Chapter 2: Stiff as a Board
Hermione had been losing all day long.
It started when she woke up two hours before her alarm was set to go off, and she hadn't been able to get back to sleep. She'd tried to do some reading, but she was feeling too restless and lonely in her dark flat. She had set down her book, turned the lights back off, and stared at the ceiling until the clock began to beep. None of her clothes quite seemed to fit, like everything in her life was suddenly the wrong size, especially her eyelids.
When she arrived at the Ministry, tired and heavy and expecting the worst, her boss had reminded her that it was time once again to visit the Malfoys. She'd tried to argue her way out of it, since they hadn't broken the law for a solid five years. It wasn't even that they were getting away with secret crimes - she had personally checked the entire Manor for Dark Magic residue more than fifteen times since she'd gotten her position in the Dept. of Magical Law Enforcement.
They still weren't up to any actual good, since she hadn't seen them around doing anything of value for society, but they weren't up to any serious evil, either. Lucius Malfoy spent most of his time doing legitimate business outside England, where he was less hated, and she could tell it wasn't illegal because he wasn't making much money. In fact, she'd recently heard from a gleeful Ron that the Malfoy family's net worth was the lowest it had been in over a century, and they were living outside their means just by keeping up their giant mansion. She had to admit to a little thrill of schadenfreude upon hearing that news, but she didn't care nearly as much as Ron did. Draco and Narcissa kept tightly to their old social circles: they didn't bother anybody, and people had stopped bothering them.
She'd managed to convince her boss to knock down the surprise check-ups to once a year as opposed to twice, but she still had to go today. Then, she had her head bashed in by a brainwashed house-elf and found Lucius Malfoy's corpse. If she hadn't been so tired and disoriented from her possible concussion, she would not have agreed to Malfoy's deal; as it stood, however, she couldn't even muster an appropriate level of surprise. She had known that something like this was coming. She'd seen it written in the shadows on the ceiling.
Even in her dazed state, she had noticed that Draco was twitching with an unnatural sort of energy, and she wondered how much Pepper-Up he'd been drinking. He wasn't taking the death well at all. She wasn't too broken up about it personally, to say the least, but one week of privacy wasn't exactly a ridiculous request. She'd had more than her share of unwanted publicity, albeit under very different circumstances, and she couldn't imagine grieving her father while the Daily Prophet ran a cover story titled "Good Riddance" or something.
The only thing that kept her from falling straight back into bed was lunch with Ginny, who had been so busy training with the Holyhead Harpies that Hermione hadn't seen her in weeks. Ginny was already waiting when she entered the café, and she moved through the tables to join her.
"The world has gone mad," she announced, as soon as she was seated.
Ginny pushed a warm mug into her hand. "Well, luckily I got your tea already. What happened?"
It occurred to Hermione that she shouldn't be spreading this information around, but it was too ridiculous to keep inside. If she didn't say it out loud soon, her brain would start trying to convince itself that it had all been a very strange dream. "You can't tell anyone, not even Harry or Ron or your mum. It's top-secret Ministry business."
Ginny's eyes went wide, and she grinned and nodded. "I won't tell a soul, I promise. This is exactly the kind of non-Quidditch-related excitement I needed today."
Hermione glanced around, but nobody seemed to be paying attention. She pulled out her wand and cast a spell to link her mouth to Ginny's ears and vice versa, so that any busybodies would only hear garbled static. Ginny was fidgeting with excitement, but Hermione was still mostly numb.
"All right," she said. "I'm still digesting it all, but I suppose it's best if I just say it: Lucius Malfoy is dead."
"What? And it's a secret? How'd he die?"
Hermione held up a hand to stop the questions, since her head was starting to throb again. She reckoned she should get it looked at after lunch, if she could get up the energy. "He died of a heart attack, and it's only a secret until the end of this week. I had to do a spot-check on the Malfoys today, and it was so strange. I walked in, and Draco Malfoy was levitating his father's body across the living room. I started asking him about it, and then a house-elf came out of nowhere and stunned me for trying to tamper with her dead master, and I woke up on the floor with my head bleeding."
Ginny's mouth was hanging open, and Hermione realised that this was what she must have looked like earlier in front of Draco Malfoy. It wasn't exceptionally charming. "Then what?"
