Rated M for the following: Murder, torture, blood, gore, child abuse, and intense violence.

Chapter Eight: Poison

James stood in front of the Shrieking Shack outside of Hogsmeade Village. If he followed the tunnel that was on the other side of the groaning walls, it would lead him to a crime scene. A cold one, yes, but maybe…

He shook his head, kicking at the ground. Lies. He was lying to himself again. It had been weeks since Elphinstone's death. There was nothing left to see, no clue to find. He knew why he was really here. Remus had disappeared.

No one had seen Remus since the night of the Christmas party. James had attempted to contact his friend after their fight but when no owl replied, he had assumed Remus was avoiding him. How had everything gone so wrong? Last New Year's Eve James had sat around a table with Sirius, Remus, and Peter, sharing a meal and making bets against the Appleby Arrows. Now, Peter was a Death Eater and Remus might be dead.

It wasn't until the night of the Order meeting where Remus had not shown, that James had stepped in. He had attempted to convince Scrimgeour to release a missing person file, to let him pull together a search party but his Head had refused. Remus' flat had no signs of distress, no evidence of struggle and the post remained silent as if Remus had simply vanished.

So here James stood in front of the Shrieking Shack on his first night off in weeks. Fireworks coloured the skies illuminating the abandoned house. He walked up to the boarded window and brushed the wood blocking his way. Standing there, he knew that it would lead him nowhere. The shack had no working doors or windows that allowed entry or exit. He knew it was useless to attempt breaking in. They had been boarded up and spelled so that even a werewolf couldn't get through. No, the only way in was through the Whomping Willow.

He squeezed his hand into a fist and hit it hard against the surface. He was wasting time. Remus' wasn't here. The memory of flashing amber eyes and the piercing look of betrayal twisted knots in his stomach. He needed a drink and a strong one.

James slowed as he neared Hogsmeade's village… it appeared brighter. Like in a child's snow globe, the buildings shone cheerfully, holly wreathes hung on the doors and a glimmer of magic hung in the air.

The faces of his children flashed before his eyes and he quickly shook his head. He missed them. The long hours were hard but necessary. He had to protect them. This world was full of evil, and he wouldn't sleep until every Death Eater was rotting in Azkaban. He paused in front of The Three Broomsticks. Cheerful laughter of people spilled out from behind brightly lit windows. James frowned. Turning towards the darker streets of Hogsmeade, he headed to a Tavern he suspected would be less busy.

James could barely make out the sign with a boar on it when the Inn door creaked open and the yelling of an older man cut through the crisp cold air.

"And don't come back!"

Albus Dumbledore walked out of the Hog's Head, a wrinkled hand tightly clasping his pointed hat. James blinked. He had never seen his mentor with a bowed spine. Even so, Albus quickly spotted him.

"James, I am surprised to see you here so late." Dumbledore's blue eyes narrowed behind half-moon spectacles.

"I'm surprised to see you as well. Is everything alright? I heard yelling."

"Ah, you heard Aberforth. We have always had a bit of a strained relationship, my brother and I." Dumbledore placed his hat on his head. "How are your children fairing?"

"They still miss their Mum." James paused. "Did you receive my letter about Ms. Meredith?"

"Indeed I did, which of course makes me wonder why you are here?"

James felt his face warm under Dumbledore's gaze.

"I came for a drink." James half lied.

"Well I will not keep you but if there is anything I can do, please let me know." Dumbledore said.

"Well yes, the letter, surely you must know of someone qualified enough to take care of my children." James pushed.

"I do." Dumbledore said slowly.

James relaxed. "Who?"

"You. The love of a parent cannot be bought or replaced. The world may think your wife defeated Voldemort, but Harry was marked and he will need you."

"No, Voldemort is dead. My wife died killing him. The prophecy was wrong."

"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "Is that Harry and Rose need you."

