Lord Yaxley glared at the werewolf, his knuckles white from how tightly he gripped the newspaper clutched in his hand. With a growl, he slammed it onto the desk before the grinning Greyback.
"Subtle," he whispered dangerously. "You were told to be subtle. Decimating an entire village is not subtle!"
"My people need to eat," Greyback replied carelessly, baring his yellow, bloodstained teeth.
Yaxley shook his head and looked towards Rosier for assistance.
"He did not bring you here to draw attention to yourself," the man reminded the werewolf.
"Then what the fuck did he bring me here for?" Greyback snapped. "We will not be neutered, and I will not see my people starve."
"They will not starve," Rosier assured him. "We will find an alternative, but you must keep your head down. It would be best if the Aurors believed you had moved on. That is why we are sending you back to the continent, just for a few days so you can be seen. Your pack will remain here in the safety of the forest."
Greyback growled unhappily, but Yaxley held up a hand to prevent the inevitable outburst.
"These are his orders," he said firmly.
"You mean you ran to him and blabbed," Greyback snarled.
"This is a delicate operation, and we cannot have it scuppered because you cannot reign in your tendencies, you fool," Yaxley snapped. "Besides, he wishes to speak with you in person. This portkey will take you where you need to be, and he will meet you in three days."
For the first time since the discussion began, Greyback appeared to be distinctly uncomfortable.
"In person?"
Yaxley nodded.
"He was quite insistent."
The werewolf snorted as he snatched the portkey and vanished.
"Idiot," Yaxley snarled. "What are we going to do about him?"
Rosier shook his head.
"We must mitigate this," he sighed. "Speak with Mulciber and explain what has happened. I'll do the same with Avery, Dolohov, and Nott."
"What about Lestrange?"
"He's already on the continent and will be ensuring Greyback does what is needed," Rosier explained.
Yaxley nodded.
"We cannot afford for this to happen again," he pointed out. "We have a strong block, but not strong enough to prevent the others from taking action."
"And that is why we are handling it this way until others can brought into the fold. It will take time, but when he arrives, we will be strong enough."
"When will that be?"
Rosier shrugged.
"I would not expect him so soon," he sighed. "He has reiterated and urged patience, but we will be the first to know when he is ready."
"It still sounds like a crock," Yaxley huffed. "I'll believe it when he's here."
"I am inclined to agree, but you know who he is and what he is," Rosier reminded his companion. "It would not do us well to be on the wrong side of him. Remember what happened to the others who did way back when. He has only become more dangerous, and it just so happens that his values align with our own. We would be foolish not to take the opportunity that has been presented to us. I'm not throwing all of my eggs in one basket, but if there is any I have met that can change things, it is him. Would you stand against him?"
Yaxley shook his head.
"No," he murmured, "but there are those who will. Dumbledore will."
"Dumbledore is old," Rosier said dismissively. "The others are cowards, and the Aurors are already weak."
Yaxley nodded, though he did not seem to be entirely convinced.
"Caution, my friend," Rosier comforted. "So long as we are cautious and take necessary steps, we cannot lose, even if he does."
"You're right," Yaxley conceded.
"I always am," Rosier replied with a grin.
(Break)
It had been perhaps the strangest thirty-six hours of her life since she and Jameson had embarked on their adventure into the Forbidden Forest. The only other time she'd seen him so serious was the very first time they'd met, but here, in the field, he'd barely cracked anything resembling a smile.
Amelia hadn't known what to expect from this excursion, but Jameson had made it very clear that he was leading it.
Flashback
"I've informed only my superiors of what we are doing," she explained.
Jameson nodded as he continued packing his trunk in silence.
"Is there anything you need me to do?" Amelia asked.
He said nothing for several moments until he'd finished and closed the trunk lid before casting several charms on it.
"What we are dealing with is about as dangerous as it comes," he said severely. "Even when they are not transformed, werewolves retain their pack mentality. If there are indeed as many as I think, this could get very ugly very quickly."
"I appreciate that, I…."
He held up a hand to cut her off.
"Have you ever faced a werewolf, Bones?"
Amelia shook her head.