"Malfoy was shockingly polite about everything, in light of the circumstances. That was odd, too, but I think he was afraid he'd get in trouble for the whole head injury thing. He healed me, and then he literally begged me to keep his father's death a secret until Sunday, so he and his mother will have a bit of time before they have to read about it in the Prophet."
"He actually begged you?"
"On his knees." She tried to replay the moment in her mind, but it was almost too bizarre to revisit.
"I know it was a stressful day for you, but that all sounds like fine news to me. Seeing Malfoy beg is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and his arsehole father's dead to boot," Ginny said. "In fact, lunch is on me - we're celebrating."
Ginny's smile was reassuring, and Hermione was beginning to feel a bit more grounded in reality. There was something about Malfoy Manor that seemed to throw the whole world out of balance - after each inspection, she'd made a habit of taking the rest of the day off. There was an illness to that place, put simply, and she knew she wasn't the only one who could feel it. Narcissa Malfoy, for example, looked sick all of the time.
"You're right," she said. "You're right. I guess I'll be laughing about this in a few days." She lifted her wand to remove the charm, but Ginny waved a hand to stop her.
"Wait - that reminds me of something even better." She paused to lick her lips with delight. "This hasn't been confirmed, since the identity of the betters is confidential, but rumour has it that Lucius Malfoy has a substantial bet riding on our game this Saturday. Now that he's dead, it's invalid."
They both laughed, but then Hermione had this funny thought. She stopped laughing, and so did Ginny. "But on Saturday…" She trailed off, thinking back to Draco Malfoy's groveling - he was sincere, all right. He was sincerely willing to do anything to keep his stake in that cash.
"… nobody will know he's dead yet," Ginny finished, shaking her head. "Those complete bastards."
"That'll teach me to be a nice person." This was definitely the first and last favour she'd ever do for the likes of them.
"Hey, it's not your fault. It's not every day that you get to see spoiled, entitled pricks like that get on their knees and plead for mercy. I'm sure it would've confused anybody."
She forced herself to drink some tea, but all it did was burn her throat. It didn't calm her down. "I can't believe even Draco Malfoy would be dragging his father's dead body around his house for any amount of money - whose first thought is Galleons when a parent dies?"
Ginny wrinkled her nose. "Have you met Lucius Malfoy?"
"Well, I understand that he was probably the worst person alive at the time of his death, but I'd have thought we'd feel differently if we were his children."
"Let's not think about that."
She blew on the liquid surface and sipped her tea more slowly. Anger would only make her headache worse. "It won't be a problem, anyway - I'll report the death when I get back to work, and they won't get a Sickle."
"That's my girl," Ginny said, but then she paused and frowned. "I feel like I should tell you this, too, even though it might not be important. Everybody thinks it's really weird, is all. The Malfoys usually support the Falcons, but they bet against them this time: ten thousand Galleons, that they'll lose by at least a hundred points. The Falcons are technically favoured," she paused to roll her eyes, evidently unimpressed by that sort of shoddy sports analysis, "but the Malfoys have personal ties on the team. Word on the pitch is they must have some kind of inside knowledge, like one of their players is hiding an injury or something."
"Ten thousand Galleons? Is that normal?"
"No, it's not. I know Lucius Malfoy used to bet on Quidditch a whole lot, but I haven't heard of a wager that big in years, especially with such piss-poor odds - it's four to one against. He must've been damn sure he was winning, I'll tell you that."
It was definitely no secret that Hermione didn't understand sports, even if most of her friends did, and she had a secret term in her head for this sort of situation: Quidditch Logic. A person under its influence will jump right over the conclusion that makes the most sense and land on something silly or even ridiculous. For example: let's say a man supports the Chudley Cannons, and another man offers the opinion that the Cannons' Seeker is blind, deaf, and armless. If the first man uses regular logic to determine his next move, he will argue verbally against the allegations; however, if he is instead using Quidditch Logic, he will punch the second man. Just for a random example. Anyway, there was some Quidditch Logic happening here, and it seemed to be keeping Ginny and the rest of the Harpies from getting all the way to the conclusion.
