Enigma


Je suis belle, ô mortels! comme un rêve de pierre,
Et mon sein, où chacun s'est meurtri tour à tour,
Est fait pour inspirer au poète un amour
Eternel et muet ainsi que la matière.

Charles Baudelaire


Chapter 1: Disquieting Encounters

The first time Harry saw her, she was standing on the platform, wreathed in a veil of smoke. Her hazy form stood immobile against the flow of the crowd, this boisterous multitude of comings and goings: parents helping their offspring with unwieldy luggage, heartfelt hugs, tearful farewells, one last lingering look at the bright red livery of Wizarding Britain's most famous locomotive. The different stages of this ritual were playing out all around her, over and over, as it had for generations of witches and wizards. Indeed, she herself had just bid farewell to a wiry boy with pristine blonde hair and strong, aristocratic features. Every bit his father's son. At eleven year's old Scorpius Malfoy lacked the petulant swagger of his father's younger self, but the quiet assurance born of privilege had been evident in his poise as he stepped onto the Hogwarts Express.

The aforementioned father drew his wand and, with a lazy flick, a sinuous thread of light shot out, writhing to form floating digits: 11am. Through the smoke, Harry saw Draco turn to his wife, whispering something in her ear. Astoria, that was what Ron had called her. The Malfoys made to leave, and as they walked past him, Harry finally got a good look at their faces. Draco gave him a perfunctory nod before turning away, eyes searching for the exit. He looked pensive, his patrician brow furrowed. Perhaps being parted from firstborn child was weighing on his mind. Harry found it strange to think of his former nemesis in the role of the caring father. He pictured Draco's younger self: glutted with conceit and yet starved of true paternal affection, pushed down a dark path in pursuit of it. Had Draco been able to shake off the spectre of Lucius Malfoy? Had he found space, amongst the racking shame and resentment, for so pure an emotion as paternal love?

But it was Astoria that monopolised Harry's attention. She wore an elegant sheath dress, which accentuated the subtle curves of her svelte frame. Her raven hair fell to her chin, framing a narrow, pretty face. Harry's eyes were drawn to the delicate arch of the nose, the high cheekbones, the pale, even complexion. Hers was a cold, disdainful beauty, hewn from marble. The sort of beauty that inspires not tenderness but hushed awe and causes lovelorn poets to waste away in the throes of lyrical excess. Yet this perfect picture of aristocratic elegance and reserve was somewhat troubled by her piercing grey eyes, flecked with hints of blue. They seemed to betray some elusive intensity, some ambiguous, restive quality, like a turbulent current beneath the placid ocean surface. The Malfoys turned a corner and disappeared from view, but Harry continued to ponder the scene he had just witnessed. Outwardly Astoria Malfoy appeared singularly suited to Draco, matching his pureblood haughtiness and bearing. But, wondered Harry absent-mindedly, what exactly lay behind that furtive passion, half-glimpsed in ambivalent eyes?

Ginny was whispering something about needing to get back to work soon, and Harry shook his thoughts away. His daughter, Lily, was still looking forlornly at the Hogwarts Express, from which her older brothers blew raspberries at her and waved frantically. The train was beginning to move off, its hulking frame accelerating away from the platform with a metallic screech, a screech that spoke to Lily of her own frustration and of fraternal abandonment. Harry ruffled Lily's auburn hair, so much like her mother's, and took her hand.

"It'll be ok Lils", he said placatingly. "James and Albus will be back for the holidays in no time, you'll see."

Lily merely huffed in despair but allowed her father to lead her towards the exit.

Ginny shot Harry a thankful smile. "Yes, they'll be back in no time. Anyway, I've really got to dash. I'll see you both this evening." She looked put out. "I'm so sorry to be working again over the weekend, but who knew the Chudley Cannons would end up winning the League? Hopefully the article won't take too long", she said. "Though I should try not to finish too quickly, Ron would kill me if he thought I wasn't giving due credit to, how did he put it, oh yes…the greatest underdog story in recent quidditch history". In the years after the war, Ginny had made a name for herself as a formidable professional quidditch player, leading the chasers of the Holyhead Harpies to great success, but the responsibilities of motherhood and the creeping sense of being past her prime eventually led her to take a more sedate job as a sports journalist for Quidditch Weekly.

Harry responded with a thin-lipped smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Neither of them had chosen careers conducive to having quality family time, what with his considerable duties as Head Auror. And with the children heading off to Hogwarts one by one, Harry couldn't shake the niggling feeling that the situation would only get worse. Like many parents for whom every iota of energy is directed towards providing a loving, stable environment for their children, Harry dreaded the thought that without the vibrancy of youth that filled the Potter household with tinkling laughter and cheerful bustle, the adults would find themselves at a loss, forced to face the gaping hole of freedom and a relationship muted by the absence of a common cause. Despite these increasingly insistent reservations, Harry found that at present his face had settled into a well-rehearsed look of understanding. He even ventured a joke.

