[A/N: Feedback helps me write a better story so thank you all for the reviews of the last chapter. I say it all the time but I do so with as much sincerity after its hundredth repetition as the first.

This chapter was Beta'd by Ophelia Joane who is incredibly supportive and is awesome as she is patient.]

Chapter 20: Real Pies and Bad Lies

"They have butchered you."

"They saved me," Ginny growled, scowling at the earless side of George's head. It would've given her more satisfaction to glare at the Healer but she was laid out flat on her stomach and just couldn't twist that way anymore.

"Perhaps," Healer Nguyen conceded as she lifted her hands from the incision site on Ginny's back.

Nguyen reached for the chart at the end of Ginny's bed, reading it with quick, sharp eyes. She continued to lay out an intimidating array of potions on the rolling tray next to her, looking increasingly ridiculous as she cycled through a Muggle medical chart in her bright green Healers robes.

"The Muggles stopped and then prevented further arterial bleeds with your other injuries, at least," she commented after a moment's pause.

"Something Healers are rubbish with," Ginny fired back. "Forty percent of patients presenting with arterial bleeding die from-"

"Yes, thank you."

"'Forty percent of patients presenting with arterial bleeding'?" George mimicked with disgust.

"I've been fighting with Mum to stay here for a month," Ginny hissed. "Hermione thought facts would help."

"Perhaps you would like your mother here for this?" Nguyen suggested.

"No."

"Definitely not."

"It would be better-"

"I'm of age," Ginny replied tartly, trying valiantly to raise her head to glare at Nguyen.

"A fair point," she sighed, dropping Ginny's chart back onto its latch. "I have good news and I have bad news," she declared, moving forward so Ginny could see her better.

"There's good news?"

"Yes," Nguyen smiled. "You can regain control of your magic."

"I can?!"

"With time, practice and dedication," she warned. "You'll need to come into Braverman's twice weekly to rebuild the pathways and take a strict regimen of potions."

"That's the bad news?"

"No," Nguyen clarified, reaching into the pouch at her hip. "The bad news is that I cannot repair the neurological damage caused by your accident."

"What-?"

"It means I'll have to keep with my Muggle physical therapy," Ginny explained bitterly. She hated relying on everyone else for every little thing.

"Though that does not mean you won't walk again. Rehabilitation has-"

"I've heard the speech."

A hundred times over.

The Healers lips pursed and her face settled into the sympathetic mask all Healers – even the Muggle ones – wore. Ginny's eyes narrowed and her shoulders squared because she'd had a-bloody-nuff with the pity.

"I know you're frustrated-"

"Is that all?" said Ginny shortly, staring at the woman with hard eyes.

"No," Nguyen replied, without batting a lash. "I would like to treat the burst fracture to your spine with a measured mix of Skele-Sew and Skele-Gro. For it to work," she said, looking seriously at Ginny, "I must remove the metal rods and screws the Muggles inserted during the spinal fusion surgery. Choosing this course of action is a faster process than the Muggles' way and it eliminates the risk of infection. It requires no further surgery which can't be guaranteed if you elect not to have the treatment."

It took a minute for her words to sink in.

"You don't have to do it, Gin," George said soberly. "You're doing fine now. There's-"

"I'll be completely healed after?" She asked, ignoring him.

"Physically, yes."

It made Ginny's heart leap because Merlin she wanted to get out of the demoralizing back brace; wanted to get away from artificial lights and immaculately clean surfaces and Doctors coats and endless tests and the pain and the medicine and reflective linoleum and the smell of disinfectant and the stupid bloody beige walls of her hospital room.

She was so sick of being a burden.

"Do it."

The morning was overcast, the sky one endless blanket of cloud dappled foamy grey. Harry, Hermione and Luna leaned against the weatherboards outside a lively bakery in Port Whiskey, nibbling idly on their breakfast. They'd found it at the very end of the harbour, away from the maze of shops and closer to the sea. With the crowds of people a mere blur of colour across the water, not a drop of rain in sight and a cup of hot tea in one hand, a real pie in the other, Harry could think of worse places to be on a Saturday morning.

"I think..." Harry said, 'I'm going to become an Auror."