"Then you do not appreciate it," Jameson sighed. "They are faster than you would believe, can tear you limb from limb, and are highly resistant to curses, charms, and many other types of magic. I am not trying to make you feel inferior or incompetent, I am just being honest. These are not wizards. Even in their human form, werewolves are exceedingly dangerous. I need you to really understand that before we leave."
Amelia nodded solemnly, taken aback by the intensity of the usually jovial man.
"Good," Jameson declared. "Now, take a shower," he instructed, pointing towards the bathroom.
Amelia frowned.
"We are going into the Forbidden Forest," she pointed out. "I don't think…"
He held his hand up once more.
"You need to remove any unnatural scent from your body," he explained. "No hair products, no perfume, no deodorant, and no make-up."
"We have scent masking charms."
"They mask the scent on you," Jameson returned. "They do not mask anything left behind on anything you touch. Werewolves will smell anything within a few miles, further on the wind."
Amelia nodded her understanding.
"I will be back shortly."
"No soap," Jameson added as she entered the dingy bathroom and grimaced at the state of it. "There are some robes in there for you to use."
It wasn't unclean, but it hadn't been maintained to a high standard by the landlord of The Hog's Head.
Showering quickly and removing the light make-up she wore, Amelia dried herself off and dressed in the oddly silky brown robe hanging on the back of the door.
She'd never felt material like it, and though the colour would not be one she chose, it was comfortable enough.
"There," she announced as she entered the room. "No perfume, no make-up, and no deodorant."
Jameson nodded.
He was now dressed in a similar robe to hers, his expression impassive as he took in her appearance.
"Of course, you're an expert in the Mind Arts," Amelia snorted, recognising the merest of glints in his eyes.
"As are you. How long have you been practising?"
"Since I was twelve," Amelia revealed. "My brother thought it would be useful and started to teach me. You?"
"Sixteen."
"And you've already perfected it?"
Jameson shook his head.
"Not perfect, but effective for my own purposes," he said, offering her a slight smile.
It was somewhat comforting, given what they would soon be undertaking.
"Is there anything else I need to know?" Amelia asked.
What remained of Jameson's smile vanished, and his expression became grim again.
"We must be silent as we move through the forest. A series of charms connect the robes we are wearing, so even though you won't be able to see me, you'll know where I am. No talking until we set up a secure camp."
"How long are you expecting this to take?" Amelia asked curiously.
"The forest is big, and the magic there will not be on our side," he said gravely. "We might find ourselves walking in circles, and it would not be in our best interest to attract the attention of some of what lives in there. We must tread carefully."
"What does live in the forest?"
"Among the centaurs, thestrals, unicorns, and Acromantula, no one knows. I'd rather not find out."
"Acromantula?" Amelia asked worriedly. "How many?"
"Scared of spiders, Auror Bones?"
"I don't like them," Amelia admitted.
"Then we should avoid their den. There are thousands in there."
"Thousands."
Jameson nodded.
"So, are you ready?"
End Flashback
Fortunately, they had not run into any Acromantula, nor any other unpleasant creature, though Amelia could not rid herself of the feeling that they were being watched.
When she'd mentioned this to Jameson the previous night, he'd said it was likely something was watching them, but whatever it was wasn't a threat.
Not yet, at least.
Amelia had not expected it would be easy but having spent the entire day walking through the thick trees, on uneven ground, she'd been exhausted and had fallen asleep soon after the camp had been set up.
Jameson had woken her at the crack of dawn, and onwards, they had continued.
It was getting dark again now, and Amelia had no idea how deep in the forest they were, but here, it was eerily silent, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she felt Jameson come to a stop and begin casting the charms to conceal their presence.
"There," he declared a few moments later. "We can rest now."
He lit a fire, and Amelia removed her boots once she had taken a seat on a large fallen tree. Her feet were blistered from all the walking, and her legs ached.
"Here," Jameson called, throwing her a vial containing some thick, orange salve. "For your blisters."
Amelia nodded gratefully and applied it to the soles and heel of her feet, sighing contentedly as the sores vanished.
"Have you done this kind of thing a lot?" she asked curiously.
