Gryffindor Investigations

“Murdered?” Ron blurted out. “What…how? Why?”

“Someone stabbed him,” Ginny said. She stood aside and motioned for them to enter. It was obvious she hadn’t had much inclination for housekeeping lately. Ron was uncomfortably aware that it resembled the King’s Lynn flat Harry had found him in.

“Sit down, if you can find someplace,” she said. “I’d offer you something to eat, but…” she gestured vaguely.

“Gin,” Harry said, “are you all right? You look like you haven’t slept in a month.”

“Don’t play mother hen, Harry,” Ginny said sharply. “You’re really pathetic at it. I’ve slept. Not a lot, but I’ve slept.” She threw herself down in a chair and began to massage one of her temples. “Shiro and I have been……having problems. It’s been going on for weeks. I’m not sure what’s happened……but we’ve barely spoken.”

“But……his father?” Ron prompted.

“Oh, yes. His father. The great Hiroki Watanabe. Somebody put a knife in his back around one this morning.” She mimed raising a glass in a toast. “Good luck and gods speed.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m one of the prime suspects.” She met their shocked gazes quite calmly. “I found that out when the local Aurors came to visit me this morning.”

“You…why?” Harry gasped.

“Because Mr. Watanabe didn’t want me to marry Shiro—and because they think I was there last night.”

“Were you?”

“Harry!” Ron turned to stare at Harry in shock.

“Not now, Ron.” Harry’s eyes bored into Ginny’s. “Were you there, Ginny?”

Ginny stood up and sauntered over to Harry. Her flinty gaze met his own. When she spoke, the ice in her voice froze the air between them.

“None. Of. Your. Business.”

Harry’s response was equally cold. “Ginny, is there a reason why you’re treating us as if we’re the enemy?”

“I didn’t ask you to come here, Harry—either of you,” she amended, shooting a baleful eye at Ron, who was looking less and less comfortable every minute. “I don’t need you interrogating me, and especially not in my own flat!”

“I wasn’t interrogating you!” Harry shot back.

“No? You sounded damned like an Auror to me!”

“And you sound like—”

“Harry!” Ron interposed himself between the two—no mean feat, considering they were practically nose to nose. “Gin—we’ve investigated murders before. If you’re being set up by someone, we could help you—”

“I’m sorry,” Ginny interrupted, “but when exactly did I say that I wanted your help?”

“But—“

“Look, I’m still a British subject, which means I’m entitled to counsel from the embassy. They’ve provided it. They probably wouldn’t even want me talking to you, so maybe you should leave now.”

“Ginny, there must be something we can do—“

“NO, THERE ISN’T!!!!!” Ginny’s shriek made Ron wince; he was sure she’d topped their mother for decibel level. “NOW GET OUT!!!!!!!”

There really wasn’t anything to be done. The two men turned and left the flat—Ron clearly reluctantly, Harry considerably less so. He was still visibly angry as they reached the street, and Ron had to physically guide him down the sidewalk to keep him from running into other people, who looked at the two obvious foreigners with a mixture of curiosity and contempt. Harry was muttering under his breath and he walked, “Stubborn, unreasonable, muleheaded, bratty…”

“Harry—HARRY.” Ron got in front of Harry and physically stopped. “Listen to me. What do we do now?”

“What do you mean?” Harry snapped.

“Ginny obviously doesn’t want us to get involved. Do we pack it in, or,” his face took on a conspiratorial grin, “do we get involved anyway?”

Harry glared angrily at Ron; Ron was sure he was seeing Ginny. He considered for a moment, and then said, “Get involved anyway. The hell with her; we’re going to clear her whether she likes it or not.”

“How?”

“Let’s find out where the Aurors are here in Tokyo,” Harry said. “You want to do the spell, or should I?”

“I’ll do it,” Ron said quickly. Harry was still visibly furious, and Ron didn’t trust him to work magic in that sort of emotional state. “Cover me, would you?”

Harry nodded curtly. As they passed an alley, Ron stepped inside, with Harry remaining at the mouth. Ron pulled out his wand, and whispered, “Localix magica.”

It took a couple of seconds; physically, Tokyo is a large city. But Ron soon began to feel a pull, one that led him to the south. “I’ve got a fix,” he whispered to Harry. “Let’s go.”

It didn’t take long. The trail led them to a nondescript bar on a side street. Harry and Ron went in—and they knew they were in the right place, since a house-elf offered to find them a table. Ron declined politely and guided Harry to the back of the bar. They stepped into a brightly lit alleyway that, despite four thousand miles between them, could easily have been Diagon Alley.