"I still think you could spare yourself the effort and just let him write it himself. He'd jump at the chance to wax lyrical about Barnie Bloom's sublime keeping skills."

The Potters continued this casual chitchat until they reached the designated Floo exits at the corner of the platform, at which point Ginny split from the group to head to work, throwing one last apologetic glance Harry's way. Harry sighed as he led Lily into a separate chimney. "Potter Residence, Godric's Hollow", he intoned. For an instant, the world was a whirl of bright green flame. And then they were gone.


The second time Harry saw her was in a rather more morbid context. The sprawling estate of Malfoy Manor stretched before him against a brooding, rain-swept sky. Harry pulled his blue Auror robes around him to fend off the pattering April shower. He took in the classically sculpted hedges, the lawns dotted with preening peacocks, and the wide gravel path leading to the manor building itself, which reared up haughtily in the distance. Fitting indeed. The whole estate was a meticulously crafted universe, designed to reflect the ancient nobility of the Malfoy line, a testament to their effortless superiority.

Harry rubbed his temples, trying to shake off an insistent headache. He had woken up that morning in a groggy daze, his drowzy mind lingering at the threshold between dream and consciousness, whirling with sensations: a heady floral scent, the sound of raised voices, the slamming of a door. Ah, not a dream, a memory. The previous afternoon Ginny had lured him into the living room, dimly lit by the soft glow of scented candles. A romantic gesture after a trying month of long absences. But the mood, initially tender, had quickly soured. Harry fought through the waves of pain radiating through his skull as he recalled his wife's words. Don't you think it's time we, you know, brought another bundle of joy into this world? It had all been a carefully prepared trap. He shook his head wearily. He had dismissed the idea bluntly. Tempers had frayed. Really though, another child? What an awful idea.

His current situation was in no way helping. It was going to be a long, tedious day. Harry quickened his pace, quickly ascending the stone steps leading to the Manor entrance. An auror, a young woman with mousy hair, was already waiting for him there.

"Morning Walters", greeted Harry, brow furrowed in silent enquiry.

"Morning, Chief. Come straight through, the body is in the library".

Walters led Harry into the entrance hall. The tenuous morning light filtered through tall baroque windows, illuminating a spacious interior lavished with embellishment upon embellishment. Their steps resounded as they ascended the grand marble staircase. The building was an impersonal place, one where any fledgling sense of intimacy seemed doomed to falter and fade, lost in the indifference of cavernous spaces, labyrinthine hallways, and empty rooms. This is no home, thought Harry idly, as he followed Walters through endless corridors, before finally stepping through some particularly ostentatious doors and into the library.

Draco Malfoy's body lay in quiet repose, completely inert. His face seemed untroubled, serene almost, bathed in a hazy pool of light spilling in from the nearest window. He could have been sleeping. Only the dark crimson streak staining the carpet betrayed the grim truth, the morbid brushstroke of a deadly artist. The tranquil splendour of the room had evidently been disturbed: upturned chairs, a charred antique desk, books in disarray. One of the shelves bore an angry gash that had torn through several dozens of weighty tomes. A team of forensic experts were quietly combing the scene, painstakingly collecting evidence. Various parts of the room were awash with coloured light as the team traced complex patterns with their wands, subjecting everything to a battery of diagnostic charms. "The actual cause of death was head trauma", explained Walters, "He was found with a bloodied brass eagle statue lying nearby, though as you can see a rather vigorous spell fight also occurred."

"Time of death?" enquired Harry.

"The decay of the spell residue and the body itself indicate sometime last night, around 11pm", replied Walters.

"Have the family been informed?" Walters gave an affirmative nod.

"The wife is in the drawing room."

"I need to speak with her", he stated, gesturing for Walters to lead the way.

Astoria Malfoy was perched daintily on a chair in the drawing room, pouring tea into an ornate cup. She stood as he entered, and Harry noticed that the troubling intensity of her eyes that had so struck him at King's Cross remained undimmed. In fact, they seemed almost more intense as they locked onto him, some ill-defined emotion roiling insolently beneath the surface. Even Astoria Malfoy couldn't fully suppress the emotional strain of losing her husband, thought Harry soberly. The rest of her features, however, were carefully arranged in a neutral expression. Beautiful. The thought came unbidden, startling Harry as he moved to greet her.

"Good morning, Astoria", he began, before pausing with a frown at his thoughtless informality. His head was pounding again. "Forgive me, I mean Mrs Malfoy".

She returned his greeting, glancing at him curiously, and gestured for him to sit. The floral notes of the tea wafted invitingly around them as Mrs Malfoy proffered a cup to him, which Harry eyed somewhat suspiciously before accepting out of politeness.

