"You really are a damned fool!" Titus Yaxley grumbled as he paced back and forth in front of his nephew. "Not only did you make a show of yourself, but you also pissed off Arcturus Black in the process."
Stan opened his mouth to speak, and Titus slapped him with a letter he'd received from Black late the night before.
"Before you say anything, I want you to choose your words very carefully," he warned.
Stan nodded.
"The owner," he spat. "The owner couldn't just let it go."
"The owner?"
"His waitress spilt wine on me, and he made it a bigger deal than it needed to be. I just wanted an apology and for my robes to be cleaned."
Titus hummed.
Despite Arcturus's irritation with Stan, he could not allow a member of his family to be disrespected in such a way by a simple restaurant owner, even if his idiot nephew deserved it.
"I will handle it," he murmured.
"Thank you, uncle."
"Now get out of my sight," Titus demanded. "I gave you those tickets, and you have shown me up. If you do it again, it will be you I deal with. Understood?" he added in a whisper, leaning closely enough that Stan could not mishear him.
The man swallowed deeply as he nodded before fleeing.
He knew it was not wise to push his luck, not when Titus was in such a terrible mood.
Now, not only did he have to appease Arcturus, he needed to deal with the restaurant owner for his lack of respect for a member of his family.
With a shake of his head, Titus took a seat behind his desk, pondering just how he could achieve both problems he faced.
(Break)
She thumbed through the small amount of paperwork in the file she had pulled, shaking her head at the lack of information it contained. Slamming it on her desk in frustration, Amelia placed her head in her hands.
"Hard night?" Alastor asked as he arrived for their shift.
"Not so much," Amelia sighed.
"Well, I have news, sort of," he murmured quietly. "I tried to reach you last night, but you weren't home."
"No, Edgar took me to the opening of the new restaurant in Knockturn Alley."
"How lovely," Alastor mocked. "Anyway, I had Albus look into our mystery man. In not so many words, his advice was to leave it alone. He had a word with a contact who confirmed he is not one of the greycloaks."
"Jameson told me the same."
"Jameson?"
Amelia slid the file towards Alastor.
"His name is Harry Jameson, and he is the owner of the new restaurant. I spoke with him last night."
"And?" Moody asked interestedly.
"He claims to be a simple restaurateur."
"You don't believe him?"
Amelia shook her head.
"Well, he owns the restaurant. He made a prat of one of the Yaxleys, but no, there's more to him than that. I know what I saw that night, Alastor, and you know you meet a certain type of person when you're talking to them."
"Auror's instinct."
"Exactly," Amelia concurred. "There's something about him."
"Something unsettling?"
"No, and that's what I find most odd. I can't explain the feeling I get from him, but it's not like the lot we bring in here. I mean, if he was like them, he wouldn't have risked helping me, would he?"
"Aye, I suppose not," Alastor agreed.
"Anyway, I spoke with him and thanked him."
"But you still pulled his file."
"I was curious," Amelia replied with a shrug.
"Wait, he's the same age as you, just about. Don't you remember him from Hogwarts?"
"No, he's not familiar from school."
"With these grades, he would've stood out," Alastor said thoughtfully. "Should I check with Albus?"
"Would it make a difference? I don't remember him from Hogwarts."
"Aye, but someone as skilled as he seems to be is someone who is remembered by those he meets. Maybe there's a trail here."
"Maybe."
"Alright, you two, a body has been found in Knockturn Alley. It smells funny, and I want you to look into it," Grimm instructed as he entered the room.
"Who's smelling dead bodies to know it smells funny?" Moody asked with a straight face.
"The bloody circumstances, Moody!" Grimm snapped. "It's a young woman, and she's well-dressed. Two of our lot are already there, but this is your case. Well, get on with it."
Grimm left the room, and Alastor nudged her shoulder.
"Come on, lass. Let's have a look."
Amelia nodded and followed the man, placing the file belonging to Harry Jameson in the drawer of her desk.
Something still did not add up to her, but for now, she needed to focus on the case at hand.
She would peruse the file again later just in case she missed something.
(Break)
"The food was excellent, with the service following suit, and the mid-meal entertainment will not soon be forgotten," Harry read aloud from the morning edition of The Daily Prophet to the nervous Thomas.
