not really. Hermione was just a bit worried about Hugo and kept tossing about in bed and kept me up. He didn’t bother to show up at Mrs. Granger’s dinner last night even though he said he would. Speaking of my children, Rosie is finally finishing her internship in St. Mungo’s and should be well on her way to be a Mediwitch by the end of the year. Told us that there are a few Quidditch teams that want her as part of their team.”
“You must be proud!” Harry said. “However, aren’t you worried about Hugo?”
“Nah,” said Ron with a mid-yawn. “This isn’t the first time he’s done this. Remember how he disappeared one weekend after the classic match between the Armenian Junior Nationals and English Under-17.”
Harry remembered well of that weekend for Teddy, James and Charlie, the ‘responsible’ adult in the group, had been with Hugo when they had disappeared. When they didn’t come back from the match, or the day after, Ginny was ready to send a whole platoon of Aurors on Harry’s behalf to find their son, godson and nephew. When they had turned up late that Sunday night, their smiles and laughs quickly disappeared the moment they saw Ginny, Molly and Hermione waiting for them at the door. “I honestly think that he had one too many, met a girl and lost his muggle mobile. Again. And those bloody devices are not cheap. He might also be afraid of coming home to face Hermione’s wrath.”
“Sounds possible,” Harry nodded. “I seem to recall that his father did that once or twice and was also afraid of his fiancé’s wrath.”
Before Ron could utter a word of defense the small portrait of a medieval knight Harry kept above the sofa gave them an overstated cough. Harry found this quite unusual as Sir Podmore was never in his portrait. He spent most of his time visiting other portraits because he found Harry quite dull. And his second portrait was rather unpleasant and restricting, or so Podmore had said. “Ah, Sir Podmore, how wonderful to see you back. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Just so you know, Mr. Potter, earlier today I found myself busy playing cards with Sir Gawain and Sir Lancelot. I don’t know if you’ve heard of them but they’re rather important Knights of the Round Table.” Sir Podmore gave Harry a nasty look and continued. “I had a winning hand but all of the sudden I was whisked away by a silly muggle who asked to deliver a message as if I were a common owl. Now let me ask you this, Master Potter, do I look like an owl?”
Harry rolled his eyes and ignored the question. “What’s the message, Sir Podmore?”
“That muggle man wishes to meet with you and Weasley in Nottingham University Hospital as soon as you can.”
“Isn’t that where we met with Braxton last time?” Ron asked.
“Aye, it was to take a look at the tourist’s body. Alright, tell Braxton that we’ll be there err…” Harry had to stop and think. Ron and Harry could just apparate by the building and make it there within a few minutes but if Podmore was delivering the message that meant that Braxton was in his office. “Tell him that we’ll meet him at half past eight in front of the building.”
“After that message, am I allowed to go back to play cards with Sir Gawain and Lancelot or am I going to be treated like an owl all day?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever. Just make sure you deliver that message to Braxton before you do anything else.”
Podmore gave them a very dramatic bow before disappearing past the frame.
A few years ago Harry had met and helped out William Braxton, one of London’s Detective Chief Inspectors. The case had been brutal on both their parts. One of the first tasks Harry and Ron had after graduating from the Training Academy was to capture any Death Eaters that had avoided punishment. It was then the two young Aurors began their hunt for one particular Death Eater: Antonin Dolohov. He had been one of the many Death Eaters who had managed to escape after the Battle of Hogwarts, and it had been Harry’s obsession to bring him to justice. He felt like he owed that much to his Godson, Teddy, and to finally bring some peace of mind to Andromeda.
After a few years of careful investigation, and many captured Death Eaters, Harry was finally able to bring Dolohov in front of the Wizengamot. A lifetime in Azkaban, however, didn’t seem enough for Harry for the damage the man had caused. The prison was not what it used to be when the Dementors had been in charge. They had a bed, three daily meals and no Dementor to suck the happiness out of the convicts. How was that man’s so called suffering compared to Andromeda’s or anyone who had been his victim?
Despite the lack of Dementors and the low numbers of Aurors working in Azkaban, the place did tend to have its share of problems such as beatings, murders, the constant riots, and once in awhile the breakouts. That’s how Antonin Dolohov and a few others had escaped; how they had survived the rampant waters Harry didn’t know. The group had split up and while the others had been caught after a few months of freedom, Dolohov had stayed on the loose for almost a year.
