He'd only needed to wait a couple of days for the paperwork to be registered before he could move into the house, and having done so almost a week prior, Harry had been hard at work making it a liveable space.
Much of his time had been spent cleaning each room and carrying out necessary repairs. It was dull work, but it needed to be done before he could even consider the décor, furniture, and other fixings.
"You bastard!" he huffed at the fireplace in what would be his study.
It hadn't been cleaned in years and was proving to be stubborn.
In an act of defiance, it had spat a cloud of ash in his face.
It was the last of the menial tasks to be complete, and with a flourish of his wand, the fireplace finally conceded defeat and allowed itself to be cleaned.
Nodding to himself, Harry began unpacking the furniture he'd purchased in the room, his sum of gold having been halved now due to his buying.
Still, he'd gotten everything he wanted for his new home, and there was gold to be made from the various ventures he had planned.
Along with cleaning, he'd been setting up the protections around the property. Not having been maintained for an inordinate amount of time, they too had fallen into disrepair, and Harry had spent hours replacing them, a task that would be ongoing for some weeks.
Much to his relief, unpacking furniture and even decorating was as simple as a few flicks of his wand. He could've conjured suitable things, but they would only be a temporary fix.
It turned out that even magicals needed to purchase permanent furniture, though it would last a lifetime with the protective and self-cleaning charms in place.
For Harry, it was just one f the other things that had kept his mind occupied whilst he was adjusting to his new surroundings.
He'd visited Diagon Alley a few times, and had even looked around Hogsmeade, but there were so few familiar faces. Those he did know didn't know him, and they were more youthful, some even small children.
It was quite the adjustment to make, and Harry knew he wasn't quite there yet.
With his study needing only the finishing touches until it was complete, he opted to get himself some lunch, and ponder what he would do when his workload inevitably ran out.
Of course, he had some plans, but long-term was filled with much uncertainty.
Being an Unspeakable had consumed much of his life, and without it, a gaping hole remained.
Not wanting to lose himself in maudlin thoughts, he prepared his meal, and began perusing The Daily Prophet.
It was when he came to the section announcing the upcoming trials of arrested criminals that he paused, a smirk tugging at his lips.
His outburst in The Downed Unicorn had been well-reported, and even a brief description of him included.
What had caught the attention of the country, however, was the men that had been apprehended.
Harry had overheard some of what had been said during the hours he'd spent in the pub, but he had no idea just how notorious one of the groups had been.
They were wanted for a slew of crimes committed; extortion, theft, robbery, assault, attempted murder, handling stolen goods, and trading in illegal commodities.
It was an impressive list, and they were looking at considerable sentences in Azkaban.
The most prominent amongst them, Creighton Selwyn, would be lucky to see the light of day, unless what Tom had said did indeed come to pass,
Selwyn was from a rich, well-known, and connected family.
If there was an ounce of corruption that could be exploited, the Selwyn's would use it.
Nodding to himself, Harry finished his lunch and dressed, deciding to attend the trials as a member of the public.
It would be interesting to see how the Wizengamot of today operated in comparison to his time, and just how it had become so corrupt that the likes of Tom Riddle was able to make a snatch for power.
Not that Harry had changed his mind about involving himself. No, it was merely out of curiosity he wished to see another facet of how wizarding Britain had once functioned before the rise of the Dark Lord.
(Break)
It had been a busy week for Amelia. With interviews, gathering evidence, and carrying out raids, she'd barely had time for little else. The trials would begin this afternoon, and none of those that had been arrested had complied nor attempted to make a plea deal.
They'd all remained equally silent; their lawyer having suggested they do so.
It was not lost on her that the same man was representing each of them, undoubtedly funded by the Selwyn family who had a vested interest in the outcome of the proceedings.
Amelia was hopeful they had gathered enough evidence to convict, but if there was any doubt, it would be jumped upon by the defence, and the expected conviction could be lost.
"What do you think, Alastor?" she asked.
Her partner shook his head.
"I don't know, lass. We know they did it, and the entire Wizengamot will know they've done it, but proving it is something else entirely. If we can convince them to allow questioning under Veritaserum, that would be our best chance."