"She liked it?"
"She loved it," Harry assured the man, clapping him smartly on the shoulder.
Thomas positively beamed, relieved that the food critic from the newspaper had enjoyed her experience here.
"How many bookings do we have for tonight?" Harry asked.
"Only six," Thomas answered uneasily.
"It's alright," Harry replied, assuaging his concerns. "It will pick up, especially with a review like this."
Thomas nodded, frowning as the bell rang above the door rang.
They weren't open for several hours yet, so they weren't expecting anyone.
"Hello, I'd like to make a booking for this evening," the voice of a gentleman sounded.
"See," Harry chuckled.
Thomas tutted amusedly and made his way to the reception area whilst Harry continued reading the newspaper.
There was little else of note, though Harry had come to enjoy the mundane. He'd had more than enough excitement to last him a lifetime in only his first two decades.
No, the somewhat dull and quiet life had yet to lose its novelty.
"Erm, Harry. There's someone here to see you," Thomas whispered worriedly.
"Who is it?"
"Lord Yaxley."
Harry nodded as he stood.
"Don't worry, Thomas, I'll deal with him."
The man took him by the arm.
"You should be careful with him; he's not the friendliest of men."
Harry offered him a reassuring look, smiling as he entered the reception area.
"Ah, Lord Yaxley," he greeted the scowling man. "I expect you are here to apologise on behalf of your nephew. I was sceptical that you would come but consider me humble in my wrongness."
"Apologise?" Yaxley snarled through gritted teeth.
He was taller than Harry, his slightly greying hair slicked back with an oil that smelt of an unpleasant musk. His brown beady eyes were rather unwelcoming, but it was the pencil-thin moustache that completed his almost villainous look.
Harry did indeed get the impression that Yaxley was not a man to be taken lightly, but having dealt with the likes of Voldemort; he would not be intimated easily.
Yaxley may not know it, but he was out of his depth here, even if Harry would sooner see an amicable conclusion to the impending unpleasantness.
"You think I'm here to apologise to you?"
"I can't think of any other reason you would be here."
Yaxley laughed humourlessly, evidently wondering if Harry had taken leave of his senses.
"I am here to get my nephew the gold back that you charged him for his meal."
"Is that so," Harry snorted. "Well, Mr Yaxley, I will tell you the same thing I told him: anyone who comes here will do so respectfully. This is a nice establishment, and I intend to keep it that way. Your nephew was an absolute prick and got considerably less than he deserved. Now, if you would kindly leave, I have other things that require my attention."
Yaxley looked at Harry in disbelief, though the expression lasted only a moment before he drew his wand.
"You are going to return the gold, you little shit!"
Harry released a deep breath.
"I really wish you hadn't done that," he sighed.
(Break)
"Alright, make room," Moody barked as they pushed through the crowd that had formed.
The Aurors already on the scene had the sense to erect a tent around the body and keep everyone back to preserve the area.
"Merlin," Alastor gasped as they entered the tent.
There was blood splashed across the ground and up the brickwork from the horrific injuries the victim had received.
Alastor was taken aback, but it was Amelia who was in shock.
"She was at the restaurant last night," she whispered. "I recognise the blue dress. She was a part of Stan Yaxley's group."
"Are you sure?" Alastor asked.
"They were the first lot to leave," she explained with a frown. "After what happened to Stan, they didn't stay long after dessert."
"Aye, and now she's dead, murdered by the looks of it," Alastor grumbled.
Amelia nodded.
"What happened?" she whispered as she took in the bloody sight before her.
It was clear that she'd been bludgeoned, the wounds so severe that her skull had been split open, and her face was an unrecognisable mess. It had been a vicious attack and one that appeared to have been done without magic.
"Blunt object," Moody grunted. "Someone's clobbered the poor lass."
Amelia had reached the same conclusion, but that didn't bring them much closer to piecing together what had happened to her after she'd left the restaurant.
"Well, we need to speak to who she was with last night," Alastor declared. "I'll do that. You ask around to see if anyone…"
He was cut off by the sound of a loud bang a short distance away and some screams from the gathered crowd.
