Fin Tutuola had seen apartments like this one before.

Ratty old furniture, older than he was, sitting on stained, worn through carpet. The smell of tobacco thick enough to make you cough, even with no smoke in the air. Walls, bare and undecorated, spotted with stains from God knows what.

The bodies were a familiar sight as well.

A man and a woman, probably in their early twenties, sat on one of those old couches. Her head was on his shoulder, his was back against the wall. Both had eyes that stared at nothing, frozen in place. No needles, no cuts, no blood from their nose, nothing that told Fin what they had taken, nothing to hint at what had killed them.

One bedroom had been converted into a lab of some sort. A team was still going over what they found there. The other bedroom was what drew Fin's attention.

The third victim was found on the floor, face down. He, too, had wide open eyes, staring at the space underneath the bed. Clothes were strewn about the room, but they were the clothes of a smaller woman, not this man. The woman on the couch, perhaps? The victim here had no wallet, no identification - just a few gold coins. Not even a cellphone.

The only hint of an identity was the union jack tattoo on the man's left forearm. It was a large tattoo, and seemed to be covering some sort of scar.

"Sergeant Tutuola?" Fin turned to see a man in a suit, standing in the doorway.

"Yeah?" he replied. At least the newcomer had the sense to wear gloves.

"Special Agent Mark Becker, FBI." He did not move to shake Fin's hand, nor did Fin stand up to greet him. "The New York Field Office has been asked to take this one."

That got Fin's attention. "Three overdoses in a slum, that doesn't get the Feds involved." He looked at the man in the suit, who seemed to wilt under the scrutiny. "What's really going on here? What do you know that I don't?"

Another voice from the hallway, this one with a British accent. "Quite a bit, Sergeant." Becker stepped back into the hallway, making room for another man. This was not an FBI agent, of that Fin was certain.

The man had unruly black hair, loosely tied back in what might have been a topknot. He wore black glasses over his green eyes. Fin could see a nasty scar on the man's forehead - the sort of scar that has a story behind it. The man's dark beard would probably be as shaggy as his hair, if it were not kept short and neat.

What surprised Fin was the man's dress - he seemed to be an odd mix of military and detective. He wore a black longcoat made of some sort of leather, closed against the November cold, with gloves to match. His boots were almost military in style, and the trousers above them also hinted at someone who valued mobility over fashion.

Fin felt no danger from this man - quite the opposite. But he knew, just as certainly, that the man was ready to leap into action at the drop of the hat.

"Sergeant Fin Tutuola," began the FBI agent, "This is Detective Inspector Harry Potter, over from the British Consulate." He nodded to the newcomer. "This is his crime scene now."

Fin looked from the Brit to the American, and back. "My team is still checking out the rest of the apartment."

"They've just finished," said the Detective Inspector. "Quite a team you have, Sergeant. They were most thorough."

"Of course they are," said Fin, defensively. "It's their job."

Potter looked at him, before nodding thoughtfully. "Just so."

Becker had places to be, apparently, for at that moment his impatience got the better of him. "Alright, Sergeant, let's let Mister Potter handle things from here." With a huff, Fin began walking toward the door.

"Actually," said Potter. "I'd like to keep Sergeant Tutuola as a consultant, if I could."

Becker glared at him, and Potter looked right back, his expression even. After a moment, and an unspoken argument, the FBI agent sighed.

"Fine, but make sure you give him the full briefing, or it's my ass, Potter." With that, Becker turned and stormed out of the hallway. Fin watched him go, shocked - a foreign detective just stared down the FBI, and won.

"What's he mean, the full briefing?" Fin asked. Harry looked at him, and then closed his eyes for a moment. Opening them, he shook his head.

"Ask me when we're alone. For now, Sergeant, I'd like to examine the body." Harry knelt down and looked at the third victim.

Fin nodded, still not sure what the hell was going on. But a crime scene was a crime scene. "White Male, mid thirties, seems to have overdosed on some sort of narcotic. Same symptoms as the other two, eyes wide open and no evidence of needle marks."

