Chapter Two: "Food for Thought"

"That was nice of you," Daphne said after a while.

She and Harry had walked a few streets away from the house of Matthew Fawley in complete silence, Harry glancing over his shoulder a few times in the process. The closer they got to town, the more people were wandering around, all of them trying to show off as much skin to the sun hanging high in the midday sky. Here and there, Daphne would notice a wand or a badly disguised horn or two. It was always the way in wizarding towns, hiding wasn't as much of a concern. But muggles would still sometimes stumble across them.

"What was?"

"The way you made sure I'd get back okay," Daphne said with a bit of hesitation.

"Oh," Harry nodded, the look of idle bemusement lifting from his face. "No. It's a moronic guideline. If you feel unsafe walk, catch a bus. If not, apparate. Your choice. No, I just wanted to look at this."

He came to an abrupt halt, and Daphne almost carried on walking. She sighed and watched as he pulled out a folded piece of parchment from the inside of his jacket pocket.

"What is that?"

"The attempted amendment of the last will and testament of one Matthew Fawley," Harry told her. "I picked it up while Hopkins wasn't looking. Don't worry, I left them with a copy, shouldn't be too hard to swap once this is all over. But that's not important-"

"Stealing evidence isn't important?"

"What is important," Harry continued a little sourly, "is the drafted recipient of almost the entire family fortune." He held it out for Daphne to read.

"Alastair Macmillan?"

"Evidently they are good friends," Harry said, "but what's also interesting is that he leaves his wife, Eleanor Fawley, only a few thousand galleons. Yet there's been a well-documented public appearance from the two over the last few years, stopping roughly two years ago."

Daphne looked at him, not entirely sure how he'd gathered that.

"I read a lot. I find it's important to keep an up-to-date understanding of pureblood families and their relations. But what all of this suggests is that his wife was in the process of having her role in the will drastically reduced until today, when Matthew Fawley was murdered and his efforts were undone."

"But you said it was a man who killed him, not a woman," Daphne pointed out. "So, it can't have been her."

"No," Harry agreed. "But the evidence suggests that it was someone who would gain from her retaining her standing in the will. It can't have been changed, of course. The document was in a prime location on his desk. Nobody would keep it there if the changes had already been made, which means that he was still in the process of working out the finer details. For instance, what will happen to his many properties? None of them are listed here. I doubt a man with such a meticulous nature would leave something like that unspecified."

He chewed at his lip, emerald eyes darting around the street and fingers beating rapidly together. Daphne could practically see that brilliant brain working flat out, almost as if his body couldn't stay still as he desperately sought an answer.

"But it can't have been her," Daphne said, "you told us it was a man."

"It was," Harry assured her. "So it's someone else, someone who benefits from her getting the money. But why would he change his will now?"

"It's typical really, patients who have never had a real health scare before tend to realise their mortality. It's part of why I was a bit suspicious when he came in with what he did."

"How so?"

"Well, he just wasn't the type to contract a disease like that," Daphne said, feeling odd that she was explaining something to Harry. "It generally affects the elderly, the young or people with weak immune systems. But he wasn't like that at all."

"Plus the selective memory wiping," Harry added, "all suggests foul play. But from who? The timing is obvious: the will. It'd have to be someone close to him, someone he trusted implicitly. What family did he have left?"

"Just his wife. His son died in the war."

Harry hummed and nodded. "What about friends, colleagues?"

"No-one, he shut himself off after the Ministry sacked him."

Harry let out an annoyed sigh. "I'm going to have to talk to her."

"You don't know where she lives, do you?" Daphne said. Apparating was difficult enough as it was, even harder when there was no way to visualise the destination.

"No, but you do. You're his healer, you'd need to know the residence of his next of kin."

"Yeah, but that's -"

"Confidential? Yes, I imagine it was until he died, thus freeing you from whatever agreement you had together."

"I can't just tell you where his wife lives, it's private."

"Need I remind you that a man is dead?" Harry asked impatiently. His voice had risen drastically and he was starting to attract the attention of idle passers-by. "What's more important, honouring an agreement that your job dictates is significant in a bid to maintain the illusion of privacy, or trying to help to me discover who killed him? It's up to you."

Daphne heard herself sigh. She knew he was right. It went against everything she had been taught about the importance of patients' privacy, but the man was dead. And if this could help them figure out who killed him, then wasn't it worth it? Besides, the last time that she'd followed the rules, she'd been ignored. If Harry was right and he had been poisoned or cursed, then Daphne had played a role in not flagging this up sooner. She couldn't just stand by and watch it happen again.

"Fine," Daphne said eventually.

