Chapter Twelve: Hot Fuzz

Someone had seen Milo near Bristol, that someone had recognized him on sight, and had chosen to report it to the Daily Prophet.

Based off of reports from their network of bird watchers, there were three suspected magical homes in the Bristol area that subscribed to the Daily Prophet. Or at least, there had been six months ago; most of her fellow conspirators were now either dead or had moved on with their lives. Of them, only two had any children. One of those seemed to have lost the genetic lottery (assuming genes were even involved), and attended an ordinary public school.

That left a single potential classmate of Milo's in the region: one Hannah Abbot. She had the means, opportunity, and, if Fiona was right, motive to spot the boy and report it. She didn't know how many students were at Hogwarts, but if the Prophet was correct and Milo really had stabbed a girl in his year, it seemed plausible that it had been a friend of hers.

Fiona grinned to herself, putting her files into a bag and disembarking from the train. All she needed was a quick change of clothes and a payphone to call a taxi and she'd finally get the breakthrough she'd been looking for all this time.

o—o—o—o

"Dinner!" Hannah's father called.

Hannah hurriedly stuffed her textbooks into her bag (except for the Monster Book of Monsters, of course, which last she'd seen was still lurking in the shoe closet). Her parents didn't know that she was sneaking out early in the morning and late at night to see Milo, and she intended to keep it that way by avoiding any unnecessary suspicion. They'd never seen her with a textbook in hand during the summer before, and they weren't going to start now.

The evidence packed away, she headed downstairs for dinner.

As she headed down the stairs, she heard a knock at the door, followed by the silvery tinkle of the chimes her mother had hung on the door that announced to the house whenever it was opened.

"Hello?" her mother asked.

Overcome by curiosity, Hannah ducked below the stairwell and listened.

"Ms. Abbot?" said a brisk, businesslike female voice with a faint Scottish accent.

"Mrs. Abbot, thank you. Can I help you, miss..."

"Eskarina Smith, Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Would you mind sparing a moment of your time to answer some questions, ma'am?"

"No, not at all," Hannah's mother said, surprise evident in her voice.

"Do you have a son or daughter approximately thirteen years old?"

"Yes, a daughter. Is she in some sort of trouble?"

"No, ma'am. Nothing like that."

Hannah heard footsteps. "What's going on?" her father asked as he walked to the front door.

"This is Eskarina from the Ministry," her mother said. "She's here because... actually, why are you here, Ms. Smith?"

"We at the DMLE have reason to believe that your daughter may have information pertinent to locating a missing person," Eskarina answered.

Hannah's heart skipped a beat. How had they found her so quickly? Or at all, actually?

"Hannah?" her mother asked incredulously. "If the missing person happens to be a package of Oreo biscuits, maybe."

Hannah bristled. That only happened the one time.

"With your consent, I'd very much like to speak to her."

There was a pause, and Hannah could practically picture the looks her mother and father were exchanging. "Very well," her mother said, finally. "If we can be present."

"Of course, ma'am."

"Hannah!" her father called.

Hannah had already crawled most of the way back up the stairs just so she could convincingly hurry down them from the top.

"Yes?" she asked, rounding the corner to the front hall. Standing there between her parents was a pint-sized witch with ragged, greasy brown hair, dark bags under her eyes, and a black, pointy hat with a brass buckle on the front. She looked like she'd just barely survived some sort of Shampoo Apocalypse, and had come to warn the world of the dangers of proper hair hygiene. And of sleeping, for that matter.

"Hannah, this woman wants to speak with you," her father said. "You don't have to answer her questions if you don't want to, but you do have to be honest. Do you understand?"

Hannah nodded.

"To confirm," Eskarina said, a Muggle-style notebook and pen in hand. "Are you Hannah Abbot?"

"Yup," Hannah said. The witch scribbled down her answer.

"Are you a student at Hogwarts?"

"Yup."

"What year are you in at Hogwarts?"

"Starting my third year tomorrow," Hannah said.

"Have you ever seen this boy," she asked, holding up the photograph of Milo from the Daily Prophet.

"He's a classmate of mine," Hannah said evasively.

"Would you describe this boy as a friend of yours?"

Hannah paused. She didn't want to say anything to this woman that would lead her to the conclusion that she would know anything about where Milo was hiding, but she also didn't want to lie outright. For all she knew, the woman could use magic to tell. "He's in my House," she said, and immediately cursed her wording.

"Excuse me?" the woman said, reaching into her pocket, presumably for a wand. "He's here now?"

"No, no, no," Hannah said hurriedly. "My House at school. House Gryffindor."

"I see," she said, relaxing. "So you take classes together, that sort of thing?"

"Yes."

"Can you positively identify this boy as Milo Amastacia-Liadon?"

Hannah nodded.

"Do you know where he's from?"

Hannah shook her head. "Not exactly. I don't think he's from anywhere in the UK, though."

Eskarine cocked her head sideways. "And why is that?'

"His accent's different. Could be American, maybe."

