Out of the Night that Covers Me

Out of the Night that Covers Me

by Mephistedes

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III. The Twist

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While keeping one eye on Teddy and the other out for his supervisor, Harry thought that the idea of eyes in the back of one’s head really had merit.

Teddy was keeping him busy with his boisterous frolicking with Muggle children around the playground; Harry was by now certain that Ron had given him sweets when he’d left to grab their coats. Thankfully, as keyed up as Teddy was, he hadn’t knocked off the knit cap covering his again greenish-blue locks. Harry really didn’t feel up to pursuing Muggles on only three hours of sleep.

He’d just given Teddy and several others a good spin on the roundabout when he noticed a nigh imperceptible shift in the air.

Apparition. He hadn’t set up a Notification Charm around the area, but he was familiar with the clues since his time with the general Aurors. Judging by the lack of trace-magic dispersal from the new arrival, Harry went as far as surmising they hadn’t moved since Apparating.

Careful so as not to arouse suspicion from either Teddy or the magical visitor, Harry grinned brightly at his godson and set him up on the tiddler range. Moving amongst the throng of wound up kids and their worn out parents Harry made his way to the play shelter and sat beside a Muggle so engrossed in their periodical only their cloche hat could be seen over the top. Settled in and satisfied with his clear view of Teddy, Harry pulled out his battered watch and waited for Cottenham to arrive.

“‘Out of the night that covers me.’”

Other than freezing in place, Harry didn’t show any outward sign of alarm and answered the familiar ‘Muggle’s’ quiet murmur with, “‘Black as the Pit from pole to pole.’”

The fingers curled around the publication’s edge twitched beneath leather gloves. “‘I thank whatever gods may be...’”

“‘For my unconquerable soul.’” Harry softly scoffed, watching Teddy’s progress. “We need to come up with a new secret handshake; something a lot more manlier than poetry.”

The familiar clean-shaven mug of Archibald Cottenham appeared after he snorted, lowering the paper a fraction. “I’ll tell Kingsley you don’t think poetry’s manly enough, then.”

Smiling wryly at his jeans, Harry said, “You work fast.”

“They don’t call us Intelligence because we look good.”

Harry jerkily nodded and pointed out, “Speaking of looking good, you do realize that’s a woman’s hat you’ve got on?”

With a deadpan expression Cottenham replied, “It complements my eyes.”

“If beauty’s in the eye of the beholder, then your mirror’s cracked.”

“I see you brought the godson. How touching.” Harry chuckled at his tone, which sounded anything but. “That is quite like you to compromise national security by bringing a civilian to a clandestine meeting.”

“Excuse me!”

“Eyes forward!”

“Sorry. I’m not the one who chose a public playground as a meeting place,” objected Harry, wanting to scowl at the surly wizard but keeping to his S.T.A.G. instruction. This was to appear on the surface as a covert encounter, regardless of it being a public area. “Besides: he’s six.”

“He could destroy the very foundation on which the wizarding world stands if these secrets get out.”

“He’s six. He can barely spell the word secret let alone snitch on us,” Harry insisted as he acknowledged Teddy’s enthusiastic wave and shout with a raised hand. “So why’d you drag me out here? Watford? Took us a good ten minutes of Apparition to get here.”

“Perhaps you’ll leave the child behind next time,” Cottenham retorted.

“Have you got a break in the case or not?” snapped Harry, fed up with Cottenham’s issue with Teddy.

Cottenham graced him with an exasperated look before he loudly declared, “Wanta look, you say? O’ course, we can; hold up tha’ side ... there’s a good lad!”

“Your Irish seriously needs work.”

“Oho, cocky are we?” Cottenham drawled, a sly grin playing on his lips. “And how’s that Animagus transformation coming along?”

Harry’s smirk was effectively wiped from his face.

“Just look at the paper, Potter.”

As simple and non-magical as the outside of the magazine had been, the inside, on the other hand, was the polar opposite.

To Harry’s astonishment, the inside of the periodical was entirely wizard. Words were scrolling across the page crying of discovery and intrigue, and there was a moving picture of a fantastical beast called a ... Snorkack?

“Hang on,” Harry ejaculated in confusion, turning to the cover of the magazine before turning back. “This is The Quibbler.”

“Indeed. Oh, they’ve finally found the Snorkack. Wait’ll they find out where we’ve hid the Nargles....”

