Well, didn’t I just throw the cat amongst the pigeons with that last chapter! I should stress, I wasn’t trying to be controversial; I genuinely believe that Harry and Ginny’s actions were believable and in-character with the way I’d written them. Harry was practically a basket-case at the start of this story, and Ginny’s seen things that will probably scar her for life; I tried to write their reactions to events in a very human, if not particularly romantic, way. As potterfan2008 said to me when we were discussing this; Harry telling Ginny that he’s very attracted to her and wants to have a real relationship is (for him) a declaration of love. It’s certainly the best he can manage at this point in his life.
Right, on to other matters. I said quite a while ago that someone guessed who the killer was. I deliberately didn’t say who that person was for the simple reason that I didn’t want everyone going back and looking at his reviews because he was asking the right questions right from the start. He actually got the killer right after the Squib Register was stolen, so he’s been sitting on that information for a while. Can I, therefore, ask you to give a round of applause to ProfessorBinns79! Greg, please accept a hatful of (virtual) gold stars for extreme cleverness.
Finally, I’m sure at the end of this chapter many of you will have lots of questions. I’ve deliberately not provided too much of the back story as I really wanted to leave a bit of mystery about the whole thing. However, if you do want to ask anything please feel free to contact, either by review or p.m. and I’ll do my best to fill in any gaps.
BTW, Roffey House, mentioned in this chapter was a real building, although I admit I enlarged it a bit. It’s featured (mainly towards the end) of Iron Maiden’s ‘Two minutes to midnight’ video if anyone is interested in seeing what an s***hole the east end of London used to be.
|
Harry Potter and the Nameless Man | ||||||
|
Category: Alternate Universe Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Action/Adventure Warnings: Death, Disturbing Imagery, Extreme Language, Intimate Sexual Situations, Violence Story is Complete Rating: R Reviews: 362 Summary: Newly appointed probationary Auror Ginny Weasley wanted to do something more meaningful with her life than just play Quidditch. Newly promoted Assistant Head Auror Harry Potter has problems, not least of all that his ex-girlfriend has just moved in with another man. When a pure-blood hunting serial killer suddenly appears, will the Departments latest recruit be a help or a distraction for him? Hitcount: Story Total: 80426; Chapter Total: 7540 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: |
Previous |
|
||||
|
With the slightest of nods, Harry hurried past the Auror standing guard at the entrance to the basement of St Mungo’s. He had to admit he felt an awful lot better for getting a solid eight hours’ sleep, and he was now keen to get on with the investigation. He had awoken to find Ginny had already left the house and he assumed he would find her here, continuing the search of the nameless killer’s hideout. Entering the hidden chamber, Harry found a full team of Aurors busily searching the room for clues. He spotted Ginny rooting through a cupboard on the far side of the room, and she smiled warmly at him as soon as she noticed him enter. More surprisingly, Gawain Robards was also present and seemed to be co-ordinating the search. “Morning, Harry,” Gawain greeted him. “Any word on Susan?” “She’s going to be fine,” Harry assured his boss. “Her wounds weren’t life threatening and we stopped the poison before it did any lasting damage. The Healers say she should be on her feet in the next couple of days.” “Excellent,” Gawain said, nodding approvingly. “Bones is too damn good an Auror to lose to something as stupid as a Muggle trap. The search team found several more traps, by the way. He’s a tricky bastard, this killer.” “Have we found anything useful?” Harry asked. “Quite a lot, actually,” Robards informed him. “Take a look at these.” Robards led Harry over to a large bookcase which was filled with tomes of all shapes and sizes. Scanning the titles briefly, Harry could see a large number of what appeared to be Muggle medical texts. On one of the lower shelves, however, was a collection of large books bound in a rough, black material. Each of the books was marked with a pentagram and titled ‘Magik Moste Foul’, with volumes one to eight present. Harry crouched down to examine the books more closely. “I’ve never heard of these books,” Harry commented. “I’d be surprised if you had,” Robards said gruffly. “They’re complete fakes.” “What?” Harry exclaimed. “Yes, we’ve examined them and they are complete and utter Hippogriff shit,” Robards explained. “There isn’t a single proper spell or ritual in any of them. Not even close. As far as we can tell, they were written by someone as a hoax or a prank, admittedly a bloody nasty one.” “But what are they doing here?” Harry demanded. In answer, Gawain selected volume four of the books and pulled it out. He opened the book to a pre-selected point and then handed it to Harry. Scanning the page, Harry noted that it appeared to describe a ritual to increase a person’s magical power. He quickly read through the instructions for the ritual and froze when he reached step eight. ‘8. Once the incantation has been recited thirteen times, the liver of the sacrifice must be cast into the flames and reduced to ash completely. The incantation is then recited a further three times, before the heart is burnt in a similar manner. Take note: the flames must consume the heart and liver completely if success is to be achieved.’ “Sweet Merlin!” Harry gasped. “You don’t mean to tell me that four people have died because some idiot believed this shit was real?” “I’m afraid that’s exactly what has happened,” Robards said grimly. “I doubt we’ll ever know where these books came from or who wrote them, but for whatever reason our nameless killer seems to believe they’re real. This reinforces our theory that the man is a Squib; he knows magic exists, but doesn’t know the difference between a real spell and this crap. The strange thing is that the items used for this fake ritual could actually be used for certain curses, which suggests the writer used a real spell as a starting point, before he threw in all this crap about incantations and pentagrams. It’s no wonder we all thought the killer was trying to perform a genuine ritual. ” “So this is the killer’s ‘vital work’ which ‘cannot be disrupted’,” Harry spat. He felt genuinely sick that those women had died to fuel the fantasies of some deranged lunatic who believed he could obtain magical powers from some made-up book of spells. In anger, he threw the book roughly to the ground. “Careful, Potter,” Robards chastised him gently. “Remember that’s evidence you’re throwing about.” Contritely, Harry bent down to retrieve the fake spell book from the floor. As he did so, he noticed a lose piece of paper tucked into the space where the book had been on the shelf. He reached out and withdrew the paper from the space between the other books before examining it. “What’s that you’ve found?” Robards demanded. “It’s a Muggle electricity bill,” Harry explained, peering at the piece of paper intently. “Does it have a name on it?” Robards asked. “Yes, and even better than that, it’s got the bastard’s address on it,” Harry said triumphantly. Robards’ grin was positively vicious. HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP Harry looked up at the ugly, run-down block of flats that went by the name of Roffey House. The ten storey building was situated on the Isle of Dogs in East London, and judging by the graffiti and faint smell of human urine, had seen better days. And living in flat number one hundred and sixteen was a man apparently called Trevor Keating, who could well be the nameless killer. After finding the utility bill at St Mungo’s, Harry and his team had made some preliminary enquires about the man through their Muggle contacts. What they had found was interesting. There was very little information about the man, and what little there was all dated from the last four years. It was if Mr Keating had just appeared out of thin air at that time, and taken up residence in the flat. The only information they could find was from utility services: electricity, gas, TV licence. They could find no medical, tax or birth records for him at all. Suspicion that Keating was their man grew. An Auror team had immediately started surveillance of the flat and they had confirmed that they had seen a man entering the flat that morning. Now, Harry decided, it was time to take Mr Keating into custody. Harry and Ginny stood near the entrance of the block of flats dressed in casual Muggle clothing. A dozen Aurors were situated round the building, all hidden under Disillusion Charms. A back-up team would follow the two of them as they made their way up to the flat. Add they were operating in a Muggle neighbourhood, they had to be especially careful not to draw attention to themselves, hence the low-key approach. The lift was out of order, so they climbed the stairs to the fifth floor. They paused at the end of the landing that flat one hundred and sixteen was situated on. Like many buildings in this area, the landing was open to the elements on one side and Harry could see across the city from his vantage point. The whole building was filthy and had a depressing feel. “You ready?” Harry asked Ginny as they made their way past the neighbouring flats. Most of the doors were covered in spray-painted graffiti and several of them featured boarded-up windows. The place truly was a slum. “Damn right,” Ginny growled. “Let’s get this bastard.” They were about ten yards away from Keating’s flat when suddenly the door opened and a man stepped out. He was dressed in jeans and a blue hooded jacket. The man himself had brown hair and a plain face. He looked completely unremarkable and was the sort of person you could pass in the street without giving a second glance to. The man closed the door of the flat behind him and paused to lock it. He then turned and noticed Harry and Ginny for the first time. He visibly tensed at the sight of them. “Trevor Keating?” Harry challenged the man. The man gave no response other than to turn and sprint in the opposite direction. “Suspect on the run,” Ginny yelled into the enchanted pin on the lapel of her jacket that acted as a communications link between the Aurors. “He’s heading for the east-side stairwell!” Harry had started sprinting after Keating the second the man had started moving, with Ginny just seconds behind him. Keating was fast, however, and reached the stairs long before Harry could get near him. “The suspect is going up, I repeat, up,” Ginny shouted into her communicator as soon as she saw Harry charging up the staircase. “Stop!” Harry