"You mean hunting down the most notorious werewolf pack on the continent in the forest? I can't say I have."
Amelia rolled her eyes at him.
"You're not very forthcoming, are you?"
"And you are?"
He had a point.
Amelia was a private person by nature, and she rarely divulged much to anyone outside her older brother and Alastor.
"Touché," she replied. "I don't suppose you'll tell me how you became what you are."
"Circumstances," Jameson answered simply. "Everything we do is shaped by our circumstances, isn't it? Why did you become an Auror? It's not as though your family isn't rich enough that you need to do this."
"Perceptive," Amelia acknowledged. "I suppose you have to be in your line of work."
"A perceptive restaurant owner," Jameson returned with a grin.
"Are you going to continue to pretend that's what you are?" Amelia huffed.
"It is what I am," Jameson said firmly. "What I may once have been, I am no longer."
"Then why are you here?"
Jameson frowned at the questions.
"I have my reasons," he murmured.
Amelia could only shake her head.
Jameson was more secretive than her, though she couldn't blame him. Any job such as the one he did, or previously, as he was determined to ascertain, required absolute discretion.
"Fine," Amelia sighed. "So, why a restaurant?"
"I suppose I have you to thank for that," Jameson chuckled. "If you hadn't shown up that night at the pub, I wouldn't have bought it."
"You didn't plan on owning a restaurant?"
"No. I just took an opportunity that came along. I hate cooking, and I don't like people very much."
"Sounds as though you are in the wrong business."
Jameson shrugged.
"Honestly, Thomas does everything, and he will run the place on his own come September."
"Why September?"
"I'll be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts."
Amelia was surprised by the revelation, though from what she had seen of Jameson thus far, he was certainly qualified to do so.
"I did wonder how you knew Dumbledore."
"Again, I have you to thank for that," Jameson grumbled. "He somehow heard about what happened that night and decided to offer me the job."
Amelia frowned.
She'd not mentioned anything to Dumbledore, which meant only one other person could have.
Alastor.
The man was a friend of the headmaster and had evidently confided what he knew in Dumbledore.
"He didn't hear it from me," Amelia assured him.
"No, that would be Moody," Jameson said with a shrug. "It doesn't matter; it's done now."
"You could've turned the job down."
"True, but maybe it's a change I need."
His words were as ominous as ever, and Amelia took the opportunity to watch him for a moment. For someone so young, he seemed to have experienced so much, not unlike herself.
Still, she didn't know what it was that made him tick.
Why had he trodden the path he had?
Had he just been a talented wizard who had been noticed and drawn into such a life, or was there more to it?
Amelia didn't know, and though attempting to delve into his life had not exactly worked out for her, he continued to be a mystery she wished to unravel.
Perhaps she would get the chance to whilst they continued to navigate the Forbidden Forest, but she knew better than to push too hard. If she did, Jameson would shut down.
No, she needed to earn his trust, but how?
"Wait, why would you not ask Dumbledore to help you with this?" Amelia asked, gesturing to the trees around them. "I'm not too proud to admit he'd be better than me."
Jameson shook his head.
"Dumbledore is an incredible wizard, but he is not cut out for things like this. He's too passive and won't do what needs to be done in the moment."
"What does that mean?" Amelia asked with a frown.
Jameson's expression sobered, and his gaze hardened.
"What we are doing here may need decisive action. As much as you would love to apprehend Greyback, it may not be possible. You don't just expect him to come quietly, do you?"
"You mean to kill him."
"If necessary," Jameson confirmed. "Dumbledore would do everything he could to stop that. He would sooner appease Greyback than do what is needed."
"What makes you think I wouldn't stop you?"
"I don't know you won't, but I'd sooner take the chance that you won't than know that Dumbledore will."
Oddly, his logic made sense, and Amelia nodded.
"So, what about you?" Jameson asked. "Why did you become an Auror?"
"Circumstances," Amelia parroted, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Two can play your game, Jameson."
He smiled, and it changed his entire expression to one of warmth.