"Ginny, this is obvious," she said. "They don't have inside knowledge. They fixed the match. What else could be happening there, if Lucius Malfoy bet ten thousand Galleons against his own team when it's favoured to win? The Malfoys practically own the Falcons - even I know that." Ginny cocked her head to one side, as if considering this for the first time.
"Wow," Ginny said. "That makes a lot of sense. I mean, we figured it wasn't entirely on the up-and-up, but everybody who isn't on the team or an ex-Death Eater hates the Falcons, anyway. It didn't seem out-of-place, since we're so used to them being evil. It's out of character for a team like that to agree to throw a match - I wonder how the Malfoys got them to do it."
"Why'd they even let him place a bet like that?"
"Bets can be placed anonymously," Ginny said, "so probably even the bookmaker won't know the better's identity until he comes forward to collect." Hermione's confusion must have been obvious, since Ginny went ahead and explained the procedure. "Here's how it works: say you want to place a bet on a Quidditch match, and you're rich and famous and evil. You don't want anybody to know you placed that bet, so you can't risk having somebody see you at the bookmaker's office. You have to go there yourself so they can verify that you're a real person with a functioning wand, but you don't have to tell them who you are - so I guess you'd wear a big, dodgy cloak. You give them your wand so they can place the bet against your magic rather than your name. That's why they have to pretend Lucius Malfoy's still alive - the Ministry will deactivate his wand when he's pronounced dead."
"Right," she said. "I was wondering how Draco was planning to impersonate him, but if that's true, he doesn't have to. He just needs the wand."
"But it doesn't matter now," Ginny said. "We figured it out, and the Malfoys are going to lose, as usual. All's right with the universe."
"The good guys win again," she said, trying to smile. "I think I have to go take care of this as soon as possible, though. I don't trust Draco Malfoy to sit around twiddling his thumbs for the next few hours."
Ginny drained the last of her tea. "I wouldn't, either. It's all right, we can have lunch later this week."
Hermione headed straight to the Ministry after she left the café, full of righteous fury. Unfortunately, a person needs more than righteous fury when it comes to law enforcement: she also needs proof.
As the Head of Magical Law Enforcement pointed out, Hermione had none. She didn't have Lucius Malfoy's body, she didn't have his wand, and she didn't even have any witnesses. She tried to tell Head Officer Reinhardt about the bet, but he reminded her that it was anonymous - they couldn't even be certain that Lucius Malfoy placed it. She could file a warrant for Veritaserum on Draco Malfoy, but it would take five to seven business days to pass, since it wasn't technically an emergency. In other words, probably Tuesday.
When she'd first started with the Department, Reinhardt and Shacklebolt had tacitly implied that she could essentially do as she pleased. She'd noticed that her early warrants were going through the same day, and she'd quickly realised that it was because nobody even looked at them.
In order to prove a point, she had then submitted a warrant for the arrest of Harry Potter, for failing to pay back the three Galleons he owed her - on the form, she recommended that they "ship him off to Debtor's Prison, post-haste." It was approved within the hour, and she brought it to Reinhardt for verification, who tried unsuccessfully to hide his embarrassment. From then on, she was just another officer when it came to intradepartmental paperwork.
Hermione was not a person who had want or need of special treatment. She was only trying to do some honest work. This wasn't something she talked about very often, but she also fully intended to be Minister of Magic someday. It wouldn't look good if voters saw that she'd spent years taking advantage of her fame in order to supersede the law, but that was neither here nor there.
Reinhardt did believe her, and he was on her side: all DMLE officers hate the Malfoys, and there is no truer truth. They are still Magical Law Enforcement Officers, however, not Magical Grudge Enforcement Vigilantes. They have to follow the letter of the law, even in time-sensitive cases like this.
The best Reinhardt could do was relieve Hermione of her other duties until such time as she recovered the body of Lucius Malfoy. "Do what you have to do," he'd instructed her, and that was all the permission she needed.
She returned to Malfoy Manor, and Topsy greeted her at the Floo entrance.
"I need to speak with Draco Malfoy," she said, flashing her badge. The elf knew exactly who she was, but Hermione would take nearly any excuse to show her credentials. It was rather thrilling, the way the worn leather flipped open and the solid gold crest shone in the sunlight. She had practiced in front of a mirror far more often than she'd ever admit, holding it up at just the right height with just the right facial expression. She had a determined smile, a scolding glare, and many others besides.