Harry nodded, looking closely at the man's head. "Theories?"

Fin shook his head. "We thought it might be Dumpster Glue. It's a new designer drug, they mix cocaine and aspirin and cough syrup. But that gives nosebleeds, and none of these three have anything like that." He shrugged. "So, we wait on the bloodwork and see what they had."

Potter nodded. A gloved hand came out and pointed at the man's ears. "What do you make of this, then?"

Fin squatted down to get a better look. The man's ears looked like they had been burned, but only around the ear canal. As if the fire was inside the man's head. Which, of course, made no sense whatsoever.

"I don't know." Fin had to admit.

"Have your men photographed this room?" Fin nodded again. "Alright." With that, Harry gently lifted up the man's head, turning it to face the closet. The other ear, too, was burned.

Fin thought for a moment, then leaned back toward the door. "Robinson!" One of the evidence technicians came up. "Check the other two, see if they had burns on their ears. Then you can have the M.E.s remove them." He looked to Harry, who nodded. "And then you can come for this one."

As the medical examiners did their work, Fin pointed at the tattoo. "Is this why you're here, then?"

Harry nodded. "See that scar? This man was part of a terrorist group in the UK. We got most of them in the late 90's and early 2000's, but a few managed to do a runner. Every now and then, they pop up and I get called out."

Fin regarded the dead terrorist. "Don't know too many IRA who would wear that flag."

Harry smiled at that. "No, this one was part of a group called the Death Eaters. Nasty buggers, went all-in for blood purity and other such noise." Despite his dismissal of the group, Fin could hear the undercurrent of anger there - Potter and the Death Eaters had some history, it seemed.

"Got an ID for me, then?" Fin asked.

"Marcus Flint," Harry replied. "We actually went to school together, in Scotland. He was a few years ahead of me. Couldn't wait to sign up, once he finally graduated." He shook his head. "And then it was little else but rape and murder for him."

The two stepped back as the medical examiners removed the late Marcus Flint from the room. Harry looked it over, muttering. After a moment, he walked straight to the closet. Opening the door, he found a box filled with empty glass bottles. He nodded at that, as if he had expected it.

"What did your team find in the lab, Sergeant?" asked Harry.

"Cocaine residue in a grocery bag, several machines that look like testing equipment, some cabinets with what looked like herbs and plants, and three iron pots." Fin looked back at the list - some of that made no sense. Just like this case. "They also found a bottle of something called 'Malaclaw Tears', whatever the hell that is."

"Cauldrons." Harry replied, automatically. "They're cauldrons." Now he looked down at the bed, and frowned - the mention of malaclaw tears had caused the Detective Inspector to go pale. "Your dealer was mixing cocaine with a chemical solution, and added something that's more poisonous than snake venom. And I'll bet it killed these three."

"So we're looking for a dealer, then." said Fin.

"No, I think we'll find him nearby." Harry pointed at the bed, at a set of leather boots. "Those are, um, probably three thousand dollar boots. If he had a pair of those, it's a good bet he'd wear them everywhere."

"How do you figure that?"

Harry tapped his foot on the ground. "Because I do." He gestured at the room, before pointing his gloved finger at another empty glass bottle sitting on the nightstand. "I'm betting your drug dealer is somewhere nearby, barefoot and wired."

oOoOoOoOo

Fin and Harry walked out onto the street, looking up and down the road. This part of town, there wasn't going to be much traffic - but there were still enough pedestrians as to make finding a single person difficult.

"I might have to call in some help," muttered Harry. Fin looked at him, appraising him.

"Don't get too many drug cases, do you, Detective Inspector?" Fin chuckled. "The man's barefoot and high, and it's the middle of the day. You said that chemical is a stimulant?" Harry nodded - if Pepper-up potion was anything, it was a stimulant. "Great, then our boy's gonna get hungry right about now." Without another word, Fin turned and started walking down the street.

Harry moved to follow him. "So where is he going, then?"

Fin smirked, but didn't look back. "He's going to see an old friend of mine."