"Well, I could always take a guess," he suggested. "Let me see… I'm guessing you grew bored of the dull pureblood life and wanted some excitement. What better way is there than to hunt down the dregs of society with only your wit and your wand in hand?"
"No," Amelia denied. "Nothing so trivial."
Jameson eyed her speculatively before nodding.
"Tragedy then," he murmured.
Amelia narrowed her eyes at him.
"Excuse me?"
"It's a tragedy that motivated you to become an Auror."
"What makes you so sure?"
"You're not denying it," Jameson pointed out. "Now, don't get me wrong, I know you're motivated and committed to what you do, but you wouldn't have considered doing it if you weren't rebelling against something or hadn't suffered a personal tragedy. You denied the first, so the second is the only viable option."
Amelia did not like how close to the truth he was becoming, so she chose to remain silent.
"Your parents," he sighed.
"What makes you think that?" Amelia snapped, swallowing the lump that formed in her throat.
Jameson held up a placating hand.
"You told me your brother introduced you to the Mind Arts thinking it would help. Someone so young would only be introduced to them if they are an heir to a lordship or they are dealing with significant trauma. Both Occlumency and Legilimency are dangerous, and your brother would not have done so unless he was in a position of authority over you."
Amelia's nostrils flared.
"They died," Amelia hissed.
Jameson merely nodded in response and said nothing else.
Amelia, however, felt insulted that he'd mentioned it so casually.
"Just because you can deduce things, sometimes it's better to keep your mouth shut," she urged. "Especially when you cannot understand what other people have endured."
She didn't realise she'd stood.
Her hands were balled into fists at her side, and her breathing had become laboured.
What had happened to her parents had been, and always would be, a sore point for Amelia.
Jameson looked at her impassively for a moment.
"And perhaps you should learn that you're not the only one who has endured the shit things that happen in life," he replied.
"What do you know about it?" Amelia growled.
"I know that holding on to that anger will not do you any good. It will fester and create something so dark within you that you won't believe it until it manifests itself. The anger and the pain, you can let go of those. When that darkness creeps into you, that stays. It stains your soul, and there is no ridding yourself of it."
Amelia didn't know why, but she'd wanted him to be angry with her for the way she responded. He'd not taken the bait, and now, she didn't know what to do.
"Just sit down and take a minute," Jameson urged, not unkindly. "I'm not your enemy, even if I do annoy you."
Amelia swallowed deeply and did as he suggested, despite not wanting to.
It took several moments for her to calm herself, and when she did, she didn't feel great about losing her composure.
"It happens to the best of us," Jameson spoke quietly. "We all lose it, some of us worse than others."
Amelia nodded.
"They were murdered," she blurted, unsure why she was divulging what had happened. "They left for what was supposed to be a business trip and never came home. They were found tortured and murdered in an abandoned warehouse on the continent."
"And you never got closure," Jameson said sympathetically as he handed her a cup of tea. "It eats away at you, and that is why you do what you do. You never want anyone to experience what you have without being given the justice they deserve."
"Exactly," Amelia whispered, gazing into the flames. "Even now, I wake up and can't believe what happened to them. My mother and father were the sweetest people. I can't imagine anyone wanting to hurt them."
"The world is full of monsters, Bones. They pray on the brightest of lights to keep the world in darkness. Sometimes, there is no reason, and others, they are unfathomable until the truth is found."
"I never found out the truth," Amelia sighed. "Whatever happened to them was covered up by someone powerful enough to do so. Not even the Minister at the time could get any information, and neither could Dumbledore. He tried, but there was no evidence of anything archived by any authorities."
Jameson hummed.
"Corruption," he huffed. "It always comes down to corruption. Oh, there's evidence somewhere. Someone knows something. They always do."
"I know," Amelia replied. "I'll find it one day."
"I have no doubt you will," Jameson assured her. "What matters is what you think you can do with it. If it is someone powerful, you'll never see them in prison, and if they are as powerful as you believe, you have to ask if you want to find that evidence. These people are clearly not the type to take these things kindly. They killed your parents, and they will not hesitate to kill you and the rest of your family if necessary."
"So, you think I should give up?"
Jameson shook his head.