"What the hell was that?" Moody asked, drawing his wand and pushing his way through the throngs of people.
Another disturbance sounded much louder this time.
"Get out of the way!" Alastor barked.
They broke through in time to see the doors of the restaurant Amelia had attended last night and a man being hurled into the street, his robes and hair in disarray.
Harry Jameson stalked out after him, levelling his wand at who Amelia recognised as Titus Yaxley.
This was not good.
"That's enough!" Alastor snapped, stepping between the two men. "The next one of you to cast a spell will be coming in with us."
Jameson shrugged as he slid his wand into a holster, and Yaxley pushed himself to his feet.
"You'll pay for this!" he hissed, pointing a trembling finger at Jameson.
"Oh, shut up, you idiot," the other man snorted.
"What is going on?" Moody demanded to know.
"This prat came in and tried to threaten me," Jameson answered. "He drew his wand on me, and I defended myself."
"Is this true?"
Yaxley continued to glare though his cheeks had reddened from embarrassment.
"I want this filthy mudblood arrested! I came here to discuss what happened last night, and he attacked me."
"Did he now?" Alastor sighed. "Well, I'm putting an end to it now. I've got more important things to do than deal with your petty squabble. Yaxley, bugger off, and Jameson, we want a word with you."
"I'm all ears," Jameson replied with a grin.
"You'll pay for this!" Yaxley warned. "Mark my words, boy, you'll regret what you did."
"Of course, I will," Jameson said dismissively. "Why don't you pucker up and kiss my arse, you inbred ape."
Yaxley snarled, his hand twitching as though he would attack, but he thought better of it.
He'd already made enough of a fool of himself in front of the gathered crowd. Instead, he turned sharply on his heel and stalked away, shoving people aside as he did so.
"What a pleasant chap," Jameson commented, his gaze following Yaxley until he vanished. "Well, if you want to talk to me, you'd better come inside."
He entered the restaurant, followed by Amelia and a bemused Alastor.
"He did alright handling Yaxley," Moody murmured. "Not an enemy most would want to make".
Amelia nodded.
"What can I do for the two of you?" Jameson asked as they entered the dining area.
With nary a flick of his wand, the tables that were strewn about the room from the confrontation were righted, and Amelia took note of how casual such a piece of magic had been for him.
"A woman has been murdered," Moody informed him. "She was here last night as part of Stan Yaxley's group."
Jameson's expression fell.
"I am sorry to hear that," he murmured.
He seemed to mean it.
"Do you have a list of all the guests?" Alastor asked.
Jameson nodded.
"Everyone was required to give their names when they entered," he explained. "I'll fetch it for you."
Moody watched him as he left the room.
"I get what you mean," he said quietly. "There's something about him, not so unsettling, but he can handle himself. You saw what he did to Yaxley."
"And in here when it was the pub," Amelia added.
Alastor hummed.
Jameson returned only a moment later and handed him the list.
"Everyone in Yaxley's party is here," he explained, pointing to the names of the group of eight.
"Thank you, Mr Jameson," Alastor said gratefully as he stood. "I'll check this out, and Auror Bones will have just a few more questions for you. Oh, and thank you for what you did that night. I appreciate you stepping in."
Jameson merely nodded and Alastor took his leave to look into the names provided.
"Did you hear anything at all?"
"No, we closed just before midnight and I was the last to leave at around one," Jameson explained as he took a seat.
He seemed genuinely upset by what had happened, and though Amelia had not suspected him of being involved in the first place, even a recruit could see he wouldn't have harmed the woman.
Yaxley on the other hand…
"You should be careful of Yaxley," she warned. "He's a dangerous man."
Jameson smirked.
"Are you worried about me, Auror Bones?"
"Do I need to be?"
"No, I'm not looking to cause trouble, but if Yaxley tries to make good on his threat, then, well, he will see that I'm not so easily bullied. What about the young woman, what happened to her?"
Amelia grimaced at the memory of the crime scene only a short distance away.
"It appears as though she was bludgeoned to death with a blunt object, but we won't know for certain until the report is received when the body is investigated."
Jameson nodded.
"Well, if there is anything I can do for you, you just need to let me know. I will keep my ear to the ground. If I hear anything, I'll come straight to you."