While visiting Dudley and his family for the Holidays, Harry was watching the telly with little Marigold when the news anchor mentioned how a business man from Germany had been found dead in an alleyway, completely stripped from his clothes and more bizarrely, his hair had been cut in awkward angles. This had been, according to the anchor, the tenth victim found this way over the last year. Harry’s initial suspicion was that Dolohov was behind all of these muggle deaths. He needed to make sure first, not jump into any conclusions; something he was very guilty of doing in the past. So after leaving Dudley’s home, he decided to meet with the person in charge of investigating the murders: William Braxton.
The meeting hadn’t gone the way Harry had planned. Braxton, who was a few years older than Harry, was a bit hesitant to believe anything about magic, thought Harry was a nutter, and eventually had him escorted out by two officers. Harry had left fuming, but told himself that if there was another murder with the same M.O. he would visit Braxton again and this time use magic to help his cause.
So for three months Harry collected every possible muggle newspaper he could get his hands on. Finally, one March morning, while reading one of his newspapers over some tea, he found what he was looking for: the report of another victim. This time it was a Swiss tourist that had first been reported missing by his girlfriend more than a week before. Not much had been done about his disappearance until his body had been found behind a Chinese takeaway, stripped from his clothes and with missing patches of hair.
A strong hunch told him that this had to be the way Dolohov had avoided capture. He was disguising himself as the people he hated the most. So Harry marched to Braxton’s office and told him, with wand pointed at the DCI’s face, that he hated the thought of using magic on muggles, but if he had to in order to capture a criminal then so be it. Braxton, who was now under a lot of pressure from the Borough Operational Command Unit, had reluctantly allowed Harry to help.
After two months of partnership, Harry, Ron, Braxton and his partner, detective Miller, were able to find Dolohov, under the guise of the missing Swiss tourist. Before thinking of approaching him, Harry placed strong anti-apparition spells but when they tried to arrest Dolohov, he became frantic and tried to fight his way out. In the end, Dolohov had been killed by either a rogue spell or bullet to the head; both had hit him almost instantaneously that it was hard to identify which had made impact first.
After all reports had been filled out on both sides, Harry had been instructed to erase Miller’s and Braxton’s memory of everything regarding the Wizarding World. Harry, instead, gave Braxton a portrait of Sir Merek Podmore as a gift, something Ron was glad to get out of his cubicle, and instructed him that if anything out of the ordinary started to happen. Things that he couldn’t quite explain in a report, to just let Podmore know and Harry would come to help.
It had been five years since Harry had given Braxton that portrait and hadn’t heard anything from the DCI. Until now. Something churned in Harry’s stomach. Was he excited at the prospect of breaking away from the monotony of his job? He could always send a team of the newest members to give them some training, like Hansen or Mayer, with an apology note but even that sounded absurd in his head. If Braxton was getting in touch with him, it meant that this was important and it needed Harry’s attention.
“Wonder what’s going on with Braxton,” Ron pondered as he checked his watch. “It seems we have about half an hour to meet with the blokes, fancy a cuppa before we leave?”
Harry nodded, trying to calm the excitement building up inside him.
By the time Harry arrived with Ron to the hospital, both Braxton and Miller were already there waiting for them. Harry gave the muggle policemen a firm handshake and asked them what was going on.
“Well, we found a body earlier today and found this with it.” Braxton handed them a clear plastic bag with the word EVIDENCE clearly printed at the top and just underneath it a form filled out about the crime scene and body.
“This is a wand,” Harry said when Braxton gave him the bag. He didn’t need to dwell much on the evidence; the carvings, the shape and the weight was enough to tell him that the body they had found was that of a witch or wizard.
“Can you guys wave your wands and figure out who the owner is?” Miller asked.
Harry shook his head, refraining himself from telling the young inspector that there was more to ‘waving the wand’ than he thought. “No, we can’t. But we can take it to the man who sold it to your victim. Either Julian Ollivander or his father can identify what type of wand this is, the date it was purchased and the owner.”
“You guys have a system for that?” Miller asked. “Thought you blokes said you didn’t have computers.”
“Err…its more like a very good memory,” Ron explained as he took the evidence bag from Harry to take a closer look himself. “The Ollivanders are fantastic wand makers in our country, in our world for that matter. They go through years of training when it comes to wandlore. Garrick Ollivander, the man who sold us our wands, is old and has retired from the public eye. He was never the same after the war so his son took over the business. If your victim is young, and if Julian is anything like his father, he’ll remember the person associated to every wand that he’s sold.”
“Blimey, that’s very impressive,” said Miller. “However, I don’t see how just the great memory of this Julian can be reliable when it comes to concrete evidence.”
