Aurors: The Fist of Mars

The Potion Maker

The visit to Lavender Brown was awkward and uneventful. She was living at home with her parents, recovering from the events of The Battle of Hogwarts. Lavender had fallen off a balcony—a series of resulting injuries that were easily mended with a wand—but she had also been chewed on by a crazed werewolf. Werewolf bites, like the cursed dagger that had given Hermione the scar on her throat, could only heal by natural means. During their meeting, Lavender wore a scarf to cover the scars on her neck. She also had a small cut left side of her chin that formed a dimple when she smiled.

She reported the same symptoms that Mrs. Bishop did, though Harry got the feeling that she was hiding something else by the way she averted her eyes and the way her cheeks tinged pink when he asked if there were any changes at the full moon.

"Whatever she's hiding," Harry said to Savage as they returned to the office. "I don't think it's bad. Maybe just embarrassing?"

"Like what? Back hair? Dog breath?"

Harry nodded. "Something like that."

* * *

On Wednesday morning when Harry got to work, Savage was sitting on his desk wearing combat boots and a leather cloak, holding a bag of muffins. "You're early," he said, glancing back at Ron to make sure he was seeing this. "That's a first."

"Hmm, I hear enough of it from Robards," she said, rolling her eyes and kicking her legs forward to hop off his desk. She handed Harry a folded-up letter.

"This came for you," she said. "Must have made it to London while you were in commute. Came like, a minute before you walked in."

Harry broke the wax seal on the letter, a blue stamp of wax with bulrushes on it. Harry recognized the rushed and untidy handwriting from countless diagrams of Quidditch pitches.

"It's from Oliver Wood," he told Ron.

Dear Harry,

How are you doing, mate? I've been meaning to get in touch with you. I really liked spending time with you and the Weasleys at Gryffindor Tower this summer. It felt like old times. You and Weasley should come over for a drink some time. We can catch up and I can shower you with free Puddlemere tickets. Really, Harry, it would help the team so much if you showed your face.

Let me know when you're available.

Oliver

Harry read the note aloud to Ron. He figured it was good cover for the rest of the office to hear it. Harry scribbled a note back, letting Oliver know they were free on Thursday night, and then sent it off with one of the department owls that was always hanging around the file room.

When he came back into the main office, Ron was off talking with Williamson and Savage was waiting impatiently at his desk, tapping her foot.

"I had a thought last night. We've gotta check in with people on this list, yeah? But we're also supposed to be findin' out who's not here. And how do you find werewolves?"

Harry shrugged. "Look for strange police reports?"

Savage nodded. "Sure, and we can fish through all that boring paperwork when we get stuck. But how else?"

Harry thought for a minute, but nothing came to him.

"What do werewolves need?" she asked, clearly attempting to make this some kind of socratic teaching method. Harry was momentarily reminded of Hermione. She wasn't going to just give him the answer. Harry could think of a lot of things werewolves needed to avoid: silver, being caught in a room full of children during the moon's change, cats—