"No, that's impossible when you're already so set on your path. I think you should be prepared for whatever may come for you when you find what you're looking for."
"You sound as though you are speaking from experience."
Jameson nodded darkly, and Amelia caught a glimpse of something so raw in his eyes.
"My parents were murdered before I was two," he revealed. "I watched as my mother was killed in front of me. Even now, the dreams still haunt me."
Amelia felt guilty for snapping at him. If anyone understood what she'd gone through, Harry Jameson did.
"How do you cope with it?"
Jameson shrugged.
"I didn't learn to until I caught up with the man that did it," Jameson murmured. "I killed many along the way to get to him, and even his screams of agony I tore from his lungs weren't enough. I did things to him you wouldn't imagine. In that moment, it was the greatest feeling in the world, a relief I cannot put into words. When it was done, there was nothing. When the euphoria faded, I was left with the same feelings I had before, knowing that nothing I could've done to him would ever make up for the torment I went through."
Amelia was almost enthralled by his words, but it was the way he said it that she couldn't ignore.
He spoke so hollowly, as though it no longer meant anything to him to have got the man who had killed his mother and father.
"Do you regret it?"
Jameson shook his head.
"Not a single second," he said firmly, "but I would not expect some great lasting relief or for their suffering to bring you the closure you're seeking. You will never get that, and the knowledge you enacted a fitting justice will not alleviate your pain. That will always be there."
He meant it and felt that she finally had gotten a glimpse into what made Harry Jameson the man he ways.
In many ways, they were alike, but he was on the other side of the very thing she sought.
What she saw wasn't promising. Even if she wished he could offer something to assure her she was doing the right thing by pursuing it, Amelia knew she wouldn't get it.
"I'm sorry," she offered sincerely. "For what happened to your parents and everything you went through."
Jameson nodded.
"As am I," he returned. "Come on, we should get some rest before we continue. If we are fortunate, we can get out of here soon enough. Good night, Auror Bones."
With that, he entered his tent, and Amelia followed suit.
Despite the grim turn the conversation had taken, she found that she was enjoying the field work with Jameson.
She was learning a lot from the man and about him, even if it turned out that his life had not been a picture of serenity.
Such brilliant witches and wizards tended to come from difficult circumstances, and it seemed that Harry Jameson was no different.
(Break)
He peered across the grounds and towards the forest from the window of his office, wondering just where Harry Jameson was. It had been the better part of two days now since the man had entered, and Albus had received no update as yet.
"Are you worried for him?" Minerva asked.
"Oddly, I am not," Albus answered. "He is a capable wizard and he does not strike me as the type to volunteer for such a thing if he did not believe he would be successful."
Minerva nodded as she joined him.
"I always forget how vast it is," she murmured.
"Made only bigger by the magic within," Albus said thoughtfully. "It is a dangerous place for any, even Greyback and his pack if they do not tread carefully."
"I am wondering why you did not volunteer to go with him."
"I am curious why he did not ask," Albus replied. "Perhaps Mr Jameson is unlike most others who sees me as a means to solve all the problems in the world."
Albus had indeed wondered why Jameson had not asked for his assistance. Perhaps the observation he'd made was correct, or he just did not feel the need for Albus's involvement.
Regardless, so long as the issue was remedied, it mattered not.
With the new school year approaching, Albus had much to keep himself occupied with.
"How long do you expect it will take?" Minerva asked, pulling him from his thoughts.
"It is difficult to say," Albus murmured thoughtfully. "It could be only another day or so, or perhaps a week. I have faith Harry will find them and ensure they are not a threat to those within the castle long before we welcome the students back."
Minerva nodded, and the two continued to watch for any sign of disturbance within the trees.
The forest, however, remained as peaceful as it always did, and were it not for Harry informing him, there would be no suggestion that anything was out of the ordinary.
(Break)
He did not appreciate being summoned to the continent and spending almost three days waiting around for a conversation he had little interest in being a part of.
Fenrir answered to no man, even if he did claim to be descended from one of the most influential families in wizarding history.
Albania.
The country was a filthy cesspit of poor people and poor food. It had no redeeming qualities, and Fenrir wondered what the man was doing here at all.