"Yes, I know," Luna replied, peeking up at him from beneath an overlarge woollen beanie.

"I meant I'm going to become one now." He'd put it off long enough. First there had been the aftermath of the war to deal with and then he'd just wanted to be for a while until Ginny had her accident and… well. He'd put it off long enough.

"You didn't just come with us today because Ginny didn't want you at her appointment with the healer?" Hermione asked, leaning around Luna to stare at him in a look that was both unimpressed and knowing all at once.

"No."

Luna blinked up at him with that same knowing look in her eye.

"Not entirely," he amended, taking a hasty bite of his pastry. "We're in each other's hair too much. I need something to do that isn't about her or the accident."

"You could-"

"No."

"You didn't let me finish-!"

"I'm not taking my NEWTs, Hermione."

"You might not get in to this Auror programme without them," said Hermione, looking seriously at him over the brim of her cup.

"Won't know 'till I try," he replied with a nonchalance he didn't really feel.

"Looking to join the force, Potter?"

The Pinstriped stranger he'd woken up to in the Infirmary a week ago leaned casually against the weatherboards, regarding him with keen interest.

"What do you want?"

"Who are you?"

"Hello."

The last was Luna, raising her arm in a wave so enthusiastic Pinstripes inclined his head in greeting.

"Secluded spot you've got," he acknowledged, eyeing the narrow boardwalk; so close to the water Harry could dangle his foot through the railing from where he stood. "It took me a while to find you."

"Why were you looking?"

"How did you know we were here?"

"It's lovely isn't it?"

He shifted, resting his elbows along the railing with his back to the water to get a better look at the three of them, his expression mildly amused. "It's my job; it's my job and yes."

"Auror's have got enough time to spy on us and not enough to control a bunch of vampires running amuck in their own city, have they?"

"Wondered when you'd connect the two," Pinstripes said, taking a leisurely sip from his coffee cup.

"You know?" Hermione breathed incredulously.

"Be a piss poor Auror if I didn't."

"You are a piss poor Auror," Harry accused, staring daggers at the entirely too relaxed man.

"Rude," said Pinstripes mildly.

"He's right," Luna said quietly. "There are fifteen dead Muggles in the city."

"And countless more missing," added Hermione.

"So what are you doing about it?" Harry finished.

"Oh you know, disobeying direct orders, impersonating federal officers, working on conspiracy theories."

"This isn't a joke."

"Do you see me laughing?"

"You don't exactly look concerned," observed Hermione shrewdly.

"Looks can be deceiving." He shrugged. "Walk with me, Potter."

"No thanks."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because why would I?"

"You want to become an Auror – I already am an Auror. We'll chat at HQ."

"That's not the reason at all," said Luna lightly.

"No," Harry agreed, leaning back against the weatherboards. A whole week Pinstripes had let them sit on the precipice of something – something they couldn't possibly hope to find the answers to because they didn't even have the bloody questions. He'd made vague allusions about the Ministry's seeming disinterest in the Seattle Killings in Harry's hospital room – kept making them now – and Harry wasn't entirely sure why Pinstripes was coming to him with… whatever it was he was getting at.

"What do you want?" Harry asked plainly. "Why are you here?"

"To set you up with a recruitment package," Pinstripes said and then added once he'd noted their unimpressed stares: "I would like to talk to you about the situation with the… Seattle Killings."

It got Harry's attention.

"Shall we?"

He exchanged a worried glance with Hermione; an encouraging one with Luna and an altogether strange one with Pinstripes.

"We'll be in-"

"The library, I know," Harry finished with a rueful little smile. It'd been so long since Hogwarts he couldn't resist.

The trip to the Auror offices was quick and silent and all the while a nervous energy barrelled around in his gut.

It wasn't until they stood in front of the glass doors that he realized it was anxiety.

"Why's it not inside the Ministry?" He asked, hesitation pulling at his limbs.

"It's a big department."

"Odd."

Pinstripes shrugged. "Police Department's not in the Mayor's office back in Forks."

"You seem to know a lot about Forks."

"You're stalling."

"I'm not," Harry lied.

It had hit him, as he'd stared through the glass doors, what walking into that building meant. He had always meant to become an Auror with Ron. He'd always imagined them doing this together.