"And if we can't?"
"Then it will be an uphill struggle. Remember, it is our responsibility to convince the Wizengamot of their guilt. They do not need to prove their innocence."
Amelia nodded her understanding.
For her, this had become something of a personal case. Those men would have attempted to kill were it not for the intervention of the man who yet remained a mystery.
With so little to go on, Amelia knew it was unlikely she would discover who he was, but she was grateful for him, even if he himself had broken a dozen laws in the process of apprehending the men.
"I have just a few more things to chase up," Moody declared. "I'll meet you there in a couple of hours."
He left, and Amelia leaned back in her chair.
She had a bad feeling about this and couldn't help but think that justice wouldn't prevail. Something would come up, and the men would get away with what they'd done.
Shaking her head, she decided to return home for lunch.
It wouldn't do if she were asked to present evidence to do so on an empty stomach.
Making her way through the Ministry of Magic, she again did her utmost to remember exactly what had happened that night, but the memory remained cloudy.
Maybe she would need to see one of the Obliviators to see if they could explain what had happened to her.
The man had done something, and though he'd not harmed Amelia, she found such an ability to be discomforting.
"Finished for the day already?" Edgar asked as she arrived in his study.
"No, the trials don't start for a couple of hours yet," Amelia explained.
"Of course. I will have lunch brought in for you."
"Can you have it sent to my room? There's a few things I want to look over."
Edgar offered her a smile as he nodded before leaving the room, and Amelia followed, taking the stairs in the entrance hall.
Sitting down at her own desk, she stretched her legs and removed the trunk she always kept with her. Tapping it with her wand, it enlarged, and she took the file on the very top of the stack of others.
This trunk contained everything she knew about the death of her parents, and though it was admittedly little, it didn't take an Auror to see that the case had not been investigated poorly.
Amelia would go as far as to say that much of it had been played down and even covered up by an unknown party.
Who? She didn't know, and with so few threads to follow, it was unlikely she would ever learn, but she would never give up trying.
Just as she fought for justice for those she served now, she would do all she could to get justice for her parents.
"A sandwich for you, Miss Bones."
Amelia smiled at the elf as she placed the plate on the desk before vanishing with a gentle pop.
She ate absentmindedly as she perused the file, and no new ideas came to her short of one day visiting the scene for herself and attempting to track her parent's movements from where they'd arrived on the continent.
That was for another day, however, and though it was at the top of the things she needed to solve, it seemed that the mysteries just continued to grow around her.
Her parents, the alarm in the Department of Mysteries that had unsettled the man in the grey cloak, and then the stranger who had oddly intervened in Knockturn Alley.
There were so many mysteries with such little time to solve them; even if she had washed her hands of what happened in the department she should never have been in.
For now, however, she needed to focus on the task at hand, and that was ensuring the men on trial today were convicted for the abhorrent things they'd done.
Just like Moody, she had her doubts, but she would hope that justice prevailed.
(Break)
The Wizengamot chambers looked no different to any other time he'd visited. They were as cold and as unwelcoming as ever, though certainly much fuller with Lords and Ladies who had not been alive when Harry had last visited.
The room was full to capacity here, unlike during his own time when less than half the seats had been occupied, and still, the members who had survived the war had kept governing the country to the purebloods who inherited their seats and those famous enough to be given one.
Harry had only attended a few meetings and had done so half-heartedly before vanishing from the public eye.
He had no political acumen, and in truth, he was tired of doing things for others. Perhaps he'd become more selfish when he'd defeated Voldemort, and the fact that he didn't care only attested to that very notion.
Nonetheless, it was odd being here now in the public gallery, and as his gaze swept across the gathered Lords and Ladies, he had to fight the urge not to hide from the one figure he could not mistake for fear he would be recognised.
It was ridiculous to consider it, but Dumbledore always had a way of seeing through people, and it wasn't just because the man was a skilled occlumens. He seemed to have an otherworldly ability, and Harry certainly wished to avoid drawing the man's attention to him.