"Thank you," Amelia said as she stood. "For the record, the food here was great. It's not often I get time to eat away from my desk."
"Then you should do so more often," Jameson urged. "There's another free dinner here for you and a guest at your convenience."
"I'll remember that," Amelia replied with a smile. "Anyway, back to work I go."
"Good Luck, Auror Bones."
Amelia nodded and took her leave of the restaurant, returning to the rather grim sight of the blood and corpse that was in the process of being prepared to be moved.
"What a mess," she murmured to herself, taking some notes of what she'd observed here and the conversation she'd shared with Harry Jameson.
(Break)
Harry slammed his fist on the table, his temper momentarily getting the better of him. He was already irritated by the arrival of Lord Yaxley but learning that one of the young women who'd been with his nephew had been murdered had truly irked him.
It was likely that the last place she'd been seen was in his own restaurant, and not only was it bad for business, he took it as a personal insult that it had happened at all.
No, this wouldn't do at all, and having no faith in the Ministry of Magic to do what was necessary, especially with such a prominent figure possibly involved, Harry decided it was something he would look into himself.
"Thomas!"
"Yes, Sir?"
"How many tables do we have?"
"We are fully booked, Sir," Thomas answered, holding up the stack of letters that had evidently arrived with the morning post.
"That's good," Harry said proudly. "Do you think you manage on your own for tonight, and maybe tomorrow? I won't be far, but there is something that requires my attention."
"You can rely on me, Sir," Thomas assured him.
"Thank you," Harry replied, taking one of the saltshakers from the bar and tapping it with his wand. "Just give this a firm shake if you need me, and I'll be here as quickly as possible."
Thomas nodded.
"What if anyone comes looking for you?"
"Then send for me," Harry instructed. "If it helps, hire some private security for tonight."
"I will, Sir."
With that, Harry took his leave of the restaurant to return home briefly.
He needed a few things he'd been neglecting to keep with him at all times, but that would change now.
Of course, he didn't know the motivation behind the murder of the woman, but it seemed that Yaxley would not let what had happened between them lie, and if the man decided to pursue whatever grudge he had, Harry would ensure it would be Yaxley who regretted it.
(Break)
"How many times do I have to tell you? When we left the restaurant, I went straight home. I don't know what happened to Imelda after that. She liked to party, so she might have stayed in the alley. All I know is that she wasn't with me," Stan Yaxley groaned.
"So, it is just a coincidence she was in your company shortly before she was killed?" Alastor questioned.
"YES!"
Alastor hummed as he took some notes.
"Take him back to the cell," he instructed the third Auror in the room.
"You're not letting me go?"
"Not until we have verified what you've told us," Moody answered.
Stan released a huff of frustration as he was led away.
"What do you think, Bones?"
"I think he's telling the truth," Amelia replied. "He's unpleasant, but he's not a murderer."
"Aye, I agree with you," Alastor grumbled. "We'll check out his story anyway, and then I suppose we should bring the rest of them in."
Amelia nodded.
Stan had not deviated from his explanation, and he seemed to be genuinely affected by the death of the woman.
No, he'd not killed her, but that didn't rule out his entire group, of which six more remained to be interviewed.
"Go on," Alastor urged. "Take a break for an hour or so. I've got paperwork to process, and then we'll round the others up before we let him go."
Amelia nodded gratefully.
If they were to conduct another half dozen interviews, it would be a long day, especially if they couldn't garner anything of note from the group, who would reluctantly tell them anything.
"Coffee?" she asked.
"Aye, thanks, lass," Alastor sighed.
Amelia took her leave of the room, lamenting that a large part of her job was waiting around for paperwork, medical reports, and anything else that could be caught up in the red tape of the law.
Still, she remained confident they would solve this murder. It wasn't often one slipped through the net, but if none were willing to speak, Imelda Smith could be another name to add to the very same pile of Mr Anderson, a case that continued to confound Amelia and her colleagues.
No, she wouldn't allow that to happen and for a woman to be bludgeoned to death and her body cast aside so haphazardly, the public would demand justice.
Every move they made would be scrutinised, and Amelia gave it only a matter of hours before Grimm would demand answers from them.