"My master is asleep," the elf said, looking appropriately nervous.
"Then wake him up," she instructed. "Or you'll be impeding my investigation, and I can assure you that you don't want to do that."
The elf nearly had a heart attack at the thought of disappointing her any more, and Hermione felt guilty. Topsy was having a rough day, to say the least, but time was of the essence. There was no telling how far the corpse had already traveled in the space of the last hour and a half - Hermione was fairly certain Draco wouldn't have removed it from the Manor, but Malfoy Manor was nearly the size of a small country by itself. She had searched it more times than she cared to recall, and she still couldn't keep from getting lost, usually in a corridor she hadn't even known existed.
Like most Old Magic homes and castles, it was extremely difficult to map, and if a map did exist, it was made by someone who had lived there. In other words, all the maps she'd seen of the Manor were full of lies - intentionally leaving out secret passageways and failing to mark dangerous magical traps and Dark objects. Some of them were even specifically crafted for "intruders" like herself, designed to lead her straight to her doom. The first time she went to the Manor, she'd already studied the most accurate maps the Ministry had, which proved beneficial when Lucius Malfoy gave her one of his own: in his version of the floor plan, the first-floor bathroom with the Quicksand Tiles was marked "guest W.C."
Memories of Lucius Malfoy - how Hermione would miss that dirty-old-horrible-monster-Death-Eater-scourge-on-wizardkind. Hardly anyone wanted to kill her these days, and it was never a shame to cross one off the list. Draco finally managed to wake up and stumble back into the living room, looking worse for wear. She wasted no time.
"Nice try, Malfoy," she said, "but you've failed. I've figured out your plan, and it's not going to work."
"What plan?" he asked, squinting his eyes even in the dim firelight.
"All of them, really," she said. "Where shall I start? The Quidditch match? Your father's secret death?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said. "My father is away on business in Belgium until Monday, and I don't see what Quidditch has to do with anything." He grinned at her then, with no joy, and her heart dropped into her stomach. She paused to think, rubbing her temples and wishing for the first time that she'd let the DMLE give her special treatment. Then she'd have Veritaserum on her right now.
"We both know what you're up to, and my only assignment right now is to stop it." His grin didn't falter. "As of this moment, my entire job is to keep you from getting that money, and I have a standing search warrant."
"Search all you want," he said. "I'd help you, but I can't begin to imagine what you're looking for. We haven't failed an inspection in five years."
"You'll help me anyway, unless you've forgotten the terms of the warrant - I am entitled to a non-elf human escort for my whole investigation. An escort, of course, who walks in front of me," she reminded him.
"Yes, because the magic can't get you if somebody else goes first," he mused. "It couldn't possibly tell the difference. After all, it's only ancient magic… never sentient…"
She knew his game by now, and she wasn't afraid. "You've tried that one before, and it didn't work then, either. If I die on your property, it'll be quite a bit worse than losing your shot at some Galleons. I know you don't want to go to prison, and so I know you won't let your house kill me."
"Believe me, Granger: I don't want the house to hurt you," he said. "But who knows what will happen, if we venture far enough in? It might even kill me."
"Oh, for heaven's sake," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'm not scared of you, all right? I never have been." It was true - she wasn't. She was afraid of his house - very much so, in fact - but he didn't need to know that.
"Have it your way," he said. His smile finally disappeared, replaced by a deep and threatening scowl. "Tell me where you'd like to start."
She pulled out her folded copy of the best map the Ministry had of Malfoy Manor, trying to hide her apprehension. Her heart sank even farther, through her stomach and straight to the core of the Earth, when she realised something else: a dead body was not Dark Magic, and her usual searching spells wouldn't pick it up. The only tool she had was her eyes, and she couldn't realistically search more than one wing in a day.
"The East Wing, I suppose," she said at last. That was Narcissa's living quarters, and it was the least dangerous wing of the Manor. In fact, Hermione rather liked the East Wing: it was elegant and well-lit. Unfortunately, she knew that it was also the least likely hiding place of Lucius Malfoy's body.
And she was starting to feel like she'd be losing all week.