Reparations

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AN - oh my goodness, can't believe it's the last chapter. I've had the most fun writing this and your comments have been so, so wonderful. Thank you.

Please enjoy!

**~*~**

After a moment's hesitation, Harry takes the slightly longer route to reach Draco's floo connection, the one that bypasses the main lounge. The last thing he needs is to alarm the Stage Twos, who should be straggling in from dinner now and settling in for the evening.

Pulling the door closed behind him, he sinks to his knees in front of the fireplace and firecalls Ron's office at the Ministry. As he sticks his head into the room and looks around, the first thing that hits him is that Ron isn't there. The second is a pair of vaguely familiar dark eyes that fasten upon him from the opposite side of the office.

His heart sinks.

"Hello, Harry Potter," Rodriguez says, rising from his desk and crossing to drop down in front of the fireplace. He rests tanned hands on his knees and regards Harry carefully. "What can I do for you?"

"Hi, um, Rodriguez." Harry's mind stalls temporarily, having been totally ready to just spill everything out to Ron, knowing that his friend would listen. "Is Ron about?" he asks hopefully.

"He went to retrieve some documents from the archive."

"Can you go and get him? Please?"

Rodriguez bristles slightly and Harry bites his tongue, gripping the stone mount of his fireplace hard.

"I have things to do, you know. I take it this call is of a personal nature?"

Oh, you fucking jobsworth, Harry groans inside. "As a matter of fact, it's not," he says out loud. "And I really don't have a huge amount of time, so please can you tell Ron I need to speak to him?"

"If it's a Ministry matter, I don't see why you can't tell me," Rodriguez points out, not unreasonably. "We are partners, you know."

Harry scrutinizes the man in front of him. The curly dark hair and hard mouth and brown robes. Rodriguez is stuffy and terminally serious, but not unpleasant; not untrustworthy.

"Ok. Listen. It's about your Chromia X case." The dark eyes flicker and Harry winces but presses on; too late to worry about what he should or shouldn't know. "The man you want is named Algernon Redrow. He's a Healer here at St Mungo's and a department head."

Rodriguez blinks and rubs at his face distractedly. Come on, Harry thinks, come the fuck on. Say something.

"Redrow, the head of Draco Malfoy's department?" he asks at last. "That Redrow?"

"Yes." Harry resists the urge to reach through the floo and shake Rodriguez. "You need to come and interview this guy. I'm not messing with you, Rodriguez. This is serious."

"He's not on any of our lists." Rodriguez casts a pained glance at the tidy stacks of paperwork on his desk and the neatly labelled collection of photographs on the wall with wiggling arrows and words connecting them together. Really, Harry thinks absently, it's a wonder that Rodriguez and Hermione don't get on better. "There's no evidence. With all due respect, Mr Potter... you must see how potentially damaging it could be for us to just turn up and cart off a St Mungo's department head because you've got a hunch?"

Hanging onto the fireplace and closing his eyes briefly, Harry wishes – just for a moment – that Salvatore Rodriguez was one of those disturbing people who listen to him just because he's Harry Potter. Just for a second.