She only hoped they had them to give.
(Break)
"Are you sure about this, sir?" Thomas asked nervously. "I know of a place that even the Aurors haven't found out about, but the people that go there…"
He broke off as he shook his head.
"Thomas, I can handle myself."
"I know, sir, but these are the worst of the worst. My place was considered too friendly for them, if you understand what I mean. I just think this is a bad idea, sir."
Harry placed a hand on his shoulder.
"I promise, I'm not going to do anything dangerous, I just need to get in."
Thomas released a sigh as he nodded.
"Alright," he conceded. "You need to go to 'The Troll's Rest'. When you go to the bar, place exactly one galleon, two sickles, and three knuts in front of the barman. Then you scratch your ear and order a John Collins."
"Isn't it a Tom Collins?" Harry asked with a frown.
"It is, but you ask for a John Collins," Thomas explained. "Br careful, sir. I went once out of curiosity and have no desire to return."
"Thank you, Thomas."
Having gone home to fetch his cloak and a few other useful items, Harry returned to the restaurant to oversee the setting up of the tables and to ensure he was not needed for anything else before having the conversation with Thomas.
Now, he found himself approaching The Troll's Rest, a small, dank, and unwelcoming bar if what Thomas had told him was to be believed.
Entering, the smell of stale alcohol and tobacco assaulted his senses, and he could scarcely see for the thick fog of smoke that filled the air.
Nonetheless, he did as he'd been instructed to and placed the coins on the bar.
"A John Collins," he requested, scratching his ear.
The barman, a bald, plump, and scarred older man eyed him suspiciously for a moment before merely grunting and nodding towards a door to the left of the bar.
The worn sign on the door indicated it was a restroom, but as Harry entered, it was little more than a hole in the ground, and a filthy one at that.
Before he could change his mind, however, a disturbing sucking sound was heard, and one of the largest men Harry had ever seen, emerged from the hole.
"Who gave you the password?" he demanded.
With the girth of the man pressing him up against the door, Harry met his gaze.
"None of your bloody business."
The man's nostrils flared, and he chuckled, much to Harry's relief.
"Alright, come on."
With a protest dying on his lips, he felt a firm grip squeeze his shoulders before being hurled into the most unpleasant voids, and when he arrived at his destination, Harry did his utmost not to vomit.
"Fun, eh?" the large man grunted, and Harry wondered if he, like Hagrid, had giant's blood.
He was certainly big and ugly enough to.
Not that Harry had to spend much time in his company. Only a moment later, he vanished again, and Harry was free to explore the venue.
He did so beneath the cloak, slipping behind a large pot plant to conceal himself.
What he noticed immediately was that it was a fine establishment. The curtains around the room were of a deep red velvet, and the tables were made of solid oak. The chairs around each were leather upholstered wingbacks, and the men and women here were drinking the finest of spirits from the finest of glasses.
Each was dressed opulently, but that was where the class seemed to end.
The waitresses were all nude, and some women were dancing atop some of the tables for the entertainment of the customers.
What caught his attention, other than the women, was a man circling the room, offering bottles containing liquids of various colours in small measures.
Potions.
The people here were ingesting them recreationally.
Harry didn't know what any of the concoctions were, but judging by the state of some of the clients, they weren't simple pain relievers.
As he carefully circled the room, he noticed many were simply unresponsive, their eyes wide and bloodshot from the effects of the potions. Those that were not dabbling in potions were holding private get-togethers, though Harry couldn't say he recognised any of them.
He found it odd that Thomas seemed to be so concerned about him being here, but as he entered the next room, Harry understood the man's reservations.
The other had been rather sophisticated in comparison.
Here, loud music was playing, and dozens of small fires floating above lit the room in an array of colours.
Harry had been taken aback by the nudity of the waitresses in the other, but what he saw here could only be described as a den of debauchery.
Most of the clientele were men who were mostly indulging in acts that should not be seen in decent company, no less in a public setting.
There were others here, seated within private booths and simply drinking with their associates, but much of the room was dedicated to the most adult of entertainment.
Harry looked on as a woman twirled her wand, tearing the robes off one of the patrons before beckoning him to approach. She then mounted him in front of everyone, much to the delight of the onlookers.
