Bright green eyes scanned down to a thick silver watch encasing the auror’s right wrist. It took a few moments for the eyes to adjust and register the time signalled by the two, slowly rotating hands in the centre of the dial. Ed’s features creased into a frown. It was getting late and he was hungry. After a quick owl to Quincy earlier in the day, he’d been promised a large portion of shepards pie when he finally returned home from his late stint at work. Paperwork needed to be filed and interviews planned for the next day. How lovely had Malone been to suggest he write the majority of the case reports on their investigation into the troubles at Hogwarts? What a lovely auror she was...

The office was now almost empty. There were obviously the regular aurors working late, trying to get in the boss’s good books or just generally trying to avoid going back to an empty house or resentful wives. Over the last couple of years, Edward had most definitely been one of these regulars. First avoiding an angry wife and later avoiding the new position the separation had left him in. Now, however, Ed’s late stints in the office had become...rarer. It still wasn’t surprising the see a couple of the same faces staring down at paperwork in their little cubicles or the same heads asleep on said paperwork.

Deciding a change of scenery was necessary and that he couldn’t really put off the talk he needed to have with the boss for any longer, Eddie pushed himself up from the chair he’d moulded himself into over the last few hours and shoved the necessary pile of files under his arm.

After an obligatory stop at the coffee machine for a refill and a...tea (his face contorted at the smell and look of what Radley had, just the other week referred to as ‘some weird shite’), Edward was stood at the open door to Raynor’s office.

“Ye got a few minutes, guv’? I come bearin’ gifts.” The auror indicated the cup of bland boiling water with a tilt of the head and stepped into the room, failing to wait for an invite. To him an open door quite clearly said ‘come in and make yourself at home since you are definitely the best damn auror in this office’. With a small nudge of his foot, the door was closed behind him and the man began to approach his boss’s oversized and sickeningly tidy desk.

The week had not been a good one and it was only three days into it. There were post matters to Darcy Bloxham Trial that needed to be finished. Cases that needed to be officially closed, notes made in others, and documents that needed sending both up to Level Four and to the Domestic Law Offices. Her conscience was nagging at her about sending a horribly green trainee on an undercover operation more fit for an agent with ten times the experience level. And the closer the date inched toward Friday the more the unresolved tension from Sunday with Archer resurfaced.

The office was quieting down and the normal after hour crew were settling down into the usual routine. The Auror Office had a reputation for being the last of the departments to snuff out the lights, if they were snuffed. There was never extra pay offered in exchange. She still could not convince the Minister to allow budgeting for that. Something about bankrupting the Ministry.  But it was not unusual for a head to help itself passed her threshold looking for a second opinion or a bit of advice. Once she made some headway on her stack of parchment, she often abandoned the backroom office and helped pour over story boards.

However the particular head the popped through the doorway, chirping a cheerful greeting, immediately set the Head Auror on alert.

There were several warning signals. One, Edward Pratt was working overtime – an inconsistency with the trend of late. Two, none of his usual mischief accomplices were in tow. Three, he popped her office door closed with a swish of the foot. That simple action was becoming far too much of a trend.

What was that saying about trouble and threes?

That it always came in it.

“The last time you made that inquiry it started raining furniture,” the Head Auror replied. With a good deal of skepticism.

 She also distinctly recalled him proclaiming that if he were looking for favors he would come wielding appropriate bribes. The question remained now of what he had done – the list of possibilities were considerable as well as creative – and of how much it was going to cost her to get him out of it.

Raynor peered at the two steaming cups in either hand, the coffee with disregarded and the tea with significant approval; it even looked bland. “Good man,” she complimented on his utilizing the recently acquired knowledge about her drinking habits. Then she waited one eyebrow just barely quirked, for him to explain why he was playing nice.

“Prophet says it’s gonna’ be clear next few days. Yer safe, Ma’am.” Pratt responded to his boss’s remark, the edges of his lips tweaked upwards to create a cheeky smile. Malone had been mad about that one which had made the already infuriated woman make him want to nibble his own toes off in order to focus on something else. The woman would drive a nun to suicide. "Although...we know better than to believe anythin' that paper suggests. Stick on a hard hat to be on the safe side."