“Are we here to look at the body?” Harry asked Braxton before Ron and Miller had a chance to argue. It wasn’t that Miller disliked Ron; it was the fact that he considered Magic to be very unpredictable and sometimes nonsensical to have. Thankfully wasn’t as bad as Petunia and Vernon and their attempts to bash magic and hating everything about it.
“Yes. Collett Scott, the coroner, asked a pathologist to do an intensive inquiry on the body. He’s waiting for us right now.”
“Best not keep him waiting, then.”
Braxton lead Harry and Ron through the somewhat familiar hospital. The air was cold enough that Harry was glad that he was still wearing his Auror cloak and was pleased that none of the nurses seemed to pay much attention to his or Ron’s attire. Harry was sure that they were used to seeing bizarre things in their line of work. Despite being muggle nurses and doctors, there was hardly any difference between their jobs here and those of the healers in St. Mungo’s; stupidity had hardly any bounds.
After what felt like an endless walk through every hallway, Harry and the group arrived at the morgue. The room had two large tables full of muggle equipment Harry had only seen during his early years in a muggle primary school. The equipment here, however, looked far more advanced than a primary school’s and definitely far more expensive. The microscopes were hooked up to computers; beakers were full of chemicals Harry couldn’t even dream of their names. There were machines that he was sure his father-in-law would love to get his hands on. All of this around him was a different kind of magic that Harry wished he knew a little bit more. Perhaps, if he were to retire soon, he would pick a muggle subject and study it to his heart’s content.
“Hello?” Miller called out.
A door at the end of the room opened and in walked a man with a big smile on his face; working in the morgue had apparently desensitized him from his grim surroundings. “Ah, if it isn’t Potter and Weasel.”
“Weasley,” Ron corrected Tobias Allen. Tobias was a young man to Harry’s standards. He had short mousy hair, big blue eyes and a nose too small for his face. He had been the pathologist’s assistant five years ago and had helped them out during the Dolohov investigation.
“Sorry, mate,” Tobias apologized. “It has been ages since I saw you two. I’m guessing Braxton brought you here for the body I got early this morning.”
“Indeed, that’s why we’re here,” said Harry.
“Follow me, gentlemen.” Tobias led them to the room he had just come from and gathered around a stainless steel table; a white sheet was covering the body from head to toe. “I was just finishing up with him the moment you walked in. Now, I’ll be keeping the body in positive temperature for a week, it’ll deteriorate but at a very slow rate. If after a week no one has come forth to claim the body, I’ll be putting him negative temperature until we can find his family.”
Everyone nodded in agreement.
“What can you tell us about the victim?” Braxton asked.
“Not much.” He uncovered the body and Harry was shocked to see how mangled, swollen and almost unrecognizable to a human face the poor guy had. “Male, early to mid-twenties. I ran a DNA and fingerprint inquire on him but nothing came up. Also did a toxic substance analysis report and it came back clean from any drugs. He died from multiple skull fractures and swelling of the brain. He might’ve survived if he had been brought to the hospital right away but even then his chances were slim.” Tobias sighed. “I feel bad for the poor sod. He must’ve angered someone real bad for them to do this ghastly number on him.
“Anyway, Will, I recommend running a missing persons report. See if anyone has reported a male who’s gone missing with long blond hair and blue eyes recently. If he hasn’t been missed by someone, they will pretty soon.”
“Any markings on him that it’ll make it easier?” asked Miller.
“Funny you should ask. Yes, he does. However it’s a weird one, perhaps a gang related tattoo.” He lifted the sheet from the other end and showed them the victim’s calves. He had a weird tattoo and could understand why muggles would think that it was gang related, only someone like Harry and Ron could recognized. It was a mark that their children had, a symbol they had created and linked them together. Harry wasn’t a big fan of that tattoo but their children were adults and far from him telling them what they can or can’t do. They explained that it stood as a symbol for those who fought and gave them a chance to live in better world. For Harry, however, was a painful reminder of those who had perished long ago and the burden he still carried with him.
“Reckon what that is,” Braxton mumbled as he inched closer to the right calf. “I have yet to encounter a gang with this bizarre design.”
“They’re runes,” answered Harry. He was met with blank stares and continued. “They’re numerical runes to be exact. The large rune above the small one is the number six while the smaller runes underneath represent a date: second of May, nineteen ninety eight. The tattoo just represents six people and a very important battle.” The tattoo was troubling, however, for only a handful of young people had it. He tried to remain calm but his brain was working double time to try and figure this out.