Realising he would learn nothing of worth from those clients, Harry began listening in on the conversations of those within the private booths.
Much of what he heard was discussions pertaining to businesses some of the men owned and how they managed to avoid paying a higher premium on tax by exploiting loopholes in the law.
Others discussed things of a more sinister nature; the trade of the potions Harry had seen, women, and other illegal items they would not wish to be caught with.
It was when he reached another of the booths that he came across a familiar face, and one he was not surprised to see here.
Yaxley.
Placing himself as closely as he could to the man, Harry listened in to the conversation he was having with a man with his hood up so that his face was hidden by the shadow.
"The Aurors took Stan in for it," Yaxley growled. "You need to be more careful. It's all well and good you living out your detestable fantasies, but I will not have my family dragged into it."
"Relax, Yaxley," the other man chuckled. "Your nephew has been released without charge, hasn't he?"
"That's not the point! He shouldn't have been arrested in the first place."
"She was with him," the other man pointed out. "I just so happened to come across her later in the evening and couldn't help myself. She was, grateful, at first."
"Until you bloody killed her."
The other man said nothing else, though Harry could almost feel the feral grin coming from beneath his hood.
"Was there something else you wanted from me?"
Yaxley shook his head.
"No, I can handle the rest of my own affairs. That damned restaurant owner will pay for humiliating me. I'm already working on it."
"Just say the word, and I'll arrange for an unpleasant accident."
"Don't be stupid!" Yaxley hissed. "If the Ministry get wind that you're even in Britain, none of us will get a moment of rest. For Merlin's sake, exercise some self-control. I will do what I can to throw them off but tread carefully. It would be foolish for anyone to learn of your presence. Now, take the portkey and get out of here. You've done enough damage, and keep your head down."
"Fine," the other man huffed irritably. "I'll keep my head down, well, until the full moon, at least."
Before Yaxley could say anything else, the other man vanished, and Harry took a step backwards.
The voice was familiar, and he'd been wracking his brain to figure out who it was beneath the hood.
At the utterance of his last words, it all fell into place.
Fenrir Greyback.
The werewolf was behind the seemingly senseless murder of the young woman.
The fact alone that he was in Britain was indeed a cause for concern, and though Harry had his own score to settle with the werewolf, he couldn't help but wonder why he was here.
Had he been summoned by Voldemort?
Harry didn't know.
What he did know, however, was that the Ministry of Magic was looking for an exceedingly dangerous man, and if they were to find themselves on Greyback's trail, they were in more danger than they could fathom.
Harry was not aware of how large the man's pack currently was, but if he'd garnered a big enough reputation that a mere mention of his name would send the Ministry into a panic, it was safe to say it was already large, ferocious and had already carved a reputation for themselves across the continent.
As much as he was loathe to involve himself further, Harry couldn't merely keep the information to himself.
Bines and Moody needed to be warned, and though he did not doubt the capability of either, it was of the utmost importance they understood what it was they were getting themselves into.
(Break)
Alastor slammed his hand atop his desk and swept the contents onto the floor before dragging a hand through his hair. The interviews had not gone as intended, and the man was irate with their lack of results.
"Nothing!" he snapped. "None of them know a damned thing!"
"You believe them?"
Alastor nodded reluctantly.
"I do," he muttered. "They're scumbags but not killers. None of them would be able to keep it together when pressed."
They'd been interviewing into the small hours, and Amelia was as exhausted as her partner looked. It had been a difficult night with next to nothing to show for their efforts.
None of the group who'd been seen with Imelda Smith had been involved, all giving the same version of events of the woman leaving them when they exited the restaurant to attend a party, though none knew where it was being hosted.
Only a matter of hours later, she'd been found dead in Knockturn Alley.
"Back to square one," Moody sighed as he leaned back in his chair.
"Sleep first?"
"Aye," Alastor agreed. "We should rest for a few hours at least. Go on, get home. I'll clean this mess up."
Amelia nodded and yawned as she fastened her cloak.
She could think of little more than the paltry sleep she would manage before picking up where they left off, which was not very far from where they'd been that morning.
"Long day?"
Amelia almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of the voice, and she scowled as Harry Jameson stepped out of the shadows in the atrium.
