Thanks to my beta Morning's-broken-angel and Mayachild for being the clever side of my brain! The girl shivered slightly under the rain as she clenched her coat more tightly around her. She’d been trying to hitch a lift for the last thirty minutes and was no closer to getting to London. Hearing an engine she quickly held her hand out, thumbing to the white Vauxhall Omega that sped towards her. To her relief, it pulled up about a hundred yards ahead. She hurried along the road and caught sight of the man at the wheel. He had on a white shirt with a small met police badge on his lapel, and a pair of shabby black trousers. He leaned out of the window, concerned. “What on earth are you doing out here love?” he exclaimed, leaning forward to open the car door for her. “It’s dangerous!” “I’m sorry but I really need to get to London,” she replied hurriedly, taking the seat beside him. “There was no-one else to take me.” “Student, are you? Not a good idea to go hitchhiking alone – little slip of a girl like you.” He laughed at the look she gave him and sent her a reassuring smile. “It’s alright love. I know you college students – think you’re immortal, or something. That’s why I stopped. Better that a police officer takes you to the station than some weirdo you can trust to try an' take advantage.” “I don’t need help, Mr...” “The name’s Pete, and I’m an officer of the Cambridge County police force so don’t worry. I’ll get you to up into town and then we’ll see about getting you a bus to the train station. How about you tell me your name and we’ll see about some money for you to travel, eh?” She nodded, showing a few loose notes in her pocket and a battered bus pass. “Your name, love? The girl hesitated. “My name?” My name. The words swam in her mind. “My name...” She trailed off. Pete gave her a questioning look and his face was suddenly deadly serious. “You’re not a student, are you?” The girl stared out into the rain splattering down on the windshield. “Look – if you’re trying to run away...” “I’m not.” She spoke firmly. “And I do know my name. It’s Gwen. At least... I thought it was.” Pete frowned. “You thought it was? What’s happened to you, Gwen? “I don’t know. There was a car accident...and doctors and... I can’t remember any more that that.” “Nothing at all?” Gwen shook her head. “No.” she said softly, “all I know is that I was involved in a car accident. And that my next of kin is in London. That’s all I was told.” Pete’s eyebrow rose. “Didn’t Social Services contact your family? Why weren’t the police involved?” “I told you, I don’t remember!” Gwen replied with a certain sharpness. “Alright, alright,” said Pete, “No need for that. Just let me think what to do.” He was silent awhile, as the rain poured down. Finally he spoke. “Right. We’re nearly at the station and I don’t want to let you go without at least contacting your family’s solicitor. They must have some record of you there so I think we’ll get you in there, check it out and get you something to eat.” “Oh no you don’t have to. It’s just I’ve never been to Cambridge and I don’t know my way around.” Gwen said desperately. She suddenly felt like crying. She had no memory and she didn’t even know who was waiting for her in London. “Don’t worry about that. This is important and you definitely need a good square meal and some advice before you go on. Besides, I’ve just finished my morning shift and I’m expected back about now.” As he said this, Pete turned the wheel and swung into the car park of a large grey but fairly modern office building. “This is it.” “Here?” asked Gwen uncertainly as she shut the passenger door and followed him through the revolving doors into the entrance lobby. “Yup.” Pete pressed the button for the lift. “Couple of months back the station got smashed into by a couple of yobs – completely trashed. We’re stuck in here for a few months.” The lift arrived with a bright ping and they stepped in as the doors slid apart. As the doors opened at the third floor Gwen was immediately confronted with a sudden hub of noise akin to a beehive. There were at least forty people in the office, at desks, answering phones, filing, shouting- “Pete,” called a bright brummie accent from the corner where its owner, a pretty peroxide blonde was typing efficiently at a laptop. “I put the Mitcham report on your desk ten minutes ago. ‘Fraid there’s an awful lot of paperwork to be done before Amy Elders goes to court on Thursday.” Pete laughed. “And good morning to you too Jenny. I’ll get that report sorted but could you ask Allie to take the papers?” He gave Gwen a wink. “I’ve got