“What kind of battle was fought in the nineties?” Tobias asked.
“A very important one,” Harry answered but didn’t go into details. Harry looked up from the table and saw Ron, looking pale and frozen on the spot. “Ron, you alright mate?”
“This is Lorcan Scamander, mate. The blond hair, blue eyes, the tattoo...Only our kids, Neville’s and Luna’s have these tattoos and Lysander is away with Rolf.” Harry could feel Ron’s panic radiating from him. “Hugo said he was meeting up with him yesterday, but Hugo never came home.” Harry had to remain calm through Ron’s panic but his own mind continued to buzz. This was Luna’s boy, someone whom Harry had seen grow from an infant in his mother’s arms to an adult. He had given him presents, had babysat him. And Hugo…where was he?
Harry watched as Ron took a deep breath in and exhaled with what sounded like a sob. “If Lorcan is here, beaten to death, where my boy, Harry?”
Major Marion Johnson had been woken up by an urgent call from Benjamin Hoffman and Samuel Frankford, the two trackers she had hired just yesterday to find the problem and eliminate it. According to Frankford, Scamander had found his way back to the Academy and was poking around when Hoffman had found him by mere chance and had knocked him out before Scamander realized that he had been spotted. Johnson couldn’t believe she had used a lot of the money to pay these fools when they had taken less than twenty-four hours to find him by mere chance.
Their instructions were clear: get rid of him. Frankford made sure that they had and that it wouldn’t be traced to anyone linked to the Academy, or so he said. The problem was that Scamander hadn’t been alone when he was at the Academy. Frankford had mention that if she wanted that problem to go away as well, she could pay them a little bit extra to get rid of the boy the same way as Scamander. Johnson had argued that with the money she paid them and how little ‘tracking’ they had done, she ought to get her money’s worth; a sick buy one get one free deal. Hoffman, who had been listening to the conversation, told her very tersely that the quota was for one boy. If she wanted the other one dead, then she ought to pay them a bit more.
She arrived at her destination and knocked on the door three times. She waited patiently and went over her speech inside her head. “Come in,” a voice inside the office said.
Johnson walked into Brigadier Mortlock going through some paperwork and without bothering to look up he said, “What do you want?”
“Sir, the problem has been eliminated.”
Mortlock looked up from his paperwork and gave her an inquisitive look. “Really? I have to say, I’m impressed Johnson.”
This was going to hurt her pride. The Brigadier was hard to impress and when he was, he rarely admitted to it. Now she had to tell him of the other problem they had and was sure that the small admiration the Brigadier had for her this instant was going to vanish.
“There is a small problem sir.” She had to rip this like a band aid. “Scamander wasn’t alone when they captured him; he was with a friend. Now Frankford and his mate want more money to get rid of him as well.
“Why are you coming to me for this, Johnson?” The admiration was gone and it had been replaced by annoyance.
“Because what they’re asking for is an outrageous amount, sir,” Johnson explained. “The money we paid those two was incredible to begin with and they didn’t put any effort behind it. The reason why I’m here sir is to ask you for your permission to send this young man to Cassandra.”
“What could Miss Cassandra want with this boy, Johnson?”
“Sir, Cassandra is in charge of something way beyond of what M.A.L is doing,” Johnson began to go over her practiced speech. “The Director is only focused on one thing only; Cassandra is the one that’s helping us achieve our goal. While the Director’s discoveries are always important, it’s Cassandra’s work that we have to support the most. With this boy she can test things on him, possibly find out what makes magical born children different from the synthetic ones we create.”
After a few moments of silence the Brigadier agreed to Johnson’s idea. However, with one condition, “Instruct Cassandra to make sure that the Director doesn’t catch whiff of that boy or of what we’re doing.”
“Her work is important, and if this boy is the key for us to achieve something greater as a human race and as nation, then so be it.”
Johnson felt the tension leave her body. And as soon as she was allowed to leave the Brigadier’s office, she took out her mobile and dialed.
“This is Cassandra,” a prim, all-business voice said on the other end of the line.
“I have a surprise for you.” A smirk form on Johnson’s lips and for the first time all day she felt like everything was going to be just fine.
Dun dun duuuuuuun!! At least Hugo is alive, right? However, the question is...what is going to happen to him? How is Luna going to react to the news? What's going to happen?! *evil laugh* I guess you're just gonna have to stick around for the next chapter! I hope to hear your thoughts about this! Any CC is welcomed. Thank you for reading.