He continued: "I'm deeply sorry for your loss. Rest assured that the Auror department will do everything in its power to get to the bottom of this." She was looking expectantly at him. "First of all, can you tell me whether you know of anyone that would wish your husband harm?" Even as he said it, Harry couldn't help but wince. They both knew full well that the list of enemies the Malfoys had made would make for rather long reading.

Astoria stared coldly at Harry. "As you know, my husband was not exactly a popular man." She paused, brow creased in thought. "I suppose there are various families that would harbour resentment towards him for the Malfoys' involvement in the war. And more recently my husband's business activities have caused…ill feeling with certain competitors. You don't achieve success without making enemies, Auror Potter." She looked pointedly at him. Indeed, agreed Harry inwardly. He of all people was intimately acquainted with this fact.

After the war, Draco had gone into the potions business, mass-producing medical potions to be sold on to retailers. He had worked hard, been ruthless in his business practices, and had ruffled more than a few feathers along the way. "In fact", added Astoria casually, "Draco held a meeting with a rival potions company just last week. A Mr Caius, I believe."

"Do you know what the meeting was about?"

"I don't bore myself with my husband's work."

His interest piqued, Harry made a mental note to explore this avenue of enquiry. "And where were you at 11pm last night?" Harry's casual tone belied the incendiary implications of the question. A pregnant pause. The query hung awkwardly, menacingly in the air. Tension marred Astoria's pretty face, and she toyed distractedly with an elegant silver bracelet on her right wrist.

"I was with my sister, Daphne", she said with conviction. Her eyes, suddenly unnervingly blank, dared him to challenge her.

"And when did you discover your husband's body?"

"This morning, at around 10am. I stayed at Daphne's last night as I was feeling unwell. I called the Aurors as soon as I saw him."

"Would you say you were close to your husband, Mrs Malfoy?" More tension.

"Close is a relative term", she countered evasively. "My husband was a caring, hardworking man", she added, as if that answered Harry's question. "I respected him greatly". Same blank look. It was hardly an effusive outpouring of conjugal affection.

"So he never gave you any cause to resent him? Never any, ahem, incidents?"

Astoria rolled her eyes. "Auror Potter, if you are looking for a sordid tale of marital abuse, I'm afraid you shall be sorely disappointed. Let's cut to the chase. You think I have murdered my husband, I can categorically say that I have not. You are wasting your time."

Harry was taken aback. He looked away, trying to judge the best way forward.

"I am following a procedure, Mrs Malfoy. I'm sure you understand that no stone can be left unturned." He continued with his questions. Had Draco been acting oddly before he died?

No came the dull reply.

Aside from Mr Caius, had anyone of note visited the house recently?

No again.

After a few more minutes of unproductive back and forth, Harry decided he was getting nowhere. "That will be all, Mrs Malfoy. Thank you for your cooperation. Once again, let me extend my sincerest condolences." Perhaps understandably, his words fell flat, sabotaged by the lingering awkwardness of his previous accusation. "We will find your husband's killer".

Once again her eyes clouded with emotion. Did he detect a glint of panic? Sighing with frustration at the enigmatic woman before him, he exited the drawing room to re-join Walters. "Walters, you need to follow up on a Mr Caius, a business rival of Malfoy's who visited the Manor last week. It's fishy. I'll work on contacting Daphne Greengrass and check out Astoria's alibi." He paused thoughtfully. "I can't shake the feeling that there's something Mrs Malfoy isn't telling us. Make sure she's watched." Something was definitely off about her. Harry was sure that her practised poise and detachment were masking some rather more…turbulent emotions, and he was beginning to doubt his first instinct that what lay beneath was the sincere grief of a loving wife.

On the way back to the entrance hall, they passed another group from Forensics. They were standing in the middle of what looked like a potions lab, carefully levitating a heavy stone basin towards the door. A pensieve. A luxury item indeed, though well within the Malfoys' means. Harry stepped inside, his eyes sweeping over the neatly ordered workspace. Innumerable jars of exotic ingredients lined the walls and the lab was perfused with the residual odours of previously brewed potions: the bitter tang of pepperup potion, the citrus notes of a calming draught, and something flowery, a cosmetic potion perhaps. Harry beckoned one of the team over.

"Is this Malfoy's personal lab?"

"Astoria Malfoy's, yes", came the reply. Harry's eyebrows quirked skyward.

"And the pensieve is hers as well?" A nod of confirmation.