"Don't you have a restaurant to run?"
"I do," he murmured, "but considering one of my guests was murdered last night, I thought my time was best served looking into that."
Amelia's frown deepened.
"You've been investigating an active murder case?" she whispered, dragging him into a nearby visitor's room.
At this hour, it was empty, but that did not prevent Jameson from casting several privacy charms, some of which Amelia did not recognise.
"Yes," he answered simply. "What have you found?"
"I'm not going to tell you that."
"Of course not," he snorted. "I'm guessing it is a big fat nothing, but that is beside the point. You need to be careful with this one."
"What do you know?" Amelia asked curiously.
"More than you. I will tell you," he assured her. "There's something I need to check first."
"No!" Amelia said firmly. "I can't allow a civilian to investigate an Auror case. I don't know what you've done already, but it is too much."
Jameson merely hummed in response, opening the door to leave.
"Where are you going?" Amelia asked.
"Home, if you must know," he replied.
"Aren't you going to tell me what you know? You do realise keeping information pertaining to a case from me is against the law."
"Bloody hell, you really don't know how to have any fun, do you? I bet you were a prefect at Hogwarts."
"And Head Girl," Amelia said proudly. "I don't remember you at Hogwarts."
"Because I didn't go to Hogwarts," Jameson said with a shrug. "I completed my education elsewhere."
"Elsewhere?"
He smirked at her, not falling into the trap of giving Amelia any more information.
"You know, you're really frustrating!"
"I've been told," Jameson said with a grin. "I will tell you what you need to know. Come to the restaurant tomorrow after closing. I will have definitive evidence for you."
Amelia was on the verge of losing her temper, and she took hold of his forearm to prevent him from leaving.
"Don't make me arrest you."
"Oh, that could be fun," Jameson returned, his full of mirth.
Amelia glared at him.
"Alright, honestly, are you allergic to fun?"
"I don't see any fun in someone's death."
Jameson's expression fell.
"You know, you're quite right," he conceded apologetically. "Maybe I get too much of a kick out of irritating you. Anyway, I'm not carrying out an unlawful investigation."
He removed a roll of parchment sealed with a purple ribbon and offered it to Amelia.
She balked as she unfurled it and saw the seal of the International Confederation of Warlocks.
"You're a Hit-Wizard," she whispered.
Jameson's expression was stony when she tore her eyes away from the document to look at him.
Hit-Wizards of the ICW were amongst the best-trained wizards in the world, and just like the Unspeakables, very little was known about them, even amongst themselves. They operated using nicknames and carried out their work wherever they were required within the allied countries of the ICW.
All Amelia knew was that the work they did was dangerous and not for the faint at heart.
"How?" she asked in disbelief. "You can't be any older than me."
"Extenuating circumstances," Jameson answered, not elaborating further. "This is classified. No one is to know about this," he added, taking back the document. "Understood?"
Amelia nodded.
"Why do you own a restaurant? Is it a cover?"
"No, it is my restaurant. The life I've lived has not been a glamorous one, and for once, I just want something simple. The young lady was killed after visiting my restaurant, so I have a vested interest in getting justice for her."
"Justice?"
"Why else would I be doing this?"
Amelia didn't have an answer for him, and he seemed to be sincere.
"Alright, I will allow you to consult on this case," she offered, "but this is still my case."
"Of course," Jameson assured her. "Now, what do you know?"
Before Amelia could answer, her Auror identification vibrated in her pocket, and she retrieved it to find a message from the lady who investigated the bodies when they were brought in.
If you're still here, I have an update for you. It's strange but could be important.
Jennifer
"You can send instant messages?" Jameson asked, peering over her shoulder.
Amelia hid her card from him and scowled as he grinned innocently.
"Yes."
"Can I get one of those cards?"
"No."
Jameson pouted petulantly.
"Fine, then I'm not going to tell you how I can send messages, and it's better than how you do it," he replied in a teasing tone.
Amelia shrugged as she pushed the door open, pausing after she had taken a dozen steps.
"Are you coming?"
Jameson beamed at her, and Amelia shook her head.
She was already regretting allowing him to help her.