Maybe it was foolish to come here, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. He wanted to experience the wizarding world as someone of no note, to truly just enjoy the culture without being pointed and stared at or even accosted by the keener members of the public.
Still, it was strange to see Dumbledore looking so much younger.
Much of his hair was grey, though it was liberally streaked with auburn, and his beard was much shorter than Harry remembered.
No, Harry was still far from adjusting to the differences here.
It was the tapping of a gavel that pulled him from his musings, and it was Dumbledore who stood to address another man Harry did not recognise.
"Minister Leach, I believe we are ready to begin," he declared.
"Ah, thank you, Chief Warlock," the man replied with a nod as he shuffled some parchment. "Please bring in the first of the accused."
A pale man in a striped outfit was led into the chambers, the chains around his wrists and ankles rattling and continuing to do so from his trembling as he was placed in the chair in the centre of the room.
"Jeremiah Higgs," the voice of Minister Leach cut across the room. "You stand accused of the crimes of extortion, robbery, assault, handling stolen goods and attempted murder. How do you plead?"
Before the man could answer, another cleared his throat loudly and approached Higgs.
"Minister, having discussed the various accusations at length with my client, he wishes to speak so that all may hear his plea," he said with perhaps the most untrustworthy smile Harry had seen in years.
"His plea?" Leach asked.
"Indeed. My client wishes to confess to his part in the crimes he is accused of so that there is no misunderstanding as to his involvement. That is his right, is it not?"
Leach frowned and the Lords and Ladies murmured amongst themselves.
"That is his right, Mr Botham," the Minister conceded. "Stand, Mr Higgs, and we shall hear your plea."
Higgs' lawyer, a rodent-faced, suited man, gestured for him to do so, the smile he wore not shifting.
As Jeremiah Higgs stood, he removed a sheet of parchment and cleared his throat nervously.
"Lords, Ladies, and Minister, I stand before you t-today as a guilty man. I am guilty of all the crimes I have been accused of, and I willingly c-confess to all of them, but before you convict me, you should know the truth. Creighton Selwyn is an innocent man. He did not take part in any of this willingly. It was discovered that he had been having an affair with a prominent woman, and the rest of us used it to our advantage to blackmail him into assisting us. Convict me as you will, but I cannot in good conscience see an innocent man share my fate. Thank you."
Higgs took his seat, his gaze remaining firmly on the floor as the members of the Wizengamot murmured amongst themselves.
"Bollocks," Harry snorted.
Any fool could see Higgs was lying. Whether he'd been bribed or blackmailed didn't matter, he was lying, and yet, Harry could already foresee the outcome.
"Thank you, Mr Higgs," Leach offered with a frown. "You shall be returned to your holding cell whilst we discuss your confession."
Higgs nodded and was led from the room, though his lawyer remained, his grin not having twitched in the last few moments.
"Excuse me, Chief Warlock," he called. "In the interest of not wasting any more time of this august body, I can provide much the same statement from the rest of those to stand trial, each of them professing to the innocence of Mr Selwyn."
He removed a stack of parchment and Minister deflated as he held out a hand to accept it.
With so many confessions, Selwyn would undoubtedly walk free, and Harry had no doubt that considerable sums of gold had changed hands somewhere to ensure it happened.
With a look of disapproval towards the Minister, he took his leave of the Wizengamot chambers.
He'd seen enough, and his experience here only soured him more towards the world of politics. Corruption, bribery, and blackmail. The political field was rife with all three, and it was no wonder Voldemort had managed to thrive when even there was none willing to stand up for what was right.
They were sheep, even those who claimed to be of moral superiority. When it mattered, their voices were noticeably absent, and it sickened Harry that those privileged enough to be in such exultant positions simply did not care.
Still, it was not his problem. He'd merely been curious to see the state of affairs, and as expected, he'd found it to be nothing short of lacking.
With a shake of his head, he left the Ministry of Magic with no intention to return and apparated home, where he gathered some of the supplies he'd purchased.
He wanted to forget the unpleasant experience of politics and to do so, he needed something to sink his teeth into.
(Break)
Amelia was simply flabbergasted and couldn't believe what she was witnessing. If any of the men involved in these heinous crimes was more guilty than the rest, it was Selwyn.