"Address," Harry said bluntly, and then after a moment, "please."

"It's…" Daphne faltered, desperately trying to remember. But there was so many different addresses swimming around in her mind that it was difficult to pin all of them to the right people. Usually she just apparated. She could picture it better, and there was no need to remember it after she had been there once.

Her stomach dropped as the realisation of what that meant hit her.

"I don't know," Daphne admitted, "but I can take you."

She half-expected him to refuse in a misguided ego trip, or because he didn't think it was her place. After all, any auror would have shot her down point-blank and went about it another way. But aurors had access to the information that Harry didn't, and right now, he couldn't exactly go swanning up to them and hope that they would help. Not without explaining why he needed to talk to Mrs Fawley, anyway, and that wasn't going to happen. He was arrogant, not stupid.

What she didn't expect was for him to nod and hold out his hand for her to take.

"Well?" he asked when Daphne said nothing. "Haven't got all day."

"Right." Daphne closed her eyes and tried to picture the house. It was old, in the country, far away from the hubbub of busy urban life just like most pureblood houses.

She took his hand. The skin felt rough to the touch, unlike hers which was smooth and free of calluses. Healers generally didn't get their hands dirty. The most she had to do was brew the occasional potion or stun an aggressive patient. But Harry seemed to have taken a different path. Whatever his world demanded of him, it was clearly a lot.

She closed her eyes and pictured the old house. It sat at the end of a long driveway, obscured by tall hedges and an ornate black gate. It was modest and well-to-do, all sun-burnt orange bricks and faded, and black painted doors and window frames. Daphne held her breath and turned on the spot, the familiar sense of too much movement and not enough space overcoming her. Then, as soon as it came it was gone. Daphne opened her eyes and saw the picture that had been in her mind's eye come to life.

"Doesn't look much for the home of an aristocrat," Harry commented.

"She's the ex-wife of a disgraced lord," Daphne pointed out, "what were you expecting?"

"Something a bit grander," Harry said as he withdrew his wand and tapped it on the gate. The metal of the wrought iron bars shimmered and then melted away. It was an old type of ward, designed only to let magical people in. "Let's face it, your lot aren't exactly known for subtlety."

Daphne bit back the retort she wanted to lash out at him with, primarily because she remembered the house that she'd grown up in, and the one that stood before her wasn't even half its size. Greengrass manor was gigantic. It had been added on to by generation after generation of Greengrasses until it had become so large that she could have gone days without seeing her family if she had put her mind to it. But that didn't stop Harry's generalisation rubbing her up the wrong way.

They walked up the driveway in relative silence, their footsteps crunching on the gravel underfoot. It was so surreal. She should be at work, taking care of people that didn't even register that she was a real human being, not walking up the driveway of a murder victim's wife. A wife that, if Astoria's circle of gossiping friends were to be believed, hadn't gotten on with her husband for almost two years.

Daphne almost stopped then, teetering on the edge of the thought. She didn't belong here, she should just go. Harry didn't need her anymore. And yet, Daphne couldn't help but get wrapped up in the intrigue of it all. She needed to know, she needed a resolution. So she stayed.

As they reached the end of the drive, Harry knocked on the door which was pulled open seconds later to reveal a woman who was taller than Daphne. Her hair was dark red and fell elegantly around her shoulders, freckles were splattered across her delicate face which was scrunched up in confusion.

"May I help you?" the woman who Daphne assumed must be Mrs. Fawley asked. If she had been living with her husband, then Daphne was sure they would have been greeted by a dutiful house elf. But that was a perk she was no longer entitled to.

"Yes, Mrs. Fawley, my name is Harry Potter and this is my..." He paused, gesturing at Daphne with a long, stretched out arm. He glanced at her, then back to Mrs Fawley. There was an awkward moment in which no one spoke. "Associate," he decided eventually, "Daphne Greengrass. We're here to talk about your husband. We're working with the auror department."

"Yes. Come in," Mrs Fawley said. Her dark brown eyes darted fervently back towards the inside of the house so fast that Daphne wasn't even sure that it had happened. Daphne frowned. Something felt off, but she followed Harry and the dead man's wife into the house.

The hall was clean and simple with dark, blue wallpaper lining the walls. But aside from that, they were rather bare. Some patches of the wall were faded, and Daphne could see the holes from where nails had been.

Probably pictures of her old family, Daphne thought.

They were led into a more spacious living room. A leather arm chair sat next to a matching chesterfield sofa in the middle of the room, both were dark brown and almost pristine. On a similarly coloured mahogany table, was a wind-up gramophone, and stacked on the bookcase next to it were several records and leather-bound books. Even the mantelpiece matched. The entire room was an interior designer's palace.

