Barnabas Cuffe rushed away to finish his piece on the dastardly Twarmer 'allegedly' paying off other candidates in the race for Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and write his second article on meeting the very affable and newly-promoted and delightful Harry Potter (in his leather trousers and fitted but rumpled Auror coat). Barnabas had been distinctly told in no uncertain terms not to write anything about Rita Skeeter being kidnapped in case it put her life in danger and he respected that. Besides, there would be plenty of mileage in it afterwards to make a week's worth of news, especially if it was connected to all this business with Arum Twarmer.
Barnabas Cuffe narrowed his eyes slightly, tightened the belt on his smoking jacket and readjusted his tasselled cap with a look of fixed of determination on his face. The thing with some journalists is that you don't piss them off, if you do, you're like to bring down the wrath of the newspaper gods on your head. And because Barnabas Cuffe was convinced Arum Twarmer was behind the kidnapping of his favourite journalist, Barnabas Cuffe was about to make Twarmer's life very uncomfortable. He was determined to dig out every last ounce of sleaze and dirt on the man. The hate campaign had begun. If Arum Twarmer thought one article was a witch hunt then he was sorely mistaken and about to be educated.
At the same time that Barnabas Cuffe was stewing about Arum Twarmer and the multitudes of ways he could make the man's life a misery, just with paper and ink, Harry pulled together a meeting with his Elite Corps (which had not been disbanded in his absence despite the attempts by Twarmer, Hawkwort, and Robards).
'Alright, boss,' grinned Angelina. 'I'm glad you're back, you do pick the shittiest of weeks to go away.'
'Purposely,' teased Harry. 'How's everyone holding up?'
'Better now I know I've got a job on Monday,' said Mara. 'What's going down now?'
'More trouble,' predicted Lee, 'seeing as you've called us in on a Saturday evening.'
'Rita Skeeter has gone missing, suspected kidnapping,' Harry supplied.
Angelina snorted, 'it's not surprising she's got herself in trouble with that bloody QuikQuil of hers.'
'But kidnapping...' said Alex.
'Yeah, that's taking your grudges a bit bloody far,' Angelina agreed. 'I assume you have more than that,' she said to Harry.
'Yep. Last seen about 11.10 this morning on Tottenham Court Road, outside the Luchino Caffe, near the offices for the Prophet. The Muggle waitress in the café saw a man grabbing her arm before they disappeared "very quickly", leaving behind a grey wisp of smoke.'
His team looked at him with that look.
'Yeah, obliviated now. I suspect the man is Greg Goyle, she gave a very good description of him and noticed the Dark Mark tattoo on his forearm. I know I said that Greg's needs bringing in for questioning regarding the murders of Elias Bergstrom and Fernando Condori but I don't want him arrested yet. We need to find him, track him until he hopefully leads us to Rita. I'm interested in where else he leads us to. I particularly want to know if he leads us to Twarmer, I suspect he will.'
'Did Goyle take the Dark Mark?' asked Mara.
'It's not confirmed, several contacts seem to think he was never taken into Voldemort's inner circle but not everyone was present at those ceremonies. I have information that it's a tattoo inked after he was released from Azkaban.'
The team did not seem surprised that Harry had contacts in all sorts of places but it came with the job, plus people had a habit of wanting to tell their boss their deepest, darkest secrets and fears. He had that ability somehow. Most of them put it down to the scruffy appearance that meant he didn't come across as threatening or as overtly powerful. That was their mistake. Those who were closest to him knew it didn't pay to underestimate Harry Potter; when he wasn't losing his temper with the idiots who ran the Ministry, he was quietly getting on with bringing down their empires. That was more apparent recently but the team watched in silence. They were good at that but that was why they were the Auror's Elite Corps. They saw much more than they let on and all of them trusted Harry with their lives and were deeply loyal to him as their boss without even taking the whole 'Saviour-thing' into consideration.
'I assume the rest of the Ministry don't need to know what we're up to,' said Lee.