…

James wobbled down the cobblestone pathway. Damn it all. Dumbledore… Scrimgeour... No one understood. How could they? He slammed open the front door, entered his home, and collapsed on the foyer bench. Snow dripped from his clothes as he unfastened his boots. Nimble fingers paused over leather. His nostrils flared, his eyes widened. The familiar odor of the deceased thickened in the air. Hot dread seeped into his snow-numbed limbs. Wand in hand, his Auror instincts took over.

No spell scorches… No signs of forced entry... Maybe his mind was playing a trick on him. He'd been sleeping very little… He'd just check the rest of the house, to be sur—

James froze at the entrance to his kitchen, and stared at the body on his floor. The blood-splattered body of his nanny.

Kneeling beside her James brushed his fingers over her blood-chapped lips. She wasn't breathing. Thoughts of his children danced dangerously in the back of his mind, threatening to derail years of experience and training. He quickly tilted her head back hoping to clear her oral airway. "Still absent." He pressed his fingers against her wrist. "No blood flow..."

Confusion rattled his thoughts. Her paper-thin skin was flushed red and warm, yet the tips of her fingers were blackened like dead coals; burned. Only it was dryer as if the heat were coming from the inside out. James cursed under his breath. This had to be dark magic.

As a last resort he grabbed Ms. Meredith's hand hoping to evaluate her perfusion. Maybe there was still hope of revival. He pressed his thumb firmly against her nail-bed but as pressure was applied the nail began to slide from the flesh. James dropped her hand as acidic fluids burned up his throat and he tried desperately not to vomit all over the crime scene. He wasn't some wide eye rookie but this was unlike anything he had ever seen, how could her flesh already be rotting?

His surgical and tactical training cracked and terror swarmed in like insects. The woman who he had entrusted with his children was dead. He should've black tagged Ms. Meredith. He should've called for backup but he could no longer think. Blood, bits of flesh, and the scent of death was all he could see or smell.

His heart boomed against his chest as he took the stairs two steps at a time. His children. He couldn't lose them. James slammed into Rose's door and attempted to push it open. He twisted and rattled the doorknob but it refused to budge. It was spelled locked. Suppressed fears tore across his thoughts. The image of Marlene's little girl flooded in. The buzzing of flies, her red-rimmed eyes and her tattered white nightgown plastered with red against her thighs consumed him.

James slashed through the spell blocking his way, barely registering the silencing spell as he almost tripped over Rose, who laid untouched and unharmed on the floor asleep with only salt trails staining her cheeks. He pulled her into his protective embrace, the extra weight would risk compromising his wand movements but he couldn't leave her there. He silently prayed his son was in a similar state as he raced down the hall. Juggling the weight of his daughter, he gripped his son's doorknob.

It was unlocked… The door creaked open. His son was not on the floor. Tears did not stain his face. No, his son laid under the covers in his bed fast asleep with a soft smile spread across his face.

An unwanted thought wormed into his mind. James knew at that moment, that there was no evidence supporting that someone had broken into their home, except the dead woman on the floor beneath his feet.

James leaned against Harry's bed, pulled Rose closer and brushed his son's hair away. Away from his face. His son smelled of vomit. He pulled his fingers back as if he had been burned.

Haunting words echoed in his ears. "She makes Rose cry..."

Harry had watched as the Aurors swarmed his home and hopelessly looked for clues. With baited breath, he'd forced himself not to smile as they expressed puzzled looks. Silently he had sat in the living room for hours waiting… waiting for them to find it. Their wand tips glowed as they scanned the room for Dark Magic. They didn't find any. And they never found his clue either.

Spread out across the grass Harry stared up at the clouds. Pale fingers glided over frosted blades of green, which twisted and tore under his fingertips. A deep breath tightened his lungs. He held it as he watched the sun peek through. His chest relaxed as the air escaped and he pulled himself upwards, tearing the grass from its roots.

Why hadn't the Aurors found it? Surely, they couldn't miss it. The clues had been soaked in her very blood.