That was half of the reason why Ed wanted a word with the organ grinder. She obviously had no idea what she was doing when it came to partnering her aurors. Not that Pratt would be jumping straight in with that plain statement. First he must woo her. Well...give her some tea and show he was there to be...helpful. No trouble, no pranks. Just a bit of seriousness, a few case ideas and a frank discussion. Something he’d avoided since the July incident at the quidditch pitch. Since then, he’d spent as little time alone near the boss as possible.

Fortunately for him, Raynor had been better than he’d expected about it. She’d not put anything in writing, no one else in the office knew and it had never been mentioned since. Nonetheless, Ed had still been quite honestly mortified and had believed it best to avoid the woman to the best of his abilities. Especially after their mini showdown in the office a couple of months back.

“Good man,”

The small smile grew into the northerner’s trademark broad grin. “That’s what all the women say.” Ed took a few large paces forward and placed the two mugs on the large desk, one (the colour and more probably taste of dishwater) in front of the boss and the other, heavenly liquid, nearer to a spare seat. “According to a balding budgie the size of a troll, yer not a fan of coffee.” Without invitation, he lowered himself into the chair and dropped the large pile of files onto the desk.

“Kyle Gibson was never on stage on the 2nd of May.” The auror stated simply, the grin having completely vanished.

“I appreciate the forecast,” was the dry response. It could be noted that the corners of her lips carried a hint of a returning smirk.

As the door shut with a quiet ‘click’ the corners of the room fell into shadow. The Head Auror touched the wand docked on her left hip and the various wall torches and candles around the room’s perimeter roared with new-found intensity, making the interior more visible. Lamps enchanted with Lumos spells had become increasingly more popular and they certainly omitted the need for heat-restricting charms. In Tamis’ opinion nothing quiet beat the color and mood of the natural lighting.

Much on the same brainwave as the other Auror, a flickering sense of unease shot through her subconscious as her fingers slid away from the thin rod of wood. There was a horrible seclusion to this meeting. The closed door silenced external sound and made the office more claustrophobic and confined. It felt… personal.

Neither of them had mentioned when Raynor had abducted Pratt from a drunken bout of Quidditch. Nor did the petite woman have any intentions of inducing that conversation. There had been some … professional… boundaries crossed and the conservative woman was content to convince herself that Pratt had slept off the memories of the encounter. No one at the Office had needed to know what happened. For both of their sakes. And… there had been enough rumors floating around about the man’s personal life without needing to add to them.

Humor. Perfect British combatant to awkwardness.

Balding. Budgie. Troll-sized. The sudden image of a hairless oversized bird, drooling and carrying a club while bearing an uncanny facial likeness of Archer Radley caused the woman to compress her lips to keep from laughing. She hoped he thought it was in disapproval.

“An interesting source to consider reliable,” she finally managed to say with awarding indifference, that eyebrow quirking higher. Accepting the cup of tea, she offered a quick wink to the brilliant grin. Too many men she worked with (past and present) had mastered that talent. It had taken some time to build immunity.

The stack hit the desktop with a resounding ‘thud’ and the Auror recognized some of them without having to peer at the case number carefully inscribed on the little folder tables in permanent ink. She had carefully rummaged through the Remembering Day Murder files recently. The information she had been looking for though, had not been in relation to the case, not exactly.

The sudden shift in his demeanor and the fact that he was here without Malone – especially considering his partner’s… discontent… with him of late – made her a different sort of alert.

A long silence spanned across the desk when he finally blurted out the simple and confident statement. She studied his face for a long moment. If he was trying to pull something on her his acting abilities had made a significantly improved.

She took a cursory sip of the tea, not quite knowing what to expect. It did not seem to be spiked. And she hoped her teeth were not stained an absurd tint. The tannins were a little over brewed, but overall not bad.

“Can you prove it?” She finally asked.

“Eh, won’t have you go bad mouthin’ a man as…interestin’ as Goliath.” Ed smirked. The boss’s lips had pursed and Pratt decided that must simply mean she approved of his description; she merely didn’t want him to know it. He could keep that quiet. Tamis Raynor couldn’t be seen to have a sense of humour. Merlin forbid! They’d have to call in Stevenson, get her psych checked. Ugh, Stevenson. Ed would be happy if he didn’t see the woman again. She’d been the cause of a few grey hairs not so long ago.