One of the shopkeepers that had been intimidated claimed that Creighton was undoubtedly the leader of the group, though when Alastor had visited the man prior to arriving for trial, he was nowhere to be found.
The shop had been empty, and the flat he lived in above equally so.
He'd fled.
Either from fear or having been bribed, the shopkeeper had fled, and now, they had no witness to identify Creighton Selwyn.
She cursed under her breath as each of the confessions was read in turn, the smirk of the lawyer only widening with each one.
This was so wrong but with so much evidence to the contrary of what she knew to be true, the outcome was inevitable, and even Moody wore an expression of disbelief.
The man shook his head.
"Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose," he grumbled irritably. "Remember, our job is only to get them through the door. What happens after is not our business."
Amelia nodded.
It was a bitter pill to swallow, but it was true.
Catching the eye of her brother, he offered her a look of apology.
Her family name was a well-respected one, but Edgar was still establishing himself amongst the more experienced of his peers. To speak out against injustice when there was nothing that could be done would be foolish on his part.
Nonetheless, as Amelia left the chamber, she could not help but feel disappointed.
She worked tirelessly to achieve justice for those who deserved it, and yet, those who were supposed to deliver it seldom did.
Often, she felt as though she was wasting her time, but then she remembered the instances she had been successful and the relief she had brought to the victims, the very same relief she'd never experienced.
"We try again, lass," Alastor said encouragingly. "We always try again."
Amelia nodded resolutely.
Today had not been good, but she wouldn't give up trying, not in doing her utmost to uphold the law now nor discovering the truth behind what had happened to her parents.
No, quitting was not an option, and though the setback she'd experienced was disheartening, it only made her more determined to ensure that next time, the outcome would be very different.
She'd be watching Selwyn and his ilk closely, and the moment he even blew his nose in the wrong direction, she would come down on him like a tonne of bricks.
(Break)
"Oh, come on, you little bastard," Harry growled as he wrestled with the magical protections surrounding what he'd ventured here for.
He was in the southwest of Cornwall in a cave that had caused considerable problems upon its discovery around a few months after he'd finished his initial training.
The very protections he was fighting against had severely injured two of his colleagues the first time around, and it had taken Harry the better part of six hours to break through.
He'd hoped that having done it once already, he'd be able to do so again much quicker, but the magic here was stubborn and refused to yield without resistance.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, he glared at the stretch of wall before doubling down on his efforts.
He felt the ground begin to tremble beneath his feet, and dust rained upon him from above, but eventually, with a grunt of frustration, the magic gave way.
Remembering what had happened last time, he grabbed what he'd come for and apparated away, breathing a sigh of relief that he'd only received a few minor cuts.
Last time, he'd not been quick enough and had broken his arm during his escape.
Chuckling to himself, he simply lay in the field next to his house for a few moments to catch his breath. When the rising and falling of his chest had slowed down, he sat up and nodded satisfactorily.
The box he'd liberated was intact, and within it, the three large stones rested in a nest made of fur and straw.
Two of them were worth little other than for their historical value which the Unspeakables of his time had been unable to trace. The third, however, was a diamond around half the size of his fist.
Harry never did discover what was done with it, but with it being behind such formidable protections, he suspected it was obtained illicitly by whoever had hidden it.
It was in his possession now, and though he knew he would not be able to sell it for even close to half of its true worth, he would certainly still receive a handsome sum for it from the right buyer.
With the first of several of his acquisitions gathered, Harry decided he'd earned a rest before looking into where he could sell it the following morning.
From what he'd seen in the Wizengamot today and during his own time, there were several shady businessmen around who would gladly find a buyer for the right cut of the profits.
Once more, his thoughts darkened.
He wouldn't lie to himself and pretend what had happened to him was proving easy, but Harry, as he always had, would have to make do with his lot in life. He was no longer a small boy who could run to Dumbledore to fix his problems, though he'd never been able to do that.
He'd fumbled his way through much of his life, and just as he'd felt he was becoming quite competent, he'd been snatched away from all he'd built and thrown into a time of such uncertainty.