"Please, take a seat," Mrs Fawley said as she took the chair. "So, you said you wanted to ask me some questions about my husband? I'm not sure how much help I can be. It's been weeks since I've spoken to Matthew."

"Mrs Fawley," Harry started.

"Please, call me Evelyn."

"Evelyn," Harry continued, a little impatiently. "Your husband is dead. He died this morning."

"Dead?" Evelyn repeated, her hand going to her mouth.

Daphne shot Harry a pointed stare as the grieving woman's eyes cast down to the floor.

He only shrugged, mouthing the word 'what?'

It took everything she had not to hit him. Had they not been sitting in front of a freshly traumatised woman, then she would have done.

"Yes," Harry said, giving a disparaging look Daphne's way. "He was murdered."

Evelyn said nothing, just carried on staring off into space. Tears were starting to well up in her dark brown eyes.

"We think it may have something to do with his will," Daphne added. She wasn't sure why she said it. It may have been because Harry was clearly so ill-equipped to deal with people or because she couldn't just sit there and watch him inadvertently upset her any more than he already had done. Or maybe it was none of that, and she was just too invested in this to stay silent. Whatever the reason, it was Harry's turn to dish out the pointed stare. Daphne ignored him.

"Why? He's not changed it for years."

"How do you know that? Could he have changed it without telling you?" Daphne asked.

"We have the same lawyer, he'd have told me," Evelyn insisted.

At this point, Harry had seemingly grown bored of the conversation and sprung to his feet with the speed of a firebolt. He crossed over the mantle, examining the various knickknacks and assorted items that were on display. Daphne hadn't even paid them any attention as she'd walked in.

"Perhaps he asked to keep it a secret?" Daphne suggested, taking up the slack that Harry was leaving in his silence. He was the investigator, not her. "Would you mind telling us what was in your husband's will? It could really help."

"He left it all to her," Harry interjected loudly. He was staring at a picture that sat in a small frame on the mantle. "Rather obvious really."

Evelyn gaped like an owl that had just discovered it had free will and didn't really have to lug everyone's mail around anymore.

"Mrs Fawley, who are these people?"

"What?"

Harry picked up the photograph and practically shoved it in the poor woman's face. Her eyes, no longer welled up with tears, now widened in shock. Daphne just stared, not entirely sure what was happening before her.

"In the photograph. I assumed you'd know, seeing as this is your house, and that is you, your husband and..." he trailed off, his fingers tapping the faces of two young boys. They looked roughly the same age, Daphne vaguely recognised one of them from somewhere, but she couldn't quite remember where.

"That's my son and his friend," Evelyn answered uncertainly. Not that Daphne could blame her. It wasn't every day that a stranger made you look at a picture and demand to know who was in it. Daphne just hoped that this was going somewhere. "Eric. He… they were good friends before Hogwarts."

Harry nodded, though it obvious by the sour expression on his face that he was utterly unconvinced. Something about the way that Evelyn had hesitated made Daphne wonder if he wasn't right. Sure, she was a grieving wife, but it still felt… odd. Like she was trying to hide something. But what was worth hiding about a photograph?

"May I use your toilet?" Harry asked suddenly. "Been a rather long day."

"Er… yes, it's down the hall, first door on the left."

Harry gave another curt nod and headed out of the room, leaving Daphne to sit in awkward silence. She forced a smile.

"Sorry about him," Daphne said eventually, desperate to break the suffocating bubble that often enveloped strangers forced together in a room without an exit. "He's a bit of an arse."

"I'm surprised you can put up with it."

"Oh, no, it's not like that. We're just…" she trailed off, not entirely what they were. She'd just been swept up in all of this. She didn't even really know him. The Harry she remembered was a quiet, eleven year old boy. But people changed. Who was to say he would be anything like that anymore? The boy she knew had been flippant, possibly rude, but deep-down she'd seen a kindness in him. The way he was treating this woman now, however, made Daphne wonder if it was really still there.

She was saved from having to define their relationship by Harry's abrupt re-entry into the room. But he wasn't alone. Being pushed in front of him was a man with a haggard expression ruining what may have otherwise been a handsome face. He was tall and lean, with a patchy black and grey beard, and piercing blue eyes that looked warily around the room.

"It appears you have a guest, Mrs Fawley," Harry said by way of announcement. "Is there any particular reason why you chose to hide your friend-or should I say, the man you told us was your son's friend? This is Eric, isn't it?"

"It's okay, Eric, these people are just with the aurors. They only want to ask us some questions."