“Amazing,” Ron breathed, looking around.

“You got that right,” Harry replied, equally stunned. “Where’s the Auror station?”

“A couple dozen yards that way,” Ron replied, gesturing. “Let’s go.”

People stared at them as they passed, Harry’s fame had apparently spread here. One witch in particular could not take her eyes off of them. She watched them as they passed her, and Ron could feel her eyes on them afterwards. Their reception at the Auror station was the same; people were literally thunderstruck as they walked in the door.

“Are you who I think you are?” a young witch squeaked.

“Depends,” Harry grinned. “If you think I’m David Beckham, then no, I’m not.”

A middle-aged wizard stepped up. “I’ll handle this, Keiko,” he said mildly. “Why don’t you check on those reports?”

Keiko nodded, her eyes still on Harry, and left so quickly Harry almost thought she’d Disapparated. “My name is Akira Otsuka,” the wizard said, holding out his hand. “Misters Potter and Weasley, I presume?”

“That’s right.” Harry said as he and Ron shook Otsuka’s hand. “We’d like to speak to whoever’s in charge of the Watanabe murder case.”

“That would be Mister Yamamoto. I’ll see if he’s available. If you’d be so kind as to wait here?”

They did, and not for long. A short, plump wizard was there in less than a minute, eagerly approaching them and crying, “Mr. Potter, this is an honor!”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Yamamoto,” Harry replied. “This is my partner, Mr. Ronald Weasley.”

Yamamoto’s smile faded. “Weasley?”

“Yes, and just to save some time, she’s my younger sister,” Ron said.

“We understand that she’s a suspect in a murder case,” Harry went on, “and we’d like to know how she got to be that way.”

Yamamoto hesitated, then nodded. “If this were anyone else, I would have told you to leave my station, Mr. Potter,” he said, “but the wizarding world owes you a tremendous debt. Come to my office and we shall discuss this.”

Yamamoto’s office was small and cluttered in such a way to remind Harry, with a sharp pang, of Dumbledore. He took a seat behind it and motioned for Harry and Ron to pull up chairs. “Ms. Weasley is not our only suspect,” he told them. “There are other avenues that we will pursue.”

His wife, maybe?” Harry suggested.

“No.”

“Why not?” Ron asked.

“Because,” Yamamoto replied, “Mrs. Watanabe was the victim of a powerful Stunning spell, one strong enough to render her unconscious until well after sunrise this morning. It is physically impossible for her to have murdered her husband.”

“Are we sure about that?” Harry asked.

“Yes. One of the servants found her this morning, completely insensate. The girl is a bit of a featherhead,” Yamamoto grimaced, “and speaking with her is trying, to say the least. Always, she goes off on tangents. But she was quite sure; Mrs. Watanabe was deeply unconscious this morning, and the spell struck her sometime before midnight last night.”

“So why fix on my sister?” Ron asked hotly.

“Because she was at the Watanabe town house last night,” Yamamoto replies. “The servant girl, Fumiko, was very definite about that.” He smiled somewhat apologetically. “I am afraid your sister is quite recognizeable, Mr. Weasley. Her red hair is very difficult to mistake.”

“A Polyjuice Potion would, of course, allow someone else to impersonate her,” Harry pointed out.

“Of course, Mr. Potter,” Yamamoto’s face, for the first time, betrayed signs of irritation, “but it is difficult to see why. There are easier ways to conceal a murder than to obtain the necessary materials for a Polyjuice Potion. And besides, a Polyjuice Potion does not explain this.”

He bent and produced a single piece of paper from a file inside the desk, and handed it to Harry. Ron craned his neck to look, then flushed and looked away. Harry couldn’t blame it. It was definitely Ginny’s handwriting, and raw emotion oozed from every word. Harry had been on the receiving end of that emotion, late in his relationship with Ginny. He knew it when he read it.

He handed it back to Yamamoto. “You think she and Mr. Watanabe were having an affair?”

“I think nothing, Mr. Potter. I, and my associate, are still making inquiries.” He cocked his head slightly. “Would you care to accompany us on our investigations?”

The question took Harry by surprise; he and Ron glanced at each other. “That…is very gracious of you, Mr. Yamamoto,” he said slowly.

Mr. Yamamoto smiled. “For the Boy Who Lived, I could offer no less. But Mr. Potter,” he rose from behind his desk, and Harry and Ron rose with him, “whatever your status in Great Britain, you have no jurisdiction here. This is a courtesy, and I will expect you to remember that.”

“We understand,” Harry said, “and we do appreciate this. We’ll be happy to help.”