While Hermione and Luna were great – they really were – they weren't him and Harry was only now willing to admit how much he'd felt Ron's absence in the past month. Losing him was like losing his right arm; it threw him off balance when he moved, expecting his friend's lanky form to be there. His every move felt lighter, less purposeful – less meaningful.

The others patched the holes in his life where Ron would have been. Jasper was rough and crass and quiet in all the places Hermione and Luna weren't. Penny was every bit as blunt and honest as Ron and Emmett and Ginny were almost as funny.

They just weren't Ron.

Entering that building, physically starting – actually living that dream meant starting a chapter of his life that didn't include Ron and it felt wrong.

"You're playing for time," Pinstripes declared, breaking Harry's train of thought.

"Shove off," Harry snapped striding into the building with a deep breath and a heavy heart.

"Knew it," Pinstripes smirked, sidling up to the front desk. "Potter needs a prospectus for the Auror training programme," he declared.

He felt rather than saw the Auror's gaze focus on him, could see the dawning comprehension as much as they tried to veil it.

"Didn't know you were in the country," said the man (Parks his nametag read), rolling over to a filing cabinet.

Harry didn't even bother hiding his surprise. Pinstripes knew, after all.

He offered no explanation though, and simply stared at Harry as the woman – Campos – strode around the desk.

She patted him down, weighed his wand and ran a series of increasingly ridiculous shaped objects over his person all the while Parks rifled through a seemingly endless filing cabinet.

"Your magic won't work in the building," Campos informed him, once she'd finished. "Only Aurors and Healers are extended that privilege. You must wear this-" she slid a lanyard with a generic visitor's badge attached across the desk "-at all times and sign these."

"What are they?"

"Waivers and disclaimers," Pinstripes explained. "Bureaucratic rubbish," he added, reaching for the folder Parks handed him before leading Harry down a panelled corridor.

"If half of what they say's true, we'll be lucky to have you on the team!" Parks called after their retreating backs.

"Fanboys," Pinstripes muttered disdainfully as he heralded Harry into a tiny room.

"Small office," Harry murmured once the door to the office had sealed shut.

"I make waves," he replied with a noncommittal shrug. "Doesn't help my career."

"And stalking Harry Potter will?" How else had he known they were at the Port this morning – about Hermione and Ginny when he'd been in Harry's hospital room?

"It's not stalking, Potter," he replied with a roll of his eyes. "There are no Witches or Wizards living in the Forks area. There was a spike in magical activity and we checked it out. It's procedure."

"Why didn't Parks know I was here, then?"

"Compartmentalization."

"So, what? Your area is… immigration?"

"No," he smiled, "it was all just a happy coincidence. I have other business in Forks. It made sense that I would be the one to investigate the increase in magical activity."

"That doesn't explain why you're still 'investigating' me."

"Doesn't it?"

"No," Harry replied heatedly.

The man was a patronizing git.

"You can't expect to come and go whenever you feel like it, Potter. This is real life. Muggles have immigration laws, same as us. Granger and Lovegood have Muggle visas, you and Weasley don't. None of you are American citizens but all of you are wizards. It's my job to keep tabs on you."

"Coming to my hospital room and suggesting that the Ministry were letting the vampires hunt Muggles; finding me in the Port today and throwing around vague allusions in your job description is it?" asked Harry sarcastically.

"You're sharp," Pinstripes observed, rocking his seat idly from side to side. "Or paranoid," he added as an afterthought.

"It's not paranoia if it's the truth."

"Every paranoid thinks what they believe is the truth," he shrugged. "I was just doing my job. I'll admit, I probably paid a bit too much attention to you. You're Harry Potter, after all," he grinned. "And then a week ago you ended up in the Infirmary after you were 'run over by a Muggle vehicle' but we both know that's not what really happened."

"Do we?"

"Please," Pinstripes scoffed. "Why lie about it?"

"We thought we took care of it," Harry replied honestly. He knew Pinstripes knew and mind games weren't much Harry's style. "We didn't realize there were more vampires out there."

"Some vampires exist in covens, Potter. They're not all nomads."

"I know that."