(Break)
Harry nodded as he inspected the items that were carefully laid out on the table. Many of them seemed rather primitive to him in design, especially compared to those he'd had access to in the Department of Mysteries.
"Do you have to touch everything?" Bones huffed, taking a pair of forceps from him.
"Who's this?" the lady who investigated the bodies asked.
"Harry Jameson," Harry introduced himself with a smile, offering his hand.
"It's fine," Bones sighed when the woman gave her a questioning look.
"Jennifer Roberts," the woman replied, returning the gesture. "Are you an expert in the field?"
"He's an expert in irritating me," Bones grumbled, taking another instrument from Harry that he'd picked up to take a closer look at. "Honestly, you're like a child."
Harry frowned at the woman as he looked at the syringe she'd taken from him longingly.
It seemed interesting.
"What do you have, Jenny?" Bones asked.
"Well, whoever killed her was strong," Jennifer replied as she gestured to the mangled skull of the woman. "The killing blow was a single strike with a rounded object. I can't say what it was, but the force was more than any normal man could muster. Judging by the angle, her attacker was around a foot taller than her."
"A big man then?"
Harry nodded.
"And strong," Jennifer reiterated. "When I did the internal investigation, I found traces of spermicide. She had protected sex within two hours of being killed."
"Sex?" Bones asked.
"I can explain how that works to you later," Harry whispered, eliciting another glare from the woman.
"Yes, and there's a lack of bruising to suggest it was forced."
Bones hummed, and Harry remained silent, all the evidence thus far only adding credence to what he already knew.
"More importantly, is this," Jennifer continued, holding up a glass tube containing a single hair. "It's not hers, and honestly, I don't know where it came from. It's almost human, but not quite. I couldn't tell you where it came from."
"How strange," Bones murmured as she inspected the hair before turning to Harry. "Any idea?"
Harry nodded.
"I know exactly where it is from," he sighed. "It's not quite human, but it's not fully animal either. It's from a werewolf."
"A werewolf? It wasn't even a full moon last night," Bones pointed out.
"It wasn't," Harry agreed, "but some werewolves adopt more of their feral nature, especially if they embrace what they are. It begins to manifest itself, even when they're not transformed. As such, you end up with an odd hybrid of sorts; a man with the traits of his inner wolf, even in his human form."
"Is that true?" Bones asked.
"I've never heard of it," Jennifer replied, "but it makes sense."
"Jameson?" Bones pressed.
"Well, there's absolutely no doubt of my suspicions now," Harry mused aloud, even if he already knew who was behind the murder. "Greyback. Fenrir Greyback killed this woman."
Bones' eyes widened.
"Are you certain?"
"That was what I was going to tell you tomorrow when I looked into it further. I heard Greyback himself admit to it, but I didn't see his face. I wanted to be sure it was him without any doubt before telling you."
"Merlin," Amelia whispered worriedly. "Greyback is in Britain.
"He is," Harry confirmed. "That's why I told you to be careful."
Bones nodded, evidently pondering what she would do next.
"I can't keep that from my colleagues," she decided. "They need to know what it is we're up against."
"I agree," Harry replied, "just leave my name out of it. I'll keep looking into what I can and keep you informed."
"Are you sure about this?" Bones questioned. "If you do this and I can't tell anyone of your involvement, you'll be alone."
Harry shrugged.
"That's nothing new for me," he snorted. "I'll be in touch."
With that, he vanished, returning home for some much-needed rest.
He'd not intended to use the Hit-Wizard licence, but Bones was being difficult, and Harry felt he had no choice.
Still, it was amusing to see her reaction.
He just hoped that doing so would not come back to haunt him in the future.
Why could he not just keep himself out of trouble?
He had his restaurant and the simple life he'd always yearned for, and yet, there always seemed to be something to drag him back towards the lurking danger.
No, after Greyback had been dealt with, he'd keep himself out of anything else that may arise.
For him, this one was personal for what the werewolf had done to one of his customers and to Remus.
Maybe now the werewolf he'd known what felt to be many years ago would live a life without being infected with the disease that plagued him so.
Or maybe Harry was indeed involving himself in something better left alone.
Regardless, he was already involved and would see it through before returning to the easy life he still wished to live.