"I see," the woman said, scribbling in her notebook. "Would you describe Milo as 'dangerous,' Hannah?"

Hannah paused, and thought about it. Was Milo dangerous? She thought about the Redcap, and about the Troll, and about what he'd done to the Death Eaters in the Gryffindor Common Room. On the whole, she thought, yes, he's very dangerous... but he's on our side. She couldn't very well say that, could she, though?

"I'd prefer not to answer."

Eskarina's eyes narrowed. "Has this boy ever harmed you or anyone you know?"

"I'd prefer not to answer." Her mother and father shot her sharp looks, identical, unspoken questions forming on their lips.

"Have you seen this boy at any time in the last seventy-two hours?"

"I'd prefer not to answer."

"Do you know where this boy is right now?"

"I'd prefer not to answer."

Eskarina put her notebook and pen away. "Thank you for your time," she said to the three of them. "That will be all. Have a nice evening." With that, she crisply spun about on the heel of one foot, and walked down to the road.

"Wait!" Hannah's mother called. "What's going on?" But the woman either didn't hear her or chose not to, and quickly walked out of sight. As soon as she was gone, both parents turned to look at Hannah.

She had to warn Milo that the heat was on, but one look from her parents, however, told her that that would have to wait until she could effectively shake them off—a daunting proposal, to say the least. They were likely to be full of questions, now that the woman from the Ministry had implied in front of them that she'd been attacked by this boy at school (which she had, technically, but it hadn't really been her at the time, and it was all a misunderstanding, anyway).

o—o—o—o

Fiona practically skipped down the street, shoving the uncomfortable robes and hat into her satchel as she did. That girl had all but screamed 'I KNOW SOMETHING' at her. Fiona had expected the girl to send her right to Milo, but apparently, she'd opted to cover for him instead (which, then, raised the question: if she hadn't turned him in to the Prophet, who had?). Obviously, she hadn't said anything that would hold up in a proper investigation, but, refreshingly, this wasn't a proper investigation. In fact, as far as Fiona could tell she hadn't even broken any laws—there was no rule against pretending to be part of what was, as far as her government was concerned, a fictional, supernatural, organization to engage in completely consensual conversation. She did feel somewhat guilty about tricking a child, but the last time she'd underestimated magical children, Milo—she was sure it was him—had pinned her partner down with magical tentacles and then called in a crack team to erase her memory. At least, that's what she'd written down before losing said memory.

The next phase of her plan required a little more preparation, a few phone calls, and a fair amount of money, but if she'd gauged the situation in the Abbot household accurately, she reckoned she had two hours at least to prepare—which was, of course, part of her plan, once she'd established that Hannah was likely co-operating with Milo.

o—o—o—o

Black robes and a black hat against the black night sky were virtually invisible, save for the occasional blotted star or silhouette against a tree. Even the most observant person didn't have a hope of following a flying witch at night. It wasn't magic, it was simply human biology.

Which was why, when, two hours later, Fiona spotted Hannah climbing out her bedroom window, she had no intention of trying to track her with her bare eyes alone.

The AM/NIR-7 was a bulky, military headset from the mid-eighties that flooded the world in fluorescent false-colour magentas and oranges, depending on heat or radiation or whatever phlebotinum the thing used to work. After some fiddling with it, she configured it to highlight Hannah in bright white. While very nifty, the thermal goggles weren't strictly legal, but then, she wasn't strictly a copper, and anyway, who was counting? Besides, she was out of her own jurisdiction.

Hannah shot off into the night, and Fiona raced after her on a rented dirtbike. She'd reckoned that the girl would mostly follow major highways to get to her destination (assuming it was out of the city centre, as the Prophet had implied), as she couldn't imagine navigating by broomstick at night would be easy without frequent landmarks.

Fiona was more than breaking the speed limit, but she knew to avoid most of the major speed traps and most patrolled routes. She didn't have to directly follow the flying girl, just make sure she remained in sight at all times. Hannah stopped to check a map and get her bearing every few minutes, each time allowing Fiona to close the distance.

Had it been daytime, Fiona was sure she wouldn't have had a prayer of following the broomstick, which could easily travel at double the bike's speed, and, further, could completely ignore more mundane considerations such as traffic and geography. But as it was, Fiona kept within a few kilometres of the flying girl, until she was abruptly cut off by a speeding lorry, and lost her.

"Dammit," Fiona muttered, pulling over and scanning the skies. Nothing gave off the telltale white glow. She was just about to call it a failure and head back to Bristol to come up with an alternate plan, when she spotted a white, vaguely humanoid shape on the ground. She lifted up the goggles, revealing a scraggly, seemingly-abandoned field that might have once been farmland.

Abandoning her bike by the side of the road, she easily hopped the low stone wall and sprinted towards the figure. Well before catching up to her, however, she simply disappeared.