Could he prove it? What kind of a question was that to ask an auror? Of course Pratt had proof, he’d spent the last two months putting up with a frizzy haired thorn going by the name of Malone in his side in order to gather proof for this very moment. Ed certainly wasn’t daft enough to approach his lovely lady boss without such evidence to back up his imaginative ideas. The elfin sized dragon would laugh him out of her foreboding lair.

Ed’s first reaction was to be sarcastic; ‘Of course I ‘ent Ma’am, just fancied playin’ a little game with ye. Ye looked pretty bored in ‘ere.’
Of course he didn’t. The man had more self control than that and the situation called for a far more serious approach. Obviously Ed was rarely completely serious. It wasn’t in his nature. He was often the first person to make a comment or crack a joke should an uncomfortable situation present itself. Sarcasm, irony and humour were typically British traits and coping strategies and Edward Pratt happened to possess them all.

Therefore, in response to the question posed by his hopefully inquisitive superior, Ed simply nodded before helping himself to a refreshing sip of well deserved coffee.
“I wouldn’t have come in with anythin’ less, guv’.” The man finally responded with after he’d swallowed the steamy liquid. Coffee cup placed on the large desk and Ed was leaning forwards to start rummaging through the large pile of files he’d brought with him into the room.

“Have ye heard of a magical footprint? Not the kind created by yer shoes, but yer genes, the stuff yer made of and spells and potions ye use?” Ed pulled a file out of the pile and pushed it across the desk to his boss. “If ye ‘ave and don’t believe in it all, just hear me out. This info’ comes from a reliable source.”

The natural sarcastic response had been anticipated – in fact, it had been very intentionally provoked. Instead she was met with an impressively display of diplomacy considering the man that was offering it. The world was ending, someone had ingeniously Cast the humor out of Edward Pratt, or he was being as very serious as he was leading her to believe. She opted for that latter possibility.

One thing that she did not doubt in Pratt was his reliability. His penmanship was a perpetual horror and headache. He could create quite the Office ruckus. But he had heart. The Auror Corps did not obtain many recruits from Slytherin House. That strive for power and influence that drove those alumni often did not fashion dark wizard hunters. While many Ministers of Magic had begun their careers as Aurors, that was a risk of one in hundreds of otherwise working a dead-end career that consumed far too much of their lives. But the level of ambition to see a case through that those few like Pratt had was invaluable.

He had lost some of it when his marriageable problems had shaken the careful balance of priorities in his life, but he seemed to be finding his medium again. Malone no doubt had helped with that.

If she had not been intent before, she was now.

Magical footprints? And not literal ones. Jeans? Not the clothing material but the human one. That sounded more than mildly familiar. Tamis Raynor was, in these ways, a stereotypical Pureblood. Most Purebloods were at least tutored in the basics of muggle science along with essential skills such as grammar and literature and math prior to attending Hogwarts. The Ministry had supplied one after Tamis had become a Ward of the State but her youthful rebellion had started early and much of the science had gone neglected. Her current knowledge was haphazardly acquired through the resident Magical Examiner. She wished that she had been a more diligent pupil.

She refrained from inquiring further details about that source and instead considered him in silence, absently tracing a finger along the rim of her cup in thought. "I know magic has residual effects on the body." Something about half lives and human tissues. It had helped solve many of their crimes. “Or do you mean more in the way of the Trace? Or Priori Incantatem?”

“No,” Pratt stated firmly, bright green eyes staring across the desk at his boss “nothing like it.” The edge of the man’s lips twitched, forming a very slight smirk. “You should read more, guv’. Widen yer knowledge.”Why had Ed been ignorant enough to presume his boss would pay much attention to muggle science and recently researched scientific magical techniques? They had a Magical Examiner for that in the department. To be fair, Ed had only started looking into this for this specific case. Maybe some of his findings could even carry over into his over cases in the future. He’d first have to see where these ideas got him with the boss.

“Not Priori Incantatem, anyway. But a trace was left.” Ed took one last sip of tea before bursting full throttle into his explanation. With such a bizarre idea, he felt it was better to explain everything before allowing his boss questions. He was less likely to be shot down by the dragon then. “Everyone has fingerprints. Even criminals. That means everyone leaves traces of themselves behind just about everywhere they go. Now, this stage was built up above the ground. Lots of steps to get to it and someone in a rush simply has to grip the banister at least once to keep their balance as they run up the stairs. And there ye have it; they’ve left their trace on the scene.