'There's not really anyone to tell at the moment,' said Alex, 'what with there being no Head Auror or Head of the DMLE.'
They all looked at Harry with expectation.
He shrugged and said (not really caring about Ministry protocol), 'I should think that Barnabas Cuffe is going to print a story tomorrow about how I'm the new Head Auror despite it not being official news yet. Appears my badge had changed already in anticipation of an official announcement on Monday.'
'Knew it!' said Angelina. 'You suckers owe me two knuts each. Congratulations, boss.'
'It might be worth bringing in Hawkwort and Robards for questioning,' Harry said, ignoring Angelina and his team having bets on him. It seemed the odds were low if they were only betting knuts and not galleons. 'It'll be nice to turn the tables on them and make them sweat. And Lee, I suspect there may be some European travel. Bayeux, Normandy, to be precise. Can you organise some International Portkeys and liaise with the French Aurors, I want surveillance on 37 Rue du Bienvenu? You and Angelina.'
'What's there, boss?' Angelina quizzed.
'Lucius Malfoy's house.'
There were a couple of raised eyebrows and Alex gave a low whistle of exhalation.
'He's involved...?' Lee said.
'Not in the way you might think. Between these four walls, Lucius Malfoy provided the photographs printed in the Prophet this morning. He'd been helping me. Through necessity, I might add. He and Narcissa are currently in a safe house. Kingsley organised it and we don't need to get involved in that one.'
'You trust a Malfoy?' she asked, assuming Harry had some sort of hold on him.
'Not Lucius; not as far as I could throw him, but we'll see.'
'Are you behind all this hit-back stuff in the paper?' asked Mara.
'Don't know what you're talking about,' said Harry. 'I've been away all week. Officially, I'm still on holiday and I'm heading back shortly.'
'New boyfriend keeping the bed warm,' joshed Lee, eyeing Harry's leather trousers.
'Something like that,' Harry grinned with a wink.
That caused a stunned silence. Harry never talked about his private life and never let anything slip. Even his sexuality was highly guarded though his team often teased him to try and find something out. Mostly it was just meant in light-hearted banter. They didn't even know he was gay, most silently assumed he might be but teased such comments just to see if they could get a response. This must be serious. They watched his whole body relax unconsciously and felt something akin to a whole new level of respect. Whoever it was, he or she or they, were clearly having a good impact on their boss and they liked that. He deserved to be happy and to have love in his life.
'You go, boss,' said Angelina. 'We've got it covered here and we'll get in contact if we need you.'
'Thanks,' Harry smiled, warmth reaching his eyes. 'The first place for you to scout is the Goyle's family residence in Tanworth-In-Arden. And keep an eye on Twarmer. Organise it between you. I'm coming back on the bike tomorrow. I can always stop by Tanworth-In-Arden if needs be.'
'Leave it with us,' said Angelina, jumping up. 'Now go! Finish your holiday!'
As Harry slipped into a warm bed and pulled Draco against him to kiss the tattooed waterlily on his shoulder, Rita Skeeter was shivering in a dungeon somewhere in the country, destination unknown (to her). She had broken one of the heels of her favourite shoes, her new jacket was torn, her skirt was undoubtedly filthy, her new stockings were ruined, and her hair was a mess. She had no idea where her bag and wand were. She was tired and hungry. And she was sure there were rats scurrying around in the darkness.
She had managed to feel her way around the edges of the small cell but it was empty, no furniture, no bed, not even a bucket, just a heavy locked door with a small barred opening and some manacles still attached to the wall from goodness knows what century. She sat on the floor, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees to try and find some warmth. And as she sat there, she thought a lot about the whole mess she was in.
She was surprised to realise she wasn't frightened. Perhaps she should be, but the investigative journalist in her was too active. She would have some sensational articles to write up once the ordeal was over. She knew her captor was Gregory Goyle; his face was distinctive and he'd hardly changed from when she met him with young Mr Malfoy during the Triwizard Tournament. She wondered if he was still working as one of Mr Draco Malfoy's henchmen and decided against it. She knew of Draco Malfoy's reputation as a tattoo artist and had heard on the grapevine that a few private collectors were requesting his work as wall pieces at vast expense. Perhaps when all this was over, she'd do a nice piece on him and how he'd turned things around since the war.
