The Scorpion Always Stings

ϟ November 2002

November 2002

"You'd think being part of the Golden Trio would mean that you'd never have to work overtime," Ron gritted over his teeth as both he and Harry pushed another cart full of Howlers, wriggling viciously against the Silencing Seals placed on them, into the Department of Complaints and Queries.

Harry smirked. "Speak for yourself, mate. I've got a meeting with Ridgely in about five minutes and I think he's finally promoting me to the Senior Aurors team."

Ron stopped pushing the cart in disbelief.

"That bloody scar is your one-way ticket to Head Auror," he muttered, though he was beginning to smile. He clapped Harry on the back. "Seriously, though, that's big. Getting to go to the frontlines."

"Ron, we've been on the frontlines. I think we're both more than qualified."

"That ego of yours needs taking down a notch," Ron scoffed. "Marvin told me it's hell. Long hours, shit pay. And the endless opportunities of getting your head blown off."

Harry shrugged. He would never admit this to Ron, for he suspected his friend already thought so, but he liked the idea of teetering close to death. It was one of the many reasons why he and Ginny would never work. Well, at least in private.

He checked his watch. "Shit. I've got to go."

He gave a half-wave to Ron's 'Good luck!' and jogged off to Ridgley's office. When he entered, he found his older mentor sitting by his desk, frowning down at a thick wad of files.

"Er, hello, sir."

"Ah, Potter. Sit." Ridgley peered at Harry through his glasses. With a pang, Harry thought of Dumbledore. Stop being a freak, he scolded himself as he warily pushed aside a sleeping copy of a Monster book of Monsters that occupied the chair across from the Head Auror.

"I trust you know why you are here?"

Merlin, Harry had gotten tired of questions like that. Why couldn't Ridgley just say it outright?

"Yes sir. I've been interested for a while..." Harry trailed off, feeling stupid for sounding so keen.

"Naturally," Ridgley said, folding his fingers together and looking at Harry with the knowing eyes of a wizened but sharp man. For the life of him, Harry couldn't work out what his age was, though he must've been at least seventy years old.

When Kingsley Shacklebolt was eventually voted in as Minister of Magic, Ridgley, against all odds, had been appointed Head Auror. Before that, Harry had never heard of him. He'd been a prolific dueler in his heyday and was one of the youngest to join Dumbledore in pursuit of Grindelwald. He'd been training dragons in Germany when the second wizarding war had come along and had arrived just in time to fight at the Battle of Hogwarts.

Pisistratus Ridgley was not the average wizard's conventional idea of a Head Auror. Shrunken with age, with a slightly stooped back, and thick, green robes that trailed after him, he could easily pass for an eccentric librarian. There were even fleeting moments, like just now, where he reminded Harry, painfully, of Dumbledore.

Ridgley pushed a document towards Harry.

"I trust you have been keeping up with the Malfoy family?"

Startled, Harry looked at him.

"Er...not recently, no," he confessed, though that was an outright lie. He knew that Malfoy had been released from his year-long imprisonment at Azkaban. Malfoy had sent him a letter just before he started his sentence, thanking him. Harry hadn't replied. He hadn't felt the need to, believing the matter resolved. But he'd kept the letter tucked away in his office at Grimmauld Place. Ginny didn't know about it.

"Well, you see, the Malfoy boy has been...not quite right," Ridgley began. He tapped the document with his ringed finger. "As you may know, he has now begun his probationary period. We'd assigned him an Auror - perhaps you are well-acquainted with Gilbert Mortimer?"

Harry resisted the urge to laugh out loud. Gilbert Mortimer, probation officer to Malfoy, was about as silly a notion as Wormtail being Voldemort's right-hand man. Ridgley seemed to notice something in Harry's expression because he nodded, as though in agreement.

"The pairing has proven unsuccessful," he said. "Normally, there isn't such a fuss over who is suited to a job as mundane as a probationary officer. But, given recent events, it is important now more than ever that we keep a close eye on the Malfoy boy."

Harry had a feeling he knew where this was going.

"Sir, are you suggesting that I replace Mortimer?"

"Yes," Ridgley said. He put his hand up to silence the beginnings of Harry's protest. "It is vitally important you understand, Potter, that one doesn't simply join the ranks of the senior Aurors. Even one as...ah, experienced, as you. To be an Auror requires more than skill in combat. You are a negotiator, a manipulator, a spy, sometimes all at once. Now I believe you are capable of this."

"You want me to spy on Malfoy?" Harry asked incredulously. "What for?"

"There are stirrings among his old friends," Ridgley said. "Stirrings you have probably heard of yourself. Nothing dangerous, yet. But we expected this - neo-Death-Eaters rallying together, looking for a new messiah among them."

Harry sighed. "They never learn, do they?"

"Wars are not fought to teach lessons," Ridgley said. He tossed the file towards Harry, who caught it in time to glimpse the lettering at the front: Draco Lucius Malfoy, Prime Suspect. "Wars are fought to be won."

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