"He will see you now."
Greyback bared his teeth at the lickspittle who'd addressed him, his fine robes and cologne wrinkling the werewolf's nose in disgust.
The grin the man aimed at him would be enough to see his throat torn out with Fenrir's bare hands in any other circumstance, but for now, he had other things on his mind.
Entering the room, the door was slammed behind him, and Fenrir found himself staring at a shadowy figure sitting beside a roaring fireplace, his face obscured by the hooded robes he wore.
"When I sent you to Britain, it was done so with the specific instruction of you keeping a low profile."
"My people must eat!" Greyback snarled.
The man nodded.
"They will be fed," he assured him. "I will personally see to it that you are given your fill of fresh meat, but there will be no repeat of what you did in the village, not until I give you my blessing to do so."
Greyback snarled irritably.
"You do not command me!"
The man shook his head almost disappointedly.
"That is where you are wrong. Crucio!"
The pain that lanced through every fibre of his being was unlike anything else he'd ever experienced and was much worse than even his very first transformation.
Fenrir didn't remember screaming, but he heard it well enough over the din, and even when he was released from the curse, the pain continued.
He found himself twitching uncontrollably on the ground, his mouth full of blood, and the man standing over him.
The magic pouring off him was vile, much worse than the lycanthropy Fenrir had come to know so well and embraced freely.
Whatever this man had delved into was unnatural, and yet, he was all the more powerful for it.
"I had hoped this could be an amenable discussion," he murmured. "That you would see the error of your ways without it devolving into such unnecessary violence against you."
Fenrir spat out the blood, but before he could speak, he was slammed against the wall by an unseen force, and his limbs were splayed so wide he thought they might come away from his torso.
"You are in Britain because I am allowing you to be there," the man whispered dangerously. "You have taken advantage of my hospitality in a way I do not appreciate. Now, I can replace you so easily, or you can follow the simplest of orders. It is your choice, Greyback."
Fenrir said nothing, and the man stepped into the light.
His skin was unnaturally pale, his cheekbones high, and his hair as dark as night. Fenrir suspected that he was once a handsome man, but his skin was waxen and taught, and his eyes were blood-red, adding to his sinister appearance.
"W-who are you?" Fenrir managed to stammer.
The man offered him a smile, though there was no warmth to it.
"My name is Lord Voldemort," he introduced himself. "You will hear it spoken often enough in the years to come."
(Break)
They'd said little whilst they'd readied themselves for the day and had continued hiking through the forest, coming across only tracks from various creatures, some of which were familiar to Amelia, though she had no desire to meet them.
Thus far, there was no sign of the pack of werewolves, and she absentmindedly wondered how they'd managed to conceal themselves so well.
With the light fading, they'd be stopping soon, but as they rounded another thicket of trees, Amelia felt the air leave her lungs in a gasp of surprise. Even Jameson stilled and placed a hand on her arm, and she was pleased to spend it steady, much unlike her own.
They remained unmoving as the hundreds of enormous spiders passed them by, some of them carrying deer, badgers, and even foxes in their mandibles.
Evidently, they'd had a successful hunt and were returning to their lair to devour it.
Amelia breathed a sigh of relief when the last of them had vanished, and she shook her head in disbelief.
She didn't know Acromantula could grow so large and certainly not be so plentiful so close to a school full of children.
"We will stop here for the night."
Jameson's voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she nodded gratefully.
It wasn't though they were able to see much more than a dozen or so feet in front of them now, and even during the daylight hours, the visibility was limited.
As he had the past two evenings, Jameson went about the process of setting up their camp, and Amelia watched him closely, trying to decipher the magic he was using.
"You weren't joking when you said about the hundreds of spiders."
Jameson nodded.
"Those were just the smaller ones."
Amelia's eyes widened.
"They get bigger?"
"Considerably," Jameson chuckled. "Don't worry, they didn't notice us."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because we'd either be dead or running for our lives."
Amelia shook her head.
"You say it so casually."
"We are in the Forbidden Forest," he reminded her. "I expect there's worse here than the Acromantula. I found some worrying feline fur today, and I don't think it came from a kneazle."
