Hide and Seek

Chapter 2

The blinding white flash from the camera made Harry blink. He'd never get used to people taking so many pictures of him. At least this time, he wasn't the one that the paparazzi was focused on taking pictures of.

Harry and Neville approached the two Aurors standing sentry at the crime scene. Although the rain was beating down onto their heads, Harry paid it no mind; a quick Impervius charm kept the worst of it off of his face.

Harry flashed his badge at the Aurors and asked, "Who was first on the scene?"

"Berrycloth," the shorter of the two Aurors informed him. "He's waiting for you by the body."

They stepped aside for Harry and Neville and pointed towards the canvas partition that had been carefully erected around the body. Harry thanked them and made a beeline for the partition, kicking water in all directions with his heavy boots.

"Don't know why they're bothering to take pictures," said Neville, glancing at the group of reporters who stood cordoned off at the opposite side of the street. "It's not like they can see the body."

"They don't need to see the body," said Harry. "They'll just use their overactive imaginations and make up the gory details as they go. Doesn't matter how accurate it is, so long as they sell papers."

Pulling back the canvas, Harry and Neville ducked inside the tent. There was another blinding flash, this time from the investigators taking photographs of the body. Harry blinked furiously and rubbed his eyes in a failed attempt to shift the afterglow that was temporarily seared to his retinas. Despite his impaired vision, there was no mistaking the man who lay in a crumpled heap on the ground. Mundungus Fletcher's bandy legs were sticking out at unnatural angles, and his brown bloodshot eyes were fixed on the canvas ceiling, unblinking, now unseeing.

Neville walked past Mundungus's body and addressed the junior Auror who had been waiting for them. "Berrycloth?"

"Yessir." Berrycloth, a willowy, fair-haired man, shook Neville's extended hand and gave Harry a cursory nod. "Mr Potter, it's a real honour—"

"Any witnesses?" Harry cut in.

Berrycloth stammered, "N-no sir. I mean—well, it was the owner of the betting shop—a Mr Krogaz—he was the one that called us after hearing a commotion on the roof of the building. He went outside to see what was going on and that's when he found Mr Fletcher on the ground, but he was already dead."

"Has anyone inspected the roof yet?"

"No sir."

Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "That might have been worth checking out, don't you think?"

"Oh. Yes, of course." Berrycloth blushed and stepped towards the exit. "I'll go do that now."

Harry shook his head. "Longbottom and I will see to it. You head back to the office and write up your report, I want it on my desk by morning."

"Yessir." Berrycloth gave Harry and Neville a little salute before Disapparating with a loud pop.

Neville drew Harry a withering look. "You know he's new to this."

"As much as I sympathise with him, we've got a dead body on our hands," said Harry, scribbling something in his notebook before pocketing it again. "Silly mistakes can hamper the investigation."

"We made plenty of mistakes when we started out," Neville reminded him. He bent over to take a closer look at Mundungus and scrunched up his nose. "Smells like he's had a fair bit to drink. You think he could have fallen?"

"Maybe," said Harry uncertainly. "Dung was partial to a drink, mind you, but it never seemed to hamper his proficiency with spellcasting."

Harry knelt down beside Mundungus and grimaced. It was no secret that he disliked Mundungus; he was a liar, a thief and—worst of all, in Harry's opinion—a damn coward. But for how unsavoury a character Mundungus Fletcher was, Harry never would have wished the man dead. He pulled on a pair of thick leather gloves and checked Mundungus's trouser pockets. To his surprise, he found a broken wand (elm wood, by the looks of it), a single pale unicorn hair was all that held the two pieces together.