He reached over the stone siding that guarded his mother's cooking spices. Broad, dark green leaves crept across the garden floor and threatened to consume the chamomile beside it. Leafs bruised under his grip as his nails embedded in the plants fleshy stem. He sat motionless as the sun set and drops of peppermint oil beaded to the surface and ran down his fingers. He laughed as he wiped it on the rough stone. The crisp scent had reflected Ms. Meredith so well. They were both too clean.

Clean... and no one ever suspected her because of it. It whispered.

Harry nodded. She had been a very clean monster.

His fingertips brushed against the gold shoots of winter wheat that threaded throughout the peppermint. Blackened seeds that Harry had so carefully contaminated bulged from the ears of grains. The night that the Aurors had stormed his home they should have found the Ergot Fungus in Ms. Meredith's homemade tea blend and then found this garden. But he had overestimated them. They never suspected her teacup and had assumed it to be Dark Magic.

The source of her death had been framed to look like a stupid mistake. She had simply picked the wrong plant. If his Dad's department was too stupid to spot such an obvious clue, it was no wonder that he was so stressed. He sighed. No. It didn't matter if they found it or not; it didn't matter. After all, he had gotten away with murder.

Horace Slughorn stood over a corpse in the lowest level of St. Mungo's hospital. Deep in thought, he smoothed his silver moustache. Rufus Scrimgeour, one of his more successful students had called him on as a consultant for one of the most strange and recent deaths. The woman had died two days prior of unknown causes. Now she laid on the surgical table encased in a bubble charm of suspended animation. Her death had stumped the brightest minds on the Auror force. Forty-eight hours of testing the crime scene for dark magic had been for nothing, they had not found any evidence of foul play.

No one ever assumed poison.

Horace walked across the room towards his work station, proudly puffing out his massive middle. There was no doubt in his mind—the Auror Department needed him, they relied on him—after all, he had taught every single member. Thoughts of the strange lad that had graduated from Durmstrang lingered in his mind for a moment before he dismissed it easily. Yes, every single member that mattered.

Merrily humming a tune, he poured a vial of the victim's blood into his treasured gold cauldron and waited to see if the test would come back positive. If he were to be honest, which of course he always was, when he had first seen the body, he had been a bit disgusted, and puzzled. And there was something to be said about that statement, seeing as he had been Hogwarts' prestigious Potions Master for over fifty years. After hours of pondering and turning through textbooks, he had thought of a plausible answer. Still the idea that someone had ingested this potion ingredient seemed so unlikely, but it was his only guess. So here he stood waiting and observing the swirls of colours form inside his cauldron.

The colours finally settled and Horace narrowed his prominent gooseberry coloured eyes on the liquid as it turned a dark green hue and began to release swirls of smoke. His eyes widened with astonishment as the results became clear.

"It's positive."

His mind filled with new and strange possibilities; each speculation more outlandish than the first.

The last known case of Ergot Fungus or as the muggles called it The Holy Fire had been in the early eighteen hundreds. Personally, Horace thought the muggle name was fitting. The fungi spread across the circulation system causing the victim to feel as if they were burning alive. Ironically, the muggles had not realized that it had a second side effect; more commonly the fungi would settle deep into the brain tissues and cause hallucinations and strange peculiar behaviors. The medieval muggles had assumed it to be witchcraft.

Horace wrinkled his nose as he turned back to the body.

The fungus had attacked her blood vessels causing them to constrict rapidly as gangrene developed on her extremities. Her fingertips, toes, earlobes, arms and legs had blackened as the blood hardened, already starting the mummification process. Her limbs would have fallen off as the infection set in, if not for the spell protecting her body.

"Such a gruesome death," he muttered in the dimly lit medical room.

Two things still puzzled him, though. How had she consumed it? And why had these symptoms occurred so quickly? Gangrene took many days of fungi consumption before it appeared. In the past it had primarily spread from granaries accidentally grinding the fungus into the local supplies of flour. Modern granaries now were aware of the dangers of the Ergot fungus and treated their crops accordingly. Horace rubbed his now sweaty forehead and sighed.