“But ... how did they ... how’d they get the photos of the crime scenes?” Harry continued, flipping back and forth to the front cover in shock. “Wait a — this is ... this is last month’s issue!”

But Cottenham never gave him an answer, only eyeing him with a ‘some things are best left unsaid’ look. “The Quibbler Interface: fresh off the minds of the Muggle-born mavens in the Department of Mysteries, bridging the gap between Muggle technologies and magical might.”

Harry ran his fingers across the printed words and glimmering facts, amazed by the strong magicks pulsating from the open pages. “How is this working? I thought Muggle and wizarding technologies couldn’t coexist.”

Cottenham shook his head slowly. “They can’t. The magic is just mimicking their concepts, adapting and manipulating the craft into workable enchantment; magic that won’t suffer from interference,” the S.P.O.O.K.s director clarified. “We needed a relatively new way to distribute classified information; owls and firecalls are still vulnerable to interception.”

Harry looked up skeptically over the rim of his glasses. “And you chose The Quibbler for that?”

“What, you don’t take their findings seriously?” After he had carefully gauged the scandalized expression on Cottenham’s face, the man rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Potter. People would rather read a treatise on flobberworm slime patterns than pick up a Quibbler.”

“It’s a little different, but it’s good,” Harry defended. Granted, he knew some of The Quibbler’s findings were a bit on the outrageous side, but he’d stick up for the Lovegoods to his grave.

“It’s rubbish. Absolute rubbish.”

“And you’ve read it, have you?”

“I don’t need to; I know it’s hogwash,” scoffed Cottenham. “Wrackspurts and Heliopaths? Don’t tell me you believe in this nonsense, Potter.”

Harry idly shook his head and shrugged. “No use arguing some sense into you, then.”

“Likewise.”

Putting that dispute to rest, Harry studied the periodical more closely, darting an eye back and forth to check on Teddy every so often. Between announcements of fungi cleaners and articles on Heliopath sightings were woven the vital information amassed from both crimes.

He recognized the monochromatic image of Peakes’ body and his pet, as well as the photos from R.J.H. King’s glistening crime scene several months ago. King had been an old wizard, not much older than McGonagall, found dead near an old cavern. There hadn’t been much suspicion around his death, given that a heavy rain descended on the caves that night, washing all evidence away. Without much to go on, the investigation was put on hold.

“Case DLE-1121: Rumford J. H. King, 87, of Stockport. One wife, two children, several grandchildren. Found dead approximately 128 days ago; due to rain, there was little evidence to salvage. Case unsolved,” Harry paid attention as Cottenham briefed him, restating facts he already knew. Pictures of King before and after his death flashed on one of the Interface’s glowing squares in front of Harry, directly under an advert for owl-order wrackspurt repellant.

“Case DLE-1152.” Resumed Cottenham, and the squares danced around the page anticlockwise to show a montage of images of Jimmy before and after. Seems he’d amassed quite a list of famous friends — and perhaps enemies — from his popular sports writing. The brief flitter of delight at Jimmy’s face-splitting beam and enthusiastic wave with the Tutshill Tornadoes surrounding him was cut short as the still photo of his dead body appeared.

“James Peakes, aged 20, of Ashbourne, unmarried. Dead approximately 13 hours. Two men at completely different ends of the spectrum.” The S.P.O.O.K. director thoughtfully remarked. “Until eight hours ago, these two had nothing in common.”

“And now?” Harry asked, staring across the playground at Teddy’s antics.

He watched curiously as Cottenham drew his wand the length of a faint, shimmering line between the Heliopath and Snorkack discovery pieces. At once, the two boxes with Jimmy and King’s information sat one on top of the other on his side, the hodgepodge of their lives’ stories in picture coming to a halt on their final images.

“Look closely. Tell me what you see.”

“Oh. Well ... um — ”

“Uncle Harry! Uncle Harry!”

Before he had a chance to answer, Cottenham snatched The Quibbler interface from his hands and turned away as Teddy excitedly bounded up the steps, stumbling in his enthusiasm and falling into Harry’s outstretched arms.

“Oh! All right, there? Good, ‘cos your grandmum would’ve had my Chocoballs if anything happened to you....” Harry brushed a smattering of dirt from the boy’s rosy cheeks. Cottenham grunted from behind The Quibbler, but Teddy’s big news didn’t leave time for him to offer a proper scowl.

