Partners

A/N: apologies for the delayed update. Thanks for the reviews! I may add to this chapter later, but I think ending it here makes sense. Enjoy

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They left Harry’s apartment business as usual. Nothing to indicate that the night before they’d shared a passionate love tryst or that they’d nearly repeated the festivities that morning.

“We should take the elevator.” Harry said as he veered towards the metal doors.

“Um, no.” Alastor stated firmly. “We shouldn’t.”

Harry didn’t break his stride as he continued to the doors, reaching them and pressing the down button on the wall. The button lit up and the elevator was obviously heading their way.

“No fucking way, Potter.” Alastor said crossly. “No muggle elevator.”

Harry sighed in irritation. It was just a bloody elevator. An elevator! It wasn’t some death trap or biohazard or—or whatever! It was just an elevator.

“I am NOT putting my life in the hands of some crackpot muggle inventors who decided ‘gee, I think we should fly in a huge metal box that weighs a bloody ton and could drop me at any moment, because it would be cool’!”

Harry stared at her blinking. It took a moment, but slowly a smile and then a chuckle escaped. “‘Because it would be cool’?” He repeated in amusement. “I somehow very much doubt that the words ‘it would be cool’ ever crossed the minds of any muggle inventor.”

Alastor glared at him.

Sighing in a sort of exasperated patience that you use with a small child, Harry said, “I’m not asking you to put your life in the hands of some crackpot inventor.” She looked ready to contradict. “I’m simply asking you to put your life in my hands.”

Alastor opened her mouth to retort, but then shut it quickly again. How to respond to that? They were partners. She put her life in his hands every day. And last night she’d done a little more than that…

“Yeah, well…” She couldn’t think of anything and Harry knew it, the bastard. Crossing her arms in agitation, Alastor reluctantly followed Harry into the muggle metal box of doom as it binged and opened its doors, grumbling something about stupid insane partners.

As soon as the doors binged open, Alastor threw herself out of the elevator and into the lobby of the apartment complex leaving Harry to suddenly reconsider their decision to take the elevator and the doorman to wonder who the crazy hippie was that was trying to hug the floor…

‘Oh dear.’ Briskly and as casually as one can, Harry pulled Alastor up from the floor and gave a weak, apologetic smile to the doorman, mumbling, “First time in an elevator.”

“Gods, we’re not even stopping for coffee?” Alastor grumbled in a voice that clearly suggested Harry was insane.

“No time.” Harry replied curtly.

“No time for coffee?” Alastor asked incredulously as they passed the coffee place that they met at every morning before work. She never realized how close it was to his place. “Have you gone mad?”

With a quick grin in her direction, he answered, “Probably.”

“That’s encouraging.” She muttered, wondering who she was going to kill due to lack of caffeine.

They arrived at the muggle entrance to the Ministry of Magic and punched in the familiar numbers as it took them down into the main floor. Harry vaguely mused about Alastor’s reluctance with elevators yet seemingly perfect ease with moving telephone booths before checking in briefly with a young witch behind the desk whose name he presumed was either Patny or Patty hoping it was the latter. Alastor in toe, they headed to the Defense department and directly into none other than Addius Fletchner’s office.

“Oy, Potter.” Alastor whispered beside him. “What the bloody hell are we doing talking with the Head of Defense?”

Glancing back at her briefly he stopped and turned so suddenly that she practically barreled straight into him. “We’re not. You’re going back to the office and waiting for me there.”

Alastor opened her mouth to contest such ridiculous suggestions, except that a) Harry had his ‘I mean business’ face on and b) he’d already turned and gone into the office, leaving her standing there like an idiot.

“Well, FINE then.” She huffed irritably before doing as she was told.

“Potter, good. Come in.” Addius Fletchner motioned for Harry to step inside and close the door behind him, which Harry dutifully complied with.

“You wanted to see me this morning, did you?” Harry asked mildly, although inside his mind was filling with the possibilities—all bad—of what this was about, and the least horrible one on that list was him being fired. Which was a little disconcerting in all honesty.

“Yes, yes… hmm…” Fletchner mumbled more to himself than in answer to Harry’s proffered question.

“Sir?” Harry prodded gently.

“Hmm? What?” Fletchner seemed to be knocked back into reality, for a moment anyway. “Oh, yes, ahem, right. You’re here…”

Sighing in exasperation, Harry nodded in as patient a manner possible. “Yes, sir. I’m here. You wanted to speak with me.”

“Yes, I did.” He said, finally coming back to himself. “I want you to drop all your current cases, Harry.”