“Now, I got the ME’s assistant at the time to gather any evidence off this banister and he looked at me as if I’d lost it” Ed smirked slightly “I can assure ye, I ‘ent lost it. Now fingerprints are all very useless, I hear ye thinkin’, when we’re already certain we know who it is. But don’t ye think it’s a bit suspicious that a young lad with little to no motivation, got on that stage in front of that many people and aurors and killed an auror and a member of the wizemgambot? I certainly did.

“So first, I asked this assistant to check the lad’s dorm room at Hogwarts. Fingerprints from the 5 lads sharing the room were found. None matched up to those from the crime scene.” Ed still didn’t stop, knowing if he did his superior would have questions. “I then asked Dr. Bombay, much to her displeasure to start checking prints from the crime scene. Interesting thing is; one of them seemed very much out of the ordinary. Unnatural ye might say.

“The lab across the hall are bloody brilliant with what they can find out for ye. The Doc was able to get this D.N.A. stuff off that banister and its structure is just plain weird. A potion’s affected it. By my reckonin’ a polyjuice potion.” With that, Ed sat back nervously watching his boss. What was she going to make out of all this. “More precise details are in my report, guv.” He indicated the file on the desk in front of Raynor.

The smirk that twitched across Edward Pratt’s visage reminded the Head Auror of the way a cat might grin when it showed up the dog that usually traced it up a tree. Raynor was not often wrong. She certainly was hardly ever ill-informed. The last thing she was going to do was give Pratt further motivation to milk the fact that this was one of those rare occasions where someone knew something she did not. That happened the most in the realm of Muggle topics. Nor were there very many chances for the men to tell her no and get away with it. So she swallowed her humility and simply stared deadpan back at him, waiting for him to continue.

Which he did. All at once. Several times, Tamis found herself biting back a curt response or well placed question but Pratt was well trained and pushed on quickly before the words could formulate on her tongue. Eventually she gave up and waited for him to finish. It was not an easy listen. Tamis Raynor was not a slow woman by any means, quite the opposite, but she had to mentally sort through that explanation until --

Polyjuice Potion. Gray eyes snapped intently onto green. She had still been considerably skeptical until that single mention. Holding his gaze for several moments, Tamis Raynor silently slid the file closer to her and peeled back the cover. The condemnatory hush concentrated the air as her eyes slowly drifted side-to-side scanning the findings between the folds. She flipped a couple of pages, intently observed several of the diagrams, and once satisfied let the folder flip closed again.

Leaning back in her chair she forsook her tea and crossed her arms. “Polyjuice Potion has been linked to Gawain Robards murder and helped facilitate Kyle Gibson’s escape from Kings Cross Station.” Since those were both Edward Pratt’s cases he already knew this and stating as much was a grand redundancy. But it let him know that understood the connection that he had hinted at for her to notice. Time to fill him in a little more. “The trends between these cases have serial tendencies that I believe are originating from one person – or one organization – attempting to compromise the Ministry. It is a far more viable motive.”

And would explain the lack of logical explanation behind why an underage boy without a history of violence and connections to Magical Law Enforcement would suddenly murder so brutally. To prevent flashbacks of Benjamin Timmins beheading, she added quietly, “I was never fully convinced of Kyle Gibson’s guilt. It was the reason I headed the search for him personally.” Many of the Aurors in the Office would have preferred to bring the student in as a corpse if they found him, they both knew it. “But he was the prime suspect. Not pursuing him would have had worse consequences.”

That was why she had drafted the arrest warrant. The boy ran. What choice had she had? If she had not, the public’s faith in the Ministry truly would have crumbled. Almost all of Wizarding England had witnessed the horrific tragedy and they had needed a scapegoat to blame, to know that Justice was being sought. So Raynor had given them one. “If there was a way to rule him out as a suspect I knew you would find it.”

She was not yet entirely convinced that he had.

“If that was not Gibson on stage he was acting in criminal company afterwards. Unless there is a way to assume an identity under an already assumed identify before the Potion wears off that was the Real Kyle Gibson at Kings Cross Station.” Leaving them with the conclusion that he had purposefully evaded arrest and was at least an accessory to the murder of at least one Muggle.  It made him look guilty.