Still, he would learn as he went along, and undoubtedly make mistakes, but if nothing else, Harry had proven to be resilient, and he expected he'd have to do so again, even if he avoided the war that was coming for them all.
(Break)
"Look who made the front page."
Amelia frowned at the photo of the grinning Creighton Selwyn, and it only deepened at the photo of herself that had been placed next to it.
A despondent Auror Bones in the courtroom.
She snorted at the caption.
It wasn't that she was despondent. She was disappointed, of course, but it was anger she felt towards Selwyn and the others for allowing the man to get away with his crimes.
"Your hair looks good," Edgar commented.
Amelia shot her brother a glare.
"I'd rather have no hair and see him in Azkaban."
Edgar chuckled.
"You'll get him eventually," he said comfortingly.
"Unless he has others to take the blame for him," Amelia sighed. "I even asked Grimm if we could look into the Selwyn finances."
"No chance," Edgar replied. "The goblins won't allow it, and the Selwyns certainly won't hand them over. It's poor form, I admit, but those same laws protect our wealth."
Amelia hummed irritably and shook her head at the photo one of the journalists had taken of her.
It was not the most flattering of shots, but as her gaze drifted away from her own form, she paused.
The picture was rather grainy from the poor light in the chambers, but that was perhaps why the man partially hidden by dimness caught her eye.
It was him.
She'd not seen much of him in the pub, and although she could see little more now, Amelia was certain it was the man who had helped her.
"Edgar, do you recognise him?" she asked, pointing to the man sitting in the public gallery.
Her brother frowned before shaking his head.
"I can't say I do," he murmured. "He looks familiar, but I don't know him."
Amelia sighed deeply before a realisation hit her.
"Wait! If he were in the public gallery, he would've had to register his wand when he entered the Ministry!"
"He would," Edgar agreed. "I'm sure Ivor will be able to give you the list. Take him some Cauldron Cakes. He loves those."
Amelia nodded before placing a kiss on Edgar's cheek and taking her leave from the house.
The trial may have been a sham at best, but it seemed she was not going to come away entirely dissatisfied after all.
She was certain it was him, and he'd made a point to be present to see if those he'd apprehended were convicted.
Whoever he was, Amelia was now more determined than ever to find out his identity.
What she would do with the information, she didn't know, but she would thank him and likely give him a piece of her mind for acting so recklessly.
(Break)
"I am interested to know where you obtained such a beautiful stone," Borgin commented as he peered through an eyepiece, admiring the clarity.
"It is not your business to ask such questions," Harry replied. "Do you have anyone who would be interested in buying it?"
Borgin removed the eyepiece and nodded thoughtfully.
"I might."
"Then I would ask that you discuss it with them, quietly, of course."
"And what will my compensation be?"
"That depends on how much you can sell it for," Harry explained. "We both know the value of it, so let's not pretend otherwise. My takeaway is to be two hundred thousand galleons, minimum. I don't expect you would struggle to make a considerable sum for yourself with the connections you have."
Borgin nodded once more.
"Perhaps a bidding war could be arranged between two or three families who do not like to be outdone," he mused aloud. "I will require a photo of the stone."
Harry gestured for the man to take one before pocketing the diamond.
"I will return in a week," he assured Borgin, not missing the pensive look of greed he wore.
"Until then," the man called after him.
Harry frowned.
He didn't trust Borgin, but he couldn't deny he was perhaps one of the most connected men in wizarding Britain.
Still, he would proceed with caution where the man and his associates were concerned.
Walking the length of Knockturn Alley, he couldn't help but notice how many people were there in comparison to his own time. The street was teeming with shoppers, and though there was undoubtedly an unsavoury element amongst them, many seemed to be regular people who frequented Diagon Alley.
Perhaps it was the war and the association made with this place and the Death Eaters that had seen it slow?
Harry didn't know the ins and outs of such a trivial thing, but he did pause as he came to The Downed Unicorn.
The pub was boarded up, and over the sign was a notice that the business was for sale.
"The poor fellow who owns it can't afford the repairs," a voice broke into his thoughts. "It's a shame, really. It used to be a nice place until the crooks started using it."