Harry’s eyebrows disappeared into his messy black hair as he stared at the man, technically his boss, in surprise. “Excuse me? Why on earth—?”

“Because you’re the one I want on this one.” And with that the heavy set, bushy browed, gray haired man threw a file across the table at Harry. “I need my best on this one, and you’re it.”

Still confused, Harry reached over and grabbed the folder. There was a report inside, including some rather graphic pictures that looked more like someone cut open their wrists while trying to paint their house red, and an account that seemed to come from a moderately hysterical witness that didn’t seem to have seen anything at all. Reading the top it read, ‘MONIGAN’. Without looking up, Harry inquired, “The Monigan’s just off the east turn?”

Fletchner nodded grimly.

Harry’s eyes dimmed slightly at the confirmation. “I see. How many exactly? Have we an accurate count yet?”

“’Fraid not.” Fletchner responded dismally. “But we haven’t found any survivors yet.”

“There’s not much here.”

“Nope.” The man agreed. “Most of ‘em had a bit of a rough time handling what’s there, mind you, and once it reached my desk, well, I pulled everyone off it. Now they’re just watching the scene making sure nothing… happens. They’re waiting for you.”

“Right.” Harry confirmed.

“Take whoever you want for this one.” Harry was about to confirm again and run off a quick list of who he’d like, but Fletchner wasn’t done. “Except McLeod.”

That got Harry’s attention fast. “Pardon? What the hell do you mean ‘except McLeod’? She’s my partner for christ’s sake.”

“I realize that, and considering the fact that she’s managed to ‘stay’ your partner this long is very impressive on her part—but not impressive enough.”

“Which translates to?” Harry lead in.

Clearing his throat and getting up from his chair he replied, “She’s too young. Fresh, just out of the academy—I can’t have her on this sort of a case!”

“She can handle it.” Harry insisted.

“Potter—.”

“She. Can. Handle. It.” Harry reiterated. “I’ll watch her.”

Fletchner huffed up for a moment, obviously unhappy with how this was going, but prepared to concede his point. “Alright. But she’s your responsibility. Make sure things don’t get out of hand.”

“They won’t.”

Clearing his throat—perhaps trying to clear the air as well—Fletchner continued. “Right then. Who else?”

“I’d like to check the scene myself first, but I’d put Kristev and Vilene on call.” Harry flipped through the few sheets of paper quickly before turning out the door unnoticing of Fletchner’s cringe at the names mentioned, calling over his shoulder, “I need a word with Hermione Weasley as well, and call Luna Lovegood.”

“Lovegood?” Fletchner inquired of the retreating form of Harry.

“Yes. Tell her that Harry’s asked for a complete ‘scape of the entire scene.”

“Anything else?” Fletchner called as Harry disappeared around the corner only barely catching the ‘I’ll let you know’ that came in answer. “Right. Right. Hmmm, hmmm… oh dear me.” He headed back into his office, scratching worriedly at the stubble on his chin and just hoping this wasn’t going to be another Vienna disaster.

Harry found Alastor sitting on a chair with her feet propped up on what empty part of his desk she could find, flipping through one of their current cases involving a drunken wizard who had decided hexing his family into ferrets might solve his snake problem. Glancing briefly at his desk, Harry sighed. He wasn’t going to be finishing any of these anytime soon, that much he knew. There were several stacks of files cover his desk, loose papers and stickies everywhere. Really there was very little ‘desk’ to speak of. It was all covered in files. But it couldn’t be helped; Monigan’s came first. He stepped forward and with a swift movement of his arm cleared off half of his desk by throwing the contents onto the floor dramatically.

Hearing the crash of half of Harry’s paperwork, Alastor jumped a little from her spot, slamming her boots on the floor and snapping the file closed. She stared wide-eyed first at the mess and then at Harry. With a little whistle she commented, “I know I always said you needed to tidy your desk up a bit, Potter, but don’tcha think that might’ve been a tad bit overboard there?”

“We’ve got a new case.” Harry replied. “And we’re heading over there now.”

“Well, then what was THAT all about?” Al countered, grabbing her cloak in an effort to keep up with Harry who had already moved to the hall.

“We’re going to need space.”

The pair arrived at Monigan’s in short time, noticing that the surrounding muggles were going about there day unnoticing of the crime tape or dozen or so Ministry workers watching the place. Even though the place was a muggle building; even though it was a muggle—

“Harry, this place is an orphanage.” Alastor whispered in surprise beside Harry.

Harry nodded.