Now it was time for the questions she had so patiently been withholding. “Fingerprints,” she started, stating the foreign word carefully. “Are unique to the individual and are not alterable even through Polyjuice Potion?” She assumed as much if none of the ‘prints’ in Gibson’s dorm had matched. “If you are correct, finding our suspect, or ruling one out, will be more difficult than finding a Snitch in the Forbidden Forest.” They could not very well go around collecting these Fingerprints from all of Wizarding England. There was not a warrant she could conjure that the Wizengamot would condone for something so invasive. "Not finding a match to Gibson is not the same as his not matching." A conclusion made off pure logic. How were these fingerprints compared, anyhow?

The only way to disprove Gibson would for Hannah to run whatever tests she had preformed on the scenes on the boy. A boy they did not have. Otherwise they would have to prove they correlated to someone else.

As a young lad Eddie had found it most unfortunate he’d had a father obsessed with muggle technology and insisting on making his son listen to all his research into it. Ed had abhorred those summer afternoons in his Dad’s office at home, hearing about all these inventions. He’d had no interest. Now, Ed reluctantly thanked his pap for the boring afternoons and his scarily obsessive interest. This meant Ed quite a far better understanding of all these strange concepts than his superior who was obviously concentrating very hard to keep up right now. Bless.

Ok, so now all these radical ideas were off Eddie’s chest and Tamis hadn’t laughed in his face or informed him of his foolish idiocy, he was slightly more at ease and remained silent while Raynor flipped slowly through the file he’d proffered. The connection between the two cases caused Ed to nod his head slightly in agreement and despite his present seriousness, his lips once more curved into a tiny smirk as he muttered “So we’re looking for someone damn good a brewing polyjuice...” it was said sarcastically as he leaned forwards once more, resting his elbows on his knees.

The fact that these attacks had been directed to unhinge the Ministry’s previously firm foundations was undeniable. Pratt’s features creased into a frown as he stared across at Raynor. “So ye think its part of a bigger movement? There’s so many links in these damn cases now, it’s difficult to see them separately.”

Raynor moved onto Ed’s next point of conversation. Gibson’s whereabouts. It was all very well setting up a search for the lad but finding him was the important thing. They hadn’t done that. Ed was in no way criticising his superior’s competence, he was just gobsmacked that a seventeen year old boy had managed to slip under the radar so magnificently.

Pratt’s mind was busy trying to comprehend this and therefore very uncharacteristically, his straight, emotionless expression didn’t so much as twitch when Raynor stated the obvious. Ed would be able to find a loophole, prove the lad wasn’t guilty of these two murders. The same couldn’t be said about the debacle at King’s Cross, however.

“It was the kid at King’s Cross. The MO was different, the lad was scared. The guy that was on stage that day was more prepared, he knew what he had to carry out, he did it and made a sharp exit.” Ed frowned deeper and stared down at his hands. “I had to somehow explain to Carter’s daughter last month how we’d managed to let the seventeen year old lad that apparently killed her pa to slip under our radar so easily.” His green eyes rose once more to meet the grey ones across the desk. “I reckon he ‘ent alive no more.”

Question time, the bit Ed hadn’t been looking forward to. Was he certain about this proposal? Why wasn’t his partner here to discuss it with him? Had he officially lost it and did she need to call Stevenson in to do a psychological evaluation on the young auror?

Fortunately these didn’t come up. But what Tamis did suggest only made the auror’s head spin. He picked up his coffee mug once more and took a long gulp as his mind worked to process these words.
“Yeah, fingerprints are individual. Even the potion can’t get them exactly right. But it doesn’t leave ‘em exactly how they were either. Imagine a blank slate.” He places the coffee cup back on the desk and sat up straighter, using his hands to help him explain the magical science behind it all. “Polyjuice potion, before it transforms ye into whoever’s hair ye’ve used, it clears your form into a blank slate as such. ‘Resets ye’ as me old man would say. Any physical attribute ye had, they’re gone. It’s then that the D.N.A, or trace if ye like, from the specific person, adjusts yer appearance. Fingertips are too complicated and they’re left blank. That’s what got my suspicions.”