“Uncle Harry, did you see me? Did you see me?” Teddy breathlessly rushed, hopping in place with an expectant smile. “Did you see me on the net?”

“Oh, sorry, Ted. I missed it.”

“There was — there was a-a big boy, who was bigger than me and — and maybe even bigger than you — ”

“No, I tried getting on those swings; he’s in for a major letdown.”

“ — and he had a football like the one Aunt Hermione got me for Christmas, and he didn’t want to climb the net ‘cos he was — he was scared and I wasn’t scared so — so he said, ‘You can’t climb to the top ‘cos you’re a baby — ’”

“What? Where is he?” Harry asked, peering around at the cavorting children. “While I have a word with him, I’ll give you a cue and you take out his knees, all right? I’d like to see him try teasing you again after one of your tackles....”

“S-so I said — guess what I said?”

“I hope something you didn’t hear Ron say.”

“I said, ‘Uh-uh! I can climb all the way to the top ‘cos I’m not scared like you....”

“Baiting already? Your grandmum’s going to love that.”

“And he said, ‘I bet you can’t,’ and I said, ‘yes, I can!’ And — and — and guess what, Uncle Harry?”

“You had a dance off?”

“No!” Teddy groaned and made a face. Cottenham must’ve also been watching, because his cough vaguely sounded like an amused snort this time. “I climbed the wall all the way to the top!”

Harry gasped, his eyebrows disappearing beneath his fringe. “You did?”

“I did!”

“Oh, well, bring on the naysayers: Teddy Lupin is ready for ya!” Harry commended with a proud smile. He patted the boy’s head and tucked a stray green strand back under the cap. “Sorry I missed that.”

“I can do it again! You’ll watch me right?” he posed with a serious look.

Harry earnestly nodded. “Won’t take my eyes off of you.”

“You promise?”

“Have I ever broken one before?”

As if expecting that answer, Teddy instantly burst with, “YES! When — ”

“Hey, hey, hey ... that thing on your fourth birthday didn’t count,” Harry butt in with exaggerated seriousness. “When you asked if we could take the walrus home, I said ‘we’ll see.’ I never said 'yes.'”

He nearly broke composure and laughed at Teddy’s unconvinced expression, but held his own. “Okay. You will watch?”

“My eyes are yours for the next five minutes.” The man beside him coughed a bit too sharply in Harry’s opinion, which attracted Teddy’s attention. Before the boy could trouble the already touchy wizard, Harry turned him away and with a firm pat to his back called out, “I’m watching you!” With that, Teddy once again leapt away to exhibit his first-class net-scaling skills.

“Is he always that gawky?”

“He is not gawky,” Harry quickly defended as Teddy reached range deck and pumped his little fists in the air. “He has his clumsy moments.”

“Dear God, he’s just like his mother.”

Harry sniggered quietly. “Oh, the Tonks story. Never get tired of hearing that one.”

Cottenham made a vague neither here, nor there noise before answering, “If Mr. Lupin hadn’t got there first ... I’d have been in there,” Harry mouthed along with him, rolling his eyes.

A pregnant pause fell between them until Harry replied, expression deadpan, “You never had a chance, did you?”

“She didn’t even know me!” Cottenham disbelievingly admitted. “Didn’t even know me.”

With a quiet chuckle, Harry once again took up his side of The Quibbler to finish the debriefing. “Right then, Jimmy and King: how are they connected?”

“One of two ways: Madora, the S.P.O.O.K.s Healer, was quick to notice a similarity in both deaths.” Harry leaned forward when Cottenham gestured to the Interface. The two sections on King and Jimmy enlarged on the page, overtaking The Quibbler’s articles. “It rained the night we found King, remember? All that was left was his cleansed body, nothing amiss except for bleeding ears and the odd greying whites of his eyes.”

Harry nodded with a frown as images of King’s corpse surfaced now, with the odd general observation or suspicious marking note in neat handwriting flashing in and out. “Take a look at Peakes’ postmortem photographs. Notice anything?”

Harry stared at each haunting picture, sat side-by-side, both King and Jimmy’s greying eyes staring at him lifelessly. Other than the obvious fact of their death, he couldn’t find any distinguishing characteristics. “I don’t — wait! The whites of their eyes,” Harry finally spotted it. “They’re grey. That’s not normal in magical deaths.”

“Mm,” Cottenham nodded affirmatively, “neither are shattered eardrums and melted brains.”