Now this was intriguing. In the basin, Harry could see a pool of ice blue swirls lazily coalescing and then splitting apart in a mesmerising dance, indicating that Astoria had left some memories in the pensieve. That would explain why the team were working particularly slowly. Had Astoria been involved in the murder, he didn't think she would be so stupid as to leave any hard evidence in a pensieve of all things, but Harry found himself drawn to basin. Perhaps in these whirling threads of light lay the answer to the enigma of Astoria Malfoy, and maybe, just maybe, a clue in the investigation. He left the team to their careful work. Stepping out of the lab, he swiftly traversed the entrance hall before stepping back into the doleful morning light, mentally steeling himself for the long road ahead.


The Potter residence was quiet as Harry let himself in. It was late. After leaving Malfoy Manor, Harry had spent the entire day perusing the case file for Draco's murder. Even at this early stage he felt inundated with information, mind abuzz with all the potential avenues of enquiry. Heaving a deep sigh, he pushed away thoughts of corporate feuds and sordid crimes of passion. Instead, he revelled in the comfort of home. The Potter home was everything the Malfoy abode was not: small, unpretentious. Homey. Every nook and cranny bore traces of the happy, youthful life of its inhabitants: the odd toy poking out from improbable places, the photos of grinning Potters lining the walls, Lily's prized paintings. He slipped into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

"Long day, huh?" Ginny was sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of hot chocolate, a copy of the latest Daily Prophet before her. On it, Harry saw a photo of a smirking Draco Malfoy under the headline: MALFOY MURDER MYSTERY.

"Oh, hi Gin", he replied. "Yeah, it's all a bit of a shock. Work's been crazy. What are you doing still up?"

She looked apprehensive. "I, uh… I feel bad about leaving things on such a tense note yesterday afternoon. I wanted to talk to you before I turned in." Harry tensed slightly. They hadn't had a chance to discuss their argument. Harry had been so incensed that he had stormed out of the house, spending yesterday evening in a daze, aimless and full of resentment. By the time he had got home Ginny had already fallen asleep. Harry decided to extend an olive branch.

"I feel bad too. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did." He paused. "I mean, I still don't think having another child is a good idea, but I didn't exactly put it in the most delicate way possible."

Ginny looked frustrated. "So you haven't reconsidered?"

Harry quashed a flash of irritation. "To be honest I haven't had too much time to think about it. But, no, I don't see myself reconsidering."

"I just thought that if we…", she faltered, searching for the right words, "it's been so difficult, what with the house being emptier than usual. And Lily will be leaving for Hogwarts soon. I just feel that now is a good time. With the others at school, we'll have more time for the new child".

"But why do you want a new child? Why do we need one just because our current children will be at Hogwarts?" It was a loaded question. Harry knew the answer, he just wanted to see if Ginny would face up to it too.

"Because we have so much love left to give", offered Ginny weakly, "and I feel that a baby would be good…for us." She averted her eyes from Harry. There was the crux of the matter.

"So what you're essentially saying is that we need another child to make our life rewarding? That you're afraid of it just being us?"

Truth be told Harry was afraid of exactly the same thing, but he didn't think that having a baby would do anything to solve the underlying issue.

"It's not like that. Of course I find our life rewarding, just the two of us. But, you can't deny that we've been drifting. We hardly see each other anymore. We hardly see each other in the evenings, we don't even meet up for lunch anymore. And when we do spend time together we're not really fully there, you know? I just feel that another child would, give us focus, bring us closer."

"Don't you think we should be asking ourselves why we're drifting apart? Rather than trying to paper over the cracks with another child?"

Ginny sighed, eyes flashing dangerously. "But that's the problem. You never want to discuss anything. I've tried to bring it up but you've always been too preoccupied with something else." Her voice was choked. "I hate that things are like this, but we never talk, we never even argue that much."

She was right. Their relationship had never possessed the stormy volatility of Ron and Hermione's marriage, but lately the ostensible calm felt increasingly like a symptom of wilful blindness and cowardly passivity rather than marital bliss. This is the way the world ends, thought Harry wrily. Not with a bang but a whimper.

"I think we've both been working way too hard", he ventured lamely. "We…we should make a conscious effort to set aside more time for each other. I love you Ginny, and I don't want to drift apart. Work is going to be a real pain in the coming weeks, but I'll make the effort."

Harry looked intently at his wife in an effort to convey his resolve, his belief that they could halt the slow slide towards indifference. He wasn't entirely sure whether he trying to convince her or himself. He kissed her gently and drew her close to him. She gripped him tightly.

"You're right", she said simply. "Let's be greedy once in a while, let's block out the outside world and just do something for us, like we used to do."

"Like kissing in a broom cupboard?"

Harry could feel Ginny's smile against his shoulder. Oh to be a teenager again. They sat there for a long while, comfortable in each other's arms, pondering the implications of their conversation. Not everything had been resolved, indeed the question of the baby still loomed large, but for now they luxuriated in this moment of mutual resolve. It felt like progress.