The only places that may have had this fungus still growing were a couple of private medical gardens due to its beneficial properties for childbirth when mixed with other ingredients. He continued to ponder as he wrote out a report to send to the Auror's Office.

"Certainly they will be able to figure out this mystery."

Sirius rushed down the street, his nose close to the ground as he tracked the familiar scent of a rat.

As it began to rain, the scent swirled into the water and poured into the street drains. Sopping wet and cold Sirius still treaded along blindly, attempting to find a trail.

He padded to a stop. A large townhouse was erected in front of him. A familiar number twelve glowed under the gas lantern. He shook the water from his fur before he transfigured back into his original form and looked upon his ancestral home. The deed to the house had passed to him three years ago after his mother's death and yet this was the first time he had laid eyes on it in ten years.

His keen sense of smell had clearly failed him. All he had was past memories dragging him here. He walked up to the front door and pushed it open. A long hallway was lit by a large chandelier, gas lamps still flickered shadows across the peeling wallpaper.

"How dare you enter this house?" Screeched a familiar voice.

Staring at the image of his mother, he smeared his mud covered boots across the worn carpet and flashed her smile. "Did you miss me?"

"You wretched child! Be gone at once!"

Sirius conjured a blanket. "Sorry, Mum." And covered her face as it quickly twisted in fury.

He walked down the hallway and climbed the staircase, easily ignoring the row of shrunken house-elf heads that were mounted on the wall. He passed the second and third floors without a glance but paused at the topmost landing. It only had two bedrooms but this floor was the most familiar part of the whole house. He passed his own bedroom and entered the second doorway.

With a held breath, he paused under the frame. His brother's walls were still covered with Quidditch teams' photos. Paper was scattered across the floor in front of the large painting of the family crest. He crouched and swiped one from the floor. They were newspaper clippings of Voldemort and his followers. Had his mother pulled them from the walls after his brother's untimely death? His dead brother. "Why did you have to be such an idiot?" He whispered.

The pattering of feet floated up the stairs. Sirius stilled. No one was supposed to be here.

A voice screeched from the doorway. "Why must Kreacher find such a nasty blood traitor in young Master's room?" Cried the house elf, snot running down his bulbous, snout-like nose. The creature's beady bloodshot eyes glared at him with great distaste.

Sirius felt tension release in his shoulders. "Damn I thought you died with mother. What a disappointment."

Kreacher's eyes filled for a moment with what looked to be… hope? "Death?" The gleam faded as he frowned. "No. No, Kreacher cannot die, Kreacher cannot fail."

Sirius sighed. "You're as loony as mother." He pushed passed Kreacher and slammed the door shut before he turned and entered his own room.

His bedroom was, strangely, left untouched. Except for a deep layer of filth, it appeared the same.

He walked over to his bed and crashed into its folds. A storm of dust spread into the air. He cast a quick cleaning spell. But before he put his wand back into his sheath, he pulled out a second wand and stared at it with a sick fascination glowing in his eyes. It was a 13.5 inch yew wand.

He was still not sure why he had not told or given the wand to Dumbledore after he had found it the night of Lily Potter's death. He knew there was probably a weak impulse charm to protect it. Voldemort seemed to be the type to cast such spells. But Sirius knew he wasn't that weak and it wasn't the reason he had kept it. No, the urge to murder Peter with his old masters' wand was too great of an opportunity for him to pass up. It was too perfect.

It would be a death worthy of a traitor.

Standing in front of a large oak door, Emmeline tapped her foot against the cobblestone pathway. A golden watch dangled from her fingers. She glanced at the ticking hand before she snapped the clock shut and jammed it into her front pocket. Muttering under her breath, she knocked again. Puffs of breath materialized in the winter air as she rubbed her arm. She didn't want to be here. Twice now she had arrived at this home to find a blood soaked floor.