"Yes, but I rather think that I have all the answers, Mrs Fawley," Harry told her. He gave the taller man a small shove in the small of the back, pushing him towards the armchair that Evelyn was sat in. "All but one. Which of you planned the murder?"

"What?"

"This isn't your son's friend. Well...he may have been. I'm sure that a confused childhood can lead to all sort of relationships. But more importantly, this is your son. Your illegitimate son," Harry said.

Daphne almost gaped.

"Don't lie to me, please. I can tell by the bone structure of his face and the very pronounced widow's peak that you and he share. But the eyes are different. You and your husband both have rather brown ones, yet Eric, here, has rather bright blue. Of course, it is genetically possible, but the fact that you've removed every photograph of your family aside from this one suggests a more personal connection.

"So, save us some time and answer the question. Which of you planned to kill your husband?"

"Don't say anything, he hasn't got any proof," Eric snapped loudly. His face had gone white, drained of any of the colour that speckled his already pale skin. "Get out, the pair of you!"

"Yes, because silence in the face of any accusation isn't already an admission of guilt," Harry said scathingly. "As for proof, your wand will have everything I need. A particular transfiguration attempt, for example. That and the blood on your boots. You may not have noticed in your hurry to stage the scene, but you stepped in some."

The two just stared open-mouthed at Harry, and Daphne wasn't far behind them. The fact that he figured all of that out from nothing, just a loitering man and an old photograph. It was…amazing. There was no other word for it.

"So, you saw your chance before Mr. Fawley changed his will and you took it. I assume your family lawyer warned you in some misguided attempt at loyalty. You hadn't been getting on, probably since he found about your son. What else would cause a pureblood lord to so publicly abandon his wife?"

"We'd hidden it for so long," Evelyn admitted.

"Mum!"

"No, it's okay. I can't go on hiding anymore," Evelyn muttered, tears cascading down her cheeks. Her voice shook with raw emotion, emotion that she'd seemed to have buried for years and tried to keep secret, but that now tumbled out of her without recourse. "It's true, Eric is my son. My husband and I, we'd been fighting for years, I couldn't take it anymore. I went to a muggle village to try and hide. There I met a wonderful, kind, perfect man. Luke. He's the only man I've ever loved. I would've given everything up for him."

"Evidently," Harry commented bitterly.

"No, I would. You may not see it, Mr. Potter, but I would have done anything for him. I did. When he… left, I took in Eric. I told my husband he was the son of a friend of ours that couldn't look after him anymore. Matthew believed me, for a while. Then a few years ago he found out about Luke and put the pieces together."

"So you plotted your revenge."

"No, nothing like that."

"Matthew was ill," Eric filled in. "He was going to write mum out of the will, after everything she'd done for him. He'd been the one that let their marriage die, not her."

"Wait, that was real? I mean, he was really ill?" Daphne asked, unable to stop herself. She was convinced that it had been a fake, poisoning or a curse or something.

"Of course he was," Eric nodded, "I tried to talk to him after, to try and convince him that he was making a mistake and he - he attacked me. That's why I hid when I heard you were aurors."

"Bollocks," Harry interjected. "If you wanted to hide you wouldn't come here, you would go anywhere but here. You thought you'd gotten away with it. Why wouldn't you? You staged the scene perfectly. Hardly what I'd call a defensive accident. So why did you come back here? What could you possibly need?"

There was a brief pause in which Harry's eyes flicked between Evelyn and Eric. The frown faded as realisation took hold of his dour expression. "Of course. You weren't content there, were you? I mean you'd already killed once for money, what was one more? I bet you even convinced her to change her will."

"I didn't need to, the stupid hag had already done it. Ever since he found out about me she's tried to protect. She even me the sole heir."

"Eric!"

His whole demeanour had changed. Instead of blubbering and appearing worried and concerned, the man before Daphne now looked calm, completely and totally at peace. His back had straightened and his eyes had gone hard. A small sneer formed on his face as he looked at his mother.

"Did you really think that his death was an accident? You're thicker than I thought." He scoffed, glowering at her. "I hated him and he loathed me. He always made it obvious, made me feel like an outsider, a freak. After Eustace died I thought maybe… But do you know what he said. 'Why couldn't it have been you?'" He laughed, but it had no humour in it. "He wished it had been me, rather than his precious son."

"So you devised a way to kill him, one that could be easily disguised and leave no trace back to you. You knew your mother would inherit, and you'd get the money eventually, payment for your childhood."

"It almost worked, but that damned house elf found him. A few more hours and he'd have died then and there. No-one needed to know. He deserved it."

"Yes, I'm sure that's what you have to tell yourself."