"Then what-"

"There were six that attacked me. Coven's don't usually grow any bigger than four." It wasn't something Harry had known until Hermione explained it to him, half broken on his hospital bed. She didn't see the need to expose the Cullen's to outside scrutiny when she was sure the vampires responsible for the Seattle Killings had been taken care of. If a coven of four was unlikely, one larger than six was next to impossible.

And then two more Muggles had gone missing and another had been found dead.

"Eleanor Che was found dead two days ago," Pinstripes said, as if reading Harry's thoughts. The question hung in the air, burned brightly in the man's stormy blue eyes, begging to be answered.

"Telling the truth about what really attacked me won't make a difference."

"It would."

"No," said Harry, "the Ministry-"

"-isn't looking for those responsible for the murders."

"Oh."

There was a pause in conversation as Harry digested the information. It meant the out of control newborns were the Volturi's responsibility. Still, it was slow to sink in.

"Why don't you care?" Pinstripes asked suddenly. "Twenty minutes ago you were demanding to know what the Ministry was doing to stop the vampires, I tell you they're not doing anything and you couldn't give less of a shit."

"I care," Harry replied sharply. "Why haven't the Ministry warned the public?"

"For the same reason they aren't hunting the vampires down."

That wasn't it at all. Just because the Volturi would 'take care' of the newborns didn't mean that the Ministry didn't have a responsibility to keep the public safe.

"You know something," Pinstripes decided, cocking his head to the side.

A loud rapping on the door relieved him from Pinstripes' intense stare as they watched an older man, tall, lean and crisp, edge into the room.

"Forgive the intrusion," he said with a slight bow, "but the office is abuzz. It's a small team on the weekend so naturally, word travelled fast. I thought it only prudent to verify fact from fiction."

"Fact: Harry Potter wants to become an Auror. Fiction: those robes look good on you."

"Roland has always been short on manners," the man said, slipping into the seat next to Harry with a bland smile. "Jackson Keens, Department Head."

"Harry."

"Of course it is an honour. The general public isn't quite so informed when it comes to International Affairs but the Dark Arts and those who wield them is our business. It is our pleasure to host you."

"I skipped the bureaucratic garbage," Pinstripes – Roland – said, leaning back into his chair, completely at ease. It was an impressive façade considering the tone of their conversation only seconds ago.

"I was merely being polite," Keens said coolly. "I have however, long since given up on Roland being able to define the difference. He has of course been helpful?" His gaze fell upon the file Parks had given Roland back in the lobby, now lying open on the desk in front of Harry.

Smooth. A begrudging smile twitched at Harry's lips because he hadn't even seen Roland move it.

"I was just telling Potter that before he's even considered for Auror training he'll have to pass a number of physical and mental aptitude tests."

Harry decided to let the lie go – for now.

"As well as competency tests in your spellwork, Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Herbology." Keens nodded.

"Keens won't admit it but school qualifications don't count for much. It's ability that matters."

"Ability gleaned from years of learning," Keens countered. "Training is a rigorous process. Minister Shacklebolt speaks very highly of you. I have no doubt you shall breeze through the next three years but it is-"

"Three years?!" Harry balked.

Roland smirked but Keens tilted his head and gave Harry an encouraging and completely insincere smile. "It is the same amount of time it took to qualify as an Auror in England before Riddle and his Death Eaters wiped out half of your country's force."

For all that this was his dream, Harry hadn't actually read too much into what it took to achieve it. If he were being honest, Hermione probably knew more about the entire process than he did.

"I hear it only takes a year to train the ones that were at the Battle of Hogwarts," Roland drawled – taunted. There was a challenge in his eyes that had Harry's spine straightening and his chin lifting.

"I'm sure Mr Potter shall do swimmingly," said Keens in an obvious attempt to forestall a confrontation. "I can arrange for another to go over the Prospectus with you if there's a problem."

"No," Roland replied almost immediately. "There's no problem, right Potter?"

Harry however, saw an opening. Roland didn't know about the Volturi but Keens was the Head Auror. Something like that didn't just slip under the radar. Harry sucked in a sharp breath, readying himself to be the kind of person he despised.