"What else could it be?" Amelia asked worriedly, her gaze shifting towards the trees.
Jameson shrugged.
"Could be a Wumpus cat or a nundu," he said thoughtfully, "or maybe even another magical cat. Who knows."
"Well, I'm sure I'll sleep well tonight," Amelia grumbled. "And I stink. It's been almost three days since I've washed."
"That just means your scent won't stand out when we get close to the werewolves."
Amelia snorted at how little he cared about such a thing.
Neither of them smelled great, but he seemed so unbothered by it.
"My brother would say it is unbecoming of a woman of my station to be in this state."
"He would be right," Jameson commented, the corner of his lips tugging upwards in amusement. "You do stink."
Amelia glared at him, and he laughed, handing her a cup of coffee he'd been preparing on the fire.
"Is all this really necessary?" she asked.
"Believe me, I want nothing more than to have a bath myself," Jameson assured her. "The wind can change in a moment, and then we, as the hunters, would become the hunted. I don't fancy being chased through the woods by dozens of werewolves. It's much better if we retain some kind of advantage. We certainly don't have the numbers on our side."
Amelia nodded as she sipped the coffee, allowing it to warm her insides.
Despite it being summer, there was a persistent chill in the air within the trees.
"Do you think we are close?"
Jameson nodded.
"They've been here," he murmured. "They may have only passed through, but they've been here."
"How can you tell?"
He looked at her curiously for a moment before sitting opposite her.
Removing the cup from her hand, he took one of hers in his own.
"Close your eyes," he urged.
Amelia did so, wondering what he was going to do, and it was a moment later that she felt a trickle of his magic seep into her skin.
Again, another moment passed, and there it was.
It was only the merest hint, but the very same magic she'd sensed back in the village made itself known.
It was all around them, almost indiscernible but undoubtedly present.
"How did you do that?" Amelia asked when she opened her eyes.
"I just shared a little of my magical experience with you," Jameson explained. "It's a more advanced way of showing without trying to explain certain things."
Amelia nodded her understanding.
"You're really good with magic, aren't you?"
"Certain kinds," Jameson replied. "All of us have things we are naturally better at, and others we have to work at more. I have a proclivity towards sensing and identifying magic. I was subjected to some very damaging magic when I was younger, and it afforded me a unique sensitivity to magic. It's more useful than I'd anticipated."
"And Charms," Amelia blurted. "You're good with them too. How did you use a patronus to send me a message?"
"It's not as difficult as you'd think," Jameson assured her. "Maybe one day I will teach you."
"Maybe you'll teach me?" Amelia replied, quirking an eyebrow at him.
"I make no promises," Jameson snorted, his eyes twinkling in amusement. "Go on, get some rest. I expect we will have another long day ahead. They're close, but not as close as I was hoping."
Amelia nodded and headed towards her tent, pausing before she entered.
"Good night, Jameson," she offered.
He was proving to be an interesting man beyond what she already knew about him.
He was quiet for the most part, guarded but with a sharp wit that Amelia did not doubt had gotten him in trouble in the past.
More than that, he was just rather normal for someone who had seemingly lived such an interesting life, or he was trying to be.
He was talented with magic. Even without his proclaimed sensitivity, Amelia could see he'd dedicated himself for years towards his craft and had become rather brilliant.
Still, he could be rather annoying at times, more than enough that she'd wanted to strangle him.
That was unlikely to change, but having spent a few days with him now, she knew she could at least tolerate his presence.
Well, for the most part.
(Break)
He managed to snatch only a couple of hours of sleep for himself before he woke. Harry had learned that resting deeply in the field could be detrimental to one's health at the expense of a local guide in Guatemala who had vanished in the night.
They'd found his remains a day later, amounting to a single leg, his scalp, and a few teeth, which had not been eaten by whatever had claimed him.
It was never discovered what the creature had been, but Harry had learned a harsh lesson from that grim experience.
He'd not allowed himself to be so vulnerable whilst on assignment since, and though he was longing for his own bed, hot water, and better food, he couldn't deny he was enjoying being in his element once more.