Glancing to the right, she narrowed in on the rustling shrubbery. With a fluttering heart she pressed the soles of her feet down centering her balance. A gray shadow shot from the greenery and into the snow covered yard. Metal hinges squeaked and light spilt onto the ground, only to reveal cat paw prints trailing through the snow. Emmeline blushed.

Why had she been so startled over the Potters' cat? She shook her head and attempted to cover her surprise as she looked at a familiar face.

"About time, Alastor."

The older Auror did not move from the entranceway. His electric blue eye stared back, analyzing her every movement.

"You don't wanna wait? Then don't be so damn late." Moody grumbled but his hardened expression softened slightly before he ushered her inside. She followed him through the foyer but paused to look at the kitchen. She couldn't help it.

The crime scene had been wiped clean but the memories remained. She gripped the doorframe.

"James is already upstairs with the children." Moody's cane tapped loudly against the stairs as he climbed up them. Armed with the knowledge that Moody usually kept a silencing charm on his wooden leg and cane, she rushed to follow. Her hand slid lightly across the handrail as she made her way up.

She was here again to talk to the children. But it was the furthest thing she wanted to do. She clutched her briefcase. "Do you think it's true? He is one of our own."

"Poison was found in her teacup."

"But James…"

"Hmph…Don't let your emotions blind you." Moody gripped his cane.

"My emotions have nothing to do with this." She snapped. It was hard to wrap her head around the idea of James poisoning a woman. No, she knew James, she had worked with him for the last six years. Even in battle James would face his enemies head on. This was not his style.

"Rufus sent you for a reason. We need your special skills in that room."

"My what?" Emmeline bit out. She wanted to let him say it to her face. She wanted to hear why she was on kid duty and not investigating the case, out loud.

"You know what I mean," Moody snapped. "I'm no good with the brats."

Emmeline let out a puff of air before she sent him a fake smile. Why did everybody assume she had motherly instincts, just because she had breasts? She had spent the last ten years making sure everyone knew and understood who she was and a mother wasn't it. Still, Rufus continued to assign her every bloody case with a child. It had gotten even harder after Alice had been hospitalized.

Her lips pursed tightly together as she pushed the thought of her fallen partner's wife away. She tightened the grip on her briefcase, and tried not to think about how it was full of bloody toys.

"I'll be searching the home," Moody said.

"I should be searching the home. Podmore could've done this," Emmeline snapped.

"I don't make the orders and it's not yours to question them."

She bit her tongue, easily ignoring Alastor's sour tone – he had trained her after all—before forcing a smile and entering the room.

The walls were an ugly yellow and the wooden floors were covered with obnoxiously bright toys. Rose Potter laid across a large bed under a canopy of white, her auburn hair spread across her older brother's lap. The brother, Harry Potter, looked up from his book and caught her gaze. Still twirling his sister's auburn hair the boy paused and murmured something in Rose's ear. Emmeline focused on the boy's lips but the book blocked their movement.

James pulled a doll from the toy shelf. "Emmeline, how are you?"

She averted her eyes. She still could not forget the look in his eyes at Longbottom Manor. Maybe it was true… "I am well." She spotted a rocking chair to the right and walked over to it and, placing her briefcase next to the chair, she took a seat. "I'm so sorry about your loss," She started.

"Thank you." James looked away and coughed. "Kids, do you remember Ms. Vance?"

Harry arched a sly brow towards her. "Yes, she tried to give me a doll," Harry said. "After mum died."

This was why she wasn't having children. Creepy little shits.

Rose sat up, excited. "Did you bring me another one?"

James sat down next to his daughter and handed her the doll he had collected from the shelf. Emmeline flashed James a brief smile of thanks.

"I did and I can see you took great care of the last one. Does she have a name?"

Rose's face brightened and she edged off the bed, but the boy pulled her back.

"Harry, I want to show her Annie."

The boy slowly released her hand. "Remember what I told you."

Rose rolled her eyes. "I will."

Rose climbed down the bed and ran towards her. The child almost landed in her lap.