shouted at the back of the fleeing man. “You’ve no hope of escape. Give it up!” Keating made no reply, but continued to sprint up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. Harry and Ginny dashed after him, but couldn’t close the distance. “Where the hell is he going?” gasped Ginny as they reached yet another level. They were already on level nine and there didn’t seem to be anywhere to go. Eventually, Keating reached the top level and barrelled through the door situated there. Harry and Ginny were right behind him, and they emerged on the flat roof of the block of flats. Apart from a large air conditioning unit, the roof was completely bare. Keating ran to the edge of the roof and looked around him helplessly. By now, Harry and Ginny had pulled up behind him with their wands drawn. Keating turned to face them with his face expressionless. “You’re under arrest, Keating, or whatever your real name is,” Harry said, slightly winded. “You can’t,” Keating replied. “My work is too important. It can’t be interrupted.” “What, that stupid ritual you’ve been performing in an effort to gain some magical power?” Harry scoffed. “It’s all rubbish, Keating. The ritual is a fake; it’s totally made up.” “You’re lying,” Keating exclaimed, a little heat creeping into his voice. “Don’t be stupid,” Harry snapped. “There’s no way to ‘give’ a person magic; you either have a sufficiently large magical core, or you don’t. Oh, there are rituals to temporarily boost a wizard’s power, but the power has to be there in the first place.” “But the book...” Keating mumbled. “Is a pile of griffin shit,” Ginny snapped. “Where the hell do you get that pile of crap?” “From the library of a prominent pure-blood family,” the man replied distantly. He looked distracted and muttering almost to himself. “Why would they have such a thing?” “One of the Ministry officials at the Department of Magical Artefacts said there was a trend in the mid-eighteen hundreds for pure-blood families to create joke grimoires to confuse Muggles. The spells and rituals generally involved some gruesome act or sacrifice. I bet getting Muggles to slit their arms open or sacrifice babies gave those pure-bloods a lot of laughs,” Harry explained bitterly. “A joke,” Keating repeated. “How fitting. That just about sums up my life: one big joke.” “Well, I’m not laughing,” Harry snarled, aiming his wand squarely at Keating’s head. “You killed a good friend of mine. No one forced you to kill those women; you did that just because you wanted to be powerful. You’re a sick bastard, Keating, and you’re going to rot in Azkaban.” “You don’t know…” Keating began, but was halted by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs behind them. Harry steadfastly kept his wand trained on Keating, but Ginny turned to see who was joining them on the roof. “We’ve got him, sir,” she announced as soon as she saw Gawain Robards and several other Aurors coming through the door. Harry was looking directly at Keating when the man saw the other Aurors emerge onto the roof. His expression changed to one of total despair and hopelessness. A bitter smile came onto his lips. Then, without another word, he took a step back onto the ledge of the roof and fell like a stone. With a gasp, Harry darted forward and peered over the low ledge. He saw Keating’s body falling rapidly. “You’re not getting away that easily, you bastard,” he yelled and pointed his wand at the falling man. “Accio Keating!” Unfortunately, the second the spell left Harry lips, he was unexpectedly hit hard from behind and for a second was fearful that he would topple over the ledge. A moment later, a hand grabbed his arm, steadying him. He looked over and saw Gawain Robards holding him firmly. Robards nodded at him, before looking down and casting his own spell. “Accio Keating,” he yelled. Unfortunately, Robards aim was slightly off and he didn’t manage to hit the falling man. Keating twitched in mid-air, seconds before slamming into the ground. Harry stared at the body in shock. “Damn it!” Robards cursed. “I’m sorry, Harry. You would have got the bastard if I hadn’t fallen into you. I’m getting too old for bloody field operations.” “That’s alright, sir,” Harry said sombrely, still looking at the broken body on the ground. “Maybe it was better this way.” “Maybe it is,” Robards agreed, before struggling to his feet. “Come on, Potter. It’s all over.” “Yes, sir,” Harry said, standing up. He glanced over at Ginny who gave him an encouraging smile. He tried to return her smile, but felt a bitter disappointment that Keating had evaded justice. Two hours later, the Aurors had taken Keating’s body back to the Ministry and completed a thorough search of the man’s flat. The results were disappointing. “Did you find anything?” Robards asked as Harry and the team returned to the Ministry. The Head Auror himself had returned with the body so he could start the paperwork. “No, nothing,” Harry reported. “We tore the whole place apart and didn’t find a thing. The flat was one hundred percent Muggle. Keating must have kept all his magical possessions in the basement at St Mungo’s.” “But how did this Keating gain access to the hospital in the first place?” Robards demanded. “We think we’ve figured that out,” Harry said. “One of St Mungo’s caretakers has been missing for the last few days. The description of this man exactly matches Keating. The only thing is that the caretaker went by the name of John Merritt. We’ve