"Yeah, actually," he said, turning to Keens. "There is. If you wouldn't mind?" He grabbed the prospectus and shoved it in Keens' lap. Nothing but pander had fallen from the man's lips since the moment he walked through the door and Harry was certain a simple request made by Harry Potter would surely be granted.

"Certainly," Keens replied, motioning (a sour looking) Roland out of the room.

"It's quite fortuitous that you have decided to apply when the next intake for the Auror Academy is so close," he said, once they were alone.

"I er- I actually had a question," Harry said, straightening up.

"If you are concerned with the workload, I am remiss to inform you that such requirements cannot be relaxed, even for Harry Potter."

"No. It's not that."

"Oh?"

"Why hasn't the Ministry warned the public about the rogue vampires in Seattle?"

The first real sign of emotion flickered across Keens' weathered features; mild surprise quickly giving way to his cool mask of indifference. It was there though, as heavy as the pause in their conversation.

"I see Roland has your ear. However, you will find that he is sadly misinformed."

"I don't think he is," said Harry plainly, "just uninformed. He doesn't know about the Volturi."

The man froze in place, his hands stilling just as surely as his dark eyes, the lines on his face deepening as if they had been carved from stone.

"I'm not going to tell him," Harry clarified. As much as he hated secrets he understood how the chain of command worked and while he personally thought more people knowing everything benefited everyone, he barely even knew Roland – or anyone in the damn department. "Listen," he said, awkwardly for the man's silence didn't sit well with him. "I get that taking care of the newborns killing all these Muggles is the Volturi's responsibility. Protecting the public though; informing them, that's yours."

"You know an awful lot about the situationfor someone who hasn't been brought into the fold," Keens said, flaring back into life. He shook his wand free from his sleeve and conjured a bottle of amber liquid and two small tumblers. "Tell me, how is that you happened upon such… information?" He said with a flourish of his hand. "There are few of our kind who know of the Volturi, fewer still who speak of them."

"I read it somewhere."

"You will have to get better at that if you truly wish to become an Auror," he replied crisply, folding his legs and pouring them each a sizeable drink. "Deceit lends itself most kindly to the Dark Arts."

"It doesn't matter where I found out-"

"Oh, but it does," Keens murmured, sliding Harry's glass over to him. "You see, anything and everything to do with the Volturi is classified information."

"It's not like I'm going to go parading the information about."

"That is not the issue, Mr Potter. I would like to know your source."

"And I would like to know what precautions you're taking against the rogue vampires," Harry countered.

Keens regarded him with a veiled expression.

"Stubborn," he observed, sliding a glass of the golden liquid closer to Harry, "as youth is want to be. I assure you Mr Potter; the Port is protected by heavy enchantments, wizards themselves, more ancient ones. We saw no further need to alarm the public-"

"No further need?" Harry spluttered.

"No," he replied crisply, nudging Harry's drink closer. "Drink, Mr Potter. It'll calm you."

"No thanks," Harry snapped not remotely interested.

Something wasn't right.

"Drink," Keens insisted, "and as I have obliged you," he said raising his glass, "I would appreciate the same courtesy. How do you know about the Volturi?"

"Obliged me?" Harry said incredulously, ignoring the proffered drink. "You're not doing anything about the vampires! The public deserve to know. They should be able to defend themselves! I don't know what's wrong with you. If you won't warn them then-"

"What? You will? You'll cause mass panic, and infect our Wizarding community with fear. I assure you, Mr Potter, informing civilians that there is a swarm of hungry vampires plaguing our city shall do more harm than good."

"Tell your Aurors then!" Harry fired back. "Roland already knows-"

"He suspects but he has no proof." Keens countered, setting his glass down. "Fortunately, he has garnered neither the affections nor the sympathies of many, if any of his comrades. He hasn't the temperament for politics – professional or otherwise. The others, well. They do not read as much into things as he does."

"Why not tell them, then?!" Harry asked angrily, suspicion simmering in the back of his mind.

"I have my reasons," Keens concluded, staring thoughtfully at his glass. "I had hoped that we would share a drink," he motioned to Harry's untouched glass, "it would have been more civilized. Unfortunately for me, you trust your instincts." He said it with a rueful little smile, the proclamation making Harry discreetly edge his wand down his sleeve.