“Whu...?” the Stealth Auror’s brow furrowed as he eyed Cottenham critically. “A liquefied brain?”

“Or exploded.”

“There’s a spell to do that?”

“Not that we’re aware,” Cottenham sighed, rubbing his temple beneath the tight-fitting cloche. “The best possible answer would be high altitude cerebral oedemas, since it would account for the leakage of brain fluid, but the brain is the liquid in these cases.”

Harry swallowed thickly. He learned something new about magic every day; too bad it was a balance of the good and the bad. “Jimmy was found in his home in the forest.”

“And King near a cave, so yes, altitude death can be ruled out.”

“Unless they moved the body,” countered Harry.

“Still wouldn’t explain the dissolved brain.”

“So it’s definitely murder,” Harry simplified. “I mean, what kind of spell would do that much damage?”

“I think the better question is: who wanted these two dead?” Cottenham amended, his voice sounding troubled.

As King and Jimmy’s cases flashed on the first two displays, Harry’s attention was drawn to another image. It flickered slightly and was motionless underneath the ribbon advertising Spectrespecs.

Cottenham rapped his wand on the flashing image; Harry watched as it drifted over to his side of the periodical, enlarging itself. Upon closer inspection, he noticed it was the piece of charred paper Fawcett found in Jimmy’s cottage. The same angular, blue feature was still the only clue he could make out amongst the scorch marks.

“What about this?”

As Harry dragged his forefinger along the shape, Cottenham murmured under his breath, “That’s the second connection, the longshot.”

His brow scrunching in thought, giving his mind one last try to decipher the symbol without any help, Harry finally gave up with an exasperated huff. “I dunno what it is. I’m sure I’ve seen it before, I just don’t know where.”

“Mm, and you probably have. Look behind you.”

Harry flicked his eyes over to Cottenham and arching an eyebrow before casually glancing over his shoulder. He saw nothing out of the ordinary save for a few older shops and Muggle cars zooming by. Somewhat bewildered, Harry turned back around and met Cottenham’s bowed eyebrow with a raised shoulder.

“You wanted to know why Watford,” Cottenham continued, “Well, you’ll be working here.”

“Here?”

“Don’t look at me!”

“Oh, come off it: if anyone’s interested in us, it’s because of that bird’s hat you’ve got on.”

“Why must you habitually dash protocol, Potter? Rule Dasher, that should be your title,” Cottenham complained. “The Boy-Who-Dashes-Procedure. I’ll see if I can get Skeeter to fit that in her next article.”

“Now ... here? As in here-here?” as fond as Harry was of children, he wasn’t sure if he could handle being around more than just Teddy for the moment.

“No, there-here.”

“Where there?”

“Over th — shabby-looking building on your left.” Harry heard the other man flip a page in The Quibbler as he eyed the buildings along the road behind them. Other than spotting a corner café and a bookstore, neither of which he desired working for, the only choices left were a pawn shop and.... And Harry then realized why that symbol on the charred paper was so familiar. It was everywhere, even a good distance from Grimmauld Place. He could’ve kicked himself for being so dense.

“The RSPCA emblem,” he absently muttered. Cottenham nodded.

“There are over 800 shelters in the UK. How many do you think bear that RSPCA certification?”

“A lot.”

Nodding, Cottenham went on to say, “Aurors questioned some of his colleagues at Quidditch World and learned something particularly interesting.” Harry urged him on with a raised brow. “They said Peakes’ cat went missing a few weeks ago.”

Frowning, Harry said, “But it was there in his cottage.”

“Found his way home on Monday.”

“Or was returned, maybe with a notice from the shelter,” Harry offered instead. “But by whom?”

Cottenham flashed him a dull grin. “That’s what you’re going to find out.”

With a heavy sigh, Harry slouched in his seat and moaned, “Fantastic.”

“Luckily, we’ve narrowed things down considerably, and have sent S.P.A.R.C.s and year one Aurors to several different shady locations.”

“And this one?” asked Harry, craning his neck over the rugby match to get a better look. “Looks innocent enough as it is.”

“Ah, but that’s the thing about looks, isn’t it? They can be deceiving.” Cottenham quipped as Harry eyed Teddy running around with a local boy before facing the Interface. “Watford Shelter. Our S.P.A.R.C.s in the fiscal thick of things have noticed massive influxes of money being wired into the Shelter’s account once a month for at least a year.”