"Rose? Give her some space." James sighed.

There was no malice in James' voice and yet Emmeline watched as the girl tensed up.

"I'm sorry," Rose whispered before she looked up at her. "Are you going to play with me?"

Emmeline rubbed her palms across her lap and resisted the urge to smirk. The girl was making this too easy. Opening her briefcase Emmeline pulled out a doll that had subtle but similar details to Ms. Meredith. Children and adults were more alike than most believed. They both softened under the kindness of friendship. Compassion. That was the difference between Dumbledore and Voldemort. He understood that love worked better than any Dark Arts. Torture was a flawed system. Pain did not motivate truth, it only produced lies in the hope of escape. And nothing was more disgusting to Emmeline than a liar. Why would she cause others pain when sweet words worked so much better?

"Yes, I even brought a new dolly."

Rose squealed in delight. "You can be the knight and I can be the princess," Rose declared before she turned to her brother. "And you can be the dragon."

"Don't you think we're a bit old for dolls?" Harry crossed his arms.

"But we played yesterday."

"Why would you…" Harry spluttered. "Fine!"

Rose grinned mischievously.

"A princess, a dragon and a knight, huh?" Emmeline glanced up at Harry. "That's one mean dragon. Is the Princess scared?"

"Oh no. The dragon takes care of the princess."

"So it's a good dragon?" Emmeline suppressed a laugh.

"Yes, he searches for food, so she can eat."

"So the dragon didn't trap her in a tower?" Emmeline clarified.

"No, they are trapped together."

Emmeline studied the family before her. With those five words every figure in the room had tensed. Interesting. "Trapped? By who?"

Rose's lips parted before she looked at her brother and quickly pressed her lips tightly shut. Sadly, family trumped friendship.

"Why was the princess locked in the tower?"

"Rose," Harry said, a slight hiss lingering within her name.

Rose's emerald eyes darted back and forth between her and her brother. The girl hugged the doll tightly to her chest. "Harry said I wasn't supposed to talk to you."

"Did he now?" Emmeline side glanced at the boy. He had stiffened at her remark. Had someone told the boy to be quiet as well? Emmeline watched as the boy darted his gaze towards his father, worry edged deeply around his eyes. Hmm… Could it really be true? Emmeline ignored him and kneeled in front of the girl. She placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. This scene was about to freeze. She had to work fast. She placed the nanny doll in front of Rose. "Here, how about I help you? I can be your nanny."

Rose pushed back. "I don't need a nanny."

"Why not?"

"I'm not bad!"

"Bad?"

Rose shook her head, her eyes clouding. The girl was closing down. She had to hurry.

"Did she do something to you Rose?"

James moved between them. "That's enough," James snapped, his breath was uneven and his face flushed.

"You authorized this and you of all people understood what that meant," Emmeline whispered harshly.

"I did not give you permission to traumatize my children." James thumbed his daughter's tears away and laid a chaste kiss on her forehead.

"You can take Rose downstairs but I still have to speak with the boy."

James began to argue before Harry grabbed his hand. "It's okay Dad. Take Rose downstairs."

"I'm not leaving you here alone."

"James, you're obstructing the investigation."

"Harry is a minor and I am his father. I'm well within my rights to refuse."

Emmeline collected her briefcase and attempted to look unbothered by the cold glares both James and Harry were now sending her way.

"We suspect it's poison. You of all people must understand what that means." She knew that it was unprofessional to say this but she knew Sirius had to have told him already, she was his friend… people open up to their friends.

"Are you threatening me?" James seethed.

Hmmm. She should have known better. James had always been too stubborn. "It's not a threat. It's the truth."

"How about this for truth, I want you out of my house, now." James started at her with iced eyes, his voice brooking no argument.

Emmeline could taste a lingering lie. She smiled.

"Of course."

Harry gripped the bedspread. This was bad. After all the work, after everything he had sacrificed, she had destroyed everything!