checked and it looks like that name is an alias as well.” “Merlin, how many false identities has this man got?” Robards demanded. “So, do we have any idea what his real name was?” “No,” Harry responded. “We still have no idea who he really was or why he was so desperate to obtain magical powers. He just seems to have appeared from out of nowhere four years ago, obtained a Muggle Council flat under one name, a job at St Mungo’s under another, and adopted this ‘nameless man’ moniker when he committed his crimes.” Robards nodded sadly. “Keep trying to trace him through our Muggle contacts, but don’t knock yourself out doing it,” he advised. “The important thing is that you and your team stopped him senselessly killing any other poor witch. You should be proud.” “I’d be more proud if we’d stopped him earlier,” Harry said sadly. “You did your best,” Robards assured him, “and to show my appreciation, I’ll set up a tab behind the bar at The Lantern tonight. Spread the world that everyone is welcome.” “Thank you, sir,” Harry said, “I’ll pass it on.” With a heavy heart, Harry turned and left Robards’ office. In truth, celebrating was the last thing he wanted to do. They had managed to stop the killer, but at too high a cost. Poor Sonia was dead and there was no news on when Howell would recover. There was a bitter taste to their victory. With his mood darkening, he made his way back to Ginny, the sole remaining member of the team. Entering their temporary office, Harry was shocked to see Ginny in conversation with a young woman with strawberry-blond hair. As soon as he entered the room the woman looked up and broke into a bright smile. “Susan!” Harry exclaimed. “Have they let you out of hospital already? How are you?” Susan hurried over and caught Harry in a fierce embrace. “I’m fine, Harry,” she assured him, “and Ginny tells me you caught the bastard who injured me. Well done!” “Not so much ‘caught’ as watched jump off a roof,” Harry corrected glumly. “Whatever,” Susan dismissed. “The point is that the sick arsehole won’t be cutting up any more victims ever again.” “Maybe, but is won’t bring back any of those girls, will it?” he persisted. Susan sighed. “Don’t start beating yourself up about this, Harry. There was nothing more you could have done.” She turned to the redhead sitting at the desk. “Ginny, he’s lapsing into one of his guilt-fests again. You have my full permission as your Team Leader to smack him around until he snaps out of it. Either that or shag his brains out; whichever you think is the most effective.” “Can’t I do both?” Ginny frowned. “Of course,” Susan deadpanned. “Although if you combine the two he might start enjoying it too much. He always did have a kinky streak in him.” “I think I preferred it when you two were arguing,” Harry moaned tragically. “Hush, Harry,” Ginny admonished him. “We’re talking about you, not to you.” “Well, I do have one bit of good news,” he said, ignoring the smirks on the faces of the two witches. “Robards is so pleased the case has finally been put to bed that he’s running a tab at The Lantern after work.” “Fantastic! I think this is a cause for celebration,” Ginny chirped happily. “Of course, I’m sure as you’ve just been released from hospital you shouldn’t be drinking alcohol, Susan,” Harry teased. The frosty glare he received suggested he might be in error. HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP The hour was growing late and it would soon be time to head home. Susan sat at a table in The Broken Lantern with a glass of her favourite raspberry vodka in her hand. Harry and Ginny sat opposite her with similar drinks. The table top was covered in empty bottles and glasses, testament to the diligent effort the three of them had put in trying to run up Robards bar bill to record levels. “A toast,” Susan declared on the spur of the moment. “The Auror Department: we always get our man!” “Absolutely,” Ginny giggled, draping herself over Harry’s shoulder. Harry grinned a little foolishly at her. “Another toast,” he slurred slightly. “To beautiful women!” “That shows he’s drunk,” Susan with a smile. “He’d never dream of saying anything like that sober.” “S’true though,” Harry insisted, pouting slightly. Ginny laughed. “I think it’s time for lover-boy here to get to bed. Who knows what slushy nonsense he’ll come up with otherwise?” Harry scowled at her, but didn’t resist as she pulled him to his feet. They both drained the last of their drinks and prepared to go home. As Harry pulled on his jacket he looked over at Susan. “You going to be okay, Susan?” he asked. She looked at him intently for a second. “Yeah, Harry, I’m going to be okay,” she said quietly. Harry returned her gaze for a moment, before smiling fondly at the witch. The hidden meaning in her words was clear. “Good. See you tomorrow?” “You bet. Night, you two,” Susan said. “Good night, Susan,” Ginny replied warmly. She no longer felt threatened by Harry and Susan’s close relationship. She accepted the two of them would always be close, but knew they would never be more than friends. Besides, Harry had chosen her and that was not the sort of decision he would ever undertake lightly. It was still early days for their relationship, but she had a good feeling about it. Linking her arm with Harry’s, the two of them headed out into the night. Across the crowded pub, Gawain Robards watched the couple leave. He thoroughly approved of Potter’s relationship with the young Weasley