At the corner, the pair found an old convenience store and deli. The sort of shop that had been here for generations, and would probably serve the neighborhood for generations more. If the pasty Brit sitting in the aisle didn't eat them out of business, that is.

Harry Potter followed fin into the shop. The owner, an older Japanese man, looked like he was ready to yell at them, before he seemed to recognize Fin.

"Fin, goddammit, what did I ever do to you?" the man shouted - the twinkle in his eye Harry's only clue that the man wasn't really angry at the Sergeant.

"Hey there, Mister Takahashi. How's business?" Fin replied, lightly. He walked toward the back of the store, clearly planning to get behind their target. Harry walked over to the counter, keeping an eye on the back of the man's head.

"It'd be a lot better if you actually arrested these druggies before they started wrecking my fucking shop!" Takahashi replied.

Fin chuckled, despite the verbal onslaught. "I'll take care of this one, Mister Takahashi sir."

"See that you do." The old man huffed, then got a bit of a dulled look. To Fin's surprise, he turned and walked into the back office without another word. Fin looked over at Harry, as if to say Did you see that? Harry saw the look, and shrugged innocently.

"Oi, mate, get me a lager!" The British man sitting on the floor had finally finished a bag of chips, and was reaching for another.

"I'm not your mate, Mister Montague." Fin replied. "I'm with the NYPD, we need you to stand up."

"We? Nothing but you, muggle-boy." Montague sneered.

"Wouldn't be too sure, Graham."

Fin saw the man grow pale at Harry's voice, before he unsteadily turned his head. "Ah, fuck me, the chosen one."

"Yep." Harry replied, popping the p. "Long way from Azkaban, eh Montague?"

"Like anyone'd hire me. Got to do what I can, Potter." Montague was unapologetic, but his attention was on Harry. And he had a stick in his hand, suddenly.

"Me too." As Fin watched, Potter waved his hand at Montague, and a zap of red light struck him in the chest. Fin saw the lights go out, before the man slumped to the ground in a heap. What the hell kind of taser is that?

Potter approached the now subdued drug dealer, a knotted stick in his own hand. Fin saw him mutter something and place the stick on the man's temple. To his surprise, a wispy thread of…. something, he wasn't sure what, made its way out of the man's head and into a small bottle. Potter nodded when the substance was contained, and then placed a small coin on Montague's chest. Tapping the coin with his stick caused Montague to vanish into thin air.

Fin stared at Harry Potter. Potter stared back, then grinned.

"You did say you wanted the full briefing, yeah?" Fin could only nod. "Great. How about you show me a nice place to have lunch, and I'll show you who sold the cocaine to our boy."

oOoOoOoOo

Lunch had been one of the oddest meals of Fin's life. It turned out that he and Harry Potter had more in common than he might have guessed. Harry had the look of a soldier and a veteran, which made him a bit of a kindred spirit to the former Army Ranger. He had fought against terrorists - these 'Death Eaters' - all through his school years, before killing their leader during what should have been his Senior year.

The fact that that leader had killed his parents explained the relief Fin heard in Harry's voice, when he told the story of that day. His life had gone full circle.

But then he had found that he didn't know what to do next. His wife had become a professional athlete, and he had supported her. He didn't need a job, his family was 'old money', so he followed her around and cheered.

"That's what saved you, I think." said Fin. Off Harry's puzzled look, Fin continued. "I mean, you just finished a war, and then I'll bet they wanted you to win the peace, too." Harry's expression confirmed it. "But life, it ain't like that, because you just spent some of the best years of your life almost dying. You needed time to live." He nodded to the wedding ring on Harry's finger. "And it looks like you did."

Harry found himself nodding. "Yeah, yeah I did." He smiled, his eyes getting a faraway look. "My wife, she gave me as much space as I needed - but was always there."

"And your kids keep you busy too, all running around and whatnot." said Fin, knowingly.

This got the Sergeant a look. "How would you know I had kids?"