Of course, she couldn't help thinking of his father. A supercilious snob a couple of years above her at school. She didn't like Lucius Malfoy but it was that hegemonic self-entitlement that men like him and Arum Twarmer possessed that made her skin crawl. Still, she thought of those pictures and wondered who had sent them to her. Originally, she had assumed that Harry Potter was her informant but he couldn't possibly own photographs like that and if they were in his possession then he should be opening an investigation into all those people in the higher echelons of the Ministry who were merrily partying with known Death-Eaters. So, now she wondered if Lucius Malfoy had sent them to her and if so, why? Probably to worm his way back into favour once the information became known.
She wondered why, and why now, after all this time?
It was clearly something to do with Arum Twarmer. Probably because Arum had some sort of hold on Lucius and this was his way out.
She thought Lucius Malfoy was probably cleverer than that and not really the sort to Owl anonymous post to Rita Skeeter at the Daily Prophet in a game of one-upmanship.
Still ... Why? Why ruin him like this?
The corruption and falsity and sheer unpleasantness of the man would be enough of cause. She could certainly agree with that. It didn't seem like Lucius Malfoy would really be motivated by such things. Unless, she repeatedly thought, Arum had some sort of hold on Lucius.
Her thoughts went round and round. Mostly from a lack of sleep and the dire need for caffeine. She could feel a headache brewing.
She knew the photographs were at the crux of all this. It just seemed like rather convenient timing for it to happen the week that Twarmer made his political bids to further his own power.
Someone was certainly determined to stop him. And in a rather embarrassing and fatal way too. First the records of bribery, then the photographs. She wondered what was next. She rather thought Arum's career wouldn't recover from this. Not that she was sobbing into her pillow for him.
She supposed that anyone of those people in the photograph could have owned those pictures. And then there was the person behind the camera too. Who had taken it and why?
She supposed, rather accurately, that it was an insurance policy. If they all had a copy of the photograph, it acted as a way of stopping someone going to the Aurors with information because of the implications. It also meant Voldemort had another sort of power over them all; it was evidence that they were all his followers. And if anyone else got hold of the picture, then the others would probably know or be able to find out.
Or perhaps only one of them had the photographs, maybe only Voldemort himself, or the person behind the camera.
Round and round, her thoughts went. Not getting anywhere.
She supposed that if Kingsley Shacklebolt had the photographs for some bizarre reason, he couldn't really come clean about how he'd got hold of them but if they came to the press anonymously, it would clear a number of seats in the Ministry, seats filled with people particularly unwilling to face change. Mind you, he'd already got rid of Clarisse Wishbone, Ernest Hawkwort, Saul Croaker, Sheridan Rosen, and Ransom Burgher with their resignations after the first article. Everyone knew they were the ones who were preventing change. The only other surprise from the photograph was Annalisa Parkinson, as pug-nosed as her daughter, and working directly for the Treasury under Clarisse Wishbone. Between Annalisa and Clarissa, they possessed considerable power. They'd recently stopped vital funding for Hogwarts to modernise their facilities, insisting unheated dungeons were character building. A similar halt in funds to St Mungo's was more worrying.
Rita snorted to herself. Well, she'd gladly swap places with Wishbone and Parkinson right now and see if they'd reconsider their surmising of what 'character building' meant as she tried to lessen her shivering and adjust her position because her backside was getting numb on the cold stone floor.
Perhaps Minerva McGonagall sent her the photographs...
She must have dozed because the next thing Rita Skeeter knew was she was being dragged into a hard, wooden chair and tied to it by Gregory Goyle. A bright bare lightbulb shone down above her and Arum Twarmer stepped through the door into her little cell.
'Miss Rita Skeeter, what?' he said, rather too smugly.
Merlin, she hated him.
***