girl. Bones had been totally wrong for him, and had only ever fuelled his anxieties. With the right woman behind him, Gawain was certain Potter would go far. He silently drained his glass of blended Scottish whisky in tribute to the pair, before leaving the pub. It was a clear night and he had no desire to return home just yet. He was too unsettled and had too many wild thoughts running through his head. Briefly, he looked skyward but the light pollution of London made it impossible to see any stars. Knowing he had one more place to visit that night, he turned on the spot and Apparated away. He reappeared a second later in a quiet street many miles from London. Large, expensive-looking houses lined either side of the road, and the place had a leafy, well-to-do feel about it. Robards walked along the pavement until he came to a house that differed significantly from its neighbours. The Victorian-style building was dark and showed definite signs of neglect. The small patch of garden at the front was overgrown and it looked as if no one had been near the place in years. Pushing the rusted gate to one side, Robards made his way to the front door of the property. He breathed in the night air and caught the familiar scent of lavender from the bushes that grew either side of the door. In many ways that scent was the smell of his childhood. Stealthily, he withdrew his wand and tapped the front door with it once. The door obediently swung open and he stepped into the dark house. Not wanting to draw attention to his visit, he refrained from turning on the main lights, instead relying on a Lumos Spell from his wand to provide illumination. The house was in a better state then thought it would be. Here and there, wallpaper had started to peel away, but generally the place was habitable. Without really thinking about it, Gawain headed up the stairs and at paused on the main landing. Memories flowed over him stirring emotions he had suppressed for years. Squaring his shoulders, he turned and made his way to the back of the house. Halting before the bright blue door, he reached out with a trembling hand and turned the doorknob. The door swung open to reveal a child’s bedroom. Faded yellow and white stripped wallpaper hung on the walls and a chequered quilt was still spread out on an iron-framed bed. Various toys were littered around the room. Gawain walked over to a gaily-pained rocking horse which held pride of place on the floor. He gently touched the horse’s neck and was surprised as it began to move back and forth in a simulated gallop. He would have thought that the enchantment on it would have faded by now. He stood back and watched the wooden horse rocking backwards and forwards. In his mind he could clearly hear his younger brother laughing with joy as he rode upon it, often for hours at a time. He’d really loved that horse. Of course, that was before. Before that fateful day that had shattered the family. He felt tears come to his eyes as he remembered his little brother crying. In his mind’s eye he could still see his father, grim and implacable, dragging the small boy down the stairs. His mother was crying, begging his father to reconsider on her knees. But it was no use. His father was not the sort of man ever to change his mind. Damn him to hell. Gawain brushed his eyes and walked round the room. He paused and examined a dressing table set in front of a lace-curtain decorated window. A few items still lay on the table: a faded story book, a brightly coloured spinning top, and a six-inch long piece of wood. His brother’s wand. A wand the boy had never once been able to make produce the smallest piece of magic with. A wave of nausea hit him as years of anger were rekindled. How had it come to this? Damn his father and damn his bloody pure-blood pride! God forbid that such a noble and ancient family should produce a Squib! He took a deep breath. Shame replaced his anger and guilt at the part he had played in recent events. He hadn’t wanted anyone to be hurt, but family was everything, wasn’t it? All he had tried to do was keep the family name out of things; that’s why he’d stolen the Squib Register. But when Shehata had been killed, he knew he’d let things go too far. He’d been forced to act and plant that Muggle bill in the Ritual room. If only he’d known that the ritual had been a fake; for a while he’d genuinely hoped his brother could gain magical power. It was all academic now. It was all over and obsessing over the events of the last few months would help no one. Robards turned and walked out of the bedroom, down the stairs and towards the front door. Before he left, he turned and raised his wand. He fired several Incendiary Spells in various directions. Before he’d even walked out the door, the house was burning fiercely and would be completely engulfed long before the Muggle Fire Brigade could be alerted. Robards walked briskly down the street, ignoring the inferno raging in the house behind him. As soon as he was out of sight he Apparated back to his comfortable London home where his wife and children would no doubt be getting ready for bed. He paused before opening the front door. In a few years he would be able to pass the reins of the Auror Department to Potter, safe in the knowledge that it would be in good hands. Until then he would carry on, doing what he could and above all looking after his family. After all, family was everything, wasn’t it? |
| Reviews 362 |
Previous
|