Fiona lifted the heavy headset again (the thing clocked in at two-thirds of a kilo... her neck was going to take its sweet revenge on her tomorrow, of that she was certain), feeling foolish. In front of her was a solid, adult-sized boulder. Sitting in the middle of a field, as it did, it'd probably caused no shortage of irritation to the former owners of this field.

Could Hannah really have simply vanished? If wizards and witches were capable of Star Trek-style teleportation, that did explain how they managed to get around so easily in their ridiculous robes without arousing suspicion. Had that been how her police raid had been so handily slaughtered last year? If only she could remember...

No. If Hannah could simply will herself around, why on Earth would she fly here on broomstick? She had to still be around somewhere, but was concealed by trickery or sorcery.

Given that she was hiding nearby, and that she couldn't simply turn invisible (or she would have done so en route to this hideaway), it meant that, somewhere nearby, there was a hidden entrance, tunnel, or other hiding place. She'd chosen to land near this rock rather than somewhere else in the field, so it stood to reason that the rock played some part in the hiding place.

Fiona circled the rock, deep in thought. There was no sign of a false door or entrance, and the vegetation wasn't overgrown enough to hide a person—even if it was, she realized, it certainly wouldn't mask their heat signature. Fiona pulled the bulky headset over her eyes once more and scanned the area.

There wasn't any sign of anyone around her...

...wait.

Something... weird... happened when she looked at the rock face with the headset on. A section of the rock, just over five feet across, was simply gone. She pulled the headset off, and stared at it again, this time fishing for her torch.

Sure enough, now that she looked at it in plain light, a large, square chunk of rock wavered indistinctly in front of her, revealing a passageway beyond.

"Hello..." she murmured to herself, entering the tunnel. She had to stoop to enter, and for once was grateful that she was, well, somewhat vertically challenged.

She crept down the tunnel silently, staying to the shadows wherever possible. Before long, it widened into a small, square room with some crude, handmade-looking wooden furniture. Lining the walls was enough obsolete weaponry to give Sauron pause, as well as other simple survival gear (including some literal torches).

The room, however, seemed to be completely empty of any inhabitants. Just to be certain, Fiona scanned the area with her thermal goggles, but she didn't spot anyone. There was, however, a mug of tea on the table—and, judging by the glow it gave off, it was still hot.

Next to the mug was a copy of yesterday's Daily Prophet, and a map of the world with a big hole stabbed through the paper roughly over her current position, as well as a handful of other markings across Britain. Fiona donned on some rubber gloves from her bag (old habits are hard to break) and held the map up to the light of her torch. She spotted a few slight deformations in the surface, and flipped the map over, revealing a hand-sketched area that Fiona realized corresponded to the surrounding field.

Fiona flipped the map over again, and made a mental note of the locations of the other X's. What were they? Magical settlements? Other hideouts? Targets of some kind?

And what was with all the crossbows? For the life of her, Fiona couldn't fathom why a witch would need a weapon, much less an archaic one.

And where had Hannah and the others gone? There didn't seem to be any more hidden passageways, and they had to have been here recently—the tea was evidence enough of that.

Fiona sighed, and, deciding that she must have just missed them, settled in to do some more rigorous investigation of the little hideout.

o—o—o—o

"That was way too close," Hannah muttered as she re-oriented herself after the Teleport, which was easy enough, considering that the new bolt hole they found themselves in was largely identical to Milo's previous one.

"Agreed," said Milo. "But how did they know you were with me?"

Sirius shrugged. "Process of elimination. Can't be too many classmates of yours living in the area."

"But how did they find my hiding place?" Milo asked. "I put so much work into that!"

"Are you sure they did?" Sirius asked.

Milo nodded. "I had an Alarm spell up. Someone triggered it after Hannah got in."

"Then she must have been followed," he said. "Difficult, but possible. Most likely with an invisibility cloak and a broomstick." He grinned wryly. "It's how I'd have done it. More to the point, though, we need to keep moving."

Milo snorted. "Come, now. That can't be needed. There's no possible way they'll find us here. We Teleported, we didn't fly."

Sirius shook his head. "Doesn't matter—we left the map behind."

Milo shrugged. "That will only help them if they find their way through the illusion, which would take an exceptionally strong Will. Back when I cast it, I was buffed like you wouldn't even believe."

"You don't get into the DMLE by collecting bottle caps," Sirius said. "I wouldn't count on your magic to keep them out."

"Well, then where can we go?" Hannah asked.

"I think I know a place," Sirius said. "It won't be terribly comfortable, but I can guarantee, nobody will think to look there."

o—o—o—o

Mrs. Abbot was woken up by knocking at her door. She climbed out of bed, pulled on a housecoat and stepped into some slippers, and went downstairs to see who it was. Mr. Abbot was not far behind her.

"Hello?" she asked, opening the door.

"Mrs. Abbot?" a friendly-looking man in deep purple robes asked.

"Yes, that's me," she said.

"I'm Kingsley Shacklebolt, with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," he said. "Would you mind sparing a moment of your time to answer a few questions?"