Upon seeing the large number scrolling beneath the building front’s picture, Harry replied, “Aha, not so innocent. For a shabby shop like that, that is a lot of money for dog poo.”

“Mm-hm, but the most magical part of the story? Within 24 hours, the money’s gone again.”

“You think it’s a hit service?”

“Possibly,” Cottenham agreed as he enlarged a screen filled with an unfamiliar man’s plump, scowling face. “Manager Rhys Jones, 37, single — and with that mug, it’s surprising the ladies aren’t queuing around the corner — likes pork and sweets, sweets more than pork. What’s more, Mr. Jones’ own account has seen a generous swell itself dating back five months ago.”

Cottenham dragged his wand in a pattern across the page and the manager’s picture was replaced with more information. “He’s got two volunteer workers.”

“D’you mean I’m not getting paid for this?”

“One female Kristine, and one male, Ashley,” he chuckled at Cottenham’s less than amused glower, “who, as of two weeks ago, found his calling in the promising industry of high-fat, high-cholesterol, all-heart attack foods. New male David has taken his place, so we’re going to dispatch the female since his sudden change of heart would raise suspicion. Maybe put her on the ‘finding myself’ curriculum. What’s a good country to find oneself?”

“I dunno. Swansea?”

Cottenham dryly replied, “I’m laughing on the inside, really.”

Harry shrugged as Cottenham folded The Quibbler and tucked it into his frock coat. “Cambodia?”

“Good one. Haven’t used that in a while,” the older wizard chuckled. “She’ll be out by Tuesday, and you’ll be in by Wednesday next. Your assignment is to get in there, see what’s going on, get as much information as you can from the other worker and watch Rhys carefully. You witness anything suspicious, Potter, you call me. Merlin knows we don’t need another McLaggen running afoul.”

“If you hate him so much, why’d you select him for S.P.O.O.K.?” Harry inquired, eyebrow arched. Why anyone put up with McLaggen’s self-centeredness was beyond him.

“Believe it or not, he’s good. Very annoying, but the bastard’s good.”

“Not for S.T.A.G., though,” Harry bitterly pointed out, “as he’s keen on rubbing in my face all the time.”

“Well, comply with the Animagus requirement and you won’t have that problem.”

Once again, Harry said nothing.

“Those are your orders. You know what to do. We clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Watch your post over the next few days. If you get a Quibbler — not that I have to tell you this given our earlier exchange,” Cottenham sneeringly ribbed, “don’t throw it out.”

Harry cast him a tired look and stood up, calling out, “C’mon, Ted: Home!”

He knew before he descended the stairs, Cottenham would have already vanished. As Teddy gave a loud whine at having to leave, Harry felt the same shift in the air, signifying the other man’s departure.

“Aw, Uncle Harry, can’t we stay five more minutes? Four more minutes? Three more minutes? Ten?”

“You’re supposed to be counting down, not up,” Harry chuckled as he secured Teddy’s knit cap and grabbed his hand.

“Can we come back?”

“Not today, maybe on your next visit,” he replied, knowing he’d kick himself for saying that in the future. Teddy had an obscenely good memory when it came to such things.

“Okay,” Teddy said mournfully, but Harry knew he’d bring it back up at least three more times before Andromeda came back for him. The little boy’s mood picked up scarily fast as he brightly tried, “can we get a net for my bedroom? Please? Or visit the cay-vern place?”

With an embellished sigh, Harry replied as he glanced back at the play shelter. “We’ll see — ”

His evasive reply was cut short as a white impression vanished into the grey skies. Harry whirled around, staring at the skies and treetops for any sign of the blur. Was he seeing things?

“What is it?” Teddy whispered. “What’re you lookin’ at, Uncle Harry?”

“I...” Harry faintly shook his head, scrunching his eyebrows together. He was seeing things, he just knew it. After Teddy left, Harry resolved to get some sleep in before he started work. A gentle pressure on his fingers alerted him to his godson’s impatience for an answer. Idly grinning, Harry responded, “Nothing, Ted. Thought I saw a ghost.”

As Teddy animatedly started in on how his grandmum told him all about the ghosts at Hogwarts, Harry cast fleeting glances behind him. He could have sworn he saw a ghost, of which there was no shortage in Britain.

But he’d never heard of dead pets coming back to roam the Earth. Or, in Hedwig’s case, the sky.


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