Blood Vengeance

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Harry was rudely awoken by his alarm clock charm. Five hours was enough. He showered, shaved and Apparated straight to the ward to check on Terry and Malfoy. Narcissa wasn't there yet, so he left Terry there and to the Ministry. He ducked past Proudfoot, complaining openly about him to the other senior Aurors, and managed to slip into the work area they had for the case. Proudfoot never came there.

Mike was still there, now drinking a firewhiskey. Transcribed on parchment on the desk in front of a Pensive was the image he pulled from Malfoy's memory. 

"Didn't think you'd sleep long. Figured I'd wait," he muttered, with a slight slur. He finished his drink. "I'm not watching anymore. This is what I got." Mike handed the picture shakily to him. 

DEK was the basic nondescript young adult: 17-22, pale, average height/weight, brown hair, brown eyes, and no facial marks, piercings or jewelry. Black robes, no labels. Harry looked at Corner concerned. "This is good, Mike. Thank you. I'm sorry... I know memories can be... intense."

"Yeah... you were right... about DEK. He was interrogating Malfoy, asking... "Where are there Death Eaters? How many of you were there? Who helped you? How do I get past your mother's wards?" nonstop, Harry. And Malfoy didn't answer him at all... that I could see. But Harry, this is one sick twisted fuck. He immobilized him when he pounded the stakes in... by hand... and laughed at Malfoy's muffled screams. It was... there aren't words."

"I'm sorry, Mike. You were only supposed to do the identification. You didn't have to...."

"Maybe I did need to see. Just seeing how a psychopath works... but Harr, this guy ain't stopping for nothing."

"I know."

"We got to get more of a priority on it. I don't care if it's just Death Eaters... he's an absolute lunatic," Mike said, waving his hands dramatically. He wasn't usually a drinker, but he was already punched out and needed something to anesthetize his brain.

Harry nodded. "I was planning on talking to Robards."

"I hope with some restraint, Harry."

"I make no promises. You get any hits on the pic, yet?" Harry asked, holding it up.

"Nothing, Harry. I don't recognize him at all from our vague list of suspects."

"Neither do I. Terry is still at the hospital, and Ron will be in soon. Can you wait for another 30?"

"Sure. Hence the firewhiskey. I don't have to worry about Proudfoot. He refuses to come back here. I put the memory in the safe for you."

"Thanks, Mike," Harry said and made a copy of the photo. He walked back toward the front, where Proudfoot had been.

"POTTER! Where the bloody hell have you been you fucking wanker?" the blowhard growled.

"Working. I just got off a 58-hour shift. I'm going to enjoy that overtime."

"What are you talking about? You're only getting paid for one day, Potter," he sneered, and the other meatheads nodded and muttered about up-jumped kids.

"You ordered me to stay "until that fucking Death Eater gives it up". Isn't that what you said?"

"You're taking my words out of context!" he snarled.

"Really? You never sent anyone to check on me or replace me!" he spat. "Whatever, Proudfoot. I'm going to see Robards."

"Good! He'll set you straight, you whiny little bitch. You're the one who fucked up that DEK pursuit. It's your fault if anyone else dies!"