Fin looked at him evenly. "You checked under the bed and in the closets. You even checked the cabinets." Harry's face fell at the mention of cabinets. "You were looking for children hiding. It screamed 'Dad'." Harry stared at him. "Trust me, I know the feeling."

A nod. "So it would seem."

After Harry paid the check, the two stood on the sidewalk. "Want to learn where they got all that cocaine, Sergeant?"

Fin nodded. "Damn right I do. But how are you going to pull that off?"

Harry grinned. "Would it help if I could give you a handwritten note with the man's name and address on it?"

"Can you?"

"After we have a look, yes." Harry began walking. "Come with me, Sergeant."

Fin, having few other options, followed the Detective Inspector. He watched as Harry turned down a dead-end alley, and paused. "Wrong way." he said.

"Maybe, maybe not." He walked over to Fin and grabbed his elbow. "This will feel a little weird." And with a soft pop, the pair disappeared.

oOoOoOoOo

Fin opened his eyes to see what appeared to be a luxury hotel room. Harry Potter was standing over him. "You alright there, Sergeant?"

"Ugh," replied Fin. "My old partner would've loved that shit."

"Could be," Harry said. "Here, have a glass of water and rest a moment. I've got something to show you."

"You mean other than teleporting my ass across town?" Fin asked, sourly, as he accepted the drink.

Harry laughed at that. "You did say you wanted the full briefing."

Fin grumbled. "I guess I did."

"Well, in a nutshell - magic is real, there are wizards who live all over the world, and though they're supposed to stay secret, they sometimes meddle with non-magical affairs." He indicated a stone basin, sitting on the table. "Sometimes, say, former terrorists move across the pond and start dealing drugs in Manhattan." He sat across from Fin. "Except that those terrorists get it in their heads to mix normal, non-magical drugs with magical medicines, and then sell that rubbish for as much as they can."

"The chemicals." Fin said, purposefully ignoring the rest, for now.

"Correct. It's a potion intended to give you a burst of energy - so that you can do more magic, or make it longer and further before needing rest, or what have you. So when you add cocaine…"

"People die." Fin said, quietly.

Harry nodded. "The venom was probably a binding agent, to make the mix work. Magical potions are very finicky, they need exact proportions of each ingredient, mixed just so, to work properly."

Fin shook his head. "We get a lot of meth heads trying to mix their own crystal, and blowing themselves up."

"This is very much like that." Harry sighed. "It's a wonder that Flint and Montague didn't blow themselves up and save me the trouble."

Fin couldn't help but agree. Then he paused. "Are you seriously telling me that those two are some kind of wizard?"

"...Maybe?"

Fin shook his head. "And what the hell is that thing?" He pointed at the basin.

"Well," Harry began, setting the vial with the cloudy…. whatever in it on the table. "This is a magical device that lets us see the memories of someone with magic."

Fin looked at the basin, and then at the Detective Inspector, and back. "Bullshit."

oOoOoOoOo

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Harry chuckled. "You know, that's not very different from my reaction, first time I did this."

The pair stood on the street outside the apartment building. The background had a blue, hazy feeling to it, like the blurry out-of-focus parts of a painting. Fin wasn't worried about that, though - he was watching Montague stumble out of the building. Barefoot, wearing only a t-shirt and worn jeans, a slight vapor of steam coming out of his ears, the man was a wreck.

"Wait a second," said Fin. "We're in his memories?" Harry nodded. "Wasn't he high as fuck when this happened?"

Harry grinned. "He sure was. Watch." Montague started to stumble down the sidewalk, weaving this way and that.

"But we're in his head, why aren't we, I don't know, why aren't we high too?"

"Because it's his magic that records the memory - not his mind. That's why we're not in his head, tripping balls." Harry waved his hands, and the memory seemed to reverse. The sun went down in the east, and came back up in the west, cars sped past backwards, people stumbled backward through their day, and so on. Fin closed his eyes after a minute - it was a bit too much.