"Dad, don't go." Rose clung to black robes as her eyes darted between him and their father.

"I want to stay. I really do dear, but I have the let the Aurors out."

The door clicked shut.

Rose stared longingly at the door before she slowly turned towards him. "Harry—"

"You didn't listen," Harry snapped.

Rose took a step back. "The nanny is a bad person. Why can't I tell the Aurors? They catch bad people."

Harry stood up from the bed. His stomach twisted with rage and fear. The way that woman had looked at him, that glint in her eyes as she'd left. He threw the book to the ground. Pages torn. "Everything was going to be okay." Harry breathed out. "And you ruined everything."

Rose remained silent but confusion and fear marred her face. Harry knew she knew nothing of his plans. She never would but it did not change that all of his plans had been smashed. "It doesn't matter if you understand or not," he said before sighing. "It's okay." He smiled gently at her as he neared. She didn't run away. She even relaxed in his hold as he hugged her. But her muscles tensed quickly as he whispered in her ear, "Next time I will not give you the choice to listen."

Harry broke away as yelling sounded from downstairs. Carefully, he opened the door and crept towards the edge of the stairs. Peering into the living room through the stair rail, he observed his father who stood frozen in the foyer.

"What's that, in your hand?" his father asked.

"A bottle. We found it in your wife's office. Ergot fungus." Said a man. Harry's heart stopped. But he had wiped the words away…

"And it's empty."

"Ergot fungus? I don't know what you are talking about," James said.

"You stated in the report that you found your daughter's room locked," Emmeline interrupted.

James flinched back slightly. "Yes, I did. I'm sorry but what does this have to do with you raiding my wife's cabinets."

"Did the nanny lock her up?" Emmeline asked.

James froze. His hand rose and his fingers threaded through is hair. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

He brought a shaky hand to his forehead. "I just don't know." He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe through his nose.

"Did you trust the nanny?"

"I did at first…"

"At first?"

"Yes, but I was looking to replace her."

A sudden coldness hit at Harry's chest and his vision blurred. He shook his head as his heart started to pound harder. His dad had listened.

She still deserved to die!

Emmeline's voice cut through his panic. "Did you and Ms. Meredith have any arguments?"

"What? No, I don't even know what is going on. Why are you asking me these things?"

"The nanny was poisoned with Ergot Fungus."

He watched with wide eyes as his father opened and closed his mouth multiple times as if debating what to say before asking, "Poisoned… How?"

"It was in her tea blend."

"Oh…"

"James. You realize your case looks bad. 90% of the time poison means a household member."

"Yes, I'm bloody aware of what this looks like. But I didn't murder her!"

"James? I have to do my job." Emmeline paused before continuing. "Moody."

"James, you are under arrest for suspicion of murder. You will be taken to a holding cell at Azkaban until you stand trial or there is overwhelming evidence showing your innocence."

James backed away. "You cannot be serious."

"Please don't make this harder on yourself. We are on your side," Emmeline said softly. "We've called Sirius. Your children will be fine. I'm going to talk with Barty Sr. about moving you to the department but it will take time."

"How are you on my side? You're taking me to Azkaban."

"No!" Harry screamed before covering his own mouth.

His father's jaw hardened. "You're supposed to be in your room, Harry."

"I'm not going to let them take you," Harry yelled back.

The others rounded the corner.

"James, we protect our own. Moody should take you right now but I don't want to do that. We can wait on Sirius together but you have to give me your wand. Don't make this hard. Give me your wand and you get to tell your children goodbye," Emmeline stated.

His father's gaze darted between the Aurors and him before reluctantly handing his wand over.

"It's okay Harry. They made a mistake. This will be cleared up in no time."

Harry shook his head. No, it wouldn't.

Sorry, I know it's been a while. I'm currently moving really far. Like 2,904 miles/ 4,673 km.

Feedback is appreciated. I want to know what you guys are thinking, feeling, etc. Sadly, I'm not proficient in Legilimency.