The short man who'd spoken to him was unfamiliar to Harry, and he wondered off before receiving a reply.
With a nod, Harry approached and tried the door, and much to his surprise, it opened.
"We're bloody closed," a voice growled from near the bar.
Undeterred, Harry stepped further into the room.
The place had been cleaned, but the damage remained to the walls, ceiling, and floor; scorch marks that would take an expert to remove, or the place would need to be completely gutted and revamped.
"I might be interested in buying," Harry replied.
"You want to buy this shithole?"
Harry's gaze swept around the room.
"It has potential," he declared. "How much do you think it would cost to get it up and running again?"
The barman snorted as he slid a piece of parchment he'd been mulling over towards him, and Harry whistled as he took in the sum.
"It would be just as cheap to redo the whole place," he murmured.
"Yeah, well, I don't have that kind of gold either," the man grumbled. "All I ever wanted was a nice place of my own. You get into debt with the wrong people, and…"
He broke off as he gestured around himself.
"Debt?"
The man nodded.
"I used to gamble," he admittedly ashamedly. "I'd host poker nights, and some of the richer lots got wind of them. The stakes got higher, and I couldn't afford to pay. I barely broke even every month for the last three years. Now, I've got sod all."
Harry hummed as he eyed the man curiously.
"Well, if I were to buy it, I wouldn't have time to run the place. I'd need someone with experience to do so. If I buy the business, say for one galleon, pay for the work and offer a good salary with a revamped home above, would you be interested?"
"Are you serious?" the man asked sceptically.
Harry nodded.
"If you can make me a reasonable sum every week, I'll be happy to do it on the condition that it remains a respectable place."
"The rich lot won't allow that."
"Leave that lot to me," Harry urged. "Can you do it?"
The man still didn't seem to believe him, but he nodded tentatively.
"I want it in writing," he demanded. "I'll sign the business over, you pay for it, and I get to keep my home and run the place."
"Done," Harry agreed, offering the man his hand.
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
The man shook it and offered Harry a smile.
"You have no idea how much I needed this," he said appreciatively.
"We all fall on hard times," Harry offered comfortingly. "Sometimes, we just need a hand up. I will begin making the arrangements. If you have any ideas of how you'd like the place to run, start making some notes. We will meet again very soon."
"I will," the man assured him as Harry took his leave from the pub.
He'd not intended to buy it, not at first, but realising that he needed a stream of legitimate revenue had urged him to do so.
Maybe it could be the beginning of something good, or maybe it would bring him more trouble than it was worth.
Only time would tell, but with his house now complete, it was something new to invest his time in.
(Break)
"What do you think is going on in there?" Amelia asked curiously.
They'd been standing guard at a site where an unexplained, significant magical disturbance had been detected and had been doing so for around six hours now.
Alastor shrugged.
"That's a question we won't be getting the answer to," he grumbled. "Best not dwell on those things, lass. But I will say, if it's not our lot down there, who do you think it is?"
Amelia frowned.
"The Unspeakables?"
"Exactly," Moody murmured. "They've been busy lately, haven't they?"
"You don't think this is connected to the alarm we responded to?"
"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't," Moody said indifferently. "It's not our job to know what they do. We already saw too much."
"I didn't see anything."
"Then I have done a bad job in training you," Moody sighed. "Just in that one room of dozens were time-turners, and that archway, I've heard of it before."
"That was eerie."
"Aye, it was. It's called the Veil of Death. Those who go through it are never seen again, or so I've heard."
"Who told you?"
"No one," Moody replied with a grin. "Now, best be quiet."
Amelia said nothing else on the matter, anticipating when they would finally be relieved.
She'd been on her way to speak with Ivor, the man who checked in the wands of the visitors to the Ministry, when she'd been accosted by Alastor and told they were to guard an area in Cornwall.
From the outside, it appeared as if nothing was amiss, but the residual magic in the air was powerful, even now so many hours after what had occurred had taken place.
"Watch out, here comes a happy man," Moody warned.
Amelia watched as Auror Grimm approached, his usual scowl firmly in place.