to sort something out with the boss.” “She’s not going to like that,” warned Jenny, “You’d better watch out at lunch!” “Just try her, okay?” Pete called over his shoulder as he led Gwen through the cubicles over to a large swinging door. She followed him down a long white corridor, up a flight of stairs to a door with the words ‘John Spencer, Superintendent’ printed on a neat placard. Before Pete could knock on the door it swung open to reveal a solidly built man of about six foot. He looked to be in his late fifties with steel grey hair and intimidating blue eyes. “Ah, Campbell,” he said, beckoning him to come in. “I was just about to send someone out to look for you. We’ve got a new problem with the Markham case. Turns out Alan Nielson didn’t check the files properly and now the defence have found a loophole in Soames’ contract at-” He spotted Gwen, who was unconvincingly trying to blend in with the wall. “Who is this, Campbell?” “This is Gwen. I found her walking along the motorway whilst on patrol. I’ve taken her in to give her something warm and then she’s on her way to London.” Pete said fixing her with another of his smiles. Gwen didn’t like the way Sergeant Spencer was looking at her. He had a slight frown on his face as he studied her, but catching her glare he turned his penetrating eyes away from her and spoke into the intercom. “Can you come up for second, Joan? I’ve got a job for you.” Releasing the button, he turned back to his officer. “Right fine. We’ll put her downstairs for a while. But I need a word with you.” He crooked a finger at Pete who turned apologetically to Gwen. “I’ll come and see you after this. I’ll be down in about 15 minutes tops, ok?” At that moment, a rather anaemic looking young woman with spectacles stuck her head round the door. “Yes sir?” “Take this young lady down to the canteen, will you, and get her something to eat.” “Right you are, sir,” she replied, beckoning to Gwen, who followed her uncertainly, feeling all the time the stares that followed her. “Good,” remarked Spencer shortly, “That makes things a lot less complicated.” “What do you mean, Sarge?” asked Pete doubtfully, watching his sergeant first lock the door and then rummage through a cabinet, removing a hefty file and sitting back down at his desk.. “I mean, Pete, that Gwen is far more than an ordinary run away.” “Well yes, I know that. She can’t remember anything about herself for a start, and anyone can see that Social Services have no idea about the car crash she’s survived. She’s probably lying to me as well. I know that at least.” “But do you?” Spencer asked. “I think there’s a great deal I have to tell you before you leave this room.” “What?” “Pete, how long have you been a police officer?” “It’s six years come January, but what has that got to do with-” “Well then, you’ve probably known that someday we would have to talk about ministry business.” “Sarge?” “About your other qualifications. Your first job.” He leaned forward in his chair. “I will make myself perfectly clear; your post as a Junior Obliterator for the Staffordshire Council of Wizar-” “How do you know about that?” interjected Pete in an astonished whisper. “I was told I’d be working alone – single posting for muggle relations and military business...” “Again, you had your orders; I had mine.” “So you... You were here to watch me? And you’re...?” Pete drew a breath at the realisation. “You’re...” He found no other way to express it. “Like me?” “I have wizarding blood, if that’s what you’re asking. Half and half, if you’re particular. Joined the force straight after my Auror exams. When I turned forty they offered me a post here, and since there wasn’t much an aging Auror could do besides wait for younger ones to better him, I took it.” “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Spencer shrugged. “It was never important. I suppose you had the same guidelines as I did? ‘Work your way up, guide the hand of the muggle forces, use Memory Charms as sparingly as possible?’ My orders have always been to inform you only when absolutely necessary; when the situation had to be dealt with by more than two persons.” “Two persons?” “Of course.” “You don’t mean...You can’t seriously...Joan too?” Spencer nodded. “A McKinnon by marriage. Squib, I’m afraid, but that’s never stopped her helping us.” “My God...” breathed Pete disbelievingly. “Are there any others here?” “Just the three of us.” “Jesus.” Pete put his head in his hands, his breathing slightly shaky. “And you say that now you have something to tell me?” he asked. “It may seem sudden, I know.” “Damn right it is,” replied Pete, a touch of frustration in his normally calm voice. “How much do you remember about the end of the war?” “More questions? “Yes and it’s important that you tell me the truth,” returned Spencer firmly. “Don’t try and hide the fact that you don’t know much; I know as well as you do how little the Ministry informs those working with the muggles.” Pete furrowed his brow for a few moments. “As you say, I only know what they told me.” He shrugged. “The Dark Lord’s death, the arrest of his prominent followers, the last attack on the Ministry... Not that they let me have the details.” Spencer looked grim at the memory. “Desperate attempt, that was. Blew open an entire wall in the east wing, they did; tried hold out as long as they could. They didn’t last long – only a few days – but they still managed to kill about fifty people in the process. There were only five of them occupying the building, as it turned out and all pretty junior as well. The last five Death Eaters left in the country, or supposedly. “Why supposedly? The Ministry didn’t let any get away, surely?” “Not intentionally, no. Of course, we all knew that Lucius Malfoy was as guilty as they come, but as usual, the man could out-wriggle an eel. Luckily for him, he was so far up the hierarchy, he knew that they were heading for disaster and backed the right horse accordingly, changing sides at the very last minute. But as I say, even after the last attack, there were Death Eaters left in hiding.” “How?” asked Pete incredulously. “Where? Who would protect them?” “No-one knows. In fact, most in the Ministry don’t believe it, because all that remains of the records of the Dark Lord’s following are a very few confessions from dying members. What most don’t realise is that the Death Eaters were by no means an entirely united group. In his earlier years, HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED cultivated a following, mostly from the company he kept at school, dissatisfied purebloods and so on. When He disappeared for several years in his early twenties, most lost faith. Only a small number, about two or three, of those who still believed he would return still kept an association with each other. Called themselves the Enigme, and kept watch for when their master returned. Naturally, when that day did come, they were furious.” “They expected rich rewards?” “Exactly. They hoped to be honoured for their unshakable faith but the fact was that they all were fairly uncharismatic and mediocre wizards, compared to many of the rest. HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED wasn’t going to waste his time promoting them.” “And the result was?” “Well, nothing for a while. According to the sources we have, they stayed pretty quiet within the ranks for the months that elapsed, even during the first war against the muggles. The defeat of their master was the last straw for them, and they abandoned hope of his glory. But about three years after Harry Potter entered Hogwarts, the members of Enigme began to plan something separate; a mission; a raid that would win them glory and fame; the respect they deserved from world. They hoped to gain a bargaining chip against the Ministry and to make a claim for power themselves.” He paused. Pete leaned forward, intrigued. “Go on.” Spencer hesitated. “That’s when our sources on Enigme stop talking.” “Then what was the use of telling me all this?” asked Pete distractedly. “If you’ll be patient I’ll tell you. The only information we can gather further is that the mission was planned for sometime in late May.” “But that’s only a few days before the Dark Lord was resurected - ” “Precisely. The attempt was carried out successfully, and only a few days later, everything they’ve been working for collapses. Pretty disappointing for them, and with no choice but to hide from the wrath of a master they’d given up on.” “Well yes – but surely you can’t prove they ever carried out such a mission? There aren't any records.” “No there aren’t,” replied Spencer grimly. “There you are then. You can’t prove it.” “Oh yes I can.” “How?” “Because every attack that took place in that time has been accounted for. Every single case has had responsibility claimed for it by a captured Death Eater. Except for this one.” He held up the photo that lay on the pile of papers in front of him. Pete gasped. The face grinned out across time - straggly red hair, bright eyes, the mass of freckles... “Gwen,” he whispered disbelievingly. “Oh no. Not Gwen,” said Superintendent Spencer. “Ginny. Ginny Weasley.”
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