"Though I doubt you knew exactly what it was that kept you from the drink. Strange isn't it? How some of us simply know in our gut, when something is amiss. It's one of the many reasons I believe you shall do well in our programme," Keens said. "I shall not deprive you, or the Department of this. We need more good men and despite what happens in the coming minutes, I am not 'the bad guy' here."

The lock on the door clicked, loud and ominous and Harry gripped his wand all the more tightly for it.

"It's such a waste of Veritaserum."

He watched with incredulity as Keens gripped his wand even tighter and so Harry cast a silent 'Protego'. The familiar flow of magic didn't roll from his fingertips, nor did it barrel out the end of his wand as he'd so often expected and a sense of dread settled into his gut as Campos' words floated back to him.

His magic wouldn't work in the building.

"Others saw me come in here," Harry said instead, his eyes darting furiously around the office for something – anything. Roland though, kept a bland (if clean) workspace and the only thing of any use was the chunky wooden chair he had just vacated.

"No harm shall come to you. As I said, I am not the 'bad guy'."

Harry scoffed and reached for the arms of his chair. "Then why-" he spat but a spell left Keens' wand in a brilliant flash and Harry rolled to the floor, swinging the chair out wide behind him.

The attack had come sooner than he expected though, and Keens sent the chair tumbling away with a lazy flick of his wand.

"Impressive reflexes," Keens observed calmly. "With a little training you will make a fine Auror."

"Not in your Department," Harry grunted, diving beneath Roland's desk as another curse flew past him. Roland's heavy desk shrouded him in darkness, a faint red light blinked on and off in the far corner and the sound of Keens' steady breathing was so close Harry imagined he could feel it on the back of his neck.

"Come now, Mr Potter. This is a small office. There's nowhere else for you to go and I would rather not reduce Roland's desk to ash. He has so few possessions." His words were soothing, spoken as leisurely as if Keens had all the time in the world.

In spite of everything irritation ticked at Harry's jaw. The man was so bloody calm it infuriated him despite the fact that he was trapped under a desk with no magic and no weapons and why the bloody hell hadn't he signed up for that stupid boxing class with Penny's Nan?

It was a ridiculous thought. Stupid and pointless because what use were fists against magic?

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"Then what are you going to do?" Harry growled, sliding out from under the desk.

There were no other options and he wasn't going to cower.

"Make life easier for you," Keens shrugged and Harry lunged across the desk, fists clenched aiming for flesh but unlike him, Keens didn't need to make contact.

All it took was a single 'swish' of his wand.

"Stupefy!" He murmured and the office fell away in a brilliant flash of light.

Jackson watched as the boy clattered limply onto the desk.

With a wave of his wand he bound the boy in ropes from his toes to his chest. He set the boy's chair back and levitated him carefully into place before transfiguring a quill on Roland's desk into a syringe.

With deft fingers he filled the syringe with a phial of clear liquid. There was just enough for five, maybe ten minutes at most. Injecting the needle into the side of Potter's neck, he shrouded the office in a silencing charm before settling himself leisurely back into his seat.

"Rennervate," he murmured, sipping idly at his drink as he watched the boy's eyes flutter open.

"An unfortunate angle your head struck the ledge of Roland's desk with, Mr Potter. I imagine it's not a pleasant place, inside your head right now."

"Piss off," Harry muttered, blinking slowly. Jackson wasn't a beast, and so let the boy get his wits about him, waiting for Harry to actually struggle in his bindings before he spoke.

"I must apologize for the uncivilized manner with which we go about this. Regrettably-"

"Talk until Roland comes back, I don't give a damn, just speak like a normal bloody person, would you?" Harry snapped.

His lips twitched in amusement – at the reply, at the surprise on Potter's face after the outburst, he wasn't sure. He could afford to show some emotion now, after all.

"Of course that is the Veritaserum speaking," he said, motioning to the empty syringe. "I won't be holding any of this against you,' Jackson continued. "It's hardly fair."

"Clever," Harry growled through clenched teeth. "If I didn't loathe you so much I'd be impressed."

It struck a note of pride in Jackson's chest. Shacklebolt and his Ministry weren't as creative as him. He let it show on his face, if only to rile the boy up more.