"Alright, you two, bugger off. We're not needed here anymore," he informed them.
"That's it?" Moody asked irritably.
Grimm nodded.
"That's it, and try not to piss anyone off on your way out of here. The press have already got wind, but they've been headed off. Not a word to anyone. My arse is already sore from the chewing out the Minister gave me a few days back. I don't need another one."
Amelia didn't need telling twice, and she and Alastor bade farewell before apparating to the Ministry.
Checking that no paperwork had been placed on her desk during her absence whilst her partner did the same, Amelia was pleased to see there wasn't. With the weekend upon her, she was looking forward to an easier workload, though not until she'd spoken with Ivor.
"Why are you so keen to speak with him?" Alastor asked curiously. "That's where you were heading this morning."
Amelia deflated as she removed the newspaper from within her robes and pointed to the man she had circled.
"I can't be certain, but I'm quite sure this is the man in the pub who helped me."
Moody squinted at the photograph.
"He looks familiar," he murmured.
"Edgar said the same."
"Aye, but I can't quite put my finger on it."
"Well, he would have checked his wand in on the way into the trial, so I thought I'd check with Ivor."
"I guess my training hasn't been so bad," Moody chuckled. "Come on, I'm curious now. Let's see who this mystery man is."
Amelia nodded and led the way out of the Auror offices, and after only a short ride in the lift, they were in the atrium.
A bored Ivor was sat at his small desk.
With no trials or meetings of the Wizengamot taking place, there were few people still working at this hour, and even fewer needing to be cleared by security.
The man looked up questioningly as they approached.
"Auror Moody, Auror Bones," he greeted them.
"Ivor, we were wondering if you still had the sheet of those who attended the trial yesterday?" Amelia queried.
Ivor nodded as he flicked through a stack of parchments below his desk.
"Ah, here it is," he declared as he offered it to her. "Is there anything in particular you're looking for?"
Amelia said nothing as she scanned the long list of names, along with the materials of the wand each person carried.
Among them were the familiar names of the various journalists who attended the trials, along with the regular enthusiasts, all of whom Amelia had spoken to when they'd asked her for her input from time to time.
Shaking her head, she realised she knew all of the names who had checked in and was able to place a face to each of them.
None of them were unknown to her, but she handed the list to Moody so that he could check, just in case she had missed something.
"I don't see anything out of the ordinary," Alastor murmured. "Show him the picture."
Amelia did so, handing the newspaper to Ivor.
"I've never seen that man before in my life," he said with certainty. "He didn't check his wand in with me. I make a point of remembering new people."
"Then how did he get in?" Amelia asked.
"I don't know, but it is concerning," Moody sighed. "You're completely sure you didn't see him?"
"Completely," Ivor reiterated. "That man did not pass through. If he did, his name would be with the others."
Moody shook his head.
"I don't like it," he declared. "He was able to bypass security to get into the Wizengamot chambers. He could have done anything in there. Ivor, is there anyone that has clearance that means they do not have to check in with you?"
The man looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"Well, there's the Minister and only some others I cannot speak about. They have their own clearance, and they don't use the same entrance as everyone else."
His emphasis on the word speak told Amelia all she needed to know, and she groaned in frustration.
"It doesn't make sense" Moody broke into her thoughts. "If he's one of them, what the hell was he doing in a dive in Knockturn Alley?"
"Well, it's not like we are going to find out, is it?" Amelia asked irritably.
"Maybe not, but we have a face to watch out for, but then again, if he is one of them, I don't think it would be too bright to be looking into it. You don't want to make an enemy of an Unspeakable. They play with things we have no understanding of. If he is one of them, you saw what he did in that pub. Best leave it alone, lass."
Amelia nodded, though she had no intention of doing so, not when the mystery man had only become more interesting.
Now that she believed she somewhat identified him, she simply couldn't let it go.
It was not in her nature to do so, which is why she continuously found herself revisiting the death of her parents. She was tenacious, and although she knew she should perhaps listen to Alastor, she simply couldn't dismiss it when she felt so close to solving one of the mysteries that was bothering her.