"There," said Harry. Fin opened his eyes and saw their boy, now no longer high, standing next to Marcus Flint - the other dead body, Fin realized. They were across the street, sitting on the front steps of another apartment building. It was yesterday, apparently.

As they watched, a tall black man walked past. Flint stood up and shook the man's hand.

"That's him," said Fin. Harry looked over, his eyebrow arched in an expression that said are you sure? Fin saw it and nodded. "Go back, watch Montague."

The images reversed again, and this time Harry made them go slower. The black man was carrying one of those grocery bags you could reuse. As he shook Flint's hand, a roll of cash was exchanged - and, while that happened, Montague picked up the grocery bag. It was a smooth transfer, as such things went.

"Seems like he's your drug dealer, then." Harry said.

The next thing Fin knew, he was standing up, back in the hotel room. It was almost as jarring as the teleportation had been.

He looked over, and saw a feather - a goddamn feather - writing out a name and address. Harry waved that stick around again, and the paper turned into a smaller page, like a small notebook page that had been ripped out. Harry then put the slip of paper in an evidence bag, sealed it, and scrawled his name across the tape.

"There's your dealer, Sergeant." He slid the evidence bag across the table.

Fin looked at the note, but did not pick it up. "Good thing you found that under the man's bed, isn't it?"

Harry chuckled. "Good thing."

Another nod. "So," Fin said, looking at Harry. "Magic?"

Harry shrugged. "It's real, but we try to keep it as much a secret as we can. You have a right to know because of this case, but if you prefer I can remove your memories of anything unusual." He looked apologetic about that last comment, which answered one of Fin's questions.

"The full briefing."

"Yeah," replied Harry. "I wipe your memory and let you walk into your precinct with a solved case. The perps would be extradited and no one ever wonders why." He had his stick in his hand, and an odd look on his face.

"On the other hand," said Fin, evenly.

"On the other hand, you figured out where the remaining dealer was, and then spotted the source of the cocaine. Really, I did very little." Harry shrugged, and the stick disappeared into his sleeve. "Besides, who would believe you?"

"I don't know, man." said Fin, suddenly relieved. He sat back, looking at the note and the basin. "They make you travel much, these weird magic police?"

Harry laughed, sitting back down on the other couch - the tension was leaving him, as well. "Not really, no. But sometimes, they find one of my old mates, and decide to throw me a reunion."

"A reunion?" replied Fin. "From where I'm sitting, seems like you throw a hell of a party."

"Oh, Sergeant, you have no idea."

Fin looked at the Detective Inspector - or whatever his real title was, he thought. "Heading back tonight, then?"

Harry shook his head. "Probably first thing tomorrow. FBI will handle my paperwork, and yours too, since officially it's their case."

That got a grin from the Sergeant. "Good. I have an idea."

oOoOoOoOo

It had been a slow night at the bar, but it was the right kind of slow. A few regulars were watching the world series, though with no Baltimore, he didn't really pay attention. Some old retired badges were in the back playing a few rounds of pool and arguing about whose politics were worse for the country.

In other words, a Thursday.

The door chimed, causing him to look up from his bar. There, he saw a young man in a black longcoat, next to…. no, that couldn't be, could it?

Yes it could.

Fin gave his old partner a broad grin. He was going to enjoy this. "John Munch, I'd like you to meet Detective Inspector Harry Potter."

A/N: This evolved from a discussion on LeadVonE's discord about how viewing Pensieve memories of drug users would work. Then Fin got involved and started explaining that the kids were doing some new drug called something or other, and well, here we are. This ended up a lot less Crack-fic than I had expected, honestly, and I realize now that I neglected the chance to put actual crack in a crack fic. It's all in fun, though. Consider it a warmup for NaNoWriMo, I suppose.

No, the Statute of Secrecy does not apply to Harry Potter, because he has Diplomatic Immunity, a badass longcoat and plot armor. I blame the (Magical) FBI, and Special Agent Mark "Five Lines" Becker.

Auror Harry Potter is inspired by the fanart of potterbyblvnk on twitter and instagram.

Feedback, as always, is welcome.