"It's the truth,"

"No-one deserves to die for giving you a home," Daphne said, speaking for the first time since all of this had started. Everyone turned to look at her, Harry arched an eyebrow. "He may not have been a very good father, but that's no reason to kill him. He was a good man."

"You didn't know him."

"No, I knew him better than you did. Anyone who met him knew him better than you. He had a good heart, it had just been broken. All you did was let your hate stop you from seeing anything else about him than what you wanted to see."

"And if that was all this really was, then you wouldn't be here," Harry added. "Your father may have never loved you, but your mother did."

From the hall there was loud sound of knocking and shouts.

"Right on time," Harry said, turning to look out the window.

Almost everybody else in the room followed suit, Evelyn's eyes were drawn to the sudden noise, but Eric had moved towards his mother. Daphne watched, almost as if in slow motion as he reached into the folds of her robes and pulled out her wand without the woman even registering.

The words that Daphne's father had drilled it into her sounded suddenly in her head: react on instinct.

The small room was filled with a cacophony of noise as a white, blinding light erupted from the end of Daphne's wand and slammed into the man, flinging him back and causing him to hurtle over the leather armchair and collapse like a puppet with its strings cut.

Just as his head slammed into the soft thick carpet, Daphne heard the sound of several running footsteps. Hopkins, Hannah Abbott and a bunch of other aurors appeared in the doorway with their wands drawn.

"I knew I could always rely on you lot for a nick of time rescue," Harry said dryly before heading over to Eric's collapsed body. He crouched down, removing his wand from the inside of his jacket and poking the back of the unconscious head. Once he was sure that Eric wasn't going anywhere, he drew a large shape in mid-air. There was a flash of silver, and a thin rope was summoned, knotting itself around Eric's wrists.

"It was the son," Harry told Hopkins. "Wand, boots, should be all the proof you need."

It took almost an hour to get out of the house, but that was pretty much that. After several interviews with Hopkins and his other aurors, the house was searched and a few bits and pieces were collected, but there was no real proof.

Daphne felt like she was in a daze. Time blurred by as she had the same conversation over and over again. Evelyn Fawley stayed rather quiet, only speaking when she was spoken to. Harry kept quiet about her involvement, sticking to the story that it had all been Eric's plot. Daphne had no idea why, but she said nothing. He wasn't stupid, there was going to be a reason. Besides, if she changed her story the aurors would be even more wary of her than they already were.

It was only when Harry and Daphne were about to leave that Evelyn spoke up. They were stood on her drive, parades of aurors in front of them, some disappearing, others walking and talking. All of them heading back to their jobs. They should have been the ones to solve this case, but all they had done was mop up and take the killer away.

And yet, they'd get all the credit.

"Why didn't you say anything, Mr. Potter?" Evelyn asked, her voice shaking and quiet.

"He would have murdered Matthew Fawley with or without your help," Harry shrugged. "He manipulated you, your love for him, and the wall you'd built up between yourself and husband. He was going to kill you. I think that's punishment enough, don't you?"

With that he turned away and began walking down the driveway. Daphne gave her a quick, forced smile and hurried to catch up with him.

"You're just going to let her get away with it?"

"What is there to let her get away with? She didn't really do anything apart from not report it. Would you like to wager they would have done anything? Would they have even believed it?"

Daphne sighed. She could see where he was coming from. It seemed so real to her, but she doubted if she would have believed it if someone had just told her that it had happened. They walked in silence back down the drive, Daphne still struggling to process what had just happened. At the beginning of the day she'd just been going to work, but that was before the corpse, before her whole world had been turned upside down.

"Farewell, then," Harry said when they got to the quiet street. The aurors had vanished. It was only them. The sun had moved behind some clouds that had built up in what had been the bright blue sky. Since they had been inside, it had grown busy with white wisps, floating along and obscuring the brightness of the day.

Harry stuck his hand out, his back ramrod straight, his grip warm and firm. If this was goodbye, then at least this time she was able to acknowledge it.

Once they'd both dropped their hands, Daphne turned to walk away, not sure what else to say.

"I – I wanted to say that I appreciated your help today," Harry said suddenly. "I would've been perfectly capable to do it myself, of course, but your insights were… valuable. You should have faith in your instincts, you were right about Fawley. I think you may have some potential as an investigator yourself."

"I'm a healer," Daphne said.

"Isn't the point of that to help people?" Harry asked, "I'd say you did that today, wouldn't you?" The ghost of a smile almost pulled at his lips, but then a sour expression returned. "Food for thought."

As soon as he finished speaking, he turned on the spot and vanished, leaving her alone on the road with only her confused thoughts for company.