"Is it time to get up already?" Amelia groaned as she exited her tent, her red mane of her in disarray.
Harry nodded as he handed her a coffee.
The woman always started the day with a strong brew.
"What?" she asked as Harry watched her.
"Nothing," he said amusedly, not commenting on her comical appearance.
"Never seen a woman first thing in the morning, Jameson?"
Harry was taken aback by the comment, and he chuckled.
"I'm usually gone before they wake."
Amelia shot him a look of disapproval.
"Of course you are," she grumbled. "Not even decent enough to get breakfast, I suppose?"
"I got you coffee," Harry returned.
"And I didn't even have to sleep with you. Aren't I lucky?"
"You could be," Harry said with a teasing wink.
Amelia rolled her eyes at him and finished her drink.
"Come on, Jameson. I don't need my innocent ears filled with tales of your debauchery."
"Innocent? I don't quite believe that."
"You can believe what you like. Not all of us are like you."
"Like me?"
Amelia hummed as she began readying herself for the day ahead.
"You're a charmer," she declared. "I bet many young and naïve witches have fallen for it."
Harry snorted as he shook his head.
"I avoid witches," he said with a shrug. "Magical people are annoyingly complicated."
Amelia seemed surprised by the revelation, but before she could press the matter, Harry undid his spell work, ensuring she had to remain silent.
That didn't stop her from shooting him a glare as they once more began traipsing through the Forbidden Forest in search of what was believed to be the biggest werewolf pack in the world.
It seemed rather ridiculous when he pondered what they were doing.
What had been a tragedy for Harry was supposed to be a fresh start to a peaceful life, and yet, no matter how hard he tried to resist being dragged into such things, he somehow managed to find himself embroiled in them.
He shook his head, vowing to perhaps move abroad when he'd taught the next year at Hogwarts.
Maybe he would like to see the Americas outside of being an Unspeakable, or maybe he would visit Asia.
Harry didn't know what he would do, but if he wished to avoid the coming storm, he could not continue on the path he was currently on.
It was a subtle but sudden surge of energy that pulled Harry from his thoughts, and he frowned as he placed a hand on Bones' shoulder to prevent her from proceeding.
Edging forward carefully, his eyebrows rose in surprise as he took in the sight before him.
It appeared that the werewolves had been closer than he'd expected.
Whomever it was who had brought them here had the foresight to adopt a similar approach to his own by attempting to hide their presence.
They'd not been meticulous enough, however, and Harry could see the magnitude of the task before them.
The werewolves were there, but they were not alone.
Cursing under his breath, Harry led Amelia away, far enough that they could set up another camp and not be discovered.
"Did you see that?" she asked once the protections were in place.
Harry nodded darkly.
"I saw it," he murmured, pondering how best to approach the problem. "Well, it seems as though we may be here a little longer," he sighed.
The werewolves had not been alone.
How long they'd been here was not lost on Harry. They'd all but built an entire village within the trees, but that was not what concerned him most.
Amongst them, Harry saw the dozens upon dozens of Acromantula and mountain trolls.
Whether Aragog had consented to assist the werewolves or if they'd reached an accord of sorts, he didn't know.
What he did know, however, was that the creatures presented a new problem.
The werewolves could be cowed with the death or capture of their leader, and the trolls and Acromantula would be unaffected by such an occurrence.
No, another approach would have to be taken, and as Harry considered what options were available to them, he cursed once more.
"What are we going to do, Jameson?" Amelia asked.
"I don't know," Harry answered honestly. "I'll think of something."
"That's it? You'll think of something?" Amelia snorted.
Harry nodded.
"Believe it or not, some of my better ideas have been formulated on the fly," he chuckled. "Enjoying your time on the field, Auror Bones?"
Amelia narrowed her eyes at him, though Harry could see she was relishing the challenge just as much as he was.
He'd always heard that Amelia had been a gifted and relentless witch, and now, he was seeing that for himself.
She was an interesting woman and not like any he'd met before.
How they would deal with this, Harry remained unsure, but oddly, he was excited to see what they would come up with.