"We have precisely nine minutes before the potion wears off. We may as well get started-"

"No, please, blather on some more. Make Roland wander what's going on in here. He's a suspicious git."

"Oh, I like the real you," Jackson admitted with a wide smile. "Now, tell me, how did you find out about the Volturi?"

"Hermione told me." The words slipped past his lips instantly, Harry's face pinching together in a sour expression at the admission.

"How did she find out?"

"Edward Cullen told her."

He nodded, more to himself than to Harry. He had hoped (rather foolishly perhaps) that the Cullen coven wouldn't notice Harry or his friends.

"Our scent doesn't catch a vampires notice." He threw the thought out into the open to see what the boy would give him.

"So what if they've noticed me?"

A bland response, not entirely helpful. A fishing expedition wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind but Harry was such an emotional creature. It would be easy to illicit responses, hopefully glean some useful information.

"So, they shall have to be taken care of," he replied quite easily.

"They haven't done anything!"

"They gave you information that wasn't theirs to give," Jackson replied, sipping at his drink. "How did you cross paths?"

"Ron attacked Ginny. My magic brought us here. Dr Cullen operated on her."

A vampire surgeon. Quite a ridiculous notion. "I'm impressed," he admitted, honestly.

"No," Harry growled. "You're a wanker."

It wrought a chuckle, genuine and true from him. Maybe it was wrong, perhaps it should have disturbed him, but he had always found people under the influence of Veritaserum so very entertaining.

"All this because I know about the Volturi?" Harry asked through clenched teeth. "So what? Loads of vampires are sure to know about them!"

"And how many wizards do you know that are on speaking terms with a vampire?" He was indulging the boy, he knew, but getting a comprehensive picture wouldn't hurt.

"None. Professor Slughorn is the only person I know who's even seen a vampire. It's not like we're going to go seeking them out, are we?" It was a half formed thought, spewing from Potter's lips at the potion's heed.

"Precisely," Jackson murmured. "Who have you told about the Volturi?"

"Just you."

"If I remove all mention of the Volturi from yours and Miss Granger's memories-"

"Leave her out-"

"-will it cause suspicion?"

"Yes," Harry hissed through thin lips, his eyes spitting fire. "We're friends with the Cullen's."

"What colour are my robes?" He asked, making sure the potion was still in effect.

"Navy blue."

"Good," he murmured. "After we finish here, will you tell anyone about the Volturi?"

"I don't know."

It didn't help at all. It would be easiest – safest – to simply dispense with Potter – Granger – the lot of them.

"Will you tell Roland?"

"No."

It took him by surprise. "Why not?"

"I don't know him."

"Wise," Jackson observed with an approving little nod.

"I quite happily hate you. Paying me complements won't change that."

"If I kill you," Jackson thought aloud, mulling the idea over. "Your Ministry wouldn't let it go without a thorough inquiry, I presume?"

"I'm the Boy Who Lived," he scoffed hatefully - derisively. "Of course not."

Jackson drummed his fingers along his wand thoughtfully.

"I'd rather you didn't," Harry added after a moment's silence.

"As would I."

"Not worth the paperwork?" He asked shrewdly.

Jackson chuckled, in spite of himself. "I am reluctant to kill an innocent. Collateral damage, though you would be."

"Because you're not 'the bad guy'?" He quoted. "I'm only asking so I can tell you how full of it you are."

"Though I do so love to be insulted, I fear our time is coming to an end. You-"

"You're going to off me here?" He spat incredulously. There was a defiance in his eyes though, almost as if they boy were daring Jackson to do it, to be that stupid.

"Don't be ridiculous," Jackson sighed. "Only when all other options are closed to us shall I be forced to commit that particular evil." He wasn't a heartless monster, after all.

"So if you can't kill the Cullen's, I'll do?"

"I won't be killing them," he replied with distaste. He would have to speak with Aro again, not an altogether pleasant experience. He couldn't take on a coven of seven vampires alone nor could he sanction such an action with the Auror department without arousing suspicion.

"I won't let you touch them," Harry growled.

"You can't stop me," he said with a pleasant smile. "Obliviate."